The Queen was supposed to be resting, the doctor had ordered as much. And so she lay in bed, her baby in a cot nearby, a book clutched in her hands. Not that it kept her attention much.
Her daughter was perfect. Tiny, fragile, but perfect. Every so often, she glance away from the book to check on the small bundle, but everything seemed fine. After flipping a few pages, a sneeze reached her ears and she looked over at Elsa. What she saw made her freeze.
There was snow in the cot.
Frantically, she climbed from the bed, and pulled her baby into her arms. Looking around fearfully, she check her daughter over. While Elsa had been sleeping, the frantic mother’s movement caused her to wake, her cries echoing through the room. Rocking her gently, Idun tried to make sense of what had just happened.
It was July, the middle of July. How could there be snow in the baby’s cot? As Elsa continued to cry, her face turning redder and redder, more snow fell from the ceiling, and Idun’s blood ran cold. Could it be…?
Rushing from the room, she walked quickly through the corridors, to her husband’s office. Not bothering with knocking, she burst in, panic written on her features, and screaming baby in her arms.
“Something - something’s wrong,” she said, her voice frightened and shaky.