"Tommy, you're going to be just fine," Anna coos, smoothing sweat-dampened hair away from his face. The woman's hands are clenched together just below her chin as if in prayer, and her husband has left the doorway to put his arms around her tense shoulders.

"Indeed he is," comes Elsa's voice from behind them, firm and almost commanding, yet with an undertone of tenderness. She's arrived too soon following Kristoff's departure to fetch her, but nobody thinks to enquire as to the details of how. Elsa makes not a sound as she approaches the sickly boy, and it is the absence of the swishing of petticoats that fully draws Anna's attention to the cotton shift her sister has changed into, even more humble than her dress earlier in the day. But despite her rustic attire, the sudden appearance of the Queen draws immediate response.

"Your Majesty—" Tommy's father begins to say in formal salutation, but immediately his wife cuts in, shrugging out of his comforting embrace. "Please, you have to help! Queen Elsa—" Suddenly her eyes darken, a flash that Elsa tries not to wince at, because she recognises it; she's seen it before, that fear of her witch-like power surfacing out of an almost animal instinct. But even as she watches, the apprehension gives away to maternal worry, to desperation. "My Queen, his fever... it's summer, he needs ice but it's not reaching the physician—!"

Of course. What with the spell of wintery weather she'd set off, Arendelle's many ice harvesters, along with their families, must be struggling, not only from the couple days of no sales, but also from time-delayed effects. Once the coldness gave way to summery heat, no sensible ice harvester would venture into the mountains for some time yet, for the ice would be melty and unstable, and whole carts and the horses that pulled them might have to be left behind if trapped. Moreover, smaller companies who rented rather than owned equipment such as the specialised weight-distributing and pressure-reducing ice carts would take time and possibly capital they didn't have, to renegotiate those arrangements. All losses considered, it made harsh survivalist sense to sell what ice the harvesters had remaining to those who could afford it, even if those people didn't need it most.

But those problems could wait. Moving intuitively, Elsa extends a hand, making as if to touch the woman's wildly gesturing arms in reassurance. But again, a flinch, and halfway through the motion Elsa switches from sympathetic to stricken with uncertainty. "Please, let me help," she says, trying to reach past the woman's inherent distrust. "What's your name?" Elsa asks, forcing a calm tone and gazing levelly at Tommy's mother even as small pinpricks radiate up and down her arms, physical manifestations of her own nervousness.

"Sophia," the woman answers, darting a glance first at Elsa, then up at her husband, who supplies, "James," even as he resumes his reassuring half-hug with an expression of somewhat helpless resignation.

"Alright, James and Sophia, I'm just going to cool down the room, alright?" Even without standing too close to little Tommy she can feel the heat emanating forth from his skin. She's developed this extra sensitivity to minute temperature differences as a side effect to her ice powers. "Are you ready?"

Nods from both of them. Elsa exhales deeply as if expelling all distractions. When she speaks again it's with a purely businesslike tone. "Close the door and block the window," she instructs no one in particular, and plants her foot firmly on the ground. A thin frost radiates outwards from the contact point, that rapidly thickens and extends onto the ceiling, so that a wave of cooler, denser air sinks down upon them. Then Elsa touches a hand to the bucket that Anna has abandoned at the bedside, and immediately the water inside freezes into jagged shapes. A sharp gasp, and her eyes widen in silent terror; her thoughts about Anna reminded her of their conflict, her years of secret pain. Not again. Control it! Control—

Then Anna's voice, accompanied by Anna's light touch on her shoulder: "You can do this," her sister tells her warmly, encouragingly, and Elsa's momentary panic and sustained edginess just seem to melt away. The harsh-looking edges of the ice chips round out with a little precise thawing: just think, love, love.

Anna turns to Tommy's parents, whose expressions have grown a little wondrous as they watch the room progressively entering a mini-winter. "Let's hold some ice to his forehead and limbs, shall we?" she suggests to them, tactfully neither including nor excluding Elsa, who nevertheless shuffles as far away as she can go while still being able to regulate Tommy's body temperature, which is, thankfully, dropping slowly but surely. The tiny boy shivers, but a look of relief gradually comes over him.

Outside, as the room cools, late evening falls upon Arendelle. Kristoff, who met Elsa midway between the castle and the physician, is making his way back, half-jogging and half-walking having surrendered Sven to her. It was obvious to him from her remorseful distraction that she was walking down to apologize to Anna. He would hurry more to check on Tommy, but his feet are already stumbling and his legs already wavering in his physical and emotional weariness. Besides, he has full confidence in Elsa's abilities.

Anna, too, tires, the events of the day taking their toll on her such that Sophia notices and chides with soft, grateful eyes, "Princess Anna, you look exhausted, get out of this cold and damp at once."

It's a testament to the truth in the statement when Anna doesn't even protest, merely removing her chip of ice from Tommy's forehead and, too weary to reach over to drop it back into the bucket, hands it instead to his mother. Elsa starts to turn and strategically leave the room, too, when Tommy's mother, smiling slightly, extends Anna's ice chip to her, indicating she can take over if she so wishes.

Immediately Elsa finds herself grinning, glowing in the moment, and Anna can practically feel her joy without looking around as she exits. "Thank you," Elsa finally says, settling beside Sophia on the bed and smiling at Tommy, who promptly dozes off.

"He looks so peaceful now," Elsa comments, gazing at the weary boy tenderly.

"All thanks to you." A smile, grateful, relieved.

"I did this to him," Elsa says, suddenly bitter, and removes the ice chip from his forehead as if afraid she would somehow hurt him with it. "I... I didn't mean to, of course not, but... I had to put things right."

Sophia moves her hand back into place and holds it there a moment before sighing. "With all due respect, your Majesty... there are other things that need to be put right, too."

"Go on," Elsa says cautiously.

Some time before, a messenger — their shop assistant, she guesses — came to call James away on urgent business. "He's talking to his trading partners... in Weselton," Sophia explains hesitantly. "We own a sleigh business and he has contacts providing him with cheap quality wood from those parts. They're angry, their orders won't be filled, and with our own losses we don't know if we'll even be able to pay the physician." She finally meets Elsa's gaze, briefly. "He's a kindly man, but he can't give free medicine to everyone, he's got to eat too..."

"Thank you for telling me this," Elsa tells her solemnly, touching her hand. Her mind is whirling with too many thoughts once more. The immediate danger to Tommy passed, her mind returns to the diplomatic discussions of the morning, of which she grew impatient, her mind more intent on working things out with her sister. Not only must she reconsider her trading blocs — which she could not simply lift, or risk appearing conciliatory and like a figurehead — now she also had to solve the resource inequity demonstrated by today's near-tragedy.

Just outside the room come the sounds of Kristoff's boots, and as she's contemplating this latter issue, her mind falls unerringly to him.

I'm sure you'd all but given up hope this would ever be updated. So sorry for the hiatus, it's been rough. Kristanna in the next chapter (whenever that is).

m.e.