The Present

At first Elsa thought the clamor of heavy downpour was only in her dreams. It reminded her of the waterfalls up on the higher mountain peaks. The waters there rasped and hissed as they beat down onto the jagged rocks below. She'd gone with Anna before. They'd laid out blankets over the mossy stone and ate apple slices and cucumber sandwiches while Shelby grazed on the green.

She rolled onto her stomach and pressed her face into her down pillow, slipping her sleep-stiffened arms underneath and clutching it hard to her face. A small ripple of pain shot through her wrist and she flinched, arousing her frustration from days before as she'd struck the tin water basin and sent it flying into the air.

She was not dreaming.

Elsa opened her eyes and realized that she hadn't heard the waterfalls that she'd imagined in her lucid sleep. It was the drumming of rain on her window that woke her as a storm raged on from the other side of the glass. The hollow wails of the wind were barely audible over the rain.

The memory of that picnic in the mountains still lingered and she recalled how Anna held tightly onto her from behind as they cautiously rode Shelby down the steep rocky mountain trail on that hot summer day. The heat of Anna's body pressed against hers should have been stifling, but it tingled instead, leaving a warm glow on her back. Another twinge of pain from her wrist and she was alone in the rain again, drenched and troubled as Shelby struggled to keep her hooves from slipping in the mud. Then muddied from head to toe when she'd lost her footing while dismounting. Elsa pressed her face harder into the pillow. She did not want to remember what came next. The stables. Their urgent groans. And their ruffled clothing and bright flushed faces in the aftermath of their tussle in the hay.

Something had been lost that day.

She wasn't sure what it was, but she'd felt it as sure as if it had slipped right through her fingertips. Dropped into the unknown.

The hands on the marble mantle clock were impossible to see from the darkened corner of her room, but she guessed it had to be after midnight. She knew she should stay in the comfort of her blankets, but she felt restless now, and no amount of shifting and turning would keep her in bed any longer.

So Elsa crawled out of bed, stepped into her white fur slippers, and lit the oil lamps in her room. She was lighting up the last one when she noticed the letter on the dresser, still unopened, with a large wax seal and the initials AJH pressed into the wax. She'd set it there days ago but had forgotten about it with all the distractions that followed.

Distractions, she derided herself silently. Sulking doesn't qualify as a distraction.

She'd been avoiding Anna. Suddenly council meeting were running longer, and meals were brought to her quarters to save on time. And when she could not avoid being in her presence, she refused to make eye contact all the while pretending that things between them were the same as always. But she could feel the persistence in her stares, and the slight hitch in her throat when Elsa was certain that Anna wanted to say something about that day in the stables. She never let her. Before Anna could breathe a single word, Elsa would excuse herself, already halfway across the room before the princess could voice any protest.

Elsa sat down on her bed and broke open the letter's seal, quickly shuffling through the pages until she came across a pencil sketch of herself standing on a large rock cliff overlooking a rocky shore near what appeared to be a small port. As always, he signed the sketch with his middle name, "James." He included one with every letter; it was his way of bringing her along in his travels, he'd explained, and so it became habit for her to look for them. Sometimes he added a token or a small souvenir of whichever port he happened to be passing through. According to his letter, this time it was the Isle of Portland.

She didn't have to read the inked pages to know what sort of news he sent her way. He told funny stories about his adventures at sea, and typically had a great deal to say about his crew-mates. He'd often made mention of his female captain, a shrewd and fearless woman he admired whose features skirted on cat-like, and Elsa was usually left feeling a bit of envy for the freedom that Captain Amelia possessed.

Sure enough, Augustus ended his letter with that same impossible request. And as always adding, 'I'm still waiting for your answer.'

She set down the letter on the bed and exhaled sharply. The answer always at the tip of her tongue.

A soft rap at the door drew her surprise, and whatever her answer may have been quickly dissipated like a fog in the Midday sun.

"Elsa?" came a timid voice from the other side of the door.

"Elsa? Are you still awake?"

Every muscle in her body froze, and she held her breath. She could see two small shadows cast under her door by the light of the corridor lamp. They shuffled indecisively for a few beats before they disappeared. Elsa was about to exhale in relief when they reappeared, this time without hesitation.

"Elsa?"

She sighed sharply, resigned to the fact that Anna was not about to give up. After another deep breath, she answered.

"Anna?" She made a point to sound surprised, masking the dread in her voice.

"I'm coming in."

The door cracked open and Anna peered in, a slight tremor seizing her hand as she gripped the doorknob tightly. One look at Elsa and she took a resolute breath, pushing the door wide open. She cradled Elsie in one arm. The infant was wide awake and clinging to her mother's long braid. As soon as she saw Elsa, she broke into a wide toothless smile, drool dripping out her mouth as she stirred excitedly; tugging on Anna's braid like a church bell.

Elsa felt compelled to stand when she realized that Anna was not alone, but Anna quickly stopped her, not wanting Elsa to go out of her way.

"It's okay," she told her. "Please don't get up on my account." But the truth was that she was mostly afraid, afraid that if Elsa got up, she would find another reason to get away. It was partly the reason she had chosen to bring little Elsie along. Anna knew she wasn't playing fair, but she figured that her sister would not find it so easy to turn her away with an infant in her arms.

An awkward silence set in. Anna stood outside the doorway waiting, and Elsa continued to avert eye contact.

"It's late," Elsa pointed out, partly hoping that it would be enough to get Anna to turn around and return to bed. But Anna only nodded in agreement.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Me neither."

Anna bit her lip and took a tentative step forward, placing her square in the doorway. All the resolve she bore just moments ago had quickly dissipated. She searched Elsa's face for some kind of invitation or an encouragement to enter, but her eyes seemed more preoccupied with just about everything else in the room but her guest.

"Mind if I set her down on the bed?" Anna asked, raising Elsie a little higher. "She's small, but after a while it's like lugging around a giant rock." She forced a laugh, but couldn't mask the slight nervous quiver in her voice, and wondered if it sounded as unnatural to Elsa as it sounded to herself.

"Yes, go ahead."

She watched Anna shift the baby in her arms, carefully supporting her head as she gently lay her down on the bed. Elsie gazed up at Elsa, observing her with utter fascination, completely oblivious to the spit bubbles that formed over her mouth as she gurgled. The infant extended an uncoordinated chubby arm toward her, vying for the embroidered silk fabric that her nightgown was comprised of.

Elsa caressed Elsie's downy head, smoothing down the soft blonde locks of hair only to watch them spring back up. The child latched onto her pinky finger and squeezed tightly, like a miniature vise, dissolving the barricade that Elsa had formed over her heart and filling it with wonder, even as the child refused to let her go. Elsa glanced up at Anna, meeting her eyes for the first time in days. It still hurt, but their distance had helped ease the ache in her chest.

"She likes you," Anna told her as she slowly eased herself onto the edge of the bed, seated just an arm's length away from her.

Elsa replied with a mere "oh," but couldn't completely fight off the smile hinted at the corners of her mouth.

"Everyone else makes her cry," Anna went on. "She practically shrieks her head off whenever Gerda tries to hold her."

This time Elsa bit back the smile, feeling secretly pleased as she noted how the child continued to gawk at her. Little Elsie released her finger and squealed with delight, pounding her plump arms on the mattress as she beamed toothlessly at her aunt.

"She's probably a bit crazy about you."

She met Anna's eyes again, but was slightly fazed by the solemn look reflecting back in them.

"Other than me, she only likes it when you and Kristoff hold her."

She felt that twinge again at the mention of his name, and this time Anna caught a glimmer of it in Elsa's face.

"Amazing. She looks so much like mother," Elsa observed, clearing her throat. "Look at that face. That nose."

"Elsie looks more like you, though." Anna caressed the silvery blond curls on her infant's head, the color identical to her sister's. "She's even got your eyes."

Another look crossed between them. This time Anna leaned forward as she reached for a tendril of hair that had fallen over Elsa's face, looping it around her finger before brushing it back and tucking it behind her ear. Her fingertips grazed past the soft rim of Elsa's ear then down her jawline, trailing off at her chin.

"Such beautiful eyes."

Elsa could do nothing but stare back. Speech escaped her as surely as her lungs forgot to breathe in that moment. Bits of that night came floating back to her again. She remembered Anna's wet lips on her jawline, and the knots in her stomach as she'd kissed up her neck and nuzzled her ear. Anna's hot breath on her face as she had sought her lips in the darkness of that library and her imploring tongue, teasing and coaxing her mouth open. There was the glint in Anna's eyes, her dilated pupils with rings of cyan blue, like dark pools of sin drawing her in. And the heat building at the pit of her stomach. She remembered…

Stop it.

Not to give herself away, she slowly closed and reopened her eyes, willing the memory away, but she could still feel Anna's hands and lips on her body like a phantom ache, forever imprinted to memory.

Elsa tore her eyes away from Anna's and watched as little Elsie wiggled on her back, still too small to turn over on her own. She tickled the baby's plump little chin, and Elsie burst into laughter.

Anna looked down. She wasn't sure why she did it, what made her reach for her. After all, this wasn't why she'd pried her way into Elsa's bedchamber tonight. And yet, her hand and her mouth had moved with a mind all their own, stringing together suggestive words and taking advantage of Elsa's nearness to tease her with unsisterly advances. Much like she had four days ago.

In her mind, she could still imagine all those stupid buttons. She'd wondered why Elsa bothered with such a complicated dress instead of fashioning one out of ice. It had been her undoing. A stupid dress with a ridiculous number of buttons. Tiny buttons. So small that even her own petite hands struggled to fasten them through the threaded loops. Not only that, she also had to contend with Elsa's silken smooth back, bared to her like an open invitation.

'Just this one time, just for tonight.'

The words resounded in Anna thoughts and she imagined herself from just the year before staring back with mocking eyes. It's what you wanted, right?

Right?

But her eyes were accusing and pointed. So what do you call what happened in this room four days ago? What you did just seconds ago?

I didn't mean to.

She bit the inside of her mouth hard and could feel the voices fade as she broke the skin and tasted copper, but she caught the whisperings of that final accusation.

Liar.

"I'm not."

"You're not what?"

"I'm not feeling myself," she replied in a strangled voice, very aware of the curious look Elsa had cast her way. She kept her gaze down, noticing for the very first time the creased clump of pages barely tucked under an opened envelop. Even with a broken seal, she could still make out the initials of the sender.

"I haven't been myself lately," she explained distractedly as she realized who the initials belonged to. "Not this past year."

Elsa shifted uncomfortably, tension filling every part of her, and dread weighing on her like a suit of armor. Her stomach clenched and she felt nausea flutter up her throat.

And we'll never speak of this again.

She stood up and walked over to the window, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched rain rattle against the glass.

"We've all been changed by this past year," Elsa said, her back still to Anna. "You're married now, and you're a mother. Kristoff is learning how to be a royal. And I've got my responsibilities." And Olaf is probably in the Antarctic by now.

But you've always had them, Anna wanted to say. She opened her mouth to protest, desperately wanting to tell her that she wasn't talking about motherhood or marriage, even though those things had certainly played a pivotal part in her life. Nor was she talking about the typical changes that come with time. It was about being afraid and holding back, and not knowing what to do about it. But she noticed the tremor in Elsa's back and realized that her sister had understood exactly what she meant.

And she was also afraid.

"Do—do you think we can ever go back?" Anna asked, swallowing the knot that formed in her throat. "Like how it used to be?" She waited for her answer, watched as her head tilted in contemplation, unable to read her from behind. And just as she feared that the long stretch of silence was just Elsa's way of avoiding an outright rejection, she turned around and faced Anna with an uncertain look in her eyes.

"I think…I think that would be harder."

The air in the room seemed more suffocating, and Anna's breathing grew shallow as the tightness augmented in her throat. She fought against the sudden desire to cry.

"Can't we try?" She choked out, barely trusting herself to speak for fear that her words would crack through her fragile composure. It can't possibly hurt to try, can it? But Elsa wouldn't answer, instead, she looked away. There was no contemplation or doubt on her face, just resignation.

Elsie grunted and looked up at her mother with imploring eyes, wondering at the sadness that threatened to overflow. When Anna didn't respond, the infant frowned and tears welled up over her azure eyes before she broke into a painful howl. Her pale complexion quickly flushed red and tears covered her round cheeks.

In that moment Anna realized that she had not brought anything along that might help pacify the child. Scooping her up, she rested the baby against her chest, nesting Elsie's small head in the crook of her neck as she gently rocked her. The infant paused for a moment as she was repositioned, but her screams continued unabated. Anna scanned the bed for anything that might serve as a distraction when her eyes fell upon the letter again.

"I have something that might help," Elsa said as she hurried to the closet. She disappeared into the large walk-in and Anna waited a few seconds before she riffled through the pages with her free hand.

It had bothered her at first. Seeing what appeared to be a long and intimate letter sprawled out on her bed where Elsa had been reading it in candlelight. The way Anna saw it, candlelight was typically reserved for secret things, intimate things that should not be exposed to the light of day. And Elsa had never given any indication that Augustus Hawkins could be someone who would require secrecy. Especially someone who could write her a letter that could easily serve as the first several chapters of a novel.

A memory came to her. It was hazy and faded with time. But she'd also been drinking. The night of the first Grand Ball they had thrown under Elsa's reign, Anna had stumbled upon Felicity Malachi being sneaky as always. Although Anna had required the stability of Kristoff's shoulders to keep her upright, she had no problem deducing that Felicity was up to something. The girl had been peering from the edge of the entrance to the main gallery, clearly hiding from whoever she was spying on.

Anna had been tempted to call after her, but then Felicity pulled away from the doorway, stepping backwards, clearly startled by whatever she saw. In her state, she'd failed to notice the stand behind her with the crystal vase resting on top, and in an instant it lay shattered in a million pieces on the marble floor.

Felicity must have heard them approach because she turned around and met Anna's gaze. "I'm sorry," she'd apologized, then mumbled, "I should probably go to bed," before she'd disappeared into the darkened hallway. She hadn't given the shattered glass a second thought, much less bothered to respond to Kristoff as he bid her goodnight. It didn't surprise Anna to learn that she'd been spying on Augustus and Elsa. Felicity was always chasing after his coattails like the love-struck and jealous little thing that she was. Later, when Anna learned that Mahlia Malachi was a spellcaster, she would often wonder why Felicity had never convinced her mother to cast a love enchantment on Augustus for her.

It had never occurred to Anna that something might actually be going on between Elsa and Augustus. Felicity's reaction that night seemed like nothing more than her usual overreaction, and when he returned again months later, they never hinted at anything romantic. She'd never seen him reach for Elsa's hand the way she had longed to do, other than the formalities that came with greetings. And he didn't enter her private space the way that Anna often invaded it, or nervously look away when her look penetrated his. Anna never saw it.

Yet his letter implied that they had been corresponding for quite some time from the way he prattled on about people she'd never heard of and places she'd only read about in books. Anna could still hear Elsa rummaging through her closet, but she knew that it wouldn't be much longer before she returned, and quickly shuffled to the last page.

The ache in her chest grew wider. And Elsie's screams only seemed to get louder.

She noticed the drawing first. The artist had perfectly capture her eyes, the delicate strokes hinting at a yearning hidden inside them. A look that Anna once believed Elsa had reserved only for her. And somehow Augustus had captured it, as if it were a familiar thing. Something easily recreated from intimate knowledge.

The blood in her cheeks burned as she gripped the letter in her fist and that demon that reared its head on the night that she took Elsa, returned. But this time it scoured at her insides and clasped painfully around her chest, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

"I found it," Elsa announced as she made her way back into the room.

Anna slapped the pages back down on the bed, quickly straightening them as best as she could, before Elsa caught her. But as she returned carrying a small carved wooden box, Elsa seemed unaware of any misdoings.

She set the box down over the letter as she sat and twisted the latch open. Anna wasn't sure what to expect, but she was still too tense to care. When Elsa reached inside, a small rattle was heard from inside the box, and Elsie's bright red face suddenly stilled and her cries died out. She turned her small head toward the direction of the curious sound, seeking it out with her inquisitive eyes.

It was a baby rattle. The handle was carved from ivory and inscribed with names in their native writing, and although the rattle itself seemed to be a hybrid of sorts, it was carved with a lavish geometric pattern all around it, like an ivory snowflake.

Elsa shook it and little Elsie gawked at it with her mouth open.

"Did you have that made?" Anna forced herself to ask as the infant squirmed happily in her arms, still mistrusting of her own voice.

Elsa shook her head.

"It was mine. And before me, it belonged to father." She held it closer to Anna, careful not to obscure the ivory handle. "You see the inscriptions? It's the name of every first born in the ruling line, going back to our great-great grandfather."

Sure enough, she saw her father and Elsa's name inscribed next to each other. It wasn't hard to tell the older markings apart. Compared to their father and grandfather's names, the indentations in Elsa's were much more pronounced. That's when she noticed the inscription under Elsa's name. At first she thought it was a mistake, but the incisions that formed the letters were much more recent and Anna could still see some of the powdery residue.

"You added Elsie's name? But she's not—"

"—my first born?" Elsa finished for her. "I don't care about that."

She handed the rattle to Elsie, who had already been straining eagerly for it. The infant gave it a few tentative shakes, testing its functionality before breaking into an amused laugh. Anna set her down on the bed again wondering how something as simple as a rattle could bring a child so much joy when she felt so miserable.

"Anna," Elsa called for her, the tone of her voice once again heavy and resigned, and filling her with dread. "About before. About what you asked." Anna held her breath, and waited for the sky to fall. "I think that we could really use some time apart from each other. Maybe after Elsie's christening. I was thinking that maybe you and Kristoff would enjoy spending some time at Uncle Claudius' family estate. It's only two days away, and it would be the perfect time for you to get some tutelage on international trade, maybe on the judiciary too."

Elsa search her eyes for approval, and Anna nodded numbly in assent. She stared down at the box, tracing the carved patterns with her eyes then noticed the last page of Augustus' letter peering out from underneath, taunting her with one horrifying line.

'I'm still waiting for your answer.'

~X~

She remembered. And she tried to forget. But it was ever present in the back of her mind. The rustling sounds as buttons were undone and fabric was cast off, left crumpled on the floor. The trembling in her torso and the nerves in her stomach as a soft hand traced up her knees and gently pried their way between her thighs. In that moment, she was there again. The past made present once more; revisited almost like a living memory.

She was overwhelmed by the feel of Anna's flesh inside her, the tension in her hips and up her back as she strummed a rhythm in her aching hollow, seeding it with urgency. Then a small pain beneath her ribs began slowly consuming her, emptying her. Shaming her.

Elsa struggled to hold on, riding the tightness that upsurged and ebbed in the pit of her stomach, and then only swelling. She felt it rising. And with it, felt fear rising. A primal urge completely new to her, and yet the sensation was inborn to her flesh, clenching and filling that hollowness, and leaving her feeling vacant and whole as Anna coaxed something profound and surreal. And terrifying. Something beyond words.

And there could not be words. Her tattered breath would not permit it. There were only the soft and mangled groans that come with release, and their heavy breaths, barely audible over the throbbing rush of blood droning in their ears, and the unbearable ache that only expanded as their mouths sought each other in the darkness, devouring the purity in their hearts.

..to be continued...

Author's Note: Thanks again for your continued support! A special thanks to hkas and NinaWindia, who were both kind enough to listen to my incessant prattle while I worked out of few kinks in the story.