Chapter Text

I'm not quite sure if it upsets me or not.

At times, it's just a small buzz on the back of my head, but others, it becomes a terrible migraine. I should really say 'heartache', but, considering the amount of effort I actually put in denying it, focusing on the headache seems to be a lot easier. I'm not sure if it is the healthiest of options, but I really can’t bring myself to let it out and ruin everything for her.

It is ironic how, after making my powers so public, I’m back to my old 'conceal, don't feel' routine. Coincidentally, I’m still afraid of hurting her, and as strong and devoted as she may be, I’m not sure if anyone would be able to survive having their heart frozen twice. The worst is that she knows that I worry.

She's always had a special gift for knowing when I am sad or anxious, which, in turn, makes her sad or anxious. For her own sake, and after she gave me an earful because of it, I swiftly started to pretend I didn't feel guilty, although I think Anna knows I still do.

I check the clock for the nth time. It’s past supper, and my meal still lays, forgotten and untouched, on top of my desk. It’s cold, but I eat a spoonful. I feel that there is something missing in the room, but I can't figure out what it is. The shadows on my wall are the same, and no object seems misplaced - aside from the gargantuan pile of royal papers scattered around my desk, that is.

I sit down and hold my chin with my knuckles. What could it be? Annoyed, I begin shooting glares at the paintings, while tapping my fingers on the furniture, as if expecting them to magically answer my doubts.

My eyes stop at the hearth. The compartment is dark and filled with soot. It probably hasn’t been cleaned in ages, so I kneel down and collect the ash, barely able to contain a sneeze.

With a startled gasp and a surprisingly strong sneeze, I realise that what I was missing was warmth.

I shake my head and snicker to myself. All things considered, it didn't make sense, did it? I am the one once called 'The Snow Queen'. I suffer from no cold, no frostbites, and welcome the cold air of the snowy mountains. However, I need warmth inside.

And for each person that is a depiction of ice, there must be another who is a depiction of warmth... Or so I assume. I’ve always thought Anna was that person, for me. After all, it had been her face on my mind when I returned Arendelle to its original state, and it was her voice singing in my breath for each cold breeze that I suppressed.

But I’m just being mushy, and the fireplace it still unlit.

Poking around with the matches, I clumsily produce a small flame, watching it spread log by log. It makes me smile. I could have asked one of the servants to do it, but it felt like I needed to be alone with the warmth, as silly as that sounds.

It’s not that I feel cold, but the colour of the flames really reminds me of her hair. I sit down on the floor and cross my legs, closing my eyes to feel the heat on my face. I can sense the corners of my mouth rising in a small smile.

I consciously decide to take a break on my royal decrees, despite being idle for around ten minutes, already. I inhale the scent of dry wood and charcoal, and feel safe. The whole room seems warmer to the eye, and the turquoise walls seem a little cozier.

Pulling out a mental thread of power, I sweep it with my fingers, making swirling movements. The thread soon becomes a figure, and the figure poises itself with grace. I giggle softly. My frosted creation approaches the fire, examines it, and starts to skate. A flame follows it, almost flowing in synchrony, dancing in the invisible rink alongside the miniature me.

I’m overjoyed and sit closer to the fire, bringing more figures to the hearth. Human figures, animal figures, snowmen! They all dance at a respectful distance from the delicate flame and the snow queen, who struggled to become one.

I find myself loving the flame and its heat. Apparently, so does my creature, so it steps closer to the heat. It reaches out a hand, and so do I. We’re both so close and so eager to fuse with it, that we leave our common sense somewhere between Weselton and Neverland (which is to say: we discard it completely), and touch the fire with our bare hands.

The pain reaches me like an arrow to my palm and I’m not quick enough to pull it to safety, gripping it with a scream. Clenching my teeth, I see my figures melt away and disappear into dust, leaving the flame to return to its original state, restless, and less sharp. I’m furious at myself, but the stinging pain is enough to distract me from my frustration. I collect myself with a gasp.

It hurts so much that I bite into my lip, making my way to the door at a rushed pace, and opening it with my free hand. I bump into someone and murmur a strangled apology.

“Elsa, I’m so sorry!”

Her voice is familiar enough to dismiss my burn, and the buzz rapidly turns into heartache.

“Anna? Augh!...”

“Elsa? What’s the matter?” Her eyes shoot open when she glances at the hand clutched against my chest. “Oh my goodness, how did that happen?”

I tilt my head at the fireplace and she nods. Holding the tip of my veil, she leads me to the washroom, and takes my hand to the sink. “Quick, use your powers to cool it off!”

Obeying her, I feel the cold soothing the pain almost immediately, cursing myself for not thinking about that sooner. I sigh in relief, and let the ice melt against my palm. It’s red and blister-y, and the last thing I’d want would be for someone to touch it, which is exactly what Anna does. With gentle touches, she rinses the area and cleans it with soap, repeating the procedure until the surface seems clean and devoid of dead skin. She huffs when satisfied, proceeding to dry it with clean cloth. Opening a drawer, my sister produces a small bottle of ointment. I dare not to protest, frankly overwhelmed by her focus and knowledge. Anna applies ointment to my palm and dresses it with bandages, surprising me by placing a small kiss onto it. “Wow, I never thought I’d actually get to do this to anyone but me.” She’s smiling at me. “Who would’ve thought you could get burned so badly? Uh…” She stutters. “Well, you’re a human being, you get burns because… they burn.” Anna seems completely unaware of my embarrassment and keeps talking. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you get hurt on your own? Geez, this once, I was riding our bike on the halls, and I fell on this suit of armor? I could’ve sworn Joan was laughing at me.”

By then, I am more confused than flushed. “Joan?”

“The lady on the painting.” She rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “It’s a loooong story.”

I come closer and raise her chin, coming close to examine it. “Is that how you got this scar?” I blink with concern. “I don’t remember it from when we were kids.” She blushes lightly but I don’t let go, placing a small kiss upon in, instead. “There, now we’re even.”

She straightens her shoulders and blushes deep red, cupping her chin with her hands. She laughs and raises and eyebrow. “Heh, I guess we are.” Anna takes another look at my dressings. “Is it really not too tight?”

I can’t avoid a smile when I look at her and whisper. “It’s perfect.”

The buzz subsides.