"When you love someone as much as that,
you don't believe they can die.
You think your love protects them."
("The Wine of Solitude" by Irène Némirovsky)

Leaves turned gold and red, snow piled up around walls of Arendelle, then thawed and the spring runoff fed into the harbor until the sun shone high and flowers of every hue bloomed in every corner. Seasons changed, time passed, children grew up and adults grew older. It was in the third year of Queen Elsa's rule that Kristoff first noticed the change in Sven.

The first snowfall of autumn blanketed the lower foothills in a thick white quilt. Sven hauled the sleigh and Kristoff up the incline as he had all these years. The snow always hindered travel to some extent, but this time the effort to plow through the virgin powder took a greater toll on Sven than usual. He slowed his pace, but soon he could not continue and stopped, panting. Kristoff jumped out of the sled in concern. Sven turned mournful brown eyes toward his master and friend.

"Hey, buddy," Kristoff said softly, laying a gentle hand on Sven's withers. "What's wrong?" He frowned, scanning over Sven quickly to note anything different, but came up empty. "You're just tired? Aww, it's okay. We'll stop and rest as often as you need. We're already halfway there; you can do it."

Kristoff rubbed a hand over the reindeer's silver muzzle, then threaded his fingers through the shaggy fur of Sven's neck. Once Sven had recovered, they started moving again. Kristoff let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. It took them twice as long as normal to get to the ice house, and when they arrived Sven all but passed out in a bed of straw. Kristoff watched his exhausted reindeer sleep for nearly an hour before he returned to the ice house to catch up on paperwork, Sven heavy on his mind.

"Who knew that being Arendelle's 'Official Ice Master and Deliverer' involved so much time behind a desk," grumbled Kristoff a short while later, signing his name on yet another form that he barely skimmed over. The door to the ice house swung open every so often, admitting a ruddy-faced ice harvester wrapped in furs and a harsh wind that heralded the coming winter. A particularly strong gust sent a sheaf of paperwork swirling around Kristoff's head before coming to rest on the floor. He fought down a growl of frustration and knelt to gather them, but before he could he was knocked off his feet and sent sprawling. Kristoff caught a flash of auburn hair before he was engulfed in a hug.

"Kristoff!"

He chuckled and kissed her. For such a small woman, his wife sure could fill a room with her personality. She drew back immediately, her eyes full of concern. "What's wrong?"

Kristoff sighed, getting up and helping her to her feet. "It's nothing. I've just been swamped with paperwork lately."

Anna gave him a look that said she was not at all convinced, but let it go. She had twined white and gold ribbons through her two customary braids, making her head look like it was on fire even more so than usual. He tugged on the end of one affectionately.

"What did you come to tell me?" he asked, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Anna clasped her hands in front of her and tried to look innocent, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Can't a woman just visit her husband at work once in a while?"

"She can," said Kristoff slowly, "but you had better tell me soon or you're going to explode."

Anna clapped her hands together excitedly. "Elsa's letting me plan a Christmas gala!"

Kristoff, still preoccupied with thoughts of Sven and his paperwork in disarray around the cabin, answered vaguely. "That's great."

"I know! It's still four weeks away, of course, but there's so much to do and plan and I've got to order my dress and - hey!" Anna smacked him lightly on the arm. "You're not paying a whit of attention to me, are you?" she accused.

Kristoff sighed and spread his hands wide. "I'm worried about Sven," he confessed.

Anna's eyes widened. She gripped Kristoff by the elbows. "What's wrong? Is he okay? Is he hurt?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Kristoff said. "I think he's just tired, but . . . I don't know. He's been slowing down the past few years, but something about this year seems different."

Anna bit her lip. "He's probably getting old. In reindeer years he's like a hundred!"

"Yeah. We've been together a long time."

"If it will make you feel better, we can take him to see the trolls in the morning," said Anna. "If anyone will know what's wrong, they will."

Kristoff smiled. Even just the thought of it eased his worry. Anna always knew how to make him feel better. "Alright. In the morning. But for now, I've got paperwork to do and you've got a huge party to plan. Right?"

The next morning was gloomy and cold. The mountain wind bit at their skin and tore at their hair. Anna and Kristoff wrapped their scarves over their faces until all that was visible were their eyes. Sven plodded along a few paces behind.

The ground rumbled under their feet even as they approached the domain of the trolls. Anna jumped out of the way as a troll rolled in from behind her.

"Kristoff and Anna are home!" cried Bulda joyfully. "Dare I hope they have a happy announcement to make? A baby, perhaps?"

Anna blushed scarlet and Kristoff chuckled. "Not this time." His expression turned serious. "Where's Grand-Pabbie?"

Without a word, the trolls gathered before them moved apart so Grand-Pabbie could process forward with a regality that came so naturally to him it was obvious how he became known as the Troll King.

"Kristoff, my boy," he greeted in his gravelly voice. "What brings you down the mountain at this time of year? I know it is a busy season for you."

"It's Sven," he said, and the troll's gaze slipped behind Kristoff.

He approached the reindeer. Sven's head drooped, as if his antlers were too heavy for his weary neck to support. He regarded Grand-Pabbie with glassy eyes. The miniature king ran his gentle stone hands through Sven's bristly fur. Anna gnawed on her fingernails in a decidedly un-princess-like state of agitation. Finally Grand-Pabbie heaved a sigh and dropped his hands. Kristoff knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"I'm sorry, Kristoff."

Kristoff closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "How long?" His voice cracked. He felt Anna's small hand on his shoulder blade, and drew comfort from it.

Grand-Pabbie shrugged. "Three weeks. A month at most."

Kristoff felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. A month? A month before his oldest and closest friend would be gone forever? He swallowed hard. "What can I do?"

"Go home," Grand-Pabbie advised. "Spend time with him. Make the rest of his time as comfortable as possible. Here," he said, snapping his fingers at a troll behind him, who rushed forward with an opaque milky crystal. "This will help with the pain. You'll know what to do."

Kristoff swallowed up the crystal in his huge hand. "Thanks."

Kristoff tried to pull himself together and stay present. Sven deserved that. But later he would find he didn't remember how they got home that day. He was never more grateful to Anna than for that.

The next three weeks were a blur. Kristoff delegated most of his duties to the other harvesters to be with Sven. He spent much of his time in the stables. More often than not he woke up with straw in his hair, his cheek hot against Sven's feverish flesh. He might have starved to death had Anna not taken it upon herself to bring him and Sven meals twice a day.

A week after the trolls' diagnosis, Olaf came in. "Hey," he whispered. "I thought Sven could use some company."

"What? Oh, yeah," Kristoff whispered back.

Olaf hesitated. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know, you -" Kristoff realized he was still whispering and he cleared his throat. "You started it." He brushed imaginary dirt off his sleeves, irritated. He got to his feet. "I'm gonna take a walk." Kristoff stuffed his hands in his pockets and stalked out.

"Hey, buddy," Olaf said, approaching Sven. The reindeer gave a low bellow and turned his head weakly to look at the snowman. He snapped his teeth together with a soft click, continuing their ongoing game in which Sven would pretend to bite off Olaf's nose.

Olaf's mouth quivered. "I'm sorry you're in pain, Sven," he said sincerely. "I wish there was something I could do." He plopped down on the floor next to his friend to think.

"You don't have to do anything," came a familiar voice from the doorway. Olaf looked up. The aurora borealis was vivid tonight, bright enough to illuminate the queen from behind. Snow was falling softly, dusting her pale hair and the shoulders of her burgundy cloak. "Just be with him."

Olaf's face fell. "But it's not enough," he said. "How can I care so much but do so little?"

Elsa knelt beside them both, laying a gentle hand on Sven's head. He leaned into the touch. "It's enough."

The last week, Kristoff used the crystal Grand-Pabbie had given him to ease the pain in Sven's joints. Sven had been refusing food regularly by this time, and despite Kristoff and Anna's best efforts, he was losing weight fast. Patches of fur had fallen out, leaving his coat oily and blotchy. He slept fitfully - the only thing that seemed to help was Kristoff's lute.

So when his last night came, Kristoff just knew - he just knew. Dread bloomed in his stomach and stuck in his throat, burning like hot tallow. Sven stirred, groaning in pain. Kristoff reached to the side and felt the familiar curve of the instrument under his fingertips. He strummed a few chords to warm up, steadying his voice.

"Reindeers are better than people,
Sven, don't you think that's true?"

Sven stilled, his breathing ragged, though he seemed calmer. He cracked one bleary eye open and stared at Kristoff.

Kristoff adopted the voice he normally took on when pretending to speak as Sven.

"'Yeah, people will beat you and curse you and cheat you,
everyone of them's bad, except you.'"

Kristoff smiled wistfully. "Thanks buddy." He continued the song.

"But people smell better than reindeers
Sven, don't you think I'm right?
'That's once again true, for all except you!'
You got me - let's call it a night,
'Good night,'" Kristoff's voice broke, "don't let the frostbite bite."

Sven's eye slipped closed, and he exhaled a short breath. He didn't take another. Kristoff looped his arms around Sven's neck and buried his face in his coarse fur, tears hot on his cheeks. He didn't know how long he stayed like that as the winter chill stole the warmth from his friend's body.

"Hey," Anna said softly, knocking on the door frame of the barn. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Kristoff looked up, his brown eyes bloodshot. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No. I'm not alright."

Anna came forward to kneel beside him and wrapped her arms around him. Kristoff pressed his face into her shoulder, gritting his teeth against the sorrow that threatened to rip him apart.

It was a small, somber group who stood around the pyre, mostly ice harvesters and trolls with a smattering of Arendelle citizens. Olaf stood on the other side of Anna, his head bowed. Queen Elsa had sent condolences as soon as she had gotten word - Anna had burst into a staff meeting, bawling, and it had taken hours for her to calm down - but royal duties prevented her from attending. Kristoff stepped forward with a sputtering torch in hand, the winter wind whipping tears from his eyes to freeze on his cheeks. The fire was met with stoic silence, until Anna stepped forward.

"Can I . . . say something?" she asked. Kristoff didn't look at her. He was transfixed by the flames.

Anna cleared her throat and addressed the rest of the mourners. "The first word Kristoff ever said to me was 'carrots,'" she said matter-of-factly. They all turned to look at her. She blushed and smoothed down her wool dress with mittened hands. "I was standing in front of them, and they were Sven's favorite snack. Kristoff was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, and he ended up getting himself thrown out of Oaken's Trading Post."

There were a few subdued chuckles. Anna could hardly bear the wretched look Kristoff gave her. She swallowed hard and went on. "The first day I met him, Kristoff's sled was about to be destroyed, and he could save only two things. He chose Sven's carrots . . . and me. We ended up stuck in the mountains with no supplies except for a bag of carrots and each other. But we made it!" She spread her hands wide, smiling weakly.

"Later, well, you all know the story of what happened on the fjord during the Great Thaw . . . but what you may not have heard was when I was minutes away from freezing solid forever, Sven gave everything he had to get Kristoff to me on time, even falling into the icy water through a crack in the ice. And Kristoff stopped to make sure he was okay. Because that's who Kristoff is."

"But today is not about Kristoff," Anna went on. "Today is about Sven. A strong reindeer, a hard worker, and a loyal friend. A friend who was willing to die so Kristoff could get to the girl he loved in time." There was an awkward pause as her audience realized Anna's story was finished. Olaf was the first to react, clapping his small twig hands together.

"May he rest in peace," rumbled one of Kristoff's men. The ice harvesters nodded their agreement. After one final moment of silence for Sven, the mourners gradually turned and trudged through the fallen snow, back to work and ice and wives and warm meals and children bouncing on knees. Kristoff's whole world felt frozen in time, but life went on.

Anna rejoined Kristoff and Olaf. The snowman's face was longer than usual.

"Olaf! You're melting," she said, dismayed. "Here, get away from the fire."

But Olaf shook his head. "It's not that," he said, looking dolefully up at her. "It's how snowmen cry."

Anna was quiet for a moment. "Oh," she said. "Don't be ashamed, Olaf; I just didn't know. You loved Sven, and he loved you. See? You and Sven taught me something about love."

An older ice harvester, the last had who remained after the service, approached Kristoff and laid a hand on his shoulder. "The ones we love are too soon taken from us, son," he said, his voice gruff and low. "Take solace in the knowledge that you poured the best measure of your soul into him. It was worth it."

Kristoff nodded around the thickness in his throat. The ice harvester nodded once, patted Kristoff's shoulder, and moved away.

"Who was that?" asked Anna, staring after him.

"Ivar," said Kristoff. "My mentor. He's the man who taught me how to harvest ice. He's -" Kristoff's voice caught on the words, "the man who gave me Sven."

The Christmas gala was still scheduled for three days hence, and though Anna did her best to steal away from preparations to spend time with Kristoff, often she was so exhausted she fell face-first into their bed and dropped asleep at once. Kristoff, his senses dulled by grief, was only too happy to sleep away his free time. It was easier to escape the pain through the oblivion of sleep - while awake and idle, it was a burden twice as hard to bear.

Kristoff was dreading the gala. Hopefully he could sneak out before anyone recognized him and forced him to make merry when his heart just wasn't in it. He wasn't sure which would be worse - the people he met having no idea of his loss, or well-wishers constantly offering their condolences and keeping it fresh in his mind.

Kristoff preferred the frank acceptance of death the mountain men held - death was a fact of life, and though it was good to grieve, they soldiered on regardless. The people who lived within the shadow of the castle clung to life, even at quality's expense, and every death was an epic tragedy to them. No, quiet grief was much more his style, and he wished he could simply throw himself into his work and power through it. But there were certain things expected of him now that he was married to a princess. When he was poor, he could have never anticipated the unique difficulties royalty bore. It was a strange life Anna had brought him into, indeed.

Anna had reserved a gown months ago just for this day, embroidered in silver thread, its shimmery indigo folds and ruched skirt perfectly pressed and puffed where it hung behind their closet door. He was just here to tell her how beautiful she looked when she had finished getting ready - and it was Anna, so of course she would be beautiful. But when Anna emerged from the closet, she was still clad in her plainer, charcoal-colored winter dress, her hair still in her two customary braids.

"Anna, the ball's in a few hours," Kristoff said. "Don't you need to get ready?"

Anna came and sat down beside him on the bed, taking both of his hands in hers. "I'm not going to the ball," she said quietly.

"What?" His Anna, not going to a celebration she had agonized over every painstaking detail? "But, Anna, you love parties! There's going to be chocolate and dancing, and Olaf's going to be there; I heard him plotting a snowball fight in the ballroom . . ."

"But you're not going to be there," she said.

He gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about me."

"I'm your wife; of course I worry about you! It just won't be the same. Without you or - or Sven. I wouldn't feel right going while you're up here moping. So maybe we can do something else. But I won't allow any moping! None whatsoever!" Anna wagged a finger at him.

It felt so strange to laugh. "Are you sure?"

"There will be other balls," Anna said, "but there's only one of you, and right now, you need me. Isn't that what love is about? Being there when the one you love needs you?"

Kristoff smiled, a small, weak thing like a crocus blooming through a spring snow. "When did you get so wise?"

Anna shrugged. "It's been a long winter."

Author's note: Title taken from the poem "Posthumous" by Jean Nordhaus.