A/N: For the guest that said chapter 3 was a repeat of chapter 2 - Chapters 2 and 3 were put specifically in Elsa (2) and Anna's (3) POVs, so I'm sorry if you think the final parts are similar, but there's a difference between POVs. One person might feel a certain way through a part and another person could feel different during the same part. So yeah.

And for the record, I've actually had Norwegian food before, and I fell in love. C:

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I don't own Frozen.


Chapter 7: Awkward Moments

Henrik's paintbrush stroked his campus in watercolor, completing his mind-mirrored image of the Northern Lights. He yawned, standing back, admiring his own work. He felt accomplished with it done, yes, but it wasn't the same without Elsa's commentary. The newly-crowned queen had made an impression on him with her remarkable powers, beauty, and personality. Rumors had flurried wildly back home and throughout the kingdoms about Arendelle's queen being a heartless ruler, and a part of Henrik made this journey from the Northern Isles to Arendelle to prove these rumors as just that—rumors. Instead of an infamous ice queen, he found a woman of great and profound nobility, intelligence, strength, and queenly grace. And not shameless to say, he was attracted to her.

If he had to leave his kingdom in the hands of Yvonne, who had an advanced knowledge of royal politics and formality, in order to court Arendelle's queen, he would. But he was also afraid that he was going too fast for her pace. He didn't think she felt the same attraction that he felt. She maybe felt rushed by him, and Henrik didn't want that of her. He wanted her to feel comfortable with him.

Maybe I shouldn't pursue her, Henrik thought, wiping his hands with a towel. Afterall, there's the line of female suitors Adrian left me with.

Henrik's brother Adrian, the late king of the Northern Isles, had organized a party of young women around his age for him to court and marry. But minus all of their looks and accomplishments, Henrik didn't what to be betrothed to someone whom he did not love—or even like. Yes, all of these women were amongst his circle of friends, but they were nothing more. And he was sure that he hadn't made an impression on them, being his goofy prince self back then. He thought that he had matured nicely with taking the throne.

Henrik decided to ease off his stress with a hot bath, so that he could think more clearly. Strangely enough, that always did the trick.

.:.^*^.:.

Olaf watched carefully as Yvonne placed his letter to Santa Claus by the plate of cookies on a wooden stool. She placed the glass of goat's milk warily and then scampered to meet Olaf behind the unfinished evergreen Christmas tree that they were staked out behind. She hugged her knees, half her face peeking out to see the set-up and the other half—the scarred half—looking back at Olaf. He screwed up his eyes, getting dizzy by just looking at the confusion of streaks and scratches on her face.

"How'd that happen?" he asked. She faced him completely, then touched her face, frowning. Suddenly, Olaf felt bad for asking. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that." She sighed and nodded thoughtfully.

"It's okay. I guess we have time to wait out while we're spying," she chuckled. She turned her body towards him. In the dim lighting, you could still see the discoloring of her gleaming pale skin, since the scar had tints of red and looked kind of fleshy. Olaf tried to keep himself looking serious, but inside, he wanted to gag. No offence meant to Yvonne, of course. "When I was eleven, there were rebellions against my father's rule, since most people didn't think that he was capable of ruling the Northern Isles. I honestly thought my father was a great ruler, and handled situations very well. One day, while we were sleeping, bombs went off in the castle, and a fire erupted, and my mother was killed in her sleep with the toxic fumes. I was woken up by my father, and we tried to escape safely, but the cellar exit of the palace was caving in with flames, and there was only enough space for one of us to pass - the smallest. My father gave me his ring, which had the Northern Isles' crest plated on it, along with his love, and I hurried to escape while crying. Since the exit was so narrow and the flames were untamable, fire whiplashed me in my face, and left me with this scar." Tears were swelling up in her gray eyes as she talked.

"Oh my gosh," Olaf said, pressing his stick fingers on his mouth. "I'm so sorry! I—I didn't mean to say that." He stretched his frown, feeling even sadder. He didn't know that heat could be so dangerous! He didn't know that it could leave you with dead parents and scars! When he thought of heat, he thought of warmth, and the beach, and getting beautifully tanned!

"It's all right, Olaf, it had nothing to do with you. You weren't involved," she told him softly. She wiped her tears. "The reason they refer to me as 'Lady Yvonne' instead of 'Princess Yvonne' is because when I think of the word 'princess,' I think of a king and a queen, and then I think of my parents . . . and it's too painful to remember them." She looked down at her finger, at the ring she described with the crest of two swords intersecting, along with a bear head and a star underneath it. "But you know, I shouldn't be complaining. I have an uncle who loves me, and all the family I need."

Olaf let his sympathy out and hugged her. "Can I ask for Santa to bring your parents back?" he asked, sniffling.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, buddy."

.:.^*^.:.

Kristoff's hand was pulled in a different direction, and he didn't know whether to step left or right, in fear that he'd hit his foot again. From the faint smell of freshly cut grass and the pollen of flowers, he knew he was going outside (that and Anna had told him) but was he ready for a one-on-one with Anna? Was it suitable? Could he even call her his 'lover'? 'Lover' felt out of place for her, but there was no other thing to call her. Still, a little abnormal feeling churned within him. What had sparked in Anna's mind to arrange this moonlit dinner? Did she just do it to do it, or was she going to get all serious with him? Quite frankly, he didn't think that Anna was ever capable of seriousness. She was bubbly and headstrong and whimsical, not serious.

Anna commanded him to open his eyes. He did that, and the light of the stars above got to him, shooting blurs in his eyes. He squinted, and then recovered full eyesight. The gardens were actually beautiful, and the coldness from earlier seemed to have lifted and been replaced with mild coldness, but he only had a scarf on. He hoped they didn't catch hay fever. The flowers in the garden were sprinkled with icy water droplets and specks of snow, and the ground was masked with snow entirely, so his feet dragged along.

"Did you bother to check the weather out before setting this up?" he asked, shuffling with her through the snow.

"I thought the winter landscape would look nice, okay? Sheesh," Anna scoffed, leading him towards a white gazebo in the midst of all the flowers and shrubs. She walked up the stairs with him in tow and awaiting them was a wool blanket and two bowls of fiskesuppe. She let go of his hand and fell down across from him. He sat slowly, hands in his pockets, afraid of frostbite. "It was last-minute, okay, so I didn't actually have time to get the little, mini orchestra I wanted, so . . ."

Kristoff laughed. "It's fine, Anna—perfect in fact."

She blushed and stirred her spoon in her soup, her eyes turned down. "So . . . are we like . . . romantically involved, now? I mean, I guess, I'd call it that, but I wanna know if you feel comfortable with me saying that." She looked up with a quirky smile, waiting for his response.

Somewhat serious talk, then, he thought.

"Well . . . yeah, I guess you could say that." He lifted his spoon to his mouth awkwardly, swallowing a piece of fish in the process, since he was that nervous. He coughed. "Yeah. Me and you . . that sounds about right."

"Am I intimidating you?" Anna asked skeptically.

"Ye—no. It's not you, it's just, I've never been 'romantically involved' with anyone before, so I'm scared about how I'm going to handle this," he explained, trying to see if that sounded better in his head.

Anna giggled, leaving the conversation at that for now.

.:.^*^.:.

Henrik came out the bathroom, running his hand through his tousled and damp hair, a towel wrapped securely around his waist. He didn't take long to get dressed, throwing on a not-so-warm linen shirt and trousers. He put on his slippers and walked into the hall, drying his hair with a towel, and bumped into Elsa. He staggered and fell on his bottom on the ground, groaning. He got up, wearing a limp smile. Her beautiful blue eyes looked into him, and he thought she looked like a winter angel with her draping light blue nightgown and darker blue robe. Her platinum blonde hair was tied up but showed signs of waves. She had a passive look on her face, looking shy in front of him, as if they never met, like strangers.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Henrik said, wrapping the towel around his neck. "I didn't mean to kiss you, and I didn't mean to act rude about it. Pardon my behavior, please, Your Majesty."

"Elsa is fine in private," she let him know. "And all is forgiven."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I was wondering if you could show me to your library? I have a few novels I'd like to catch up on."

She smiled now, the shyness fading. "Of course." She led the way and Henrik helped himself in following the queen down the candlelit halls.


Kisses! ~TwistedTelepath