searlait:
1. This is very, very, very late.
2. I dislike this very, very, very much.
…But you said you wanted it, so here it is.
After a sick day, I’m drained beyond measure - I’m going to bed. Enjoy, and good night!
Summary: She placed her hands against the cold panes and watched as the imprints they left slowly melted away.
She was afraid.
Rated K.
It was the very heard of winter. True winter, when the days were lean and callous, and the frigid winds howled their song through endless nights. Snow fell hard and landed deep, piling and covering and freezing the earth through another long, deadly season. There would always be some who disappeared into it, never to return.
Anna watched it from the windows. She saw once more the colors bleached from the world, shades of white and icy blue that shadowed quickly away to the smooth dark of long, impenetrable nights. She found herself staring out at it often, more often than she had done at any time since it had ceased to be her sole view of the world outside, watching as the snow piled up in the evening squalls, settling on the sills beneath jagged, silvery shards of ice. She placed her hands against the cold panes and watched as the imprints they left slowly melted away.
She was afraid.
Afraid of the winter outside. Afraid to tell anyone that she was afraid. Afraid of what their response might be, the way they might look at her, the pity there would be in their eyes.
Her hand back on the glass – it was snowing again. She shuddered.
She made it through the days with smiles she hoped seemed natural and a constant longing for conversation, distractions. She darted through the chilly corridors, crept close to fireplaces and wondered if she might not be noticed.
There were things that bothered her more now – numbness in her hands and feet, shivering ice inside the castle. For the latter, there were drafty, disused places where sharp little crystals accumulated and spread, and once she had sought them out, imagining they were the footprints of visiting fairies. She found herself now going out of her way to avoid them.
She was much too old to believe in fairies.
There were distractions, of course there were, and she appreciated every one as a source of temporary respite – a beautiful escape. She was still getting used to Elsa’s smiles, the gentle pressure of Kristoff’s hand on her back, the announcement that visitors had been shown to a sitting room. Holidays were celebrated once more. Balls and galas and dinners were held.
But when the snow fell and the wind screamed in the night,s he found herself returning to her lonely vigil at the window, time and time again.
And they noticed.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she was surprised – Elsa missed nothing, sharp-eyed and hyperattentive, and perhaps even more so where Anna was concerned. And Kristoff herded her like a duckling in need of the protection of a nurturing wing. She knew they watched her, talked quietly of their concerns, followed her every move with worried eyes.
But they didn’t know. They couldn’t possibly know. There were some things that scarred far more deeply than the surface of her skin. Things that throbbed in the night, pulling her insistently from sleep and out into hallways cold enough to see her ragged puffs of breath. That was reassuring, somehow – greater cold outside than in. The clouds of her own breath, dissipating but extant: proof that she still lived.
Against all odds, she lived.
It was evening, the snowfall light but the world outside still dark and cold and merciless. She heard the sound of his footsteps but did not turn – she knew his tread. And maybe some part of her had long known he would come for her eventually.
“We’ve been looking for you,” He was a wavery reflection in the ripples of the glass.
“We?”
“Someone told your sister you missed lunch. And dinner.”
She smiled a little, ever-amused that he still said “your sister” or “the queen” anytime he could possibly avoid saying “Elsa.” He had no such qualms with her; she was ever and eternally “Anna,” and had never loved her name as she did when she heard it from his lips.
“Sorry,” she said. “I must have lost track of time.”
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
She sighed. “I suppose.”
“Anna…” He hesitated, then tried again: “Anna, this is normal. I mean, it seems normal. But you can’t let it… you can’t let fear run your life.”
She could feel the bitterness in her smile, hated it but didn’t have the power to hide it. “Like Elsa did?”
“Yes. Like Elsa did.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t have any hidden magical powers.”
“Anna.” His exasperated tone.
“What? I don’t.”
His wavery reflection grew closer. His lips were pursed. “Have you been outside since the snow started?”
She hesitated. She didn’t want to answer. She wanted to lie.
“Anna.”
“…No.”
“Then come with me.”
“What?”
But he already had her, an arm around her shoulder, as gentle as he always was but very firmly leading her away – away from the safe barrier of chilled glass, from the comfort of walls, from safe proximity to fire and life-giving warmth. She struggled away from him as they neared the main entrance, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.
Kristoff let her keep her distance. “Elsa says you always loved winter.” The name again – firm and decisive. “She says changing seasons were always your favorite. You loved the first snow.”
She watched him warily.
“She knows what’s bothering you, and she knows it’s her fault.”
Words escaping of their own volition: “No, it wasn’t! She was scared, it was an accident.”
“That’s what I said. But she still believes she’s ruined something else for you. Something that you loved.”
Anna knew what he was doing. She knew what Elsa was doing. But this somehow did not make the impact any softer, the pain in her heart any less. “I want to talk to Elsa.”
“She’s outside waiting. She has your cloak.”
“…What?”
“We’re going for a ride.”
“With… Elsa?”
“With Elsa.”
She rubbed her upper arms, mimicry of warming, and bit her lip. She still wasn’t accustomed to her fears being worthy of anyone’s notice, or of their creating a response. She wasn’t sure how to respond herself. Her anxieties had always been her own to work through or push aside, private problems existing in tandem with private happiness, private accomplishments, private tears.
But hadn’t she always wanted there to be someone to notice, someone to share things with? Here were two people who had done just that, the people she loved most in the world. So why did their notice, their deep concern, leave her still more fearful?
Because if they couldn’t make it better, then she would have failed them. They would be hurt. They might finally give up on her.
The entrance hall was so cold. She hugged he arms more tightly to her chest, hunched her shoulders against it. She kept her eyes on Kristoff – a source of wary watchfulness, a source of warm reassurance. He was looking back at her with those beautiful, concerned eyes, eyes that sometimes seemed never to leave her. The face she knew better than her own. The person she was most sure she would one day disappoint.
“Come on,” he said, offering her a hand. “Elsa’s waiting.”
She hesitated for another long moment, unsure – then took a deep breath, stepped towards him, watched her hand disappear into his. He drew her protectively close, and she didn’t resist. She leaned into him as the door opened. He was warm – so warm.
And the outside world was frozen.
Another hesitation in the doorway – she could see the shimmery blue of the icy steps, the flickering lights reflecting on them. Her breath caught, her heart – her heart! - hammered frantically under the thin protection of her chest, and her steps faltered. But Kristoff had her. Easy but firm – leading her on.
And beyond the steps, the gathering darkness – and a single circle of light, the lantern on Kristoff’s sled, and Elsa within it, standing with hands clasped before her, Anna’s cloak on her arm. The flickering light brought a sharp yellowish tint to her hair. She was smiling, and held a hand out as Anna and Kristoff slowly approached.
Anna took it. It was warmer than the air.
“Are you up for a ride?”
Anna nodded. She felt dizzy, disoriented.
Elsa released her hand, unfolded the cloak, draped it around her and fastened the clasp. She smiled again and moved Anna’s braids from beneath it. “Are you alright?”
Anna attempted a smile, nodded again. The cloak was heavy, warm, reassuring; she hugged it closer around her, seeking the weight on her arms, the tickle of wool against her neck. Kristoff’s arm was around her, helping her into the sled. She sat gratefully, allowing her weak, uncertain legs to finally give out.
“Here.” He leaned across her and found a pile of blankets – they must have come from the castle; they didn’t smell strongly of reindeer – taking one and spreading it across her lap, tucking it around her legs. “Are you warm enough?”
“I think so.” She found it harder to tell, now, if she was warm enough, or too warm – it never seemed to be enough. But there was a cloak, a blanket, Kristoff to one side, Elsa to the other, and Elsa had her hand again, grip cool and loose but there.
Slim fingers squeezed gently. “Shall we have an adventure?”
Anna looked at her, still surprised at the tease Elsa could put into her tone, and her smile, though still tremulous, felt somewhat less forced. “Yes. Let’s have an adventure.”
Kristoff took the reins, flicked them and clucked his tongue, and Sven took off, the well-oiled runners gliding smooth and clean across the snow. They rode through the silent city streets, and Anna found herself staring, entranced, at the blurry jewels of windows, at flashing scenes of domesticity – a dinner table, a living room, children playing a game before a fireplace. Warm little rooms, locked tight against the winter. Anna envied them.
She shivered, a chill dancing unexpectedly down her spine. Kristoff immediately adjusted the reins to one hand and slipped his arm around her, pulled her close. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
She leaned her head against him and nodded. Her eyes found Elsa’s, but Elsa just raised an eyebrow and smiled a little, shaking her head in mock reproach. She liked Kristoff.
Anna liked Kristoff, too. Sometimes so much it hurt. So much she would follow him even here, through her darkest fears, back into the heart of winter. He had carried her from it before. She trusted him to do so again.
“Where exactly are we going?” Elsa was the one to break the long silence – one more surprise in an evening full of them. They were beyond the heart of the city now, passing the larger homes and farmsteads that dotted the meadows before the land gave way to mountains, heading north.
Anna could feel Kristoff’s shrug. “Just a place I know. It’s not too far.”
“Are you alright?” Elsa was looking at her now, eyes concerned, but Anna couldn’t meet her gaze – could not entirely decide if she was alright or not. “Anna?”
“I don’t know.” She still felt strange – dizzy, almost dreamy, weak, disoriented. Her heart was beating too fast, her breath almost painfully shallow, and her eyes couldn’t focus, everything distant and blurred and hazy around her. All that was certain was the cold.
No – she forced herself to focus; Kristoff’s arm was a warm weight around her shoulders, and Elsa exuded a mild, cinnamon-y scent, a perfume she dabbed on lightly each morning; a familiar, comforting smell. Those things were as real as the snow on the ground. And they were a shield, between her and that snow.
Anna managed a smile for Elsa, though it probably looked as tremulous as it felt. “I’ll be alright,” she said, and Elsa took her hand and gently squeezed.
“Nearly there,” Kristoff said. He was usually talkative, out here where he felt more at home, but he was silent now, uncharacteristically so – though the same might truthfully be said of Anna, tonight. She felt emptied of words, a husk, dried and used up and tossed to the wind.
That wind was strong, out here, insistent, constant. It moaned and whistled and sent trees groaning and bending, and it tugged at Anna with rough, prying fingers. She kept her hand in Elsa’s, stayed tight under Kristoff’s arm, wanting to feel securely anchored. They were deep into the woods now – in the dark of night. There were stars sprinkled above them, and the shadowy, looming sentinels of trees surrounded them. But Kristoff’s control of the reins was smooth and sure, and the circle of lantern light held snug them all. The sled was moving steadily upwards now, heading for the jagged rise of the mountains, rising like pitchy behemoths against the night sky.
Anna tried to take deep breaths, to focus on those and on Elsa and on Kristoff. They had been out for a long time now, and everything was fine.
Everything was fine.
She could almost make herself believe it, grasping in desperation at the very possibility, so long as she was safe here, secure, guarded by movement, the warm circle of light, the people beside her. The cold could not catch her, could not penetrate these walls.
But all too soon, Kristoff veered away to the level ground of a clearing, slowed the sled and finally eased Sven to a gentle stop. Anna felt something sharp and painful twist in her abdomen. The hand not holding Elsa’s found the edge of the blanket across her lap, drew it up a little higher.
“This was always one of my favorite places,” Kristoff said. “Come see.”
Out of the sled.
They wanted her to get out of the sled.
To walk across, into the snow, out in the wind, exposed and defenseless, and too far from home, they wouldn’t make it back in time, and it would be inside her again, the cold, all that cold, it hurt so much, hurt, but she wouldn’t be able to cry, there was no warmth left, no tears, it was going to happen again, it was going to hurt, snow and ice and cold and -
“Anna.” Kristoff had her, had pulled her against him, was rocking her, and she realized she was whimpering, sharp breaths as harsh as the wind. “Anna.”
She moaned and clutched and buried her face against his chest. She didn’t want to see. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to get out. She felt dizzy and ill, nauseated, and she could feel her muscles contracting in violent tremors – useless protection against the cold.
“Shhhh.” He was stroking her hair, keeping her close, keeping her warm. “It’s okay. Nothing here can hurt you. It’s okay.”
“Maybe we should go back. We could try again.” Elsa’s voice – it was trembling. Whatever strength had gotten her this far, it was deserting her. Anna turned her head from Kristoff’s chest, opened her eyes. Elsa had retreated to the far corner of the bench. She was wringing her hands.
“You’re wearing a cloak too,” Anna whispered. How had she not noticed before? Elsa never wore winter clothing anymore, never covered herself from the neck down as had been her wont since childhood. But now, though her hands and head were bare, she wore a long blue cloak, a wool skirt hanging to her ankles, boots.
“It’s more like how it used to be,” she said, and a tiny smile ghosted across her face.
Anna could feel the beginnings of her own hesitant smile. “Remember I never wanted to wear my mittens?”
“I remember Gerda chasing you down the halls when you ‘accidentally’ forgot them.”
“They itched!”
Elsa laughed – light, pleasant, the ubiquitous hand at her mouth, hiding her mirth. And in Anna’s chest, a knot began to loosen – still there, still hard and painful, but less than before. Kristoff rubbed his hang along her arm, squeezed gently.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Elsa’s eyes were locked on Anna’s. “Ready?”
Anna took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then she nodded. “Yes. I’m ready.” She was as ready as she was going to be – bolstered by Kristoff’s warmth, Elsa’s teasing. She was ready.
She could do this.
Kristoff moved her gently away, took the blanket and placed it on the seat, climbed out, offered his hand. She hoped he couldn’t feel the tremble in her fingers when she took it, but his reassuring smile and gentle squeeze suggested he did. She stood on legs like fragile sticks, shaky and threatening at any moment to bend and snap.
She stepped forward – one step. Two. Kristoff’s hand around hers. The wind whipping hard at her back, into her hair, around her cloak.
Behind her, Elsa’s voice: “Take you time, Anna. It’s okay.”
She nodded. Her breath was too shallow to speak. It felt strange – Elsa offering comfort, Elsa the confident one of the two of them. Strange, but nice; it echoed with distant memories of a more innocent time, a little girl who firmly believed her older sister must know everything, could do anything.
Anna still often wanted to believe it. But she knew Elsa never would. She turned to smile back at her.
Oh, how she loved her.
And for Elsa – for Elsa’s strength, Elsa’s courage, Elsa’s bravery – there was nothing Anna would not do. No matter how frightened she might be. She would go willingly back into the winter.
Anna held Kristoff’s hand – gripped it so tightly she knew it must hurt – and stepped up and out of the sled.
The snow was soft, and her boots sank into it; she wobbled, would have gone over it Kristoff’s free hand had not found her arm, steadying her. She oculd feel the cold, already seeping in around her toes, nipping at her ankles. She shivered.
“Easy does it,” Kristoff said.
She nodded.
Her heart was still pumping quick and hard, breaths still shallow, but it was better now – just a tiny bit better. She had gotten out of the sled, and that turned at least some of her trepidation into triumph – even if the wind seemed even louder and stronger, the circle of lantern-light smaller and weaker, and she missed the protection of the blanket across her legs. It seemed she could even smell the cold, crisp and dry.
Yes, she felt a tiny bit better, but she retained her tight grip on Kristoff. He didn’t attempt to move away. If anything, he came closer, almost protectively close, as Elsa stepped delicately from the sled.
“C’mon. You’ve got to see this.”
He didn’t wait for a response – he set off across the smooth expanse of snow, slow and easy but steadily, and if Anna wanted to keep his hand, she was going with him. She bit her lip and tried to focus on her feet, on nothing but the ground before her, on hopping between the prints of his long strides, where his weight had packed down the snow so she didn’t sink quite so much.
“You’re doing well,” Elsa said. And Anna felt just a little bit warmer.
They were away from most of the ambient light of Kristoff’s lantern, the world transformed to blacks and grays pricked by starlight. But there was something else, too – a hazy glow at the edge of her vision, catching her eye, insistent.
“Watch your step,” Kristoff said. “It can be hard to see the edge.”
“The edge?”
He leaned around her, holding out his arm for Elsa. After a momentary hesitation, she took it. “You’ll see,” he said, and led them both onward, forward.
And then, so suddenly her breath caught, Anna did see. She felt her eyes widen, her neck straining for a better view.
Arendelle.
They were at the edge of an incline – not quite a cliff, but high enough that the city looked tiny, a doll’s village. The hazy glow came from within, a thousand lamps, lanterns, fireplaces, and the reflection off the fjord, sparkling like the stars had fallen within. Muted pastels of homes and canvas market stalls were frosted with snow, and the wide roads and crooked lanes were equally purest white with it.
“Your kingdom,” Kristoff said.
Anna forced her eyes away to look at him – he smiled at her – then at Elsa. Elsa had pulled her hand from his arm to clasp with her other at her chest; she appeared as if transfixed, face shining with childlike wonder.
“Elsa…?”
Elsa reached out blindly for her; Anna released Kristoff to entwine her arms around her sister’s, moving closer to her. Elsa was lit as if by her own small son, the lights reflecting from her pale skin, her hair. She was smiling. She was beautiful.
“You said it was a nice view,” she whispered. “But I had no idea… I didn’t know… It’s like a painting from a storybook.” Anna had rarely heard or seen her look like this – emotional, unreserved. She squeezed Elsa’s arm against hers, pulled her closer, pleased with her. Elsa looked a bit startled – but she smiled.
Anna smiled back.
And realized she was no longer afraid.
Oh, there was still anxiety – that still niggled at the corners of her mind, around her heart, in the tips of her fingers. But the terror, the panic – they were gone, at least in this moment. This moment when she got to see Elsa as awestruck and overwhelmed as a child at Christmas.
“I liked the city a lot more from up here,” Kristoff said. He, too, was looking out over the frosted rooftops, the sparkling fjord. “Fewer people.”
“It’s beautiful,” Elsa said.
For a long time, the only noise was the wind through the trees. Kristoff looked up at the night sky, Elsa down at her city, and Anna – Anna looked at the two of them. The two people she loved most in the world. The two she always trusted to keep her safe and protected. Even out here. Even in the cold.
She let go of Elsa. Bent and gathered a handful of snow, held it until she could feel the tingling in her fingers. Then she let it fall, dissipating in the wind. And even in the dim light shining up from the city, she could see the redness in her fingers: warmth. Life.
“What are we doing tomorrow?”
Elsa and Kristoff exchanged looks. “Tomorrow?”
Anna smiled. “Let’s build a snowman.”