Author's Note:

Wow, that was a long chapter! Thanks everyone, for reading! Have fun!

The night was blustery and cold. Freja watched the moon rise over the sea from Rosie's bedroom window before shutting it tightly against the chilly air. She turned slowly to look at her sister. Paleness had crept evermore into Rosie cheeks, and her energy was so drained that all she could manage was to sleep for the whole day. Conversation turned one-sided as Freja sat at her sister's side, watching the uneasy rise and fall of her inflated belly. Every once in a while, Rosie abdomen would fail to rise for several seconds, and Freja would panic, shaking her awake with a gasp.

It happened again. Freja grabbed her sister's arm and yanked it, and Rosie's eyes popped open again, and she choked and inhaled.

"Freja," she sighed, closing her eyes again, "Why do you keep doing that? I'm… I'm just so tired."

Freja clutched Rosie's hand in her own. It was cool and clammy. "I'm sorry. I thought…" her voice trailed off, and she rested her head on the bed, one hand draped over Rosie's belly.

"You're exhausted, too. How long has it been since you slept?"

Freja almost smiled. Even with her life hanging in the balance, her sister still worried for her. She sat up again.

"I'm fine."

Rosie's lips turned up slightly, tiredly, and she placed her hand on Freja's cheek. Not a word was spoken for several minutes. The sisters just sat, looking into each other's eyes. It was strangely comforting.

Then Rosie choked and coughed, doubling over and pulling her hand back to cover her mouth. Her eyes drooped and she slouched back onto the pillows.

Lifting her sister's limp arm and resting her palm on her belly, Freja said, "Just relax, now. Someone is coming to help," and Rosie drifted into an unfit slumber again.

Some time went by, and to Freja it felt like years. She paced back and forth, from the door to the window, to Rosie's side, back to the window. Would this Alazair really come?

Then came three soft knocks at the door. Knock… knock…knock. Slow and precise, like they were beating out a deathly rhythm. Then the door open and a man came in. He was wearing a shimmery, silver-gray cloak, which he tossed off upon entering the room. He was not a very large figure, but his presence in the room was definitely felt, and Freja found herself shrinking back from him. He looked up at her with black, weasel-like eyes.

"Your highness," he grunted in greeting. Then he hustled forward and began examining the queen.

Freja crept closer. Alazair was half grumbling, half whistling through his teeth as he worked, placing hand gently on Rosie's temples, feeling her heartbeat, checking her breathing.

"So… do you know what's wrong with her?" Freja asked.

Alazair looked at her in a very perplexed manner.

"No."

Freja blinked. "What do you mean, no? I brought you here to…"

"No," said Alazair again, and he held up a hand to hush her, "But it is not my job to know what is wrong with somebody. Imagine all of the schooling, all of the studying that would require me to do. It is my job to fix them."

"Can you do that?"

"That's what I live for, my dear. Now, let's see…"

Alazair went to his cloak, draped sloppily over a chair, and began digging through it. It must have had a great many pockets, because items kept falling out. Bits of paper with scribbled writing, dried up flower petals, a fat dead beetle, an empty bottle, another bottle with a neon green liquid in it, and a very large blue feather.

"Ah hah!" Alazair exclaimed, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. It looked very old and had a yellow tinge to it, and was burnt slightly around the edges. The miracle worker unfolded it carefully, making sure not to tear the corners, and laid flat on the bed below Rosie's feet.

"It's… it's a map," said Freja. She had been hoping for something a little more, dare she say it, magical.

"Yes, yes. A map of Corona, no less."

"But… how does that…"

"Hush," Alazair cut her off. Freja tried hard not to glare at him. "Now, Highness, I do know of something that can save your sister…"

Freja exhaled as relief washed over her. At last! A cure!

"Great! Can you give it to her?"

"… hold on, I'm not finished. I know of something that can save her, but it's not something that I, myself, possess."

"What? What do you mean? What is this something?"

Alazair wrung his hands before continuing. "It's a flower."

"Like an herb? Some kind of natural remedy?"

"No. Not an herb," he said to word with great distaste, like it offended him, "It's a flower of… unusual qualities. It has the ability to heal the sick or injured, and can even go so far as to stop people from dying."

"A… a magic flower?"

Alazair pointed a finger at her in conformation. Great. They were back to magic again. Freja felt her insides writhe as she remembered the icy curse set on Arendelle last year. She shuddered.

Alazair placed a hand on her arm, and his touch surprised her. Unintentionally, she pulled away.

"Your majesty, I can see that you may be cautious about the idea of using the magical arts. But I would like to assure you that not every magic is evil or dangerous. There is great beauty in it, as well."

The miracle man stared pointedly at the queen of Arendelle for a few moments, and Freja could feel herself melting. What choice did she have? For the life of her sister, she would even face that psycho Edvard Beteran a second time. For her sister, she would freeze over a thousand times, with no regrets.

Taking a deep breath, Freja turned to face Alazair.

"Okay. How do we get the flower?"

"The map will show us."

Freja leaned over it expectantly. Alazair clicked his tongue.

"However, before the map will show us, I need something from you."

"Oh, the payment?"

"No. That's later. But in order to make the map work, I need the tears of someone who is in deep sorrow."

"The tears of someone in deep sorrow…" Freja echoed, "You want my tears?"

"Need is the proper word," said Alazair.

"But… I'm not crying."

"Well, I'll give you some time," he pulled out a small, glass vile and handed it to Freja. Then he went and seated himself on the chair in the corner of the room and watched her intently. "Remember," he said, "tears of sorrow."

Unsure of what to do, Freja sat on the edge of Rosie's bed. She looked at Alazair, then at her sister, who had been asleep for the whole ordeal. Tears of sorrow. She had to think. And she already knew she wouldn't like what she had to think about.

Rosie. My beautiful, big sister. Remember the time when we swam out to that island, miles off the shore, and lay in the sun, digging our toes in the sand? I was only twelve then, and you were fourteen, but oh, how I admired you. You fell asleep there, on the beach, but I just watched you and imagined being just like you someday. Remember that night when we stayed up all night, talking about when we had kids of our own, and how they would always play together. I don't know if that will ever happen, now. All of the memories, those precious, precious memories, they're dwindling in the back of my mind. If only you would be here with me when Elsa is born, if only you could be her loving, funny aunt who breaks all the rules and drives me crazy. If only your child and mine could be best friends. If only your child could be born at all. If only you wouldn't die. If only…

And the tears came, fast and wet, and Freja's face was suddenly sopping. Her hand shook as she held up the vile to her cheek, catching the tears in them. It took only a few seconds for it to be full. She put the cork in and handed it to Alazair without looking at him. Turning to face the window, Freja clutched her belly and shivered with grief. In her mind, she had lost Rosie. She knew it wasn't real. She knew Rosie was alive, but… those thoughts, circling her brain like buzzards. Freja didn't know if they would ever be gone.

Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and turned back to face Alazair. He stood, holding the vile, at the foot of the bed.

"Ready."

"Now we will discuss payment."

Really? Now? Freja wanted to scream out all of her emotions and nerves and frustration.

"Fine," she said instead, "What do you want?"

Alazair held up the vile and look at it with interest.

"I only need a couple drops to work the map. I would like to keep the rest."

"You want my tears?" She was too tired to wonder. "Okay, whatever. Is that it?"

"No," said Alazair, "I also want to be there when you have the baby."

Freja's attention was caught at that.

"Why on earth…?"

"I want to be there, in the room. I want to hold her. Is there a problem for a person to have an affinity toward the miracle of new human life?"

Shaking her head, Freja sat down and rubbed her eyes. The combination of three solid days of research in the library, plus the stress of Rosie's condition, plus the strain of her own added up to her suddenly feeling very exhausted.

"No, that won't work. I'm sorry, but I don't want you there when I deliver. That is just… I don't know, weird. There has to be something else. As much money as you want."

Alazair stared at her intently. "No. That is my one offer. If you do not want to pay it, that is your problem, but it means I won't be able to complete my work."

"But if we could talk to King Thomas, I'm sure…"

"No!" Alazair said sternly, and Freja startled, "Now, will you take my offer, or not?"

"Umm… I…"

"Fine."

The miracle man grabbed the map off the bed and started to stuff it into his cloak again.

"Wait!" Freja cried. She looked at Rosie, sleeping uneasily. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead and her arms and legs were twitching slightly as the muscles tensed and spasm-ed. This stupid magic flower. Why did it have to be the only thing that would work? Clutching her abdomen, she felt Elsa move inside of her. Her baby kicked hard at Freja's insides. It would still be a few weeks, she told herself. Maybe by then they would be back in Arendelle, and Alazair would have no power to be anywhere near them. Maybe she could just avoid him altogether. She glanced at her beloved sister again, and her mind was made up.

"I'll do it. I'll pay whatever you want. Please, just help me save her."

Smiling in delight, Alazair tossed the map onto the bed again. He whisked the vile out of his pocked, uncorked it, and poured a single drop onto the yellowy parchment.

For a minute, nothing happened. Then a faint glowing sun appeared, gleaming orangey-yellow out of the paper and filling the room with color. It grew in size and intensity, and Freja squinted in its light. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it faded. It shrunk to a small spot of white light, just bigger than a pin head, and traveled along the parchment like an insect, coming to rest on the map drawing of the Cronin Wood, across the channel from the kingdom.

"There!" exclaimed Alazair, grinning proudly, "That is where the flower is! Congratulations, my dear, you have just saved the queen!"