A/N: You ever have a story idea that will NOT leave you alone until you write it out to its completion? Even if you have other things you should be working on? Yeah, that's what this is.
I'm sure I'm not the only one to ever have this particular idea, but hey, two cakes and all that.
This story takes place post Frozen 2 and is primarily inspired by Helena Nyblom's retelling of a Swedish fairytale, "The Changelings," as well as a bunch of other changeling-related stories. For any dates present, I used the timeline from "Tinley Park Mom" as a reference.
I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy!
"Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of
weeping than you can understand."
—W.B. Yeats, "The Stolen Child"
August 8, 1831—The Valley of the Living Rock
"And what will you ask of us now, in exchange for my daughter's life?"
Elsa clung to her father's side and dug her fingers into his coat. Icy tear tracks still glittered on her face, but she was done crying now. Now that the danger had passed and her fear for her sister had worn off, all she was left with was a horrible aching feeling and a grief that threatened to drown her in its wake.
Tomorrow, Anna won't remember I have powers.
Her father's words still echoed in her ears—It's for the best, it's for the best, it's for the best, it's for—
She looked up. Elsa's mother and sister were already bundled up and on their horse, waiting; only Elsa and her father remained in the rocky valley. Her father watched the elder troll with apprehension, his jaw set in a hard line. The trolls were pressed close around them still, their eyes bright and curious, gleaming in the dim light.
The elder troll regarded Elsa's father for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, he waved his hand and said in his gravelly voice, "Go. A trade has been accepted."
Elsa's father nodded once before scooping Elsa up in his arms. As quick as he could, he lifted her onto his horse before getting up behind her. With a nod to Elsa's mother, they urged their horses into a gallop and thundered out of the valley. They did not look back.
But Elsa did. Peering around her father's side, she caught a glimpse of a golden-haired child being led by the hand into the center of the gathered trolls, before the mossy valley was swallowed up by the woods and she lost sight of them.
In the days and months and years to follow, she would forget about that child completely.
Seventeen Years Later
August 6, 1848—Hamar
Solveig fidgeted in the pew, smoothing and re-smoothing her skirt in an attempt to keep her hands busy and avoid the disapproving glare of her mamma.
Her uncle, Balder, nudged her shoulder and whispered, "You alright?"
Solveig slouched. "It's this dress. I think it's too small."
Balder made a soft noise of sympathy. "We're almost in the clear," he whispered, a twinkle in his eye, as the reverend signaled for them to stand.
Solveig stood, wincing as her dress pulled at her armpits. She wasn't too fond of church to begin with—she hated being cooped up in a building on a perfectly nice morning when she could be out in the fields instead, and this old dress certainly wasn't helping.
She knew her brother, Erlend, thought the same, though he'd never said as much to her. He didn't speak much as it was anyway and hadn't ever since she was a child. Oh, he could make himself big and loud when he wanted to, but most of the time he kept to himself, with a far-off look in his eyes, like he was never really listening to anything anyone said.
Her onkel said it was the faerie in him, though she'd never put much stock in that. He'd been saying that about Erlend as far back as she could remember.
At the front of the church, the reverend held up an ornate scroll and cleared his throat and Solveig did her best to focus.
"On this day in the year of our Lord 1848," the reverend read, "I hereby publish the banns of marriage between Queen Anna Àrnadalr and Lord Kristoff Bjorgman of Arendelle Chapel. If any of you know cause or justification why these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony, you are to declare it at the chapel in Arendelle Castle Town. They will be married in four weeks' time in the…"
But Solveig had stopped listening. As the reverend said the name Kristoff, her uncle stiffened beside her. When she glanced at him, he was clenching the brim of his hat in his lap, his knuckles white.
She looked down the pew. Her mamma was very pale and her pappa frowned up at the reverend so severely his mouth seemed to cut into his face.
Out of all of them, only Erlend seemed unaffected—humming an off-key tune in the back of his throat. He didn't flinch when Solveig's pappa shushed him.
Solveig frowned. But…surely it was a coincidence. There were lots of people named Kristoff; she personally knew of at least two in the neighboring bygd.
So, why did hearing about this particular Kristoff make the hair on the back of her neck stand up?
She leaned into her uncle's side. "Onkel Balder? It's not…it can't be…our Kristoff—can it?"
There was a heavy pause.
"I don't know," Balder finally whispered. His voice was tight. "But I promise you, I will find out."
Erlend let out a loud laugh that echoed through the parish.
August 7, 1848—Arendelle Castle Town
Kristoff, one hand on the doorknob of his chambers, took a deep breath and let it out again.
He passed a hand across his eyes. He'd stayed up too late the night before and his room had clearly paid for it—his bed unmade and his desk covered in scattered papers and dog-eared books and candles melted down to stubs. He had a raging headache and a crick in his back.
The list he'd painstakingly copied out last night rested heavily in his pocket.
"Don't make eye contact," he muttered to himself. "No stopping for anything. You're going straight to the stables and no one is going to stop you."
He took another deep breath.
"Yeah, you've got this."
And he opened the door.
Kristoff took five steps down the hall before Gerda found him.
"Oh, Kristoff, there you are," she said, her wrinkled face all smiles. Her arms were full of bolts of fabric in hues of black and blue and green.
Kristoff stopped in his tracks and bit down a groan. "Good morning, Gerda."
If Gerda noticed his reluctance, she didn't comment. "I'm just dropping all this off at the tailor's for your suit, will you be ready for your fitting at one o'clock this afternoon?"
Kristoff winced. He'd forgotten all about that.
"Yes, ma'am, I'll be there."
"Perfect, thank you, dear!" Gerda said, striding away down the hall. "Remember, one o'clock!"
"I'll remember," Kristoff said, but she had already turned the corner and was gone.
Great. That meant an hour of being poked by pins and an afternoon of lessons.
Perfect, he thought, already exhausted. Just…perfect.
Last fall, when Elsa had made it clear she was abdicating, she'd sat Kristoff and Anna down and laid it all out: what that would mean for the kingdom, for herself, and for the two of them, newly engaged and all. And at the time, coming down from such heightened emotions after their Great Enchanted Forest Adventure, or whatever Olaf decided to call it, Kristoff had felt ready. More than ready, really. If he and Anna could overcome something like that, then they could take on anything life threw at them, so long as they did it together.
Kristoff threw himself into it at first. He'd sat through endless sessions on the history of Arendelle—on trade, on diplomacy, on military strategy and the like, before moving into things like fencing and dancing and etiquette, and, and, and—
He wanted to learn. He wanted to help Anna. He barely saw her as it was, between all the meetings and trade disputes and the other junk she dealt with day in and day out. He wanted to be able to take some of that on, lessen her load, and he just couldn't if he was only an ice harvester from nowhere in particular, fancy (made-up) title or not.
But with each passing day, the weight of his upcoming title—King Consort—bore down on him, and, with only a few weeks to go until the wedding, he didn't feel anywhere near ready.
He is centered, the list in his pocket hissed at him. He is wise.
Kristoff made it halfway through the ballroom, and could see the bright, beautiful courtyard through the open doors, when one of the young maidservants caught him.
"Pardon me, do you have a moment, sir?" she asked, dipping into a quick curtsy that made him flinch.
Kristoff glanced at the door, then back to the maidservant. His shoulders slumped. "Yes?"
She brightened and led him away (so far away) from the open door and to a table in the corner of the ballroom. Laid out on the elegant tablecloth were four different types of tableware and five or six different floral arrangements and he balked at the sight of them.
"I, uh, thought these were already decided on?" he asked, his voice going up an octave. He eyed the silverware. He was pretty sure Anna had dragged him through this already.
"The ones for the wedding have been picked already, of course, sir," the maidservant said with another curtsy that made his skin crawl. "These are for the rehearsal dinner."
"Oh," Kristoff said. He cleared his throat. "Can't they, um, be the…same?"
The maidservant hid a smile behind her hand. "Begging your pardon, sir, but no they can't."
He stared at the floral arrangements.
Are they…supposed to be different somehow? he thought.
He is decisive, the list hissed again.
A bead of sweat trailed down his back and he squirmed. "Have you asked Anna—I mean, Queen Anna about these yet?"
The maidservant shook her head. "Her Majesty has been in her office all morning."
Kristoff rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, you're, uh…better off asking her I think," he said, inching his way toward the door. "But they all look really, uh, nice! Yeah. Good work!"
With that, he turned and fled the ballroom, ignoring the maidservant curtseying behind him.
Finally, finally, Kristoff made it outside. He kept to the shadows, avoided all possible eye contact. At one point, he saw Olaf walking and talking with the steward, Kai, on the other side of the courtyard, but he ducked into a dark corner before either of them could see him. While he enjoyed Olaf's presence (...most days), he knew the second Kai saw him he could kiss a morning in the stables goodbye.
But that first, blissful moment he stepped inside the stables and got a nose full of horse-and-reindeer musk, he felt like he could finally breathe.
Sven greeted him with a happy grunt and nuzzled his outstretched hand. In turn, Kristoff leaned into his friend's side and rested his forehead on soft fur.
"I'm happy to see you too, buddy," Kristoff murmured. "It's been a morning."
Sven grunted again, this time in apparent sympathy, and tucked his head against Kristoff's side. Kristoff didn't need to give Sven words for that kind of gesture; he knew what he meant.
Kristoff straightened and cleared his throat. "Right, you hungry?"
Changing his voice, he replied as Sven, "When am I not?"
"Fair enough, buddy."
Kristoff threw himself into his daily routine—mucking out Sven's stall, tossing fresh hay and carrots into the feeding trough, brushing out Sven's fur. As he worked, the constant, looming pressure of royalty melted away until his entire world seemed to consist of just this stall, and Sven, and the task at hand.
At least, until—
"Pardon the interruption, sir," came a deep voice, and he jumped.
Kai stood in the doorway, his uniform immaculate as always, waiting for Kristoff's acknowledgement. Kristoff bit down on another groan: he must have been spotted in the courtyard after all.
"Yeah, um, I mean, yes?" Kristoff asked. He moved to lean against Sven before deciding against it and held his arms stiffly at his side instead.
Kai watched impassively and, not for the first time, Kristoff wondered what the man really thought of him (he'd never been brave enough to ask).
"Her Majesty has requested your presence in her office," was all the steward said.
"Oh." Kristoff frowned. "Did she…say why?"
"No, sir," Kai replied. "Come along. You can…freshen up before you see her."
Kristoff sighed and waved goodbye to Sven before following the steward into the castle. He was quickly escorted to his chambers to change out of his work clothes and into something that smelled a little less like reindeer before being ushered straight to Anna's office. Kristoff barely had time to stop and think before he was thrust inside and the door shut behind him with a solid click.
The first person he saw was Anna, dressed in what he knew to be her favorite dark green gown, sitting behind her father's desk. She smiled at the sight of him, but Kristoff could tell it was strained.
It was then he noticed the other two men in the room. One was the bishop, an older, graying man he'd spoken to a handful of times, but the other was a complete stranger.
The stranger sat stiff as a board in the chair across from Anna. His hair and beard were gray, his clothes old but well-mended. He stood abruptly when Kristoff entered, clutching his hat and staring at him as if he'd seen a ghost.
And Kristoff, though he knew for a fact he'd never seen this man before in his life, could not shake the undeniable feeling that he recognized him, somehow.
"Kristoff," Anna said, also standing. The bishop followed suit, leaving them all standing awkwardly around the desk. "This is Balder Larsen, a farmer from Hamar." Her lips twitched into a frown. "He's come to object to our marriage."
"What?" Kristoff asked, taken aback. He looked at the man—Balder. "On what grounds?"
Balder's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He closed his mouth and swallowed. His eyes were searching Kristoff's face.
"None," he finally said. "I have none."
He lowered his gaze. "Forgive me, your Majesty," he mumbled, "for coming here under false pretenses. But I had to be sure."
Across the room, Anna and Kristoff exchanged confused glances.
"Sir, this is a very grievous—" the bishop started, angry, but Anna held up a hand to silence him.
"Sure of…what?"
Balder took a deep breath. "Seventeen years ago, I worked as an ice harvester. One summer, I was taking my crew up into the mountains and my nephew wished to come with me. With his parents' permission, he—he did."
His eyes met Kristoff's. "That night, when we were heading back down the mountain, he disappeared. We never knew what happened to him. He was only…only nine years old, and. And his name was Kristoff."
Anna gasped, looked at Kristoff.
Kristoff didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on Balder now.
"It was my fault, all my fault," Balder said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I promised your father I'd look after you, and then…when I turned around you were just—gone. But, when we heard the banns, I had this feeling and—and now…here you are. Alive."
Kristoff was already shaking his head. "I'm–I'm sorry, but you have the wrong Kristoff. I don't have any family."
The bishop chose that moment to speak up again. "Do you have any evidence to support these claims, sir?"
"Only public birth records," Balder said, eyes shining. "But…you have a pet reindeer, yes?" he asked Kristoff. "Named Sven?"
Kristoff glanced at Anna. "That's…no, everyone in town knows about Sven, that's not exclusive knowledge—"
"He was born the year you vanished," Balder said, interrupting him. "Your father doesn't keep any reindeer, but you begged and pleaded until he let you keep him. Your mother helped you feed him milk when he was small and he slept beside you every night like a puppy."
Kristoff's head spun. He remembered that—he remembered finding Sven abandoned in the woods, calling for his mother. He remembered bundling up the weak newborn calf and carrying him somewhere, bringing him to someone…but their face was shrouded in shadow. They were speaking to him, and running a hand through his hair, but their words and voice were lost to him.
He shook his head to clear it. Balder watched him closely.
"But that doesn't make any sense," Anna was saying. "Kristoff would have remembered if you were his family."
She looked at Kristoff. "You would remember if you had a family…right?"
Kristoff didn't know how to answer her. She's right, he should remember. But it's as if there's a block in his mind—a towering stone wall. He can't see past it. He could press both hands against it, but no matter how hard he shoved, the wall wouldn't move—
"You are the spitting image of your father," Balder said quietly, cutting into his thoughts. "Though, you inherited your mother's hair." He paused, swallowed. "We've missed you, Kristoff, more than you can know—"
"No." Kristoff took a step back.
"Kristoff—?" Anna asked, reaching for him, but he shook his head again.
"No," Kristoff repeated. "We're done here." He folded his arms and fixed Balder with a hard look.
Balder looked stricken. He moved as if to reach for Kristoff himself, but before he could, Anna stepped quickly around her desk to stand at Kristoff's side.
She placed a hand on Kristoff's arm and tilted her chin. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Balder Larsen," she said. "We will discuss the matter in private. If you wish, my steward will see that you have a room for the night and any supplies necessary for your safe return home."
Balder hesitated only a moment before giving her a stiff bow. "Your Majesty."
Kai, as if materializing out of thin air, appeared and escorted the older man out the door. The bishop murmured something to Anna that Kristoff didn't catch before he, too, left the room.
Kristoff glared at Balder's back until the door shut behind him, leaving him and Anna alone.
"Kristoff?" Anna asked. Gently, she pulled at his arms until he unfolded them and reached to take his hand. He let her, interlocking his fingers with hers.
"Are you okay?" Anna asked, softer this time.
Kristoff took a breath and released it. Nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
"I mean, that's kind of a big cannonball to drop on someone. So you don't have to be okay."
"I'm fine. He's just some farmer who wants to get in with the royal family. Probably."
But Anna was still looking at him, her eyes soft. "Do you want…should I write to Elsa? Maybe—maybe she can look into this."
"At…Ahtohallan?" Kristoff asked, frowning.
Anna nodded.
Kristoff hesitated. Elsa would be able to find out, once and for all, if Balder was lying—could easily put this matter to rest with just one peek at the past. She probably wouldn't even have to look that hard.
And yet…
He shook his head. "It's fine. You don't need to bother Elsa with this."
Because Balder was lying. He was. Kristoff was an orphan, full stop. No one was out there waiting for the likes of him.
But if Balder wasn't…
He is centered, the list in his pocket hissed.
Anna bit her lip. "If you're sure."
Kristoff forced a smile. Squeezed her hand. "I'm sure."
August 8, 1848–The Enchanted Forest
Dearest Elsa,
First of all, don't worry! Everyone is fine. The wedding preparations are going as smoothly as they can be (though they would be going smoother if we could convince Olaf to stay out of the kitchens during cake tastings, but that's neither here nor there).
However, today we had a bit of an incident that I'd be grateful if you could look into.
There's really no good way to explain this. A man named Balder Larsen came to the castle today, a farmer from the Hamar bygd, and, well. He claims to be Kristoff's uncle, and that Kristoff has a family in Hamar, waiting for him.
I know, I know, it's crazy. Even Kristoff thinks it's crazy. In fact, he thinks it's so crazy he didn't want me to write and bother you with it at all!
But I'm so tired of secrets, Elsa. If this Balder is lying, I need to know immediately so the matter can be dealt with. Because if he isn't…I don't know how Kristoff will react. I don't know how I will react, to be honest.
I humbly request that you look into Ahtohallan and seek the truth so we may put this matter to rest for good.
Your sister,
Anna
P.S. Are we still on for charades this Friday?
"Oh, Anna," Elsa murmured into the stillness of her lavvo. She pressed the letter to her chest for a moment. "Of course I'll look. You don't even have to ask."
Bruni, from where he sat on her shoulder, peered down at the paper curiously and licked his eyeball once for good measure. Elsa smiled and rubbed her fingers together. Tiny, perfect snowflakes sprinkled onto the Fire Spirit's head and gleefully he stuck out his tongue to catch them.
Gently, Elsa folded the letter and placed it inside the small wooden box Ryder had given her, making a mental note to ask for a larger one soon. It turned out Anna was a very prolific letter writer, something Elsa found herself immensely grateful for. Her sister always seemed to know just when Elsa needed a comforting word from home, even as the forest steadily became Elsa's true home more and more with each passing day.
She allowed herself a small sigh. She really needed to tell Anna that soon.
There were many things she needed to tell her sister soon, before she lost her nerve. Anna's looping script flashed in her mind's eye—I'm so tired of secrets, Elsa—and she couldn't escape the guilt at the thought of withholding even one more secret.
A memory surfaced, unbidden—Anna, in her braids and nightgown; an old lullaby; "You'll always have me."
Oh, Anna, if only that were true.
Elsa sighed again, shaking her head. Now was not the time to be feeling sorry for herself—she had work to do.
She shooed Bruni out before changing out of her sleepwear. She eyed the white dress Honeymaren had affectionately called her Fifth Spirit gátki, but ultimately decided on the soft leather pants and tunic Yelena had made for her in the Northuldran style, along with a beautifully embroidered belt in deep maroon to match her mother's scarf.
Elsa pulled her boots on and stepped out of her tent. She found the siida already bustling, despite the early hour, and she was greeted many times before she reached the river.
The Nokk was already there waiting for her, tossing its ever-flowing mane and whinnying in greeting.
She bowed her head and the Water Spirit responded in kind. With practiced ease, she stretched out her hand and let it rest on the Nokk's nose. A layer of ice spread across the Nokk's body, thin and pliable enough that the Water Spirit could still move freely, and it whinnied again, pleased.
It stepped onto land and bowed to allow Elsa to climb onto its back. Then, with a speed not possessed by mortal horses, the Nokk broke into a gallop and they were off.
As they traveled, Elsa's thoughts lingered on Anna's letter, and the story it told. Cold anger filled her chest at the very idea someone could lie to her family like this, about something so personal and precious.
But Ahtohallan would know. There were no secrets there. There, everything was laid bare, even the darkest truths.
As the Nokk galloped across the surface of the Dark Sea, she only hoped the answer she sought didn't lie too deep.
August 8, 1848–Arendelle Castle Town
That night, Kristoff couldn't sleep. He couldn't get Balder's words out of his head.
My nephew—he disappeared—it was my fault, all my fault—I promised your father—but now…here you are. Alive—
It wasn't until the dawn stained his bedroom blue that he finally sighed and gave up on sleep. Dressing quickly and quietly in his traveling clothes, he snuck down to the stables where Sven slept.
He didn't bother with the sled and only took Sven, riding away from the castle as the guards began their shift change. He didn't bother to leave a note either—he would be back well before Anna awoke. The trolls' valley was only an hour away if Sven ran fast, and he didn't plan on staying long.
He just—he had to be sure. Bulda would tell him the truth. She'd never lied to him about anything in all the years he'd known her.
The trolls were still awake when Kristoff and Sven arrived in the mossy valley, and a chorus of cheers greeted them.
"You're back already!" one of the younger trolls shrieked with glee before launching themself at him.
Kristoff barely caught them, stumbling under their weight. Their exuberance surprised him—he and Anna had only been here a few days ago to pass out wedding invitations.
"Yes, yes, I know, surprise?" he said, but his heart wasn't in it. He slowly lowered the small troll to the ground. "Where's Bulda?"
"Getting ready for bed," they said, pointing, and Kristoff took off before any more trolls could waylay him.
The troll he could (and had, years ago) called mother, Bulda, was primping and preparing for her rest under the early morning sun. She smiled toothily when she saw him, and the crystals about her neck lit up.
"Kristoff!" she cried, opening her arms and hugging his knees. "You're home!"
"Yeah," Kristoff said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, um, this isn't—this isn't a long visit."
Bulda squinted up at him. "What is it, dear?" she asked.
Now that he was here, in his childhood home, he felt silly. He shuffled his feet.
Bulda gave him a sympathetic look and gestured for him to sit. He sat down cross-legged on the forest floor and she leaned against his knee.
"Overwhelmed?" she guessed and he nodded.
"I don't know if I'm cut out for this," Kristoff said. "I just…" He grasped around for the right words and found none. "It's just a lot."
Bulda hummed in the back of her throat. "Kristoff, do you love this girl?"
Kristoff looked at her, startled. "What—of course! What kind of question is—"
"And does she love you?"
Kristoff swallowed. "Yes."
"Then it will work out," Bulda said with a firm nod. She patted his knee. "Don't worry so much about the things in-between. She loves you for who you are, not for who you aren't.
"But that's not why you came to see me, is it?"
Kristoff shook his head. "A man came to the castle today—well, yesterday now. He…" He sighed. "He claims he's my uncle."
Beside him, Bulda stilled.
"But that's impossible, right? I'm an orphan and you found me, and Sven, and no one ever came looking, so—"
"They did," Bulda said. Her voice had changed—now flat and hard as stone.
Kristoff stared at her. "Wh—what?"
"When you first came to live with us, people came here, looking for you, but we hid you from their sight." She shook her head. "They never should have come."
Kristoff stared and stared. "What? Who…who were they?"
Bulda waved a hand. "Oh, just some meddlesome humans. Once we sent a replacement, they stopped coming."
"A…replacement?" Kristoff whispered. He was frozen to the spot, trapped under her hand on his knee. "So it's…true? That man is my–my…"
It couldn't be true. It wasn't. Bulda was wrong, or misunderstood, or—
"Oh, yes, most likely. But it doesn't matter, Kristoff, dear, because you belong to us now."
A pit of panic was growing in Kristoff's stomach. "Belong to…but if Balder's my…then I—I already belonged to someone?"
His voice sounded small, even to his own ears, and he hated it.
"Then, Kristoff, dear, they should've kept a closer eye on you," Bulda said, patting his hand. "Two little cuties out in the woods alone? What else was I supposed to do?"
Kristoff wrenched his hand away from hers. "Not kidnap me?"
Bulda only smiled.
Kristoff stumbled to his feet and backed away. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Why would I do that?" Bulda asked, tilting her head. "It hasn't bothered you until now."
"Because I thought I was alone!" To his horror, he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "I thought it was just me and Sven and no one else and–and now you're saying I wasn't? That I had a family? Parents? Did you even think about them, how they'd feel?"
"Of course, dear," Bulda said with a little laugh, standing. "Of course we did, weren't you listening? We gave them a replacement! Which we didn't have to, by the way—we traded for you, fair and square. Oh, Kristoff, weren't you happy here? Did we not treat you well, love you as our own?"
"No, no, no, back up, I was a trade? For what?"
"The life of Princess Anna, dear. More than fair, really, since we got two of you." She looked him up and down and clucked her tongue. "Oh, but you look so tired, Kristoff. Come, sit and rest a while."
Kristoff shook his head, backing away. His chest was tight and he struggled to take another breath. "No, no, I have to—I have to go, I can't stay here—you lied to me, I—"
But his body was so heavy. His feet were lead, his eyelids jagged stone. As if through thick sludge, he thought he could hear Sven calling for him, but he sounded so far away.
He collapsed onto the mossy ground. He tried to keep moving, his fingers digging into the dirt.
"Sleep, Kristoff, sleep," Bulda whispered above him, running a hand through his hair.
"Sven—Anna—" Kristoff whimpered before his eyes slid closed and he was still.
Notes:
1. I'm working with the assumption that Arendelle is a slightly larger kingdom than we actually see in canon, so I'll be referencing some smaller farming towns in addition to just straight-up naming the town we see in both movies "Arendelle Castle Town" for lack of a better name. (Also, I have never read the Frozen books so if there are actual named towns in those…that's what the AU tag is for baby ;) )
2. The banns of marriage were (and still are, depending on the denomination!) a way to announce an upcoming marriage to the community en masse so that anyone with a legitimate reason to object to the marriage may have the opportunity to do so. Normally the banns are only read in the couple's local church, but since Anna and Kristoff are royals I thought it wouldn't be a stretch to assume they'd read the banns across the whole kingdom.
3. Hamar is a real city in Norway located on the shores of Lake Mjosa, the country's largest lake. But besides the name, there are no other resemblances.
4. A bygd is a remote village or hamlet.
5. I've decided Kristoff needed to become a "King Consort" instead of "Prince Consort," just to put ~maximum pressure~ on him. In all my research, it seems to me that the terms are mostly interchangeable (depending on the country, of course), albeit rarely used, and ultimately up to the ruling figure to decide. Obviously, Anna sees Kristoff as her equal, so I feel like she'd name him as a king, even though technically he'd still be beneath her on the power scale. (Did I put entirely too much thought into this? Perhaps…)
6. I've borrowed a few Sámi words: lavvo is a tent, similar to the teepee or wigwam of the Native Americans. Siida describes both the community and the land where the Sámi keep their reindeer herds. A gátki is the Sámi people's formal dress.
