Okay, so here's the thing: when I said that I would update more frequently I meant it, completely. . .The only problem is that my computer broke—twice. Yup the thing wouldn't even turn on, and it took forever actually find and fix the problem. Any reviews I answered were done through my phone. I'm really sorry, I am, but there was nothing I could do about it.

On a lighter note, Thanks to everyone who gave fav's, follows, and reviews! This chapter was hard-ish to push through, but I did it with you're help! Keep being awesome!

Oh, and I fixed this problem in the last A/N but I'm going to give a heads up to anyone who didn't see it after I did: the companion series for this story is called Re-Wind notRe-Freeze. Sorry for any confusion; I promise I wasn't trolling you.

Anyways, I don't own Frozen (I know, shocker). Enjoy the chapter!

Elsa kept her walking pace quick but steady as she waited for Niklas's response. Though she was beyond worn out, her curiosity opened up some hidden store of energy she hadn't known was there before.

There was an uncomfortable pause before the illusionist said, "No comment, and besides it's a very long story." He proceeded to shift his eyes between Markus and Elsa, daring them to ask any more about his life.

But this time Elsa wasn't backing down.

"Yeah, because we obviously don't have any time on our hands," she deadpanned, both annoyed and frustrated by Niklas's refusal; she didn't even feel her voice rise when she continued, "You know, I've had just about enough of all your secrecy. You expect me to follow you around and just trust that you aren't lying to me, but I don't even know anything about you!"

By the time she had finished, Elsa could feel her hands freezing over; she hadn't really meant to say so much, but once she started talking the words just sort of kept pouring out. It scared her that she let her filter slip so much around Markus and Niklas, more than she had around almost everyone but her sister. . .

It wasn't that she was usually antisocial, just careful. Most of her "friends" had been political allies or wealthy individuals she had known since she was a child; around those sort of people she had to be constantly on her toes, and could only say what was prudent—not what she actually wanted.

For the first time in forever, she had the freedom to speak her mind whenever she pleased without the risk of ruining her kingdom's relations. Should she though? Should she really allow herself to open up to people she had known for less than a few days?

She was snapped from her thoughts by Niklas's reply, "You first," he gave a small nod in Elsa's direction.

"What?" Was he trying to change the subject? It wouldn't work.

"Call it trust issues. Tell me more about yourself and I'll tell you about my past, since that's clearly what you're getting at," Niklas smirked with one corner of his mouth; why was it that he only smiled when she was angry with him?

"I asked first," she pointed out, not caring that the argument was childish at worst and weak at best—at that moment she just wanted answers, "If you have trust issues then deal with it, because you're the one who decided it would be a good idea to kidnap me in the first place."

It wasn't until Markus inserted, "Oh, stone cold, Elsa," with his usual grin, that the queen realized she had allowed herself to—go off again. Was it really so bad? It certainly felt good.

Surprisingly, a few seconds after Markus was done with his outburst, Niklas caved.

"Fine, but just- just give me a minute," he pleaded quietly, fiddling with a worn corner of his robe, and avoiding eye contact like it was the plague.

"Alright," Elsa agreed, ignoring the urge to make another quip along the lines of 'We have more than enough time,' because some things really were better left unsaid.

After an awkward silence that caused even Markus, who was usually immune to uncomfortable situations of any sort, to start whistling nervously—and very annoyingly—Niklas started talking. At some points he spoke so quickly that Elsa had a hard time keeping up. It was like he was afraid that the words would escape him if he waited too long.

"I—" he took a deep breath," I was born into a middle class family in Arendelle. When I was around eight or nine years old, I started to notice some unusual things happening. I would wake up in the morning with a different color hair, or sometimes I would even be standing right in front of someone, but they couldn't see me—I wasn't invisible, just. . .sort of, unnoticeable.

"After a while I decided to read up on it, and eventually figured out that I was, err, magical. So, as a nine-year old, I thought that it was cool. I started practicing. Long story short, my parents learned about my powers eventually and kicked me out—you'd be surprised how many people are afraid of magic just because they can't understand how it works."

Elsa wasn't surprised at all.

Niklas continued, "For a while I ran out of town and lived on, well, nothing. Then the Mages from the Arcaneum took me in, and that's probably why I'm still here today. They taught me more about my powers, how to live off the land, and, most importantly, that knowledge is, um- important. It wasn't too long before I left, and then lived on my own up until—now, really."

Niklas had a clouded, distant look in his eyes until he seemingly woke up and raised an eyebrow, "Any questions?"

"No," Elsa replied lamely;for once she really didn't have any—at least none she could think of. The illusionist had pretty much explained his whole life away, using more words than Elsa had ever heard him speak at once. As insufferable as he could be, the queen couldn't help but feel sorry for him; the only support he had ever gotten was from the Mages. . . at least he had that much.

"Well then, looks like it's your turn highness," Niklas declared, suddenly slipping back into his mask of haughty, sarcastic indifference, and making Elsa lose almost all the sympathy she had gained for him.

Still, she would never look at him the same way, because she had finally met someone who knew what it meant to be alone even more totally than she did.

For only a moment, Elsa thought she saw a flash of ginger braids and excited blue eyes, 'My whole life, I've had at least one person.'

Anna opened her eyes, and for a single blissful moment, the world was just like it should be—just like it was before.

Then she realized that she was not in her room, or in the palace at all, but instead slumped over the back of the horse with Hans hovering directly beside her on his own mare—probably making sure she didn't fall off.

Even then she would've been able to convince herself that everything was alright, because, after all, she was with her true love. Or at least she would've been able to convince herself if she hadn't seen a telltale slip of violet fabric hanging out of Hans's saddlebag—and with the violet came the red.

Waves of grief thudded in her chest, slowly spreading outward like they were pumped through her blood, but she wouldn't let herself think where they came from. She squeezed her eyes shut so tightly that they hurt just to get away from the red—her new absolute least favorite color—but that couldn't stop the tears—why were they always so warm? It seemed like they should be cold—from falling quietly out.

After the tears came, she felt a churning, rolling sickness well up in her stomach that mingled with her sadness to form pure, unadulterated, suffering.

She realized that she was seasick, frostbitten, or whatever other stupid puns you could get out of the pain she was experiencing, because a selfish corner of her being wanted to laugh.

Well, not just laugh. It wanted to get drunk on laughter, and forget everything, and go numb until the day she died.

But in the end, the unselfish part of her won out, because she cared too much about Hans, and the kingdom, and—hey, she even cared a little about Kristoff for some weird reason.

If she stopped- stopped functioning, then everyone she cared about—that cared about her—would get caught in the crossfire of her own personal battle.

Anna didn't want to hurt anyone else, so out of sheer willpower she fell back asleep—staving off the seasickness, and frostbite, and even the laughter.

"Uh . . ." Kristoff stood dumbstruck, mouth agape, trying to decide if what he saw was real or just a side-effect of being around too many crazy, ridiculously happy people in one day.

Because, apparently, if you hung around Anna and Prince Perfect for long enough you started to see talking snowmen, but not just talking snowmen, no it didn't stop there. Kristoff was staring right at a genuine, bonafide, walking, talking, living snowman (that likes warm, that's right folks, warm hugs!).

So, once the ice harvester regained what was left of his composure, he felt fairly justified in turning around and walking away—never once responding to Olaf. He buried his face in the soft brushed leather of his mittens, trying to rub the hallucination from his eyes, but he hadn't walked a few steps before he heard, "Oh, so we're going this way," followed shortly by, "What's you're name again?"

Kristoff was torn between responding and continuing to ignore the oddity. While he was fairly sure that Olaf wasn't real, on the off chance that he was Kristoff didn't want to be rude. . .What if the snowman had magical ice-harvester freezing powers or something?

He finally mumbled, "I'm Kristoff," as he continued to walk slowly away from Olaf, looking over his shoulder periodically to make sure the snowman hadn't disappeared.

"Well, it's good to meet you Kristoff." Olaf said over-enthusiastically as he waddled along behind the much larger man.

"Uh-huh," Kristoff nodded absentmindedly, more focused on exactly how the whole 'living snowman' thing worked than on his reply. Were the arms really sticks, or just some sort of mystical snowman material?

Kristoff didn't have time to work out an answer before he felt himself slam into the furry yet painfully firm body of a certain reindeer, effectively knocking the wind out of him.

Really? First the tree and then Sven? Come on, that was twice in one day!

He tried vainly to disguise his blunder by leaning on Sven, resting one elbow on the reindeer's back. In turn, Sven gave something like a chortle and trotted smugly a short distance away—just far enough that Kristoff lost his balance and stumbled a few feet before catching himself on a conifer.

The ice-harvester tried to glare at his reindeer, but both parties knew that he wasn't really angry, so he resigned to crossing his arms—not quite sure what to do with himself.

Olaf, who seemed oblivious to what had just happened, smiled blankly and asked, "So, uh- who's the reindeer?" just as the said reindeer moved to sniff curiously at the strange new creature before it.

"That's Sven," Kristoff responded, finally deciding that Olaf was probably not going to vanish for the time being; he began to unpack the rest of his gear.

"Uh-huh. . .Whatcha doing?" The initial intrigue of the 'live snowman' having worn off, Kristoff was beginning to get annoyed by Olaf.

"Unpacking so I can harvest ice."

"Oh, that's nice, but I wish you were harvesting something warmer, like blankets, or kittens, or-"

"So, I'm guessing you like warm things. . ."

"Yup!"

"Really? Like, let me get this straight, you would enjoy being around things that are warm? "

"I think we've already established that."

Kristoff shook his head.

"Nevermind."

He wanted to put off telling the snowman the cold hard reality for as long as possible, for that matter he didn't want to tell him at all—but somebody had to tell him. . .

"So, that's pretty much my life. I know it's not as emotionally stirring as your story, Niklas, but you did ask," Elsa explained after filling the other two in on her backstory. She didn't go into much detail, just the basic, 'I've got a sister, my parents died when I was a teen, and my whole life revolved around being the future queen until I actually became the queen. Oh yeah, there's always the ice-powers too.' She tried to keep the narrative as brief as possible.

"I have to disagree, you were stunningly articulate next to blondie here," Markus chuckled as he worked his way around a protruding root.

Niklas scoffed, but shockingly made no attempt to retort. Instead he simply said, "Well, now we know each other."

"Anyone up for twenty questions?" Markus pleaded, smiling crookedly.

Niklas hurriedly drew his hood over his face.

The softness of a pillow. The warmth of hands, not gloved, gently setting her down. The sinking into a mattress that reminded her of the sinking of her heart.

These were what Anna felt on her return to the palace—to her home. It felt better, but still wrong, and she wondered if she would ever feel right again.

She opened her eyes once she heard the door click softly shut behind whoever carried her in, and everything reminded her of Elsa. The closet still contained several of the queen's dresses that the princess forgot to return. The jewelry box held a necklace, Anna's favorite, that her sister had given her. The occasional crack or warped area on the wooded floor remained from where Elsa had been really upset—but still came to her little sister, not for advice, for someone who would listen.

The worst was that stupid portrait sitting on the front right-hand corner of her dresser. The only physical reminder she had of ever being in a complete, whole, unbroken family. And that was the thing, it was nothing more than a reminder, a memory, and ultimately something that wasn't true anymore. It had never been more of a lie, because Anna realized that now, it was just her.

She was alone.

The thought prevailed until she embraced the unthinking, unfeeling trance of sleep.

It took some time for anything to break the boring routine of life for either Anna or Elsa. For a while Anna kept pushing her emotions away, and Elsa kept trekking forth. Even Kristoff did very little in that time except harvest ice, though he did give Olaf a carrot nose (there was just something unsettling about seeing a snowman without a nose).

To be exact, it took three days for something to truly happen in their lives (giving Anna a painful reminder of the three days she took to grieve her parents).

In three days, things started to change.

Kristoff had finally packed up to leave the mountains, lock stock and barrel. He had a whole sleigh-full of ice just waiting to be sold to the shops of Arendelle, and if he was lucky, the palace—though he was hoping to avoid seeing any of the royal residents there.

That would be awkward.

He wiped the beads of sweat that were starting to form off his brow. Sweat equals bad news in below freezing temps.

"Time to get going Sven," the man said with a sigh born of both exhaustion and contentedness.

"Where are we going?" Olaf continued his relentless flurry of questions and commentary that Kristoff was finally starting to get accustomed to.

"Me and Sven are going to the city. You, on the other hand, are staying here," the mountain-man tried to stay firm as Olaf's face grew more and more disappointed. Why did the little guy have to be so stinking—not cute exactly. . .but for some reason Kristoff had become a bit more attached than he originally planned. He seemed to be talented at that.

"You mean you're not taking me? What if Elsa's there?" Sven rolled his eyes at the snowman's dramatics.

"First of all, Elsa's- well she's just—not there. . .And second of all there's some things you need to know about being a snowman that- Wait a second . . .How do you know about Elsa?"

There were a lot of people in Arendelle with the name Elsa, but this couldn't just be a coincidence . . .

"Oh, that's easy, she made me—did I forget to mention that?"

"I. Am. Such. An. Idiot!" Kristoff exclaimed, facepalming so hard it stung.

'How didn't you figure this out before? There are only so many people in this world with magical freezing abilities!' his inner voice/Sven's voice sounded in his head.

"Wait, does that- No, it can't. . .Does that mean that—Elsa's alive? Wait, wait, are you alive?Sven is he really alive?"

"Yup," Sven answered at the same time that Olaf said, "I think so . . ." Kristoff literally couldn't believe his ears, this changed everything- it could even change his whole life. Suddenly his mouth was dry.

"Uh- okay, um we should go to the Trolls. Yeah, they'll know for sure—right, Trolls- the ice can wait. . .So, come on Olaf, get on the sleigh!"

Obediently, the snowman hopped aboard with a cheerful exclamation of, "Let's go save Elsa! That is what we're doing right?"

"I can see it!" Markus's husky voice pierced the air, excitement ringing through every word.

Niklas watched as his partner sprinted to a nearby tree and climbed into the lower branches for a better view. He also watched as Elsa followed laughing—no doubt out of joy to finally have hope for something other than an eternity of walking.

"What does it look like?" she wondered aloud to Markus. She was clearly curious, but not so curious that she was willing to soil one of her few comfortable dresses (yes, he had thought to pack some) by climbing a tree.

For once, Niklas was every bit as excited as his companions, though not as curious. He was going home—or at least to the closest thing he ever had to one. He knew what it looked like, and didn't hurry to follow Markus, but he did listen with some interest to how the mercenary would describe it.

"It's- big," Niklas snorted at that, though no one else seemed to notice, "Yeah, huge and really white," Niklas knew the white was sandstone, "I think it's kind of glowing in some places, and it's- it looks, I dunno, castle-y." Well, the mercenary had gotten the main aspects across, anyways.

What he hadn't mentioned was the things most people wouldn't notice—Niklas's favorite things. Like how the whole structure had been built around the land instead of plowing through it, or how it was mostly vacant with plenty of room for solitude when necessary. Things like this were what made it most special to Niklas.

"Let's get going, unless you just intend to gawk at it forever," the illusionist goaded,giving a rare genuine smile.

And why not keep smiling? He was happy.

There was a knock at Anna's door.

That knock was no different from every other knock that she had heard in the past three days—all of which were made by either Kai or Hans who asked if they could come in and, given no response, left her meals at the door. And yet, it was different because, that time, Anna answered.

She opened the door. The knocker was Hans, carrying a plate of perfectly prepared—and perfectly unappealing—food.

"Anna! Are you all right? We've all been so worried, but we wanted to give you your space, and-"

"I know," Anna said, eyes averted to the polished wood floor, only daring to look at Hans through his reflection in the shiny surface. For some reason she was anxious, her stomach did flip-flops at the sound of the prince's concerned voice. Maybe it was because she did know what he was going through, and it wasn't pleasant; she had been experienced almost the exact same thing when her parents-

'No, don't think about it. Don't feel.'

"Thank you," she mumbled, just barely managing to meet eyes with Hans for a fleeting moment before they flew back to the ground.

"Anna-" the prince started, caught his breath, and continued, "There's something you need to know. The- Elsa's funeral is today. I know it's hard, but—Anna you have to go."

"Hans—" whatever she was about to say was strangled out of existence by a desperate sob; it was as though the sobs were air, and Anna hadn't been able to breathe for days.

She tried to stop, but couldn't; her knees trembled before completely giving out. It was the first time since Elsa died that Anna had allowed herself to truly realize what happened.

Hans carefully caught her by her waist, "You need to sit down," he announced before planting Anna on top of her bed and a kiss on top of her head. The meal lie forgotten on the princess's bedside table.

"I- I don't think I can do this. I can't do this," she trembled. 'This' entailed a lot of things: going to the funeral, smiling, talking, moving, eating, loving, living.

"You can, I'll be there with you," Hans assured; Anna could tell that he was considering only the funeral. He lifted her wobbling chin with one hand; the fabric of his glove was warm against her skin, "Anna, you can do this," his green eyes were a poultice numbing her soul, "Please, not just for me, your people need to see you."

Anna was shocked at first when he said they were her people, but she soon remembered that it was true; they were her people now.

She wanted to say that she didn't care who needed her, that she couldn't do it, any of it, but she didn't say it. Because, more than anything, Anna cared.

"Okay," she sighed, lightly tugging her chin from Hans's grasp and her eyes from his gaze, "Just, please don't leave me. Not yet."

"Anna, I will never leave you." Okay, so he was being a little more figurative than she was, but still.

She believed him.