Elsa’s a dramatic dork, Anna’s a saint.

The real question, Elsa thought to herself, sitting back in the stiff wooden chair, was why Wednesdays?

On her desk, buried under dozens of other, far less agreeable proposals, was the starting draft of a royal decree specifying that Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elsa, was to report to Her Royal Highness, Princess Anna, each Wednesday afternoon.

For the hours of 1 and after.

Elsa folded her hands in her lap, a cloud of flurries building over her head.

Wednesdays were supposed to be Anna’s.

For reasons beyond her understanding, that was one of the few days of the week where all the merchants around town found the time to reorganize their wares.

They went to more obvious trouble on the weekends, but Wednesdays were when Anna’s favorite chocolatier offered free samples of his latest experiments. When the florists stocked their stands with new bouquets and Anna was allowed to retrieve the old ones and make flower crowns for any of the children who wanted to play with the princess.

When she realized what a precious time it was, Elsa had made a point of rearranging Anna’s schedule so that she would always be free on Wednesdays.

And Anna wanted to sacrifice that time to be with Elsa.

The flurries grew more insistent.

Had she been neglecting her sister? Again? So badly that Anna would rather hide away in the castle to be with her than outside, enjoying herself?

And what did it mean that Anna hadn’t just approached her, if that was the case?

Since their–Elsa wasn’t even sure what she’d call it; reconciliation was too shallow, and rejuvenation maybe only worked for her–Anna was simultaneously more willing to initiate contact and less sure of doing so than ever before.

Elsa knew it was her fault. She wouldn’t waste her time pretending otherwise. Anna had made it clear for years that Elsa would be welcome in her life, and now that they were starting to make progress on that point, she was probably remembering all the years Elsa had done exactly the opposite.

If the channels of this request were anything to go by, she was drawing the same conclusions from Elsa’s recent behavior.

Elsa took a deep breath, and banished the ice crinkling the other, less important documents on her desk. She gently picked up Anna’s proposal.

This was not a conversation that deserved to wait.

She found her sister in her room.

Their room.

Anna’s face brightened immediately when she saw Elsa, further evidence of the neglect she’d inflicted on her wonderful sister.

“Hey! You’re down from the office early!”



Elsa smiled stiffly. With an arm made of lead, she lifted up the scroll with the princess’s request. “I thought we could talk about this.”

Anna’s grin actually seemed to brighten. Elsa really had made a mess of things. Lounged out on her bed, her sister rolled into a sitting position and gestured to the spot next to her with a wave that took a very long moment to get started.

“I wondered when you’d get that,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her smile turned lopsided. “So, do we have Her Majesty’s seal of approval?”



Elsa sat down slowly on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress.

“I like the idea of spending more time with you.” If she got nothing else right here, she could at least say that. “But I’m not sure the timing is right.”



Anna’s hands dug into the comforter. Wide-eyed and earnest, she looked at Elsa. “Why not? I have the full day free, and have you seen what Fortescue does with chocolate?”

She drew in a breath, maybe to explain, in marvelous graphic detail, what sort of delicacies she’d be abandoning, but Elsa interrupted before she could.

“Anna,” she said carefully, “you don’t have to give up the things you love to spend time with me. I-I can refit my schedule–”



“Elsa.”



Elsa stopped talking.

Anna was staring at her, a picture of flabbergasted affection that spoke volumes louder than any other type of communication she seemed capable of at the moment.

Her mouth opened and shut multiple times, chewing through some invisible hesitance that wouldn’t have been there thirteen years ago.

“Elsa,” she repeated, very slowly. Elsa tried not to bristle. She was not five. “I don’t want to give up the things I love. That’s why I want you there.” She left an expectant pause, possibly waiting for Elsa to add the finishing touches on that statement herself.



Elsa wasn’t sure she could.

Her heart was a distant hammer in her chest, and her fish impressions were probably putting Anna’s to utter shame.

She also felt distinctly more five than she had a second ago.

Anna huffed. “So I can share it with you. I don’t want to enjoy things by myself, Elsa. I want to enjoy them with you.” The exasperation dropped away, and for the first time that day Elsa saw her sister’s confidence waver, which was unusual when her chest felt like it was giving birth to a dawning sun. “Is… do you not want that? I-it’s okay if you–”

Elsa swooped forward and took her sister in her arms.

“Of course,” she said, and she had never realized just how much her voice could tremble with joy, “I want that.”

Anna sagged against her. “Oh. Good.”

A little quieter, muffled by Elsa’s dress, she whispered, “Thank you,” and Elsa, holding her sister as firmly as she could without squeezing the air out of, held back the litany of reasons that she was the one who should be saying that, over and over again, for as long as Anna was willing to be part of her life.

And if either one had thought to consider that staying wrapped up in each other for the rest of the day was not the way to get royal decrees ratified, Princess Anna’s proposal likely would have set a record for how quickly it received the Queen’s Seal.