Author's Note:

Hi, all! Hope that you are enjoying the 2nd part of Chronicles of Arendelle so far! I know I have enjoyed writing it.

I have found this is seriously a great writing exercise for me. I have never written anything this long or involved before. There's no pressure to get everything perfect, so I am finding great freedom in just writing in small increments at a time, just whatever comes to mind. No annoying editing or outlines for me! (maybe a quick spellcheck) Why did I not start fanfiction sooner?!

Anyways, enjoy this next chapter!

Please comment and review!

Chapter 3

Freja had been in the giant library of Corona for days. Her fingers felt raw from thumbing through pages, and her eyes and neck ached. She had long since kicked off her shoes and propped her feet up on the table, the approximately three-hundredth medical book lying open in her lap. And she was snoring, the kind of moaning, unsuspecting snore that emanates from a person who didn't intend to fall asleep. Her head was lolled sideways, her cheek resting against the chair.

She gave a soft snort as she awoke suddenly. Stellan was sitting next to her, holding a tray of food. Her stomach growled.

"Mmm… breakfast," she smiled up at him, rubbing her eyes.

"Lunch," said Stellan, an edge of firmness in his voice.

"Oh."

Freja took the tray and ate, slowly at first, then pushing as much food into her mouth as would fit. She felt like she hadn't eaten in weeks.

Stellan watched her silently as she gobbled down her lunch. Leaning back, she sighed and put her hands on her abdomen. Freja smiled as she felt her daughter kicking. She reached for Stellan's hand and placed it underneath her own.

"Freja, please, you need to rest."

"I thought I just did."

"That didn't count," her husband shook his head, "I mean a proper rest, you know, in a bed. And a meal eaten over a table, not old manuscripts. You've been at this for three days now. You must have scoured every book in this library!"

Freja set her jaw. "It's a big library," she retorted.

Stellan looked her square in the face. She hated when he did that. His eyes, blue as the sea, always made her strangely emotional as of late. She sniffed.

"I can't find anything," Freja said shakily, "Nothing that would help Rosie. There isn't a medical book in here that has a cure the physicians haven't tried yet."

She rose from the chair, her back, legs, and everything else protesting. Stellan rubbed her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead.

"I'm sorry, Freja."

Sorry? Sorry for what? Did he think it was hopeless? That her sister was going to die? That her unborn niece or nephew would perish along with her? She closed her eyes and tried to keep from crying. Why were these thoughts circling in her mind like black buzzards, waiting for her to fall, lifeless, to the floor? Control it. She had to keep her head. But her head was spinning from exhaustion and worry and all that reading, and she felt the tears coming. She blinked them back.

"I'm going to go talk to the physicians again," Freja said, pulling away from Stellan. His hands were firm on her shoulders for a second, then he released her.

"Please, my love… I admire your hope and determination. You know I do. But… some things are just, well, beyond help. Sometimes it's best just to spend as much time with a person as you can before…" his voice drifted off as Freja eyes narrowed up at him.

Spinning on her heel, Freja walked out of the library.

The physicians' quarters were modest and small, but not shabby. A lovely chandelier, crafted to portray a flying lantern, a trademark of Corona, hung in the middle of the common area, casting a soft yellowy light around the room. Freja slipped in quietly.

"Jonas?"

No one answered.

"Hello? Anyone here? Mathias? Conrad? Anybody?"

But the quarters were deserted. Most likely, the physicians were out gathering herbs and supplies in the shops. Freja sighed. What could anyone do to save her sister? Rosie's condition had gotten worse. Her breathing was shallow and her skin was pale, even with the sunlight streaming into her bedroom. She broke out into chills several times a day, and Thomas had been as attached to her side as Freja had been to the library. Standing in the empty room, despair threatened to creep over Freja. Tears, so long held back, came flowing down her cheeks like a waterfall, and she felt her legs wobble treacherously beneath her. She put a hand on her large abdomen and cried some more. Would Elsa never know what it was like to have a cousin?

"My lady?"

A voice from the doorway make Freja jump. She turned quickly, wiping her face on her sleeve. A middle-aged man stood there. He was tall and powerfully built, wearing a light green cloak. He had only a small amount of facial hair— a half-grown, scraggly reddish beard.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" he said, seeing the state the woman was in. He turned to leave.

"No, no, it's fine… you can come in," Freja said quickly, attempting a smile. "I don't think we've met. I'm Freja."

The poor man seemed very flustered now. He hastily sunk to one knee in an ungraceful bow.

"Oh, my, your highness!"

"Oh, please, please don't. I'm not even royalty here… Well, actually… nevermind. What's your name?"

The red-haired man looked at her inquiringly. "You're Queen Primrose's sister."

Freja felt like she had been punched in the gut at the mention of Rosie.

"Yes. That's me."

"Then you're just the person I need to talk to! My name's Carney, by the way. I… I may have a way to help her, the queen!"

"What? How!?" Freja jumped a pace closer to him, restraining herself from clutching at his cloak in earnest.

"Well, not me, actually, but I know of someone who can."

"… Who?"

Carney wrung his hands before answering. "His name's Alazair. He's… different. But he can do things that most normal people can't. Miracles!"

Tension welled up inside Freja. A miracle worker. That was just what they needed right now. But… miracles or magic. She had experienced her fair share of sorcery last fall. She really didn't want to encounter it again. Not for as long as she lived. But Rosie.

"Alazair already knows that he might be summoned to save Queen Primrose," continued Carney, "He wanted me to get a message to you. He can come to see your sister tonight, but he doesn't like an audience. He would like you to be there, to discuss payment (he does his work for profit, see), but no one else."

"Payment?"

"Yeah. This whole miracle-working thing. He says that every miracle comes with a price."

"How much does he want?" Freja asked. Not that it mattered. Both her and Thomas would willingly hand over every gold and jewel they owned to save Rosie.

"Oh, he decides once he sees her."

Of course he does.

Biting her bottom lip in contemplation, Freja examined Carney. She thought of Rosie, of Thomas, of their baby, and of Elsa (she always thought of Elsa). What other choice did she have? They were running out of time. This was usually when people started looking for a miracle. And now, apparently, one had fallen right into her lap.

"Okay, Mr. Carney," she said, straightening up, "Send word to this Alazair that I will meet him tonight. I will take him up on his offer."