She isn't a tiny baby any more, but she's still your precious baby girl (she was so small and fragile in your hands that hold a kingdom).
But in her own hands she holds great power. Unlike you, however, she hasn't had years to wield it, to exercise control.
You didn't know just how great and terrible she can be until your heart shatters like so many delicate shards of ice when you see her cry; when she holds her sister (your other precious daughter) in her arms, when she tells you it was an accident.
Even though they're both safe (for now), fear will be her greatest enemy. You swear you will protect your baby girl, both your baby girls.
You promise yourself you will do what your hands are capable of, everything it takes.
She isn't allowed near Anna any more, partly because you're afraid for them both, and partly you don't know what your precious baby girl can do without meaning to (she can freeze a heart or break it).
But mainly it's because she has nightmares of freezing Anna to death in her sleep.
You do all you can think of to protect her. You buy her gloves and teach her to hide her powers until she can control them safely. You buy her pretty little things to cheer her up (it's not imprisonment, you're not imprisoning your seven-year-old daughter), and you try not to let the uncertainty and worry show on your face.
concealitdontfeelitdontletitshow
And you smile at her and pretend it's not your personal mantra too.
She doesn't let you hold her any more, and it breaks your heart (you didn't know it could break any further).
Don't touch me! I don't want to hurt you!
Her fear eats at you from the inside out.
At your wits' end, you stop thinking like a father and think like a king. You have a special prison cell built in the depths of the castle. You order special shackles made to fit her like a glove (a perfect fit so it won't break her any more than it has to). You lay down covert arrangements that make Anna's ascension to the throne easier.
You make preparations for the day those things are used (and yet you're not mentally prepared).
Your wife still loves you, but she doesn't look you in the eye any more.
But in spite of that she's still your precious baby girl, and you know how much (so much) you've done to protect her.
She doesn't smile any more, and she moves like a porcelain doll brought to life. You smile at her, trying to inject as much warmth and love and care into your gaze as possible (because that's all you can do).
She bites her lip and looks away, hugging herself tightly (as though afraid that she'll hurt you by looking at you).
Your wife cries herself to sleep every night from heartbreak and fear and pain and you would too, but you have a kingdom to look after and another duty to fulfill. You still have this other precious girl who (at the very least) you can touch and protect and love.
She's growing up so beautiful and so fragile (you don't want to see her break) that it hurts.
But even then she'll never grow out of being your precious baby girl.
She looks so scared when she comes to see you off, sinking into a stiff curtsey (and still her eyes struggle to meet yours).
Do you have to go?
You'll be fine, Elsa, you say.
She's still your precious baby girl, and she'll be fine even if you can't be physically there.
She bites her lip (she looks so lost) and her arms clutch her elbows, wrapping around herself.
You linger. I love you, you want to add (but you don't).
For an instant her porcelain expression wavers and she looks as though she will hug you, but she doesn't. She steps back and watches you go.
And you leave her.
When the ship buckles and lightning crackles and your world shifts out from under your feet (it can't end like this), you know this is the end.
She isn't your precious baby girl any more.