Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Frozen.

~ Anna's POV ~

I don't say anything, so Olaf continues in a scared voice—he's given up sounding brave on our behalf a long, long time ago. "Your parents and I were collecting her from the hotel room a few minutes ago so she'd have time to take pictures, then relax and focus on the game before she felt all the pressure. But she wasn't in your hotel room; she wasn't in your parents. We searched the ice rink, told the staff—between a lot of people we've searched the entire hotel, and she's—just—gone!"

I don't know if Olaf is simply telling me or asking me for help. But what help can I give when they already have the entire staff and security searching for her—what can I do that they can't?!

"Do you have any idea where she is?" Olaf asks—like we're especially close or something.

I don't dwell on that now. I need to focus, concentrate—

I need to find my sister.

The ice rink is empty, because too many people on it will ruin it for the skaters, but the rest of the stadium is so full of people it's a little concerning even for me. I hold Olaf's hand and follow him, never looking back—but I still know that Kristoff is following us, making his way through the crowd of worried people forming in groups, to keep up with us.

We find Mother and Father on the bench set aside on the lower floor of the stadium, where the skaters usually sit and wait for their turns. Hans looks concerned but determined, and Jack is there. He's a lot shorter than a lot of the adults; frowning, he walks around them to me.

I don't as yet feel in an apologetic mood towards Jack Frost yet, but I'm too worried and anxious about Elsa to care anymore.

"Kingman"—"Frost"—both of us: "—do you know where Elsa is?"

Jack frowns harder. "I thought she might've been with you."

"No, I haven't seen her since I left her in our hotel room," I say. I'd gotten dressed in a bunch of lovely heavy things, chatting excessively knowing that Elsa wasn't really listening to me, as I buttoned all my lovely rows of buttons and zippered up where zippers existed, and squashed on my nice little pink hat and hood. Elsa'd stood next to the window that allowed her a grand sweeping view of the Lodge's white front yard. She ignored my talk and simply nodded occasionally, barely a movement of her head. But it was an acknowledgement of my existence, and I'd cheerfully taken it at face value without prying. I'd gotten used to not prying with Elsa—she never gave in, not even just a little bit. Then I'd trooped down to the ice rink and well—you know the rest.

This is bad, this is really bad. "Have you seen Elsa?" I ask Jack Frost. (Yeah, I'm desperate at this point.) "You're always following her around to tease her."

"Yes, I have seen her. I've just been voluntarily been withholding information about her whereabouts because I feel like I won't win unless she doesn't show up," Jack says with a straight face.

So I am 99% sure he is teasing me, but he's wearing such a serious face. "Your sarcasm isn't appreciated," I tell him severely. But then my face falls and so does his, and I get him now—he's just as worried about Elsa as I am. I don't know if he and Elsa have become buddy-buddy (that idea is laughable—how could she become best bros with an annoying little boy after three days when she isn't best friends with her sister of eighteen years? It is logically impossible) but he isn't the type who wants an easy win just because another competitor doesn't show up.

We share an understanding look, and suddenly I don't dislike Jack Frost anymore. He's not as annoying, and he's somehow won me over by caring, even a little, about Elsa's no-show; but before I can make known this new-found like with him, we're torn in two different directions: I'm taken to one of the benches and gently but still interrogated by one of the security officers. I'm combed down for any little tidbits of info concerning the last time I saw Elsa. Um um um—of course when I'm being interrogated and someone actually wants something from me in the way of words I'm in a complete and utter tongue-tied entanglement. I almost apologize to the officer—"I'm sorry; most of the time I can't shut up!" but that seems hardly appropriate or helpful in this insistence. So I mostly just repeat what I already thought and play with my fingers and the ends of my braids and avoid looking at the officer's eyes most of the time—wow, now that I think about that, that sounds really suspicious, almost low-down guilty of me to do, like I had something to do with Elsa's disappearance! Which I don't, as a matter-of-fact.

The officer sighs and squeezes my hand, to calm me down, 'cause apparently I'm a big ball of nerves. "We'll find your sister, hopefully before the Games start," she says reassuringly.

I nod and then I groan when she moves on. The headlines! The tabloids! The news reports, in newspapers and on computer screens across the world. This is worse than Elsa's usual ignoring of human beings; she can get away with voluntarily avoiding us at home, but here there are expectations, and cameras, and paps, and the world! I groan and face-plant my palms. "Elsa, you need to show up."

I look up when I hear Kristoff say, "Do you know why she'd run off?" I almost feel like telling him to go away, but the fact that he's sticking around intrigues me. I hope he can't see the stupid tears that ran down my cheeks against my will (I am strong-willed—most of the time) and sniffle. "I don't know," I say. "Like, I know she doesn't like to be around crowds of people, but she's skated in front of huge crowds, in front of cameras, before."

"Maybe it's the scale of the event," Jack Frost says, butting in and sitting next to me, hands on his stupid cane. But I don't wish him away. He's suddenly become a source of immovable stability. Goodness knows this situation calls for that kind of stoicness—stoicsm?

"Is it because she's frightened by the competition?" Hans asks. Oh thank goodness—Hans! He sits next to me in his lovely grey jacket and outfit for skating. His face is covered with worry for Elsa—mostly for my sake, though. I can tell. It's so nice to be able to read his feelings—he really wears his heart on his sleeve, just like me. "I came as soon as I heard. I'm so sorry, Anna." HE KISSES MY HAND. "I'm sure they'll find her as soon as they can. The security here is excellent, and they're doing everything they can to find her."

"If she's frightened by the competition, she has less self-confidence than I would've given her credit for," said Kristoff.

SHUT UP, KRISTOFF.

Hans, because he is a perfect gentleman, doesn't let Kristoff's crudeness shut him off. He turns away from Kristoff with a frown on his face and seeks my eyes. "Have you talked to them about the last time you've seen Elsa?"

"Why does everyone think I'm the last one who saw Elsa?!" I can't help that outburst. First Jack, then that security officer, now Hans . . . no doubt given the chance Kristoff would've reiterated it himself.

"Because she's your sister and you two seem to be close," Jack says in a controlled flat tone, making me wonder if there's a reason for that.

I'm just surprised we two sisters give off that impression. "Um, no, actually. Elsa mostly keeps to herself. We rarely interact, never mind talk or hang out," I say. WOW, that's embarrassing to admit. I keep my eyes down on my lap where I play with my fingers (my poor fingernails often get the brunt of my distraction) and wish there weren't six eyes belonging to inquiring gentlemen on my head. (I register something very important—I have three young men all of varying but pleasing aesthetically appearances, all worried and all around me. Wow, did it just get hot in here?)

Okay, I've made my decision—I cannot sit here with three guys standing around me, doing nothing. I feel responsible for Elsa—I was the last person to see her, obviously, we've gleamed that much, and so I have to be the one to find her. I say, "Okay, that's it." I stand up, so so does Hans and Jack (I wonder if I bend my arms like a robot will they do the same, or pick my nose?), and say with believed conviction, "I'm obviously the last person who saw Elsa, and now she's gone. I need to go find my sister."

"Go find her? Where could she be?" is Hans's question, a very valid one. That is yet an obstacle I've come to and not overcome yet. But I will, oh yes I will!

A girl with bright rainbow hair comes running over to Jack, showing off her badge to everyone to allow her to get near us. She's practically flying, she's so light on her feet and tiptoes. "Jack! Jack! Thank goodness I found you. We've been worried sick, Bunny most of all. He said—he said"—the girl pants very hard, and Jack looks concerned and confused and worried all at once—how human and endearing—"someone mentioned another competitor missing, and then you went missing!"

"Yeah, that's my sister that's missing," I say, stepping in.

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry—Bunny wants you back, Jack," Tooth says, sounding miserable. She tugs on his hoodie's sleeve and says, "We need to talk."

Jack isn't . . . fully there. He's looking at something else far away, barely noticing Tooth's worried tug on his arm. "It isn't fair if we compete without her here. It won't be right," he says coldly.

"They'll find her, Jack. It's their job," Tooth says, pleading as she indicates the security officers who so far haven't the slightest scent of my sister's trail.

"They haven't found her yet. Excuse me for not putting all my confidence in one basket," Jack says. He pulls his arm out of her hold, making her look even more worried, poor thing. He thinks to himself, eyes on the ground. I step forward, realizing that such thoughtful expression won't disappoint me. This boy has an inkling, if not certainty, associated my sister's location: "Jack?" I say. I touch his arm, and he looks at me. "Do you know where Elsa could be?"

"Follow me" is all he says, and I'm not hesitant to run after him when he bolts out of the stadium.

Thanks for reading!