Disclaimer: Frozen = Disney's

Anna pulled back the hood of her sweatshirt and bounced lightly on the balls of her feet as she watched the lighted numbers on the hospital's elevator slowly increase. On Gunnarsen's instructions, she had taken a seriously winding route to the hospital to make sure she wasn't followed. And she'd still had to dodge a couple of reporters who were hanging around the hospital lobby, presumably trying to figure out if Elsa was here.

Friggin' vultures.

Elsa had finally gained enough strength to be moved out of the ICU, and this was the first time Anna had been allowed to see her. Her entire body buzzed with restless anticipation, one hand clutching tightly to a basket of flowers, a copy of The Arendelle Daily Standard in the other.

She hadn't been sure until last night that she would be allowed to visit Elsa at all. Her pleas to Gunnarsen had fallen on deaf ears - the man didn't have a soft spot anywhere, and had proven immune to her pathetic begging and crying. When begging and crying failed, she'd showered him with a torrent of creative invectives, but he'd just quirked one eyebrow and refused to budge.

She supposed she really should be grateful for his zealous dedication.

But he had finally relented. She suspected that Agdar had interceded and convinced him to allow her this visit. Grudgingly allowed, but still, Anna would take it. Guess I owe Agdar one now. I'm not sure how many visits I'll get before…

She deliberately derailed that train of thought, determined to just enjoy today. Elsa was alive, and getting better every day, she'd been told. Gunnarsen, along with Kristoff, Sinclair, and the few others who knew about her, was treating Elsa's location as a matter of the gravest national security, and maintaining absolute secrecy about her identity and whereabouts. Elsa was here under an alias, and had a guard stationed outside her room twenty-four/seven.

Hopefully, Elsa wouldn't be here much longer. The revelations in the Nasjonsting had kicked off a national frenzy, and Anna figured it was only a matter of time before someone figured out where she was. Desperate for any information about the mysterious new heir, every idiot with journalistic aspirations was shoving a mic into the face of anyone willing to talk about her.

And there were a lot of people willing to talk about her. The problem was that the ones running their mouths the loudest didn't know shit about Elsa. Politicians grandstanded; it seemed that every councilor who had ever taken a meeting with Elsa was crowding in front of the cameras to brag about their Close Working Relationship with the future Queen.

In fact, it seemed that the only people not talking were the ones that actually knew Elsa. One enterprising tabloid journalist had even tracked down Oaken, the caretaker for Elsa's mountain house. Anna giggled as she remembered the video of Oaken, a seven-foot giant of a man, tossing the prissy little shit face-first out into the snow with a cheerful "Bye-bye!"

Anna glanced down at her newspaper. Right on the front page, above the fold, was a picture of her at the Nasjonsting. More specifically, a picture of her and Hans, her fist smashing into his face, under a banner headline that read "LESE MAJESTE?"

She wondered what Elsa would say when she saw it.

So far, Anna had managed to elude even the most persistent reporters, holing up with one of Eugene's buddies. Even if one did come sniffing around, one sneer from Hook Hand (delivered while polishing said hook) would be enough to send them hunting for easier quarry. Surely they would lose interest in her after a while. She hoped it wouldn't take long; Olaf kept texting her lengthy complaints about the news people camped around their apartment house.

They all wanna know where you are. But don't worry, I'm not talking! Besides, Marshmallow keeps them from getting too close!

Yeah, I bet he does, Anna thought with a grin.

Eugene was even worse than Olaf; his constant bitching about the number of people hanging around his bike shop who weren't buying anything was driving her nuts, and she had stopped answering his calls.

Weselton's bombastic lawyer had already hit all of the morning news shows, loudly proclaiming his client's innocence. It was a claim immediately undermined by a judge's refusal to grant bail on the grounds that Weselton was a flight risk.

Anna suspected that Weselton's safety was the real reason behind the bail denial. Virtually overnight, he had gone from being one of the kingdom's most respected men to one of its most hated.

Second-most hated, really. The top spot undoubtedly belonged to Hans. Not only had he tried to murder the rightful heir, he was a foreigner, a Southern Islander no less, who had tried to steal the Crocus Throne. The citizens of Arendelle were outraged, and the calls for Hans' head were loud and long.

The elevator dinged to a stop. Anna bounded out as soon as the doors opened and immediately collided with someone in the corridor, sending her flower basket flying.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" she apologized over her shoulder as she scrambled after the basket. She scooped it up and examined it. A few blooms from the arrangement of crocuses, hyacinths, and tulips had worked loose. Anna adjusted them in the basket as she made her way down the hospital corridor.

Elsa's room was at the very end of the long hallway. Anna's brow furrowed in an uneasy frown as she drew closer and saw the empty chair just outside of the room. I thought she was supposed to be under constant guard. She knocked on the door.

"El – Ingrid?" she called softly, using Elsa's alias.

No answer. She sighed. Why did Elsa always seem to be on the other side of a closed door? She knocked again, and when she got no response, pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

Anna's eyes darted around, anxiety pooling in the pit of her stomach. The bed was stripped. There were no monitors, none of the IV lines or extra equipment that would normally be present for a patient with Elsa's injuries. She squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight that poured through the open blinds, her nose wrinkling at the sharp smell of antiseptics and cleaning fluids.

Where is she? Anna walked around the room in a daze for a few seconds, pulling open the small storage closet and sticking her head into the bathroom. Then, struggling to control her mounting dread, she raced back down the hall to the nurses' station. The duty nurse scowled when she skidded into the counter and knocked over a cup of pens.

"The patient in 1840? Where is she?" Anna panted.

The nurse looked down the hall, then back at Anna, her expression softening. "Are you family?" she asked.

"Yes," Anna lied.

The nurse glanced at the flower basket, a distressed look on her face. "Didn't anyone call you?"

"Call me? About what?"

The nurse's mouth turned down, her eyes filling with sympathy. Anna gripped the basket hard as her anxiety began to escalate into full-blown panic. "Call me about what?!" she demanded.

"She's gone. Last night."

Anna lurched back a step. "Wh-what are you talking about?" She dropped the flowers and newspaper and grabbed at the counter, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her. "But…but…she was out of danger! Getting better! She was going to make it!" Her voice rose until she was practically screaming at the nurse. "What the hell are you talking about, gone?!"

The nurse came around the counter and took her arm, steering her away from the station. "Please, ma'am, there are other patients here."

"She can't be," Anna whispered. Tears stung her eyes. "She can't be…th - that's just a story, isn't it? That's just a story! To keep her safe, right?!"

"What?" the nurse asked, sounding confused.

"Just a story…" Anna jerked her arm loose and stumbled away. Pain squeezed her chest, like an icy vise around her heart. She bumped into the wall, pressing a hand against her sternum and gasping for air. "How…?"

"I don't know the exact details," the nurse said. "I wasn't on duty. I can refer you to someone who can answer your questions." She put her hand on Anna's arm again.

"I'll take it from here," a deep voice said.

Anna looked up through tear-blurred vision to see Kristoff Bjorgman. He reached out to touch her shoulder, and she sagged into him, burying her face in his broad chest.

Shit! Kristoff cursed to himself. Five minutes too late. Fucking traffic. He'd meant to get to the hospital before Anna, so he could tell her what happened. He wrapped one arm around Anna and extended the other with his creds for the nurse to see. "I'll take care of her," he said. She nodded and walked back to her station.

"Come on," he said to Anna. "Let's go someplace quiet and talk."

She nodded against his chest, but didn't move. He started to lead her down the hall, but she wobbled and nearly fell, her legs unsteady. After a few seconds, he gave up and scooped her into his arms. Anna kept her face against his chest, her slim body trembling. Her tears soaked through his shirt, and he cursed silently again.

"Sir?" He turned to see the nurse approaching with a basket of flowers and a newspaper. "These are hers," she explained. Kristoff nodded, and she tucked them into Anna's hands. Anna didn't even look, just crushed it against her body.

He carried her past the elevators and into a small room that served as a chapel/prayer room for family and friends of patients. He set her down on one of the hard wooden chairs near the altar, then fetched a box of tissues from the corner.

"Anna, I'm sorry," he said, offering her a tissue. "I knew you were coming today, and I meant to get here before you. You shouldn't have had to hear that from a nurse; it's wasn't what we intended."

"It-it wouldn't be any easier hearing it from you." She sniffled, wiping at her eyes and nose with the tissue. "Elsa's still dead, no matter who tells me about it."

Kristoff looked at the flower basket that she still clutched in one hand, and his heart went out to her. At that moment, he wasn't a NP agent; he was simply a fellow human being, sitting next to a young woman whose heart was breaking. And what he had to tell her might make it both better and worse at the same time.

Goddammit, how did I get stuck with this? Breaking this to Anna was supposed to have been Agdar's responsibility, not his. But Agdar had been summoned to the Castle, so the job of intercepting Anna had been left to Kristoff.

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Anna, Elsa's alive."

She just blinked rapidly for a moment, confusion in her eyes. "Wh-what…?" she finally stammered.

"Elsa's alive," he repeated. "She was moved to the Castle late last night, in secret. The order came from King Haldor himself. Her DNA test came back, and now all the proof is in: Elsa is the heir to the Crocus Throne."

Anna's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. He could almost see the circuits firing in her head as she processed his statement.

"Since she's out of the ICU, the Royal medical staff can handle her care. Obviously, they have the experience, considering the King's condition, and they thought it best to go ahead and move her. I think Gunnarsen was afraid you'd be followed here. I guess there will be an official announcement about Elsa at some point…"

He trailed off as the confusion left her face, and her eyes lit up with rage. She sprang to her feet, and he barely got his arms up in time to keep her swinging fist from connecting with his face.

"Asshole!" she screamed, chucking the flowers at him. "You let me think she was dead!"

Then she was on him like a wild animal, pummeling his arms and shoulders and chest. One of her punches got through his guard, landing on the side of his head. He jumped to his feet, a bit stunned, and wrapped his arms around her, pinning her against his body and trapping her flailing fists.

He held her like that until he felt her slump against him, the fight gone out of her. "I thought she was dead," he heard her whisper. "I didn't even get to talk to her…"

Kristoff just held her, unsure of what he should, or even could, say to her. What could he possibly say to make this situation less shitty?

Agdar had told him about Anna and Elsa, the feelings they had for each other despite their short acquaintance. But with Elsa's new status as the heir presumptive, it seemed that her personal relationships would no longer be, well, personal – they were now a matter of national concern, and according to Agdar, a subject of discussion for the small committee inside the Castle that was now maneuvering the succession.

Apparently, this committee had decided that any kind of a permanent relationship between Anna and Elsa was impossible, given their circumstances. Elsa needed to heal, they'd said, and there was no way of knowing exactly how much time she would have to do that before the duties of the monarch would rest solely on her shoulders. It was an immense responsibility being thrust upon a young woman who'd had no idea it was coming and no training to prepare for it. It was unlikely that she would have the time or the energy for an intimate relationship for quite a while.

And then there was the question of heirs. After their country's flirtation with existential disaster, the citizens of Arendelle would want assurances that it wouldn't happen again. There would be enormous pressure on Elsa to marry and have children.

According to this committee, anyway.

Agdar tried to put a positive spin on it. Maybe it would be kinder to both of them to do it this way, he had told Kristoff, though it wasn't clear that he actually believed that himself. Ease Anna out of Elsa's life now, before their relationship develops any further. Who knows, it might be one of those things that happens under intense circumstances, not destined to last anyway. Maybe it's better that it ends now, before the tabloid press finds out about it. Anna understands what's at stake; she will want what's best for Elsa. And for Arendelle.

Privately, Kristoff thought that was a steaming pile. Elsa was going to be Queen. If she wanted to be with Anna, who was going to stop her? Who was going to dictate to the Queen how and with whom she would conduct her private life? Becoming Queen didn't mean Elsa stopped being a person. If Anna made her happy, then wasn't that what was best for Arendelle?

But no one had asked for his opinion.

And that was a good thing, he reflected as he gently patted Anna's back. Right now, his opinion would likely be harsh, unkind, and mostly unrepeatable. Anna didn't deserve this. She clearly cared about Elsa. She'd already shown that she was willing to risk her life for her; she'd earned the right to see her and at least get some closure.

Anna finally pushed away from him. "How is she?" she asked quietly, swiping away tears.

"She's recovering, but it's slow." He took her hand. "I won't lie to you, Anna, they almost lost her a couple more times along the way. That bullet was vicious. It did some serious damage."

"But she's out of the woods now?"

"Yes." He met her eyes, and she nodded, then picked up her mangled flower basket and newspaper and started toward the door. "Anna, wait. Let me take you for some coffee or something, and we can talk."

She stopped at the door and turned to face him. "What's left to talk about, Kristoff? Elsa's gone, at least as far as I'm concerned. I knew it was coming, but I thought…"

Her voice trailed off. Then she was gone, fleeing down the hall. Kristoff chased her, catching up to her at the elevators. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know." She glanced down at the flowers, then handed them to him. "Can you make sure that she gets these?"

He looked at the crushed basket for a second and started to tell her no, that he wouldn't be seeing Elsa anytime soon, that right now, she was just as inaccessible to him as she was to Anna. But when he saw her pleading face, he couldn't find the words. "Sure," he said with a nod.

She gave him a sad little smile and stepped onto the elevator. She hunched her shoulders and hung her head, digging her hands deep into her sweatshirt pockets. Kristoff swallowed over the ache in his throat as he watched the doors close between them.

A steady beep pushed its way into Elsa's mind, pulling her into that semi-lucid state that hovered on the edge between sleep and true wakefulness. I'm alive, she thought, the words echoing so clearly through her head that she was sure she had spoken them aloud, though she had not.

She wanted to open her eyes, but her lids felt so heavy that she gave up after a few attempts. Her whole body ached, most especially her chest. Odd thoughts darted in and out of her head, and part of her recognized she had been drugged.

Not drugged. Sedated?

Papa, what's wrong with Mama?

A single irrational thought, zipping across her brain. She recognized it as such, and struggled to focus as she cataloged her surroundings. That rhythmic beep – heart monitor? – in her ears, the cool flow of dry, astringent air into her nostrils. A hospital room? She seemed to be full of tubes. She felt the uncomfortable pinch and pull of an IV line in her arm, there were two tubes coming out of her nose, and under the sheets…what on earth was that between her legs…?

Mama's dying, Snowflake. She's been shot.

The dark void of a gun muzzle. The flash of a shot.

No, no, she hasn't, Papa, that's me.

She shook her head, as though she could shoo away the peculiar thoughts flitting randomly through her mind. The small action hurt her head, and she stilled for a moment before forcing her eyes open.

They still seemed so heavy, and she settled for gazing through the screen of her eyelashes. She was in a hospital bed, she saw, elevated so that she was half-sitting up. Two bags hung from a rack next to the bed, a tube coming from each to join into a single tube that led to her IV feed. On the other side of the bed was the heart monitor, the peaks on its screen corresponding with its chirp. She looked down at her chest, seeing the electrodes taped there, her nightgown unbuttoned to accommodate them.

Nightgown. Not a hospital gown, but a regular nightgown. One of hers.

With a Herculean effort, Elsa opened her eyes all the way. She was in a hospital bed, surrounded by hospital equipment, but this was definitely not a hospital room. It was high-ceilinged, decorated in muted blues and purples, the sun streaming through a tall, triangular window.

Where am I, Papa?

You were shot, Snowflake. You're dead.

I'm not dead. I'm in too much pain to be dead.

As if on cue, a burning throb flared in her chest, bringing her to full wakefulness. A pathetic whimper reached her ears, and it took a moment to realize that it came from her. She tried to raise her hand to her chest, to press back against the pain there. But her arm proved to be too heavy, and she let it flop back to her side.

A hand came down over hers. "Welcome back, my dear," a kindly female voice said.

Elsa turned toward the voice. A tall woman with a careworn face smiled gently at her. She wore purple hospital scrubs and had a stethoscope dangling from her neck. "My name is Gerda, Your Highness. I'm part of the Royal medical staff."

Your Highness? Royal medical staff?

"Where am I?" Elsa tried to say, but all that came out was a dry croak that made her throat ache. Gerda reached for a jug on the table beside the bed, and held a spoonful of ice chips up to Elsa's mouth. Elsa sucked them in greedily, sighing at the cool relief.

"They had to intubate you at the hospital," Gerda explained. "That's why your throat hurts."

Elsa tried again. "Wh-where am I now?"

"Arendelle Castle, Your Highness." Gerda fussed around her for a few minutes, checking her vitals, then picked up a tablet and started tapping on it. "I've summoned the doctor. He'll want to take a look at you."

Elsa closed her eyes and tried to collect her fragmented thoughts. Arendelle Castle. Agdar. Her mountain house. Anna. The story of the Frostahl heir. The ice and snow.

She felt the odd tingling in her palms, and strained to lift her hands. Tiny snowflakes swirled around her fingertips in a blue-white glow, and she gasped as she remembered.

I'm the Frostahl heir.

She stared transfixed at the snow hovering over her palm.

They want me to be the Queen.

"So it's true."

The voice she heard was thin, a bit reedy, but compelling nonetheless. Elsa turned her head to see an elderly man in a wheelchair, a doctor pushing it up beside her bed. The man was obviously ill – he had a frail, sallow appearance, with oxygen tubes in his nose. Yet he sat ramrod straight in the chair, and when Elsa looked at his time-worn face, a pair of crystal-blue eyes gazed back at her.

Frostahl eyes, she realized.

"Oh, my dear," King Haldor of Arendelle said with a small smile. "Welcome home."

The End

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A/N: Just kidding. But we are close!

Thanks to everyone who come along on this ride with me. I appreciate all the comments and feedback and encouragement I've gotten from everyone along the way

Special thanks to Vesfarhloc and grrlgeek72 (Lese Majeste?) for their corrections, prodding, and suggestions for this chapter.