QUICK NOTES:

You guys. I'll be off the grid for the month of July.

I would never leave a story unfinished (quelle horreur!); it just might have to be on hold for a few weeks. Unless I can pull myself together in the next couple days. Either way, it will get done.

Anyway, I haven't had time to proof as thoroughly as I like, so what follows may be a bit rough or wordy. My usual approach to finalizing a thing is to just prune the jujubes out of it …

Arendelle and its peeps aren't mine.

Chapter 12

Olaf had been, quite frankly, astonished to find the queen in tears, but when he saw Anna dozing fitfully in the grip of the of the very fever they'd been trying to protect her from, he nearly dissolved into tears himself. Which would have been disastrous for a snowman such as he.

The royal physician had been summoned to care for the princess, and so Olaf slipped into the corridor and made his way down the stairs—no easy task for a creature without knees. He wanted more than anything to stay by Anna's side, but he knew that he would just get in the way. Poor Olaf had a habit of getting underfoot when the people around him were preoccupied with unhappy thoughts.

He was generally unacquainted with such cheerlessness. He wanted to be of help, but the only way he knew how was to offer frequent and enthusiastic hugs—and he was fairly certain that the physician would shoo him away if he attempted to do so at this time. So he decided that his personal brand of support would be put to best use in a visit to Kristoff and Sven.

Late autumnal rain clouds were collecting in the sky as he made his way along the path to the stables. He didn't think much of them, one way or the other—they simply seemed to match the collective mood of the kingdom itself. And this left him itching for companionship.

He found the ice master in the stables with Sven, of course, his arm slung around the reindeer's shoulder and his forehead leaning against his neck.

Olaf brightened.

"Group hug!" he cried, shuffling eagerly in and wrapping his arms around Sven's foreleg. The animal shook it halfheartedly but then gave up with a sigh.

Kristoff, for his part, reared back in surprise and looked at the creature.

"We weren't hugging," he said. "I was just tired."

He leaned over to retrieve a bucket of water that he must have been carrying for Sven. Moving it within reach of his friend's muzzle, he stepped back and hooked an old three-legged stool with his foot.

"How are you, Olaf?" he asked, dragging the stool towards him and then sitting listlessly upon it. His smile was weary but genuine. "It's good to see you."

Olaf released his hold on Sven and ambled closer to Kristoff. The man looked rather the worse for wear, to tell the truth. His movements were slow and sluggish, and his hair clung damply to his forehead.

"Wish I could say the same," said the snowman candidly. He'd never understood the subtleties involved in decent conversation. "But you look awful."

Kristoff laughed. "Thanks."

"Not as awful as her, though," continued Olaf, weaving his fingers together anxiously. "If only we could—"

He didn't have the chance to finish, however, because at that moment Kristoff tried abruptly to stand. Too abruptly, it turned out. Instead of rising to his feet in the way that heroes do—all sturdy and poised, and gazing stoically off into the middle distance—he was overcome by a wave of dizziness and merely toppled off the stool.

"WHAT?" he demanded. He didn't ask the snowman to clarify—didn't require Olaf to explain whom he meant by "her." He just knew.

Beside him, Sven frisked in agitation.

"Didn't they tell you?" whispered Olaf.

But they hadn't—no one had told him. He'd been stuck in his loft, coughing up water and bile and waiting for someone—anyone—to tell him that the princess, at least, was safe from this wretchedness. Now he staggered to his feet, reaching out to Sven in order to steady himself.

"I've got to go," he murmured.

He reckoned that he had a little longer than the others—a momentary stay bought unknowingly by the snow queen, herself, once upon a time. But Anna didn't have that luxury. He needed to get to her, and he needed to get to her now.

The snowman understood. Of course Kristoff had to go: this was right and true.

But then Kristoff shivered in spite of—or maybe because of—the fever, and this did not escape Olaf's notice.

"You're gonna need help," he said decisively.

Anna swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed and slid to the floor. Outside her window, she could see the oppressive weight of low-hanging clouds beginning to crowd the sky. It would be cold, but she was already feeling such extremes of temperature that she couldn't be bothered much by the elements.

She had to wait for a woozy swell to pass over her, which it did with a rush in her ears and an odd wafting sensation that reminded her of lying on her back in the sea. When she felt a little stronger, she slipped into her shoes and located a winter cape from the pile of discarded clothes on her floor.

Elsa had fallen asleep in a chair by the window, curled up with only slightly less tension in her body than she carried when awake. She was frowning, now.

Anna pulled a blanket from her bed and tucked it around her sister. Not that she needed it, of course—but it was a tender gesture, and Anna thought that perhaps Elsa was in need of those more than anything right now. She knew, as she'd tossed and turned and chased after elusive dreams in her sleep, that Elsa had been afraid to touch her. Above all else, the queen feared that she would harm those she loved with her powers, and so she shrank from them at the same time that she longed for them to comfort her.

Poor Elsa.

She was exhausted, now. She had not been sleeping well at night, and she was both physically and emotionally drained by the demands of keeping her city alive—not to mention the effort required to control her magic at a time such as this. It did not appear that she would wake any time soon, so if Anna was going to escape from her room, now was the time to do it.

She leaned over and touched her fevered lips to Elsa's cold forehead. Then she slipped out of the room.

The corridor was empty. Much to everyone's grief, the staff had been slowly depleted by the disease over time, and there was no one to watch over the princess's chambers. Neither did she encounter a single living soul as she descended the staircase leading to the castle's service entrance. She stepped unevenly, stopping often to rest against a wall or ride out a new wave of dizziness, and it occurred to her as she clung to the banister that she would never make it the stables. Not like this.

But she would get outside these walls, and she would feel the cool air against her burning skin. She would do that, at least. And so Anna made it to the doorway without incident, and after waiting behind a cupboard for a pair of scullery maids to pass, she opened it and left the palace behind.