Frozen fanfiction: Søsken
Summary: An accident in the North Mountain forces Elsa to spend several weeks in her brother’s apartment under Anna’s care. During that time, Anna realises there is more to Elsa than meets the eye. The truth about Elsa’s past comes to light after an unexpected family reunion, and both girls’ lives begin to fall apart when they realise Elsa wasn’t the only one with a big secret and a turbulent past.
Anna/Kristoff - Elsa - Family - Family drama - hurt/comfort - Modern AU - Elsa & Kristoff are adoptive brother and sister - Ice bros - Found family - Serious injuries - Mental health issues - Health issues - Frohana
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Someday, somehow
The office was quiet, like any other Sunday evening. From the moment his father had passed, Agdar had made it a rule for the company and manufacturing plant to have Sundays off — no more rotating shifts. For that reason, his office was empty, as was the entire plant beneath the offices.
The silence helped him clear his mind, which hadn’t stopped spinning since the early meeting with Haugen that morning. He needed to talk to the board. There was no other choice. That was why he had called an urgent meeting for early Monday. Twelve hours from now, to be precise, and he still had no idea what to say or how to explain the situation.
He should have expected the board to place a hold on the transaction beforehand. He had, in a way, anticipated it. But he had hoped for more time. At least enough time to prepare a proper explanation, or get hold of his savings and return the money before it caught the accountants’ attention.
Shaking his head, he let out a low chuckle, imagining what his father would have thought of his mistakes. Rookie ones, at that. He had disappointed his father in more ways than he cared to count, but, for reasons he couldn’t explain, the only disappointments that still stung were the ones tied to the business.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the desk and pressed his palms against his eyes, trying in vain to dull the pounding headache that had been building all day.
“I knew I’d find you here,” a voice cut through the silence.
Agdar raised his head, letting his hands drop with a loud thud on the desk, and noticed Mattias standing by the door.
The man, now in his sixties, had once been one of his father’s most trusted advisers despite being considerably younger than the rest of his consultants back then. Sensible and sharp, Mattias had a deep understanding of both business and politics, paired with a nonchalant attitude that made even the gravest matters feel less suffocating.
The gray in his beard and the weathered lines on his face made him look sterner than he was, though his eyes still carried the same focus Agdar had always admired. Whether he was speaking to businessmen or plant workers, the man had a natural talent. Always getting his point across with simplicity. Having always valued that, Agdar hadn’t hesitated to keep him around after Runeard’s passing. He was still grateful that Mattias had stayed with the company through the hardest times, before their technological breakthroughs made their products market leaders. Agdar truly considered Mattias his right hand.
“I could tell from your call that the urgent meeting was more serious than I’d imagined,” Mattias continued, stepping into the office and pulling back a chair to sit on the other side of the desk. “Things were calm when we left yesterday morning. Care to tell me what we’ve managed to do in the last twenty-four hours?”
Agdar hesitated, glancing down at the crumpled notes scattered on his desk. Incoherent words and half-formed sentences that he tried to put together in an attempt to explain his situation. None of it was good enough to convince the board why he needed the money so desperately without exposing things he wasn’t ready to reveal.
“Agdar?” Mattias tilted his head, searching for his eyes. “I haven’t seen you this worried since the last recession. What’s going on?”
“I need to tell you something,” Agdar said suddenly, surprising even himself. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share, or how much he could risk saying aloud. But if there was one person whose advice he trusted, it was Mattias. He only hoped the man wouldn’t be too relentless in his judgment.
Mattias straightened slightly, shifting into the posture he usually reserved for tense board meetings. “Sounds serious.”
Agdar exhaled slowly, hesitating for a moment longer before he finally admitted, “I have another daughter.”
Mattias blinked. “You mean, on the way?” He paused, reading Agdar’s expression. “Are congratulations in order?”
“No. It’s—” Agdar shook his head. “I have another daughter,” he repeated, slower this time. “She’s older than Anna.”
Mattias leaned back, the old wood chair creaking under his weight. “Older? I’ve never heard of her.”
“No one has.” Agdar’s gaze dropped to the mess of notes again. Saying it aloud felt heavier now, as though the full confession had been placed on the table between them. “She was born before Iduna and I got married. We left her at an orphanage over twenty years ago. We told ourselves she’d have a better life with another family.”
Mattias’ brows lifted, though he didn’t speak at first. When the initial shock faded, he nodded slowly. “What about her mother?” he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“Iduna’s the mother,” Agdar clarified, sharper than he intended. He’d assumed it was obvious. He hadn’t considered the possibility of people thinking there had been another woman before his wife until now, and he wondered if the board would leap to the same conclusion.
Mattias gave another slow nod, letting the information sink in. “How old is she?”
“Twenty-four.”
Mattias rubbed his goatee, deep in thought. The silence stretched uncomfortably, long enough to make Agdar shift in his seat, but he held back, waiting for his reaction.
“So,” Mattias said finally, meeting his gaze, “let me get this straight. You and Iduna had a daughter out of wedlock. You gave her up for adoption…”
“Yes.”
“Four years later, you had Anna.”
Agdar closed his eyes, bracing against the weight of his calm, measured tone. He could hear the unspoken judgment beneath it. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“Did Runeard know?”
“Yes,” Agdar replied, having expected the question. “We kept the pregnancy, as well as her birth, a secret for as long as we could. My father was never supportive of my relationship with Iduna, as you know. But I eventually needed to—”
Mattias leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, hands clasped together. “Why are you sharing this information with me now?” he interrupted. “After all these years?”
Agdar hesitated, thrown off by his lack of interest in the backstory or his father’s reaction to the news. Though, thinking about it, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Mattias rarely voiced opinions about Runeard and preferred to focus on solutions.
“I think you know the reason…”
“You need to let the board know there’s another successor. Is that it?” He guessed, knowing the board would be involved.
“Not entirely, but I fear that’s what they’ll think this is about.”
Mattias’ gaze sharpened. “I certainly thought it was strange for you to request a board meeting first thing Monday morning. For a moment, I assumed it had something to do with the unusual payments we managed to stop— that maybe someone was trying to use company funds in your name.”
“It’s all related.”
“Be clearer, Agdar.”
Agdar’s throat tightened. “Elsa’s in the hospital. She’s very ill, needing intensive care. She’s got a long recovery ahead of her.”
“I’m assuming Elsa’s your eldest daughter,” Mattias said, waiting for a nod before continuing. “Were you trying to pay for her treatment with company funds?”
Agdar avoided his gaze. “Yes.”
Mattias drew a slow breath, rubbing his hand over his chin again. “You should’ve told me this weeks ago.”
“I know.”
“The board won’t like this.”
“I need your help breaking the news and persuading them to approve these extraordinary transfers.”
Mattias leaned back, weighing his words carefully. “I’ll be honest with you, Agdar. The first thing they’ll want to know is if you’re paying for this woman’s silence.”
Agdar froze, looking back at him. “What do you mean?”
“Is she really Iduna’s?” Mattias asked evenly. “Or are you hoping I don’t ask too many questions about your past and just take your word for it. It’s hard to believe Iduna willingly abandoned her own daughter.”
Agdar’s jaw tightened.
“And,” Mattias continued, “is she actually sick or is this a cover?”
“I’m not lying to you, Mattias,” Agdar snapped, anger rising in his voice. “She is our daughter. She’s sick. And I’m not buying— I’m not buying her silence.”
Mattias studied him for a moment, then walked to the small bar in the corner. Without asking, he poured two glasses of whisky, handing one to Agdar before grabbing his own.
“So you are buying someone’s silence,” he said quietly.
Agdar inhaled sharply, feeling cornered. He hated how careless he’d been with his words. It was proof of just how much he needed Mattias’ help.
Mattias didn’t press, respecting the boundaries Agdar wasn’t ready to cross. His silence was answer enough. “All right,” he said finally, taking a slow sip. “What exactly do you need from me?”
Agdar gripped the glass tightly, staring into the amber liquid before answering. “Help me convince them this isn’t about hiding a mistake. It’s about helping someone who needs it.”
Mattias nodded slightly, lowering himself back into the chair. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why now, Agdar? After all these years.”
Agdar’s thumb traced the rim of the glass. “We found her recently. Or rather, she walked back into our lives by chance. We’ve been trying to fix our past mistakes ever since.”
“Will paying for her treatment erase those mistakes?”
“Of course not,” replied Agdar, dropping his gaze.
“Is there another way she can get the care she needs?”
“Look, Mattias, she’s seriously sick,” Agdar snapped. “I won’t let—”
“I’m not suggesting you abandon her again,” Mattias interrupted, his tone firm. “I’m asking the same questions the board will. They’ll want to know exactly who the company is funding, and why. As is, your story won’t satisfy them. You and Iduna abandoned a child, only to marry and have Anna three years later. Twenty years go by, and now, suddenly, she’s back and needs money.” Mattias sighed tiredly. “You’ve put yourself in a corner, Agdar.”
“I know. I know,” he repeated, frustration finally taking over. “But no one else can help her. It’s more than her adoptive family can afford, and I won’t let them go into debt when I have the means to help.”
“Why isn’t insurance handling this?”
“It’s complicated.”
Mattias studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You have my word, I'll do everything I can to convince them. But I need everything — dates, amounts, paperwork, all of it.”
“You have it,” Agdar said quickly.
“Good. Once we have the numbers, we’ll work on your speech. Polish it so it paints you in a better light.”
Agdar immediately began pulling documents from his briefcase, spreading them across the desk. When he glanced up again, he noticed Mattias watching him, a quiet sadness in his eyes.
“What?” Agdar asked softly.
A small smile drew on his lips. “How’s the girl? Is she stable?”
Agdar hesitated. “I suppose. I haven’t seen her yet. She’s— It’s complicated.”
Mattias held his gaze a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “Let’s start with one step at a time. You can tell me about the rest when you’re ready.”
Agdar sank into the chair, relief and dread washing over him at once.
---
The wall-tall windows flooded the table with morning light, though still the conference room felt colder and darker than expected. In front of Agdar, sharp expressions waited for him.
The board was seated around the long oak table, every member watching him, silent, expectant, as if compelling him to explain why they’d all been called. A neat stack of papers and documentation rested untouched to his side, close to where Mattias was sitting. The man remained with his arms folded, silent, respecting rank, but ready to step in if needed.
Knowing there was no point delaying the inevitable, Agdar cleared his throat.
“Before we begin, let me be clear, this is an extraordinary meeting,” he said. “While nothing substantial has changed within the company since our last session, I need to address the matter of the unusual bank transfers, as I know several of you have expressed concerns.”
That earned a few nods around the table. Douglas Jørgensen, one of the older members, cleared his throat as he tapped his pen lightly against his notepad. A small, impatient gesture Agdar was familiar with.
Agdar went on, steady but careful. “The transfers in question were authorized by me, under an internal discretionary fund.”
“For personal use?” Johan Rosenberg, seated on the opposite side of the table, asked. His tone was neutral, almost casual, but Agdar knew better. It was a measured question, one meant for him to start being more clear.
“Yes,” Agdar admitted. “The funds were for medical care for—” He paused, clearing his throat again, hating the nerves that made his voice falter. “For my daughter. She’s currently in hospital and will need treatment for the foreseeable future.”
A low murmur broke around the table. Several members exchanged glances, brows drawn in confusion.
“Anna?” asked Nora Solberg, the only woman on the board and a longtime family acquaintance. Her concern was genuine. “Is she alright? What happened?”
“Anna’s fine.” Agdar reassured the members, “given the circumstances,” he added softly. “But it’s not her I’m talking about.”
Nora frowned. “Then who?”
Agdar’s mouth opened, then closed again. The words refused to come, and he couldn’t remember what Mattias had suggested he said.
Mattias shifted beside him, placing his hands on the table and straightening back.
“With your permission,” he said, his calm voice cutting through the tension. At Agdar’s brief nod, he addressed the room. “Agdar has another daughter. Her name is Elsa Bjorgman. She’s twenty-four and is currently receiving sepsis treatment at Vitalis Health Center.”
He then searched through the documents, pulling out the medical record that contained only the essential information. Without hesitation, he slid it across the table for the rest of the members to see.
A thick silence settled over the room. Every member’s gaze moved from Mattias to the paperwork before them, then, finally, to Agdar.
Agdar met their eyes one by one, steadying himself. There was no turning back now.
“My wife and I had Elsa before we were married,” he began. “We—” He cleared his voice again. “We left her in the care of an institution we trusted and didn’t maintain contact. That was primarily my decision… and my mistake. By the time we acknowledged what we’d done, she’d been adopted, and we were denied any possibility of finding her.”
He drew a slow breath, pushing through the weight in his chest. “Less than a year ago, she came back into our lives. Since then, we’ve been doing our best to rebuild a relationship with her.”
Saying the words aloud was unexpectedly grounding. It forced him to own them and finally step into the role he should have claimed years ago.
There was a long pause for a moment. Then John Eriksen, one of the younger members, who had recently taken his late father’s seat, broke the silence.
“You’re saying,” he began slowly, “that the company has been funding medical care for a woman no one here has ever met. Someone who isn’t listed in any family documentation or contingency plans?”
“She is my daughter,” Agdar replied. His tone was guarded, not liking Eriksen’s implication.
“She might be,” Eriksen countered evenly, “but for the company, and the investors, she isn’t. She doesn’t exist.”
Before Agdar could respond, Jørgensen cut in, his deeper voice grounding the discussion before an argument could erupt. “Mattias, you mentioned sepsis, did you not? What’s wrong with her? Is this a preexisting illness or…?”
Mattias, clearly lost for words, looked at Agdar who answered in a heartbeat. “Complications arose after an accident. Nothing more. Her doctor is optimistic she’ll recover if the treatment continues.” He scanned the room, trying to gather their reactions. “All the more reason to consider allowing me this exception.”
The board fell quiet, analyzing his words, weighing their implications.
Finally, Kornall Dahl, the most pragmatic voice in the board, leaned forward. “And how long,” he asked slowly, “did you plan to keep her existence from us? Why not introduce her formally? If she were acknowledged as part of the family, her treatment would’ve been covered by the insurance, would it not?”
“I originally had no intention of involving the company in personal affairs," Agdar said carefully. “Especially since Elsa is still adjusting to the idea of having met her biological parents. You may understand this isn’t easy for her.” He hesitated, then added, “But this situation escalated quickly. I had to act. I used internal funds because I couldn’t secure access to my own assets fast enough. I take full responsibility for that decision, and I intend to repay the company the moment I’m in a position to do so.”
Taking the opportunity to draw the attention back to what was needed, Mattias stepped in. “Funding this medical care will delay a few of our latest projects. But it’s nothing we haven’t done in the past. What matters now is how we proceed. The board can choose to formalize the medical support under humanitarian sponsorship and it might not necessarily attract investors’ scrutiny.”
Eriksen leaned forward sharply. “What happens after? Shall she be regarded as your successor?”
Agdar frowned, but Mattias was the first to respond. “That’s not what we’re discussing.”
Eriksen continued, ignoring him, “I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering what will happen after this, am I?” He asked, looking around at his peers. “She could have a say in the company. Investors will wonder what happens now. They trust Anna’s reliability. This woman’s however—”
“Elsa.” Agdar corrected, his eyes narrowing.
“Right. Elsa.” Eriksen corrected himself tiredly. “She could become a problem later on. In your absence, she could demand her share. The company can’t cover that without selling part of the plant or the more advanced projects.”
“Anna is still the designated successor,” Agdar said firmly. “Elsa has no interest in the business.”
“That’s what you want to believe,” Eriksen shot back. “You’re looking at this through rose-tinted glasses. If she chooses to claim her rights, we have to comply. The stock market will react to this sooner or later.”
“I agree with Eriksen,” Jørgensen said, his tone calmer but no less serious. “This changes how the company’s perceived. Once employees hear about this, it’ll spread. The values we’ve promoted for years will come under scrutiny one way or another.”
“Then we manage it,” Mattias said with conviction. “We can’t pretend she doesn’t exist because it’s inconvenient. If we respect Agdar’s private life and control how the information circulates, it doesn’t have to become public knowledge. And if it does, we’ll frame it for what it is: the company supporting someone in need. That’s the narrative we hold onto.”
“The press might be interested in knowing the full story if it becomes public knowledge.” Nora commented, pointing out the risks.
Agdar inhaled deeply. “Then I’ll face it. This company was built on responsibility and family values.”
Nora leaned back slowly, studying him, then gave a small nod. “Let us see the figures,” she said finally, “as well as the projects that would have to be postponed. We’ll take a full board vote before noon.”
Agdar nodded once, placing a steady hand over the stack of documents beside him. “Here’s everything you need to review.”
---
The conference room had mostly emptied, but the air around Agdar still felt heavy. The tension remained, like smoke that refused to clear. There were low hums of lingering comments as the last members of the board picked up their things and made their way out.
Agdar remained seated at the head of the table, shoulders slumped against the leather chair, the transcript of the meeting lying open before him. Selma, his secretary, had left it there before heading out to start preparing some necessary paperwork after the meeting. He had read it twice already, yet his eyes kept wandering back to the same few sentences, as though repeating them would somehow make them easier to carry.
The board had agreed to cover Elsa’s treatment. Some members had been reluctant, but none had dared to vote against it in the end. They all accepted the same truth: denying a young woman medical care was inexcusable.
Still, their approval came at a cost. Two conditions, both of which Agdar had agreed to, though one unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
The first was transparency. It sounded simple enough in their words — fair even. But it was a lot more difficult to put into practice than they imagined. Their request was for Elsa to now be formally acknowledged as a member of the founding family on paper. They could guarantee for the insurance to cover any future medical needs as long as the documentation was in order. It was logical and sensible. And yet, Agdar’s chest tightened as he thought of what it’d mean for Elsa. Would she understand the necessity or would she see it as a deceiving way to force her back into the family?
The second condition was far worse. Disengagement. The word alone hit him like a punch to the gut. He knew exactly what it meant. Sooner or later, Elsa would have to sign a carefully worded agreement. They’d ask her to give up any right to the business, her name neatly erased from succession and ownership records, despite the previous acknowledgement of her existence.
The more he read those words, the sicker he felt. He had agreed to convince her to sign it. The thought made his hand clench against the armrest until his knuckles turned white. In other words, he had agreed to disown her.
The only two people who had stayed behind didn’t speak. They simply watched him as he stared down at the transcript, letting the silence sit until Agdar finally lowered the pages and met their eyes.
Nora and Mattias had known his family longer than most. Nora, always composed, had returned to the company after Runeard’s death and had since become one of Agdar’s closest confidants on the board. Mattias, steady and loyal in ways Agdar didn’t deserve. They had both stayed to keep him company, knowing he wasn’t taking it well.
Nora slid a chair closer, resting her elbows on the polished table, while Mattias leaned against the tall window, arms crossed.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Nora said softly. “The vote went your way.”
“Barely,” he murmured, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the armsrest.
“Still,” Mattias added, his voice steady, “a win is a win. Your daughter will receive the care she needs.”
They let the words settle for a moment before Nora leaned forward, folding her arms on the table.
“I’ve known you a long time, Agdar. I knew your father, too.” Her tone shifted, her words measured. “This is how Runeard would’ve handled things.”
Agdar’s lips tightened. “I know, but it doesn’t make it right.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Nora said, sternly. “This is the kind of decision he would have made. Not you.”
“I had to meet them halfway,” Agdar replied, his voice low, defensive despite himself. “I need to have everything in order by tomorrow.”
“You said Elsa wants nothing to do with the company,” Mattias said carefully. “If that’s true, then disengagement might not be as bad as it looks. Or is that just what you’re hoping for?”
Agdar shook his head, rubbing his forehead. “She doesn’t know the first thing about stocks or boardrooms… I don’t think she wants this. She wants nothing to do with me.”
Nora studied him for a long moment before asking, more gently, “So you think she’ll sign?”
He hesitated, then exhaled. “She’ll sign if it means I stay out of her life.” The words tasted bitter. “But this—” He pushed the transcript away from him. “This was the only thing I could actually give her. I didn’t give her my name. I didn’t give her the life she deserved. And now I’m stripping her of her birthright?” He paused, his throat tightening. “Anna and Iduna will never forgive me.”
Nora and Mattias exchanged a pained look, but neither spoke. Business advice had always come easily to them; family matters, on the other hand, were different.
Mattias cleared his throat softly. Desperate to shift the focus to something other than Agdar’s past mistakes, he asked, “What’s she like?”
Agdar blinked at the unexpected question and leaned back in his chair, thinking about the question. “She’s withdrawn,” he finally said. “Quiet. She doesn’t trust easily. But she isn’t unkind. Just… guarded.” His brow furrowed, his voice softening. “She’s a good person. Kinder than she has any reason to be, after everything she’s been through.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t believe I keep making things worse for her.”
“She’s still young,” Nora said gently. “She’s survived this far without you, Agdar. She’ll manage. You’re helping her now — the only way you can.”
Agdar gave a small nod, though it looked more like resignation than agreement.
Mattias pushed himself off the wall and slipped his suit coat back on. “For what it’s worth,” he said, choosing to stay with the glass half full, “I’m glad the vote passed. I wouldn’t have slept tonight knowing we’d turned our backs on her.”
Agdar nodded and rose from his seat, walking them both to the door.
“If she’s anything like what you’ve described,” Nora said as she stepped out, “I hope we meet her someday.”
He watched them go, the silence returning as soon as the door clicked shut behind them.
Agdar stood there for a moment, motionless, before his gaze fell back to the papers scattered on the table. With a tired sigh, he sat down again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He buried his face in his hands, trying to hide the shame that was threatening to consume him.
Ever since Anna had first come to him, explaining what the Bjorgmans needed at the hospital, he’d felt — for the first time in years — that he was doing something right. Signing those authorizations, sending those funds… Each action felt like stitching together a small piece of the past, helping put together what he had once torn apart. But now, all he could think about was that it wasn’t only the past he had taken from her, it was her future as well.
Every act of help came attached to a cost. A cost Elsa didn’t even know she was paying.
That truth broke something in him. His eyes brimmed with tears and, this time, he didn’t hold them back. He sat there, silent and trembling, haunted by the realization that he was becoming a mirror of his father. And he despised it.
He hoped that someday, somehow, he’d make it alright.
---
A different chapter, but one I was eager to write.
I had planned just one scene from Agdar’s POV, but I ended up liking the idea of showing the whole meeting. I hope I haven’t bored you with so much business stuff. I think it was worth showing what this domino effect is causing.
Also, I’ve been reviewing my notes and realized I might tweak a few things. I’ll finish Søsken as planned, but so many new plot ideas came up during this story that I’m already considering a sequel. What I’m trying to say is, sorry in advance! LOL
I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think.
I’ll try my best to get up to date with my replies and comments. I apologise to all of you who have left so many lovely reviews and I haven’t replied yet. I read every single one of them and I love them! I’ll get back to you, I promise.
Read you all soon!
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As usual, let me know if I need to stop tagging you. Take care!
First my apologies, for not writting in relations to the last two SOSKEN, chapters. 58 makes me cried. But the new one makes me angri, because is a great example of the behavior of the members of the Board of big Company when they think there is a possible threat to their interest. From a begginer to a Master, loved the journey you allowes to travel with you. Great job.
