The sun had not yet began to rise, and would not for several hours yet. Sonja had always been the one to awaken at a ridiculously early time. Not even the servants woke up when she did. She figured it was just a habit from her childhood that she had never outgrown.

The palace was silent when she opened her bedroom door. There was no lamp burning in the hall, but pale light spilled in through the windows that were left unshuttered. As quietly as she had opened her door, she closed it behind her.

She carried her boots in one hand and her pack of equipment in the other. Her socked feet slid on the polished wood of the floor, but she never stumbled or fell. Whatever failing she had as a princess, she was at the very least graceful.

Sonja paused by one of the tall windows and peeked out at the sky. The writhing colors that streaked through the stars made her smile, made her heart race with excitement. The aurora borealis had always brought her a sense of joy that nothing could deter.

Without incident, she made her way down to the kitchens as she did every morning. Embers glowed in the wide stone hearth across the room from her, and she started at the movement of shadows. Sonja heard the scrape of metal on stone, and blinked away from the sudden light of the rekindled fire.

The woman standing by the hearth prodded the burning logs a few more times before finally looking towards Sonja. Amusement quirked the corners of her lips and danced in her dark eyes. The recognition of her Aunt Elsa's consort, Salama, made Sonja's shoulders relax.

"I decided to sleep in a little," the princess chuckled. "What of you, Salama? Are you up early or late?"

Salama chuckled, the sound rich and low. She returned the poker to its hook, and resumed her seat on a low stool near the fire. Like Sonja, she was dressed to ward off the nighttime chill though her clothes were meant for sleeping, not mountain climbing.

"Late, I suppose," Salama replied. The words were wrapped in a distinct accent, one that had persisted despite the many years she had lived in Arendelle. "Elsa does not rest well, so neither do I."

"Magnus?"

"More specifically; the ball. You know she's never much gotten used to throwing parties."

Everyone knew that Elsa would have rather had a hundred private dinners in as many days as opposed to a big, lavish celebration. Not that Sonja could particularly blame her for it. Large gatherings tended to spectacularly derail. "That's why Mum's been the Mistress of Ceremonies for… well, forever."

Salama nodded, her expression turning stern. Or at least, as stern as she ever cared to be. It was rare that Salama was anything other than warm and gentle, which had made her the childhood hero of many hurt feelings. "This is a very important gathering, Sonja."

"I know," Sonja replied, growing sheepish.

"So please try to be back here in time to get ready."

"Yes, auntie. I'll be back by noon. I promise."

The corners of Salama's eyes crinkled when she smiled, pleased and relieved at the promise all at once.

"Thank you, mima." She gestured to a little satchel on the table closest to Sonja. "I packed you a breakfast. You always forget to take food with you."

"Always in a hurry," Sonja laughed. "Thank you." Grabbing the satchel, she slipped it into her bigger pack of equipment, and took a seat on a nearby stool so she could put her boots on.

Salama nodded again, this time in understanding instead of acknowledgement. She knew as well as anyone why it was that the princess snuck out every morning to go into the mountains. She had known it since she first arrived in Arendelle, but she never commented on it.

No pity. No scolding. Nothing but a silent acceptance and promise to support her however she could.

"There are carrots for Stig by the door as well," Salama added, pointing. The vegetables were just barely visible in the dim light of the little fire.

Sonja finished lacing her boots, stood up, and grinned towards the other woman. Excitement was beginning to simmer inside her, just as it did every morning. These trips were the only times she ever got to leave the city, the only adventures she got to indulge in, and she relished every single one of them.

"Thank you, Salama."

"Anything, any time, mima. You know that. Just remember…"

"Home by noon. I have a final fitting and the hairdresser is will be here."

A chuckle tumbled over Salama's lips at the recitation, making Sonja grin all the more. Salama climbed to her feet as well, and moved to embrace her niece. Sonja returned the hug with a squeeze that made the slighter woman grunt under her breath. When they pulled back from one another, Salama patted Sonja's cheek as she done since Sonja was a little girl.

"Sometimes I forget just how strong you are," she told her. "Nevertheless, be careful."

Sonja nodded. "Of course. And you should try to get at least a little sleep while you can."

"Trust me, I intend to."

The princess moved away from her, and grabbed her bag. She slung it over one shoulder with little effort, then started towards the door, pausing only to grab the carrots. Salama waited until the door closed behind the younger woman, then finally left to return to the chambers that she shared with the queen.

The stables were a welcome change from the still air of the palace. Fresh straw had been laid down the night before, and the sweet scent of it masked the stouter smell of manure. Sonja jogged to the stall at the end where a wooden plaque bore the childishly hand-carved name "Stig."

"Stig," she greeted, opening the door of the stall without hesitation. "Rise and shine, buddy. Time to go."

The reindeer snorted as he rose to his feet and shook out his coat. He looked at her with as dour an expression as an animal could make, and snorted a second time. Unlike Sonja, he was not keen on mornings.

"C'mon, don't be grumpy. It's a lovely morning."

Stig just stared at her. This time she was the one to snort at him. She slid the bag on her shoulder down enough to reach into it. The bushy tops of the vegetables stashed inside brushed against her fingers, and she grabbed them.

"Well… I suppose you could go back to sleep if you wanted to," she told him, slowly pulling the carrots out by their stalks. Stig watched her intently, looking a little more interested than before. "But then I'm going to have to eat these carrots all… by… myself…"

Sonja revealed the carrots with a flourish and a knowing grin. He let out an objecting bleat and nudged her arm with his nose. She laughed as she reached to stroke the underside of his chin.

"Thought you might feel that way."

She led him out of the stall, and pulled one of the carrots out the bunch. Stig wasted no time in taking it out of her hand, and happily munched away as she set to saddling and packing him. The whole process took hardly any time at all, given the extensive practice she had in doing it. By this point it was second nature to her, every bit as easy as getting dressed of a morning. As soon as she had everything situated as she wanted it to be, she led Stig out of the stable, climbed into the saddle, and headed out of the palace gates.

There were only a few people in the village that were awake when she passed through. A couple of guards strolled through the streets, making sure that all was well and peaceful. Lamps were lit in the bakery and she could smell the fires and baking dough as she passed by. She could hear the sounds of the tavern dwindling down for the night, clinking glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. A pair of sailors staggered out of the door, crooning a song she did not recognize and stopping only to argue as to what the next verse was.

Nudging Stig, she guided him towards the path she had taken every day for as long as she could recall. Her father used to take her in the sled with him, and then when she was given Stig she had ridden him up the winding trail.

Those early trips had often included her older brother, Magnus, back before his days were filled with official duties. He loved to seize every opportunity to practice what Aunt Elsa had taught him. The mountains were still riddled with his roaming creations. Frederik, her younger brother, all but hated waking up early, and was not keen on any sort of physical exertion that went beyond shopping. He refused to join in on the morning excursions, but was not opposed to the afternoon picnics that the whole family would often go on.

The bittersweet pange of absence stung her heart for neither the first nor last time. For ten years she had been making the trip alone, but the journey up the mountain never grew easier. It was too quiet, too still. It just never felt right.

The dark of the night had lightened to the gunmetal gray of predawn when she finally drew Stig to a stop and dismounted. Another carrot was fished from her bag and handed over, and she scratched his ear as he eagerly crunched on it. After his last bite, she pulled away to unfasten her pack and shrug it on before she finished climbing the icy little rise to the ledge she loved most.

The frozen lake below stretched for miles and gave the fleeting impression of infinite ice. The snow was not as dense in this place, since she cleared out a spot to sit every morning. When she had made a decent seat, she settled down with her bag in her lap, and looked to the mountain pass far below where she knew they would come.

She did not know how long she waited, but she knew it could not have been more than a quarter-hour. The sun had not yet began to rise when she heard the echo of jingling bells and men's voices. The song sent a thrill of delight rushing through her that made her heart skip a beat. She craned her neck to better see the sleds as they slid out onto the thick ice.

The heavy clink of the horses' spiked shoes drowned out the sound of the ice harvesters' singing. When they came to a stop and the men disembarked, she smiled to hear their song again. She knew and had known these songs all her life. Her father had sang them to her and her siblings whenever he put them to bed, or whenever they all loaded into their sleigh to spend a few days up in the wilderness he called home.

Maybe that was why she felt that the cliff was holier than any church or Nordic ruins she had ever been to. In that place her father was everywhere. He was in the voices of the ice harvesters, in the twisting colors of the sky, and even in the chill of the snow around her. Ten years dead, but he still lived on in those mountains that he loved so well.

Sonja listened to the men, to the sounds of their pick-axes and saws hit ice as much as their singing, as she ate the breakfast that Salama had packed for her. Dawn broke over the far ridge of snow-capped peaks, bathing the earth and sky with glowing streaks of pink and orange. She could have spent the entire day there, but the memory of her conversation with Salama was fresh on her mind. Sonja had never broken a promise, and had no intention of changing that today.

Snow clung to her pants and boots even after she brushed at and beat the garments to knock it away. A few clumps fell off as she walked down to the copse of trees where she had left Stig. He was rubbing his head against a tree trunk, scratching the area where his antlers were beginning to regrow. At her approach, he stopped and looked at her.

She gave him another carrot, waited until he finished it, repacked and remounted, and urged him onto the path that led back to the castle.