Disclaimer: Still not mine, and so on.

Anna can't sleep.

This happens, sometimes, where she'll sleep in one day and then have trouble falling asleep the next night. She's just… bad at moderation, probably, but she hasn't pulled a full all-nighter in ages. Since the weeks after her parents died, when she'd take to her bed for days at a time and then lurk the castle endlessly, looking for… she still doesn't know. Just looking, maybe.

But tonight she's not the least bit tired, and her head is full of so many things.

This is the story of how I died.

She wonders if she'll use that as her own opening line one day, when she tells people about what happened this week. The thought intrigues and terrifies her. How did Eugene learn to do that? How did he make it a story, separate from himself?

Does he dream about it still?

She thinks about the look on Elsa's face, when Rapunzel had told them of her mother's rough pregnancy and the life-giving flower that had given her hair its magic. Elsa had hidden it well, but Anna's kind of an expert at reading Elsa's expressions (or well, she's the closest thing to an expert Arendelle has) and she'd seen the disappointment there, the sadness. Elsa had wanted answers about the source of her own gifts, and Rapunzel had none to give.

Outside her window, the Northern Lights paint the sky in undulating waves. The last time her grandfather clock had chimed, it had been four, but that was a while ago now. She just can't stop thinking.

Is life like this for everyone?

She thinks about the ball last night, and the coronation before it, and imagines all those people having stories like hers, like Eugene's. Who's to say what may happen behind the closed doors of other kingdoms? What adventures had shaped the dignitaries whose hands she'd held as she was passed around the room in promenades?

How many of them were nursing powers of their own? How many been hidden away, like Elsa? Kidnapped, like Rapunzel? Ignored, like her, like—

Like Hans.

She wonders if Rapunzel knows how lucky she was, that it was Eugene who found her in that tower. Flynn Rider may have been a thief and a scoundrel, but Eugene is loyal, and funny, and sweet. He'd hidden that person under layers of grime to protect himself, but Hans had done the opposite, creating a Nice Guy act that could be dropped at the slightest provocation. Anna hadn't seen through it, and if he'd fooled her, what chance would Rapunzel have had?

It's horrifyingly easy to imagine how a prince like Hans could have swept Rapunzel away and kept her to himself, spinning her about because her head had already been filled with a lifetime of lies. He could have used her for her crown, for her hair, for—for her body. It would never have occurred to her to run.

How differently might things have turned out if Anna had knocked into Kristoff and Sven at the docks, instead of Hans and his horse? Why couldn't fate have been so kind with her, as it had been to Rapunzel?

But she can't think like that, because Elsa is alive, Anna's alive, she stopped the sword in time and got to come back from it, and changing even one variable could change the whole ending. And she'd had a relationship with Hans—if you could call it that—for only a few days. Only a single night of his actual company. Rapunzel had lived under Mother Gothel's twisted thumb for eighteen years, and that was hardly a kindness on fate's part.

The sky is graying and lightening over the mountains to the east, and she knows it won't be long until the day begins anew.

Anna always has loved sunrises.

When Elsa arrives at the banquet hall at half past seven, she finds Anna already sitting at the table, fully dressed and tracing light circles around the rim of her juice glass. The picture is so Anna, so normal, yet so painfully foreign to Elsa that she can actually feel the squeeze of pressure in her chest as her heart aches. They could have had this. For years, they could have had this.

She swallows the feeling and takes her seat at the end of the table, putting on a smile. "You're up early," she notes, and Anna jumps.

"Oh! Good morning. Um, yeah. Well—not really. I'm actually up late; I never slept."

Now that she mentions it, Elsa can see there are indeed dark shadows under Anna's bright eyes, invisible to the untrained observer. Even on her older face, it's a familiar look to Elsa—Anna's sleep schedule had often been tied to the auroras in their youth, and last night they had been breathtaking.

"Did the sky keep you awake?" she asks, wondering, hoping this is something Anna can remember. That Anna knows she remembers.

Anna's smile is like the dawn. "Just a little. You know me," she shrugs, but Elsa can hear the pleased relief in her voice.

Feeling daring, Elsa waves her fingers, summoning a ladleful of fruit salad to her plate on an icy wind. Anna watches, enthralled, and whistles her appreciation when not so much as a berry spills onto the tablecloth. Elsa grins. "So what did you do all night?" she asks, and she's not thinking about unbuilt snowmen, she's not thinking about that night in the ballroom, she's not. She's here, with her sister, and she can chill her fruit as much as she wants.

"Nothing much. Thought a lot. Rapunzel and Eugene are something, huh?"

"They certainly gave us a lot to consider last night," Elsa agrees. "I'm glad they decided to stay in the castle until we can repair their ship. I think we can learn a lot from each other."

Anna nods, then reaches over to grab a pastry from the large serving dish in front of them. "And um, how exactly are we going to repair their ship when it's at the bottom of the fjord?"

"Well, I'm going to… raise it."

The bite Anna'd been taking falls inelegantly from her mouth, and Elsa stifles a laugh. "What, with your powers?"

"It's not like we have any other choice."

"That's—that's amazing! You're going to let me watch, right? No way are you allowed to do that unless I'm there."

Elsa had actually been planning to raise the ship under the cover of darkness. Skating rinks in the castle courtyard were one thing, but to lift a ship from the depths of the harbor on a platform of ice in front of the whole kingdom? It felt like asking for trouble. The last time they saw her by the docks she froze the whole fjord over.

But Anna is staring at her with unrestrained awe, her eyes saying Do the magic, do the magic! like they haven't done in years. And maybe if Anna's there, things won't have a chance to go sideways.

"Wouldn't dream of doing it without you," she says, and it's the truth.

Kai gives a cough from the door on the other end of the hall. "Princess Rapunzel and Mr. Fitzherbert have arrived; shall I show them in?"

"Please," Elsa says, and the couple from Corona walk in holding hands which is, frankly, adorable.

"Ooh, Eugene—strawberries!" Rapunzel gasps when she sees the spread on the table, and lets go of him so she can get to the food faster. He chuckles and shakes his head before joining her at a decidedly more reasonable pace. As he sits, he brushes her hair back and pulls her towards him to kiss her on the temple before grabbing for some toast.

Elsa's gaze flits over to Anna, and she can tell by the look on her sister's face that she's studying them, too. It's been a long time since they've seen anything so… domestic. And their parents, while much in love, had never been so demonstrative. It's weird. A good weird.

"Did you sleep well?" Elsa asks, trying to be a mindful host.

Rapunzel nods. "Did we ever! The room you've given us is lovely; even the chairs are comfortable."

"You slept in chairs?" Anna asks, scrunching her nose.

"Oh, um, we didn't—sleep—we…"

Eugene suddenly dissolves into a spectacular coughing fit, and Rapunzel thumps his back, blushing. "Majesty," he wheezes, turning to Elsa and plastering on a wide, fake smile, "what were those lights in the sky last night? Rapunzel has a thing about floating lights, and we are both ever so curious. Tell me all about it. In great detail."

Blessedly, they're all saved from themselves by a chipper voice calling from the hallway. "Ready or not, here I cooooooome!"

Olaf all but crashes through the doors, giving Kai precious little time to step out of the way. The snowman wanders the banquet hall on his stubby snowball legs, and Anna and Rapunzel giggle as he ducks under the table, apparently looking for something. "Oh, come on! I know he went this way."

"Looking for somebody, Olaf?" Anna asks, and he blinks up at her before smiling wide.

"Yeah, why?"

"Can you tell me who it is?"

"Yeah, why?"

They stare at each other for a long moment, but she breaks first. "Well, who is it?"

"Oh! Um. It's not a big deal, nobody panic, but… I may have lost Pascal," Olaf admits, tapping his little branch-fingers together in a semblance of concern before turning this way and that. Anna spots Pascal clinging to the snowman's back, his scales a bright white, and bites back a laugh.

"Don't worry about it, Olaf. Pascal is really good at hide and seek, but I'm sure you'll find him soon," Rapunzel assures him.

Eugene snorts. "He's a chameleon, of course he's going to be the best at hide and seek," he points out, before taking a long drag of coffee. Rapunzel glares at him; she looks about as intimidating as a newborn puppy.

"Excuse you, I didn't say the best, I said really good. I'm the best at hide and seek. I beat him best twenty-two out of forty-three last time we played."

"Twenty-two?" Olaf gasps. "What if I never find him?"

"Don't give up," Anna tells him, getting out of her chair so she can look him in the eye. She gives him her most encouraging smile. "I'm sure he's only just out of sight."

Rapunzel giggles. "Or right around the corner!"

"It's always the last place you look," Eugene adds lazily, and Elsa rolls her eyes at all of them.

"The important thing," she says, "is that you not give up before you've even begun."

"Okay, okay. I'll keep looking. Thanks for your help!" Olaf says, and then he wanders out the other door, towards the north wing. As he leaves, Elsa waves her hand at him, a new cloud following him into the hallway.

"What was that for?" Anna asks as she sits back down, and Elsa flushes.

"I was adjusting the temperature of his flurry. Pascal's cold-blooded, I don't want to freeze the little guy." Looking embarrassed, she clears her throat and drinks the last of her tea. "Unfortunately, I have things to attend to, but I hope you all have a good morning. Anna, why don't you give our guests a tour of the castle?"

"Sure, I can do that. Is there anything special you guys want to see?"

"Can we go back to the paintings room?" Rapunzel asks eagerly.

Anna blinks. "The gallery? Absolutely, I love it in there. But, um," she turns to Elsa, "do you think we should wait for Kristoff? He hasn't eaten yet."

"He has, actually. Kristoff won't be able to join you until later in the afternoon; I have him out on official business. He's helping the harbormaster locate Rapunzel and Eugene's ship in the fjord."

"Why?" Last Anna checked, Kristoff was more of an ice guy than a water guy.

Elsa won't meet her eyes. "He was… the last person to see the ship before it went down."

"You mean, he watched it sink?"

"From the way he tells it—and I have no reason not to believe him—it capsized right on top of him." Elsa smiles weakly, wishing to soothe the stricken look on Anna's face. "We have a lot to be thankful for, but I'll be keeping his reindeer friend in carrots for a very long time for being as swift as he is."

"Reindeer friend?" Rapunzel asks, perking up, and as Anna starts extolling Sven's virtues, Elsa takes her leave of the breakfast party.

Kristoff rests his head in his folded arms as he leans over the side of the boat he's in, trying desperately not to be seasick.

He hates water.

He knows that's weird thing for an ice harvester to say, but even at face value there, water's kind of the enemy. Water means you picked a bad spot, or the season's over, or you fell through. Water means failure.

Which is all why he's never been on the fjord before. Over it, sure, on bridges or docks, with solid planks connected to other solid planks under his feet. But like this? Never.

He's really not a fan of floating.

"Are we getting close, Mr. Bjorgman?" the harbormaster asks, and he groans before lifting his head up.

"Um," he says, stalling as he tries to orient himself, looking towards the castle and then behind him, to the North Mountain, "yeah, but we're still too far west. I rode down from the pass, not through the village."

Honestly, it feels like an impossible task to get his bearings on a clear summer day when, in his mind's eye, the fjord is still frozen and he's snowblind and hurtling towards Anna at breakneck speeds. He'd barely been paying attention to where he was going other than making sure that it was forward, because she needed him.

But Elsa asked him to find the ship, so he'll find the ship.

It's the least he can do.

Elsa hadn't been lying, she does have work to do, but she keeps getting distracted. Reflections of the early afternoon sun play off the baubles and trinkets in her office and keep getting in her eyes, and she swears the sunlight through the window is shining just the right way to create a spotlight on the chess set in the corner.

She hates and loves that chess set in the corner, its marble pieces having long since gathered dust, poised in the midst of a war only half-waged.

This had once been her father's study, her father's desk, and the chess game had once been their private indulgence, back in a life long gone. She had not been allowed out of her room except for meals and lessons, but if Papa was available, they'd sneak into his study and play a few brief exchanges before whisking her off to her next location. He even let her play black, because he knew how sick she was of being surrounded by white all the time.

It was Papa's move, when he and Mama got on that boat for their two week diplomatic tour. He'd meant to leave a real puzzler for Elsa to figure out while he was gone, but she'd sneaked into the study and taken his rook the night before, hoping he'd see it in the morning before he left. But he hadn't, and then two weeks stretched into three, and then four…

The bodies were never recovered. It's a miracle that any word of their parents' demise reached them at all, really. But even now, sometimes it feels like the only tangible evidence that they're dead is the stupid chess set in the study.

They're gone because the pieces have not moved. The pieces have not moved because they're gone.

Elsa has not played a game of chess in three years.

Abandoning her paperwork for now, because she's clearly not going to get any of it done in the state of mind she's in, she walks over and examines the chess board for the first time in ages. Squinting at the pieces, she tries to imagine the move her father would have made, had he returned—he'd always been a careful general, perhaps overly cautious, sacrificing pawns left and right to defend the king and queen. It seems absurdly metaphorical now, but as a teenager she'd never been the best at seeing outside herself. She couldn't have exploited those tendencies even if she'd noticed them.

She wonders if Anna knows how to play chess.

Probably not, because chess requires patience and forethought, and Anna's never had vast reserves of either. No, chess was hers and Papa's; she's sure Anna and their father had their own games and rituals, their own quiet moments. Or, she hopes they did.

If she closes her eyes, she can imagine what a chess game with Anna would be like. Anna would insist on being black because white goes first and Elsa's the eldest, it's her right—and then she would lead her knights across the board in increasingly linear patterns, protesting any time Elsa'd try to correct her. Have you met a horse? Anna would ask, because they really don't like jumping in more than one direction at a time, last I checked. Horses go straight or not at all. Or I mean, what do I know, you're better at riding than me, but 'up and to the left' just doesn't feel like a very horse-y movement, you know?

It's freezing in here.

Elsa takes a deep breath and grounds herself, because there's snow on her shoulders. It's still so easy to forget: she doesn't have to imagine Anna anymore, she doesn't have to have conversations in her head. Her sister is her own again. The past is in the past, and now they can move forward. Like Anna's knights.

She resets the pieces in quick, careful movements, until they're neat and ordered armies on opposite ends of a battlefield once more. Waiting to be told where to go, what to do.

A fresh start seems like the right move, today.

"How come there are so many?" Rapunzel asks in an appropriately reverential tone, and Anna hesitates. When they'd first walked in, Rapunzel had run from painting to painting, getting up close and to inspect the minute details. This quickly overwhelmed her, however, which is how they ended up in their current position: sitting on the floor in the middle of the gallery, backs to each other in a circle to let Rapunzel take in all the art at once.

"Um, because of me, I guess," she says, biting her lip.

Rapunzel gasps, pivoting her whole body to look Anna in the face. "You painted these?"

Anna knows it's rude, but the suggestion is so absurd that she breaks into nervous laughter. "Wait, what? No. I mean, gosh no, that would be—no. That would be a bad idea. I just liked them. We only had a few in here when I was little, but after…" She trails off, unsure of herself. Even after telling the whole story last night, it feels strangely sacrilegious to talk about her estrangement from Elsa. Like a—a jinx. "Anyway, I would come in here a lot. There weren't many people to talk to in the castle, but in here? In these paintings, I could go anywhere. Meet anyone. Mama used to find me in here daydreaming all the time when I was supposed to be in lessons, and after a while it seemed like there was a new piece every time I looked."

Over the course of her speech, Eugene had turned around to let his hand rest over the top of Rapunzel's where she braced herself against the floor, his fingers fitting into the grooves between hers protectively. Anna wonders why, until—

"I used to do that too," Rapunzel admits. "Sort of, anyway. I wasn't ever allowed out of my tower, but when I painted… it was like I could bring the outside in. My, um. Gothel was careful about the kinds of things she'd let me have—I only could keep three books at a time, and she never brought me art—but once I learned how to mix my own paints, she would help find new ingredients. If I'd been good."

"Do you still paint?" Anna asks. She thinks about Elsa, and gloves, and how sometimes the things that got you through the hard times are the last things you want to see when they're over. But Rapunzel only beams.

"Oh, all the time! My parents even let me paint the walls of my bedroom; it was so boring in there, I couldn't stand it. I was going to paint Eugene's room, too, but we got married before I got the chance."

Eugene mouths Tragedy at Anna with a mournful look, and she turns her snort into an almost lady-like laugh. "We should get you some paints and stuff while you're here. And probably some canvas, too—I don't know how Elsa would like it if I let you paint on the walls."

"Ooh, I could teach you how! That would be so fun. But what do you do, if you don't paint?"

"Me? Nothing. I mean. I do things, I just don't do… I don't have, um. Talents. A talent. As such."

"Sure you do," Rapunzel says. "You must. Everybody's good at something. I have friends who play music, and knit, and do interior design… Eugene steals things!"

Eugene gasps, mock-offended. "That's all you can think of? Eugene steals things? I'm hurt."

"Well you told me I wasn't supposed to talk about the other stuff in front of people!"

"What? When did I say that? There's lots of other stuff about me worth talking about. I'm devilishly handsome, that's a talent. I've never once nicked myself shaving. I even—why are you laughing?" he demands, because Rapunzel's dissolved into a total giggle fit.

"No, Eugene," she chokes, "the other stuff."

Anna blinks and looks back and forth between them as they both grow red, and finally (give her a break, okay, she's been awake for twenty-four hours, now) puts two and two together. "Wait, are you guys talking about sex?"

Kristoff wavers a bit as he walks down the castle hallway, feeling unsteady on his feet and green around the gills. His stomach still doesn't seem to understand that he's back on dry land, and even his knees are having trouble adjusting.

No more boats. Ever.

There are two guards outside Elsa's office door, which is a pretty good indicator that she's in there. They don't make him nervous, or anything—he's taller than both of them—but he does feel awkward, knocking in front of them. His knocks aren't clean and short, like Kai's are; his fist just kind of goes thunk. "Uh, Elsa?" He coughs, self-conscious about using her name in front of the guards, but she told him to call her that.

"Come in," Elsa says, but he doesn't—he's fine just opening the door and sticking his head in.

"I just wanted to let you know that we found the ship, and we set up a buoy to let you know where it is. So, um… yeah. That's it. Sorry to bother you."

"You haven't bothered me yet," Elsa assures him, stepping out from behind her desk, then smiles in a way that reminds him of Anna. "Though now you're covered in advance, if you were planning to. Please, come in."

He takes one last backward glance at the guards before shuffling in sideways and closing the door behind him. Elsa's office is big, bigger than some of the cabins he's lived in, and there's a large painting of her father on one of the walls. It's not creepy, exactly, but it's definitely… he knows he wouldn't like it, feeling watched all the time.

(But maybe it would be nice to be watched over. If there's a difference. Either way, he wouldn't know.)

Elsa follows his gaze, and breathes out in a way that reminds him of a laugh, but isn't. "I know. No pressure, right?" she jokes, but it's as weak as her attempted chuckle.

"Does it bother you? I don't think I could stand it if I had to work under a—sorry. That's not the kind of—I mean, we probably shouldn't talk about—" He cuts himself off, huffing in frustration. "Sorry," he says again. "I'm still not really used to… people."

"Hey. I'm not, either," Elsa says, and he has to stop himself from slapping his own face in embarrassment. He keeps forgetting. And like… it's not so much that he looks at her and sees queen as it is he looks at her and sees the terrified girl Grandpabbie tried to talk to, the woman who was hunched over Anna's body in the ice palace looking like an animal in a trap. Or a cage.

He doesn't know her. He doesn't know how to be around her. But he'd like to.

"It doesn't bother me," she finally says, and he startles, because he lost track of the fact that they were having a conversation. "Not as much as it did a few days ago, anyway. Before, all I saw was the responsibility, but now… he looks nervous, don't you think?"

He peers up at the face of the King, and there's a wideness to his eyes, a small furrow in his painted brow that reminds Kristoff of the worried father he'd seen in the dark, all those years ago. "Yeah. Yeah, I see it."

She smiles at him, and her shoulders set. "So. Have they cleared a spot in the docks for me to leave the ship?"

"They were in the middle of doing that when I left. The harbormaster's not letting anyone sail after three. You'll have a clear shot."

"Then I guess we better track down Anna so I can get started." She moves towards the exit, and he waits to follow—if ladies go first, queens probably shouldn't go through the same halls as him at all—but she pauses by the door, eyes caught on something. "Do you play chess, Kristoff?"

"Um. Is that the one with the disks, or the one with the castles?"

"Castles."

"No, but then, neither one's really popular with the harvesters. They… I mean, we, play card games when there's time, because you can just keep 'em in your pocket. Never chess. The other one, though, um…"

"Checkers?" she supplies, and he nods.

"Sometimes the younger guys will play that, draw the board out in snow and use pebbles, but you can't do that for chess. And no way could anyone bring a real set up the mountain; you'd lose all the pieces. Games are no fun when you're worrying about keeping it together the whole time."

Elsa looks at him like he's said something wise, but he can't imagine why.

They find Anna still in the gallery with Rapunzel and Eugene, the three of them playing Blind Man's Bluff. Anna is 'it,' Eugene's sash tied inexpertly over her eyes, and she staggers between Rapunzel and Eugene with all the grace of a drunken sailor as they call out taunts, dodging away whenever she gets too close. All three of them are laughing.

The constriction around Elsa's heart that has been squeezing ever since breakfast slowly releases. Seeing this also carries its own kind of hurt and regret, but there's healing here, too. This is all she's ever wanted for her sister. (It feels selfish to want it for herself, but… in time, she thinks. In time.)

"Come on, guys, at least tell me I'm getting close," Anna says.

Rapunzel takes one step towards Anna, then halts. "You're getting warmer."

"Chilly, for me," Eugene chimes in just as Anna moves her foot closer to Rapunzel, and she pauses, frowning.

"Seriously?" Anna complains.

"Yes, you're seriously getting colder," he says, before grinning at Rapunzel, who's hiding her laughter behind her hands. Through some kind of couple synchronicity Elsa could never hope to understand, they turn as one and acknowledge her and Kristoff, suddenly bearing twin mischievous smiles.

Anna walks a few paces towards the west hall, seemingly more out of boredom than any idea of where her targets are. "How about now?"

"Sorry, Anna, even Olaf's warmer than you," Rapunzel calls, stepping backwards.

Eugene follows her lead. "And that's no joke—he's literally closer, and he's not even in the room."

"Ha! Snow joke," Rapunzel giggles, and it suddenly occurs to Elsa that they're leading Anna to the door. To her. "Okay, now you're heating up."

"Eugene?"

"Warmer," he confirms. Anna's close now, only ten feet away.

Kristoff nudges Elsa; nods encouragingly when she looks up at him. Do they want her to…?

All it takes is a wave of her fingers, and suddenly there's an ice sculpture of herself reaching towards Anna's outstretched hand.

"Ice cold," she says as Anna makes contact and then shrinks away, yelping from the unexpected touch of chill.

"Jeez, what did you—Elsa!" she cries happily as she whips off her blindfold.

"Hey. I'm heading down to the docks. I don't mean to interrupt, but you're welcome to join me if you're done?"

"Oh, we're done," Anna confirms, tossing Eugene's twisted-up sash at him. He makes a grab for it, but she'd thrown it so far off-course it still lands a yard away. "We're so done. Come on, guys!"

She grabs Elsa's hand on the way out, and Elsa lets herself be dragged along.

It's been a long day.

After Elsa raised the ship ("Are you ready?" she'd asked, lips quirking into an uneasy smile, and Anna doesn't think she'll ever, ever get tired of watching Elsa test her limits, or of watching Elsa, or of Elsa) they'd surveyed the damage. Which was boring and took forever but hey, at least the harbormaster got to show off a little for once. The vessel's whole right side was completely caved in—they think it will take at least a month to fix, and that's once they can get their hands on the lumber. Anna's fine with that; she's in no hurry for Rapunzel and Eugene to leave. After that they'd toured the market, and then it was dinner, and just—yeah. It's been a long day.

"How's your nest?"

Then there's Kristoff.

"My nest," Anna sniffs, snuggling down further into the bed of hay she'd made for herself when he told her there was only one stool in the barn (and like, it's the royal barn, how cheap are they that they only have one stool? They should work on that), "is fine."

"Whatever you say, princess," he says, rolling his eyes and turning back to his work.

And okay, like—she didn't sleep last night, maybe she's kind of tired, whatever—but for reasons she can't hope to understand, Anna has been kind of obsessing over Kristoff's hands all night. She knows that's weird, but just—hear her out, okay?

His hands aren't pretty, like Hans' were. His fingers aren't long or tapered; they aren't graceful. His fingers are thick, his knuckles knobby, his cuticles always dry and torn from the cold—even now that it's a proper summer.

Anna thinks they're wonderful.

They may not be pretty hands, but they are useful hands. Used hands. (Handy hands, she thinks, and giggles quietly to herself. Kristoff gives her a weird look, but she ignores him.)

Anyway, she's found herself watching them constantly today. Doing normal things, boring things, like cracking his knuckles or cutting his steak at the dinner table. Now, as he methodically brushes out Sven's fur, she finds herself watching the slow back-and-forth of his hand and wishing everything in his life could be like this: as easy and uncomplicated as reindeer.

Then she remembers his song, the duet she didn't mean to overhear—people will beat you and curse you and cheat you—and she feels tears springing, unbidden, to her eyes. Who would hurt this person?

"Anna?" he questions, and she doesn't know when he started looking at her, she got distracted. She wipes hastily at her cheeks.

"Yeah?"

His face is all frowny. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, just—allergies. Lotta dust in here."

"Uh huh."

"Hey, I'm just sitting here, doing my thing. Mind your own business." She waves a hand at him, dismissive. "Brush your reindeer."

"You're so weird," Kristoff mutters, just loud enough for her to hear, and she sticks out her tongue.

Anna passes out like five minutes later.

Kristoff wouldn't even have noticed if she hadn't started snoring, the sound eerily reminiscent of a saw cutting through ice. Straws of hay are already weaving themselves into her braids.

Sven looks at him. "You're not just going to leave her there, are you?" Sighing, Kristoff puts down his brush and wanders over to her. "Anna."

Nothing.

"Anna."

She snores and turns over a bit, but gives no indication that she can hear him at all.

Huffing in annoyance, he bends down and scoops her up, bouncing her to get her head nestled properly in the crook of his shoulder. He's thrown by how light she feels in his arms—but then he remembers. Last time he held her like this she was dying, getting heavier and heavier as the ice in her heart spread and weighed her down.

And if he holds her a little tighter than he should as he carries her back to her room, it's not like she's awake to notice.