First Anna Week prompt!

It’s not…happy, per se, but, oh, I don’t know. I might have interpreted “Young Anna” a little loosely, because there are time skips, but yeah.

Rating: K

Pairings: None

Summary: There’s a little nook on the rooftop, just out the third floor sitting room window, and, over the years, Anna has paid it far too many visits.

…

There’s a little nook on the rooftop; Anna’s not supposed to know about it, and neither is Elsa, but they’re adventurous, and mischievous, and, in Anna’s defense, Elsa showed it to her first.

On the third floor, two lefts past Papa’s study, there’s a windowsill in a sitting room off the main hall. The frame juts out onto the roof, and, if the girls are very very quiet, they can scale an armchair nearby, lift the latch, and push the glass outwards without alerting any of the staff. Gently, gently, the window opens, and Elsa takes the first step, throwing one leg over the sill and setting both feet carefully on the other side. She balances on her toes as she extends her arms and lifts Anna over.

They’re standing precariously on the slanted tiles, but Elsa leads Anna to safety, right to the little peak above the jutting window. Clambering on top, Elsa again helps Anna up, and the three year old giggles and claps, because she already knows that Elsa doesn’t often break the rules, and so there must be a special reason for their current actions.

There is.

It’s the sunset.

Bright hues of orange and red tendrils reach out and paint the sky, and, far below, Anna can see the townsfolk. She’s only been out to the village a couple of times, but it’s enough to recognize a few landmarks, and from here she can see the town square and the market vendors and the chocolate stall and a group of men with ice and horses. The woods and the town wall stretch up far beyond it, up up up to the mountains and the sky.

Mama and Papa say it snows on the mountains all the time. Anna asks if that means there’s someone else out there like Elsa, but they smile and shake their heads and talk about clouds and flying water and cold air and Anna doesn’t really understand but it’s snow, and snow means Elsa, and Elsa means fun, so she laughs and twirls and declares that someday, she’ll go to the mountains and meet this second Elsa (because really, what else could be causing it).

Elsa’s arms are around her waist as they sit on the roof, a secure grip, for safety’s sake. Anna’s not scared of falling, though. She’s not scared of much of anything, to be honest, but she’s especially not scared of falling, because she knows Elsa will always be there to catch her.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Elsa asks. Her eyes are transfixed on the setting sun.

Anna nods and flashes a toothy grin. “Very!” she exclaims. Wiggling a bit in Elsa’s hold, Anna snuggles against her, and rests her head on familiar shoulders. She can’t see it, but she can feel Elsa’s smile, and her own never once loses its fervor.

“You’re warm,” Anna murmurs, shifting in Elsa’s arms.

The sky’s nearly asleep as Anna glances upwards to catch Elsa beaming as bright as the sun.

…

Anna’s six when she goes alone for the first time.

It’s hours past sunset, and the staff and her parents are abed. She assumes Elsa is too, but she doesn’t know anymore.

As the window squeaks and she hauls herself over the sill, Anna teeters a bit on the edge, unused to the slant of the roof without a steady pair of hands to guide her. She rights herself and quickly climbs up the peak above the window.

Perched on the top, Anna sighs and curls her knees to her chest. It’s dark out, and cold, and her breath frosts in the chill autumn air.

In the distance, she can see the mountains, and the snow that seems to cover them year round.

They remind her of Elsa.

She’s not sure why, but they remind her of Elsa, and she hugs her knees tighter and squeezes her eyes shut and she tries, she tries so hard not to cry.

The sky is clear, but it starts to rain.

…

When Anna is eleven, and she celebrates her sixth birthday alone, she finds she doesn’t have much of an appetite for chocolate cake anymore. Mama and Papa are worried. “Anna, darling, don’t you want any more?” Mama asks gently.

Papa adds, “The chefs worked extra hard today to make this - they know it’s your absolute favorite.”

Anna swallows the lump in her throat, glances at the empty chair next to her, and pushes her plate away. “I’m tired,” she says softly, and, as she turns away, she notices the worried glance that passes between her parents.

So she goes to her room, and stuffs a few pillows under her blankets, and then creeps back out; then she’s off to the third floor sitting room and out the window. Her feet are surer now as she swings easily over the sill, confident from lots of practice alone.

Clad in only a green nightgown, she straddles the peak of the window and rests her head against the tiles behind her and closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the mountains.

It’s hard, sometimes, being happy.

It’s in Anna’s nature to trust, and to hope, and she knows that tomorrow, she’ll bounce and sing and play and crash into things far too valuable to be crashed into, but not even Anna can be happy all the time, and even if it is her birthday, it’s not the same.

It hasn’t been the same for six years.

…

When she’s fifteen, and thoroughly alone, she sits on the roof all day long and doesn’t move.

On a hill in the distance, two large stones stand sentinel, and Anna bites her lip and chokes back a sob, because she’s cried far too much lately.

Drawing her cloak about her, she watches the sunset, watches the colors tint the mountains in the distance pink and gilded gold. The snow sparkles, and Anna shivers.

She closes her eyes as the sun drops below the horizon, and she wishes for warmth.