Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen.

Rating: for implied adult themes and mentions of death.

Author disclaimer: This story contains some discussion of religion and faith, primarily because I think Arendelle is a Christian country. I'm not saying what (if any) religion I am but please be aware that views expressed in a fic aren't necessarily mine - sometimes, they just fit the story.

A/n: This is a story for Frozenmyheart who sent me a message a couple of months ago and asked if I could write something that continued my two other fics, Ask Me Anything and You Want This to be a Love Story? I'm not a big sequel writer so while this story is set in that timeline, you should be able to follow it if you haven't read those fics. In theory. Let me know if it's not readable as that means I need to edit it some more (you would not believe how many times I've read over this piece so I really hope it's readable). The story is split into three chapters (to those who are familiar with my Frozen chaptered stories: yes, this was intended to be a oneshot. No, that didn't work out) and I'll aim to update every 1-3 days. Hope you enjoy and happy Summer solstice to you!

Something and Nothing at All (The Difficulty With Definitions)

1) Fear (And the Places it Creeps Up)

When she meets Nikolas, she stares at him with her mouth half open and her hands shaking. She can feel Kristoff's concern as he stands nearby, watching somewhat tensely, and that isn't helping in the slightest. Her own husband reaches a hand for her but she stuffs hers behind her back, trying not to look at the hurt in his eyes.

"It's alright, Elsa," Anna says for possibly the sixth or seventh time. "You'll be fine."

It's not fine though. She knows it's not fine. She'll hold Anna's son and then the frost will start and-

"Elsa, snap out of it. C'mon, you can do this. I trust you."

She looks at Anna, whose eyes are wide with concern. Concern for Elsa, rather than what Elsa might do – no matter what happens to Anna, she retains an almost ironclad faith in the good of life. When Elsa glances at Kristoff, he smiles slightly. Her husband nods encouragingly.

She forces herself to take a step forwards and remove her hands from behind her back. She has to do this. She will not be scared. If she doesn't hold her own nephew, Anna will never forgive her. Besides, she hasn't accidentally frozen something (completely) for months. Although maybe that means she's due to freeze something so-

"There you go," Anna says, thrusting Nikolas into her arms. Elsa squeaks; she thinks everyone would laugh if she weren't so obviously distressed. But then she looks down and sees a small face looking up at her. As she stares, drinking in every detail, she knows that she doesn't need to look to know that Anna and Kristoff are smiling.

She can feel his gaze as she lies on the bed, eyes fixed determinedly on the ceiling. He knows she's not asleep because they've been married for long enough – and each had enough sleepless nights – to know how the other sounds when they sleep.

She glances at him from the corners of her eyes before closing them. Four years they've been married (nearly five since the Great Thaw), and she still doesn't know exactly what they are. Theirs was a marriage that originated from politics and necessity rather than love, but she suspects that they wouldn't have gone through with it if there hadn't been … something. If only she knew for sure what that was.

"You might as well say it, David," she says, her eyes still closed. "I was being stupid, wasn't I?"

"Stupid wasn't the word I was thinking now," he says in his lilting voice, his Burakoemin accent as strong as ever. "Self-deprecating sounded more like it." Even though she can't see him, she knows he's smiling a small smile.

"I could have killed Anna's son."

"Let's be honest, so could Anna. She's not exactly graceful, mind." He waits. When she doesn't respond, he says, "Isn't this the part where you're supposed to tell me off and chuck a pen at me?"

She opens her eyes and sits up. He's sitting as well and even through the concern on his face, she can see the spark of humour that's often in his brown eyes. "Can't you take this seriously?"

"No?"

"You're as bad as Anna."

"You did say we should spend more time around each other." She swings her pillow at him. He ducks, laughing, and that makes her laugh. Once their laughter subsides, he shifts over to put a skinny arm around her shoulder. "It was fine anyway. You held him."

"Only because Anna shoved him at me."

"That's probably something the lad will get used to. Poor little guy."

There's something in his tone and it matches what she saw when he held Nikolas, just hours ago. It's been there in other discussions too. A kind of wistfulness, maybe. A kind of curiosity. Resignation. She doesn't want to address it. Not right now. Maybe when she's less tired, or in a better mood or when it's a Tuesday or … or something.

So, instead, she says, "You can play with him tomorrow. Make up for the rest of his life."

David smiles and agrees, but the something in his tone is still there.

They're standing together by the wall of the nursery, watching Kristoff and David play with Nikolas. The little boy is still too young to know what's going on but Kristoff and David, at least, seem to be enjoying themselves.

"I rarely see Kristoff acting this goofily," Elsa remarks.

Anna looks at him. He's pulling faces and making silly voices, in a (slightly creepily) similar way to the way he talks to Sven.

"You have to catch him in the right mood," Anna says, deciding to omit the part about probably also needing to be a reindeer. "I think David's the weirder one. He's always so quiet."

"David often acts silly. He just clams up a lot. You'd know that if you stopped intimidating him."

Anna doesn't mean to intimidate David – in fact, she likes him and thinks he might actually be good for Elsa – but she is still against the marriage on the principle of the thing. She has to admit, if Elsa hadn't told her, she wouldn't know that David was scared of her. He always seems to take everything on the chin.

Anna shrugs. "He's not that scared of me. I think." She hesitates but it feels like the perfect opportunity to ask the question she's wanted to ask for the last few days, so she says, "So are you and he…"

After a few seconds of silence, Elsa says, "You're going to have to give me more context than that."

She suddenly feels shy. In the five years since the Great Thaw, she and Elsa have made leaps and bounds in repairing their relationship, but they're still not as comfortable around each other as they were when they were children. She suspects they never will be.

Still, she's determined to finish this so she says, "Planning children?"

Elsa hesitates. They've had this conversation before but Elsa always, always hesitates.

"Not at the moment."

Anna looks at her. "Have you two even talked about it?"

"Anna, not everyone wants children."

"That wasn't an answer."

Years ago – just a few weeks after the Great Thaw – Elsa promised that if Anna ever asked her a question, she would answer it truthfully. Anna has not forgotten that promise and she knows that Elsa hasn't either.

Elsa hesitates again. "Not really," she says quietly. "Sometimes, I think David wants to but … it's a bad idea, I think. Besides, I doubt people like me can have children. I mean, have you ever heard of a story where the ice witch has a son or daughter? There must be a reason for it."

"You're basing that on fairy stories, Elsa. I don't understand what you're so afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," Elsa says instantly.

"OK," Anna says, not wanting to get into this, "but I don't understand why it would be a bad idea. I mean, you handle Olaf fine and he's basically your child."

"Olaf's easy. Olaf just needs to be entertained and loved and more-or-less looks after himself." Elsa looks down. "I just … Anna, it's… I mean, children take after their parents and I…"

"If this is gonna be gloomy, I'm gonna lecture you."

"You'd lose concentration about halfway through."

"True but that doesn't mean the first half wouldn't b- stop trying to distract me!" Elsa laughs and Anna smiles. "Seriously, Elsa. I know you're nervous but I just think … I just think you shouldn't decide not to have children without thinking about how your kid would probably be really nice and smart and funny and … and, I dunno, fluent in ten languages and-"

"Ten? David and I speak about three between us. Olaf, for the record, can only speak one. Where do the other seven come from?"

"Your kid would be a genius. They'd get it from, like, osmosis or something."

"I don't know what's weirder: the fact that you know the word osmosis despite not paying attention in any of your lessons when you were a kid, or the fact that you think someone can learn ten languages by osmosis in Arendelle, one of the smaller countries in the world."

"Hey, I didn't sleep in all of my lessons. Besides, you married a Burakoemin prince so we're practically cosmopolitan. As long as you ignore the fact that almost nobody knows where Burakoem is or what they do there, apart from something to do with sheep." Anna looks at her older sister. It's funny. When they were growing up, there had always been something … cold about Elsa. Some kind of barrier between her and the rest of the world. These days, Anna looks at Elsa and she can barely feel that barrier. These days, Elsa seems mostly … happy. "Elsa, I just don't want you not to..."

A hand lightly touches her shoulder. "I know, Anna. I am thinking about it, OK?"

It's not but Anna says, "OK."

Anna and Kristoff visit often over the next couple of years, always bringing Nikolas with them. Despite his young age, David can already see that Nikolas will have Anna's slim stature but Kristoff's hair and eyes; that he has more of Kristoff's quiet personality than Anna's ball of energy; but that he is as open and loving as his mother. He's a complete mix of his parents.

He mentions that to Elsa once. A slightly freaked-out expression crosses her face but then she nods, as though he has confirmed something to her.

Despite that reaction, whenever Nikolas is around, Elsa always devotes herself to her nephew, often playing with him long past any normal adult's tolerance level. David likes to spoil Nikolas as well. He knows they're only related through marriage but he adores his nephew.

Elsa has always said she doesn't think she can have children. She's said a few other things as well that makes him think she doesn't want to try. He's not sure what his reaction to that should be but he doubts he can bring the topic up without accidentally pressuring her. He doesn't want to pressure her that way. Not when she already feels pressured to sleep with him, despite his saying that he doesn't mind if they don't (he does mind, and they both know he minds, but pressuring her into doing it always seems worse to his mind than doing it). It's better if he just remains silent. It always is.

Still, when Elsa plays with Nikolas or even Olaf, he sometimes looks at her and sees … something in her eyes. A question, maybe. Or perhaps something more wistful. And at these moments, he wonders whether maybe he's wrong, and she does want children.

He can almost imagine it. They would have a little girl with Elsa's hair and eyes, but his singing voice; or a little boy with his brown hair, and her eyes (he thinks her eyes are better than his so in no scenario in his imagination (even the highly improbable – and not particularly desirable – one where they have twenty-three children) do the imaginary children have his eyes) and maybe even her powers.

But there. Maybe his marriage to Elsa has been an exercise in getting to know her but he always thinks of her as being a bit like ice – unyielding, when she wants to be. As Burakoem is mainly known for its abundance of rain and sheep, he's quite sure he won't convince her otherwise. Rain and sheep aren't known for their heat or shattering properties.

(Burakoem is also known for being a fighting nation, but he's never been any good at that. There's a reason his father sent him, and not one of his older brothers, to marry the Queen of Arendelle all those years ago.)

She catches that something she saw in David's expression more often these days. Another something she can't define. One day, she thinks, she might make a list of all of the emotions she doesn't recognise or understand and ask someone if they can tell her what they mean. Maybe Olaf. Only Olaf is never alarmed when she does something which, according to just about everyone else, isn't how someone is supposed to act or feel, or when someone else does something and she can't understand why. At those moments, she wants to point out that doors don't tend to display much emotion, but she doesn't think that will give her any headway on the appearing normal front.

Then again, she is seriously contemplating getting advice from a talking snowman so clearly that ship sailed long ago.

Still, if she's talking to Olaf, she might as well add her confusion to the list. She's always been adamant that she won't have children unless necessary. Even her parents thought the prospect was dubious and they always said she'd learn control one day. Maybe she shouldn't care about their opinion but she does. Children learn from their parents, after all.

And yet. In her moments of quiet, she catches herself thinking of names (she would have to pick the name because Burakoemin names often consist of bizarre, and, frankly, unpronounceable, combinations of letters such as Wmffre) and clothes (she definitely has better dress sense than David) and lessons she could teach a child (David would probably make the lessons more fun. David would be the fun parent, she decides). She imagines Nikolas playing with a cousin. She even imagines Anna's smug, I told you so and David's quiet grin as he hoists the child on his shoulders.

But children take after their parents. She can't let herself forget that.

Yet she does forget it. More than once. She forgets it whenever she sees Nikolas. She forgets it when she passes the nursery. She forgets it late at night, when David holds her because she can't sleep. She forgets it when she looks at him and sees all those somethings and wonders what he sees when he looks at her.

Most importantly, though, she forgets it when she tries to show him how she feels, and when they lie there afterwards. And while she forgets, she wonders.

She starts to feel sick and tired. At first, she assumes she's eaten something bad, but it goes on for too long. She doesn't know why she can taste something faintly metallic in her mouth, nor why Anna's suggestion of eating chocolate to cheer her up fills her with disgust. Her mood becomes more irritable with each passing day. After a week of it, she goes to see the royal physician.

After what feels like a lifetime, she leaves the physician's office. She walks down the corridor and passes Kai.

"Your Majesty," he says. "How are you today?"

She's so surprised that she blurts out, "Pregnant."

Kai blinks. "I hadn't heard. Congratulations, your Majesty."

She wipes a hand over her forehead. "I didn't mean that."

"You're not pregnant?"

"No, I mean, I am pregnant but I didn't mean to say I'm pregnant." She giggles nervously but it comes out slightly hysterical. "I just … I just found out and … please don't tell anyone."

"Ever?"

She giggles again and it's definitely hysterical. "I didn't … I don't even know how it happened."

Kai frowns. "Presumably the usual way? Unless your powers-"

"No! They can't … well, I made Olaf and Marshmallow so I guess they can … oh, God, Kai, what if it is my powers?"

The next thing she knows, she's being gently bundled into the nearest room and a few maids are being ushered out of the room with warnings that if they tell anyone that the Queen is having something akin to hysterics, they will suffer the worst punishment that Kai, Kristoff and Anna can collectively think of. Snow bundles up around her chair.

"Your Majesty," he says firmly once the door is closed. He pauses for a moment and then says in a softer tone, "Elsa. You're not pregnant because of your powers. I don't think ice is conducive to creating human life."

"It could be a snowman."

"I've gone temporarily deaf. While I'm waiting for my hearing to recover, you might want to think about what you just said and then decide whether you want to say it again."

She blushes. "I'm panicking, aren't I?"

He wipes snow from the top of his head. "A little. It happens. I assume you and his Majesty haven't … planned this."

Her heart clenches because of course she has to tell David and she'll have to decide what she wants to do before she does that.

"No," she gets out. Maybe she shouldn't be so honest but Kai has been a servant in the castle for about twenty years. He practically raised Anna. "We didn't … I didn't … I…"

It's not even as though they sleep together that often. How were they not careful on one of the times they did? She'd thought that if she was going to be the way she is, at least the benefit would be some rationality in the heat of the moment. Apparently a combination of not feeling attraction and having ice powers doesn't equate to a good memory.

"Do you want a child, Elsa?"

"I … I … I…" She draws a shuddery breath, exhales and jumps when she realises she can see the exhaled breath. "You see … it's…"

"OK," Kai says before she can stammer any more. "I suppose there are two ways to look at this. I think you need to decide if it's a question of wanting or not wanting children. If you don't want children, that's your choice and that should be the end of it. There are ways to rid yourself of child and I'm sure you could do it in secret. If you do want a child, then you should have the child."

She waits for him to continue but he doesn't. "That, that's it? You think if someone wants a child, they should just … have it?"

Kai shakes his head. "I said if you want a child, you should have it. I suppose if you were someone who liked to kick small puppies, I'd have second thoughts. If I were asked about someone who was, say, into stealing from shops and knocking baskets from old ladies' hands, I might suggest they think about it. But I don't have any reason to worry about you having a child."

She blushes at the praise, suddenly feeling eight rather than twenty-eight. "You mean that?" Kai nods. "But, um, what if … what if you're not … sure?"

Kai studies her for a few seconds, undoubtedly wondering exactly what is going on in her head. Finally, he says, "Well, then I think you need to work out why you're not sure and think about what having a child would mean. Children aren't like toys. You're stuck with them for years." He pauses and his expression softens. "I think you also need to decide whether you're unsure or whether you're just worried. If you're worried that you'd be a bad parent, or scared that something will go wrong, then I think you do know what you want. You of all people know that fear is usually a bad reason not to do something. Especially in your case." He pauses again. "Good God, I think this is the most motivational speech I've given in decades."

Elsa giggles again but this time, it's not hysterical. Kai isn't known for being especially talkative. Hearing her giggle, Kai smiles the warm smile she saw so often as she grew up. Somehow, that smile, more than Kai's words, help her relax. She takes a deep breath which doesn't shudder (much).

"You … you really think it's a good idea?"

"In all honesty, and don't tell her I said this, I trust you with a baby more than I trust Princess Anna – and she already has a son. Not that her Highness is a bad mother but I feel like your child has a higher chance of making it to puberty without any broken bones."

Elsa makes herself take a breath. "Thanks, Kai. I think … I think my husband and I need to have a long talk. I'd be grateful if you wouldn't tell anyone about my pregnancy in the meantime." She walks over to him and wraps arms around him. "I'm glad I ran into you."

He returns the hug. "Any time, your Majesty."

There's a knock on the bedroom door. He shouts for the person to come in as he turns towards them.

Elsa enters, closing the door behind her. She's stooped and David can tell she's spooked. It gives him a strong sense of déjà vu. The last time he saw her like this was when she came to him, two days before their wedding, to tell him that she didn't feel attraction for anyone, including him. As a result, he doesn't have high hopes for whatever it is she's about to tell him.

Nonetheless, he strides over to her and puts his arms around her. Her skin feels cold but he pulls her to him, almost defiantly, and whispers that it's fine, he's got her, it's all going to be fine. He feels her relax slightly. But then she steps away and he can tell she's still spooked.

"You don't normally knock on your own bedroom door. What's happened?"

She hesitates. One arm swings in front of her, which is a strange gesture because she's normally so controlled. He kind of wants to reach out and hold the arm. At least she isn't completely still. If she's completely still, it means she's extremely upset. "Um, it's … you know … a thing…"

He waits. "Um … what kind of a thing?" She looks at him, eyes wide and blinking, as though he's asked the trickiest question known to man. "Right," he says once it's become clear that Elsa isn't going to reply. "Got it. Should I go kill the thug then?"

That jolts her out of whatever she's startled herself into. "What?"

"OK, wrong path. Um, I'll tell her we're very sorry?"

Now she frowns, which is better than looking startled. "What?"

"Fine then. I'll stand here and look manly till your sister teaches me how to read minds then." When she scowls, he says, "Elsa, you might as well tell me what's happened instead of saying it's a thing. Only think how embarrassing it'll be, right, if I go out there now and it turns out everyone else knows about it and I don't."

She smiles at that, which makes him relax slightly. It can't be that bad if she's smiling. Besides, she's not hugging herself. "It's not something other people know," she says. "Not really. It's…" She takes a breath. "I went to the physician about me feeling ill and, uh, hesaysI'maboutnineweekspregnant."

David blinks. "I caught he says and preg- wait, you're pregnant?"

She blushes, looking oddly embarrassed, and nods. Her hands move to her stomach. He stands there, frozen. That's his child in Elsa's body and he has no idea if Elsa wants it. If he says he wants the child, Elsa might feel pressured. She'd never say so because Elsa is always, always convinced that everything she does is wrong and needs to be fixed. At the same time, maybe she does want the child but thinks he doesn't. Or maybe he should say what he thinks and trust her to be strong and independent enough to make up her own mind because she's nothing if not her own person. Or maybe-

"David? What, um, what are you thinking?"

He jumps. "It's, uh, a surprise, isn't it? I, uh, thought we…"

"Apparently not."

"Right. Apparently not." He coughs. "So, er, do you … I mean … how do you feel?"

"Sick, I guess." She rubs her stomach. He shivers. "But I suppose … we should discuss … you know."

"Yes." He coughs again. "I…" He hesitates. "Elsa, I … if you want the child then I want the child. I'd love him. Her. Whoever." He pauses and locks his arms behind his back, hoping Elsa can't see his fists clench, can't see how much he wants it. He gets the next words out. "But I know you're … not keen on the idea of children, see. So if you, uh, if you don't want the child … I … it's fine."

There's something in her expression that he can't work out as she says, "You'd never forgive me though."

"I would," he says. That look is still there and he sighs. "I would," he says again, and hopes it's true. "But I … I'd always wonder, see." He looks down. "But it's not me who's pregnant. And it's not me who … I know you've got your reasons, mind, for not wanting children, even if you won't share them with me."

Her eyes widen, startled. It takes him a few seconds to remember that she's never expressly said she doesn't want children. In much the same way that he's never told her that he thinks he might want them, he's never asked if she doesn't.

They've gotten through all these years ignoring the things they don't discuss, the things they won't name, and it's worked. Somehow, this feels confrontational, even if he didn't mean it to be.

She looks down at her fingers, laced together on her stomach. Then she says, "I didn't even think I could get pregnant."

Her tone is dull and, somehow, it feels as though she's punched him even though she's said it before. "Elsa-"

"It made it easier not to think about other things if I … couldn't. I could always say there was no point talking about it because why bother if I wouldn't have children? I suppose, really, I was hiding from it." She pauses. "Guess I didn't grow up as much as I thought I did."

So there is a reason she convinced herself she couldn't have children. He should ask but she looks so small and vulnerable that he can't bring himself to probe. Instead, he puts his arm around her, part of him revelling in the closeness of her.

She leans in to him. It took a while – over a year – for Elsa to feel comfortable enough with his touches to react like this without hesitation. He can't help kissing the top of her head and feeling his heart leap slightly when she snuggles closer to his body. Whatever they are, whatever it is that's between them, it's moments like these that make him think it works.

"I always said that," she says after a while. "But I … I ran into someone after leaving the physician and they made me think..." She hesitates. "It … I obviously can get pregnant and we … maybe we should keep him. Or her. I … maybe we could do it. People do it all the time. I mean, you can do this. You'll be there to…"

"Be the fun parent?"

For a second, it looks as though she's about to say something else, something dark. She almost physically stops herself from speaking. Then her lips quirk. "One of us would have to be, I suppose."

"I think I could do that then. I'll teach him or her to duck pens."

He expects her to laugh but she doesn't.

"And to sculpt ice," he says, now a little unnerved by the silence, "since it's a skill I've had to take up."

That makes her smile. "You want our child to be an ice sculptor?"

"Being a prince or princess is overrated, see. He or she will have a useful skill by the end of this." The tense in his sentence suddenly hits him. "It's settled then? We're going to be parents?"

"Yep." She suddenly looks unsure. "I mean … assuming you do want-"

"Yes," he says quickly, in case a speedy response will somehow stop her from taking it back. "I … let's do it!"

"Then we're going to be parents." She kisses his cheek and steps back, although she lets him put his arms around her waist. Her expression is more resolute than joyful but he'll take it. "But let's … let's wait for a bit before telling people. The physician said once I'm past three months, I'm more likely to carry the baby. I … let's wait until then."

He agrees. They talk for a bit longer about next steps, whether it will be a boy or a girl, whose features the baby will have, how they'll tell people about it, until Elsa has to leave for a meeting. He can't help wondering if perhaps the conversation should have been longer, given that, until about two or three hours ago, David could have sworn Elsa didn't want children, but he decides he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

After that discussion, the atmosphere almost seems lighter. They talk about names and games, and whether they should redecorate the nursery. They talk about which parent the baby will take after.

Elsa's stomach begins to swell. She still has morning sickness, which David tries to be sympathetic to. One night, David points out additional freckles that have appeared on her body, and she almost panics before the physician tells them this is perfectly normal.

In the moments between everything, though, she can't help thinking that children take after their parents and what if…

But then David will smile at her, and put his arms around her, and she'll remind herself that David will be there. David will be there and she will see the child and will love him or her. Their child will have David's sense of humour and his singing voice and his good nature. Their child will be perfect. The child will be as perfect to Elsa as Elsa is to Anna. She can promise herself that.

Anna has known for weeks that Elsa and David have a secret – every time she sees them, they're oddly giggly: David is more of a chuckler and Elsa only giggles when she's in a very good mood or if she's sleepy. Often, they trade glances or one of them will start to say something before being cut off by the other one, laughing. She hasn't asked them what the secret is because it's nice to see them like this. For all that they seem to work well together, there remains something between them that keeps them apart.

Sometimes, and she's been noticing this for a while, Elsa's mood swings the other way. Kai has commented, on more than one occasion over the past three months, that Elsa needs to stop destroying furniture. David seems remarkably tolerant – even more so than he usually is – and that's another thing that clues her in. But even though she knows that they're hiding something, she doesn't expect Elsa to tell her, rather guiltily, that she is pregnant.

For a few seconds, she's so surprised that she can only stare at her older sister, mouth opening and closing, probably making her look even more gormless than she thinks she might usually look.

Then she says, "That's amazing! I mean, you're gonna be a mother. You'll love it. You will. Oh, this is so great, this is…" Nearly seven years of conversations catch up with her. "Um, I mean, that's assuming you're not gonna … um … I mean … does David know?"

Elsa frowns at her. "You thought I wouldn't tell my husband? The man who impregnated me?"

She actually wasn't sure. David never seems to take an active role in Anna's mind when she thinks of Elsa.

"At least you didn't have an affair." She catches her sister's look and cringes. "Sorry. So, uh, I guess you aren't gonna…"

Elsa takes pity on her. "No, Anna. We talked about it. We're … we're going to give it a go." Her hands lie on her stomach which makes Anna feel a little funny because Kristoff said that when she was pregnant with Nikolas, she always put her hands on her stomach. She walks over to Elsa and hugs her.

"This is such great news, sis. Niko will have a cousin. They can be like us! Niko will be the responsible one-"

"Definitely doesn't take after you then."

"-and yours will be the spunky, witty one-"

"Wait, why are they both like me?"

"Oh, shut up," Anna says and Elsa laughs.

She watches Elsa carefully after that. Elsa seems so happy, so radiant and full of life, that it's almost contagious. It's strange because Elsa was adamant that she didn't want children. Anna likes the change though. She only sees Elsa act this way when she's relaxed, and Elsa isn't someone who relaxes easily. On one occasion, Elsa actually guides Anna's hand to her stomach, because she thinks the baby is moving and wants Anna to feel it.

But on some occasions, she sees Elsa tense. Her hands will still on her stomach, and she'll look at Anna with a haunted expression, an expression she used to wear whenever she remembered … something. Something related to Anna and the time around the Great Thaw. But then she'll see Anna's concern and she'll smile and change the topic.

(Anna will never ask because there are some fears and horrors she knows Elsa doesn't want to share and which she knows she doesn't want to hear.)

Elsa and David pick names. If it's a girl, she will be Mirjam (Elsa's choice). If it's a boy, he will be Hywel (David's choice). Personally, Anna thinks the name should be something either more fun or, in David's case, easier to pronounce, but Kristoff has already warned her about interfering too much with Elsa's life.

People start to comment on the rounding of Elsa's body and, when she's nineteen weeks pregnant, she announces that she's expecting a child. Anna hears the population speculate on the gender of the child, whether it will be like Elsa or David and, most often, whether the child will also have ice powers. People aren't opposed to the idea although most seem to prefer having a ruler without ice powers. At least the rumours don't depress Elsa, although maybe that's because her mood swings seem to have stabilised somewhat.

On one day, she goes to her parents' marker stone and, for once, doesn't feel the anger she's felt for over seven years. Maybe it's just been too long, or maybe it's because she's always known Elsa's life would turn out OK in spite of their parents, but she thinks it might be because, finally, it feels as though the damage they did to Elsa is disappearing.

Something trickles. Excusing herself from the meeting, Elsa goes to the privy. For one absurd second, as she looks at the blood on her thighs, she thinks it's just her time of the month. Then she remembers.

She stands, walks into the corridor and, as calmly as she can, asks the nearest guard to send the royal physician to her room. Clearly, she's not as calm as she wants to be because the guard's eyes widen, and she can see ice building up at her feet. She closes her eyes but her stomach is beginning to cramp and that makes it worse.

Hands steady her, holding the crooks of her elbows as her arms cross her chest. She glances up to see the guard, his eyes wide but his expression resolute. He barks for someone else to fetch the royal physician and then guides her to her room, ignoring the ice playing around her skin, speaking comforting nothings. Weirdly, she can't help noticing that he's younger than she is.

She lies down and groans as another wave of pain washes through her abdomen. It feels as she imagined being in labour – or the beginnings of it – might feel, but that can't be right because she isn't due for another sixteen weeks.

A guard barges into the meeting, and, with no apology for the interruption, tells David that his presence is required elsewhere immediately. Once David is out of the room, the guard tells him that Elsa has fallen ill – badly ill, painfully ill – and is in their room. He immediately runs, pushing past servants, apologising as he speeds up stairs and through corridors.

He pushes open the door. The physician is speaking and he can just about make out the words.

"…it's extremely likely that this is a miscarriage. I'm so sorry, your Majesty."

It hurts even more now that she knows how it's going to end.

Afterwards, she lies on the bed, aching, panting and refusing to open her eyes. David, who entered the room at some point, still holds her hand. The only sound, apart from her pants, is the physician's shuffles.

"Your Majesties," he says softly, "I'm so sorry. The baby didn't survive. Would you … would you like to look?"

"Look?" David's voice is hoarse.

"Some parents find it comforting. If you'd like, I could describe the baby and then you can decide."

"Elsa?" David says softly. "Do you … want to see our … the baby?"

She doesn't know that she's strong enough to bear the sight.

Why did she ever think she could do this?

Gentle fingers brush her cheeks, wiping away the tears that squeeze from her eyes. She bites her lip.

Shouldn't she at least look at what she's done?

"OK," she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. David hears and tells the physician that yes, they would like to see before the physician takes the body away. She counts as she hears the physician move towards them, telling herself that when she reaches ten, she will open her eyes.

At fourteen, she hears a choked sob from David and her head snaps towards him as her eyes open.

Hours later, they are still in their room. Elsa has left once, to bathe, on the physician's orders. She's barely spoken since…

He closes his eyes, teeth ripping at the flesh inside his cheeks. He hasn't cried. He can't cry, not when Elsa lies on the bed, trying to stop frost from rising up on furniture, still aching. He'll cry later. In the toilets. As though he's sneaking candy somewhere.

"David?"

He looks at her, startled, and sees concerned, blue eyes, looking at him. Even now, she's beautiful.

"How are you?"

Her face closes off, which he recognises as her equivalent of having a variety of emotion flash across her face. Whenever she feels "too much", she does this, with only her eyes telling a different tale. He knows bits and pieces of why but not the full story.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

"What for?"

"I … our baby."

"It's not your fault, Elsa. You heard the physician. Sometimes, miscarriages happen, see."

"Rarely this late."

"But they happen." He pauses, trying to shake the roughness from his voice. "Don't say you're sorry. Not for that. It's…" He has to stop himself from growling because he knows there are words for situations like this but he's never been good at saying the right things. "It's not your fault," he finishes, rather lamely in his opinion.

She doesn't respond to that and he knows – can tell – that she's blaming herself. He can see the misery in her eyes and in the curl of her body under the covers.

He stands and carefully, very carefully, walks to the bed and slides in. Elsa rolls onto her side, indicating that this is the right thing to do. He lies down, his chest touching her back, and wraps his arms around her, ignoring the cold rising through the fabric of her nightgown.

If there's one thing he's learnt in roughly seven years of marriage, it's that, sometimes, simply holding someone can tell that person more than words ever could.