Chapter Text
“Our home,” Anna whispers. The words are drowned out by the cheers of the Northuldran people and the Arendellian soldiers, breaking their awed silence at last as the mist continues to dissipate for the first time in almost thirty-five years. She hears shouts of joy and incredulity, some filled with long lost recognition and others with stunned wonder. She hears the continued pounding of reindeer hooves as the herd runs in gleeful circles beneath the open sky. And, in the distance, she hears the tumble and echoing roar of the river.
“Our home,” she repeats. The last few hours are finally catching up to her, something she notices absentmindedly as she stumbles.
Kristoff wraps his arms around her as she begins to collapse, her knees giving way before she realizes, and he gently lowers them both to the ground. “I know.” He is strong and warm and there, oh at least he’s here, and not, not -
Anna catches a sob in her throat, feels tears pricking at her eyes, and she stares and stares and stares as the water fades into the distance. And though she can’t hear it, she can imagine, the crashing and creaking and breaking of her home, and Kristoff’s, and her people’s, lost in a wave she herself set loose.
And she thinks about all they’re going to lose, and then she thinks about all they’ve already lost, and she turns her face into Kristoff’s shirt. Grabbing fistfuls of the cloth, she buries her head against his chest, and he pulls her tighter.
Hidden amidst the continued sounds of celebration, she whimpers.
Elsa.
---
Deep within a glacier, a statue springs to life and drops to a solid, icy floor.
---
Grand Pabbie knows, even before his troll peers, exactly what’s to come.
He feels the echoing thunder, feels the rumbles beneath his feet that reverberate through his stony form. And he bows his mossy head and steps toward the cliff to observe the end of an era, a tumultuous disaster sure to go down in Arendelle’s history books.
As he sets his sights on the distant horizon and the deceptively calm river, he can sense, more than see, the presence of his fellow trolls and the citizens of Arendelle as they too start to become aware of the impending change.
“The water is being strange, ja?” It’s a tall fellow that speaks, a man that towers over everyone else and twiddles his fingers in front of his stomach.
“Indeed,” Grand Pabbie murmurs. “An act of great magic has just been undone, and a wrong of the past has been righted.”
The tall man blinks, then glances down to Bulda, standing at Grand Pabbie’s flank. “Is he always this, ah, cryptic?”
Bulda chuckles. “Oh you have no idea, he can be - oh. Oh no.” She trails off, mouth agape, and around her, Grand Pabbie can hear more and more citizens and trolls coming to watch as the wave of water comes crashing at last through the far away canyon, towering so high it nearly crests the cliffs on either edge.
It’s magnificent, in its own way, Grand Pabbie thinks to himself as he watches in weary resignation. The mighty flood roars into the fjord, dwarfing the evergreens that stand in its path and swallowing the calm flow of the fjord in its powerful rush. He can almost imagine the spray of the sea, and he can certainly smell its salty tang on the wind as river and ocean meet.
The wave dwindles only minisculely as it extends its reach into the inlet, and for a brief moment, Grand Pabbie feels the rising hope of Arendelle’s people.
And then, with a sound to put thunder to shame, the wave smashes into the shore, into the outer walls, into the town, into the lingering hopes of the people watching from the cliff. Rolling and racing through the streets, wood and stone and steel alike are flung with wild abandon by the unstoppable flood. Houses buckle and barns bend and flags are ripped with force from their posts. He sees the crocus of Arendelle riding atop the flow, almost leading the wave to the final obstacle on its path: the castle.
There are cries and wails behind him, nearly inaudible, and even he feels a deep sadness grow within his heart as he watches the flood slam into the castle walls, pouring into the courtyard and through the open gates. The spire at the center bows under the water’s pressure, and then slowly, almost gently, it snaps, cutting a swath through the water and under as debris from the rest of the once proud port city hurtles against the castle’s walls.
As suddenly as the flood comes, it recedes.
And then there is silence.
The water fades, and only destruction remains.
The forests between the river and the fjord: gone. Their trees are uprooted, stones overturned, dirt far flung and wildlife displaced.
The riverbanks are torn, muddied and muddled, the undergrowth now caught on rocks halfway up the cliffside.
And Arendelle:
The city’s in shambles. Nearly half the houses are swept down the road, furniture and belongings and livelihoods are scattered to the wind, the cobblestone streets are half undone, and its people are left shivering and shellshocked at the top of a cliff.
But, Grand Pabbie notes something spectacular with a degree of wonder, even as a chorus of disbelief and grief begins to sound around him:
Not all is lost. There are still houses miraculously standing, some that had been in the direct path of the wave and others that were too high up the mountainside. He sees gardens that remained safe, and he sees barns on the outskirts that felt nothing more than a passing spray. He sees that for every gutted street, there’s one that’s still clinging to structure, that for every lamppost ripped from the ground there’s another that’s only bent.
And, like a beacon of hope, he sees Arendelle castle. Its spire is gone, toppled into the west wing, the ice decorations that previously adorned the battlements are melted away (from the sheer force of the wave, he has no doubt), and half its shingles are lost in the depths of the sea, but the gates are still open, the courtyard is still whole, and the bridge that connects the castle to its people is standing strong.
Magic always has a message, and it always has a price. Grand Pabbie knows this is a steep cost, but he bows his head and sends silent thanks to the spirits that this is all that was asked, and no more. After all, there was no loss of life in this ordeal.
Arendelle has suffered a great setback, but Grand Pabbie knows that, with the return of its queen and princess, it will rebuild stronger than ever.
---
In contrast to everything else that’s been upended in the past twenty-four hours, Kristoff’s presence is a blessing. His arms are as solid as the rocks he was raised by, and like his stalwart stony family, he is unbending and unmoving. Even as Anna’s world falls to pieces around her, she buries her head tighter into the wool of his shirt and clings to him with every fiber of her being, and he anchors her with soft words whispered in her ear and a warm, unrelenting hold.
Even as he continues to murmur, dispelling the oppression of silence for just a little while longer, she can feel a drop of water, then two, then three, land on the top of her head. She sobs, and there’s a small comfort in knowing she’s not the only one crying for the ones they’ve lost.
Part of her wants to comfort him in return, to be there for him just as he is for her, but she knows that Kristoff (sweet, wonderful Kristoff) doesn’t want that, that in a way, he’s holding himself together by holding her tighter. Plus, Anna doubts she’s able to speak anyway. Every breath she takes is halted by another catch in her throat.
Distantly, beneath the pounding of the reindeers’ hooves, she begins to notice the noises of celebration abating. Her senses are dulled with grief, but the faint stir of muffled conversation reaches her ears, and then the crunch of gravel as someone with hesitating steps begins to approach.
Anna sniffs, loud and ugly, and she pulls away from Kristoff’s chest and blinks bleary eyes to see Lieutenant Mattias a few paces away. His face is long with weariness, and she remembers what she told him at the bridge. When she spoke words of her nightmares aloud.
“My sister gave her life for the truth. Please, before we lose anyone else.”
Behind him, she sees the solemn faces of Arendelle’s lost guards, and beyond them, she sees the confused and worried looks from her new Northuldra friends. Ryder and Honeymaren wear matching expressions: brows furrowed, mouths just slightly ajar, shoulders tense, almost as if in anticipation for the catch to their freedom they know is coming.
Yelana, however, bears a wizened sorrow, borne of many years of witnessing tragedy, and a devastating familiarity of what she’s witnessing now in Anna and Kristoff’s embrace and damp faces. Anna meets her eyes, an unspoken confirmation in her tears, and Yelana bows her head.
It’s Mattias who speaks first, clearing his throat and straightening his collar and his back. “Your Highness,” he begins haltingly. “At the dam. You - you said something. About Her Majesty. About your sister.” He rubs the back of his neck, pausing. His mouth opens, then closes once more.
Bracing herself on Kristoff’s shoulders, Anna closes her eyes and rises from the ground. She raises her chin, plants her feet, and balls her fists at her side. She takes a breath, in and out, and steels herself to face the truth aloud.
Her eyes are still closed when she feels Kristoff gently take one of her hands in his, and she relaxes her fist and lets him intertwine his fingers with hers. Kristoff untwists his legs with a small groan, his grip warm and firm even as he hauls himself to his feet. He positions himself just slightly to her left and one pace behind, letting her take the lead, but he brings her hand up to his lips for a quick kiss.
Anna relaxes into a smile - small, near imperceptible, but a smile nonetheless - and opens her eyes.
Then the smile falls, and her nerves turn to steel.
“My sister,” she begins, and her voice is thick with grief, “is - it’s exactly what I said at the dam, lieutenant. My sister gave her life for the truth.”
There are gasps from the Northuldra, and Anna’s touched to hear what sounds like genuine sorrow in their whispers. The soldiers of Arendelle merely bow their heads, but a silence settles over the clearing.
With a start, Anna looks to her side and realizes even the reindeer have slowed their majestic celebratory romp, and as the sound of hoofbeats dies into echoes, it feels as if the whole forest is watching her.
“How can you be certain?” Mattias asks, wringing his hands in front of him in a way that reminds Anna of Elsa. “What exactly transpired after you two - wait, three. Is the snowman - ?”
“Connected to her,” Anna murmurs. Kristoff squeezes her hand. “I think - I think where she goes, he follows.” She swallows back tears that are on the verge of flowing freely once more, and she wipes the back of her hand across her nose in a manner most unbecoming of her royal station.
“I don’t - I don’t know everything. My sister, she - she - she sent Olaf and me away. To keep us safe while she journeyed to Ahtohallan. I - “ Anna hiccups and sways on her feet, a wave of exhaustion hitting her with every word she utters. Kristoff pulls her in the tiniest bit, just enough for her to use him to stabilize her balance and gather her courage.
Anna bows her head. “I don’t know what happened at Ahtohallan. All I know is that she found the truth, and sent a message to Olaf and me. And then, a moment later, Olaf started flurrying. And he - he sensed - he could tell that, somehow, she wasn’t okay. And then - “ her voice catches, “ - and then neither was he.”
Turning her head, Anna buries her face against Kristoff once more as the ripples of the news she’d delivered spread amongst everyone present. The voices of the people stay low and hushed, as if speaking normally will disrespect Elsa’s memory, but even turned away, Anna hears snippets of the discussions.
One in particular reaches her ears and causes her to stiffen. It’s the voice of a young woman - Honeymaren, Anna thinks? Mournful and somber, Honeymaren sings softly, “Dive down deep into her sound, but not too far or you’ll be drowned.”
Drowned.
Elsa, face contorted, gasping for air, hands clawed as she desperately fights to reach the surface and air, turning bluer and bluer, bluer than the walls of her palace, bluer than the ice on her favorite dress, limbs trembling in pain, vision clouding -
Anna sobs, loud and harsh, and as horrible images of water fill her mind, a thought crashes over her like the spray of the ocean.
Arendelle. Her people. Their home.
And she wants to do nothing more than continue crying for the loss that she knows has occurred for all her citizens, but she thinks on what Elsa would want. And Elsa would want to ensure that her people were safe, and that plans were drawn into action to help immediately.
Still using Kristoff for support, Anna states, “Kristoff, Sven, and I need to get back to Arendelle as soon as possible to assess damages. Are there any who can help?”
“We can,” Honeymaren and Ryder say unanimously, stepping forward from the crowd of Northuldra.
Yelana goes with them and bows her head once more to Anna. “We are eternally grateful for everything that you, Kristoff, your sister, and Olaf have done for us. Anna, you and Elsa embody the true spirit of the Northuldra, and the heart of your mother. Thank you for releasing us from the mist and back into the world, and know that we are here to assist in whatever you may require.”
“Just a horse for Anna,” Kristoff says, speaking for the first time. “I can ride Sven back, but we’ll need a day’s rations, most likely. We’ll be on our way after that.”
“No way.” Ryder crosses his arms as Kristoff blinks. “Honeymaren and I will take you back in our sled. You can both sleep in the back. Ah-ah-ah!” Ryder raises a hand to silence the protest at the tip of Anna’s tongue. “When’s the last time either of you slept?”
Anna grimaces, and so does Kristoff.
Honeymaren nods. “That’s what we thought. Please, let us handle the journey. You can sleep in the sled undisturbed. And the same goes for the Arendelle guards?” She looks to Yelana, who signals her approval. “And the same goes for the Arendelle guards. Eret, Siru, Helve, can you help?”
The three Northuldra named give a quick verbal agreement, and the Arendelle guards smile bashfully in thanks, the ones Anna recognizes as having helped her at the dam looking particularly worn out.
“Then I suppose it’s time to go.” Anna keeps her hand in Kristoff’s as she begins to move towards Honeymaren and Ryder. “Lieutenant Mattias, please have your guards pack their things as quickly as possible and head out when you’re all ready. If it’s okay, Kristoff, Sven, and I will leave now.”
Mattias bows, low and deep. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Anna’s foot freezes midstep. Her chest constricts, and a puff of air leaves her in a whoosh. She stumbles, only saved from falling flat on her face by Kristoff’s quick reflexes. Her breaths are short and fast, and she closes her eyes and counts to three, and loosens the tension in her shoulders.
“Your Highness,” Anna corrects quietly.
Mattias’ brows furrow. “I’m sorry, but it’s - “
“Not yet.” Anna draws herself up to her full height and fixes Mattias with a pointed look. “Address me as Your Highness,” she commands. “Or Anna. Nothing else. Not now.” She falters, and repeats, “Not yet.”
Mattias nods in sympathy, and bows again. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
“Follow us,” Ryder says, stepping forward to flank Kristoff just as Honeymaren flanks Anna.
Thoughts in a whirl, Anna barely notices the trek through the forest, nor the sunshine that filters through the trees or the blue sky overhead. She barely notices as they breach the edge of the woods and into the Northuldra camp once more, and she barely notices as Kristoff climbs into the sled and gives her his hands to help her aboard.
As Honeymaren and Ryder tie Sven’s harness to the back of the sled and hitch their own reindeer to the front, Anna barely notices as she falls backwards into the pile of furs and blankets bundled for her and Kristoff.
And she barely notices as she closes her eyes, and sleeps.
---
The night sky is breathtaking.
Honeymaren knows her gaze should be only on the road in front of her, but she can’t help it. Every other second she catches her eyes wandering upwards, up to the sky .
She’s heard stories, of course, all her life. But the stories have clearly never done it justice, because this is - is awe-inspiring, is momentous, is miraculous.
She thinks of the scarves her mother used to make, dyed dark blue with a wildflower that grew in bushes on the edge of the mist’s border - blåveis, she thinks, is what her mother called it, a term coined by Arendellians that stuck with the Northuldra. (Funny, she thinks, how language still connected their peoples even whilst tensions and magic drove them apart.)
Those scarves are the closest Honeymaren thinks she’s ever seen to what she’s witnessing now, a woven canvas of indigo dotted with pure light. The color is dark and dense, nothing like the blue-grey glow of the nighttime mists, or the lighter grey of what little of the sun’s light could filter through the magical clouds.
And, more than anything else, the sky is just so big. Its expansive reach extends far past the edge of the forest and far above the tips of the mountains, and every time Honeymaren glances upwards, she’s stunned all over again.
In all her life, she’s never seen the sky, and if she’s being honest with herself, she’s never expected to. Sure, the stories sounded mythical and enthralling when told by her elders in the village, but it was a fun fantasy, no more.
Now it’s a fantasy no more, because it’s, well, there. Above her head, and no matter how many times she looks away to check that Ryder’s sleeping form isn’t jostled off the sled’s front seat, it’s still above her when she glances back up.
Honeymaren can’t reach it, can’t touch it, but it’s every bit as real as her goofy, snoring brother, and she’s positive that she’ll spend the rest of her life in gratitude to the young woman also sleeping soundly in the back of the sled.
To Anna, and to -
Gripping the reins tighter in her fists, Honeymaren sneaks another peek at Ryder and reaches one hand out to stroke his cheek. He grumbles something in his sleep and turns over, and she smiles softly.
Honeymaren rolls her shoulders and straightens her spine, and wishes that the air wasn’t so tinged with melancholy, that two sets of siblings were riding together in this sled. She’s glad that Anna has the chance to sleep at least, and she finds herself surprised at how much a part of her is mourning the opportunity to hold another nighttime conversation with the enigmatic snow queen of Arendelle.
With one more glance to Ryder, to reassure herself more than anything, Honeymaren takes to admiring the night sky yet again.
---
A larger-than-average bump in the road is what stirs Anna from slumber at last. Beneath her eyelids, she can sense daylight, and as she cracks her eyes open, she slams them shut again instantly.
Too bright, too early.
Anna yawns, and she tries again, this time blinking blearily in the pinks and purples of dawn’s first light. Did she sleep through the entire night…?
Stretching out worn limbs, Anna sits up with a groan, her body jostling back and forth on fur blankets as she does. She smacks her lips and combs her fingers through her hair (which, miraculously, seems to have held its shape more than normal), and a fond smile crosses her face as she looks to Kristoff, snoring ungracefully beside her.
Elsa always says we’re the perfect pair, she thinks warmly.
And then a cold shiver crawls up her spine, and unfamiliar ice runs through her veins, and Anna grits her teeth and exhales slowly and bunches her hands into fists around mud-stained skirts.
She counts to ten, something she’s seen - someone else do to alleviate anxiety, and she relaxes her hands and reaches her left one out to gently grasp a few strands of Kristoff’s locks. He’s in need of a wash, and his hair reflects as much, but it’s real and present and him, and Anna revels in the touch, the way it grounds her.
Until the sled hits another nasty bump, and she accidentally jerks to the side and takes a few threads of Kristoff’s hair with her.
“Yowch!” He bolts awake with a start and immediately cringes at the sunlight.
Anna grimaces, and shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry,” she murmurs.
Rubbing his eyes, Kristoff glowers.
Anna leans forward and pulls him into a feather-light kiss, and it lasts only a second but he melts instantly.
“You both awake?” It’s Ryder asking, half-turned in the front seat to check on the two of them in the sled. He’s got a grin on him that implies he’s well aware of the answer to his question, and also of what harm Anna may or may not have just committed against her boyfriend, but there’s a hesitation hovering behind his smile.
Anna sobers at the thought, and then pushes it out of her mind once more.
There will be all the time in the world to deal with that, but for now, Arendelle is her top priority.
“Yes,” Kristoff responds at last to Ryder.
“It’s for the best.” This time, it’s Honeymaren who speaks, though she keeps her eyes focused on the road ahead of them, the reins on the reindeer held firmly in her grasp. “Because we saw a sign awhile back that said we weren’t far. I think by now we’re probably very close.”
Anna and Kristoff share a bewildered look.
Craning her head, Anna surveys the road and the land around them, and with a start, she recognizes the cliffside path they’re on in an instant. She recognizes the rocky mountainside that stretches to the sky on her left, and she recognizes the sheer drop several paces from the road to her right, and she recognizes the river mouth that’s calmly pouring water into the fjord, as if less than a day ago it hadn’t unleashed a tidal wave.
And as they round the bend and crest the hill they’ve been steadily climbing, Anna recognizes the distant slopes of the North Mountain and the glassy waters of the fjord.
What she doesn’t recognize is, well, everything else.
She doesn’t recognize the debris-strewn streets, the newly barren plots of land, the collapsed castle spire, and the masts of sunken ships that dot the harbor like postings of ill omens.
She doesn’t recognize the shivering in Kristoff’s arms, the tautness of his jaw, and the look of aghast horror in his wide eyes.
And, Anna wonders, if she were to look into those eyes, deep enough to see her reflection: after everything that’s happened in the past day, would she even recognize herself?
---
“It’s the princess!”
“Princess Anna! Princess Anna!”
“What do we do? Our homes are gone!”
“Wait, where's - ?”
Anna stands before them, her cloak muddy, her palms scraped raw from rock climbing, her hair a tangled mess, her cheeks stained with drying tears, and she holds up a tired hand without a word.
The crowd falls silent instantly, the last couple of speakers quickly hushed by their peers.
There’s a brief flicker of awe in Ryder’s eyes, and Honeymaren thinks hers likely convey the same.
The way Anna presents herself, open and honest and raw, is reminiscent of all the traits Honeymaren’s come to admire in Yelana, and in her village’s elders, and even in Mattias, to a degree, when their interactions strayed towards civility over hostility (which they did, as odd as it may sound, because they certainly had many years to get to know one another).
And the way, just with the wave of her hand, that Anna’s calmed the crowd and commanded it to silence, well - Honeymaren has little experience with royalty, but she’s never seen a person so naturally regal.
(Which is a lie, actually, because of course there is one who possessed the same air of poise and grace, whose soft-spoken words were conveyed with casual authority and almost contradictory warmth. But Honeymaren had the chance to speak with her only over the course of one single night, and as large as that impression of Elsa was, Honeymaren’s starting to realize it was the barest of introductions, no more.)
Honeymaren hopes she’ll have the chance for many future interactions with Anna, at the very least, with this long-lost daughter of two worlds.
Though, with her chin raised and gaze flinted with steel, Anna looks far from lost. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, then steps forward onto a nearby boulder, one that Anna somehow knows is not one of the miniature Earth giants Honeymaren’s spotted rolling and waddling among the townsfolk.
“People of Arendelle,” Anna begins. A slight breeze stirs her cloak and carries her words over those gathered on the mountainside. “That’s - that’s still what we are. The people of Arendelle. Yesterday wasn’t an easy day, not for any one of us here. Surveying the destruction is an immediate priority, but none of us need a detailed report to know that homes were lost.” She raises her chin. “We owe a debt of gratitude to the trolls and our neighbors that no lives were lost in Arendelle too. The city can be rebuilt - our loved ones cannot.”
A woman’s voice pipes up from the listening crowd as Anna pauses. Honeymaren wonders if Anna will protest the interruption, but Anna just cranes her head and nods. “What if it happens again?” The woman presses forward, wringing her hands in front of her. “How do you know if we can ever return?”
“Arendelle is safe.” Anna pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales. “And I know I’ve a history of rushed decisions, but this isn’t - this isn’t one of them. It’s - “
There’s a chuckle from many of the townsfolk listening, to Honeymaren’s surprise, and she blinks, puzzled, as she hears quiet mentions of a southern prince. Anna’s eyes seem to narrow in consternation, but she holds her tongue. Honeymaren nods in admiration at Anna’s quiet acceptance of the perceived joke, even if the humor appears to be at her own expense.
“But it’s safe to return to Arendelle,” Anna continues, strained. The crowd hushes. “I know this. I know this, because we found the answers we sought.”
And with dozens and dozens and dozens of people listening with rapt attention, Anna begins her tale. She speaks of how the spirits were angered, how they drove everyone out of Arendelle’s port and up onto the mountainside, and of how she and her sister left to find answers and a solution. She speaks of how she and her sister became trapped in the mist of the Enchanted Forest, and of how she and her sister were unable to leave through that same mist, of how this made sending messages to the outside impossible. She speaks of the long-lost Arendellian guard unit, the mention of which sends ripples of recognition through the crowd, of how they're just half a day's journey behind herself, and she speaks of the Northuldra, nodding towards Honeymaren and Ryder and thanking them outright for their continued aid.
And she speaks, Honeymaren notes, with the word ‘we’, but never expands on ‘who’.
Finally, Anna reaches the portion of her story that brings her to yesterday morning, to the events Honeymaren witnessed only from a distance. To the Earth giants and the dam and the repayment of a debt over thirty years owed.
Anna lowers herself on the rock, heedless of her already ruined leggings, kneels, and bows, bringing her forehead to the ground.
The air is thick with tension, but not a single soul makes a sound.
Anna’s next words are clear and direct and a message for everyone before her: “With every fiber of my being, I offer you my humblest apologies.”
A beat, then two, and the tension snaps.
There’s gasps and shouts and exclamations and swears; the previous stillness of the mountainside now buzzes with hundreds of disbelieving voices. Honeymaren glances uncertainly at Ryder, but he looks as uncomfortable as she feels, and he steps away from the Arendellians and takes her hand in his.
The two watch as Kristoff and a female troll (as Honeymaren’s heard them be referred to now) begin to yell over the crowd, calling for everyone’s attention once more. It takes a good several tries, and Honeymaren’s about to ask Ryder if he thinks they should join in and help as well when the mountain falls quiet once more.
It’s not Anna who speaks next, however: it’s another troll, covered in moss and a long grassy cloak and several strings of yellow crystals. “People of Arendelle,” he begins in the same manner as Anna. Where Anna’s words held a quiet confidence, the troll’s words are spoken with a rumbling wisdom. He’s too short to be seen by most of the crowd, but it’s as if the stones themselves amplify his speech, and even the residual grumbles fall quiet.
“With the awakening of the spirits, Arendelle was doomed from the outset. Destruction was inevitable, and not a soul here has escaped unscathed, but the wave we witnessed yesterday was a blessing. Hear me out - “ Grand Pabbie’s echoes grow louder over the indistinct chatter that’s sprouted once more “ - and heed what I say. When the spirits are angry, there is no stopping them. Had the dam not been destroyed, Arendelle would have been beset not only by water, but by earth, air, and fire alike. Nothing would be left standing after such an onslaught. Nothing would be spared. That we can still see much of Arendelle standing is proof enough of the impact of Princess Anna’s deed.
“Not only did she save much of Arendelle, but she also broke the mist barrier of the Enchanted Forest, and freed hundreds of trapped people, many of whom were once your neighbors and friends, to return home at long last. Arendelle owes its brave princess a debt of gratitude, for she was faced with an impossible choice, and she nearly gave her life to preserve what she could of your home. Her home.”
The elder troll rocks back on his feet and closes his eyes, then offers his hand to a still kneeling Anna. Slowly, she rises from the rock, and holds her head high as whispers of unrest still scatter the winds.
One civilian hesitantly shouts, “So what do we do now?”
As if a second dam has broken, Honeymaren and Ryder watch with wide eyes as the people surge forward around Anna.
“Where do we live?”
“How do we rebuild?”
“Are there enough supplies for the coming winter?”
“Why do we care that you freed these Northuldra people? What if they're a threat?”
Honeymaren flinches at that last one, and balls her fists, and she notes Anna’s jaw set resolutely.
Anna opens her mouth to begin addressing concerns when the one question that everyone’s been too afraid to ask cuts through the air like a sword:
“Princess Anna, where’s Queen Elsa?”
And immediately after, a young child chirps in confusion, “Didn’t Olaf go with you?”
Honeymaren holds her breath and watches Anna stiffen, the princess’s back as straight as an arrow about to fly.
Anna’s eyes are heavy with grief and a sorrow that looks wrong on one so young, and the honesty that falls from her lips transforms a nightmare into painful reality:
“Queen Elsa is dead.”
Not a person utters a word, not a bird utters a cry, and not a single leaf rustles in the lilting breeze.
Honeymaren thinks a part of Anna has died as well, with this first utterance of Elsa’s name since the dam, and the first time Anna’s confronted yesterday’s tragedy in blunt words.
“She died to find the truth about our history, the truth that led me to take the actions I did to protect us, and to pay the reparations of the past we owed.”
The young child in the front steps forward, and her voice is small and scared. “What about Olaf?”
Anna kneels for the second time this day, but this time is different. She reaches the girl’s eye level, holds out a hand, and runs a gentle pinky over the girl’s nose. “Olaf,” she murmurs, “has always been a part of Elsa. I think, in the end, he’ll always be with her.”
The girl whimpers. “Olaf is my friend.”
Then she sniffs, and wipes an arm across her nose, and Anna scoops her into a hug and whispers, “I know, I know. He was my friend too.”
And as if all the energy is drained from Anna at last, when she stands up once more, she stumbles, and Kristoff catches her. He whispers in her ear, and points to two older Arendellians that Anna seems to recognize. Anna nods, her whole body slumping.
“Let me help,” Honeymaren says, stepping forward and grabbing Anna’s arm. She slings Anna’s arm around her shoulders as Anna flashes her a tiny but grateful smile.
Stepping to Kristoff’s side as he and the female troll start to call for attention and to plan the first stage of returning to Arendelle, Ryder offers a soft wink at Honeymaren and lends Kristoff his voice as additional help.
Kristoff nods, motions for Ryder to stand next to him, and takes charge in fielding questions and turning focus onto him and away from Anna.
Honeymaren keeps a tight grip on Anna’s arm, noting Anna’s stumbling steps and bleary eyes, and when they at last reach the older man and woman Kristoff had directed them toward, Honeymaren lets go.
Anna’s eyes well up, and she can only get out a choked, “Kai. Gerda. She’s gone,” before the Arendellians are wrapping her in an enormous hug, tears staining their own cheeks.
Sighing, Honeymaren glances up at the wide blue sky, then out at the people on the mountainside, then down to the fjord and Arendelle’s ruined port city, and then finally back to Anna, the soon-to-be queen who’s given half her world to save her home.
With one last reassurance that Anna’s in good hands, Honeymaren steps away to help field the questions of a strange people who once took so much from the Northuldra, and have now lost so much in return.