A/N: Silly thing I typed up on a whim.

Disclaimer: Disney owns Frozen

- Helping Hands -

The long, dark table in the main dining hall is an unremarkable thing. At least, this is what Elsa always assumed, much as she assumed the other furnishings were fairly unexceptional. Certainly the quality is a bit above average…this is a castle, after all, not a small sea-side shack, but she's never dealt with complaints from anyone—no one has ever expressed being offended by the table, by the chairs.

"This tree was murdered."

Elsa blinks at the short rock creature, who looks so thoroughly vexed that for a moment, she's at a loss for words.

"Um…"

Kristoff waves his hands wildly behind the troll, obviously trying to get her attention. He's mouthing something, but she can't quite catch it, and now there's an awkward pause in the conversation so she has to say something.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I'm confused." She admits. She's found that it's sometimes the safest course of action, to just…tell the trolls, when she doesn't understand. (Which usually leads to an educational song of some sort. She's honestly surprised that Kristoff is so opposed to dancing, when his family is so…musical. But then, that could be the reason for it.)

"This tree! Right here! Chopped down in the prime of its life," the troll—Elsa struggles to recall his name. Crag? Something like that—jabs a finger towards the table and scowls. "Why, this entire room is filled with murdered trees! This entire castle!"

"I…uh…" Elsa looks to Kristoff, somewhat frantically, as Crag begins to list the names of various trees that have been taken before their time. The ice harvester is no longer waving his arms, thank goodness…but now it appears as though he's trying to mime the words to her.

He holds his forefinger and thumb close together. Little word. He points to Elsa, then himself, then Elsa again.

She wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but fights the urge to do so. The laughing would no doubt turn hysterical rather quickly.

"…We…" she begins, hazarding a guess. Kristoff grins and nods eagerly. He holds up two fingers. Second word, then repeats the sign for 'little word.' He does something with his ear, then frowns.

"We…uh…sad?" Crag looks confused, and so does Elsa. We sad? That makes absolutely no sense. She smiles weakly at Crag. "No, um, I mean, we…"

Kristoff slaps his forehead, shaking his head furiously. No, no, no. He grabs his ear lobe again. Exaggerates tugging on it.

Oh, oh. Yes, of course. 'Sounds like.' She nods at him, I understand. Once he's satisfied that she's ready to continue, he offers another exaggerated frown. Sounds like frown? Or, sounds like sad? She pauses and considers the sentence. Kristoff is gesturing like a mad man, seeming to spell out words in the air before him—

"Had!" She declares, making sense of all that flailing. Crag blinks at her seemingly random outburst. And she waits for Kristoff to continue, but by now he's grabbed one of the younger trolls who stands at the back of the room with the others, pulls a ledger from one of the side tables (A Birch name Halvar apparently died so that end table might live) and, guiding the tiny troll's finger, has the little one write out something on the page. (He's a…graphite troll, perhaps?) Kristoff hurriedly jots it down and then, tearing the page from the book (she's going to toss snow down the back of his shirt for that later) he holds it up, so that she can read it.

She squints.

"We had…Grand Pabbie's…persimmon. Permission!" She amends quickly. And at last, Crag no longer looks confused. Slightly put-off, and understandably so, but not confused.

"…Oh," he says with a huff. "Did you, now?"

"Yes." She says. But then looks to the back of the room, to Kristoff. "…Yes?" He nods. "Yes."

"Well, that's good," he says, suddenly jovial. "For you, anyways. I was going to call down a curse on you, your family, your cow—"

"Reindeer." One of the trolls nearby whispers.

"Details." Crag flaps a hand at them. "Woo boy! It would've been a doozy, too! I mean, we're talking misery, mayhem, misfortune—"

At that point, Bulda and Cliff arrive (finally) and they can begin to discuss Anna and Kristoff's wedding at last, but Cliff's eyes widened and his mouth drops open in shock.

"These trees were murdered!"

And Kristoff groans, and says , no, no Pa, let me explain—

And Bulda brings Elsa a lovely moss sweater that clashes with…well, everything and comments that Elsa is far too skinny, no meat on them bones, gotta eat more to stay warm during the winter months…And then she laughs, HA! Guess you don't have to worry 'bout that!

And Elsa sighs. Smiles. Endures.

In-laws.

Yes, yes, technically they aren't Elsa's in-laws, but you just know Anna is going to want everybody to be thick as thieves and Bulda will insist on being called 'Ma' by all involved and...alright, maybe not, but that's what I like to imagine, anyway. One big, crazy family. XD

Good? Bad? Meh? You can let me know with a review, if you feel so inclined! I appreciate 'em. :) Either way, hope it was enjoyable!