Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen

A/n: Here is part two. I'm afraid that if you're hoping to be cheered up this ... might not be your go to chapter (it does get cheerier, don't worry). For those who may now be worried about my demeanour in real life, I'm assured by friends and colleagues that I nearly always seem to be in a good mood and that I am usually annoyingly happy. Admittedly, they don't read my fanfics (as far as I know) so maybe they'd say something else if they did. Enough about that anyway - thanks for reading along and I hope you enjoy!

2) Grief (And the Places it Appears)

It turns out that people get through the next day because they have to.

She has to get up. She has to see the physician. She has to sign documents, and speak to ministers, and re-arrange meetings, even as her stomach cramps (after effects, your Majesty. It may happen for a day or two) and people give her room because they think she's pregnant (it will be distressing, your Majesty. Your body should return to normal soon enough but I'm afraid the timing is different in each case). She has to sit with her husband and write a short announcement about the loss of their child. She has to eat food.

She has to speak to Anna. She has to not break down or make ice or snow when she tells her what happened. She has to let herself be hugged and not mind when Anna looks lost for words, even though Anna is never lost for words. She has to make herself ask about Nikolas. She has to ignore the pity that flashes through her sister's eyes.

She has to look strong. She has to speak evenly. She has to breathe normally, and not freeze everything. She has to answer people's questions about her wellbeing and she has to think about it because they haven't announced the miscarriage yet. She has to try to explain it to Olaf and she has to smile at him. She has to encourage him to follow David because she just … can't, right now.

She has to listen to David when he says she should stop working and return to bed. She has to speak to him normally because God knows he didn't cause the miscarriage. She has to ignore thoughts that she did. She has to look him in the eye and ignore the concern and other things she sees there.

She has to thank the guard who accompanied her to her room yesterday, and who sat with her until the physician arrived. She has to not cry when she walks by the nursery room. She has to lie down when the physician sees her and tells her to rest. She has to listen and nod when he tells her they may want to bury the body.

She has to see her sister again in the evening and try to muster up more expression and enthusiasm than she could this morning. She has to ignore the look on Anna's face which tells her that Anna knows full well that Elsa is not "fine". She has to evade the almost-but-not-quite questions because that's something she can't get into yet. She has to let herself be hugged.

She has to say goodnight to her husband. She has to lie down and look at the ceiling in the dark, feigning even breaths to indicate sleep. She has to pretend that David is asleep.

She has to do all of this and hope that tomorrow will be easier.

"How are they?"

Anna rolls over to look at Kristoff. He knows about the miscarriage but hasn't been to see Elsa and David yet. She shivers as she remembers her sister's expression.

"Not great, I think. I spoke to Elsa twice and she … I don't know, she just looks so … gone."

"Gone?"

"Like she doesn't know what to do with herself. Lost, I guess."

Or blank. The second time they spoke, there was a terrible blankness in Elsa's eyes and an aching dullness in her tone.

Kristoff strokes her arm and that makes her relax slightly. "Do they know how it happened?"

She shakes her head. "Apparently there might have been something wrong with the baby or something wrong with Elsa. Elsa thinks it's her, because, hey, she's Elsa." Kristoff smiles at that but Anna isn't in the mood to smile back. "She asked me if I thought maybe God or something had it in for her."

Kristoff snorts. "That sounds unlikely." When Anna doesn't reply, he says, "C'mon, you don't actually think there's some kind of supernatural force picking on Elsa?"

Anna hesitates. "I just … doesn't it ever feel like bad things always happen to her? Our parents lock her away for thirteen years, they die, she nearly destroys Arendelle, I nearly die, she's forced to marry someone to save the country and now she has a miscarriage? That just … I dunno, that feels like…"

"It's coincidence. Bad things happen to everyone. She's had it fairly good since she married David, you know." He pauses. "Apart from the whole being married to someone she doesn't want to be married to thing."

"That counts as good in your world?"

Kristoff pulls a face. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, they seem happy enough."

"I know," Anna says. She sighs. "But … I feel like … I still feel like bad things happen to Elsa … more. It … I dunno, I feel like she deserves happiness more than most people. Well, not most people but it's … she used to say she's fine with being almost happy and I … why isn't she allowed to just be happy?"

"I don't think anything's actively stopping her." He runs a hand through his hair. "Bad things happen, Anna. Life doesn't care about who deserves it."

Anna is silent for a few seconds. "You always say that. And I know that, you know, life doesn't always have a storybook happy ending. But I always thought that there's gotta be something that makes us act the way we do. Something we believe in, that makes it all be OK. Like God. But … what if there isn't anything?"

"What?"

"Well, you say what happened to Elsa's a coincidence. So if … if there isn't anything then … what's the point?" She sighs. "If you don't think there's something out there – God, a force, whatever – that makes things fair and good – you know, good things for good people – then what do you believe in? What makes you keep going?"

He shrugs. "I do believe in God, I guess – I don't see why He can't exist if we have magic. But as for what keeps me going, that's you. Niko. Sven. My sled, when you're not setting it on fire." He chuckles as her expression turns mildly outraged. "Does an outside force have to make life fair?"

"I don't know." Anna thinks about that awful, blank look on Elsa's face. "But if there's nothing out there that repays you for all the bad things you suffer, why bother at all?"

The days that follow are strange. They announce that Elsa has had a miscarriage and messages of support and sorrow flood into the castle. He doesn't know if it's harder to read the messages that are aimed only at Elsa, or those that are aimed at them both.

It hurts more than he thought it would. It almost feels as though someone has punched his stomach and he is walking winded; or as though, if he closes his eyes for long enough, there is some void that will overtake him. On some occasions, he even finds himself mentally bargaining with someone or other, as though that will somehow give him the ability to raise the…

He doesn't know how to finish that sentence.

He tries to talk to Elsa as much as possible. Not about big things but about anything, anything at all. On one occasion, she asks him if he's OK, and he says he is but he isn't actually sure. Maybe she can tell and maybe she can't but she nods and doesn't pursue it further.

At night, they lie near each other, not touching.

Elsa seems to get on with life. She barely talks about the lost baby and instead throws herself into her work, to the alarm of just about everyone in her government. He thinks it might be one of her coping mechanisms. He would think she's fine except that he hears people talk about a strange blankness they see in her face, and a dullness they hear in her tone that is occasionally overtaken by an almost exaggerated reaction to events. He hasn't seen or heard either that often but that's because she apologises a lot to him and it always sounds the same. At one point, he even asks her to stop apologising, thinking that might help.

She apologises for that.

He doesn't think she's joking.

In any event, people seem happy to give her room. Instead, they come to him to ask questions. He supposes it's nice to be distracted but whenever he shows even the slightest flicker of irritation, he can see that they don't understand that he just wants some space. Or maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe he's not supposed to be this upset about a baby who never was alive. Maybe he's not supposed to feel strangely empty at random times. Maybe it's only women who are supposed to be upset.

About a week after the miscarriage, Anna and Nikolas run into David in one of the gardens. He waves at her and she frowns which makes him stare. It's a good thing Kristoff isn't there. The last thing David needs right now is to get into a fight with someone twice his size over a woman's honour. Especially when that woman will probably spend the entire fight laughing.

But Anna is more jittery than usual. She asks about Elsa a lot, asking if he's tried this and that, asking if Elsa is OK, asking if they're maybe thinking about trying again. That last one stings because it's not as though they planned this pregnancy or even talked about it. And now Elsa will barely touch him. The physician warned them that they shouldn't be intimate for at least two weeks and then added, privately to him, that Elsa's attitude towards touching might change for a while. She's not touchy-feely at the best of times but he can tell that even a slight brushing of skin seems to upset her. He tries not to feel hurt but it's hard.

(He knows she notices because then she apologises (again) and reaches for him. But it's always a stilted movement and it just feels awkward because even though he knows she's doing it out of obligation, he can't move away without offending her. She always lets go first.)

At one point, Anna says, "I don't get why she didn't want children originally. Once or twice, she said something about her being a bad parent or that she might pass on her powers. But I don't get it, 'cause, I mean, she doesn't even hate our parents and it's not like they were the epitome of good parenting. So what did she have to worry about?"

David just nods. It sounds similar to his (few) conversations with her. He briefly considers talking about it with Anna but he doesn't want her to tell him that he should have asked. He knows it's a topic couples are supposed to talk about but Elsa's always had her own dragons to defeat, and, unlike the stories, marrying a prince was never going to be the solution.

Anna seems a little unnerved by his silence. After looking around edgily, she blurts out, "David? D'you … d'you believe there's something out there that makes life fair?"

He stares at her again, wondering where on earth that came from. Finally, he says, "I … suppose that's what God's for, isn't it?" He shrugs. "I don't know. I doubt there's something else that makes it fair."

"Then what d'you believe in? What makes you keep going when … when bad things happen?"

He thinks for a moment. What does he believe in? He believes in God, (at least, he hasn't seen any suggestion that there isn't a God) but he's not sure that's what she's asking. He doesn't know that he believes in the supernatural, or in some other kind of force that regulates happiness.

"It's got to be alright eventually, doesn't it?"

"How, though? If there's nothing out there?"

"Apart from God?"

"You think God makes everything OK for everyone?"

He rubs his head. This sounds like the sort of debate he wouldn't want to be involved in even if he were in a better mood. "I don't know," he says. "But right now, I have to believe He does, see. Or that something does."

Anna's eyes widen, probably at his tone, and she nods before saying goodbye. He rubs his head again, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on.

"You're acting weirdly," Kristoff says to her that evening as she sits, thumbing through a bible. "Even for you."

She shrugs. "I'm thinking."

"Does it hurt?"

Even now, she can't help smirking as she says, "Shut up, Kristoffer."

As the days turn into weeks, she realises that she still doesn't know what to feel. On some days, she wants to cry about the loss of the baby, or apologise to David because of what she must have done. She feels like she does those days by going through the motions. As though everything she does has no meaning. As though her senses are swaddled in cloth and if she thinks about it too much, she can't breathe. And then she has to calm herself and bite her lip and not feel too much, which is horribly close to her teenage life.

On other days, she thinks it's better that she didn't have the child because … well, it's just better. Better that someone like her isn't a mother. Even her body knew that. She needs to get a grip. The kingdom needs her to get a grip. On those days, she feels a horrible itch in the back of her mind because she knows why it's better that she didn't have the child – she's always known why it's better not to have children – but there's a feeling that accompanies it that she just can't define.

Anna sometimes talks to her but she seems distracted by something. Elsa suspects she wants to confront her about why she doesn't (didn't) (doesn't) (maybe doesn't) want children but she doesn't. Kristoff never asks either, but Kristoff wouldn't. Sometimes during these conversations, he mouths an apology, his lips quirking upwards, and it never fails to make her smile. She's never said it, but she always wants to ask Anna if she realises how lucky she is to have someone as steady as Kristoff in her life.

Olaf doesn't understand but he knows something bad has happened. He sometimes makes her laugh but looking at him makes her ache, more often than not, and she sends him to David. Just another thing to apologise for.

(She's not allowed to be hysterical, she reminds herself at those moments. She has to be normal. This was always going to happen. This isn't conceal, don't feel. This is … this is just getting a grip.)

No matter how she acts or doesn't act, David is always there, as steady and solid as Kristoff. A small blessing in and of itself. He talks but never about the miscarriage. She doesn't know if she's grateful for that or not. She'd thought he was upset but he doesn't seem too bothered now, and certainly nobody else is sparing his feelings – unlike her, where people almost go out of their way not to talk to her – so maybe he's already over it. Which is fine. He should be. It's not as though there was (ever going to be) a baby. And she can't snipe at him given how much he's doing for her. Really, she should follow his example.

He receives a letter from his brothers.

We were sorry to hear about the baby, Dai. But at least now you know Elsa can get pregnant.

He doesn't know what the rest of it says: he rips it up too viciously to piece it back together.

There's a royal function that requires Anna's presence. It technically requires Kristoff and Nikolas' presence too, but Kristoff still can't abide any kind of formal function and has claimed that it is Grand Pabbie's birthday. She wouldn't mind so much if it didn't seem like Grand Pabbie has roughly four more birthdays per year than anyone else she knows (including most of the trolls), and if they didn't often change date as well.

She spends most of it sat next to one of the Arendelle church bishops and it's actually not that bad. OK, maybe she should have known that he would be alarmed that she doesn't think she believes in God, or anyone, anymore, but at least he promises not to tell Elsa, in exchange for her agreeing to attend church next week. She hasn't actually stopped. Still looking for faith, she supposes. In any event, he tells her that God puts everyone through trials and that there is always a reason for everything He does, even if people can't see it yet (and, apparently, that God is OK with blackmail being used in relation to securing attendance at church. She might write that one down to human weakness rather than holy teachings). That might be true and it's close to how she's thought for years but she can't help thinking that unless Elsa is going to have everything she wants and cake on top of it, the reason for her life will need to be pretty damn good.

It's the most coherent answer she gets that evening anyway – the other guests nearby only seem to add a general "something good has to happen at the end" as a reason (before edging away as quietly as they can) and she already knows that that isn't enough. None of these answers are enough. Why can't anyone define what they believe in, in such a way that it makes sense?

Elsa herself is acting almost normally. In the sense that she is having full conversations. But she and David sit slightly apart from each other and when she listens to Elsa, it reminds her of quiet dinners with their parents, with Elsa patiently waiting for permission to escape to her room. When David disappears to talk to some nobles, Anna takes the opportunity to talk to her sister.

That awful blankness is at the edges of her eyes but the dull ache in her tone has been mostly replaced with resignation – not at Anna, she thinks, but at something else. And then, every once in a while, she'll simply … overreact. Not in the sense that she's angry – in the sense that she'll realise her emotions are dulled and will desperately try to make up for it.

"So," Anna says carefully, "how've you been?"

Elsa blinks, looking as though she actually has to think about this. At least she's not going to overreact. "Fine."

Anna isn't quite sure how to respond to that so she says, "Good. I thought that. You look fine. Not that you don't always look fine because you do. You totally do. People walk down the street and say, wow, Elsa looks … I should shut up, shouldn't I?"

"No." Anna looks at Elsa, a little startled. "I just … I like you being…" Elsa turns her face to Anna, a smile pasted on it. A small smile and that's worse than if it were too large and jolly. If she were someone else, she might think this smile is real.

"You're alright, aren't you? After the … what happened."

"Miscarriage. You can say it, Anna. It's … it happens. To lots of women. Just one of those things."

Anna doesn't know who Elsa is trying to convince. She tries to nod. "Alright, sorry. So, uh, are you OK after the miscarriage? I mean, you've been so busy…"

Elsa shrugs. "Like I say, it happens. I've been doing as well as I expected, I guess. Being busy helps. And I can't just … stop."

This is an avenue of questioning that is going to go nowhere. Anna knows her sister well enough by now to know when she's going to be obtuse about something. Usually it's about small things but Anna will maintain to anyone who will listen (Nikolas – he doesn't have a choice) that they would have signed that international criminal jurisdiction agreement with Rasilend if Elsa hadn't been so set on refusing to remove book forgery from the double criminality provisions. Sure, others (Kristoff) may say it was really because Rasilend wanted discretion to refuse a warrant if the criminal had information that "assisted" Rasilend, but Anna is quite certain that Rasilend would have backed down on that if Elsa had only accepted that in Rasilend, book forgery was a really serious business. In any event, the answer is to try a different tactic. It's a situation that requires sensitivity, tact and delicacy.

"So are you planning on trying again?"

One day, Anna thinks, she will learn what those words mean.

Elsa hesitates and, for a second, there is no blankness. There is no fake smile. There's … something else. But then she shakes her head.

"So you don't want children now? I mean, do you or don't you?"

There's that hesitation again and it's longer. "I think it's a bad idea."

"Why?"

Now something else flashes over Elsa's face and she definitely recognises that. Anger. "That's an extremely personal question, Anna."

"You never minded me asking before."

"I never said I minded before." As Anna fights to find words for a retort, Elsa sucks in a sharp breath and deflates slightly, looking around at the crowds as she does so. A few curious people glance at them. Right. They're still at the party. "I'm sorry, Anna," she says more quietly. "I shouldn't have snapped. It's just … that is a personal question and it … I'm not that comfortable talking about it. Especially if I can't… well." Over the years, Anna has asked Elsa questions, some of them incredibly personal and some of them not. Elsa has almost never said she minds, even when she does. All at once, guilt fills her but before she can say anything, Elsa says, "I … probably wouldn't be a good parent. And besides, what if the child has powers and I couldn't stop him or her abusing them? Or the child could be broken, like me."

"You're not broken," Anna says. It's an automatic reaction now. She could probably convince the whole of Arendelle to say that to Elsa ten times, and Elsa would still maintain that there's something wrong with her.

Elsa shrugs. "I also … I think this has proven I probably can't have children. I … well, there's no point, is there?"

"You don't know that you can't have children," Anna says softly. "You said yourself, miscarriages happen. And I don't see why you'd be a bad parent. I mean, look at what our parents did and you turned out-"

"Don't," Elsa says harshly and Anna falls silent. This is a sore point between them still. "Our parents did what they thought they had to do and they … I … just don't. Not now. Please."

Anna nods. She looks out, over the party, at David obliviously talking to the nobles. Elsa's barely mentioned him. He's been getting on with things though so he's obviously dealing better than Elsa. He, at least, doesn't have people like their parents hanging over his life.

Elsa watches her gaze. Then she looks at Anna and when Anna turns back, there's confusion in that blankness. "What?" Anna asks.

"Normally, you'd be ridiculing everything I said and telling me everything is going to be OK."

"But do you think that?"

"I don't know. But I kind of want someone to tell me that."

Anna thinks of her conversations that evening and over the past few weeks.

"I think you'd be an awesome parent, sis."

"But you don't think it's going to be OK."

She can't answer that and, luckily, a nearby baron comes over to ask Elsa something before the silence can become too telling.

He thinks things might not be back to normal yet. Elsa apologises less than before (which is still more than the average human but he's learnt to live with that) but she seems to speak less these days anyway. He thinks she laughs less but maybe he's making fewer jokes. Things don't seem as funny to him at the moment. And people talk to her as though they're talking to a wounded animal. They're more direct with him. He never mentions it to Elsa and she doesn't talk about it.

They do talk, though, and that has to be an improvement. They talk about their days in general. They talk about people they know. They talk about the kingdom's affairs. Sometimes, they laugh or grumble about ordinary things and it's almost as though nothing has happened.

But they don't talk about the miscarriage.

He can feel it crushing him. He wonders if it does the same to her too.

Anna still can't find an answer. She's asked just about everyone she knows, except for Elsa and Olaf. She's been dragged into ecclesiastical debates, theoretical debates, even the occasional drunk shouting match at the tavern ("Come on, feisty pants," Kristoff grunted on one occasion. "If you get arrested for disorderly conduct, your sister might turn you into a snowman for real this time."). Everyone has a different answer but it all seems so insubstantial.

And the more she thinks about it, the more she wonders – why did Elsa ever agree to have children if she doesn't want them? If Elsa was so convinced this would happen, why did she try, and why won't she try again? She's tried asking Elsa about children a few more times but she is always reluctant to answer. More than reluctant. Much like at the party, her answers verge on irritation.

On one occasion, she sees Kai, out in the city. He seems a little offended that she hasn't asked yet ("I'm not saying you should direct all of your spiritual questions to me but I did rescue you from that tree when you were nine, you know. I feel as though that was a bonding moment between us.") but his answer is only that people get out of life what they put in – good things happen to good people. Elsa is living proof of the falsity of that theory but she can't help blinking when he says, "I think it's perhaps less concrete than that, your Highness. If you don't mind me saying, your parents are an interesting example."

"You think my parents were bad?"

"No, but I think they did bad things. What they did to you was bad."

"You mean Elsa, right?"

"I mean both of you." Before she can question this, he continues, "And I think they knew that. Her Majesty … thinks she does bad things, which I think amounts to the same outcome."

That argument doesn't make sense either because, as Kristoff points out, it's not as though Elsa gave herself a miscarriage through the power of bad conscience, nor as though a ship sank because of her parents' bad parenting methods.

Maybe the answer is to simply ask Elsa what she thinks.

So when next she sees Elsa, she says, "What do you believe in? And don't say God."

Elsa stares. The blankness has mostly gone and her tone is less dull these days but Anna thinks she might still be hurting, especially since the occasional overreactions remain. "But I do believe in God, Anna. As should you."

"I do. I totally do. I think He's doing a great job." She looks around, in case God decides to call her out on this possible lie. "But I mean … what keeps you going when things are tough? What makes you get up each day and, I dunno, not throw yourself off a balcony?"

Elsa flinches and Anna hates herself.

Elsa once knelt on the fjord, as snow hung suspended in the air, and waited for a sword to take her life.

It's one of those things that nobody ever talks about.

"I don't know," Elsa says, possibly too loudly but Anna is glad because it drowns out the sound of that ominous silence in her mind. "I suppose … I have things to do. I have Arendelle to look after. I have you and David and Olaf. I can't just…"

"That's it?"

"I'm not sure what else you're expecting?"

Anna looks at her then. For some reason, she'd thought Elsa might have a better answer than everyone else. Something that would explain why Elsa had the miscarriage. When Elsa asks why she's asking, she changes the subject.

"David," Elsa says later that evening, "has Anna recently asked you about your religious beliefs?"

"Funny you should say that," David says. "She asked me a few weeks ago. I heard she's been asking some of the nobles too."

Elsa nods. "I heard that as well. And she asked me tonight. I don't know what's behind it. She's never been one for questioning theories of the universe. Usually, she's just asking why I don't want children." She can't keep the bitterness out of her voice. "As though that would make everything better."

Sympathy flashes in David's eyes and she knows that he understands, that he, too, has had people suggest that another child might ease the pain of the miscarriage. As though children are toys or pets.

But all he says is, "Who knows? It's probably one of her phases."

Elsa nods but she can't help thinking that Anna's questioning, and her glum mood, only started after the miscarriage, and that if she's done one more thing to hurt Anna, she'll never forgive herself.

She is looking for David so that he can sign something. She's done that a few times since the miscarriage and she doesn't know that he feels any more validated by the action, but he does it without complaint. Usually, she's good at finding him but this time, she realises she has no idea where he is.

As she searches, she runs into Olaf. To her surprise, he knows exactly where David is – the garden with the cloudberry bushes.

"What's he doing out there?"

She doesn't expect Olaf to answer with, "Oh, he always goes out there. Or near there but he's there today. Today's an alone day, he says."

"An alone day?"

"For walking." Seeing her confusion, he smiles. "He likes walking. Says it clears his head. Sometimes I go with him 'cause I wanna clear my head too – like, you know, take out my carrot – but he says he likes to be alone so he can talk out loud. I don't mind him talking out loud but he says it's embarrassing when other people can hear him."

She looks at him curiously. She's not sure she's ever heard David complain. He's twitchy and anxious but he always seems content just to let things happen. "So does he ever talk to you about his problems?"

"Course he does. We're best friends!"

Olaf thinks everyone is his best friend so this isn't exactly a high bar. Nonetheless, Anna's curiosity is piqued.

"What does he talk about?"

"He says he's worried about Elsa, and he's sad about the baby. He wishes he could have some space but Elsa's the only one who gives it to him. He always says I'm not allowed to tell anyone he said that and then he says he probably shouldn't let Elsa know 'cause it'll make her sad."

"Huh." For some reason, she's a little surprised that he's upset. She's always thought of the miscarriage as being something that happened to Elsa and he's always seemed so … fine. Generally calm and quiet. As far as she knows, nobody has ever heard him discuss the miscarriage.

Of course, Elsa rarely talks about it either, but she's Elsa. He's David. He can put up with it. He doesn't have demons in his past, he didn't miscarry and … he's fine. He'd say if he wasn't. Most people would say if they were unhappy.

She thanks Olaf and goes to look for David. Despite herself, she feels a little guilty when she asks for his signature, but he only smiles and shrugs in his easygoing way. Which means he's fine. He's definitely fine.

One day, David finds her playing with a necklace chain. He doesn't ask, but she feels her face turn red anyway. "My mother's," she mutters. "Old heirloom, got worn maybe once."

He nods. "Like all heirlooms then," he says and she can't help smiling. She does that more these days, she thinks. "My mother made my oldest brother carry round her father's belt buckle because she didn't know what else to do with it."

Elsa smiles again but it fades as she looks at the necklace again. "Mine taught me a lot but she never really gave me any heirlooms. Anna has a ring from my mother and a bracelet from my father." She pauses, fingers playing over the small jewel in the centre of the necklace. "They didn't trust me not to just destroy whatever they gave me."

David appears to think about this for a moment. "Hang on," he says. "If you were freezing everything, why did they let you wear clothes then?"

It's so unexpected that she laughs. "They could hardly have the heir to the Arendelle throne wandering around the castle naked."

"But they were happy to lock you-" He cuts himself off when he sees her expression. "Sorry," he says. "I just-"

"I know," Elsa says. "But they … they weren't bad people. I … I have a lot from them and…"

An arm creeps round her shoulder. "I'm just glad they taught you the importance of clothes," he says and she laughs again.

Although they have those moments, he still feels tension. Not just between him and Elsa, but between Elsa and Anna. Elsa's right. Anna's definitely acting weirdly and, as an offshoot of that, seems to be asking Elsa more and more about children. He doesn't get the feeling of her wanting to pressure Elsa though. He feels (and Kristoff agrees) that Anna is searching for something.

It's definitely bothering Elsa, although she hasn't said anything about it since she asked him about Anna's behaviour. It bothers him as well, though he suspects for different reasons. She's mentioned once that people never seem to know what to say to her. They certainly think they know what to say to him. If he hears one more person say, Maybe you could try again, hey, your Majesty, he might just…

Nothing. He won't do anything and everyone knows it.

But Elsa seems to internalise it. Anna is known for asking awkward questions and she just nods and absorbs each question or comment with a shrug and a comment.

One night, they are having a "family" dinner. He doesn't know whose idea this was and he doesn't know if it's a good one or not but they all show up – he, Elsa, Olaf, Anna, Kristoff and Nikolas. The evening starts out pleasantly enough, with much of the conversation focusing on Nikolas. Olaf helps keep the mood light, making humorous and random comments. David has come to rely on that constant good mood of Olaf. He sometimes wonders if Elsa relies on Anna in the same way he's come to rely on Olaf and, if so, what she's doing given Anna's new mood.

But by the time they've reached the main course, there is a definite tension in the air between the two sisters. Or maybe it's just Elsa. Anna has made a few comments about children – which she must know is a sore point (and which Kristoff has attempted to derail a few times) – and Elsa has started to clam up. It's not that Anna is being aggressive but her questions and comments, when mixed with her unusual thoughtful/moody mood, makes it come off worse than it otherwise would. And Elsa would probably normally laugh it off, or take it in her stride, but he suspects it's hitting a raw nerve (it's certainly hitting some of his own nerves).

Kristoff mentions that he needs to put Nikolas to sleep. As he hoists his son onto his shoulder, David has a sudden urge to offer to go with him. But that will look weird and he suspects nobody will thank him for running out of the room. Instead, he looks at Olaf and decides that, between them, they can return the evening conversation to its usual fun, random format.

"I think that's one of the cool things about parenting," Anna says, looking at Kristoff's departing back, "that you're a tag team."

Or not.

Elsa has clearly had enough of these comments because she says, "What about single parents?"

"Huh?"

"You know – women whose husbands abandon them; men whose wives leave with dashing soldiers; men and women whose partners are killed. Do they have anything cool going for them?"

Anna's eyes widen. "It's obviously harder for them but … I was just saying…" She shrugs. "I guess you'd be fine, 'cause you have David."

"Yeah, David's not going to abandon Elsa," Olaf adds which makes David smile slightly.

Elsa, however, frowns. "I don't understand how this turned into something about David and me."

"I didn't mean … geez, Elsa, I was just saying, if you did have another ki-"

"And I've told you, I don't want to try again." He can feel a chill wind start and immediately shifts closer to Elsa. "Anna, why is it that my own husband can accept it but you can't?"

"Well, David would never tell you if he thought differently, would he?"

"Hey, none of that now," David says, trying not to show how much that stings (especially because it's true) (and especially because Elsa hasn't really had this conversation with him at all). "Let's just leave it. I think dessert is coming soon. What is it? Oh, look, chocolate cake. Great!"

"Ooh, I love chocolate! D'you think it'll have sprinkles on it?"

"I don't know, Olaf," David says in as enthusiastic a voice as he can muster. "What do you think, Elsa?"

Elsa and Anna are not paying the slightest bit of attention. "I don't see why David and my personal life is your business, Anna."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm just wondering … I mean, why did you…" She bites her lip. "I just don't understand is all."

"Understand? What is there to understand?"

"Well, you obviously did want children before so why…" Anna bites her lip again and it occurs to David that she is physically stopping herself from asking questions. Because if she asks, Elsa has to answer. She's not being as insensitive as Elsa thinks she is. "If you wanted children, and then you had the miscarriage and you … don't want them now then … I don't … what do you believe there is to work for? I just don't understand."

OK, maybe he was wrong.

"There's more to life than children, Anna. I have other important things in my life." Frost creeps onto the table. He reaches for her hand but it's so cold that he immediately lets go. Elsa doesn't seem to have noticed. "Anna, why can't you understand that I have my own reasons for not having children and that … maybe the miscarriage was a sign that those reasons were right?"

Anna takes a deep breath. "Alright, I'm sorry," she says, raising her hands. "I'm just … I'm worried about you, sis. I don't understand why you hate yourself so much that you don't even want to risk passing something onto a child now when you were fine before."

"I don't hate myself, Anna." Elsa takes a deep breath as well. Maybe this is going to resolve itself. "Is this to do with your religious crisis? I don't think my having children relates to God, you know."

Anna blinks for a few seconds. "So it's not because you think God, or fate, or something, has it in for you?"

"No."

"But you said it was a sign. If you believe in those things, but don't think the miscarriage was a sign, why don't you try again?"

"Wow, this conversation's going nowhere, is it?" Olaf whispers to David, who thinks he would smile if it weren't for the expression on his wife's face. "Maybe the cake will calm them down."

"Anna, just leave it, OK? I don't think it's fate. It's … something else."

"It is because you're scared your child's gonna be like you. You talk about being a bad parent and all but you always say, children take after your parents. How can you say you don't hate yourself if you're too scared to even risk having a child like you after having a miscarriage? How can you say you have something you believe in if you don't even believe in yourself anymore?"

"Anna, I'm asking you to drop it."

He grabs Elsa's hand again, noting that her plate is now encased in ice, and holds on as tightly as he can. It's so cold, it actually hurts.

"Maybe we should all calm down now, see," he says as loudly as he can.

Anna barely spares him a glance. "Well, don't you think you should talk to someone about it? You won't even talk to David."

"Anna-"

"No, why? Why won't you talk about it? What are you so afraid of?"

"Enough, Anna," Elsa says and nearly slams her hands on the table. She stops just a millimetre above the tabletop, finally noticing David's hand. He tries to smile and, for a second, she wavers. But she glances at Anna, who has shrunk back, and breathes in. Then she says, in a voice so devoid of emotion that it makes him shiver, "You really want to know why?"

"Uh, actually, I think maybe-"

"Did you know that children who were raised by abusive methods tend to abuse their own children?"

"Elsa-"

"You see it all the time in the city. Boys who were beaten by their fathers go on to beat their wives and children. Girls who are slapped by their mothers for acting out of turn slap their daughters for the same things. Even physicians have noted it."

"Elsa, you don't-"

"You didn't get the worst of Mother and Father, Anna. At most, they ignored you and then overcompensated for that. But for ten years of my life, they hid me in a room, told me I was a danger to everyone around me and made me repress my every emotion. You've made it very clear what you think of that. That's what I know of raising children – when I was your guardian, I tried to keep you locked in the castle and made you so miserable, you attempted to marry the first man you met." She opens her eyes and he can see that blankness he heard about so often. "It was never about what any child of mine would get from me, Anna. It's about what I got from our parents."

"Elsa," Anna says, stricken, but Elsa has shaken her hand free of David's and is walking away. David is frozen to his seat, unsure of whether to follow her. Anna turns to him. "Did you know that?" He shakes his head, no. "I didn't mean … I just…"

And, suddenly, he's angry. "Then what did you mean, Anna? You knew that was a touchy subject for Elsa, see. So what did you hope to get out of pushing her?"

"I thought … I just wanted to know how she can still have faith, even now. I thought maybe it's about believing in yourself and I thought … maybe if I could show her that she … she believes in herself…" She scrunches up her eyes. "I thought if she could have children, maybe it would mean…"

"Well, it could've gone worse," Olaf says. "At least she didn't cause an eternal winter again."

"An eternal winter?" Kristoff walks in, smiling. "We having another one of … what's going on? Where's Elsa?"

Nobody answers.