The Next Unknown

11 – Cold Secrets Deep Inside

OoOoO

"Swim, you fool."

He was lost in the water, and yet he could somehow breathe. He couldn't wake, and yet he knew he was not asleep. He was alive, and yet he sensed vengeance in the waves, baying for blood. Judging him.

"Tame it, or be crushed."

This is your fault, Hans thought. Then he wanted to laugh, because he wasn't just hearing voices now; he was talking back to them. It had only taken three years of mucking out stables to drive him insane. Father would be pleased.

Ah, but Father was dead, wasn't he?

Liquid hooves slammed into his chest. Hans could tell by the roar of a raging river that judgement had been passed: he was unworthy.

Screw the crown. He wanted air. He wanted light. He wanted to have never heard the voice saying It can be done, or followed its whispers to that damned book stuffed in the dusty corner of Lars' library.

Unravelling, sinking, gone.

Then there was fire—a searing pain in his arm, like a white hot blade plunged into marrow, flooding the black water crimson. The scarlet cloud parted above him, outlining a shape that made him think for a moment that Sitron had come for him—but this horse was nothing but liquid and narrowed, glowing eyes. It wanted to devour him; he knew it, felt it. Had felt it since the night he'd snuck back from the library and cracked open the ancient tome. Father had ordered Lars to translate the strange script, but they had not reached the page Hans instinctively knew he needed.

He should have been surprised when he understood the words anyway.

He should have been wary when the directions he whimsically followed off the page led to the iron basin filling with inky water, and the crypt with the eerie cacophony of hooves and furious neighing. Should have suspected it was magic unlike that which summoned snow abominations and ice palaces.

The plume of blood flowing from his left wrist roped into a string that pulled taut. The stallion snapped at it, but it did not break. Hans stopped sinking.

"A blood anchor," the voice murmured. "Climb, fool."

For what? No one would say, I am proud of you, my boy. My son. No one would be happy to call him my king. Even the entourage of nephews and nieces he'd been forced to babysit for half his life had been scattered across the continent. No more toys to repair or squabbles to mediate, or absent fathers to replace. No one needed him.

The stallion threw back its proud head and charged.

"Cast iron and speak its name," the voice hissed. "Do it now, or it will have your soul."

He disinterestedly studied the red string snared around his limp wrist. There was iron in blood. Family. It all started with blood. So what was in a name? What would history say of Hans Westergaard?

Nothing.

No. He refused to die with nothing. He refused to die for nothing.

Hans frantically flung his bleeding arm in an arc before him. "Fossegrim!"

The horse reared, but the water did not relent.

The damned voice had fallen unhelpfully silent.

"Nicor! Nixie! N-Neck! Nakki!"

The books had recorded too many names across too many cultures. Which one did the spirit respond to?

"Nokk!"

There was a deafening screech. The current released him.

Hans groped through the darkness and seized the blood anchor. He climbed. Swam.

Woke.

He lurched onto his side, coughing and sputtering.

"Look at that. He survived." Hendrick's voice. "About bloody time. Don't go anywhere while I get—Caleb! I mean... Your Majesty. He's awake."

"I know." Footsteps reverberated through the cold stone beneath his cheek. "Good evening, little brother. It's good to see you well."Hans rasped out a chuckle. "I look well to you, do I?"

"You rested for six days, did you not?"

"'Rested'?" He tried to push himself up only to have his arms buckle. His head felt too full, and his body too hollow. He crashed back down, his hand flailing into something with a metallic clang.

Hans knew it was the iron basin. And he knew that it was empty.

Blood, brännvin, black sheep. The callous hand thrusting his head into the dark water.

He loathed the feeble tremble in his movements as he jabbed an accusatory finger at the king. "You nearly killed me!"

"You ought to know me better than that, Hans. Unlike you, I do not fail when I mean to take a life. If I wanted you dead, you would be. You're even wearing the evidence of my goodwill."

Hans followed Caleb's meaningful gaze to his left arm; the same one he had raised to point.

Dried blood caked his forearm. Too much of it. The floor was dark and sticky, no sign of first aid in sight—of course not. Six days.

Yet, when he shakily cleared away the crusted blood, braced for the gleam of bone and eviscerated sinew, there was only a single line of foreign characters carved into his skin. Just like the script in those cursed books, Hans could read it.

And with the echo of the word in his mind, he could feel it. He knew exactly where Caleb stood; that he was picking at a piece of lint on his sleeve. He sensed the cold dispassion radiating from his eldest brother like ripples in the river of his subconscious, and recoiled in disgust because it was easier to think that Caleb didn't have emotions, only cruel masquerades, and—

"Such hostility." The king crouched down. A gloved hand grasped Hans's chin and tipped his head up. It was almost tender. "Have you forgotten Father is entombed down here, along with all the good kings of the Southern Isles? It is a poor place to blaspheme your reigning sovereign. Especially after he went to such great, selfless lengths to save your life."

Hans struggled to swallow. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

Almost unwillingly, like an invisible force had seized his mind and forced it down a funnel, Hans's eyes landed on the pale underside of Caleb's right arm. His wasn't covered in blood, which made the identical characters running jaggedly along his skin all the more visible, spelling out Hans's most hated word:

Brother.

"What did you do to me?"

"Manners."

"I don't give a—"

The hand holding up his head retracted. Hans's chin banged into the floor—a sharp pain exploded as his teeth tore open the inside of his cheek. The taste of copper flooded his mouth. It took all his strength simply to turn his head and spit at his brother's polished feet. It left him powerless against the boot that swung at him.

He heard glass shatter. Hendrick cursed.

Water, Hans thought. A jug and two glasses. How did he know that?

"Manners, Hans."

He rolled onto his back, wheezing. It always turned out like this, didn't it? "May I enquire… about the method… you employed… to save my life… Your Majesty?"

Silence.

Hans craned his head and caught a flash of surprise on Caleb's face as he held a handkerchief to his mouth. It came away splotched red.

Slowly, Caleb's thin lips curled into an amused smirk. "Ah. I see how this works."

"I don't."

The king knelt down once more and wiped a dribble of crimson from Hans's chin. "The method was recorded in your precious books—they are, in fact, journals. Did you not realise? You are lucky that your storm broke the siege and allowed me time to do some light reading, or else—"

"My storm?"

The king fixed him with a long, expectant stare.

"I'll not interrupt you again," Hans mumbled. "Sir."

"Wise." The handkerchief moved on to scrub at his bloody arm, heedless of his yelp of pain. "I have to give Lars credit; he translated enough that I could easily make a key. He and Father would have made much faster progress if they had simply asked for my help. I don't believe they knew what they were playing with. Some entries are macabre; borderline heretical, I would say. Commanding nature itself? If my dear brother wasn't frothing in a comatose struggle with a supposedly magical water spirit, I would not have dared to believe it. Fortunately, I discovered a way to bind your soul to the present. To me."

Hans stared at the splotches of crimson on the handkerchief, their blood smudged together. Caleb might not feel pain, but Hans had felt his brother's surprise when his mouth had cut open out of nowhere. The same way Hans could sense his brother's excitement. The hunger. The triumph.

Blood anchor, the voice had whispered to him.

"No," Hans ground out. "Undo it. Fix this."

"Oh, I don't think you want that. Without me, you would not have been able to tame the spirit. I would be talking to a soulless husk."

"Without me, you wouldn't have known about the spirits at all."

"In which case, nothing would have spared your life. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Hans. Now you need to prove to me it wasn't an accident." Caleb stood and calmly folded the handkerchief. "It might interest you to know that a sudden storm crushed Gregory's fleet six days ago. A storm that has not stopped raging since you began… communicating with this so-called water spirit."

Crushed. "You expect me to halt a storm?"

"No; I expect you to prove that you can summon another one."

"You're crazy."

"That was my first thought when you promised me the continent. I am a man of my word, Hans. I expect the same integrity from my own blood."

Another threat, this time less thinly veiled. "What if I had nothing to do with it?"

Caleb just gave him a chilling smile. Hans knew that smile. And he knew that while Caleb had always been closed off, there had been a time when he used to smile earnestly and joke with Aksel. He used to be normal until that night he'd returned to the castle in a dazed stupor, covered in blood that did not belong to him. The servants had screamed and run for the king, leaving fourteen-year-old Hans stupidly rooted in the hall with dolls in his hand, glitter in his hair, and a curious niece clinging to his leg.

He would never forget the way Caleb had looked right at him—through him—and said flatly, She's dead.

Nor would he forget the way their father had ushered Caleb into his study, re-emerging minutes later with the fabric package Caleb had carried in. Get rid of it, Father had commanded, shoving the bundle at him. Hans almost dropped it. Then, after peeking inside the folds and realising what they contained, he became horribly conscious of not dropping it.

For an eternity, he had stood frozen outside the door, battered by the sounds of his father yelling at his brother and the responsibility of disposing of this. If his niece hadn't peeled away and dragged her father back with her, Hans wasn't sure what he would have done. His brother had taken one look inside the bundle, then stared at their father's closed door for a long time, listening. Eventually, he gestured for Hans to pass him the bundle, grunting, I'll take care of it. That had been the end of it.

But no one would save him now.

Something cold flowed beneath Hans's palm; the water from Hendrick's shattered jug had wound its way across the crypt. There was more inside of him. A tide. Perhaps he didn't need saving.

Hans's fingers twitched, almost involuntarily—

—and a torrent of water gushed out of thin air, completely drenching the king of the Southern Isles.

"I told you it could be done," the voice gloated.

Caleb remained motionless until the water subsided. Then, very slowly, he reached up and pushed sopping hair out of his eyes.

And Hans shivered.

He shivered because the sound of Caleb's laughter was terrifying, and because there was a vengeful stallion prowling beneath his skin, vowing to bring wrath down on both their heads.

He shivered because it had been easier to face the prospect of his insanity than the reality that something was inside his mind. But now he could no longer pretend that the whisper was only a figment of his own delirium.

He shivered because the voice had said "I".

OoOoO

It struck like a boat abruptly unmoored in a storm.

The dream still clung to her—blood in the water, the harsh tang of iron and copper, a vicious wrenching of the soul, bound and chained and furious but helpless. Then her hand fluttered to her stampeding heart, and she knew for certain that something had been severed.

She knew exactly what it was.

Elsa flew down the hallway in her bare feet, nightgown flapping like flightless wings. Her frantic mind flooded with brilliant auroras pooled into the silhouette of a sword and a motionless figure. A bridge untethered.

She stopped short of blowing Anna and Kristoff's door off its hinges. And there it was—the familiar, moonlit shape of her little sister safe in bed, blankets tossed in chaotic clumps. "Anna?"

Nothing.

Too late, too late. The door handle glistened with ice beneath her quavering fingers. Then it shattered altogether when—finally, blessedly—she heard a sniffle.

Elsa almost wept in relief. Anna was okay—of course she was. This was Arendelle, their kingdom, and Elsa had only been down the hall. There were no swords or ships in sight. It had to be safe here.

Elsa approached the bed. "Anna? Are you alright?"

Her sister's response was to turn onto her side, facing the other way.

Elsa stopped in surprise. Then her panic dissolved into irritation. "I understand you're still upset. But if you didn't want to talk to me, you shouldn't have broken the bracelet. I said I would come if you did."

Anna curled into a tighter ball. Without Kristoff's bear-like presence, the bed seemed to dwarf her.

Elsa gave up on waiting for an invitation. She sat down on the edge of the bed and idly studied a shaft of light that crept past the door and across the floor. Elsa was good at reading light through a door; even with her curtains drawn against the outside world, she could distinguish the hour and sometimes even the weather. She could identify passers-by with the rhythm of their gait blinking past, and deduce when it was safe to slip into the library for a new book. And it was never a challenge to hear Anna coming, but Elsa could always tell when Anna said 'Okay, bye' and remained sitting outside.

Picking at the linen, Elsa murmured, "For what it's worth, it's not you I'm angry with. It's me… I'm angry with myself."

She hadn't said it to manipulate a response from Anna, but with the admission released into the void between them, Elsa couldn't help expecting one. But Anna did not throw back the blankets and sit up to reassure Elsa. She didn't say anything at all. Instead, she… whimpered.

"Anna?"

Elsa shuffled across the bed. Then she saw the moonlight glistening in her sister's tears and refracting from the silver dust of the broken bracelet scattered across the bedsheet. "A-Anna, what's the matter? Are you okay? Are you feeling sick? I—you're scaring me. Please say something… Anna?"

Anna let out a sob—a strangled, shattered, visceral sound that threw Elsa's heart into her ribcage.

"Anna, please." Elsa helplessly touched her sister's shoulder. Anna didn't seem to hear her.

Then Elsa realised that her sister wasn't awake at all.

"Oh, Anna…" Elsa brushed aside the hair plastered to her sister's tear-soaked face. "It's just a dream; it's not real. Everything will be okay."

But no matter how Elsa shook her, Anna remained closed off and rigid as a stone, too tightly ensnared by her nightmare. Still crying in her sleep.

Snow began to drift down.

And Elsa shivered. She knew it was incorporeal—no misted breath, no goosebumps, no truths threatening to drown her—but there was no suppressing it. It scrambled her control, sending the temperature into freefall, and it ought to have been simple for her to remedy it with the flick of a hand. Yet it felt easier to bundle Anna up in the blankets and gather her sister in her arms; to tuck Anna's head under her chin and helplessly hum their mother's lullaby. So she did.

Slowly, Anna's sobs eased into hiccups. She stirred ever so slightly, the cold tip of her nose nuzzling into Elsa's neck. Then she settled back down with a soft sigh, warm and relaxed.

Elsa waited until she heard the familiar rhythm of steady breathing, and then released her own exhale. She leaned back against the headboard, no longer able to ignore the weight of her own leaden eyelids as she absently rubbed Anna's arms. "You're okay, Anna. I got you… I'm here."

It could have been a whisper of the wind, or another voice in her head. But it was impossible for Elsa to mistake the sound of her sister's sleepy mumble.

"No, you weren't."

OoOoO

The sky was awake.

Wait—the sky was awake.

"Chocolate fudge!" Blankets flew as Anna bolted upright. How many meetings had she missed? Crap crap crap, she'd promised Oskar another riding lesson. Why on earth did she still feel so tired despite sleeping in for, what, half the day?

Her manically wide eyes locked with a pair of startled blue ones across the room, as familiar to her as the sky itself. Anna's thoughts ground to a halt. "Oh. H-Hi."

"Good morning." Elsa settled back in the armchair. She looked startlingly tense—was that magic glowing at her fingertips?

What are you doing in my room? Did you miss me? I missed you. Can we go back to normal already? Anna attempted to tame her bed hair and coughed out, "I slept in—big time."

"I know. I told Kai to rearrange your schedule."

"You did?"

"You… looked like you needed the rest."

"Right. Well, um, thank you?"

She waited for a You're welcome, because Elsa was Elsa—but instead there was only a small, self-conscious smile. And more silence.

It was like they had returned to After; after the fjord thawed and the gates opened. Anna would wake up early and sprint to breakfast in case the dream shattered if she was a moment too late, but Elsa always waited for her. She'd listen patiently while Anna blabbered on about a million meaningless things, and then take her turn to talk ask polite questions about Anna's plans for the day. The entire time, Anna would fiddle under the table, running her fingers along the invisible seams of their relationship, trying to find the break between best friends and strangers.

Now, she reached for something to fidget with… and her fingers closed around air.

"What are you doing?" Elsa asked as Anna began ransacking the bed in alarm.

"My bracelet came off. Gosh, I didn't think that was possible. Does it even have a clasp? I don't even take it off in the bath; your permafrost is that good." She shook out the blanket. A sock and a hair ribbon fluttered free, but no bracelet. "Wait, you can sense it, right? It'll take forever for me to find it in this mess. Pretty please?"

"Anna," Elsa said. "It's gone."

"Don't be silly; it's here somewhere. It can't be gone." Because the bracelet wouldn't flurry away as long as Elsa was okay, and her sister was right there, looking weary and uncertain but otherwise fine.

Then Elsa cleared her throat and said, "You broke it in your sleep. It looked like you were having a bad dream."

That stopped Anna in her tracks. Had it been one of those bad dreams? Did Elsa know?

"R-Right. Oh shoot, you got woken up by the bracelet breaking, didn't you? I'm so sorry."

"You don't need to apologise, Anna. Though you might want to tell Kai you'll need a new door handle. I may have broken it last night."

"What? With your bare hands?"

"And a bit of ice." Elsa paused. "Perhaps a little more than 'a bit'."

Anna was sure Elsa didn't lose control like that anymore, and not with ice. Ice meant fear. "I'm sorry. For worrying you."

"It's fine. As long as you're alright."

It was something about the way Elsa wouldn't meet her eyes. Anna caved.

She grabbed the scarf by her pillow (thank God she hadn't ruined that, too) and threw it around her shoulders. Then she padded across the room and stopped in front of her surprised sister. "Scooch."

It took a moment. Then Elsa's lips twitched, and she shuffled over to make space. She grunted when Anna dropped down on top of her. "Excuse me, I believe this seat is made for one."

"Too bad; it's in my room so it's made for me. Is that your elbow in my spleen?"

"I don't see how that is physically possible when you are sitting on my arm. Also, this used to be my room. I'll have you know I used this chair for its intended purpose, as opposed to relegating it to makeshift coat rack duties."

Anna tucked her legs up only to remember there wasn't enough room. Then Elsa lifted her hands and allowed Anna to settle her legs on her lap. "Oh, stop judging. You're the one who insisted on moving back into your old room."

"I had a better view there."

"Uh huh. So it had nothing to do with you worrying about the questions people would ask if the queen didn't stay in the royal suite?"

Elsa tugged her nightgown free, avoiding Anna's pointed look. "I see you've been speaking with Councillor Belland. You're thinking like him."

"He came to me, actually. Something about my dork of a sister asking him to look out for me while she did silly things like not going to opening ceremonies she should have attended. Something about upstaging me and feeding into some hypothetical civil war?"

"It's not hypothetical, Anna. Arendelle has been through so much. There are… perspectives our family must keep in mind. I didn't know how to teach them to you, but Councillor Belland is one of our most experienced advisors."

"Yeah, well. Did you have to saddle me with someone so hard to please?"

"You seem to have won him over. I'm assuming that means you also got the rest of the council to stop bickering and start cooperating."

"Hold on, there is definitely something digging into my spleen. Aha!" Anna triumphantly yanked out a book. "Oh hey, you were reading Aren Tales? Do you remember the volume about gjengangers? The zombies that were creepier than draugr because they still looked human? Father got in so much trouble with Mother for reading that to us. It was the only time you crawled into my bed in the middle of the night." Anna noticed Elsa's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Braced for the telltale 'nothing', it stunned her when Elsa winced. Then Anna realised it wasn't a wince at all. "Elsa, are you—are you shivering?"

"I'm f-fine…"

"No, you're not; you've got goosebumps! Should I start up the fireplace? Gosh, I wish we had Bruni right now. What's going on, Elsa?"

The look Elsa gave her was a strange one—shadowed, sad, knowing—but before either of them could say another word, a second shudder rattled Elsa's slim frame.

Anna bundled her sister up in the scarf and, for good measure, added a long hug. "Is this better?"

Elsa leaned in, resting her cool forehead against Anna's neck. "I'm not actually cold, you know."

"Did you catch one, then? You know, from walking around in your ice dress and sleeping outdoors with the reindeers?"

"I do not sleep outdoors, and certainly not among reindeers."

"What about Bucky?"

"Bucky is an exception."

Anna wondered how fragile things must be if Elsa was trying this badly to distract her. "Bucky and I fall into a river. Who do you save?"

"I freeze the river and save both."

"Cheat. Fine—Bucky and I fall off a cliff."

"Gale will catch you."

"What? No, what would you do?"

"I'd ask Gale to catch you. Are we playing that game you wanted to introduce on Friday nights? Facts and Decisions?"

"Oh my God, sis—it's Truth or Dare! I thought you'd be better at it than charades." Elsa made a sound of mild affront. "Sorry, not sorry. Except I know you'll never choose 'dare', so if you want to play something, we're doing Twenty Questions. The only rule is that you have to answer truthfully."

"What are the consequences if I don't?"

"I stay mad at you."

"Those are high stakes." Elsa was quiet for a moment. Then she held out a fist. "Alright."

Anna bemusedly stacked her fist atop Elsa's and giggled because it looked like a snowman. "'Alright' what?"

"Alright, let's play your game. Rock Paper Scissors to decide who asks the first question."

"Wait, really?" Anna rolled up the sleeve of her nightgown. "Ooh, you're in for it now. Rock, paper, scissors!"

She lost.

"Are you still going for rock every time?"

"Hush, you," Anna grumbled. "I overthink and forget to move my fingers, okay? What's your question?"

Elsa's smile slipped. "Are you really mad at me?"

"Oh." Anna blinked. "I don't know. I thought I was, but... it's normal to be mad and sad at each other now and then, right?"

"We wouldn't know anything about normal, would we?"

"No idea what you're on about—we're so normal." Anna lifted a corner of the scarf and squirrelled under it so she was now the one tucked under her sister's arm, unapologetically using Elsa's other arm as a pillow. "My turn: are you mad at me?"

Elsa combed a hand through Anna's bed hair. "No. I never have been."

"Ever?"

"Mostly."

"Okay, good. Because I was bored one night and trimmed your hair while you were asleep." It was a mistake to peek. The sight of Elsa's scandalised expression made Anna blow her cover. "When we were kids! I wouldn't dare touch your hair now… or would I? Oh, come on; you didn't even notice! And it was one time!"

She hadn't meant it that way, but they both heard it hanging in the air: I didn't get the chance to do it again.

"You get another turn," Anna said hastily. "Since I kind of asked two questions. Not that you can't ask me anything at any time, because it's not like I ever lie to you."

Elsa's smile wobbled. She pursed her lips and turned towards the sunny day beyond the window. "What were you dreaming about?"

Oh boy. It was a good thing Elsa was looking away.

Anna swallowed and focused on keeping her voice blithe. All she had to do was tell the truth. "No idea! I don't remember it. Lucky me, right? Who wants to remember their nightmares?"

"You don't remember because it wasn't a nightmare, Anna. That looked like a night terror."

"H-How do you know?" She tried to keep from flinching; she really did. Judging from Elsa's reaction, though, she didn't think she succeeded.

"I know because I used to get them, too. Mother and Father couldn't wake me up; the physician advised against it, in case I woke up confused and… lost further control of my powers. They didn't want me to worry, and I never remembered the episodes. I didn't find out until I was older, after the terrors stopped." Elsa's chagrined gaze shifted back to Anna. "But you seem to know about your night terrors… which means last night wasn't your first episode, was it?"

If she had listened to Kristoff and told Elsa earlier, she could have lied. She could have said Kristoff had heard her sleep-talking about storms and shipwrecks instead of gone too far and warm hugs. But now it was too late, because it was painfully obvious that Anna wouldn't have kept it from Elsa if the truth was that simple.

"This is my fault," Elsa whispered. "It's because I left you behind and… I… Olaf…"

"You're both fine now!" Anna scrambled off and knelt in front of Elsa with a desperate smile. "I'm fine. I'm happy and life is great, and honestly, I don't know why I'm having these dreams—terrors, whatever they're called. It would make more sense if they were about Caleb and his godawful war. It's not your fault, Elsa. Trust me."

Elsa inhaled shakily, drawing the scarf closer around her. "You only calmed down when my powers made the room colder."

She ought to be shivering in her damp clothes, but it was too warm in the cave and she couldn't stop thinking about how much Olaf loved summer. How Elsa smiled when Anna picked sunflowers to put in their hair. How both of them were gone forever.

"What about you, huh?" Anna blurted desperately. "Since when did the cold start bothering you?"

Elsa stiffened. "It doesn't; I'm not cold."

"Then what's with the shivering? What aren't you telling me?"

"I've been trying to tell you." Elsa threw up her hands, and a sprinkle of snow landed in her lap. "I just—I didn't know how to say it. That's why I made you this scarf; I told myself I would talk to you when I finished knitting it. But then the refugees arrived and I upset the spirits—"

"Are you dying?"

Elsa's mouth snapped shut. Anna's did, too, when she heard her own question spoken aloud. It made her vision swim, but she focused on Elsa; searching, begging. "Please. I can't lose you… n-not again."

The armchair screeched across the floor as Elsa fell to her knees. She wrapped her arms tightly around Anna. "Oh, Anna… no, no. It's not like that. I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Anna clung to her sister, sniffling. "You died in Ahtohallan and now everything's okay but you're shivering and… and… what else was I supposed to think?"

Elsa kept apologising until it sounded like a lullaby. She rubbed Anna's back the way their mother used to; in the shape of an infinity symbol. That's how much you are loved, Mama would say.

Then Elsa took a deep breath and whispered, "I shiver because I remember. How it felt."

"How what felt?"

"I know, Anna."

With her head against Elsa's chest, Anna felt more than heard the crack in her sister's voice. That was her first warning.

"I know that it hurt. I know what it feels like to have your breath turn to ice in your lungs. When your blood runs so cold your fingers burn like ants are crawling beneath your skin. When your eyes sting because you're afraid they'll stay closed forever if you blink even once."

Anna drew back, lips parted speechlessly.

You saved me, her sister had said back then. Again. And Anna had accepted that was all Elsa would share about her last moments, because the past was in the past and for once, Anna didn't want to know. There was no reason to imagine her sister lying somewhere cold and soulless and… gone.

Except, listening to Elsa now, Anna realised she wouldn't have had to imagine anything at all. Not when it sounded so frighteningly familiar.

"You didn't tell me you froze in Ahtohallan," Anna croaked out.

"You didn't tell me the truth, either. You said you didn't remember."

"I didn't." Anna's protest sounded weak even to her ears.

"That's what I tried to tell myself." Elsa sounded anguished. "But what are the chances that I am the only one of us to remember what it was like to turn to ice?"

Anna opened and closed her mouth, gripping her sister's arms. Then she shook her head. "So what? What does it matter if I remember the pain?"

"It matters to me, Anna. Knowing that I hurt you more than—"

"But it's already done, Elsa. You didn't mean to hurt me, and even if you did, it doesn't change anything, does it? Oh, stop that; you're going to hurt yourself." Anna pulled at her sister's white-knuckled fists until they eased open, allowing her to slide her hands into Elsa's. "Yes, you did freeze my heart three years ago. I do remember it. And it did hurt; it hurt the entire time Kristoff rushed me back to the castle. You know what, though? Even if we could go back, and my true love's kiss was only one step away, nothing would stop me from doing it again—and don't say it's wrong. It was my choice, and I chose you, Elsa. You don't get to regret my decisions for me, because I definitely don't. So there."

Elsa gazed wordlessly down at their hands; she held Anna's as if they were newborn doves, fragile and flighty. "It took me so long to tell you everything because I didn't know what I could do to make it right. I was only thinking of ways to apologise. I'd like to try something new this time." She squeezed Anna's hands again. "Thank you, Anna."

Anna cocked her head questioningly.

"Thank you," Elsa continued softly, eyes shining, "for seeing the best in everyone and everything. For lying to protect me and unconditionally forgiving each time that I've hurt you. Thank you for always saving me; when I lost control of my powers, when I went too deep, and, before that, when the only thing that gave me hope was the sound of you knocking on my door every day. Thank you for making loving you the easiest, most priceless thing in the world."

The sky was awake, but when Elsa took off the scarf and waved it over Anna's shoulders, there was a brief moment when the scarf blotted out the light, transforming into a personal canvas of starlight above their heads. Then it settled, leaving Anna to blink back tears that fell anyway.

She almost couldn't get the words out. "I… you're welcome?"

Elsa let out a choked laugh as she pressed their foreheads together, whispering, "Thank you for being born, Anna."

OoOoO

"What do you think?"

"About what, Your Highness?"

The queen's husband jerked his head towards the closed mahogany doors through which their hosts had retreated to 'discuss Arendelle's proposition in private'. "Do you think they'll jump?"

"I believe it would be sensible for men of their station to walk," Hakon replied.

Kristoff flushed. "Jump on board, I mean. With Anna's—our offer."

"The Duke is not a fool. He will accept."

"Isn't that the prince's call?"

Hakon's disinterested gaze roamed the meeting chambers. Weselton was keen on both art and vanity, which meant the cavernous room was stacked to the ceiling with portraits of royalty, each sporting an impeccably shiny head. "What are your impressions of Prince Fredrik?"

"Young? Talkative?"

"Unhealthily obsessed with wigs," muttered the white-haired female soldier standing over Kristoff's shoulder, the picture of vigilance aside from the faint smirk on her face.

"Petra!" Kristoff chided with a grin. "He's too young for that. What makes you think he's wearing a wig?"

"It flapped, sir."

"He's a figurehead," Hakon said. "He hides behind his uncle and wastes his time studying dance, of all things. Even when Fredrik becomes king, I suspect the Duke will continue 'ruling' until he trips into his grave. And he ought to know that if he does not accept our olive branch now, there is no hope of winning back Arendelle's graces in a hurry. Our queen was astute in her observation that Weselton needs us more than we need them. We are paying for the iron, but the grain and crossbow prototypes are a chance for them to repair relations between our two nations. Anyone can see it's in their best interests to ally with us should the Southern Isles make a move."

Hakon leaned forward and picked up his cup of tea, which had gone cold during the meeting. "Would you like me to repeat that?"

Kristoff started. He had tugged his collar so many times that his ascot was skewed. "Sorry? Was I supposed to, uh, remember all that?"

"You are not 'supposed' to do anything I suggest, sir. But judging from the way he tried to wear us down by making us wait days for an audience—and now hours for a decision he would already have made the second we laid out our cards—the Duke will return determined to drive a hard bargain. It would be easier for you to keep the weasel in its cage if you were familiar with our counterarguments."

"You're not going to give them yourself?"

Hakon sipped his tea. "Does Your Highness wish for me to do so?"

"I just thought, since you're so good at this foreign relations business…" Kristoff trailed off, and his thick eyebrows drew together. "Ah. This is something political, isn't it? Optics."

"You are husband to the queen of Arendelle, sir, and travelled days in the discomfort of a carriage to represent our nation. It was already an insult for Weselton to keep you waiting, and if I were to settle this negotiation without your input…"

"We'll get our iron and crossbows today," Kristoff finished, "but tomorrow people will say that Anna married a spineless pushover. Got it." He scrubbed his hands over his face, then gulped down his tea and slapped his cheeks. "Alright. Tell it to me again."

Hakon did not want to admit his surprise. He repeated himself and waited as Kristoff muttered each line back to himself.

"If in doubt, mention that we are in no shortage of ice and would be willing to lower tariffs on those exports as a sign of goodwill."

"What will that achieve? Ice may be my life, but most people don't value it the way I do."

"Oh, it's not about value. The duke will understand."

It took a moment, and then Kristoff's confusion cleared. "Aha. Elsa."

"Correct. We may need to capitalise on the Duke's fear of sorcery if we are to push through Her Majesty's non-negotiable term of his… specific manner of apology to the princess."

Kristoff twisted his cufflinks between his fingers."You really are good at your job, aren't you?"

"Of course, sir." Hakon placed down his teacup. "You are only here to ensure I do it properly, after all."

"Not exactly. Believe it or not, it turns out this is also my first stint as Arendelle's official ambassador. Anna forgot to mention that until the morning we left. That's why I was late."

"Then I offer you my sincerest congratulations. Also, you do not need to explain yourself to me."

Their heads turned as muffled voices rose in volume, along with the click of hasty steps. Their hosts were returning.

Kristoff straightened his jacket and gave his collar one last tug. "Yeah, well. Maybe if you'd explained yourself a little better to Anna, she wouldn't have asked me to keep an eye on you. Do you know how big that is, coming from her?"

There it was. Hakon had expected it to either come up in their first hour of cramped travel, or not at all. He'd also expected less tact from a man who seemed to forget his own title half the time. It reminded him of another ambassador; a fidgety princess who would have devoured all the cookies and made up stories for the portraits on the walls, trying to make him chuckle. She had surprised him, too.

Hakon did not like surprises. Surprises meant being wrong.

Surprises led to doors being thrown open, and guards storming in with swords drawn.

Their own contingent rallied with shouts of alarm, but it was futile. In seconds, their cluster of Arendellian green was cornered by a sea of Weselton red.

"What the—what's going on?" Kristoff whirled towards Hakon. "What did you do?" he demanded.

Before Hakon could answer, the Duke of Weselton's voice rang out above the clamour—

"Arrest these murderers!"

A/N: Thank you for waiting and reading!

- Prince Fredrik of Weselton is a character I made up in chapters 10 and 11 of The Sky Is Awake.

- I started funnelling my procrastination into modern AU oneshots that I've started uploading as a collection called 'These Days Are Precious'. Unlike this fic, it's fluffy and non-stressful (but maybe angstier)