Kristoff appears similarly unprepared for fatherhood, as confining as the ill-fitting royal garb that the life he married into demands. He realizes too late that wealth, too, is a kind of slavery, and he longs to feel the snow collecting in his beard, and to walk long, flawless rivers of ice. Two weeks hence, he will be gone in the night.
The baby, for its part, appears too stupid to ever to be unhappy. Each day, Anna will wonder if it's too late to leave the child to the trolls, as it mindlessly bangs a wooden block against its chubby thigh. She and Elsa will grow distant once more, the responsibilities of parenthood and the monarchy creeping like a frost on their patience with each other. Family was their first palace and their first prison, and alone together, they will once again succumb to the cold.