For rowanwould, who prompted "list, wall, eye."

It's probably the chilliness of the pre-dawn air that wakes her, but once she realizes that Kristoff's not in bed anymore getting up seems to be inevitable. Grumbling under her breath about stupid ice harvesters and the sky's not even awake, seriously, Anna rummages blearily for something to wear before chancing upon Kristoff's giant nightshirt.

Somewhere in the castle, Elsa is probably giving her a Look, but it's too early in the morning to care about appearances.

Finding Kristoff doesn't take long at all. He's sitting on the balcony, eyes half-lidded as he stares out at the inner courtyard, and completely naked.

Definitely too early in the morning to care about appearances.

"I wake you?" he asks, without turning around.

"Nah," Anna says, sinking down next to him. The floor makes her shiver, and he frowns.

"Cold?"

It's likely that he'll never really stop worrying about it, but that he only asks instead of freaking out like he used to is a victory all on its own. "Mmm," she says, scooting closer until she can share his warmth, "Better now, though."

A chuckle as he wraps his arms around her; safe.

They keep silent, watching as the sun peeks out from the mountains to the east. There are times when Kristoff gets like this, when his eyes get kind of far away and there's a strange twist to his mouth. Anna doesn't like it at all, but she's seen it reflected often enough in Elsa's eyes-in her own eyes-to understand.

The best way to get anything out of him when this happens is to just…wait, so she tries to keep her fidgeting to a minimum. (Old habits and all that; she still likes filling up the empty places with noise, but she doesn't feel like she has to, anymore.)

Finally: "I can't feel it, still."

Anna keeps her eyes fixed on the sunrise; this will go better if he's not constantly trying to avoid her gaze. "What's it?"

He snorts. "Do you want a list?" he says. Moments later she feels his fingers in her hair. This too, is ritual—she used to make fun of the way his hands always and automatically reached out for something to do, but now it's just a Kristoff thing.

(She thinks it's amazing, the way he creates things so easily. Almost like magic.)

Anna waits, and after a while he starts again, quieter. "The castle, I guess. The titles? Prince Consort—I just. This is home now, but somehow…suddenly I feel like I'm drifting. And—"

The unfinished sentence hangs in the air. Anna closes her eyes and leans back, loves the solidity of his chest—a wall against both wind and tide, against what fates impose. It's been months since he started living at the castle. The townspeople have been calling him the Future Prince for almost as long, no matter how much they both shouted otherwise, but still. He leaves to ice harvest, he visits the Valley of the Living Rock.

Suddenly, she understands.

Kristoff finishes her braids and casts around for something to tie her hair with, but she puts a hand on his shoulder. "You have other places to call home."

He inhales sharply and meets her eyes, but doesn't say anything.

"Look," Anna says, "When I first met you, I thought you were the rudest, dirtiest, scruffiest—"

"Oh, thanks," he says, rolling his eyes.

"No, listen." She hesitates a little, because words are still…not her thing. "But you were great. Exactly who I needed, after—after everything. Prince Kristoff isn't the guy who catches me when I fall off of cliffs, or the guy who'd run across a blizzard for me, or the guy—"

She stops, relishes it. "Or the guy I fell in love with." True love, true love, sing the old stories, but she doesn't need any of them.

Kristoff still blushes, even after all this time. "I—"

"But Prince Kristoff doesn't have to be…someone different, either. You don't have to make Kristoff-who-lived-with-trolls a lie, just because—and I don't want you to. Not for me. You can still go out on your trips when you want. What's going to happen—it's not goodbye. Not forever. Not unless you want it to be."

He stares at her for so long that she starts to turn red, because it's obvious that she hasn't explained anything at all, but then he laughs, softly. "When did you get so smart, huh?"

"Hey!" She reaches out to slap him lightly on the arm. "I was always this amazing, don't you forget it."

"Never," he says; a promise. Anna feels the familiar and warm pull somewhere deep, and finally turns around completely.

Their kisses always taste like something green, with a vague tingle to it that reminds her of woodsmoke—like summer.

"We're getting married in three days," he whispers to her during a break; voice threaded with exhilaration, with warmth.

"We are," Anna says, feeling like her smile could eclipse the sun, "We are."