"Where could they be?" Kristoff said.

He was standing in the archway next to Olaf, looking at an empty throne room. Empty, that is, except for Marshmallow, who loomed ghostlike from behind the throne, his snowy hide glowing in the torchlight.

When Kristoff left, dragging Olaf out of the room, he had no idea how long they should stay away. He'd never had a sister, or a girlfriend, or even a mother, for that matter, if you didn't count the trolls who adopted him, so he had no idea how long a woman would need to recover from an emotional breakdown. He also had no idea where to go or what to do. His first thought was of Sven, as it often was, and he went with Olaf to the stables to fetch him; but they found him sleeping on a pile of hay so they let him be.

Sven was Kristoff's closest companion, his best friend since he was a child whom he'd done everything with. He also happened to be a reindeer.

Some people in Arendelle found it odd for a man to be so closely associated with a reindeer. As the official ice master and deliverer they often saw him on the streets of the city, delivering blocks of ice and chatting with it as if it were a workmate and not just a beast pulling his sleigh, and for Kristoff this was true. On more than one occasion he'd heard a snicker, or saw someone point from behind a window and laugh with their companion. But it didn't really bother him. It hadn't bothered him when he was a young orphan roaming the mountains of Arendelle, selling ice to strangers, and it didn't bother him now. If there was one thing he'd learned during his life alone in the wilderness it was people couldn't be trusted, and he never valued the opinions of people he couldn't trust.

Sven, on the other hand, he could trust with his life, and often had. They'd spent the last few months together combing the countryside for some hidden reservoir of water. They hadn't found any, but what they did find were the perils of mountain travel and the dangers of a rocky wasteland, and it was Sven who helped get them through it all. This past expedition was particularly difficult, so Kristoff wasn't surprised to find his friend passed out in a pile of hay, not even roused by the creak of the stable door.

So they left Sven in the stable and went to the fjord. Kristoff sat on a boulder, unable to get the sound of Elsa's sobbing out of his head. He showed Olaf how to skip rocks across the water to keep him busy, which was all well and good until he accidentally threw his stick arm in. When he tried to go after it Kristoff stopped him, fishing his lost member out with a branch, and then thought it might be better if they went to the rose garden instead.

There, Kristoff suggested they play hide and seek and Olaf thought it was a wonderful idea, running off to hide. Kristoff sat on a bench, worrying about Elsa until Olaf reappeared some time later, proudly declaring himself the winner. Then they'd come back to the castle, certain the girls had had enough time to themselves, only to find the throne room empty, without a clue as to where they'd gone.

"I'm going to go look for them," Kristoff said. "Stay here in case they come back."

"Okay!" Olaf replied, settling himself against the wall like a sentry in charge of guarding the throne.

Kristoff trotted down the hall, trying not to worry. But he was worried. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Elsa so upset, so visibly shaken, and he wondered what happened to cause her so much distress. Obviously, the drought had taken its toll on her, but she'd thus far weathered the nightmare of the past six months with remarkable endurance. Maybe she was finally succumbing to its pressure, or maybe something else happened, he didn't know. He only knew one thing, if it was bad enough to make Elsa cry then it was something they all needed to worry about.

Elsa wasn't the sort to cry on a whim, nor was she the sort to wear her emotions for all to see. In fact, in the year he'd known her he'd only seen her cry once, when she thought her sister died. She'd struck Anna with her magic, upon the North Mountain, an accident which left her sister with ice in her heart, ice which would spread unless removed by an act of true love. Kristoff had whisked her back to Arendelle, thinking Hans, her new fiance, could help her, but instead of trying to save her own life, Anna had thrown herself between Elsa and Hans' sword, saving her from an assassin's blade. She'd turned to ice just as Hans' weapon struck, the sword shattering upon her frozen hand. Kristoff still had nightmares about that moment, watching the woman he was trying to save, the woman he loved, turn into a statue of ice.

Then Elsa had cried, weeping over her sister with indescribable grief, and how that sight had tugged at his heart. However, in a twist of fate it was Anna's sacrifice, her own act of true love, that saved her, thawing her heart and bringing her back to the waiting arms of her sister.

Kristoff had never seen Elsa cry again, not until now, and to think she was once more experiencing pain on a level approaching the loss of her beloved sister crushed him. As bad as he felt about it, though, he knew it was a fraction of what Anna must be feeling.

All the more reason to find her.

He ran across the great hall and bounded up a spiral staircase to the next landing. He veered left and then took a sharp right, his hurried steps softened by the red carpet lining the corridor to Elsa's room, and there he found what he was looking for. It was Anna, sleeping with her back propped against Elsa's door and her head resting on the edge of the jam. One leg was drawn up, as if she'd been curled in a ball before she fell asleep, and the other had slid forward, jutting into the hallway. Her freckled cheeks glistened beneath a sheen of dried tears and he realizing she'd cried herself to sleep.

He hadn't been around during the days of Elsa's isolation, but Anna told him about it, how she'd spent much of her childhood outside Elsa's door wanting to see her and wondering why she'd been shut out. It wouldn't be until years later she discovered the reason: Elsa's struggle with powers she couldn't control. But after her coronation and after Anna's sacrifice that'd ceased to be an issue. So what was it that drove the two of them apart now? He wasn't sure, but he knew this was no place for Anna to sleep.

He slipped an arm under her knees and the other behind her back, stifling a grunt as he pushed to his feet. As he cradled her he thought about the last time he'd held her like this, on his way to deliver her to Hans. That was over a year ago, but the memory was as vivid as if it happened yesterday. He remembered her quivering lips which were fading to blue, the cold touch of her body as she shivered in his arms, freezing as the ice in her heart spread. What he remembered most, though, was the concern in her eyes when she looked up at him and asked if he was going to be okay. She was dying in his arms, and all she could think about was if he was going to be alright.

To think he'd handed her over to Hans, the man who would try to murder her...

He cut off the thought. Thinking about what might have been was more than he could handle. Of course, he hadn't known better, but still, that memory was like ice in his own heart, which couldn't be removed.

He rounded the corner, passing the stairs and turning down the opposite hall. Anna's eyes fluttered open, and when she saw Kristoff she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head.

He found her door slightly ajar, so he pushed it open with his foot and carried her to the bed, stepping over the clutter that lay spread across the floor. He lowered her to the mattress, removed her shoes and then knelt down beside her, one elbow resting on the bed as he stroked her red hair. Her eyes were closed and he wondered if she'd fallen back asleep, but then they opened again and she smiled at him. It was a pained smile, he thought, one that touched her lips but didn't chase the sadness from her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm okay."

They sat in silence for a while, staring at each other without speaking. Kristoff knew she had more to say but didn't prod her. When she was ready she'd talk. He didn't have to wait long, though.

"I'm worried about Elsa."

Kristoff nodded. This he knew. Despite the fact that Elsa had overcome the struggle with her magic, Anna had never overcome her worry. It was like a worn out coat, one you couldn't get rid of because it'd become so comfortable, and Anna had spent a lifetime wearing it. Since the Great Thaw Elsa found such worry sometimes charming and sometimes vexing, but always unnecessary. That, it'd seem, was no longer the case.

"She's afraid her magic is causing this horrible drought," she said.

"Is it?"

"Kristoff!"

"Well," he said, shrugging, "the thought had crossed my mind."

And it had, long before now. When the snow first disappeared from the mountains it was apparent to him something unnatural was occurring, something beyond the realm of Mother Nature. Elsa once buried the kingdom in an eternal winter, dooming her people and destroying his ice business, and she hadn't even been aware that she'd done it. It stood to reason the opposite was also possible, instead of burying everything in snow she might be stripping the land of it, along with every other source of water. It was only a thought, a half-formed idea which never completed its transformation into a belief. He wouldn't pretend to understand Elsa's magic or know how it worked, but the question was always there, lingering like a shadow in the back of his mind.

Anna pushed his hand away, indignant at his admission.

"Elsa is not causing this drought!"

She was convinced of this, and he'd choose to believe her. Although, if Elsa wasn't sure of her part in it, how could any of them be?

"Okay," he said.

He sat on the edge of the bed, propping himself on his hand as he leaned over her. He didn't often see her angry, she didn't have much of a temper, and though she sometimes became flustered and frustrated, whether it was with him or Olaf or at something else, she was rarely mad. But when she was, her eyes would narrow and her lips would purse, drawing her skin over her high cheekbones which made her freckles stand out. Perhaps it was unkind of him to think so, but he thought she was beautiful when she was angry.

"So, if she's not causing it, what is?"

He made sure the question came out as gentle as he intended.

"I don't know," she said, staring at the curtains of her bed as if she might find the answer woven in their crimson fabric. She went silent for a while, introspective, and he was content to watch her as he waited for her to continue.

"She's upset she can't throw us an engagement party."

That didn't come as a surprise. Elsa was under a tremendous amount of stress lately, and though she usually handled this well he could tell she was beginning to crack under the pressure, and who could blame her? So to be distraught over something as important as her sister's engagement he understood.

Anna's eyes closed and she lay still for a long while, the rhythmic song of her breath the only sound in the room. He thought she was asleep and was about to leave, when she whispered, "I'm so worried about her."

She opened her eyes and yawned.

"I don't wanna lose her again."

That was the last thing she said. Her eyelids became too heavy and they slid shut, her arm falling to her side as she drifted to sleep.

He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling her warmth and reading the worry which remained in her expression even as she slept. He wanted to make everything better, to take away her pain and fear and make her happy again. He remembered when she used to be happy, when nothing could rob her of the smile that brightened not only his own heart, but seemed to shine throughout all of Arendelle. He supposed his relentless search for water was driven as much by that smile, and the prospect of bringing it back, as it was by his desire to save the kingdom.

So far, it seemed to him his efforts were worthless. He'd been searching the unforgiving wilderness for weeks without so much as a hint of water to be found. He felt helpless, useless, as if he could do nothing more than stand by and watch everything he loved melt like an ice sculpture in the sun. All he wanted to do was protect her and provide for her and make her feel safe. There was a time when he thought he could do that, but now, now that was slipping away.

"I'm sorry," he said, bending down to kiss her on the forehead.

She stirred but didn't wake, and he grabbed a blanket from the back of a chair, unfurled it, and spread it over her slender form, tucking in the sides. Then he retreated to the door and stepped into the hallway, pausing before pulling it shut. He stole one last glance at her, just able to make out the line of her nose and the curve of her chin in the faint glow of the candlelight. He could've stayed there, lost in her beauty, but he was tired and longed for his bed.

"Good night, Anna," he said, as he closed the door.

******

Anna awoke to sunlight on her face, the warmth of its rays spilling through her window and splashing on her cheeks and arm, which was slung over her eyes. She stretched, pushing against the headboard and pointing her toes, scratching the sleep out of her eyelashes as she yawned. She blinked against the morning light, wondering why the curtains were left open, and tried to draw the covers off herself before she realized she'd been sleeping on top of them.

Then she sat bolt upright, remembering.

"Elsa!"

She leapt out of bed, flinging the blanket aside and searching for her shoes. She couldn't find them but she saw some slippers across the room, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she went to retrieve them. Her dress was rumpled and smudged with dirt, so she stripped it off and grabbed a new one from the chest at the foot of the bed, her head getting stuck in an arm hole in her haste to put it on. She corrected, cinched the tie about her waist, and pulled her slippers on before vaulting out the door. She ran down the hall, passed the stairs, and ended up standing before Elsa's closed door, rapping on it with the back of her hand.

"Elsa?" she called out, but there was no answer.

A maid must've heard the commotion because she peeked around the corner, like a rabbit's head popping out of its hole.

"The queen is already in the throne room, dear."

Anna took off, picking up her dress as she ran past the maid and down the spiral stairs. She hurried through the great hall and then bounded up the next flight of steps two at a time, sprinting down the passage which led to the throne room and bursting through the archway before stopping short.

She hadn't expected to find anyone else there.

******

Elsa knew it was Anna when she heard the flurry of feet echoing down the hall, so she wasn't surprised when her sister came tumbling into the room, holding her yellow dress off the floor as she skidded to a stop. She stood near the archway, her mouth open as if frozen mid-sentence, and her dress half askew as if she'd dressed in the dark. On another day, at another time, Elsa might've found such a thing amusing, but she was distracted by the task at hand, and so there was no levity in her voice when she said, "Your slippers are on the wrong feet."

Anna glanced down, but the comment didn't seem to register. When she looked back up she was still wearing that same look of confusion, as if she'd stepped through the door of her bedroom and found herself transported to the throne room by some uncanny power.

Elsa turned back to Tobias, the court recorder, who was seated at a desk beside her, leaning over a flat piece of parchment with fresh writing on it. But he wasn't looking at his work, he was peering over the tops of his eyeglasses at Anna.

"Good morning, Your Highness," he said, in a high squeaky voice that always made Elsa think of a person nursing a perpetual cold.

Tobias had served as the court recorder since his appointment by her father nearly 10 years ago. She found him to be a rather gruff and impatient man, often attending to his duties with a mild sense of inconvenience, as if it vexed him to perform his official function. Had he always been so dour? She couldn't remember. Perhaps the drought had eroded his good senses as it had so many of them. Either way, she expected a certain level of unpleasantness to follow after she called him to the throne room, but, to her surprise, he was remarkably chipper, especially considering how early it was.

She hadn't slept well that night, rising at the first light of dawn, unable to wait for a more reasonable hour to do what she knew had to be done. She'd cast the duke out of her kingdom, rejected him and his offer, and thus doomed her people to a miserable end. There was only one thing left to do, and she knew it, but still she'd tried to convince herself to wait, telling herself to slow down and think things through. But she'd dressed quickly, and as she regarded herself in the mirror of her dressing room, twisting her hair into a bun and donning her gloves, she knew she couldn't wait any longer. Every minute that passed brought her kingdom one minute closer to annihilation. It was time for action; she'd only hoped to have that action completed before anyone else woke up.

Elsa went to the window, crossing her arms as she gazed out at the dawn lit fjord.

"Read that last part back to me," she said.

Tobias plunged the quill back into its container and stood up, adjusting the sash that bound his brown robe to his flabby frame. His wild black hair surrounded a pink, balding head and the tip of his bird-like nose twitched as he spoke.

"'Your generosity is not without appreciation,'" he said, holding the parchment close to his face as if studying a map. "'I deeply regret my actions and hope that you will accept my offer. I trust you understand the urgency of the situation and hope that we can anticipate a prompt response.'"

"Okay, That's good."

Anna hopped forward, exchanging the slippers between her feet.

"What are you doing?"

It sounded to Elsa more like a challenge than a question.

"Prepare the seal," Elsa said.

Tobias folded the parchment in thirds and stuffed it inside a yellow envelope which he retrieved from the desk. Then he grabbed one end of a narrow stick that was roasting a red chunk of clayish material over a candle flame, like a pig on a spit, and pressed the heat softened end over the lip of the envelope, leaving behind a bubbly seal. Elsa removed a ring from her right hand which bore an engraving of the royal seal of Arendelle, and pressed the face of it into the drying substance, leaving behind a perfect impression of the insignia.

"Elsa," Anna said, "you can't!"

Another challenge, which Elsa chose to ignore. She had no desire to be dragged into an argument with her sister.

"Send our ship to deliver that as soon as possible," Elsa said.

"That's the last ship we have!" Anna said.

Tobias looked at Elsa, perhaps expecting her to reconsider the question in light of the objection, but she gave no heed to Anna's protest and remained firm in her resolve. He gave a bow with the envelope clutched to his