AN: So, 75 chapters. Seventy… five… It occurs to me that perhaps I am just a little obsessive about this story. It was my first, after all—after testing the waters with another, slightly different story. So I'd like to celebrate you, the readers, who have followed me through this journey; through thick and thin, crisis and opportunity, highs and lows, and rather irregularly scheduled updates. Because of you guys—and girls—it's worth it. It's worth continuing… and I will. This story does have an end, perhaps not quite in sight yet, but all the pieces are in play…

So, without further ado, I present to you the 75th chapter of cunningly arranged words that just happen to make a coherent story.

Anna woke with a start, searching frantically around her room for something clearly not there. She sighed, closing her eyes and throwing her head back against the pillows. Why did she have to be scared of so many things now? Why did her courage seem to fail at the strangest moments. Explaining what she'd been up to while Elsa was in council, for example. She hadn't lied, not exactly, but what she'd been setting up wasn't entirely for her and oh—that was why she was awake this early. She had to catch Elsa before breakfast. Which also meant that there was something—or rather, someone—else in the room. Cracking her eyes open, wiping away the sleep on them, Anna saw that person fussing with the curtains.

"Ungh…" Well, she had meant to say hello. And instead of trying again with 'morning' her body decided it would be an excellent time to yawn. Rubbing her eyes again, Anna struggled to sit up, finding it hard to muster even that amount of energy so early in the morning. It was for Elsa, and that thought gave her the drive she needed. One hand went to her hair. It didn't seem to matter how well she'd slept, it always did that. Sighing, she made another attempt verbal communication, catching Gerda's attention if nothing else.

"We haven't quite got the hang of mornings yet, have we, dear heart."

"'s early," Anna yawned again. "But Elsa."

"It seems you two would do most anything for one another," Gerda helped her stagger to the vanity so she could brush her hair. "I'm proud of you for that."

"Proud?" Anna echoed, confused.

"Yes, your highness, proud. Proud of how even thirteen years apart couldn't break the bond you shared. Proud that even without knowing her, you would have given your life to save your sister. Proud of how you have helped her connect with other people. And proud, of course, that you will be sharing my cooking lessons with her. I knew you were different when you asked about cooking, all those years ago."

"And it was a good differ—ow."

"Apologies, your highness." Anna watched in the mirror as Gerda attempted to disentangle the brush from her coppery hair. The castle's head maid and sometime handmaiden frowned, letting the brush simply hang for a moment. Then, with equal parts strength and tenderness, she pulled the brush through the most stubborn knot. Anna winced, feeling her eyes sting.

"It's bad this morning, Gerda," Anna spoke as Gerda finally managed to disentangle the brush, staring at the tangle of hair caught in it. Both of them just stared. How could it have possibly gotten so snarled?

Gerda broke the silence. "I fear I shall have to summon the groundskeeper to provide us a rake."

Anna giggled, hand covering her mouth. It wasn't often Gerda used such humour, but when she did it always worked. Anna smiled, lowering her hand, Gerda taking the brush through the hair at her neck now. Anna closed her eyes, enjoying the way the brush ran through her hair—except the knots, of course. She blinked, yawning, not quite so tired anymore. Inside she felt… she wasn't sure. Not quite happy. Not bored. Maybe a little tired—or was it just a little laziness? But she felt warm. Satisfied. Content. That was it, she felt content. Maybe not truly happy, or unafraid, but it was enough. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

And that was just from having her hair brushed. She laughed, wincing as one final knot was dealt with.

"Twin braids again today?" Gerda enquired.

"Umm…" Anna tried to imagine various hairstyles formed from her fiery hair. She was going to be busy, and really didn't want her hair getting into anything this morning. An updo of some kind then. Not a bun—that was more Elsa's thing. Oh… Anna smiled. Maybe a woven braid like a wreath—or crown. Then what about the back? Two—no, four—small looped braids, capped with a small bun. Somewhere in the middle. Not a high bun. She explained everything to Gerda without taking a single breath. The head maid spent a moment wearing a bemused smile, then gently requested a repetition at a speed others might be capable of understanding. Cheeks colouring in embarrassment, Anna repeated what she wanted done at a more normal speed.

Gerda nodded, getting to work, separating Anna's hair to be braided in sections. "I do recall that once Queen Elsa brought you breakfast in bed. It was very sweet of her."

"No, very sweet was that orange juice Kjellson's daughters helpfully sabotaged for her," Anna smiled, remembering the look on Elsa's face. "I just… well I never expected anything like that from her, Gerda. She surprised me—in the best way."

"And her cooking—was it truly so bad that you feel you have to teach her everything now?"

"Not really that bad, just—" Anna mumbled, trying to recall just what Elsa's attempt at breakfast in bed had tasted like, besides the too-sweet juice. "—okay, bad."

Gerda laughed softly. "Every person has their flaws—it surprises me that cooking should be one of Elsa's."

"Why?" Anna tried not to move as Gerda pinned the smaller braids in place.

"Well, simply the sheer amount of time you both spent in the kitchens in your younger years. Even later, she would often steal around in the evening and late at night, trying to avoid you."

"If only I'd known," Anna sighed. "If only she hadn't been so scared." Her fist suddenly clenched, knuckles white, Anna continued. "Why did mom and dad have to hide everything. Didn't they think I'd understand? Didn't they think I would forgive her? I would have—I know I would have. They never gave me—gave us—that chance. It wasn't fair to anyone. Especially not Elsa—I mean, couldn't they see how much they were hurting her? Couldn't anyone?"

Gerda waited for her to finish her tirade before speaking. "I can only presume that they thought they were doing what was best. They were king and queen, and adults—their perspective would have been very different from yours. To answer your final question: Kai saw. He knew, and later, after your parents passed, he would often help her."

"I should thank him."

"Perhaps. You should also ask yourself what you would have done—not knowing how powerful Elsa was, or how much danger you might have been in. They made the best decision they could, with what information they had. I could see it hurt them too."

Lowering her eyes, Anna whispered sotto voce, not sure if she wanted Gerda to hear her or not.

"It still wasn't right."

What had surprised Elsa most wasn't that Anna had planned this. It was that she'd managed to wake up and prepare everything—with help from Gerda and the kitchen staff—before Elsa had been led there by Kai.

"Surprise!" And Elsa had been inches from icing everything as Anna half-fell into her lap. When she looked up at her sister, Elsa felt her breath catch in her throat. In the morning light Anna was positively radiant, and her choice of hairstyle inspired. Elsa swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, wishing her mind hadn't immediately dived to what was beyond the daring neckline of her sister's dress. Or what Anna had told her last night—that had forced her to seek only her own company for the rest of the evening. But this morning was a new day, and Anna deserved to know how special she was. Always.

"You look… breathtaking," Elsa had paused for only a second to find the right word. Anna noticed the pause, frowning in concern.

"Is something wrong?"

"Only what we spoke of last night," Elsa finished with a wry smile, wishing that they could talk more freely. Anna blushed slightly, hidden for the most part by her freckles. The kitchen was no place for such talk.

"Well, after I teach you how to cook everything I know, we could always take our breakfast privately."

"I would—wait, in one morning?"

Anna smiled mischievously. "You say you're a quick study."

"You know what happened last time I tried."

"Yup," Anna's smile widened. "And that's why I've gotta teach you everything fast. Plus, maybe you can surprise Hank with it one day—imagine the look on his face."

Laughing, Elsa looked up at her sister, her voice soft. "You really want it to work, don't you?"

"You should be happy. You deserve to be, no matter what you tell yourself."

"You know I'd be happier with you," Elsa whispered, not sure she would be heard. Anna knelt in front of Elsa's chair, taking the blonde's hand in her own. Giving her hand a tight squeeze of support, Anna smiled wistfully. Elsa knew everything behind that smile, the slight, odd sadness in her sister's eyes. She couldn't—Anna simply couldn't feel the same way she did. Elsa looked away, arms drawing in so she could hug herself. Something warm and daring stopped her, a gentle smile spreading across her face. A soft kiss against her cheek. She looked up to see Anna smiling down at her, the picture of innocence. She loves me. Elsa sighed, her thoughts in chaos. That should be enough. I wish it was. I have to tell her.

Elsa was jarred out of her reverie by Anna's next seemingly non sequitur statement. "So, anyway, first you'll need a pan—" Anna was now making enough noise to wake half the castle, finally handing a small frying pan to Elsa. The blonde took it in numb hands, still somewhat taken aback. "—then, oh, no, wait, first we need to check the firebox on the sto—oh, that's hot. Good. Now the pan goes on the stove, and you find an—aha! Egg timer—while it heats up. Then we get—hey, Brigitta, did Ingrid move the eggs again?"

"She did, your highness. The pantry next to the icebox."

"Thanks," and then Anna shot off, leaving Elsa sitting in her chair between the island and side bench, feeling rather confused. She was about to follow her sister when the redhead returned a moment later with several eggs in a small basket, placing the basket in Elsa's lap before taking one and cracking it on the edge of the pan. Half the shell fell in and she winced, carefully picking up the still mostly intact eggshell with a delicate touch.

"I still can't quite do that one-handed yet—well, not all the time." She flashed Elsa a chagrined smile. Elsa shook her head, smiling back. She knew Anna would never accept any limits on her ability, no matter what had been done to her body. To her, somehow, losing an arm seemed nothing more than an inconvenience. Sighing, Elsa carefully positioned herself next to the stove, reaching over the top, and broke an egg into her pan. On the plus side, none of the shell fell into the pan; on the minus side, neither did most of the egg. She looked up at Anna, a helpless smile on her face.

"I'll find a cloth to clean that up with," Anna's voice held not even a hint of discouragement or reprimand. A moment later she had cleaned the stovetop, before placing another egg in Elsa's trembling left hand.

Elsa felt warm, delicate fingers guiding her hand to the edge of the pan before miming the motion required to crack the egg into the pan, rather than all over the stove. It mostly worked, the egg cracking halfway round instead of all the way through. Then Anna twitched her thumb, and Elsa realized she wanted her to do the same, just a little more deliberately. The egg fell into the pan, sliding from the half shells. Anna smiled at her; she smiled back. Maybe cooking wasn't so hard—and it took her mind off what she needed to say. She shook her head, listening properly to what Anna had to say about cooking.

"So, eggs are easy. Toast is even easier, and faster." With that she cut off a slice of bread, another, then two more, and placed them on a cooking tray before putting the tray into the oven itself. Elsa frowned. Surely it couldn't have been that simple; that easy. It wasn't, she found, as the morning progressed. The hard part was not mixing ingredients, but timing the cooking, and learning that some dishes even had stages where more ingredients were added, though Anna had said they wouldn't be trying to cook those until next week, at which point most of the kitchen staff laughed. It was at that point Elsa realized her sister had been joking, and the kitchen staff were in on it—even Anna couldn't cook the dishes she'd just named. Elsa felt herself smiling in amusement.

Or maybe it was that Anna only needed to know how to cook the basics. It made sense—most lighter meals seemed rather simple, and if the kitchen staff were busy, she didn't have to inconvenience them. Elsa ran through what her sister had shown her, ticking them off in her mind. Eggs, toast, muesli, porridge, oats, several kinds of fish that were surprisingly suitable for breakfast; where the kitchen staff kept fresh fruit, and also how to make a preserve from almost any kind of fruit. Of course Anna insisted they taste everything they made. It was, Elsa had to admit, a lot more fun than she had expected. A lot less disastrous too.

Eventually, finishing their fruit, they made their way to the smaller family dining room, asking the servants and staff for privacy. Elsa wheeled herself to the head of the table, and Anna sat to her right. Elsa knew this wasn't something they particularly wanted to talk about, but they had to—especially with Hank still holding himself back, and Anna still sometimes teasing her. It was just so… frustrating. She sighed, holding her peace, waiting until Anna had settled into a more comfortable pose.

"You already know how much I love you," Elsa spoke softly. Anna smiled, but her eyes were guarded. "And it scares me, Anna; it does."

"Why?" Anna cocked her head and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Because I don't know if I can ever love anyone as much as I love you."

"No," Anna shook her head slowly, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "I don't think that's what you're scared of. Your soul is filled with so much love, you just have to share it."

"But…" Elsa made a frustrated gesture with both hands. "I don't know how."

"But that's not what you're scared of." Anna stood, pacing up and down beside the table. "You do know how. With me. With Hank. Even with Kristoff, I guess—you're letting him court me, after all."

"Like I could have stopped you," Elsa frowned in mock petulance.

"I would have listened to you this time," Anna looked down, a dark expression shading her face. "I should have listened to you the first time, then we'd never be in this mess."

"No," Elsa shook her head, trying to put as much warmth into her voice as possible. "Never blame yourself for that. And even if you had listened, I'd probably still love you in all the wrong ways."

"Yeah, probably," Anna laughed softly, walking over to kneel next to Elsa's chair. "But you're not scared of not being able to give all that love to someone."

"I'm not?"

Anna placed her hand over Elsa's heart. Elsa felt the world seem to skip a beat. "No, you're not. You're scared people won't love you back."

Elsa almost rocked back in her chair. Anna's insight was staggering. She couldn't form a coherent reply to Anna's statement. Not for a long time. She knew how to love, and that was easy. She knew how to give someone all of her love—after all, she'd done it for thirteen years. What she didn't know; what she still had trouble learning, was how to let herself be loved. And to let that happen in the way the other person loved her, which would not always be the same way she loved them. She moved to hug herself, but found her arms closing around Anna's shoulders, her sister's arm looping around behind her neck to pull her close.

"You don't have to be scared of that, Elsa." Anna kissed her on the cheek. "And even if someone doesn't love you as much as you love them, it doesn't matter too much. Love goes both ways, and whatever meets in the middle only gets stronger. Plus, if you tease Hank enough I'm sure he'll break out of that shell and show you how much he really loves you."

"He won't even kiss me goodnight," Elsa blushed, shaking her head. Anna giggled.

"He is so stiff. Half the time he was sparring with me he called me 'your highness' or 'princess'. So damnably proper—I'm sure it frustrates you in all sorts of ways. You still love him, and you still love me, even if neither of us can love you the way you think we should. You love me—even if I can't love you that way—and that's all that matters. That's how you should treat everyone."

"But you're my sister."

"Should that make a difference?" Elsa found herself staring into a stern face framing soft turquoise eyes. It wasn't fair that she should love her sister so, and expect the same in return—yet she did, and somehow still accepted the reality that it wasn't possible. But Anna's question had been revelatory. Should the fact they were sisters have made any difference? If they weren't, there was one thing that Anna might not object so much to, and—Elsa frowned, cutting that thought off before it could start. That they were sisters somehow made all the difference, but she couldn't quite see why. The answer she wanted hovered just out of reach, like a word at the tip of her tongue. It was everything she sought, tantalizingly close, and yet still so far from her grasp. She sighed.

"It does make a difference, Anna," Elsa clasped her hands at her lap. "I think it shouldn't, but it does, and I can't figure out why."

"When you do, you'll know," Anna smiled kindly down at her, eyes twinkling. "But you have to figure this one out yourself, alright?"

"Alright," Elsa nodded, setting the thought aside for later. "Do you think we should visit doctor Arnesen now?"

"I should have him look at my scars, make sure they're healing properly."

"That's a very good idea." She left out the part where it was an opportunity for her to appreciate Anna's body more… fully… than usual. Anna noticed the slight blush, and whispered something most scandalous in her ear. Elsa turned away, cheeks aflame as Anna giggled on her way out the door. It only made her appreciate Anna even more, and embarrassed as she was, she still wouldn't have traded that feeling for anything in the world. It was because of Anna, and that made it special.

Vanja Ostberg-Lang crept forwards through the underbrush, alert for anything else that might be hunting her prey. The early morning sun sent long, golden shafts through the trees, casting a dappled light on the forest floor. The kind of light that made her quarry harder to track by sight alone. Bow in her left hand, her right against the trunk beside her, Vanja's footsteps made barely a whisper over the trickling of a distant stream. Keeping low, she moved to the next tree, pulling an arrow from the quiver at her back. There it was, alert and watchful, tipping its head to the water's edge to quench its thirst. Vanja drew the arrow back, enjoying the slight strain in her wrist and shoulders.

The arrow flew straight and true, piercing the flank of the yearling doe. The deer bleated in pain and bolted down the bank of the stream. Vanja slung her bow over her shoulder and sprinted to a small tree near the water's edge. She could just see the deer in the distance, starting to stumble. There was an easy trail—hoof prints and spots of blood. The forest had gone quiet with the deer's cries of alarm, but the rushing stream and rustling leaves whispered in the light wind from the mountains, preventing the silence from being unnatural. Vanja smiled, stalking the injured doe along the tree lined banks of the stream.

Vanja felt her foot snag against a root, and suddenly she was sprawled out in the undergrowth, not quite fast enough to arrest her fall. She spat, the taste of dirt and leaves rich in her mouth. Rising, she took a quick sip from her water skin and spat again. It tasted clean. One hand went to her forehead, and came away with a streak of red. Her fingers probed the area. It hurt. Not much, but for it she felt so much more alive. She would live, the forest floor no more her enemy than was the sun. So unlike the queen, she knew, who seemed to shy from any kind of pain. What good was royalty anyway?

Vanja huffed in annoyance, checking that her bow hadn't been damaged in the fall. She collected a few spilled arrows from her quiver, and then set to tracking the doe she had shot. She found it a short distance away, collapsed next to some small bushes. Its side heaved with effort to produce laboured breaths, and its eyes alighted on her only to be filled with sudden fear. The huntress smiled down at her prey, kneeling to place one hand on its flank, the other drawing her knife. The deer bleated in distress, but its cries fell on deaf ears. Vanja's hand moved to cover its eyes, her knife at its throat.

"Hush, little one. This is mercy."

Red stained the forest floor as the animal's cries cut off mid-bleat. Vanja wiped the blade against her armour then sheathed it at her side. She sat a short distance away, drinking again from her water skin, and eating a small handful of blackberries she'd taken from one of the bushes. Resting against a tree trunk, furs wrapped around her, Vanja basked in the warmth of the morning sun finally reaching the forest floor. It had been a long hunt—since dawn—but in the end rewarding.

Later, perhaps during October or November, she would be hunting much more dangerous prey. It was the only way to get furs so white, after all. But that was the future, and for now it didn't matter. For now all that mattered was the yearling she'd hunted, and how much it was likely to fetch her in trade. Rising slowly Vanja strode over to the body of the yearling, straining just a little to lift it, heaving it across her shoulders for the trek back to town.

"We failed, Nikolaus," Frederik Westergard pulled no punches upon meeting his brother onboard the Victory. Nikolaus, sitting behind his desk in the wardroom, made no effort to reply immediately, running over the report his men had given him on ammunition spent and casualties sustained. Frederik would understand—they both had a duty to those they commanded or ruled. Neatly folding the paper, Nikolaus tucked it into the top drawer of the desk.

"We didn't fail, Rik." Nikolaus smiled at his twin. "We destroyed half of Weselton's fleet, denied the Duke his protege's return, and indebted the kingdom of Arendelle to us as a military power."

"Not so that last—they think we were trying to start a war, remember?"

"We might have, yes, should Weselton's fleet survive to make harbour again."

"You wouldn't—they surrendered."

Nikoluas rolled his eyes, his brother was always searching for definitive and final solutions. He knew little enough of the conventions of naval warfare, but did know enough to understand how important certain rituals and personnel were to the efficient operation of a fighting force.

"I am man of honour, brother. I would never condone that. I meant merely that as they had surrendered to us—rather than to Arendelle—we might take those remaining ships as prizes, depositing their crews somewhere helpfully neutral. Such as Corona."

"We lack the manpower—and what if one of the ships mutinies?"

"A small contingent of marines on each surviving ship should be sufficient. The Victory can return with a skeleton crew, and the survivors from the 'hagen need something to do. I've recommended leaving that ship here, to be repaired by Arendelle's shipwrights, at our expense. A show of faith, if you will."

"You know they are no better than neutral to us—it could well be months before we see a return on this."

"It's not a show for the queen."

"What?"

Nikolaus smiled, withdrawing a scrap of parchment from the second drawer of his desk, marvelling at the elaborate penmanship on display. "This message comes from their marshal, Gerhardt. He offered to send one of their frigates with us, to ensure a safe journey."

"More likely to see that we keep our word."

"As I understood it as well. He also stated that onboard that frigate would be two platoons of Royal Marines, to, and I quote: 'Quell the possibility of insurgency or uprising from Weseltonian captives.' I think we can take him at his word on this one, but what was your read of him?"

"Brutally honest, very shrewd, and exceptionally dangerous—and also unafraid to criticize the queen's handling of certain military affairs. He did not say as much, of course, in front of her, but I could read it from his bearing. If ever someone were to try a plot like our youngest brother's, then perhaps the wedge to drive away the queen would come from within…"

"Fascinating," Nikolaus handed the message to his brother to read, leaning back in his chair. "Speaking of Hans, how did the queen react?"

"She asked after the fate of our youngest brother."

"And what did she say when you told her Hans was dead?"

"Nothing, though I caught a hint of relief on her face." Frederik stood straight once more, pacing behind Nikolaus. "I left immediately after, the council seemed content with my answers."

"And our gift to the princess?"

"I left Sitron with the stablehand. An unassuming sort, Harald, I think, was his name. Smart enough to care for the horses, not smart enough to ask too many questions. They did have a tame reindeer, which seems odd, now I think of it."

"Visting nobles from the border kingdoms, perhaps?"

"A definite possibility, Nikolaus; but more than that is merely speculation. I doubt we should labour the point."

"So, to our previous discussion, the marshal, and his place in Arendelle?"

"Highly placed, influential, and not as sympathetic to the queen as he appears." Frederik smiled coldly.

"Maybe Hans wasn't so misguided after all," Nikolaus dared to whisper. "He just didn't think to use the council."

"And what of our next visit?"

"You assume there will be a next time, brother." Nikolaus smirked, gently reminding his brother of how much ill will had been garnered on both of the Southern Isles' previous missions to Arendelle. If they were allowed a third chance, he knew it would likely be their last. And given what the marshal had left unsaid in that message, might prove to be most profitable—or an invitation to their doom. Was it possible? He considered the message, Frederik's read of the man, what they knew of the queen and her council. What if the marshal was merely an honest man, playing the liar's game, trying to weed out such treachery before it became a problem for the queen?

Brilliant.

If the marshal was honest, then it was a trap. If he was dishonest, it was an opportunity. But the risk of seizing that opportunity suddenly far outweighed the possible gains—especially when Nikolaus tried to ascertain the odds of coming away better off if they simply remained neutral, or tried to improve their relations through more diplomatic channels. No one need know—but it was time for a decision to be made. Nikolaus's voice was a hushed whisper, forcing Frederik to lean in close.

"Arendelle now espouses a position of neutrality with regards to home. That means the next move is ours. I've seen enough between you, Walder, and our father to know that that means we now have a chance. This queen Elsa is very shrewd—once more she has managed to turn crisis for us into opportunity for her to judge us by our next move while still appearing so magnanimous."

"And of the marshal's opportunity?"

"It could well be a trap. I say that particular subterfuge is only if we have exhausted all other diplomatic options."

"And our military options?"

"You strode across a frozen harbour last night, tell me if you think that was natural."

"It surprises me she didn't simply use those powers to destroy Weselton's fleet."

"I think it was a delaying tactic," Nikolaus gestured expansively. "They were holding the royal princess to ransom, after all."

"So, aside from blizzards, ice floes, and snow, we have no idea of the magnitude of her powers."

"I suppose we don't," Nikolaus shrugged. "Enough delays; we will be underway before noon."

Arendelle would not have been easy to conquer at the best of times, and now? No. All they could do was wait, and attempt to prove their worth as allies. Then… then they could take what they wanted. His mind made up, if not his brother's, Nikolaus laid in a course of action. They had been away from home for too long, and he did so miss the open seas.