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femme–fandoms:

fruipit: femme–fandoms: fruipit: fruipit: femme–fandoms: fruipit: femme–fandoms: fruipit: femme–fandoms: fruipit: femme–fandoms: fruipit: okay, went a slightly different route. Scared this isn’t angsty enough, but I gave myself a few feels. Hopefully it does the same to other people. also, the tense change is on purpose. Hopefully it works. working title: A Life Lived elsa&anna | family/angst | 681 words | k+/g Keep reading It wasn’t until the new Queen of Arendelle posted guards at the base of the North Mountain to keep an eye on the “Ice Witch” that Elsa realised that she really had killed her baby sister damn that really hurts fucking hell why would you do that?!? D: oh wait D: ~ She had forgotten the portrait room; her best friend throughout her childhood was gone, for she’d been locked in the same place as her sister. It was Kai who helped her remember. “Just take a look around, Your Majesty,” he implored. “Everyone feels better after a good walk, and pleasant company.”

And Anna did find the company pleasant. The paintings of a thousand souls, entombed within her walls. There was one, a portrait of Joan of Arc, that called to her. A faint memory. And then she stumbled upon the Royal Gallery. Herself as a child, her father and mother. Her… sister. The same girl who dared call herself Queen while she cavorted with demons. And she was… smiling. Holding Anna’s hand like a delicate flower, the Queen could almost feel the love emanating from the girl. She cornered Kai that night, demanding the whole sordid story. Elsa – so that was her name – hiding herself away, fearing hurting her sister again. Anna chasing after her after her powers had been revealed – “She’s not a monster! She’s my sister!” – and fighting to bring her back. Sacrificing herself… for Elsa. Because once upon a time, she’d loved Elsa almost as much as Elsa had loved her. Anna cried that night. She wept tears that she couldn’t explain. The crown felt heavy on her head. Once upon a time, she’d loved a monster. How despicable. Yet, a part of the Queen’s once frozen heart felt heavy with question; what had she once seen in the monster that made the witch lovable? As Queen Anna scanned the portraits, ghosts of the pasts haunting the very floors he cape whisperes against, she spotted red velvet coverings. With shaking hands, the Queen peeled the covering off, and blinked when she saw a painting of herself seated atop a reindeer, framed by two blondes– the Official Arendelle Ice Master and Deliverer, and… and her sister. Turning sharply on her heel, Queen Anna strode across the Great Hall and into the Arendelle stables, demanding to see the Ice Master. Had he been anyone else, Kristoff would have stuttered out an excuse. But he was Kristoff. Ice-harvester and son of trolls. He didn’t stutter, and he sure didn’t make up excuses. So when the Queen demanded he explain the meaning of the picture, he just looked at her, brown eyes wide, and said, “Happy Birthday, Your Majesty.” He explained to her the details, the care the former Queen had taken to make it perfect. She’d commissioned the best artists in Arendelle, paid for skill and for secrecy. He told her this and more, and only when Anna asked a final, one-word question – “why…?” – did he become lost for words. With a shrug, he gave her a smile she couldn’t describe. Soft and sad. “She’s your sister, Anna,” he said, and she didn’t even flinch at the familiarity. It too, like the portrait, felt right. “She loves you.”

And that’s when Anna breaks. She slumps in her seat and her lower lip quivers, and she can barely get the words out for the lump in her throat. “How?” she whispers. “How could I love a monster?”

She doesn’t expect an answer. He could barely tell her why – how can he explain her own feelings? But, Kristoff steps forward and kneels by her side. “Who says she’s a monster?”

He leaves then – Anna’s in no state to continue. She needs to be alone to think. Anyway, he has business. The ice on the North Mountain is especially pleasant this time of year… Elsa had not been expecting a visit from Kristoff and Sven, but when Olaf jumped from Marshmallow’s shoulder to run and greet them at the double doors to the entrance of the palace, Elsa’s loneliness prompted her to place one foot in front of the other, to slowly walk to the doors. While Olaf and Sven were having a rather gleeful reunion–the same old, playful chase for a certain carrot– Kristoff stepped into the premises and shook off the sleet that covered his body like a dog, prompting Elsa to use her powers to clean the man up with a wrinkled nose. He was genuine and charming, certainly, but he needed certain… lessons on decorum before being released into polite company. “Kristoff, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Elsa folded her hands in front of her while she waited for Kristoff to readjust his attire. “Anna.” Elsa’s eyes widened. Elsa led him through the foyer. Down a corridor and up a staircase, until they arrived at a clear room that was obviously supposed to be a parlour. Kristoff glanced around the brightly-lit room. There were statues and seats; a strange blue fire that gave off no heat, crackling in the fireplace. It sounded like the sound of ice, breaking over a pond.

“You’ve decorated,” he noted, and Elsa let out a dry laugh. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Oaken is good to me. I keep the paths to his shop clear, and he helps with furs and food,” she said, eyes focused on her hands, and not the man sitting on a fur-lined sofa. “I wanted people to be comfortable if- if they ever stopped by.” And what can Kristoff say to that? The unspoken ‘if Anna came to find me’ weighs heavily in the air. But, that was why he was there. For Anna. Kristoff doesn’t know what to say. The look in Elsa’s eyes tell him she can think of only two reasons he is here about Anna; neither bode well for her. “Anna is fine,” he began cautiously. “I’m here because… she’s been asking about you.”

Elsa stood up quickly. Her hands, uncovered, clench at her sides. “Kristoff, I don’t-” her voice dropped to a harsh whisper, “I don’t want to know.” His eyes widened, and Elsa pressed on, not giving him a chance to speak. “I came here so I couldn’t hurt her,” she said softly. It takes a few seconds, and a few dozen blinks, but Kristoff doesn’t interrupt. “If she asks again, tell her… tell her that she doesn’t need a witch for a sister. Tell her to forget me.”

Elsa doesn’t let him say a word. She leaves the room, and he’s escorted out of the castle by Olaf. “Elsa told me this was a holiday, and it is really fun,” he yammered, “but I miss Anna. Is she feeling okay? Maybe all she needs is a warm hug.” He gave Kristoff a massive grin. It, in turn, gives Kristoff an idea.

“Yeah, maybe, Bud…”

Kidnapping Olaf was probably not the most ethical thing Kristoff had done. It was, however, one of the easier things that he had accomplished. The promise of a flower crown and warm hugs from Anna all but made Olaf follow Kristoff like a child offered candy. His ride down to Arendelle was temporarily halted by the soldiers that Anna had stationed at the foot of the mountain, but with a little collaboration, Kristoff managed to pass Olaf off as a snow statue– a gift for the queen, he reported. He was admitted through, and while heading to the palace, filled Olaf in on how Anna had lost her memories. Olaf made a sympathetic noise, clapped his twiggy hands together. “I’ll just have to give her a warm hug and maybe she’ll remember me!” Kristoff hid a smile, and found the Queen in her study, hands on her temples, still desperately staring at the portrait as if glaring hard enough at canvas would help the memories flow. “Your Majesty,” Kristoff announced after clearing his throat, “I bring a gift.” “Olaf?”

“Anna!” The little snowman bounded up to the Queen gleefully. His attempt to wrap his twiggy arms around her legs met with dismal failure as Anna shrieked and jumped backward, knocking the painting to the ground.

The disappointment in Olaf’s eyes could have killed Kristoff, and he quickly ushered Olaf from the room. “In a minute, Olaf,” he said. The snowman nodded. This time, though… he didn’t begin counting. “Kristoff!” Anna hissed once the doors had shut. “How dare you bring one of her minions here? What is this, a ploy to win my favour with a snowman?”

He shook his head. “No. It wasn’t a ploy, Anna,” he said. Then, he sighs. “And Olaf is more than a snowman.” Anna scoffed. “Of course he is. She used her powers and gave him life, Kristoff. Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s much worse than a snowman.” Kristoff felt his heart sink. He didn’t know what to say; it wasn’t until Anna had turned to pick the portrait up off the ground that he thought of the words that might sway her. It was a long shot, but… “You’re right,” he said instead. “Elsa-” And here Anna flinched, but he pressed on, “-gave him life, but he’s not evil. He’s a snowman, and he is more than that.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Kristoff made sure he was looking her in the eyes when he answered. “He’s a memory.”

@femme–fandoms I want to bring this back so if you want to continue it, that’d be awesome :D If not, it’s cool too :P It’s just this is one of my favourite things ever aha. “What?”

Anna’s eyes have furrowed into a glare. Olaf sidles out of the room, sensing the tension but unable to fix it. It leaves Kristoff stuck with her, and for the first time he realises that the girl he helped up a mountain in the middle of winter (in the middle of summer) to save someone… might not be in there anymore. Anna was a queen. She was the queen. She could have him beheaded if she felt like it! But he licks his lips and steels himself. He could always just run away and live with Elsa if it gets that bad. She may even appreciate the company. “Olaf,” he begins again, “Is a memory. He was created because when Elsa accepted her powers as a part of herself, her first thought was her childhood with you. You know the story, Anna. She did everything she could to protect you, and she still is. She looks so alone up there-”

“Stop!” Anna’s voice cuts through, and Kristoff jumps back as though burned. “You think I care?” she demands. She doesn’t give him a chance to answer when she continues, “The only thought I will give to the Ice Witch is in making sure she stays on that mountain where she belongs. And I will not have people sympathising with a- a- a demon. You should know better.” With that, she turns on her heel and stalks out of the room, leaving the Ice Master alone.

Kristoff’s heart falls to his shoes because this Anna isn’t the confused girl he’d left when he went to find Elsa. Anna had thought and pondered and she’d hardened her heart, and now, he wasn’t sure if he could make it any better. He had a feeling Elsa knew, because that night, an unseasonable chill ran through the town. Anna wasn’t seen at all. Aha. It’s back. Reblogging on the commute to work, so… pardon! (That’s th French word for sorry.) Elsa didn’t know, but, being one of her creations, Olaf’s emotions did carry back to her. The disappointment and sadness that ran through Olaf coursed through Elsa as well So while Elsa may not know why she was disappointed and sad, she had an inkling why. She should have known it was too good to last. The years she had spent trying to distance herself from Anna had worked both marvelously and yet, failed spectacularly. She may have kept Anna safe at an arms’s length, but it did nothing to qwell Elsa’s emotions for her sister. Anna had always been there, steady as a beating drum, whether Elsa had wanted Anna there. And Anna never failed her, never wavered in her love. Not even now, when she was steadfast in her hatred for the Ice Witch. Elsa had always thought herself unworthy of love, undeserving of Anna’s pure, wholesome love. Yet… It made Elsa wonder why Anna had been so accepting of Elsa’s powers when she found out… before Elsa froze Anna over and killed her baby sister. How could Anna have loved Elsa so much before, when the Queen of Arendelle so obviously hated and detested Elsa? Mulling her thoughts over, Elsa shifted to one of the windows that afforded her a view of Arendelle, and saw a lone, torch-wielding person struggle up the face of the North Mountain. Elsa squinted against the glare of snow, and made out… Anna?! It tore a gaping hole in her world. The North Mountain is absolutely freezing. Anna probably shouldn’t be surprised, but the thing is, it’s not just icy or cold; it is positively frozen. She hasn’t seen any sign of life since passing the mountain’s base, and it’s more than a little deterring. But she presses on because she’s made it this far. She told herself she didn’t care, and she doesn’t quite know yet if that was a lie. Perhaps because it’s a statement made on half-truths: she doesn’t care for the witch, but does she care for the woman? She cares for her people, some of whom suffers from the chill that occasionally swept down from the mountain. And… she cares about the girl she used to be. And that girl cared about the wi- Elsa. She cared about her… sister… Once upon a time. Anna can’t keep lying. There’s something missing, and she knows it. It’s only when she’s standing on the threshold of the most magnificent structure she’s ever seen that she admits to herself that she feels less empty here. Like… like she’s home. She barely hesitates when she lifts a hand and knocks on the door. As Anna waits for someone or something to open the door as the sound of her knocks reverebrates over the Ic- Elsa’s frosty dominion, she couldn’t help but feel like something was intimately familiar about this act; about knocking on doors and waiting for them to open. It felt like she had been doing so for her entire life. There was no answer even after a long, few minutes. Holding her torch aloft, Anna tried knocking again, to the same result. Growing frustrated, Anna shouted with more ire than she was feeling, “ELSA, YOU BETTER OPEN THIS DOOR OR I’LL MELT IT DO–” Anna sprung back, nearly dropping her torch as the doors creaked open. “O-okay. So doors can open by themselves.” Anna huffed herself up, brushed a few snowflakes off her shoulders, and trodded forward… before slipping on a patch of ice. “Wh- whoa…whoa…!” After regaining her balance, Anna looked around the ice castle, full of frozen fractals all around. “Whoa…” “What do you want, Queen of Arendelle?” The voice held no sign of irritation, but merely a deep-set exhaustion. “If my running away was not clear a message enough, Ann– Your Majesty, here’s me spelling it out for you: you can rule Arendelle, and I just want to be left in piece. Alone. Away from everyone else. Where i won’t hurt anybody, and where nobdy will hurt me.” A beat. “Can we at least have that truce for now, Queen Anna?” And the end of her speech, Elsa looked positively more haggard than before. Anna forced herself to look away from Elsa, dropping her gaze to her boots, already feeling her resolve to hate Elsa weakening. Elsa sighed, “Why have you come here, Anna?” Anna still refused to look up when she replied, “I… I want to know more about you. About me. About… us.”

She’s led through a foyer, unadorned save for the ice-fountain in the centre. The ice isn’t really blue, and Anna pretends that it’s more interesting than the woman in front of her. After all, it’s not unusual to be intrigued by ice that hums and throbs with light colours of pink and yellow.

Elsa takes her to a room, one decorated with ice furniture covered in furs, and vases of crocus flowers. She gestures to one seat, and takes her own opposite. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even look at Anna, until finally the silence gets to her and she coughs.

“I am afraid I don’t have anything to offer,” she says. “I do hope you aren’t too hungry.”



Anna gives a shaky nod – no, she isn’t – and Elsa sighs. Her mouth forms a word, but no sound escapes, and Anna wonders, briefly, how long they could play this game if they were both truly desperate enough.

But, she was the one to come here. It’s her burden to speak, even if it’s just to prompt more answers from Elsa.

“I don’t know what I feel,” she starts, a rush of breath. “I don’t know you and I feel like I should. I feel like it should hurt, when I see you, in here,” her hand came to cover her heart, “but it doesn’t because there’s nothing there.”

She swallows and looks at Elsa, eyes wide and imploring. “What did you do to me?”

There’s silence for a few moments as Elsa gathers her thoughts, and when she speaks, her voice wavers. “You know the story,” she says quietly. “Please don’t make me tell you again…”



“No,” Anna says. “I know what happened to a girl, but I am not her. How can I be? When you cursed me—” She sees Elsa flinch, but barrels forward anyway, “—when you cursed me, you destroyed that girl. She’s gone. So tell me what you did.”



Elsa isn’t looking at her when she replies. Her head is bowed, and her shoulders quiver. “There’s your answer. I killed you.”

But that answer isn’t good enough. Anna doesn’t realise she’s jumped to her feet. She doesn’t notice the colours of the walls, shifting and melting from the bright pastels to something darker, deeper.

“I am Queen, and I order you to tell me what you did.”



When Elsa doesn’t move, doesn’t even react to the words, Anna marches forward. She heaves the girl up by her shoulders, pushing her away almost immediately. Elsa stumbles back, surprise or shock – Anna doesn’t know – and keeps going until her back hits the wall. There’s snow in the air around them, swirling faster and faster with each passing moment until it converges at a single point between them.