Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen

Review reply to Crystal Hauntress: So sorry I didn't reply in the last chapter! Anyhow, thanks very much for the reviews. I hope you enjoy the final chapter :)

A/n: Final chapter. First thing I want to say is that, in this story, Elsa is asked why she doesn't want children often. Please never feel as though you need to explain to someone why you don't want children. It's a personal decision and nobody has the right to demand an answer from you. Anyhow, thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting, following, adding this to what I think is an Elsanna C2, which I appreciate though I apologise to anyone who's gotten this far and is angry about the lack of Elsanna - possibly a spoiler but there's no Elsanna in this chapter either. Hope you've all enjoyed. I'm too tired to think of much else to say so please, enjoy, and nos da!

3) Faith (And the Places it is Found)

She sits on the roof of the tallest tower, looking out at the stars. Small snowmen surround her. The ones closest to her are twisted and scary but as her mood has calmed, so has her use of magic. The ones near the edge are positively adorable.

She can't sit on the roof forever but she can't bring herself to go back down. She doesn't want to face David, who was the only one of the three humans in that argument who kept his head. Whose hand she nearly froze or crushed against a table. Who has finally heard why she doesn't think she wants children and what are they supposed to do now?

And Anna. What on earth is she supposed to say to Anna? Anna who was just asking questions and … Elsa knows what Anna's like. Why couldn't she just let her irritation go?

A thumping noise makes her head turn. Kai scrambles out of the high window and walks gingerly across to her, sitting down with an expression that suggests finding the Queen of Arendelle sitting on a roof at night time, surrounded by miniature snowmen, is something he does all the time. He doesn't say anything, only looks at the stars.

Once the silence is unbearable, Elsa says, "I guess you heard Anna and me."

"No. Vitus did. Gerda has gone to speak to Anna so I decided to look for you."

"How did you know I was up here?"

"Randolph told me he was about to shoot a big bird off the roof. Good thing for you that I put two and two together, otherwise, to add insult to injury, we'd be preparing to crown your sister right about now." He waits for her to smile but she doesn't. "Do you want to talk about it, your Majesty?"

She hunches her legs up to her chin, feeling much younger than she is. "No … I … is Anna mad at me? I kind of lost my temper with her."

"Well, his Majesty assures me she was being annoying." She doesn't smile again. "I think she's mad at herself, not you."

"She shouldn't be. I told her she could ask me anything so…" She looks up at the stars. "I just don't know what's gotten into her recently and I … I don't know if I can handle it on top of … well."

She glances at Kai, whose expression doesn't contain any pity. She's glad. She doesn't know that she could handle one more pity-filled conversation. "Am I right in assuming she's been asking about children?"

"And why I don't want them anymore."

"And also about God?"

"Yes. I have no idea what that's about."

He nods. "I wonder," he says, "whether the two are related."

"Huh?"

"If you don't mind me being blunt," he says, as though anything Elsa says will stop him from being blunt, "I think Anna's struggling to deal with your miscarriage."

He doesn't say as much as you are but she thinks it might be on the tip of his tongue.

"But she hasn't lost anyone," Elsa says slowly, sure she's missing something somewhere.

"You mean apart from a possible niece or nephew?" As Elsa feels her face heat up, he says, "Unless I'm mistaken, it's not a case of losing someone physical. I think her Highness lost God."

"God?"

"God, karma, happiness, whatever you want to call it. I would say this is a brilliant deduction on my part but, by all accounts, she's spent the last couple of months asking just about everyone what they believe in. I think your miscarriage has made her lose faith."

"Faith in what?"

"Whatever she believed in. You know her Highness as well as I do. She's always believed-"

"That everyone deserves a happy ending," Elsa says softly. "That good things come to good people. That, when it boils down to it, everyone is good." She moves so that she now sits cross-legged. "I guess … I guess I can see why she might view … why, for her, my having a miscarriage might make her question that." Her voice isn't neutral when she says miscarriage but Kai kindly doesn't comment. "I don't see what me wanting children has to do with … anything though."

"I suppose, if it were a question of want then that would explain why you've kept going – the miscarriage wouldn't have changed anything. But I think perhaps she thought … you went through with your pregnancy, in spite of everything you've always said to her – don't look so surprised that I know, your Majesty. Servants learn all the gossip by learning to lip read – but then you lost the child. But if you tried again and had another child – if you didn't give up – then maybe whatever she'd always believed in would still be there. Or if she could convince you to try again … well, what need would she have for God? She'd just need to believe in herself."

"She … she's always wanted to rescue me," Elsa says, closing her eyes. "Always wanting to rescue me but only ever saving me once. She … she doesn't think a lot of herself. Never has. She's always been convinced that she only has to hold the fort until the hero turns up, no matter what she says." She squeezes her eyes closed until she's sure she can safely open them. "Guess she won't have faith in me either then. Not after tonight. Nor David, if he ever had faith in me." She sighs and then pastes a smile on her face. "I'm sorry, Kai. I'm just moping. I don't know what's gotten into me tonight. I should go to bed and … probably apologise to my husband."

"Anna isn't the only one who's lost faith, is she?"

She stands. "I think maybe losing faith is just a sign of age. Most adults I know don't really possess it. They just say they do and assume the worst."

"You're hardly old, your Majesty."

She shrugs. "People always say I grew old before my time, so maybe that's what counts."

She starts to walk away, Kai says, "Elsa?" She turns. "Do you hate me for … encouraging you, all those months ago?"

"No," she says. "You encouraged me but … it was me who hoped."

He doesn't say anything so she walks to the window.

"Your Majesty?" he calls as she is swinging one leg over the ledge. She twists (uncomfortably) and sees him smiling. "I stand by what I said then. Maybe I just haven't grown old enough yet."

Gerda sits next to her, with an arm around her shoulders and her hands occasionally stroking her hair. Kristoff stands nearby, trying to comfort/calm Anna. She's spent the last hour ranting, worrying and trying to explain herself, while swiping slices of a nearby cake and asking Kristoff to stop making snide comments. She feels emotionally exhausted.

"I don't get it," she says finally.

"Get what?" Gerda sounds as patient as ever. It's one of the things Anna has always loved about the old woman. No matter how upset, how angry, how nonsensical Anna sounds, Gerda will listen patiently and treat everything she says seriously.

"Elsa. I mean, what she said. About our parents. She knows what they did was wrong. Why doesn't she trust herself not to do what they did? Why would she think that caused a miscarriage?"

"This isn't going to be another project, is it? Ow!" Kristoff rubs the back of his head and looks at Gerda. "What was that for?"

Gerda clicks her tongue at him. "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Kristoff's slightly outraged expression makes Anna smile, which makes Kristoff smile. Gerda turns her attention back to Anna. "Knowing that what happened to her was wrong probably makes it worse. And she's always had that streak of blaming herself. Well, she would."

"But she's so much … better than she used to be."

"But it's about control, isn't it?" says Kristoff, dropping his hand from his head. Maybe he's decided to take this seriously after all. About time. "Elsa's whole life has been about control. That's probably why she didn't want to risk children to begin with. Probably why she's justifying the miscarriage as well – it doesn't have to be random if she can blame it on something in her control. It's just something else that's her fault." He rubs his head again. "I know you've said it before but your parents really messed her up, didn't they?"

That sounds suspiciously sensible. "But … but she must know how ridiculous that sounds. She … she wouldn't do that anyway. Elsa's so much smarter than that. She would love her children. She loves our parents and if they did this to her... I … she'd never hurt her children. She just wouldn't."

Except she always thought Elsa never hurt her and yet…

"I'm not saying she would but I can see why she's worried," Gerda says thoughtfully. "She's right. Children learn from their parents' parenting methods."

"Oh, come on. It's not like I've tried to stuff Nikolas in a room by himself so that theory's clearly bull."

"True," Gerda says. "But you were raised differently to Elsa, weren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

Gerda only smiles, stroking Anna's hair again. "Elsa's got scars that will probably be with her for the rest of her life. She has to work around them and this is probably the only way she knows how to do that. I think," she says, her fingers pausing on a lock of hair that, years ago, was platinum-blonde. "it's sometimes worth remembering that just because you can't see something painful, it doesn't mean there's nothing there."

He doesn't know what he's supposed to say to her. He should confront her, he thinks, but when she comes in, her expression is so scared that he can't bring himself to do it. Again.

So he says, "How are the stars?"

Relief creeps onto her face. "Still there."

"Good, good."

The silence is awkward. He is already in bed, and now she changes and lies down next to him.

They've gotten through all these years ignoring the things they don't discuss, the things they won't name. He doesn't know how to even begin tackling what Elsa said. The way he usually deals with it is by making a joke, taking the tension away, so that they can put it off for another day. He doesn't know how appropriate that is here. But they've gotten through seven years on that approach.

So he says, "Did you know that when I was growing up in Burakoem, my father kept losing me on the mountains?"

"He … what?"

"It's true. Every time he took us on a hike, see, or just sent me on an errand up there, I got lost. My brothers always had to come find me. Once the entire guard went looking for me. It became a family joke that I couldn't be trusted on mountains."

He can almost feel her smile as she says, "You must have been terrified of Arendelle then, given we're by a huge mountain."

"But you see, my father isn't here to send me up it. It only happened when he did it. But I always thought, mind, what if I have to send people up nearby mountains? If I'm anything like my father, see, I'd lose them up there and then all the people I didn't send would waste an afternoon locating them."

Elsa sounds slightly confused as she says, "I'm sure I'd look for them too, you know."

He grins. "To be honest, I always thought you'd make sure anyone we sent up a mountain had everything they needed. Or that you'd send someone like Kristoff with us if I had to go, to stop me losing them, see. It's why I never told you about it. I knew you'd save me."

He hears a sharp intake of breath. "David-"

"Just thought you'd like to know that. Now we should probably sleep. You've had a hard day terrorising your sister and avoiding being shot at by guards-"

"You know about that?"

"For some strange reason, the captain of the guard thought I might appreciate knowing how close I came to handing over the throne to Anna whilst being mad at her. I can only assume he wanted to give me nightmares – probably pre-emptive revenge, see, for when he goes up the mountain looking for, er, Olaf or something. Anyway, you've been doing that, and I've had a busy day … being told that my wife is being shot at by overeager guards. We should sleep. We can … talk in the morning, see."

She doesn't say anything for so long that he wonders if she has fallen asleep, or thinks he has. But then he feels a small hand encase his, and hears a whispered, "Goodnight, David," and he smiles.

The days that follow are filled with awkward silences. Anna and Elsa won't speak to each other. David and Elsa's conversation is awkward or filled with stupid jokes. Kristoff and David are getting on fine, as are Kristoff and Elsa and Kristoff and Anna. Kristoff says he has never felt so popular, which earns a smile from Anna.

But at the bottom of it all, she feels dissatisfied. She's created a rift between her and her sister. She appears to have annoyed her brother-in-law. And she still doesn't have her answer. If ever more proof was needed that life isn't fair or good or looking out for people, this is surely it.

Until one day, as Anna heads to the castle to hand something to someone to hand to Elsa, a little figure runs out and wraps stick arms around her legs.

She looks down and smiles at Olaf. Nobody has ever worked out exactly where Olaf fits in Arendelle but, of course, Olaf has no need for labels. He seems perfectly content to live in the castle and explore the surrounding area.

Olaf excitedly tells her about what he plans to do with his day but she's obviously not showing enough enthusiasm because he says, "You know what you should do? You should turn that frown … upside down." He attempts to demonstrate on his face but gives up.

"Sorry, Olaf. I just … haven't been in a good mood recently. Not since that dinner."

"Because Elsa won't have children?"

She winces. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me."

"Oh, that's OK. Any time!" Despite herself, Anna smiles. Olaf grins. "See, you feel better already." He pauses. "Why'd you wanna know if Elsa wants children anyway?"

"It's not … I just … I don't understand how it's fair that she miscarried after … everything. Like, who decides that stuff? 'Cause if it's nobody, what's the point in trying? What are people working towards? And obviously what I always thought was wrong so … I've been asking everyone what makes them go on or act the way they do – what they believe in, what makes them think everything is fine and worth fighting for. And everyone has all these different answers but nobody can even define it, unless it's God, so that's useless, but they all still seem to believe in something."

Olaf looks at her, puzzled. "Course they do."

"Huh?"

"Everyone's gotta believe in something. Otherwise you'd believe in nothing at all, and that's just silly, 'cause then you wouldn't think I exist. You'd just not … do anything, wouldn't you? 'Cause you wouldn't think it was there." He shrugs. "There's always stuff to believe in. Even if it's, like, a smile, 'cause it's still there, isn't it?"

Anna stares at the little snowman. Everyone she's spoken to has believed in something that justifies their actions – God, happiness, good deeds; Kristoff believes in his family; Kai believes that good makes good; Elsa believes in Arendelle (if not herself). She's always known that and that's been part of the frustration. All of those concepts seem so insubstantial whenever she thinks of them.

But nobody seemed worried when she pointed that out. Some said struggles like Elsa's were part of their beliefs. Others said that maybe it couldn't be justified but that didn't mean they should give up. Fair or not, God's path or random coincidence, there was always something that made them continue. A reason why a bad incident didn't mean the end. Something worth fighting for. It was still there, even if they couldn't really explain it.

And for all of her doubt, she thinks maybe Olaf is right. Because she might be questioning whether there is anything out there that makes life fair but, she realises, she doesn't think there's nothing to strive for. She loves Kristoff and wants to be with him, and make him happy, and watch him grow old with her. She wants to see Nikolas grow tall and strong, have his own life and family, smiling and wonderful because she loves him as well. She wants to see new things in the world just because she wants to know. She wants to help her sister run the country because she knows her sister wants that, and she knows she can help, and that makes her happy. She wants to see her sister smile because if anyone deserves to smile, it's Elsa.

None of these explain Elsa's miscarriage. None of them define what she believes in. But each one of them is something that makes her think it's worth carrying on for.

Normally, you'd be ridiculing everything I said and telling me everything is going to be OK.

I kind of want someone to tell me that.

So maybe that's the secret. Anna isn't sure that everything will be OK, but maybe nobody knows that. Maybe Elsa knows that Anna can't guarantee the future. Maybe Elsa just wanted someone to tell her that it's OK to believe it will be. Maybe Elsa is scarred by how she grew up and maybe she doesn't believe in herself but maybe she knows, deep down, that she could believe in herself. If other people could show her that she should believe in herself.

Maybe Elsa just wanted something to hold onto, something to fight for, instead of nothing at all.

She goes to speak to Elsa, document in hand. She decides to cut through the garden with the cloudberry bushes and nearly screams when she hears a man talking in a strange language. After a few seconds, she realises that it's David, talking in Burakoemin. Curious, she creeps closer but can't see that he's talking to anyone.

Elsa once told her that whenever David thinks aloud to himself, he does it in Burakoemin. She wonders what he could be talking about. David's never struck her as being particularly moody or prone to complaining, or even upset. Just annoyingly twitchy at most. Generally speaking, he's good natured and sanguine, tending to take everything that happens to him on the chin. Even after the miscarriage, everyone took a step back from Elsa, and turned to him. Because he wasn't the mother and because he could take it. And at that dinner, he got mad on Elsa's behalf, rather than his own.

He wishes he could have some space but Elsa's the only one who gives it to him.

Wouldn't he complain if he felt as though people asked too much? Wouldn't anyone complain or say if they were upset? Why would he bottle it up? And surely someone, someone other than Elsa and Olaf, must have asked? You would ask. It's just common sense.

But you were raised differently to Elsa, weren't you?

Then again, she thinks, when she was a child, everyone always assumed she was OK. Everyone talked about Elsa, glossing over Anna. To people like her parents, Anna was OK unless she did something like break her leg, or run away, or knock over all of the suits of armour. She was well-adjusted because she was chatty, even if she did spend a lot of time talking to paintings, or random strangers. Anna was coping, even if she dreamed desperately of leaving the castle and never looking back. Nobody needed to ask her. It was a given that she was OK. And she could never say otherwise because who would listen or believe her?

It's sometimes worth remembering that just because you can't see something painful, it doesn't mean there's nothing there.

She wasn't OK, she thinks. She wasn't well-adjusted, or even happy. She was lonely. She was unhappy. She thought she could marry a stranger within two hours of meeting him. She wasn't OK and that nearly got an entire kingdom killed.

Somehow, she doubts that anyone, apart from Elsa and Olaf has asked if David's OK.

You think God makes everything OK for everyone?

I don't know. But right now, I have to believe He does. Or that something does.

David's like Elsa, she realises. Both of them want something to believe in. Something that will tell them it will all be OK. And in the meantime, he talks to himself because he doesn't think he's allowed to tell anyone that he might not be OK.

She's right. Children learn from their parents' parenting methods.

And she has never once considered that he might not be fine. Because Elsa has always been the problematic one of the two.

You think my parents were bad?

No, but I think they did bad things. What they did to you was bad.

She hates her parents and she'll be damned before she lets herself repeat their mistakes.

Elsa once told him that the last thing anyone wants is Anna deciding to make them the object of her next plan when she hasn't thought through the details. David had pointed out that Anna had already done that – twice – in relation to preventing him from marrying her, but Elsa had, at the time of this conversation, been woken up by having to deal with Anna's attempt to decorate the city square with pink baubles for reasons that nobody, not even Kristoff, would divulge, and had merely scowled. Thankfully, since he married Elsa, Anna has rarely involved him directly in any of her plans and so he has often escaped the fallout. Sometimes, he even assumes that Elsa and Kristoff are exaggerating their effects.

Despite this, he can't help feeling a stab of trepidation when Anna marches up to him, holding something in her hand, and says, "Hello."

"Hi."

She stares at him, which only makes him feel more uncomfortable. Then her expression softens and she smiles. "I saw you out here and I … I wanted to talk."

He scratches his head. The last time they spoke properly was when he snapped at her. "Alright then," he says as neutrally as he can. "Um, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "Not about me." As he opens his mouth, she adds, "Or Elsa. I want … I … blegh."

"Anna?"

She pulls a face. "I suddenly have a lot more sympathy for you." Before David can ask what she's talking about, she says, "David, how are you?"

"Um, fine, thanks? You?"

She hesitates. "I'm fine. Um, David, d'you mind if I ask…" She seems to be thinking of a tactful way to ask her next question, which makes David feel even more nervous. "Look, can we sit down?"

He looks at the grass. "Here? You'll get your dress muddy."

"That's OK, it usually gets covered in reindeer fur or whatever Niko is eating anyway." She sits down so hard that he can hear a little whump. After a couple of seconds, he also sits down. Gerda or Elsa will undoubtedly tell him off for getting his trousers dirty but he'll live with that. He's still not sure what Anna could want to talk about that requires them to sit in the mud but he hopes it isn't going to be a repeat of dinner. "So, um, I'm just gonna go for it, OK? I mean, there are tactful ways to ask and I feel like I should have asked before now but I didn't but, hey, better late than never, right? Um, I mean … David, are you OK? About the miscarriage, I mean?"

David has been staring at her in some consternation but as soon as the word miscarriage is out, he feels as though he's missed a step walking up the stairs, or as though someone has punched him in the stomach.

He's about to say he's fine, but Anna says, "You can tell me the truth. I won't tell. Not even Elsa, if you don't want me to. I mean once we start talking again 'cause, er, yeah. And don't worry, I'm not about to suggest you start having children." She hesitates and then adds softly, "I know it's not the same but when my parents died, it felt like the world had ended. Everything was just … painful. Everything was too bright, and everyone was talking and I just wanted them to go away and let me be in silence, and then Elsa wouldn't even leave her room, which I get now, but at the time, I was like, geez, how can you be so selfish? How can you not even care?"

"But they were alive, see," David hears himself say. "You're supposed to feel like that with parents. I didn't have any interaction with that baby, mind. All I had was the idea." He shrugs, feeling as though he's trying to shake off some heavy burden. "And even then, it was Elsa who had to carry it, see, Elsa who actually had to … have it."

A hand lightly touches his shoulder. He glances over at Anna, who wobbles a bit as she tries to keep her hand on his shoulder, before shuffling slightly to allow her arm to bend. "You're still allowed to be sad, aren't you?"

"I don't know," he says, looking at that small hand. "It's like I said, see. There never was a baby, was there? And … I don't think men are supposed to … get upset about it." He pauses. "Everyone expected me to be fine so … I'm probably just doing it wrong."

"There wasn't a full baby but there was something," Anna says slowly. "It's not as though you and Elsa were walking around and expecting a baby to pop out of thin air one day." She pauses. "That'd be weird to watch. Imagine if there were kids popping out everywhere. Anyway, my point is, if there was something, why d'you think you're not allowed to feel sad about it just 'cause you're a man? Maybe it affects Elsa differently to you, but it still affects you. And who cares what people think? Be sad if you want." He looks at her. She says, "How d'you actually feel? You can tell me."

Her eyes are locked on to his and, for once, he doesn't want to say fine.

So he doesn't.

It starts to rain. Anna's arm is around his shoulders.

"Thanks, Anna," he says. He wipes a hand over his eyes, as though getting rid of rainwater. "That was … thanks."

Anna shrugs. "It helps, sometimes, to talk about things. Sometimes, you just don't know it until someone else asks." She looks at the scrunched up piece of paper now lying in the mud. "Sometimes, you don't even know you're not OK until someone asks."

David thinks about this. He hasn't assumed Elsa's OK but, until that dinner, she seemed to be coping. He could have asked – maybe should have asked – but he hasn't wanted to confront her. He hasn't wanted to impose.

And after that dinner…

"I don't know how to check if Elsa's OK," he admits. "I should but … I just don't want her to … I know she's had it hard, see and it's not like I'm-"

Anna shakes her head. "She likes you, David. You only have to hear her speak about you to see how much she likes you, even if she doesn't say it." She hesitates and then says, "You know how we have this thing, where I can ask her anything and she'll answer it truthfully?" He nods. Elsa's told him about that before. Anna smiles crookedly. "For all that I pushed her at that dinner, the ironic thing is, we never did it the other way round. I thought about suggesting it but … despite what she thinks, Elsa's stronger than I am. She might not like it but she lets herself be put into situations where she has to face the truth. She just … needs a push." She pauses. "A more tactful push. Usually. Sometimes, she really does just need a good shove."

He thinks about that. There have been a lot of occasions in their relationship when Elsa has initiated a discussion about something difficult but it's always been through a lot of stuttering and often long after any other person would have done it. And he knows there have been more times when she's started but let herself be distracted by him.

Sometimes, he thinks they're a good pair but for all of the wrong reasons.

"Maybe I should speak to her," he mutters, more to himself than anything, but she nods. Somehow, that nod gives him courage. As though the concept of speaking to his wife requires validation. He stands up, wiping the mud from this trousers. "Thanks, Anna."

As he starts to walk away, she says, "David?"

He turns. "Yes?"

She smiles. "Everything's gonna be alright. Maybe not the same as before but it'll be OK. You'll see."

David slips into her study so quietly that she's only aware of his presence when he coughs. She's so startled, she ruins a stray piece of paper. After a second, she turns around

"Hello," she says.

"Hi, Elsa."

His eyes are red – has he been crying? – but there's a strange intensity to them. He doesn't move.

"What's going on?" she says. "I thought you had some work to do."

He walks closer to her, fiddling with the end of his shirt. It's damp and now that she looks at him properly, she realises that his trousers are muddy. "I did. But, uh, I had something I wanted to talk to you about, see."

She can feel her heart clench as she says, "Hmm?"

He meets her eyes as he says, "I miss our son."

Her heart stops.

"What?"

"I miss our son." He doesn't look away from her but his fingers stop fiddling with the end of his shirt. "Hywel."

It's the first time either of them has acknowledged that the foetus – the baby – had a visible gender. The first time either of them has said that the baby was … something. Someone. Could have been someone. Could have been alive. If only.

"I dream, sometimes, that Hywel was born properly. He's a quiet baby in my head, mind. Likes to sleep, likes to watch the world. And when he smiles, it's as beautiful, as gentle and calm, as his mother's." His voice cracks on the last word but he only pauses to take a quick breath. "I dream that and then I wake up and I remember you lying on that bed, too scared to even scream. And then there's your silence afterwards and the thought that we … lost him. We didn't even get to hold him."

He draws a breath. "Sometimes, all I can think about is what we would have done with Hywel, how he would have been. I remember all of our conversations and plans, see. Other times, mind, I get through the day without thinking of him at all and then I remember and I feel bad. And between, see, I keep thinking, what could I have done to save him? Was it something I did?" He hesitates and colour floods to his cheeks. "Sometimes, I just want to scream or cry. But then I look at you and you usually seem to be handling everything or at least coping and I think, I must be overreacting, right? I mean, everyone asks about you, see, but I thought if nobody asks about me, it's because I shouldn't be upset. So then I try to, you know, man up and just cope but…"

She looks at him, her mouth opening and closing several times. She should divert him. She should tell him he doesn't have to pretend around her. She should tell him … she should tell him…

"I'm not handling it," she says and blinks, surprised at the admission. She opens her mouth to take it back but it feels as though something inside her has cracked. "I'm not handling it," she says again. "I'm just … trying."

He nods, and she wonders whether he knew that.

"I can't fall apart," she says. "Not again." She looks out of the window onto a gloomy afternoon, trying to control herself. Getting a grip. That's what she should be doing. "My father once said that people like us aren't allowed to have crises," she says in a more even tone of voice. "I didn't understand what he meant at first but … you say everyone asks if I'm OK but I can hear in their voices that what they're really thinking is that there never was a baby, and how long will it be until they can go back to pretending I'm absolute and infallible. They just don't know how to act around me." She closes her eyes, concentrating on breathing in, but the more she talks, the more David looks at her understandingly, the harder it is. "So I remind myself that it's … you know … better that I don't try and … that that's probably why it happened anyway, and that helps, or I tell myself that there wasn't ever a baby or that … these things happen and you don't hear about anyone else wanting to smash icicles or … or do … something. Something to let everything out that won't have them thinking you're ill or wrong or about to kill the country."

"Elsa…"

But she can't stop. "It's not even every moment. It's like you said – I go hours or even days without thinking about it, and then someone will do something or say something and I'll imagine what he would have been like; or wish I could have been someone with a normal body; especially when Anna or Kristoff mention Nikolas, or I walk past the nursery. And it's stupid because I shouldn't have children and I'd probably have made his life hell and why would I ever think I could have children but … but I hoped. And I know you wanted him and I thought, with everything else I am, why couldn't I even give you Hywel? Why did I…" She makes herself stop, counting by fives until she's calm. But she can't keep the choke from her voice as she says, "He was so small."

Her body shudders and he's there, arms around her, holding her to his chest, and this feels comforting, not weird. She's glad his shirt is already damp; if her hair seems wetter when she lets go, she decides not to comment on it.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I … I don't know what came over me."

David smiles slightly. "I know the feeling. But, I think … maybe we both needed that."

She sniffles but she feels strangely light. "I … you think? I just … I'm not supposed to … react like that."

He smiles. "You're the Queen, Elsa. What good is being the Queen if you can't freak out when you want, see. I mean, who's going to stop you?" He pauses. "Unless you do it on the roof."

Despite herself, her lips quirk upwards. "You sound like Anna. When we were younger, she always used to argue that she should be allowed to do things like dive in the fjord because she was the princess so who could really stop her? Unfortunately, that argument rarely worked on our mother. Or Gerda."

David chuckles. "I think this is more sensible than diving in the fjord but do that if it'll help."

"If I want to give people the impression I'm crazy…" She thinks for a moment. "Actually, I've already frozen Arendelle once. I don't suppose I can do much worse."

(It's a funny thing but the more time that passes, the more able she is to joke about freezing Arendelle. But she doesn't think she'll ever be comfortable with the fact of what she did.)

"You could freeze Arendelle and then dive in the fjord. They'll either think you're crazy, see, or just very thick-skulled."

"What are you trying to say?" He laughs and looks at her. She returns the look. For a few seconds, they smile at each other. Given how she was, only half an hour ago, she should be surprised, but she isn't. David has always been able to make her laugh.

But then his expression sobers. She can see the hesitation in his eyes as he says, "Elsa, I … there's something I … I kind of want to talk to you about."

She feels strangely clammy and it takes all of her courage to say, "Yes?"

He hesitates and she thinks, this is it. One of them is making good on David's suggestion of years ago.

"It's … if I'm honest, I'd like children. Maybe not right now – I don't even know that I could handle it now, see – but … one day…"

A mixture of shaky relief and missing steps hits her. "What?"

"We've never really talked about it, see," he says. "But I do. I don't really know why. I think I like the idea of bringing a new life into the world. Someone to teach and love, to show what life has to offer. I suppose I also like the idea of having … having someone here, to carry on when we're gone. And having children is an expression of…" He trails off and there's something uncertain in his eyes. He finishes with, "I guess some couples have their own reasons for it."

That hurts but it's not undeserved.

"What you said at that dinner." He hesitates. "I … I don't know that I believe it." Something of her feelings must be on her face because he hastily adds, "I believe that you're worried about it but I don't believe you'd do it, see. And I don't believe that … I'd let you do it, even if you tried."

"You think you could stop me?"

"I … I'm very good at hitting people over the head when they're not looking, see. You get good at sneak attacks when you're the youngest of three boys. So whilst you're unconscious, see, the kids would get to go play. Problem solved."

It's so far from what she was expecting that she actually laughs. "What?"

His expression is still anxious but there's a crinkle of humour in his eyes. Along with that something she still can't define. "I'm not saying it's a perfect solution, mind. I'm not saying there isn't a risk that you'd suffer permanent head injuries either. But we could do it that way."

It's such a typical David thing to do – turn things into a joke, even when he wants answers. She feels a wave of fondness wash over her. He hates making a fuss, he hates complaining and he especially hates confrontations. But he's doing all of that right now because she wouldn't.

That something that's often in his eyes is still there. In fact, she doesn't think she's ever seen it disappear, even in the days and weeks after the miscarriage.

"I don't think hitting me reduces the, uh, the abuse factor," she says.

"But I don't think it'd come to that, see. I don't think you think it would either. But I'd still be there, even if it did."

"David-"

"I know you're scared of doing what your parents did but you're not them, see. You've got hindsight and … it just isn't you. You're someone who speaks to people you dislike with as much politeness as you'd speak to someone you like. You're someone who buys toys for Niko and plays with him even when you'd rather be in bed. You're someone who could probably take over the world if you really wanted – but you married me rather than use your powers to scare other countries into just helping you."

"David, my parents would have done all of that. Don't you see? They were good people, loving people, people who wouldn't hurt a fly and they still … hurt me."

"They were people who made a bad mistake and people who didn't learn from it," he says steadily. "They validated each other, see. But I don't think that's you."

"I did the same thing they did to Anna," she reminds him. "It's because of me that she … did what she did."

"No, it isn't. You didn't mess Anna up: your parents did. OK, you didn't help but you weren't that much older than she was, see, and you had no one to tell you not to do it. Of course you did what your parents did – you didn't know better, see. And even then, Anna came out of it as someone who'd go into the cold to find the one person in Arendelle that everyone was scared of. And after that, see, you and Anna worked together to fix everything. You spoke to people. You gave her work to do and let her move out of the castle and marry Kristoff. What you didn't do was immediately lock her in a room and tell her she wasn't allowed to leave or smile again."

There's something about his phrasing that makes her smile. "David," she says again. "David, I…"

He places a hand on her shoulder. "Can I ask one question? And then I'll shut up. I promise." Hesitantly, she nods. "Anna was right about something and you kind of said it yourself – you wanted Hywel. And you changed your mind but this … this isn't a new reason. It's … do you really think you had a miscarriage because you shouldn't be a mother?"

She has a sudden feeling that Anna and David have collaborated somewhere because that is the sort of question Anna asks when she knows Elsa needs to confront something.

"I … well … I suppose I don't think it in the sense that it seems unlikely," she says slowly. She bites her lip (a habit she thinks she picked up from Anna but, truthfully, neither of them is sure which of them started it). "But … it felt like … you know, a sign." She pauses as something occurs to her. "Wait, did Anna and I switch roles?"

David laughs and she smiles ruefully at the thought. When Anna's not mad at her, they'll have to talk about this. Then she sobers.

"It's not … I … I don't know that I could handle this again," she says quietly. "Because maybe it is me. My body. The physician said it could be me. And … even if we did try again and I did get pregnant and then it turns out my fears are correct, I … I don't think…"

He squeezes her shoulder. "I guess I can understand that," he says quietly. "Not that I think it's you, mind, because it could be me, but … losing another child…"

"It would … shatter me."

"Really?" He considers her. "I think you're stronger than you let on, see. You've always been better at facing your fears than most people I know."

She blushes.

"But I … I think, ultimately, it's a question of what you're happy to do," he says slowly. "If you don't want to try again, see … it's your decision."

Which is David all over. Whatever Anna says about her, she sometimes thinks his self-sacrificing streak is bigger than he is.

So she says, "And yours."

"Huh?"

"Aren't you in this marriage as well? Or did I marry myself?"

"I … well, yes, but-"

"But what?"

Because they've been married for over seven years and he almost never complains. Not about the forced nature of their marriage; not about the fact that she doesn't desire him; not about Anna's slight hostility towards him; not about the work he has to do. Maybe it's because he's not strong-willed, or because he's a bit of an escapist. Maybe it's because he was too scared to risk marrying someone he hated for his father.

But if there wasn't something between them, they would have made good on his suggestion and divorced, wouldn't they?

"But you're the one who … I don't want you to do something you don't want to."

"So you should go without things you want? You said you want children."

He rubs his head. "I feel like we've had this discussion before."

They have. Years ago, in the first weeks and months of their marriage, when they tried to make their orientations and lives compatible.

"And I feel like we resolved that. Sort of." She stands up to face him. "Come on, David. You told me not twenty minutes ago that you want children."

"Yes but … I mean, only if you want them too." He grins. "Ha. Try getting out of that one."

"You cannot be making a joke out of this again."

He only laughs, his eyes crinkling with amusement. There's something about that that makes her heart warm. Something about how he always makes a joke. Something about how he came to speak to her, and opened himself up to her, because he was worried about her even though their relationship isn't … whatever it's supposed to be. That there's always that something in his eyes. That even after she's rebuffed his touches and refused to speak to him, he's still there.

She often thinks that the something in David's eyes might be in hers as well.

"Well … you said you don't want to try again right now," she says slowly. "I mean … maybe let's … maybe we could talk about it in future. I suppose … if you think we could do it … and if it happens then maybe I wouldn't … because I don't think I could get rid … you know?"

David nods even though she's quite sure nothing she said made any sense.

"One for the future, then."

She feels a pang of disappointment because even though she suggested it, maybe they shouldn't return to not talking about it.

But then David says, "But, you know, I think it's going to be OK. We will be OK. After all, I've successfully stopped you from conquering the world, haven't I?"

"Wait, what? I thought you said I stopped myself from doing it."

"But who knows what you'd have done without me, see."

She laughs. He takes her hand and, somehow, she finds herself believing that whatever decision they make, whatever discussion they do or don't have, whatever fears or doubts she has, maybe it will work.

After all, she thinks, remembering her discussion with Kai, she's really not that old yet.

Despite what he said, it's not as easy as he pretended, and they both know it.

And despite what they said, they have more conversations. None of them quite as intense as the one in the study, but still difficult. She tells him about the feeling of wool being stuffed into her senses when she realised she was having a miscarriage; he tells her about the nightmares he had for a week, about the not-fully formed body in the physician's arms. She talks about her sister's constant questions about her having children, and how that only freaks her out more because Anna will expect things from her and she can't deliver; he tells her about his father's letters, and the more vicious comments he makes in Burakoemin that's too rapid for Elsa to understand, and how he sometimes hopes they don't have children just to spite him. Sometimes, he wakes up and she's crying, and no amount of holding and whispers helps; sometimes, she finds him in the garden with the cloudberry bushes, shredding grass, and he knows she's silent because she doesn't know what words or actions could snap him out of it.

The days get easier though, and he thinks that counts for something. He tries to talk more, tries to ask more, and although he doesn't always judge it correctly, she answers. She's happier for him to touch her as well, and sometimes she does it of her own accord. He hasn't heard about a blankness in her expression or a dullness in her tone for days.

"E-Elsa?"

"Hmm?"

"I … I stole some chocol- wait! Let me try that again! I … acquired some chocolate cake from, er, somewhere that is definitely not the kitchens, and I wondered if you'd, uh, like some?"

Elsa looks at her little sister and smiles. "It's funny you should say that," she says, "because I've also…" She coughs. "Also acquired some chocolate cake from somewhere that is also not the kitchens and was wondering if you wanted to share it with me?"

Anna beams.

There are many emotions that flit through Elsa in the days and weeks and months that follow that conversation with David, and many uncertainties that she has to deal with. There are days when the only thing she wants to do is hide under the covers, and there are days where she feels so remote, she may as well be back on the North Mountain.

But it seems a little easier to cope with. She and Anna slowly, but surely, find their rhythm together ("Pfft," Anna says late one night when Elsa points it out, "we went thirteen years without speaking and then I nearly killed everyone. One argument is nothing.") and although Anna never again asks if Elsa is thinking of children, sometimes Elsa asks her about raising children. Anna never questions it.

("But just so you know," she says one night, "if you ever did have children, I'd totally be there to help. Someone's gotta be the life and soul of the party round here.")

David, as well, is always there, talking to her, laughing with her, helping her. They've both had days where they remember, or days where they struggle, but he's started to ask people to give him time to think. He's started to tell her more about his daily problems as well. Not in great detail – and rarely to other people – but he does it.

And at night, she'll often hold his hand as they drift off to sleep, and when he turns his head, she'll see that something in his eyes and know that whatever it is they're doing, it's going to work.

(Her fears don't disappear and sometimes, she'll look at David and feel guilty.)

(But, sometimes, she sits on that roof and looks at the stars and thinks about an old man who isn't old yet, and how she doesn't hate him.)

(And, sometimes, she imagines.)

(She's happiest when she lets herself imagine.)

They are walking down the corridor when Anna sees that the nursery door is still open. She pauses. Elsa takes a few more steps before apparently realising that her sister has stopped walking.

"Hmm?"

"Elsa, why d'you still have the nursery? I mean, Niko's too old for it and you and David aren't … planning anything. I heard Gerda saying it could make a nice reception room."

"Because we don't have enough of those."

Anna grins. Recently, Elsa's mood has been sour, but she still makes dry comments every so often. "C'mon, why really? You've gotta admit, the colour scheme's pretty garish."

"I picked that myself!"

"I know, and it scares me."

Elsa pokes her tongue out at Anna, a remarkably infantile gesture. "I thought you'd like it – it's ten times more glaring than any normal person would like. Just your style, little sister."

"Har, har. You didn't answer the question."

There's a glimmer of a smile on Elsa's face as she says, "As a matter of fact, I intend to look in there later."

That throws Anna off guard. "How come?"

"I … think I have a use for it." She pauses. "I need to discuss it with David but I think he'll be happy."

"A use? Like what? Making another library?"

The smile is wider. "Not quite."

"Then what?" Seeing Elsa's smirk, she says, "C'mon, don't leave me in suspense. I'm only gonna be upset when it turns out you're making, I dunno, a gallery of your weird ice sculptures."

Elsa laughs now. "I'm impressed, Anna. I thought you'd have guessed by now. It's not as though you didn't spend years asking me about it."

And that's when it clicks. Elsa's weird mood. Looking at the nursery. Something to discuss with David.

Elsa seems so relaxed that Anna can hardly believe it, but she says it anyway.

"You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Elsa smiles, hands on stomach.

"Yes."

Fin