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“Auntie Elsa! Auntie Emma!”
Before they can shake off the woozy feeling from traveling through the portal, Elsa and Emma are bombarded by a bundle of winter wool in the shape of Kristina, their three-year-old niece. Anna and Kristoph follow soon after, throwing themselves into the group hug.
“Oh, I’ve missed you all so much,” Elsa says, tears pricking like glitter in the corners of her eyes. She swings Kristina up in her arms, holding her close. “She has my hair,” she whispers, winking at Anna.
Anna smiles, hugging her sister-in-law. “How’s my favorite little town doing? No witches or anything?” She brushes snow off Emma’s coat—even though it’s summer in Arendelle, it was snowing in Storybrooke before their trip.
“Not as of now,” Emma says. Her fingers are still twined through Elsa’s. “But give it a year.” The words are meant to be humorous, but they settle like a sobering blanket.
One year in Storybrooke, one year in Arendelle. When they were married, they decided that was how they’d spend their lives together. Emma couldn’t leave Henry and her parents, and Elsa couldn’t abandon her kingdom.
Nobody ever told them true love came with compromise.
As they all filter into the warm palace rooms, Elsa leans in to nuzzle Emma’s cheek. “I wish I could give you more. Give you more time, something…”
“No,” Emma says firmly, and cups Elsa’s face in her hands. “You give me everything.”
When Emma kisses her, Elsa knows she’s telling the truth.