I do not own Brave, HTTYD, Tangled, Frozen, or RotG.

Chapter 33

Heard

Hiccup woke with a pounding headache and no idea the day or time, let alone what might have happened to him. He sat up with a groan and found himself in the cold, dank room in which he passed out in and struggled to get back to his feet. The remnants of the ritual were blackened like tar and he shuddered and gagged, hard enough to make him nearly stagger back to his knees before he took hold of the wall and surged forward.

The Priestess was nowhere to be seen and he pounded his fist into the wood, hissing and cursing under his breath as he moved towards the door to get some air.

"Master Hiccup," she called, as if summoned from the air, power of flight given to a human. "I have seen your vision."

"Yeah, great," he got outdoors and managed to puke into the bushes, begging the gods forgive him.

"I can direct you now."

'How does she move so fucking fast?!'

He spat, getting himself upright. "What does it cost?"

Because that's how it always was—give and gain in equal measure.

She eyed him, reaching out to wipe at a little dribble against his lips of saliva and gods knew what else. She sucked it from her thumb and he shuddered and winced in disgust as her white, moon eyes devoured him with a sight he couldn't hope to comprehend.

"A sacrifice."

"I have—?"

"No," she pointed, "More. You must give up something meaningful. Come."

Feeling hollow and empty, he did. They stood at the center of a ring of eight wooden beams of varying heights that stood like sentinels, carved with runes and filled with a power that even Hiccup could feel tingling in his fingertips and toes.

In the center was an altar stone, the center pounded and concave after years and years of smashing, grinding, and macerating.

"Here," she brought him to stand in front of it, "I will leave you to divine with the gods."

"Wait!" He spun as she marched away, calling after her, "You haven't told me what I have to give up!"

She didn't turn as she called back, "Some things must be offered freely, Master Hiccup. Think carefully."

You only have one shot, was left unsaid.

Hiccup stared down at the bowl and wondered, panicked, what he was expected to give up after all this.

"Come in, come in, my dear! It's been so long!"

"I…Aye, yes, it has." Merida bowed a bit, "I…forgive me, I do'nae think I ever learned yer name."

"Well, ye never asked," she shrugged a bony shoulder. "A bit too preoccupied with yerself, I imagine."

The younger woman bit back the immediate response to defend herself. "Indeed, I was a lot younger then. I apologize for the insult."

The witch cackled, making every curl on her head tense and pull towards her scalp.

"The insult, she says! Och, Alec, did'ye hear that?"

"She's a royal, whaddaye expect?!" The crow bounced on the rafters of the house and Merida tried to watch both the witch, her familiar, and the broom in the corner. "No manners, no manners!"

"Ah, but ye were just a child, though ye are not much more than one now!" The crone laughed again. "Children are expected to be selfish."

"Perhaps I can set it to rights, then," Merida offered, "I am Merida—!" She stopped.

The old woman turned and hummed as she struggled, unsure of what to say. Once a DunBroch, then a MacGuffin. Then a DunBroch again, only to become a Haddock. Now back to the land of her forefathers, while her heart still resided in a land faraway with a man that was her love but not her spouse any longer. She had what felt like a hundred names, over a dozen epithets and titles; Valkyrie, brave hearted, chieftess, princess, queen, goddess.

"Merida is lovely name," she took over, snapping to have a tray zoom through the air to hover in front of her face, offering tea on mismatched porcelain. "Sugar?"

"Ah…please," she took a lump an the cup, staring wide eyed as the woman fixed her own before snapping and sending the tray back to wherever it came from.

"I am Moira of the Green Wood," she tipped her head, "Last of my line, though one stays ever hopeful for an apprentice to show up. At yer service, yer Highness."

"Merida, please," she nodded, "I am only a princess in name."

"A name is everythin', would'nae ye say?"

Merida shrugged and gestured to her bright hair, "Pearl seems a little off the mark to me."

"Ah, but what is a pearl but the hard work and determination of the clam?" She shot her a sharp look that reminded her of Solasta, of something old and dangerous and primordial. "Somethin' once…tedious turned into somethin' so fine."

She looked down at her muddied hem, her ruined cuffs, her bedraggled hair.

"So! Tell me," the old crone shot her a grin, "How was the northern tribes? The dragons are quite fierce, I hear!"

"I…" Merida didn't know how to address that, how to respond. This woman was a wild creature, there was no telling what she could or was willing to do, what side she was on, what she believed in. "It was an experience. The dragons are of every shape and size and can control every element."

"Is that so?" She sat back and hummed, "It's been ages since I've seen a dragon. There was one in the loch, ye ken."

"When was this?" Merida half-cried in indignation, unable to help herself. "In all my years I never saw a single scale!"

"Oh, this was some time ago, maybe…forty—no! Fifty years ago, he lived there. After a few attempts to kill him, poor thing, he decided to hide somewhere. I never thought to ask him, though, thought it was best to never know."

"Ye…spoke with the beast?"

"Oh, aye!" She tittered, sitting back in her threadbare chair. "He was very polite, dragons are like that, as ye ken!"

Merida remembered the many creatures on Berk, most of them intrusive and curious without much care for manners.

"…Aye," she sipped, swallowing any corrections. "Mine is kind enough."

"Ah-ha!" Moira put her saucer on the table, "So ye have one! What's that like?"

Merida couldn't help her sharp little grin, meeting her sharp yellow eyes with her aqua. "Magical."

Moira cackled with pleasure and the redhead couldn't help her widening smile.

"Oh, to fly again!" Moira sighed, "Now—that was a skill I always wanted to master."

"Ye can?"

"Every witch has her talents. Mine is, obviously, transformation. Wood to statues, people to—!"

"Bears?" Perhaps that was a bit too glib.

"Well, anythin' that suits me, really. But bears fit, do'nae ye think?" She gestured. "Dark wood, full of wild beasts. Can'nae just turn a man into a horse or a boar!"

Merida considered her mother as a mare and sputtered a laugh. "I suppose a bear has a kind of…dignity."

"More than! Ah, but flight," she shook her head, "Flight has such a call."

"It sings in yer blood," she told her, quiet. "It must feel like magic."

"I wish I could know it again. But these old bones," she sighed, "More likely to get me killed, fallin' from the sky!"

"That is a scary part," Merida admitted, feeling more at ease and not having the ability to ask why. "But thrillin'! My husband, I tell ye, he set up this—system! Belts, ties, knots—so I won't fall off."

"Ah, that's very interestin'. Ye'd think, if a man really wanted to be done with ye, he'd make it so ye can tip off quite easily!"

"Why would he want me gone? He loves me," she declared proudly, "Pearl or no!"

"Oh, is that so?" Moira asked, leaning onto her hand.

"Mm," she slouched, "Aye. He looks at me like…like I'm the sun. Like I bring the light to the world, like I give life to the trees, like I can warm the frozen wasteland of Berk. He looks at me like I turn the skies around my fingertips," she sighed like a girl and then laughed at herself, covering her face. "I thought I'd hate him for my whole life and I ended up lovin' the idiot."

Moira cackled again, shrill and sharp and demanding as she threw her head back. "Ye thought ye'd hate him?"

"He took so much, him and his people," she shrugged, "I thought I'd…keep hating him. But he kept just…makin' room for me, lettin' me grow. And I found myself becomin' someone else. At first, it was terrifyin'. Then, I felt…more like myself. Like who I was meant to be." She blinked hazy eyes. "Does that make sense?"

"It does, indeed," Moira smiled at her with several missing teeth. "Ye are not like many princesses I've ever known!"

"An' how many have ye known?" She tipped a ruby brow, "Jus' how old are ye?"

"Quite old. And I've met a few. Most are quiet and simple and rather…boring, in my opinion."

"I'd struggle to agree. Anna of Arendelle is very funny and full of adventure. Her sister—who I did'nae even know about—has ice powers. Rapunzel from Corona seems a bit plain beyond her hair, but she is a fine shot with a bow, should she practice!"

"Ye are kinder than I recall ye."

Merida scoffed, "There is no part of me that is kindness. I just see things as they are."

"And what, tell me, are ye?"

Merida blinked, "Huh?"

"Are ye a Scott? Are ye a Viking? Are ye a princess or a queen? Are ye here or there? What are ye, Merida?"

"I'm…" She struggled, then grinned. "I'm all of it. I'm everythin'."

And that was that.

Moira appraised her before she nodded once, tapping her bear-headed staff on the ground before she stood on creaking knees.

"Come with me," she demanded and Merida moved without question. They exited the cottage and the redhead expected her to turn, twist, snap her fingers and return back in to another room in the seemingly stable place. But when she continued forward, she stumbled a bit but kept moving and journeyed up and thought the dark woods.

Merida should feel terror or fear, but she couldn't manage the thought process. Another part of her could realize there was probably something in that tea beyond sugar, her limbs weak and her mind foggy but she was still aware.

She didn't realize her ankle was perfectly fine all of a sudden, either.

The stones loomed above them, old and daunting. They passed through them and Merida felt her heart stutter, like before, like in Uppsala, like when the Wisps called out to her. Fate pounded through her, a rush of magic that demanded she pay attention, listen, watch. It felt like swimming, like flying for the first time, her ears popping and she struggled to acclimate for a moment as she followed behind the crone.

"D'ye ken what this is?"

"The…stones?" Merida looked to her, thinking that to be the most obvious answer.

"This is known as a Cairn," she explained, gesturing to the ring. "It is used for many things, like amplifyin' certain powers or spells, contactin' the gods."

"Gods?" She whispered, "Like…Epona?"

"Och, aye! And Bodua, and Aimend, and Aoife, and Uathach."

"There are so many I do'nae know, I never got the chance…"

"Ah, yes. Like our poor ol' dragon, swept out to sea, drowned and lost in the light of another deity."

"…Ye still speak with them," Merida murmured, "Mayhaps they are not so lost after all."

"Indeed," she hummed. "This is a place where prayers are answered."

"Are there are other places? D'ye think?"

"Like this one? Many. There used to be many of us, ye know. And we will live on, albeit a little less loud, a little more cautious, a little more hidden away in the dark corners of the woods."

"I'm sorry," Merida turned to her, "That ye need to hide. That's not right."

She shrugged a bony shoulder, "What has to happen, at times. It is not the first time, but…I have nay doubt we'll return to the light one day. After all," she grinned with missing teeth, "There will always be greedy people in search of a spell to change their fates'."

Merida should burn with humiliation, shame at her actions, but her only response was a grin full of teeth.

"Why did ye bring me here?"

"Hmm. I have somethin' of yers," she reached into her pocket and produced the necklace she gave to her for her many carvings and the cake that transformed her mother into a bear.

Merida blinked at it, then turned away. "It was payment, in full."

"Nay, I think it's time ye have it back," she approached and took Merida's limp hand to press the metal into her palm.

It burned in her grip and she clenched her fingers reflexively.

The bears spun and spun and spun, snarling and biting and chasing.

"Sometimes…" she patted her fist, "We must give things up to gain others, aye?" She caught her rolling gaze. "A ring or a necklace for a spell. Blood and pain for another life to be born into the world. Gems and gold for a listening ear."

Merida paused, paying more attention.

"The gods, ye ken, are not quite like they are up in the northern tribes. I have found they are most fond of human invention, crafts, skills."

Her obsession with whittling suddenly made much more sense.

"What are ye…?"

"Jus' a thought," she shrugged, turning to putter away. "Twas good to see ye, dearie. Come back soon, aye? Before ye head home."

Merida stared down at the little pendant in her hand, glowering at it. Whatever in the tea that had made her more open, more honest, drove away all of the muddled thoughts she had recently. She didn't want this necklace, the one she gave up so freely and without thought, a collar in all but appearance. She had offered it up and felt no loss without it, not a care in the world if it was gone, despite the design she had once loved.

No, she wanted her other pendant. She wanted the one Hiccup had given to her, the little cloudy glass in the wooden frame that seemed to be rimmed with the image of Toothless or Solasta. She turned to throw it back, but the crone was gone.

Merida knew without a doubt if she tried to find the cottage again, it would have disappeared into the woods.

Words, old and stricken, came unbidden to her mind.

"And ye're sure…if I give this to my mum, it will change my fate?"

She held up the medallion, watching it turn and spin on the chain.

"Ye want ye to be like ye—I would rather die than be like ye!"

Something squeezed her chest, making her want to seethe and destroy something beyond her bedpost.

"This whole marriage is what ye want! Have ye ever stopped to consider what I want? No!"

Her parents came for her, but they were the ones that gave her away, then endangered her again. They committed horrors beyond words, atrocities that made war look kind.

"I've been selfish. I tore a great rift in our kingdom. There's no one to blame but me."

But there were so many sides, so many facets to this. The bears spun, haunting her, herself, her husband, and her mother all in this awful loop that never seemed to end.

She had to decide and she had.

Merida turned her face to the sky and knew what she had to do.

"Okay, so…I need to give something up, no big deal. I have…"

Hiccup patted himself, laying everything out that he had on him. He had his sword, a dagger, his map, pencils, spare bits of dragon leather, vials of sweet oils and a bag of salt, and several gold coins.

Kneeling, he stared at his objects and knew that it wasn't right.

"What else could I offer?" He ran his hands through his hair in agitation, "What else could…?"

He felt something pull his attention and he lifted the necklace from around his throat. It spun in the light, casting shadows around in every direction, a promise of information Hiccup never could puzzle out again.

He didn't need it, not anymore. Toothless and Solasta had found some island somewhere appropriate to have their clutch and he had no doubt they'd keep returning. It held no secrets he needed to know and the mechanism that might ever actually show him was utterly destroyed at his own hand.

But it was his first gift to Merida, his first attempt to bring her into the fold of his family and line. She had worn it often, always decorated in it, making him preen whenever he caught her staring at it or fiddling with it. She had seemed to like it above most of his offerings, nearly always sporting it around the village and putting it reverently away each night.

He held it up to the dim light, seeing it glint.

But something else winked at him, the sole eye of Odin, an eternal loop, a single fruit hanging from the World Tree.

Hiccup's heart sank when he realized what was a truly worthy offering.

Replacing the necklace with a careful hand, he removed the belts that held his partial glove in place and freeing his fingers completely. He spun the gold band around his joint, playing and fiddling with it and struggling to move it further, across his knuckle, off his finger.

He had never removed it, not once. He had never even considered it after they were wed, a symbol of his fealty to the wars waged and the lives lost and the peace their offering brought them. Merida never took hers off, either, to his knowledge, not even to go to the baths. He had done the same, perhaps as a reaction from her or perhaps his own feelings on the matter.

It shone and he saw his own eyes, distorted and blurred, shimmer green back at him.

How many times did it catch his attention, when their fingers were hooked? How many times did he pause his work in the forge, caught up in the beauty of it and the knowledge that he hadn't just made the band but forged the bond it represented? How often did his splay his fingers across her skin, allowing her fire to warm him and the metal both?

Hiccup slipped it from his finger and placed it in the central bowl, sighing and bowing his head at the pain it caused.

"Oh, Merida, I'm so sorry…"

He bent to grab the stone and raised it above his head—

Merida dropped to her knees, digging her nails into the soft soil of the ground beneath her to dig a little hole. She raised the offering above and hesitated for only a moment, all the memories and connections hanging by a string.

The pendant fell in with the soft clink! of metal against metal.

She stared at it, the bears that were once so familiar and now seemed so foreign, once so loved and now hated.

Once a DunBroch.

Now a Haddock.

She covered the hole and buried the treasures below, severing the ties to her past.

—And bashed the stone against the metal and bent the ring. He did it several times until it was all but unrecognizable.

'One last thing,' he picked up his dagger and placed it against his palm. 'Sacrifice.'

He hissed as it drug along the soft pads of his hand and filled with blood to slip down into the bowl.

He dripped it over the broken metal and drug his gaze to the skies, waiting for the gods to come.

Merida used the tip of her arrow to pierce her finger.

In sweeping strokes, she drew her character across the stone decorated with the triskelion (because it was hers as much as it was her).

She stepped back to admire it, the bow pointed down, the eternal loop, the match to her husband's.

The wind kicked up around her and she turned her face to the skies, waiting for the gods to come.

The air was sucked out of the circle and he braced his hands on the central podium, head bowing.

She was buffeted with the kicks of a gale that twisted her skirts and she put her hands against the stone to keep upright.

"Gods!" He could scarcely breathe, his ears popping and full of pressure. He might be screaming, he might be whispering, he had no idea. "Hear me!"

"Hear me!" She called to the wood, seeming to grow darker and larger, blocking out the stars above, "Hear my prayer!"

"Accept my offering!"

"Take what I have sacrificed!"

"Protect me in all that I endeavor."

"Do not let me fail in this!"

"Keep me close to you in glory and honor!"

She leaned against the cold stone, leaving bloody fingerprints in her wake. "Do'nae let this fall to those that are innocent."

"Let me bless you with honor and sacrifices for many years to come."

"Let me swing my blade with a fearlessness unmatched by even the great Kings! Let everyone know that I am dauntless!"

"Make me blind to nothing but the right thing," Hiccup whispered, then shouted, "Bring me back to her!"

"Bring him back to me!"

"Give me victory, give me the right path to follow. Let me water the ground with their blood! Let me paint the sky red with dragon flame!"

"Give my plans assurance, let my people live so that they might still come to grow one day."

"Let me have what I have earned—!" He snarled, "Give me peace and full family! Let me have it and I will—give you everything! I will litter your altars with gifts!"

"Give me the peace I sacrificed my life for!" She slapped the stone, hearing it shake and move all around her. "Give me what I have earned! And I will—never forget ye! I will teach my babes the stories of yer greatness, I will bring ye to a whole new land and take root in a new people! I will bring ye to a new homeland to grow!"

"Hear me! So that I might do all that I can!"

"Hear me! So that I might be everything in one!"

He panted, "Odin, Thor, Heimdall, Frigg, Frey, all the Aesir and Vanir, hear me."

"To the gods of old that have lost yer power, yer names, yer homeland—hear me!"

The wind rocked him and he stared to the side, the air twisting like a the Lightfury might appear. He blinked in confusion, seeing two crows perched on a stump.

One cawed, just once.

'We hear you, young one.'

He slumped against the center stone, his knees shaking as he heard Odin through Huginn and Muninn.

'We've heard you.'

Hiccup's knees hit the dirt and his lungs rushed with air.

God-blessed.

She heard hoofbeats against the ground, like Angus at his fullest speed. She heard the battlecries of a woman, the clanging of armor. She felt pulsing magic of the loch and sea and earth of her homeland, the gods brought back to their rightful place once more.

She shook, goose-flesh raised along her arms, her scalp tingling.

Goddess-touched.

He would turn the world into his image—he would break Yggdrasil down the center and uproot it all to have Merida back. He would shake the worlds from their place, scatter all of them in fear and horror and bloodshed if she would not be returned to her rightful place at his side.

The righteous hot-blooded chaos of the gods filled him, choking him, until he was only a silhouette of the man he was once was.

"Hold on, Merida," he whispered, somehow knowing that she could hear him, "I'm coming, my wife. Wait for me."

"I'm coming, my wife. Wait for me."

Merida swore she heard his susurrous whisper, his promise, through the skies, through the mouth of the stones.

"I'm waiting, husband," she spoke in Gaelic, but it didn't matter anymore. "Come for me!"

"I'm waiting, husband. Come for me!"

He nodded, stared at the broken band still resting like an oath in the bowl and turned on his heel to get back to his dragon, knowing—

—The time had come.

Merida stumbled out of the circle to see Angus stomping his heels restlessly, having somehow appeared at just the right place at just the right time. She mounted him, shocked to see half a dozen hares draped limply across his saddle from some unknown source, gutted and ready to be skinned and devoured.

She turned him back towards the castle and knew—

—The time had come.

His eyes trailed over his army of riders, saddled and packed and prepped. They were the last team to leave, the fastest and fiercest riders of the Archipelago.

Heather nodded from Windshear.

Dagur swung himself on his TripleStryk.

Astrid's Stormfly tapped from foot to foot in an anxious need to move.

Solasta nuzzled Toothless, her saddle empty but would be filled soon enough.

Putting his furious, frightening helm across his eyes, he raised his palm up to the sky, a signal, a promise, a force to be reckoned with.

And they flew.

"Mother," Merida hung in the doorway to the library, wanting to say something, anything, make things right or at least try, "Mum."

"I can'nae speak right now, my sweet, I have things to tend to!" She fluttered by with a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see ye later!"

And she was gone.

Her father was draped in a leather chair like a spare blanket, limp and dark and half-alive. She went to him and shook him to rouse him, hoping to get him at least to his bedroom.

"Da," Merida came and knelt at his knee. He had returned to drinking, sitting back and sorrowful in his chair. "Da, come on, now. Ye'll break yer back sleepin' like this."

"Augh," he waved at her in agitation, "Leave me be!"

"Come on," she tried to move him but he refused, sighing. "Ye know what? Fine! Sit there and drown for all I care!"

"As if ye do," he slurred, "I ken what's goin'ta happen."

"Oh, aye?" She kept her voice neutral, but her heart stuttered in her throat.

"I have nay doubt," he huffed, "Jus' tell me—will he spare the boys?"

"I do'nae ken what ye're on about," Merida said stiffly, "But my Viking husband would never slay a child."

"Me, not so much?" He sputtered a little manic chuckle. "That's fine."

"…If I asked ye," she whispered, "To stop her. To try to stop her, would ye?"

"Oh, lassie," he shook his head, "Who d'ye think started it all?"

"…Ye did this?"

"I'm the one at fault, aye." He poured himself another draught, spilling whiskey around the rim. "I started this. I went to raise an army but I was…" he gestured with the glass, sloshing more. "I was not capable. But yer mother is…nothing but."

She put her head in her hands and smothered a scream.

"Ye will'nae ask why?"

"I know why," she countered, "I know that it was all my fault. I know that if I had just…taken it all with a little more grace, a little more forgiveness, none of us would be here."

"Och," he shook his head, "I could say the same."

"…What?"

"Come now," he sighed, "My dear child, ye did'nae start this war nor did ye end it how we did. I gave ye up, just as ye said, and ye have every right to hate me now more than ever. Because I saw ye, my dear, how ye had come to care for the boy and maybe even come to love him and I could'nae stop ye from hurtin' all over again.

"Ye are stronger than all of us," he muttered miserably. "Ye grew where I knew ye could, but my faith wavered and…as soon as it did, yer mother crumbled. And no matter my tries, I could'nae set things to rights again."

"…What d'ye mean, da? Talk to me, make some sense of this, please," she retuned to his side, kneeling on the ground at his side, begging. "Nothin' has made any sense to me in days and I'm at such a loss as what to do or where to go."

His hand fell in her hair, just like his, before it slid down to cup her round cheek. "My poor girl, always so strong…"

She gripped her fingers around his. "Da…"

"When our bargain was struck, I knew that ye'd…ye'd be just fine. Because," he gave a great and terrible sigh, full of aching and tension that she knew so well. "Because ye were always just…so different. Ye were fiercer and stronger and better than most soldiers, ye were! No one could shake ye, not yer mother nor myself. There was fire in ye, so bright ye'd burn us all before ye realized just how dangerous ye really were."

His eyes were so very blue and sad. "And ye did, darlin'. Ye nearly killed yer mother because ye were so very, terribly angry."

She smothered a sob.

"But ye fixed it, because ye know where to bend, where to break, where to yield. Ye do know, don't ye?"

"Aye," she nodded, "Aye, of course." She had learned not too long ago, before the war even began.

"And so I knew that, wherever ye went, ye'd be strong. Strong and solid, ye'd give where ye had to but demand what ye deserved. Ye are fire, my darlin', pure and simple—bright enough to light the way and hot enough to destroy us all."

She swallowed.

"If there was a single place beyond these walls where I thought ye might…fit better," he shrugged, helpless, "It would be with them."

"Ye were right," she gasped, parts of her that were broken and reformed aching. "I am everythin' I could be and more."

"I know it," he huffed, "Just promise me, my dear—when the ash settles, save the boys. No matter what. Can ye manage that?"

"Yes, yes, I can," she swore, "Da…I can save ye, too, and mum, if only—!"

"Nay," he shook her shoulder, "We rose up together and we will fall together. There is nothing more simple than that. She may not be the woman I remember, or even one I could possibly recognize, but she is my Elinor until the end."

"Oh, da…"

"Hush, now," he wiped a few errant tears from his face, standing jerkily and unsteadily. "That's all done. Let's show a little decorum, as monarchs must."

She stared up at him, biting hard to keep her jaw from trembling. No tears were shed, some weights lifted only to be thrown back down and multiplied.

"There she is," he chuffed her on the chin, smiling despite the heartache in his face, "There's my Lady Queen."

"Da…"

"Goodnight, my sweet girl. I will see ye when the mornin' comes."

He stumbled into the dark of the castle and Merida was left alone with the world on her back and the future at her feet.

"Anna, come to bed, my dear," Kristof tried for the fifth time that evening to settle the woman he loved. "Please, do it for me."

She hadn't rested well, not since the pair from Corona had left a week earlier.

"I just…worry."

"I know, I know," he rubbed at the knotted muscles in her shoulders, the weight of the world nearly keeping her on her knees. "I do…And I won't tell you not to, because I know you can't. But I would ask you tell me how to help you, how I could be there for you."

Her hands came to rest on his, "That helps, actually."

"Say no more," he teased, kissing her on the cheek before he began to gently unwind her muscles and she sighed into his contact, the familiarity, the comfort.

"Do you think—?"

"I think that everything is okay. I think Rapunzel and Eugene are nearly home. I think Elsa is tucked up in some freezing cold place with that Jack fellow to keep her company, maybe even more ice-spirits, and I think Sven and Olaf are having a good time wrecking Elsa's place up on the north mountain with Marshmallow and the snow babies. I think the castle is warm and spring is blooming bright around us.

"I think the nursery looks amazing," he teased, having helped decorate it in swaths of yellow and silver and cream with accents of teal. "I think we have more toys than a baby could ever even hope to play with."

"That's because you had rocks and sticks as toys," Anna teased gently, knowing he loved and cherished his troll-family.

"Glowing rocks and magical sticks, thank you very much," he played along good-naturedly. "The only thing missing is my darling wife in our warm bed, snoring into my shoulder."

She hit his hand lightly, "I do not snore!"

"Oh, Anna," he huffed a laugh, "Of course not!"

"Don't tease me!" Her emotions swung, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm fragile right now, Kristof."

"Shh, I'm sorry," he pulled her closer to him, "I know it, I know it. I'm sorry, I am."

"Don't be sorry, I'm just…ugh, I'm such a mess. And I'm frustrated and-and-and—!"

"You miss Elsa?"

"…Is that terrible of me?"

"No, I don't think so," his hands wrote poetry along her back. "I know you miss her, I know. And that's okay, because you're willing to let her go anyway. I'm sure she thinks of you, too. Maybe you can write to her and send it through Gale?"

"…I don't want to disturb her," she muttered, "She has her freedom now. A world to explore, I don't want to keep…bringing her home."

"She can't come back, but her mind can just be turned towards us again. Just for a moment, surely."

"I want her to be free, I…I'm so conflicted!" She put her head in her hands and sobbed a few times, emotions in every direction. "She's—! She's my only sister and I love her so much, and I want her to have the life she wants and she shouldn't be stuck inside this castle or the one on the mountain—!"

"Shh, easy, easy," he urged. "I know. But your love isn't selfish, Anna. You are giving her the freedom that she needs. And doing so will always lead her back to us."

"I know," she sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry, Kristof. I'm such a mess these days!"

"Hey, you're beautiful," he assured, "We've had so much happen, so much go on. It's been a hard time for all of us."

"I know," she whispered. "It has. But now we're here. Alone, together. And we can turn our attention to us."

"That sounds amazing," he sighed against her, his arms holding her close. "I think we deserve it. Don't you?"

"I know we do," she whispered. "We earned it."

"That we did."

Anna sighed into his skin, that smelled of soap and the sweet grass of his troll family. "You and me, Kristof—we deserve that gentle life, filled with no more adventures and fear and hiding away."

He hummed, "Dance with me?"

She laughed and he twirled her gently, catching her hands and allowing him to lead her in a slow sway.

"I love you," she whispered against his shoulder.

"I love you, too. Thank you."

"What for?"

"Everything."

She sniffled, "I should be thanking you."

"We can thank each other," he offered, kissing the top of her head. "I just wanted you to know that I'm grateful. You thawed more than Elsa's frozen heart, you know?"

Anna giggled, "Oh, I remember! You weren't a big fan of mine in the beginning."

"I wasn't a fan of anyone in the beginning. Well, besides Svenn."

"Of course."

"And then…you were just there. And you were everything I've ever wanted, ever needed. And you helped me grow into a better man, a better person. You showed me parts of myself that I didn't know, made me face the pieces of me that I needed to work on. I can never thank you enough for that."

Anna laughed wetly, "I think you're trying to make me cry!"

Kristof wiped a tear from her cheek, "Never. I just want you to know…seeing Merida get taken, how close things came. Now with Hiccup leading everyone to go get her…I just know how he feels and I want you to know that…"

"Shh," she stroked his stubbled face, seeing the dark shadows under his eyes. "Merida said something to me. About her and Hiccup. How they grew into each other. It reminded me of you, of us. How we had to change, adapt, transform, in more than one way. That's when I knew that she loved him and I wanted to help them. I hate that we couldn't manage to," she sighed.

"We did help," he swore. "We signed treaties, we established better trade between nations. What DunBroch did was a desperate play for power that will leave them in a hole for generations to come. They showed their own hand, Anna, and they will suffer for their actions. Don't put this on yourself."

"…Do you think they'll succeed?" She whispered. "Do you think that…they'll come back together?"

He looked out the window, seeing the sunrise on the horizon.

"I think love finds a way," he tried, his throat double clenching. "I think that there's always a way. And I believe in Hiccup."

"That's good," she yawned, "I believe in Merida. She's tougher than anyone really gives her credit for."

He chuckled, "Reminds me of someone else I know."

"Oh, yeah? You'll have to introduce me sometime," she teased back.

"I'll see if I can order a few more mirrors," he snarked and she snorted. "C'mon. Let's go rest, my darling."

"…Yes, my beloved," she took his hand and they made their way to the main bedroom.

Thank you, they said, without a word, Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Sometimes it was better than I love you could ever come.