Disney makes sequels look easy.

Unofficial* follow-up to How Do You Take Your Tea. Bridging the gap between Frozen and Frozen Fever, there's eleven months and years of lost time to muddle through.

So I had so much fun writing Tea, and received so much positive feedback from this amazing community that I thought I'd just carry on.

In the same way that Tea bridged the gap between the Great Thaw and the end of the film, this fic is aiming to fit between the end of the film and Frozen Fever - which apparently, is just under a year. As such, this fic will probably be longer and a bit slower paced than the last. There'll probably be more of a gap between updates.

I'm really excited to get going with this piece - I hope you like it.

As ever, all and any feedback is appreciated.

BFM x

(*By unofficial, I mean that it does work as a stand alone piece, but there are a fair few references back to Tea, and it picks up right where Tea left off.)

Anna was distraught – and making very little effort to hide it now that Kristoff was gone.

"Elsaaaa," she was stretched out on the sofa in the corner of the room like some tragic maiden, an arm draped across her face and feet dangling over the edge of the sofa. "Elsa, please give me something to do."

Elsa shook her head for what felt like the hundredth time. "How you ever managed to survive thirteen years on your own is beyond me, Anna. He'll be back soon."

"A week! When I gave him the sled, I didn't think he'd take it for a 'test drive' – " her fingers sketched quotation marks – "the same day! What about dinner? What about afternoon tea?"

"Anna," Elsa put down her quill and prayed for patience. "As much as I would love to take you out and skate all afternoon – " Elsa glanced at the pile of paper beside her. "Do you not have a book or something to read?"

Anna sighed theatrically. "No, I finished Frankenstein last night. The sky was awake. I couldn't sleep."

"The library is enormous."

"I don't feel like reading," she sighed, and gazed out the window at the deep orange of the evening sky, looking for all the world like some romantic heroine.

This did not impress Elsa.

"Olaf." Elsa turned to the little snowman who had been sitting expectantly at the side of her desk, humming. "Can you take Anna and find her some kind of entertainment before I banish her from the kingdom?"

Anna sat up in mock-horror. "You would not."

"I would. I am this close to sending you off after your mountain man."

Anna huffed.

"Everything's been so fast the past few days. And when it hasn't, Kristoff's been here. I don't know what to do with myself," Anna frowned, and fell back onto the sofa. "What did I used to do?"

Elsa shook her head. "You are impossible."

"Are you sure there's nothing I can help with?"

Elsa was on the brink of replying with a weary no, Anna, it's fine – when something made her falter.

" – no."

Olaf looked up. "You hesitated."

Elsa glared at him. She ran the short, cut feathers of her quill between her fingers.

Anna sat up eagerly. "What?"

"I'm just sorting through the last couple of compensation documents. For damage to livelihood. I haven't even started on the claims for structural damage yet." She sighed.

Anna nodded. "Ok."

"It's mostly done. There's just a few left which are… trickier." She twisted the quill between her fingers, hardly noticing the ink staining her right hand. Olaf hopped up onto the desk and (rather grotesquely, Anna thought) scooped a bit of his snow in lieu of a licked finger and began scrubbing the ink from Elsa's hand.

"Thank you, Olaf," the queen said absent-mindedly. "Did I tell you much about the grievances, Anna?"

Anna shook her head. "Not really."

Elsa hesitated. "A few people approached me about the death of loved ones."

Anna's jaw dropped open. "What?"

Elsa groaned and dropped her face into her hands. "Don't. It's bad enough already."

Anna reeled back her shock, instantly feeling guilty. "I'm sorry – it's just – I hadn't thought about that, really. Oh my God. Are you sure it was –?"

Elsa nodded. "Yes. I mean, those who came to me spoke of the death of older relatives, mainly – a few younger ones who were already suffering with consumption – but winter is always hardest on those most vulnerable. We know that."

Anna rose and walked to her sister. "God, Elsa – I'm so sorry. But it's not your fault."

Elsa shook off her sister's touch. "It is. Perhaps not directly, but I contributed to the death of those people. Anna," she looked up, eyes totally hopeless in a way Anna hated to see in her strong, capable and always-sharp sister. "I have offered to pay for the funerals of these people – and cover all other associated costs – but I don't feel it's enough."

Anna reached for her sister's hand again, willing her not to shy away. To her relief, she did not. "Elsa, I don't know how much more you can do. What's done is done. You didn't mean for this to happen. Though I wonder – " she was lost in thought for a moment. "Should we go to the funerals? To pay our respects?"

Elsa blanched.

"No no, we don't have to. I just thought – maybe – "

But Elsa silenced her with a nod of her head. "Maybe. Would it be appropriate? I wouldn't want to intrude. I mean, who wants the murderer at the victim's funeral?"

"Elsa!" Anna's voice was sharp. "Don't you dare."

Elsa made no response, brooding. Anna pushed the papers out of the way and sat on the desk, leaning over to hug her sister.

"Oh – damn – "

The sound of glass on wood and Elsa's surprisingly colourful vocabulary told her she'd knocked over the inkwell.

Elsa shooed her from the room, frantically trying to save papers from the inky onslaught, telling Olaf to keep her out of further trouble.

"It's ok, Anna," chirped Olaf, reaching for her hand. "Elsa's just stressed. She thinks she spent too long on the ice rink this afternoon when she should have been working."

"That's silly," Anna sighed. "It's been a crazy few days. She's allowed a break."

Olaf waddled along and smiled sadly. "Elsa doesn't see it that way. Now come on," he tugged her little hand with his. "Let's go to the library. Will you read me a story? I can't read."

The wind pushed the hair back from Kristoff's forehead and ruffled the fur of his winter jerkin (which, it transpired, had been whisked away but some unseen maids at the castle and returned to his guest quarters perfectly clean the previous day), and there was no sound but the pounding of Sven's hooves and the hiss of sled runners on snow.

Kristoff let out an appreciative sigh. It did corner like it was on rails.

He'd felt a pang of guilt at leaving Arendelle that afternoon – but he'd not sold a crate of ice in over two weeks now, and though he knew Anna would spare no courtesy in her hospitality, he wasn't comfortable not being able to make ends meet. He wouldn't use her as a charity.

"But… we just got back. Do you have to go so soon?"

She'd practically fallen into him at the side of Elsa's ice rink, giggling, and they'd sat watching the skaters glide and wobble their way round in equal measures for a moment before he'd mentioned heading back into the mountains.

"I'll only be gone a few days. A week at the most. I've not sold any ice in ages – and I have to try out that new sled. And the tools."

She'd looked crestfallen, but put on a surprisingly brave face.

"You promise you'll come back?"

"I don't think anything could keep me away."

But she'd stuck out her little finger with a determined resolution, and hadn't shared his smile when he'd wrapped his own around it.

"Anna, of course I will. It's just… you know. Ice is my life."

Admittedly, he didn't know how true that last part was now – his life had taken some very unexpected turns these past few days – but it was all he knew.

So he'd tacked up Sven and donned his hat and jerkin as Anna babbled on about how, when he got back, Elsa would have firmed up all the details about Official Ice Master duties. He safely stowed his gloves in the brand-new knapsack from Claude's Climbing Supplies, along with all the new picks and saws he was dying to try out – and though he'd been careful not to let Anna see, the almost-finished little wooden reindeer and his whittling tools were also carefully packed in there.

Anna had fiddled with the end of her plaits and handed him a carefully wrapped pack of food and a huge cup of black tea for the journey. He'd given her a tentative kiss on the forehead and spurred Sven off, trying very hard not to look back.

He smiled down at the still-hot tea. It had a little lift-up lid on it and everything, like one of those foreign beer tankards, so as to keep in heat and not spill everywhere.

He slowed Sven to a trot and took a sip.

She'd be fine. Elsa was there, Hans was on a ship back to the Southern Isles, and Arendelle seemed to have returned to relative peace. She'd be fine.

Kristoff spurred Sven on again, anxious to reach the ice fields before dark.

Hans felt seasick.

Ordinarily, he had a strong stomach at sea.

But, ordinarily, he wasn't squatting in a damp brig that smelt strongly of fish.

Hans seethed mutinously. He hadn't even had a bath since he'd swum out of the fjord, and his once-white suit was stiff with salt and grey with grime. His hair hung in rough, salty ropes about his face and his neat sideburns had blurred with a week's worth of stubble.

It was safe to say Hans was not taking incarceration well. He was thankful that the journey to the Southern Isles was no more than three days.

The boat gave a great lurch and Hans closed his eyes, taking deep breath through his mouth, fighting down the rising nausea.

As he opened his eyes, he saw a sailor weave toward him, plate of bread in hand, dull eyes hardly meeting Hans' as he approached.

"How many leagues are we from Arendelle?"

No response.

"I asked you a question."

Still no answer as the sailor crouched to slide the plate through the brig's bars.

"How many leagues are we from Arendelle?"

The scrape of the plate on the wood, and the sailor briefly, bored, met Hans' gaze. He still made no response.

He straightened, but before the man could turn to go, Hans' arms shot through the bars, seizing the front of his shirt and dragging him forward, slamming him against the bars.

"I said," Hans snarled, face inches from the sailor's, "How many leagues are we from Arendelle?"

"A-around seventy leagues."

Hans dropped the man's shirt and stared with contempt as the sailor stumbled backward.

"Now, how difficult was that?" He drawled. His stomach growled, but he managed to eye the offered bread with disdain. "Now, Ambassador Perrault may have told you I am prisoner, but as of yet, I have not been charged with anything. I am Prince of the Southern Isles. Now, if you know what's good for you, you best find me something other than stale bread."

There was a chill to his voice and a satisfied sneer as the man nodded, scrambling away.