Author's Note: Based off of a prompt where Anna implores Kristoff to teach Elsa about the great outdoors.

Nature's First Green

"Which one is that one?" she asked, indicating a slender tree with paper thin bark that was beginning to peel.

"That's a birch," Kristoff said, "and they're good for furniture, firewood and in a pinch you can use the bark - see how thin it is? - to write on if you don't have any paper."

Elsa frowned, tilting her head as she considered this. "Why wouldn't you?" She grinned with one side of her mouth, a wry smile that had little humor attached to it. "Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in papers; you'll forgive me if it makes no sense to be at a loss for them."

He shrugged, smiling up at the sky. The day was still young, the Sun only a few hands' width above the horizon, and the blue was shot through with streaks of white that promised fair weather for the rest of the day, which was good, since Anna had made it clear that she expected them to return with stories to tell about all the things they'd done and seen. And that Elsa, whose large, expressive eyes were weighed down with bags, would be seen in cheerier spirits when she arrived back home.

It seemed odd to call a palace that, but there it was. Often he awoke with the sense that he had to still be dreaming, but while he had, upon occasion, envisioned plush sheets, a carefully banked fire and a roof over his head, he had never once imagined the now routine wakeup call of a stick hand knocking on his door or a seat at a fully laden table for breakfast. Odder still was his dining companion; Anna's sleep schedule placed her first meal squarely in the later hours of the morning, trending closer to the afternoon at an alarming rate, which meant that the 'Royal Ice Master and Deliverer' often dined with her Royal Highness.

This...had not been conducive to his tentative, awkward, and perhaps floundering relationship with her younger sister.

She was tapping her lips with her fingers. They were bare, of course. She hadn't worn gloves since that fateful night, and sometimes he caught her stock still in the middle of making a gesture, staring dumbly at her hands before moving on. Whether she was shaken or simply surprised, he couldn't be sure.

"B. pendula," she said.

"...sorry?" he asked, giving her a look.

"The Latin name for that species." She had stopped and was examining the tree, so he stopped too and took the time to follow her gaze. It was a smaller version of the common tree, with short branches bearing delicate, but vibrantly green leaves, and it looked lush and healthy despite its youth, nestled amongst its elders in the small patch of forest that had been ruled quiet enough for the queen to tour it without concern for her safety. He wasn't sure who had decided that, but was simply glad that he had finally had an opportunity to see her in a different setting. Her usual ice dress glittered in the light that trickled through the canopy, absorbing some of the green and tinging it a color that was closer to teal than blue.

He inhaled and looked away. Anna's eyes were teal.

"Would you know if there are any..." She paused and closed her eyes, biting her lip as she thought. Her face seemed so much younger with her eyes closed. Her eyes and her composure lent her so much age. Perhaps it was a symptom of royalty, for in every painting he'd seen of the king he'd seemed years older than the date of the picture claimed.

She opened her eyes. "P. padus. Does that mean anything to you?"

He made a face. "Unless you know the common name..."

"Uh," she said, and he almost laughed. The first time he'd heard her say "yeah" he'd been stunned for several seconds. Her bearing was such that he could hardly conceive of her using words like that, and she didn't when in public, only when with people she trusted. It had taken him some time to realize that she now considered him one of those people.

"Bird...something. Um. Bird...some sort of fruit..."

"Bird cherry?" he asked, perking up.

"That's it; I remembered it because that's one of our exports." She folded her arms; not a nervous movement, like he had seen before, but judging by her expression more of an exasperated one. "A deal fell through recently on a shipment to Istran. Apparently Weselton has been whining about our decision to boycott its goods and has been stirring up trouble."

This was the exact opposite of where he wanted the conversation to be going, and he could already imagine Anna tapping her foot and glaring at him when a tired and distracted Elsa got off her horse, murmuring about having things to think about but that her sister and Kristoff should excuse her for dinner. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don't see any of those here, but..." He fetched his knife from his belt and showed her the handle. "This was made from one of them. It's great for small things like this."

He didn't object when she placed her hand on it, flicking her eyes up at him in silent request before she tugged it free. The blade had a few nicks and scratches in it, but the edge gleamed and it held its sharpness quite well. She tilted it, rubbing her fingers over the hilt, watching the knife reflect the sunlight at different angles. It had amazed him once to find that she had never held rope before, nor had she tasted the simple pleasure of wild game roasted over on a spit. From the way her eyes, so old in so many ways, had softened and brightened with her happiness when she stroked a docile Sven, tugging lightly on his ears and grinning shyly when he responded by nuzzling her, he had decided that whatever she desired to touch, to see, to experience, would instantly be hers should he have the power to give it.

"What about oaks?" she said, returning his knife to him.

"We're too far North for them; they like the warmer regions." He glanced to the side as they continued down the small game trail, his boots crunching on the few dried leaves that covered it, her slippers silent when she followed him. Her mouth turned downwards and he added hastily, "but they're not that farther south, so if you would like to see some it couldn't be more than a day's journey."

She sighed, the corners of her lips not moving at all. "I doubt I could leave for that long." She looked down at her hands, and he was unhappy to find them wrapped around one another, the fingers twisting in evidence to her unhappiness.

"The next time Grandpabbie goes on a pilgrimage to see the Old One you could go with him," he offered.

She paused, turning towards him with a thin line in between her eyes. "The Old One? And...did you say that he...leaves?"

This, at least, was familiar territory again, and he relaxed, folding his arms and leaning back as he explained. "The Old One is an oak tree, one so old that even Grandpabbie doesn't remember when it was first planted. He likes to visit her now and again and offer her some of the water from the springs in the clearing because he says that it rejuvenates her."

She was watching him carefully, in the way that she always did when he spoke of his family, which had encouraged him to do so often. She would never bring it up herself, and he suspected it was because as a private person she didn't want to pry, but he could see the longing written on her face whenever she learned more of the trolls. They had a special place in her heart, not only for saving her sister's life but also as the only magical kin that she could lay claim to. If he wasn't certain that the old troll would never agree to set foot in a human town he would have asked Grandpabbie to visit the queen to alleviate some of the loneliness she felt despite being open about her magic.

He started a little, returning to himself after being lost in a sea of blue, when a small hand gripped his forearm tightly. "Look!" she gasped, pointing over his shoulder and he swiveled to see a lynx perched at the top of a large rock formation, its eyes mere slits as it sunned itself. It didn't seem to have noticed them, its ears high and big paws tucked underneath its chest.

"What animal is that?" she whispered, her breath tickling his neck as she watched the lynx from over his shoulder, and he swallowed, shifting a little so that she was no longer so close. He was acutely aware of her palm, so cool and in stark contrast to the warm, almost muggy air, still draped over his arm. Anna had, at every turn, encouraged her sister to touch and be touched, and while it was a joy to watch her emerge from her shell, there were times when he wished that she would turn away more often, if only because his skin flushed tellingly as his eyes lingered. Anna was a wonderful person, but Elsa...

Elsa was an intoxicating mystery.

"It's a lynx," he said, keeping his voice low, and she nodded, her eyes never straying from the animal.

"It's beautiful." She didn't move, content to watch the cat as it lounged, and he willed himself to control his reaction at the sight of her enraptured face. There was something in her eyes; admiration, fascination, curiosity as well, and their combination was something he had told himself that he should not want. There was another woman whose eyes watched him, bright and round and filled with joy and laughter and excitement. For some time now that had been more than enough. But it wasn't now.

"Very," he grunted, her eyes darting to him in confusion. Perhaps the forest intended to punish him for the direction of his attention, because at that moment the lynx opened its eyes and then widened them in alarm, jumping to its feet and over the far edge of the rocks in one swift movement. At his side Elsa made a small, bereft noise.

And laid her head on his shoulder.

He stared straight ahead, not daring to look down but hoping that the moment would carry on as far as it could. The soft twitter of birds sounded as the two of them stood together, one longing for something beautiful and new, and the other...

...wishing that he wouldn't do the same.