Most of this was written in October of last year, and I've just been picking at it since. It is my longest completed fic to date, and also my longest one-shot. I didn't want to break it up at all. I truly hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I would love to hear your thoughts at the end. This is the most world-building I've ever done, and, hopefully, it is coherent and understandable :)

Big thanks to JYN044, who kept asking me about this story, mpsantiago who is bae, and no-escape-from-the-storm-inside, who gave me the final push needed to finish. Name credited to moredibell because I am terrible at thinking up names. Thank you all.

Enjoy :)

She's roused from her sleep by a gentle hand. The moonlight, filtering through the wide windows, is enough to illuminate the worried look on her handmaiden's face.

"Queen Elsa," the woman whispers, "Please come quick. Something's happened."

It tells her nothing, but the mere fact that someone had dared to enter her chambers when not bidden is enough. Rarely does the City of Elves encounter any problem. Rarely is there something that Elsa must oversee personally. She knows this must be important.

She stands from her bed, hair falling about her shoulders in gentle curls. Her handmaiden, a young elfling by the name of Mela, averts her eyes at her mistress' nudity. Any other creature would have been chilled – the night is not warm, and the ice that surrounds them leeches any last remnants of heat, leftover of the day. But, for the Ice Elves, they thrive.

The markings on Elsa's body, stripes of tiger and dawn, have faded over time; not enough to completely wipe them. Nothing will ever completely wipe them from her body, or her memory. It's not something she likes to think on too heavily, and so she doesn't.

Mela bows low, a wide piece of silk in her hands used for clothing. Elsa looks out into the forest – her forest – as the material is wrapped around her. Mela stands too close for a second too long, but Elsa hasn't the heart to push her away. The handmaiden's hands shake as she seals the shift closed with a brooch, and she takes a chance at looking at Elsa.

The Queen is already looking at her, and Mela steps back quickly, averting her gaze as her cheeks erupt in a heavy blush. Elsa doesn't comment on it.

Instead, she turns to a mirror, taking a moment to appreciate herself. The shift cascades over her in gentle waves, and Elsa debates for a moment pinning her hair up. She can feel Mela quivering behind her, a mix of shame and impatience echoing through the ice. It brings a ghost of a smile to Elsa's lips.

The elflings care too much for the passing of time, she knows. They are young and don't know the meaning of it. Elsa has lived for three hundred and sixty-four years. Mela is only a child, by comparison, and it shows.

Elsa turns around too fast for the poor child to duck her head in time. The back of her neck burns, and Elsa frowns to herself for a moment. She cannot encourage such behaviour, but she doesn't have the time to deal with it. She turns her focus onto the issue at hand.

"What is this matter?"

She's led beneath the palace. The rooms here – dungeons, more aptly described – have not been used in hundreds of years. Not since the last Great War. But here they are, lit up like day for a threat that Elsa isn't even sure exists.

She's flanked on either side by members of her guard. It's a purely ceremonial position, but that doesn't mean they don't know how to use the blades tied to their belts. Two guards stand at the door of a cell, backs straight. While the corridor is lit, the inside of the cell is not, and Elsa has to peer through the gloom. Even her eyes find it difficult to make out the prone form, curled in the furthest corner.

She stands and turns to the elder guard. "What happened?" she asks. He gives a slight tilt of his head before he speaks.

"It crossed our borders at the moon's zenith. We sent word to inform your graciousness as soon as we realised what we were dealing with."

Elsa frowns. Almost half the night still remains; it did not take them long, it seems, to come to a conclusion. "And what, stars tell me, what are we dealing with?"

The guard swallows thickly, hesitating a moment before he answers.

"A human."

While Elsa doesn't wish to inform her council, she knows she has to do so. It is impossible to keep anything from them, and she doesn't wish to try. She's yet to speak to the girl, but that can come later.

By the morning, she's sent a message to her cabinet to convene at their earliest convenience, while the child – a girl– was moved into the palace, under the watchful eyes of guards and maids. The staff are not populous; with the time given to them, many elves do not choose to spend it working. But some, like Mela, enjoy it. Others owe something, and pay it with their services. Everyone has a place in society, but it's not the be all and end all; much time is spent simply relaxing. There is little desire to expand the borders of their land.

Elsa's city holds a little over two thousand elves, and most are older than she is. There are only a dozen or so elflings – those under the age of eighty-eight – and two children: Falo and his sibling, and the blessed child, Mÿr. There is one elf, the Record Keeper, whose spirit defies even the longevity of the elves.

Pabbie is ancient. He lived long before the birth of the Queen, and Elsa knows he will survive long after. He holds the history, is the source of all living memory, of the elves. His own form is nothing like theirs, as testament to this; he is impossibly short, barely a foot tall in total, and he holds none of the grace so typical in elves. However, his wisdom is unparalleled in the mortal realms, and it's why Elsa seeks his advice before going to her council.

"The times are changing," says Pabbie, "But it is the changing in you, dear thing, that has led to this event."

Elsa doesn't understand. Pabbie is not always clear; his words do not always help.

A memory stirs within Elsa, and the markings on her body glow for a second before she can fight them down. Pabbie gives her a sad look, his wizened features cracking.

"This girl is not an omen, but a blessing," he continues. "Open the realm to her, and she will help you. Do not fear change, for it only seeks to guide. Whether you follow it is up to you, but be warned. Change itself is fearless; you may not follow it, but sometimes it will not let you choose."

He turns away from her then, and Elsa is left with more questions than answers.

Armed with Pabbie's advice, she does not go to the meeting rooms. The council is waiting for her, but they will remain there until she arrives. Answers cannot wait. She is, after all, the Queen.

Instead, she turns down the vast hallways of her palace, seeking out the girl who might possibly be able to answer them.

The sun has fully risen; Elsa realises, to her own slight surprise, that she's still in the silk robe that Mela handed to her earlier that night. Elsa debates detouring to change, but decides against it. If Pabbie's words ring true (and his words always do), then there is nothing to be done but let the snow fall where it may.

Elsa doesn't bother knocking. It is, after all, her own palace. The door swings open silently to a cool, dark room. The curtains are still drawn, blocking the morning light from filtering in. Elsa can guess why; no one wishes to enter the room to open them. They don't know the protocol (and neither does Elsa, if she's honest). This is unprecedented.

But she is Queen; the land is hers to travel as she wishes, including the rooms of her own palace. So she strides in and opens the blinds. Her sensitive ears pick up the sound of a sharp inhale in the far corner, and she turns.

The girl has dragged the pillow and sheets from the bed and curled up in the corner. Elsa finds it strange, but that isn't what has her attention.

Striking teal eyes gaze out from beneath a wild mess of hair. Red hair, so foreign; Elsa's people have varying shades of gold and blonde, with a few delving into the darker colours as a sign of mixed heritage. The last elves to have any other pure colour were the sand tribes of south; they perished during the last Great War, but looking at this girl, Elsa could almost believe they were alive.

Her heart clenches, but she manages this time to fight it back.

"Who are you?" she asks, stumbling slightly over the Common. It has been a very long time since she last conversed with humans. The girl looks at her for a second before she gathers her wits.

"A-Anna!" she cries. There's a satchel on her lap, and she tugs it closer, hugging it tight. "I'm Princ- Queen. Queen Anna, reigning monarch of Arendelle and all its land, seas, and colonies."

Elsa cocks her head. Arendelle. The name is familiar, but she isn't sure why. No matter.

"I am High Queen Elsa," she says, by way of introduction. "This is my kingdom. Its name is unpronounceable in Common, and so I shall not bother the attempt. Know that you are the first human to cross its borders, and I am here to find out why."

The girl, Anna, shrinks back a little. She has no reason to be afraid, but Elsa can understand why she is.

Elves have, she is fully aware, dissolved into myth and legend. They do not venture from their land, and foreigners rarely enter. Their sister tribe, across the land and north, joins them on occasion – to mark the passing of time, and celebrate rebirth. One such instance is the Morning Ceremony; a festival of several days that give thanks to the stars.

By chance, the next celebration is in a few weeks; Elsa is both grateful and cursing the distraction the girl has brought.

Standing up, she holds out a hand. "You may call me 'Elsa'," she says. "You are free to wander our land, but you may not leave. A guard shall be assigned to you after you have met with our council."

She doesn't say that it is for her own benefit, not Anna's, that the council is informed. They won't ignore Pabbie's words, but suddenly having a human, free to move about their borders, may be a bit much without warning.

The council is incredibly unimpressed. Somehow, for some reason, Pabbie has elected to leave his home and join, as has Priestess Tiril. Elsa hangs back, allowing the council to survey the girl. In the spotlight, she looks like a caged animal.

She's questioned by the council, their mastery of Common even less refined than Elsa's, though they do get through it. Slowly, lilting, Anna tells the story of how she came to arrive.

"I need refuge," she starts. "I can't... my home isn't my own. It was a coup and he'll kill me. Please?"

"How did you come to be here?" Elsa's voice wavers, the exhaustion of the night and something else tightening her throat. Anna bites her lips and looks away.

"It just... felt like the right way to go..." she says softly. Her eyes harden for a second as the council is completely silent, and she continues with a, "That's all. I swear it."

The council look to Pabbie, who cocks his head. She's telling the truth. Elsa breaths a silent sigh of relief; no one wished to have the blood of a child on their hands. But then the council turns on her.

"What of your wards?" Elder Kasi wonders. He has been advising generations of leaders; he is not as old as Pabbie, not by a long shot, however he has watched the world turn many times over. The tone of his voice makes it clear that he is unhappy, but his expression betrays nothing. Elsa inclines her head.

"They are still in place and undamaged," she says.

A fist slams down on the table, and Anna squeaks. Councilman Cirava is one of the newer advisors. He's too young, Elsa thinks, but his late father died protecting her kin in the war; the least she can do is give him a chance. He's headstrong and rowdy, but he understands the new era better than anyone. His own self-imposed isolation in the human world for close to two decades has given him insight that others lack.

However, he's lost some of his heritage along the way, as evident by his impatience and anger.

"How did this girl stumble through, then, Your Majesty? Did she happen to come across a convenient human-sized hole that we never knew about?"

Elsa starts forward, a grimace on her face, when a low voice halts her.

Pabbie's begun speaking, and all in the room fall silent. "My dear boy," he says to Cirava, "You cannot guard against yourself."

The room waits for him to speak again, but he doesn't. Not to them. Instead he begins moving, making his slow way around the table towards the human girl. He's the only person Anna doesn't seem afraid of; when he grasps her hand, she holds it back, just as tight and just as warm. It earns a chuckle from the wizened man, which in turn earns a shocked look from all those assembled.

Elsa has known him her whole life, and never has he laughed in front of her.

"You may wander freely. You are Mysafir – honoured guest. Elsa shall prepare your room and escort. You are one with the elves."

And then he leaves, his slow footsteps echoing down the hall.

As soon as he's out of earshot, the council erupts. Elsa doesn't bother with them, shepherding the girl from the room whilst they're distracted. She catches the Priestess' eye, communicating. Tiril understands, and Elsa can look forward to her company later.

But for now, she needs to find an escort, and then ponder Pabbie's words.

Guarding against oneself? Elsa doesn't know what to make of that.

There is no point hiding the arrival of the girl from her people, and so she doesn't. She calls together an assembly, and that alone is enough to pique the interest of her land. Even the animals in the forest respond, listening in to gleam any information of the newcomer. After all, they saw her approach. They, like everyone, don't know who she is, but the animals have a greater understanding of her importance.

"My people," Elsa calls out. The entire city, it seems, has gathered in the great hall. She doesn't sit on her throne; instead she stands, addressing each and every one of her citizens. Confusion is rank within their words, and the hubbub becomes louder and louder as people speculate the reason for the unprecedented meeting.

"My people!" she cries again, and slowly, the room falls to silence. "I have called you here for a very particular reason.

"As you are aware, in a half-moon's time we shall be receiving guests from the east – our cousins, the Vetrstøv Clan. This is an auspicious time, made ever-more-so by a recent arrival. She is unexpected, but not unwanted, and Pabbie has seen to her. She is a guest of honour, and has been given free reign to wander our lands – accompanied, of course. I shall need someone to stand up and show her our hospitality, but first, we shall meet her. Anna?"

Elsa turns behind her, where hidden from sight behind her throne is the redheaded child.

And much like with her council earlier, the room erupts in angered cries.

Anna stands a little behind Elsa, hands wrapped around herself as though it will protect her from the onslaught. In the bright light of the chamber, she looks even smaller, swaddled in a winter cape, a hat that wasn't there when she entered the girl's chamber placed precariously on her head.

Elsa knows why her people are angry, and rightfully so.

But Anna doesn't know that. The history of the elves is not one commonly known; Elsa herself was only small when it was their history. But many of her kin remember the death wrought, and Elsa herself has felt the sting.

However, Elsa is Queen, and has been for many decades. She must put aside her own feelings in order to serve her people. She looks away from them to Anna, who seems as though she's about to cry. Elsa's heart clenches – it seems to be doing that a lot lately – and she takes a step closer to the girl. She holds her hand up, commanding silence. The room stills, but there are still motions of dissent, and Elsa realises that even with a guard and her word, Anna would not be safe.

The elves are peace-loving creatures by nature, but they do not spend their years static; the personal weapons that every child receives at their thirtieth birthday are not purely decorative.

Every elf, old and young, remembers and knows of the destruction carried against them at the turn of the Great War. The destruction the humans brought. None are prepared to go through it again.

Some would see it as retribution, and others would see it as justice, killing the girl. Elsa knows it would only be revenge, and she doesn't wish for the girl to die, nor for the death she'd have to deal to the one who killed her. There is only one thing for her to do, and she turns from the crowd assembled to look at Anna.

"Kneel," she says, loud and clear. A murmur runs through the crowd, but Elsa ignores it. She can see Anna wavering, hesitating, and she offers a gentle smile as encouragement. It works, and Anna slides to her knees. She shuts her eyes as though expecting the worst, and the jeering gets louder. The elves know what is happening.

"Sem hon standa fram þessi heilagr staðr, hon vera varði of inn fyrðr eða of inn dróttning. Anna av Arendelle, þu vera veita inn vígja av inn álfr."

Anna looks at Elsa, confusion mounting. Elsa just smiles at her for a second before she leans down and touches her lips to Anna's forehead.

More than one elf leaves the room, unable to stand the sight. Elsa watches them go. It doesn't matter.

The ceremony finishes soon after. Anna has reverted to complete muteness, too overwhelmed to say anything, when Elsa realises that no one offered to guard her. She's made a statement, and one that not many elves believe in. Strangely, it's more common for the younger ones to become riled up. Perhaps those who are older understand the toll that anger brings.

It has been a long time since she's performed such a spell, but Elsa stops that train of thought before it has time to fully manifest. Instead, she thinks on the spell itself, hoping Mela explains it to the girl well enough.

It's one-use only, for protection against bodily harm. It's a nifty spell – one that does to the attacker the damage they would have caused. Elsa doubts it will come into effect; the point was to show her people that Anna is under her personal protection.

She's shaken from her thoughts by a figure approaching her, holding a glass of wine in one hand. He bows and hands it to her, and Elsa takes the drink appreciatively.

Kristoff, one of her guard, is not the elf she expected. He's a few decades younger than her, though he looks older, with short, shaggy hair – different to the typical length worn by the elves. That is not the strangest thing about him.

Elsa remembers his birth. It was an event known by all, and not necessarily for any good reason.

His father was human.

Kristoff inherited the elves' longevity and strength, but his appearance swayed to that of the mortals. His father was killed, and his mother perished in childbirth. Kristoff doesn't pretend that there wasn't anything they could do. Elsa was too young to help, but she feels the weight of his mother's death, just as surely as he does.

It was her parent's decision not to save her, punishment for her sins.

Perhaps she should have expected him. Elsa waits for anger from him; disbelief – why did you save her and not my mother? – and sadness. She doesn't expect him to drop to anoth bow and address her.

"Your Majesty," he begins. "I come to offer my services as guard and escort of Anna of Arendelle."

Elsa cocks her head and quirks an eyebrow. She leans to the side in an expression of pure luxury before bidding him rise. She could ask him why, but she has a feeling she already knows. And, frankly, it doesn't matter. No one else has offered.

She stands up and moves towards Anna and Mela, beckoning him to follow. Mela turns her head to the floor in a bow, but Anna doesn't. She stares at Kristoff with barely-disguised surprise.

"Anna, this is Kristoff," Elsa says. "He shall be your escort while you remain in the city. You will be safe with him."

She gives Kristoff a nod, and he steps forward. "Miss Anna," he begins, "It's an honour to assist you. I look forward to showing you all our city has to offer." He smiles at her then, and Anna returns the gesture, albeit shyly. Elsa nods.

"Wonderful. Now, Mela, come. Given the interrupted night, I am going back to bed. Good day, Kristoff. Anna. I shall see you both tonight."

The City of Elves is a beautiful place. Truthfully, Anna thinks she must be dead (or perhaps in some concussion-induced dream) because when she ran away from home, she never once imagined to be taken in by such creatures. She'd hoped, at best, for a passing Samí tribe to help her. Nothing like this.

It's different to her fairytale books, though. The elves are relatively androgynous beings; Anna has noticed the petite swell beneath Elsa's dress, and the same again with Mela. Their faces are smooth, but angular. Kristoff looks different – he's thick and heavy-set. He looks more like the ice harvesters that roam around Arendelle, not an elf.

And not only that, but the strange markings that cover the people. It varies, looking like light tattoos on some, and like burns of ice on others. Some don't have any, while others have so many shades that its impossible to count. They're all blues and greens, and some elves seem to just ripple in the light.

It's the first thing she asks Kristoff. "What is it with the marks?"

He doesn't have any at all, and when he tells her the reason, she can't imagine why.

"It's Bond Markings," he says, as though that explains anything. When she gives him a bemused look, he continues. "Like... well, what do humans do when they love someone?"

Anna's face grows inexplicably dark, and she doesn't answer. Kristoff tries a different tactic.

"Okay, well, Bond Marking is a thing that happens. It's a sign of True Love. It happens to humans too, but you are too blind to see it."

Anna frowns at him, "Then why can I see it on people here?" Kristoff shrugs.

"Magic? Or luck. A Bond Mark appears when the souls of certain elves join. They both feel it when it happens. It's said to be amazing, and there really are no other ways to describe it. They appear differently on each person, but they might mean the same thing. So, a Mark can tell you who gave it, the limits and restrictions, and other things. You've probably seen the marks on Queen Elsa."

Anna nods. She remembers seeing the strange lines that crossed the monarch's body. Contrary to the colours on her kin, Elsa stood out; hers were not shades of blue and green, but what once had been vibrant reds and oranges.

"They aren't very bright," she says, and Kristoff hums in agreement.

"What do you think hers mean?" he asks. Anna looks at him, scoffing.

"How am I supposed to know? I'm not an elf!"

"No, but you can still see them. I figure you must have some ability to understand them – I'm not an elf either and I know." Anna gives him a look. "Well, part-elf. Anyway, it doesn't matter."

Anna's silent for a few moments before she speaks. "I think- I mean, it feels... like a warning. Or territorial. Like she's been claimed by someone else. But they're faded, like she... regrets that?"

Kristoff smiles, but it isn't happy. "Almost," he says, but he doesn't explain which part.

They're in the ice gardens when they're interrupted by a runner from the palace. Anna's still trying to wrap her head around Bond Marking. It all just seems so strange – especially when Kristoff continued.

Monogamy is common, he said, but it's not the only thing. Pre-marital sex (or whatever version of marriage the elves carry out), polyamory, and even just purely physical relationships; they're all abundant in this society. And apparently Bonding is separate from them anyway.

"Sometimes you don't even know when you're going to Bond with someone," he says. "It isn't something you can think about or decide. It's something that the heart and soul decide together. You have no control over it – once your soul decides, you have to follow it. It hurts too much not to. Some people give their love, and receive it, freely. For others, like Her Majesty, it's a rarity. And for a few, it doesn't happen at all."

"Can someone mark you, but you not mark them?" she asks. Kristoff shakes his head.

"No. Bond Marking is like... the physical proof of two souls coming together. It is what you humans call Soul Mates."

He wonders, briefly, why Anna is so interested in Bond Marks, before brushing it off as simply the novelty of it.

Anna isn't shy about asking other questions anyway. Why ice? Who creates it? How do elves spend their time? What do they eat? Where are all the children? How many elves are there?

That's only a few.

Kristoff tries his best to answer all her queries, but he's somewhat glad of the reprieve when the messenger relieves him of duty. He must escort Anna to the palace, but after she meets with the Queen, that's him done for the day.

He can't say he doesn't enjoy her presence. The elves are too quiet, too reserved. She's a bubble of warmth in a city of ice. His usual interactions are restricted mostly to work, and to the animals that visit his home. It's nice talking to someone who talks back.

Anna's left in the front room of the castle to wait for the Queen. The girl who spoke to her earlier, Mela, offers her a drink and a seat, but Anna finds it too cold to be comfortable. She's a child of summer, not winter. But, perhaps it's because she never bothered to appreciate the beauty of the cold season.

She knows it's summer in Arendelle, but in this city, she doesn't feel it.

Twenty-four hours ago, she had run away from home and, lost in the forest, she had given up. It was better than dying at home, slowly and painfully as her will was sucked from her.

Her husband had probably already taken on a dozen concubines and emptied the royal coffers. Whatever search party he'd pulled together would not have been to bring her home. He didn't need her anymore, save to bear him sons...

She's broken from her reverie by Mela. She's standing a few feet away, and looking expectantly at Anna.

"Queen Elsa is ready to see you now," she says, as though it wasn't Anna who was summoned in the first place.

Elsa is sitting behind a desk. She's changed from the dress and into something more akin to a suit, but not really. A floor-length skirt and light jacket. She stands up when she sees Anna, a slight smile on her face.

"Anna!" she says. She certainly seems much more cheerful than earlier, and Anna puts it down to an uninterrupted rest. "Please, have a seat. Mela?" She turns to the handmaiden, who gives a nod and scurries from the room.

"How are you finding my city?" she asks.

Anna isn't quite sure how to answer, so she settles for a smile and an, "It's interesting."

Elsa gives a laugh at that. "You don't have to lie, Anna, nor be so diplomatic. Tell me, what do you think?"

Anna gives a sheepish smile and scratches the back of her neck. "I don't honestly know," she says. "It's cold and strange but it's also really beautiful. Kristoff is lovely, and he's so patient. He was telling me things today. Elves sound... wonderful."

There's an air of longing in her voice, and Elsa is intrigued. Before she can speak, there's a knock on the door. Mela enters, with a warm drink that smells like tea. It's steaming, but when Anna wraps her hands around the mug, she almost drops it from the cold that leeches from the cup and into her hands. She doesn't really want to try it, but Elsa's encouraging smile convinces her to take a sip.

The drink, whatever it is, seems to enter her veins and fill them with fire. It feels as though she's burning from the inside out, but she can't fight it because it feels so good. Like everything is perfect and she's never going to be cold again.

Elsa just smirks as she takes a sip of her own. "You like it?" she asks, and Anna can't nod fast enough.

"It's fantastic! What is it?"

"It's gjalpë zjarr. A specialty. Even we elves become cold during the Sun's Sleep. This staves off the worst of it."

Anna takes another sip, and smiles at the feeling it brings. She could get used to it. It tastes so much better than the imported tea of Arendelle, and for a second, she smiles at a memory, long-forgotten of her first taste of the imported beverage.

But then the thought turns sour, and she places the cup back on its saucer, mouth in a grimace. Elsa notices, and the soft chink of her own cup sounds as she puts it down and leans forward.

"Anna?" she asks, "Everything okay?"

Anna gives a sigh, and nods. "Yeah, I just..." She looks at Elsa's face, and decides against revealing her problems. Elsa is a queen – she doesn't care beyond mild interest. Why would she? "It's nothing. Just thinking about Arendelle."

"Oh? Tell me about your home," Elsa invites. Anna looks at her, surprised for a second. Maybe she does care.

"Oh, well, what do you want to know?"

Elsa smiles and gives a short hum. "Anything. Tell me of your childhood."

That's something Anna can do. She begins hesitantly, as though the woman in front of her will tell her to stop at any moment, regretting ever asking; she doesn't, and with each passing minute of Elsa's encouraging, Anna grows even more comfortable.

She talks of her childhood, running around the castle with her best friend and sister. She tells of her formative years, and the adventures that took place beyond the stone walls, moving ever further away from the heart of the castle and into the town.

When her father, her mother, and her sister perished on a boat bound for celebration, Anna bedridden at home with the fever.

She speaks so long that she doesn't notice the time. Mela enters once to refill the drinks, and once more laden with sweet cakes that Anna doesn't find the name for.

Their third interruption, just as Anna telling Elsa about her nanny, Gerda, comes not from Mela, but a woman that Anna recognises but cannot place. Elsa stands as the woman is let in, and Anna follows clumsily.

The newcomer is tall, wearing flowing robes of running water. They swirl like the tides, washing over her, and Anna blushes when she realises she's staring.

"Anna, this is Priestess Tiril. Priestess, our guest of honour."

Tiril gives a smile and a bow. "Greetings, Anna of Arendelle."

"Tiril guides our ceremonies. In two weeks, she will lead the Morning Ceremony for the first time."

The priestess bows again. "It is an honour," she says. "I hope you will be here to join us. A human has not witnessed the Morning Ceremony in an age."

Anna isn't given an opportunity to reply as Elsa steps forward. "I'm sure she will. Now, I apologise, Anna, but I must speak to Tiril on several other matters. I can send for Kristoff, or you may wander the palace unaccompanied."

Anna gives an uneasy look. "I would love to," she begins, "but... the people in the hall..."

Elsa nods in understanding. "They will not harm you in the palace. But, didn't Mela explain the spell to you?"

"Yeah, she did, but... they scare me..." she finishes weakly, cursing herself, but Elsa doesn't seem to notice. She fixes Anna with a worried frown.

"Do not be afraid within these walls, Anna. No harm will come to you, I guarantee it."

With that assurance, Anna perks up a little. She leaves the room with a small smile on her face, adventure in her eyes.

"You have spoken to Pabbie? You're quite sure that's what he meant?"

Tiril nods. "He repeated it verbatim. 'You cannot guard against yourself'. He either cannot or will not elaborate, and thus far, the only conclusion I can come to is that her heritage was once elvish."

Elsa gives a snort. "If we go by that, then what use are the wards in the first place? Once upon an era, everyone and their cousin had wedded an elf. No," she decides. "It's something else."

With a sigh, Tiril opens her hands, palms up in defeat. "I cannot decipher his meaning. If it was dangerous, he would warn us. Perhaps it's for the best if we just let it play out."

"Fine," Elsa says, frowning. She makes a shooing motion – one that Tiril does not take offence to – before raising a hand to rub at her temple. Almost like an afterthought, she brings it away and looks at the markings, wrapped around the slender fingers and up her wrist. "I wish to retire," she says. "Have you brought my ointment?" Tiril nods and, reaching into her robe, produces a small jar. She hands it to Elsa, who does not take it; neither does she wave Tiril away.

Instead, Elsa beckons her to follow. Mela is waiting for the Queen, but Elsa simply tells her to take the night off; the Priestess will help with anything that needs doing. She catches a ghost of a frown on the handmaiden's face before she brushes the thought to the side. Mela's feelings are not pertinent to how Elsa behaves.

She doesn't pass anyone else on the way to her chambers, Tiril following close behind. The two are silent as Elsa slips inside her room, and then slips from her clothes, leaving them in a bunch on the floor.

"Leave it," she calls out to Tiril, who had bent down to pick them up. Elsa lies on her bed, back bared in the candles that had been lit earlier.

It is even later than she first thought; conversing with Anna had taken hours from her day, and yet it felt like no time at all.

"I expected you earlier," she says, unable to see the priestess from where she lays. It doesn't matter when she feels Tiril sit on the bed next to her, a hand running up and down her back. It vanishes for a second, only to return a second later, covered in ointment.

"I came after the meeting, but Mela said you were resting," came the reply. "And when I came back after that, you were entertaining young Anna. I didn't want to interrupt. She's an interesting child."

"Hmm, yes..." Elsa hums. The hand, once it has rubbed in the oily substance, moves down over the backs of her thighs. Elsa can feel her body responding to the proximity, and she knows Tiril can too. The loud sigh from above only verifies this.

When Tiril speaks, it sounds more like a parent scolding a child. "I told you to visit the pond," she says. "It will help." She nudges Elsa's shoulder, and the Queen rolls obediently onto her back. The Priestess' hands land on her stomach, where they repeat themselves.

Elsa scoffs, looking at Tiril with a hard light in her eyes. "I don't want to resort to that," she says. "The pond-"

"Is the perfect place to deal with this. There are many elves who would be honoured to help." One hand snakes up over Elsa's breast, pressing harder than necessary. The ointment makes the motion smooth, and Elsa gives a low whimper as her body warms. "How long has it been, Your Majesty?" Tiril continues. "This isn't healthy. You repress both conscious and unconscious desire, blocking any hope of happiness. The body, so built for pleasure, is not designed to refuse it for so long."

The hand that is at Elsa's breast moves down, slipping between the Queen's thighs and resting there. Elsa's eyes are squeezed shut, and her chest heaves in ragged want.

But then suddenly she flings herself to the other side of her bed. She doesn't look at Tiril as she rasps out a, "Go!" and Tiril lets out a sad exhale.

"No matter what I do, Elsa," she says, foregoing the honorific, "no matter the spell or salve used, your Marks won't stay forever. The past is meant to stay there for a reason. Please heed my words."

With that, she leaves the chamber. A cool chill has settled in the air with Tiril's departure; only after Elsa's gone around, blowing out the candles, and only after she's curled up in her bed, feeling colder than she could remember being in a long time, does she allow herself to cry.

It's late afternoon by the time she wakes up. Her face is sticky, and Elsa just lies there for several moments, mulling. She will have to go and apologise to Tiril – the priestess was only doing her duty; was only doing as Elsa had asked – but that can wait for now. It isn't the first time she's yelled at the woman.

Elsa can still feel her hands, and she can feel her body wanting them. Tiril is not wrong, and her suggestion to visit the pond is not unfounded. Elsa just can't bring herself to go.

She stands up, about to call Mela to run her a bath, when the door to her chambers swings open. There was no knock, and Elsa's immediately on alert. Her eyes flicker to a dagger, proudly on display above her bed, but she hasn't the time to go for it.

When Pabbie waddles through the door, followed closely by Anna, Elsa realises how stupid the idea of an assassin in the castle is, and relaxes.

"Pabbie," she says, a disapproving note in her voice, "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't say anything at first. He seems to be looking for something, and he walks the circumference of the room before turning to Elsa. She's taken the time to pour a glass of water, though she hasn't quite gotten to the stage of offering Anna one. It wouldn't matter. Anna is very adamantly staring at the floor, and with Pabbie's next words, Elsa isn't surprised.

"Where is Tiril?" he asks, and she chokes.

"What?"

Pabbie nods and repeats the question. "Where is she?"

Elsa splutters for a moment, eyes flicking between Pabbie and Anna (who looks just as confused as Elsa feels).

"The only reason for you to sleep in so long, Elsa," Pabbie continues, "is if you have a beautiful woman in your bed. Otherwise you're being a terrible host."

All Elsa can see of Anna's face is her ears by now, and they're even redder than her hair. Elsa hears a muttered, "Good Heavens," from her general direction, but she can't focus on that right now.

"Tiril," Elsa hisses, "is not here. And I thank you to keep your nose out of my business."

Pabbie shrugs. "The happiness of the queen is my business," he says. "Because the happiness of the queen is the happiness of the realm."

Elsa sighs and lifts a hand over her eyes. "I apologise, Anna," she says. "Pabbie should know better than to speak of such matters in front of guests."

At that, Pabbie breaks out in a beam, and moves back towards Anna. He takes her hand and leads her to Elsa, grabbing the Queen's hand and putting them together.

"Elsa will show you around today, Anna," he says. He ignores Elsa's protests. "The Ceremony is not for another half-moon," he says. "It hasn't changed in a millennia. There is little left to plan; you can take an afternoon to show our guest around."

"Can't Kristoff do it?" Elsa asks. Pabbie frowns at her.

"You are being rude, Elsa. And I was thinking you could take her to the Heart of the City. Kristoff does not have permission to go there."

With a sigh, Elsa acquiesces. Pabbie smiles, and with a nod, leaves them.

Elsa breaks the grip as soon as he's gone. She gives Anna a low bow, speaking. "I apologise for my rudeness," she says.

"Oh, er, it's fine," Anna says, but when Elsa looks at her, she's staring out the window. Her eyes flick to Elsa before she averts them, and at once, Elsa knows she's done something wrong.

She bites her lip. She knows she was rude, but Elsa didn't mean to cause offence. "I- is something the matter, Anna?" she asks softly, reluctant to hear the reply.

Anna shakes her head violently, "No, no, nothing's wrong." Finally, she looks at Elsa. Her face is still incredibly red, and her eyes waver once before she's practically sprinting for the door.

"I'll, erm, I'll just wait out here for you to get dressed," she calls behind her.

Elsa's groan is buried beneath the sound of the slamming door, and Anna's subsequent, "Sorry!"

"I apologise once again for my state earlier," Elsa says. It's not the first time she's apologised, nor the second, but each time seems to make Anna feel a little less uncomfortable.

Elsa understands that the humans feel shame in their bodies; that gazing upon what lies beneath their clothes is something forbidden save but in the most intimate of settings. It seems strange to Elsa, but who is she to judge others' way of life?

It's been a half-cross since they left the palace, and other than the apologies, neither have spoken. Anna's face is still quite red, but it's slowly returning to its normal hue. Elsa wonders what Anna's thinking, but is loathe to break the silence with petty conversation.

Fortunately for her, Anna breaks it first.

"So... what's the Heart of the City?" she asks. Elsa hums for a second in acknowledgment of the question, but she doesn't answer. It's not an easy question to answer.

"It is... something best appreciated when you don't know what to expect," she says. "Where did you go with Kristoff yesterday?"

"He took me to the garden," Anna says. "It was very beautiful. He showed me the pillars and the ice-flowers. I'm afraid I wasn't really listening to him when he explained them, though."

Elsa laughs at that, a light tinkling sound. "No matter. We have plenty of time to return."

The weak afternoon sunlight provides little in the way of light or warmth, and Elsa notices Anna shivering. Taking her hand, they veer from the path and up a set of elaborately-carved steps. "This is our bathhouse – or, one of them," Elsa explains as they walk through the entrance. It isn't blocked by a door; in fact, glancing around, Anna can't see any doors at all.

Her eyes widen and she blushes profusely as elves, tall and pale and completely naked, come into view. "O-oh? You don't have... private baths?"

Elsa shakes her head, and returns gestures of greeting to the elves who notice her. A few send Anna dirty looks, and even fewer smiles, but the rest are content to just ignore her presence. "Not generally. We elves are rather clean creatures; the baths are used more for relaxing than anything else. There is no need for personal baths. You are free to use this facility, if you choose, however there is a smaller one at the palace, for the use of guests like yourself. It can be private, if you prefer?"

Anna gives a relieved sigh and a grateful smile. Honestly, she'd thought Elsa had led her here to tease her – her reaction earlier is one she might laugh at later, but for now it still burns in her mind.

Elsa returns the smile before turning around and walking through an open arch.

"How come it doesn't melt?" Anna asks suddenly. Elsa cocks an eyebrow, and Anna elaborates. "The ice. It's everywhere, but... I'm not freezing. That is, it's quite warm in here but the buildings don't melt..."

Elsa laughs again, tilting her body to look at Anna. "Magic," she says, and Anna blushes, this time from embarrassment. Of course.

When she faces forward again, she suddenly trips. It's only a little stumble, but as far as Anna's seen, elves don't trip. She's a little worried for a second as Elsa stands up, but the Queen doesn't seem worried. Instead, she calls out to someone Anna can't see.

"Falo? Mÿr? Come here and meet our guest."

Two little elves – they only look about seven or eight in human years – approach from one corner. They're as naked as everyone else, and aren't shy of that fact. Elsa sinks to the floor, and they take a seat on either side of her lap.

"This is Falo and Mÿr," she says, indicating the children in turn. "They're the only children we have at the moment."

Falo has a brown sprout of hair, though Mÿr's is almost the same shade as Elsa's. Anna wonders for a second if Elsa is their mother before casting the thought aside; they'd live in the palace if that were the case.

She looks at Anna. "The celebration went on for almost an entire moon-cycle," she laughs. "Twins, and a Blessed Child. It was very auspicious." She places a kiss on their foreheads and whispers something to them in Elvish.

Falo grins wildly at her, and places a clumsy kiss on her cheek before jumping up and wrapping his arms around Anna's waist.

While Falo doesn't seem scared or nervous of Anna, Mÿr seems not to want to approach her. Both Anna and Elsa notice, but Anna's too shy to say anything. Elsa leans forward, her hands wrapped around the young elf in a half hug, and she's whispering in Elvish again.

Anna gives a small cough, and Elsa looks up. "Why is Falo's hair brown?" she asks. Elsa's eyes grow dark and vacant, and she looks away.

"It's an elvish thing," she says when she finally answers. It's not helpful at all, but Anna gets the impression not to push, so she leaves it.

Finally, Falo unwraps his hands from Anna and moves over to his twin. He whispers something in Mÿr's ear, and the two of them giggle until a reproachful look from Elsa shuts them up.

"Home time," she says, gently pushing Mÿr from her lap. "No more playing around in the baths. It's slippery in here."

The children nod solemnly before their faces brighten and they push through Anna's legs and into the bathhouse. There's a shout in Elvish, and Anna can recognise their name being called but she isn't sure what's happening. Elsa's laughing into her hand, though, so once again, it's nothing to be worried about.

"They're cute," she comments off-hand. "How old are they?"

Elsa's still smiling when she answers, "Elves don't age as humans do," she prefaces. "They are as old as they look. Falo is slightly older, but age... doesn't generally matter here," she says. Anna nods as Elsa climbs up from the floor.

"I don't think she likes me," Anna says suddenly, as they're leaving the building. Elsa frowns.

"Who?"

"Mÿr. I don't think she likes me."

Elsa's eyes widen in apparent understanding, but she stops on the steps and gnaws on her bottom lip. "Mÿr is not a girl," she says. Anna frowns – she certainly looked like a girl – but she hasn't the chance to comment when Elsa continues.

"Mÿr is our Blessed Child. Neither female nor male, nor bound by any gender at all."

Anna visibly struggles to understand, and she finally ekes out a, "But... she- he- it has... girly bits."

Elsa sighs and closes her eyes, and Anna gets the impression that she's succeeded in seriously offending Elsa and her kin. "Not that there's a problem!" she says quickly, trying to salvage whatever good feelings Elsa still has towards her. "I just don't... understand..."

Elsa nods and says, "I'll explain over dinner. We shall see the Heart of the City another day."

They're silent all the way back to the palace. Anna is incredibly aware of how much she seems to have offended Elsa, and her heart sinks at the thought of being on the bad side of the elf. She could very well see herself becoming friends with Elsa.

The thought gives her pause, and she stumbles slightly in her step. Elsa shoots her a look, and all Anna can do is respond with a slightly forced smile.

She's a princess – or rather, she was. Queen, actually, back in Arendelle. It's not so strange for her to imagine a friendship with another monarch... Only the monarch wasn't supposed to be a flipping mythical creature.

Anna surreptitiously pinches herself, but it doesn't change anything. She wonders for a second if she has actually gone mad, before she shrugs it off.

There are worse ways to go than this hallucination.

Elsa shows her where the private washroom is, telling her that dinner's at sundown (but it will be waiting for Anna when she gets out). It feels like a dismissal, but Anna accepts it.

The bath – pool, really – is already filled when Anna gets in. It's about the most glorious thing she's ever felt, and she lets out a sigh. Screw going to dinner; she just wants to stay in the bath. The room is made of ice, but it's still so warm.

She's sitting on a submerged ledge, leaning on the icy wall with her eyes closed, when she hears a noise that isn't the water sounding in the chamber. She opens her eyes and squeaks, and there's a flurry of water as she struggles to cover herself.

Mela is standing at the door. Her eyes are averted, but it doesn't help much. Anna can feel redness seeping into her cheeks, and she's adamant about not moving.

"Um... hi," she says, wincing when it bounces through the room far louder than she'd intended. Mela gives a low bow and holds out her hands. Anna's finally able to deal with her embarrassment for long enough to realise that she's holding light green material.

"A gift from Her Majesty," says Mela. Her eyes flick up to survey Anna, and the redhead swore she could feel a mean smirk, hidden from her sight. "Queen Elsa has also asked that I retrieve your travelling clothes and wash them. The bathhouse has been complaining of your stench for hours."

Anna's ears burn in humiliation, and she doesn't say anything as Mela puts the fresh clothes in a pile and picks up Anna's travelling dress and underclothes. Mela doesn't attempt to hide her disdain, nor avert her gaze, and Anna feels incredibly insignificant.

She's dirty, she can feel it. Her skin, pockmarked slightly from her teenage years, and completely covered in freckles, is nothing next to the utter beauty of the elves. From their perfect hair to the complete lack of hair on their bodies... she's not really surprised that they're immortal, too.

Mela takes far too long, in her opinion, to leave. Anna's not one to let a few words affect her, but with how royally she screwed up earlier, she's a little surprised that Elsa's even thinking of letting her stay.

She doesn't know why they're putting up with her. What was the point when everyone seems to hate her?

Anna almost wants to ask Mela, but when she glances up, any courage she had is gone. She sits in silence until the handmaiden leaves. She doesn't know what to say, anyway. Her sister used to call her feisty. Called her stubborn and strong and Anna doesn't feel any of those right now.

The door swings shut, the sound reverberating through the room.

Now, Anna really doesn't want to get out of the bath.

The dining room is almost completely empty. Elsa, contrary to usual, has forsaken her place at the head of the table. Sometimes, she eats with various council members or Tiril, though, most often she's on her own. But, as Pabbie said, Anna is Mysafir. And, truthfully, Elsa enjoys the lack of pretence and protocol. Anna expects nothing of her, just as she expects nothing of Anna.

It has been a very long time since Elsa had enjoyed another's company to such a degree, and she finds it far more refreshing than she'd imagined.

Of course, enjoying another's company is entirely dependent on them being present.

Elsa hasn't started eating, but she can see the vegetables wilting on her plate. She did tell Anna to take her time, but sundown was a long time ago. The night isn't late, but it's not young by any stretch of the word.

"Mela," she calls. The elfling darts forward, hands pressed in front of her. "Could you go and see where Anna is?"

Mela makes a strange noise between a cough and a laugh, and says, "Probably still in the bath, cleaning herself up." There's something in her expression, and a dismissive slant of her body.

"What did you do?" Elsa clenches her fingers where they sit on her lap, and she frowns at the young elf. She doesn't wait for a reply as she stands and sweeps out of the room, Mela following.

"I didn't do anything," she replies, close on Elsa's heels. "Was just talking. Letting her know that we'd clean her clothes for her."

Elsa's expression doesn't change at all, but she waves her hand, shooing Mela. The girl makes another noise, but she does as she's bidden. When Elsa arrives outside the bathroom door, she's alone.

"Anna?" She knocks on the door, but doesn't get a reply. The ice for the walls is thick and unyielding; light and sound travel, but little else.

She doesn't get a reply, so tries again, knocking a little louder. "Anna?"

The girl doesn't answer, and with a worried grimace, Elsa opens up the door.

The fragrance in the room is absolutely overpowering, and Elsa can't help the way her nose turns up. There are salts and flowers, intended to purify the water and leave a pleasant aroma on the skin of the bather, but they are only supposed to be used in small doses, and certainly not all at once.

But Anna seems to have dumped all of it in the pool. Her back is to the door, and she's scrubbing so hard at that Elsa half expects the speckles of sun that coat her skin to fall off. It's bright red, and Elsa wonders how long she's been at it.

She hasn't noticed the Queen enter, too intent on her task. It's only when Elsa says her name again, soft and cautious, that she turns around.

Anna's eyes are red, and she's blinking rapidly. She darts closer to the edge, away from Elsa, and her arms come to wrap around her chest.

"Anna-?"

"Why do they hate me?" she asks. Her voice is quiet, and she's not looking at Elsa. "I didn't do anything..."

Elsa's heart breaks at the sight of the forlorn girl. She looks so lost, and there are probably hundreds of other questions still rolling around in her head that she's too scared to ask.

So Elsa just sighs and moves towards Anna. There's a towel waiting for the girl to the side, so she picks it up on her way past. Anna doesn't get out of the bath until Elsa averts her eyes, and it almost brings a smile to her face.

"Let's have dinner."

They don't go to the dining room. Elsa invites Anna to her own chambers, and they spend the evening tasting various delicacies on Elsa's massive bed.

Elves don't eat meat, as Anna discovers. It's a strange diet, she thinks, because much of her own meals growing up consisted of salted fish and mutton, with few vegetables. Much of what she samples is completely new and foreign, and she absolutely loves it.

She forgets, briefly, why she was upset earlier, and it makes the night more enjoyable. She only remembers when she notices Elsa scrunching her nose up, or burying it in the same drink Anna had tasted earlier.

Eyes downcast, she gives a self-deprecating chuckle. "I smell that bad, huh?" she asks. She can't bring herself to look up at Elsa, so she just keeps talking instead. "Yeah, uh, Mela mentioned it, and I guess even all your pretty-smelling things couldn't quite cover it..."

The food – currently some kind of fruit bread – tastes like parchment in her mouth, and it takes so much effort to swallow that she doesn't bother taking another bite. Elsa shifts on the bed beside her and lets out a huff.

"You know," she begins, "She thinks she's in love with me."

The strange topic shift is enough for Anna's head to whip up, and Elsa gives a sad sort of smile.

"Mela. She thinks she's in love with me, and she does these things because she thinks I don't notice. Don't notice her, or her feelings. I wouldn't take to heart what she says. I don't think you smell, and I'm Queen, so I'm right."

It brings a slight quirk to Anna's lips, but it's too easy for her to remember the outcry that day when Elsa kissed her forehead. It's too easy to remember the upset gaze of the elves in the bathhouse.

"Why do they hate me?" she asks again.

"Because you're human," Elsa answers. Anna's not expecting such a reply, both swift and candid, and it shows in her expression. The Queen looks down and plucks at her dress.

It's a sheer shift of off-white, almost see-through but not quite. Anna's just grateful that she's clothed.

"There was a war," she begins. "A giant- we call it the Great War. Not for how long it took, nor the scale of it in history. Simply, it refers to how many of our number were taken. It wasn't between the humans, not at first. You didn't even realise what was going on. We're usually peaceful, but this...

"The enemies name has been wiped from our history. A powerful spell – even I don't remember it. They killed a child. A Blessed Child. And so we marched. Called the clans and tribes together. I was only very young – still an elfling – so I couldn't go. My father, my mother... my sister." She catches Anna's eye and gives a small smile. "Oh yes, I had a sister too. I loved her... so much. It doesn't stop hurting, does it?" Anna shakes her head. Elsa continues her story.

"Well, we marched. And when they got there, there was no enemy. No one to fight. But they had been there; the remains of the enemy was on display for everyone to see.

"The humans had discovered them and, taken by surprise, slaughtered them. My people didn't stand a chance. Once upon a time, elves and humans lived peacefully – some lived together. Our cities were filled with those of both human and elf blood. We never expected the alliance to break. We underestimated the peace of humans, and we overestimated the length of their memories."

She tears her eyes away from where they've fallen in her lap, and finds she can't see much for the tears in her eyes. It doesn't matter; she blinks them away only to realise Anna's crying too, thick trails running over her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she says thickly, rubbing her eyes with the ball of her hand. "I don't... no wonder they hate me..." she whispers.

"No..." Elsa says. "It wasn't you." She reaches forward and brushes the water from Anna's face with her thumbs. "Your tears just show that you aren't like them. You're a good person, Anna, and they will see that."

Anna lets out a sniffle. "But I'm not. I was rude today, too..."

At that, Elsa gives a watery laugh, still plagued by the tears in her own eyes. "You didn't know," she repeats. "We aren't humans, and sometimes even we forget how different we are..."

With a little laugh, Anna nods. "Mhmm," she hums. "So... Blessed Children...?" she prompts.

"Ah, yes. Mÿr. Mÿr was born with the genitalia of a female, however is not a girl. We don't use any pronouns at all when referring to Mÿr. Name or title only. Does that make sense?"

Anna gives a little half-shrug, and Elsa returns with a mock-glare.

"I don't understand the... not being a girl thing..." she admits, and Elsa nods her head.

"It is a hard thing to grasp," she says. "I have the body of a woman and I feel as such. On occasion, children are born with one body, but they don't... identify as such. These are also Blessed Children.

"It isn't always evident immediately; some Blessed Children take many years to realise what they are. Mÿr knew before turning three. Blessed Children are a gift from the stars. They are unbound to the earth, and have the dual spirit. They are... blessed. It is hard to explain in Common..."

Anna nods. "I didn't mean offence, earlier," she says. "I wish humans were that accepting of anything different." Elsa shrugs.

"Then you wouldn't be human," she says, earning a little chuckle from Anna. The laugh morphs into a yawn, and once again Elsa is surprised at how much time she has lost. It would be close to the night's zenith, if not already past, and yet it doesn't feel as though they've spent that much time talking.

"Time for bed," she says. Anna tries to say something, but she's interrupted by another yawn. She gives a sheepish grin, and clambers from the bed.

"Goodnight, Elsa," she says as she nears the door. "Thank you. For explaining."

Elsa smiles. "Thank you for listening. It has been a long time since I could speak so candidly. It's nice."

Anna nods and, with a wave, she's gone from the room. Elsa lifts the food tray from the bed, and she realises that she probably should have walked Anna to her room. But, she knows Anna will be okay, and truthfully, she's too tired.

For the first time in a long time, she sleeps peacefully.

She manages to get up at a reasonable hour. Elsa's halfway dressed before Mela even knocks on her door, asking if she needs assistance. She lets the girl in, but doesn't allow her to actually do anything; Mela is made to stand by the door while Elsa dresses herself and applies a light coating of powder to her face. She adds a purple highlight to her eyes, and wonders, for a second, why she barely ever bothers with it in the first place.

"I heard about what you said to Anna last night," she says finally, sitting on the edge of a settee and giving Mela a reproving gaze. The girl blanches and looks away. "I don't care for your motives," Elsa continues, "She is a guest; you would not humiliate any of the Vetrstøv Clan, so I don't see why you would do so to her. I will not tolerate it if it happens again. Understood?"

Mela gives a sharp nod, embarrassed by the telling-off. Elsa responds with her own shake of the head, and stands up.

"We'll take breakfast in the solarium today," she says. "See to it."

And with that, Mela is dismissed.

Elsa makes her way down the hall towards Anna's room. She knocks on the door, but doesn't get a response. She's just about to try again when she hears a cough from behind her. Whipping around, she sees Anna, still in her nightclothes, standing awkwardly in the corridor.

"Hi."

"... What are you doing out here?" Elsa asks, confused. Anna gives a sheepish smile.

"I got lost," she says. "I was looking for the bathroom. You know how confusing ice gets?" She makes a face, and Elsa hides a giggle behind her hand. "Hey, it's not funny! And then when I finally found it, I almost got stuck to the seat. Sorry, Els, but I think you need to rethink your building strategies."

Elsa's halfway to laughing again when she stops short and gives Anna a look. "What did you just call me?"

Anna's smile falls, and she looks confused for a second until recognition dawns. "I uh... sorry." She bites her lip and looks away. "I got a bit ahead of myself, I guess..."

Arms outstretched, Elsa rushes to convince her that she hasn't done anything wrong. "No, no, I just- it's been a long while since anyone called me that." Anna just looks at her before her eyes widen in understanding.

"Your... sister?" she asks, and Elsa nods. Her lips curl in a gentle smile.

"You remind me of her. She was always so bright and happy. She'd wear her emotions on her sleeves, never mind how it rankled some of the older elves. She was to be Queen of the sand tribes while I remained here. She would have been fantastic."

A familiar pang shoots through Anna; she knows how it feels to lose the one closest to her. She clears her throat and offers a smile.

"Why don't you tell me about her over breakfast?" she suggests.

Elsa smiles at the idea. "Why not?" she says. "But, I think I'll lead the way."

It earns a chuckle from Anna, and Elsa decides that she really likes the sound.

The solarium is a cozy little chamber at one end of the palace. The ice that makes up the outer walls is completely see-through, allowing an uninhibited view of the surrounding land. Anna hadn't realised how far she'd walked, but Arendelle is beyond the horizon, completely out of view. Not that it matters much, truly; there's plenty more to catch her eye. The solarium sits above the small city, and Anna ends up pressing her face against the wall, trying to drink in the sight.

Even though it's summer, a light coating of snow covers the buildings and street. Anna doesn't bother asking how or why – she expects the reasoning to be something along the lines of 'magic'.

Behind the city, on the opposite side to where Arendelle is, there's a mountain. Or, rather, the peak of one, because Anna gets the feeling that despite the plateau the city is built on, it's part of the same range.

"How come people don't find this place?" she asks. "There's plenty of Samí tribes in the area that would walk through here."

"My spells. They deter the casual wanderer. In local lore, this place was the site of foul deeds, and the Samí people avoid it. For others, I just make them not wish to approach."

Anna frowns. "But... I wanted to approach..." she says, and Elsa shrugs.

"I cannot explain that. It has never happened before."

With a nod, Anna turns completely from the wall and sits on one of the seats opposite Elsa. A woven blanket has been placed over it for her comfort, and, with a gesture from Elsa, she leans forward and begins eating what looks like a cloudberry, but it's a rich red, with a a flavour that Anna can't even begin to describe.

"Mmm..." she voices, the fruit melting on her tongue. "What is this? How-?"

Elsa smiles. "Elvish fare is very hardy. These – rana – are a fruit that have been bred to survive up here; other varieties were created to be suitable for the sand tribes, and I daresay that Ekud will bring some of his own food as offering from the eastern deserts."

"Ekud?"

"Ah, the leader of the eastern tribe – the Vetrstøv Clan. One half-moon hence, you shall meet him and his kin."

Anna nods, and there's silence for a moment save for her chewing. She gets juice over her chin and barely thinks about the mess she's making until Elsa laughs again. Hastily wiping her mouth, Anna blushes. "Sorry," she says, but Elsa waves her off.

"Don't be. It's fine – it's good to see you're enjoying it. It was my sister's favourite fruit."

"What was she like?" Anna asks softly, looking at her lap. Elsa sighs, and a wistful look builds in her blue eyes.

"She... was like you," Elsa begins. "I said as much earlier, I suppose. Strong and wilful, but she was always, always smiling. She was old by the time I was born; nearing her two hundredth birthday. But she never acted older. Back then, there were a great many children. We were populous, nearing a hundred thousand in total. Dispersed over the world, of course, but this city once encompassed the whole of Svea Rike.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself. My sister loved me from the moment I was born, and I her. We did everything together. I was so angry when my parents forbade me from marching with her, and I still am, sometimes. I would have perished, but we would have perished together."

Anna swallows thickly. "What was her name?" she asks.

"Aerya. She had hair the colour of fire, and a temper to match, too," Elsa chuckles, but it's soft and watery. "It's been so long since I could talk about her..."

Anna's heart goes out to the woman in front of her, and in a moment of courage, she reaches out a hand and grips Elsa's. Elsa returns it, squeezing Anna's fingers in thanks.

They're silent for the rest of the meal, but it's comfortable. Anna doesn't really doubt the idea that maybe they could be friends.

Maybe they already are.

Elsa leaves her after breakfast. Anna understands; while elves do seem incredibly relaxed, she supposes someone still has to run the city. She's not really sure what, precisely, Elsa's job is as Queen, but she supposes that it isn't any of her business anyway.

Kristoff meets her in the foyer with a lopsided grin. He has an ice-flower in his hand, and Anna can't fight back the pleased blush.

"Trying to charm me?" she asks, and he lets out a bark of laughter.

"I am much less smooth," he says. "This is from Mÿr. I told the Blessed Child I was seeing you today, and I was given this to give to you."

Anna takes the flower, slight confusion on her face. But, she smiles anyway. "Tell Mÿr 'thank you'," she says. "What's the plan for today?"

"Elsa wants me to teach you various etiquette for the Morning Ceremony. She's in a better place to explain the intricacies than me, but there are certain things that you're going to have to know."

Anna frowns, and the smirk Kristoff has on his face is absolutely terrifying.

"Well," he says, "You have to be naked..."

They're at his house. Anna's insisted on complete privacy – not for the nudity, because they're only practising verbal things – but rather to shield her from the disapproving looks from the other elves.

Kristoff's home is small, but cozy. There are precious few personal items, which make Anna realise that the palace doesn't have many, either. Elves don't seem to be sentimental creatures.

She finds it strange, but she doesn't have much time to think on it because Kristoff fills her head with the strange customs, ones she has to memorise and understand before the 'Morning Ceremony'.

"It's a ceremony celebrating the Birth of the Elves," he explains. "At a time before time, the first elf fell from stardust. She created the beginning of time, and fifty rotations saw a mate follow her. The stars were impressed by all she had created, and wanted to thank her, so they created one. And when they kissed, the whole earth felt it – their bond was so strong that it seared their skin and created the first Bond Marks.

"So, every fifty years we hold the celebration in the Heart of the City. It's the only time regular folk can enter. Beneath the Heart, we give thanks to the stars and celebrate the fertile season."

"Is that why there aren't many children?" she asks. "Wait, Falo and Mÿr were born outside the fertile season..."

Kristoff shrugs. "It's not precise. True, we're only fertile for a few months every half-century, but they're twins, and Mÿr is blessed. It's how we knew something was special from the beginning."

With a nod of understanding, Anna gestures for him to continue.

"So, yes. After that, most elves stay behind. Elsa won't, and neither will you. You'll probably go back to the palace to change – if you want – and we share food beneath the Heart."

"What do the other elves do?"

Once more, the smirk is back, and Anna can't help but regret – just a little – asking. "It is the fertile season, Anna."

Jaw slack, Anna's face erupts in red, and Kristoff positively cackles. "You'll be fine. You aren't expected to participate, and Elsa doesn't. It's entirely optional."

Anna clears her throat and struggles to find words. "Uh, so I don't- um what- is there anything else?"

"You'll need to know the prayers. In Elvish. The ceremony doesn't go for very long, but there's still a lot to learn. Tiril and Mÿr have more central roles, and Elsa has a small part. You're just going to be someone praying."

"How many prayers are there?"

"Oh, about a dozen." Anna groans. "But they're all pretty short. So, I'll be teaching you. We'll go slow and you'll see that it isn't going to be hard. We have a half-moon."

Anna nods. More than enough time.

Maybe if she doesn't mess up, the elves won't hate her quite so much.

They only end up studying the greeting before lunch, and Anna's halfway to memorising the first prayer when a messenger from the castle comes calling. How they always seem to know where she is, she doesn't know, but she's only grateful it isn't Mela.

It's a young elf, she thinks, and he looks familiar. Just looking at them, Anna would have thought they'd all look the same, but they don't. There are subtle differences, just like, she supposes, there are difference in the features of her own people. His hair is thick and long, and it's braided elegantly with precious beads or stones or something. Maybe it's his eyes; they seem travelled, but there's still a youthfulness in them.

"Cirava," he introduces himself as. "We met, your first morning here, though you probably don't remember me."

She doesn't, not really, but she's not going to say that. Kristoff gives her a tight smile as Cirava guides her out the door.

"Tomorrow?" she asks, and Kristoff nods.

"Tomorrow. I'll be there after breakfast."

With that, he waves goodbye, and Anna's shepherded out the door and into the setting sunlight.

They walk in silence, but it isn't the comfortable kind, like with Elsa. It's strained and tense, and Anna is decidedly uncomfortable. She's almost wishing that it was Mela who had come, if only because she knows where the young elf stands, and where she's coming from. Cirava is an unknown entity.

They're halfway to the palace when he turns away, down some sort of side street. Anna frowns, but follows him – perhaps it's a shortcut? Cirava shoots her a smile over his shoulder, and Anna relaxes. She takes longer steps to catch up, and they're almost step-in-step when suddenly he whips around, pushing her against the wall. Anna's cry of surprise is cut short when one hand comes up to cover her mouth, the other one wrapping around the base of her throat.

"Not one word," he says, and all Anna can do is nod weakly. She still lets out a little whimper when he removes his hand, and she can feel warm tears filling her eyes. Cirava doesn't do anything for a few moments; he just stands there, watching her.

"Are you going to kill me?" Anna asks. Her voice trembles and cracks, and when Cirava laughs, she thinks it's the most terrifying sound. At once, the futility of life comes rushing at her. She escaped her husband with her life, and thought she'd found a new one here. She wishes she could thank Elsa for her hospitality, but it's a little late for that, now.

But then Cirava removes his other hand from her neck, though he doesn't back off. "I'm not going to kill you," he says. "You're not even worth the cloth on your back."

"Wha-?" Anna's rubbing desperately at her face, and when she looks at Cirava again, he hasn't even bothered to hide his disgust.

"Pathetic," he says, and Anna decides that she actually sort of hates elves. She understands why they hate her, but couldn't they just be quiet about it? She's done nothing to incur their rage, save for being who she is. "I've spent time with your kind," he continues. "I know them. I know how they think and see and feel. I know how you hurt others, and I know how you get hurt. You'll turn against your own family if it means saving yourself."

Anna glares at him through her red-stained eyes. "I'm not like that," she says, voice low. He gives a shrug.

"You're all the same. I may not wish you dead, but be warned, Anna – there are those who will take an opportunity. Retribution for the lives your kind stole from us, in a battle that was never yours to begin with."

He takes a step back and makes to spit at her. Anna's shut her eyes, so though temporary blindness will save her, when a new voice enters the fray.

"Anna!"

Anna pinches her eyes open and glances down towards the main street. She expected Kristoff, or perhaps Mela. Maybe even Elsa – it must have been some time since she was called to the palace. She didn't expect the twin elves to be standing at the entrance to the alley, looking at her and Cirava.

They're holding hands, blessedly clothed. Falo's wearing a robe, buttoned up the front by what looks like carved seeds. They shimmer and shine in the light like a beacon, and Anna takes one more look at Cirava before she's stumbling over to the children. Mÿr's wearing a shift, almost exactly the same as the one Elsa wore when she first introduced herself to Anna. Mÿr isn't smiling, but Falo is, and he reaches out his free hand to Anna, who grasps it gratefully.

"Are you on your way to see Elsa?" he asks, and when Anna nods, he grins wider. "So are we! We'll take you there."

Anna can feel Cirava's eyes on her as she leaves with the children, but save for when she's with Elsa, being with Falo and Mÿr, she feels just as safe.

Dinner is actually a success, as opposed to the previous night. Falo and Mÿr stay for a bath, and somehow they even convince Anna to get in. Elsa's in the room, keeping an eye, but out of respect for Anna she still averts her eyes when the redhead climbs in. The children, of course, have no such qualms. Whatever fragrance they've used has left the water slightly murky, which certainly helps when it comes to protecting her modesty.

Falo and Mÿr comment on her body hair, and her face flames, but they're more intrigued than anything. Explaining human puberty to elvish children is a novel experience, and Elsa laughs at Anna's embarrassment.

With pleasant company, and without any snide remarks from Mela, Anna finds this night to be much more enjoyable. The good feeling doesn't disappear as they convene in the dining room, and Anna's given a taste of traditional elvish dishes; not the single pieces of fruit she'd had until now.

And, for the first time, she hears Mÿr speak. Contrasting with Falo's loud nattering, Mÿr is incredibly soft-spoken. Every word that comes from the Blessed Child's mouth seems to be one of great thought; not a single word is uttered for the sake of being spoken.

Unless they're talking directly to Anna, the children speak in Elvish. Anna thinks she recognises a stray word from the greeting she had to learn from Kristoff, but if she's honest with herself, it's probably something completely different. She was never one for languages – her tutors kept quitting, much to the chagrin of her parents (though her sister found it funny).

Predictably, the children fall silent during dessert – some kind of honey and mint concoction that has Anna watering at the mouth – and Elsa takes the chance to ask about her lessons.

The first thing Anna says is, "Elvish is hard." Elsa smiles at her, and waves a hand.

"You're an intelligent woman, Anna," she says, "I'm sure you'll do fine. Kristoff is a good teacher."

Anna scoffs at the first part, but nods. "He is. He's a lot of fun to talk to, too."

Elsa just smiles and finishes her dessert.

After the plates are cleared away, and Falo and Mÿr are falling asleep where they sit, Elsa gets up. Anna follows suit as the Queen approaches the children and attempts to get them to stand up.

"Bed time," she says. Mÿr stands on wobbly feet, by Falo refuses. He reaches out, not for Elsa, but for Anna to pick him up. Elsa's just about to softly reprimand him when Anna darts forward.

"I got this," she says, and Elsa nods. Taking Mÿr's hand, the four of them walk down the empty halls together.

"Where are their parents?" Anna asks softly; Falo's practically falling asleep on her shoulder. He isn't heavy – not at all – and she doesn't want to jostle him.

"They live with the Vetrstøv Clan," Elsa explains. "This is the capital, of sorts; Mÿr will live here forever, and Falo will be here until his fifteenth birthday, after which he'll travel to the Vetrstøv and live for a sun. Once upon an era, elves would travel to every city and live for at least a sun, to get an idea of the world and our very small place in it. There are only a few cities left now..."

"Sun?"

"Oh!" Elsa looks at Anna, an embarrassed smile on her face. "What you humans call a 'year'. You know, you're not the most accurate time-keepers," she says, and Anna laughs.

It doesn't take long to put the children to bed; Mÿr is complacent and Falo's already asleep. It seems strange, Anna thinks briefly, the idea of children living away from their parents. If Anna didn't know better, she'd think that (with the way Elsa treats them), they might have been her children. It's... really sweet.

They're standing in the hallway, discussing the plans for the next day, when they're approached by another figure.

"Tiril," Elsa greets, "Good evening."

"Your Majesty. Anna."

Anna gives a little wave. Tiril's very presence demanded respect, and though she didn't seem to dislike Anna at all, she also seemed to be one who was good at hiding her true intent, if she so chose. She looks between Anna and Elsa, a slight frown on her face before it morphs into one of sheer happiness. Anna doesn't understand when she begins speaking.

"Congratulations, Elsa," she says, "I told you that the pond would help." Elsa's eyes widened, and short of any answer from the monarch, Anna speaks up.

"What's the pond?"

Ignoring her, Elsa manages to find her voice, spluttering, "Tiril! I told you I would not go there, and I haven't. Why you would assume–?"

"–There is a change in you, Elsa, just as I said there would be. If not there, than perhaps Miss Anna...?"

Elsa glances at Anna from the corner of her eyes before switching to Elvish. She doesn't sound happy, but the lilting language is very deceptive. Anna's just about completely zoned out, resigned to the fact that her question won't be answered – not that Elsa has to answer it – when Tiril turns to her. Elsa says one more thing, and there's a barely-concealed eye-roll from the priestess in response.

"Thank you, Anna," she says, before turning to Elsa. "You do not need me tonight."

Before either Anna or Elsa have a chance to respond, she's turned on her heel and sweeping down the hall. Elsa lets out a huff of annoyance and says something under her breath before turning to Anna.

"I apologise for my rudeness," she says. "There was a... problem. Personal matter." She shakes her head. "Shall we?"

Anna follows her dumbly down the hall, trying to process everything.

The following day, they're walking down the main street of the city when Anna turns to Elsa, a frown on her face. She doesn't say anything, though, just looks away and keeps walking, so Elsa has to take the lead.

"Something the matter?" she asks, and though Anna shakes her head, Elsa finds she doesn't quite believe her. She levels a stare, and after a few seconds, Anna relents.

"I just... am a bit confused," she says. "About something you said, before?"

Elsa looks partially curious and partially scared – she's probably imagining the conversation with Tiril the night before – so Anna ploughs on. She doesn't like that expression. "Just... you mentioned that there used to be thousands of elves. But you're so advanced. I just... have difficulty understanding how humans killed so many..."

Elsa is silent for a moment as she observes Anna. The redheaded girl isn't quite sure what Elsa's looking for in her expression, but then Elsa is moving again, towards the back of the city.

"You have noticed the marks on our skin?" She phrases it as a statement, but there's a lilt at the end of her sentence. Anna's fallen into step beside her again, and nods once.

"Um, bonding marks? Kristoff explained them to me."

Elsa hums lightly. "Bond Marks. You see how some are bright, almost glowing, and others are faded?" Once again, Anna nods. "Those that are faded signify that someone is lost," Elsa says quietly. "Few elves remain behind after their Bond-Mate has passed on. We feel it, when they do. It cuts through us; part of our soul dies, and sometimes, the rest can't recover. Few do, and even fewer still ever find another one."

Anna gasps, hand covering her mouth. She takes another look at the elves around her. Most don't have any marks of their own, but several do. Out of those, the minority by far are faded. And then she looks to Elsa again, eyes roving over the Queen's own marks.

"So... your Bond-Mate..."

Elsa swallows and nods. She isn't looking at Anna; she doesn't see the girl move until two arms are wrapped around her. She hears Anna sniffle, and slowly, her own hands come up to rest on Anna's back. Anna doesn't release her for some time, and she's acutely aware of the crowed they've drawn. But, that fact is relegated to the back of her mind because Anna's warmth is penetrating her clothes and her skin, and it feels so much better than even gjalpë zjarr on a frozen day.

How long has it been since she had last been hugged? How long since she had felt such tender affections? Elsa has to actively steady herself against Anna; tired of the view, she closes her eyes and just feels.

Eventually, Anna extricates herself, smiling and wiping her face. "You make me cry too much," she says, and Elsa chuckles.

"You bring it on yourself," she says, "Asking all these questions. Curiosity killed the cat, isn't that how the saying goes?"

Anna nods. "But satisfaction brought it back," she recites, smiling. It falls as she seems to suddenly realise how many elves are watching. She feels very small under their intense gazes, so Elsa links their arms and pulls her along.

"Come now, Anna, or we'll never make it to the Heart of the City."

The rest of the trek is made with light conversation between the two. It gives Anna time to just stop and reflect at how much her life has changed. She's only been in the city for a couple of days, and she's able to talk to the Queen as though she's a long-lost friend.

Eventually, they get to a door in the side of the mountain. At least, Anna thinks it's a door. There are engravings that she can't read – they look like runes, but where her own writing system is jagged, full of straight lines and harsh corners, this one is smooth and flowing.

She turns to Elsa to ask what says, but the Queen is focussed on something else. As Anna watches, a pane of clear ice grows, building from a flurry that bursts from Elsa's hands. The elf quirks a grin.

"Magic," she says, and all Anna can do is nod dumbly. Magic.

Anna watches in complete awe, eyes wide and jaw slack, as the pane grows into a wall, of sorts. The light from the sun filters through and hits the wall of the mountain, and Anna gazes in mounting wonder as the writing begins to glow. It shifts and changes, and within a few short seconds, it's no longer a wall, but a door.

"This," Elsa says, grinning wildly, "is the Heart of the City. Only the leaders of the clans have the magic to open this door – the only time people can enter is on official business, or during our celebrations."

"And this is official business?" Anna asks. Elsa just smirks.

"Of course not. This is playing hooky with official business."

And with another grin, thrown over her shoulder, she entered.

Anna's only slightly hesitant when following her, and that's only because she can't see two feet in front of her. She calls out Elsa's name, softly, but it still echoes. One hand is against the wall, and she feels the whole place shudder as the door closes behind them. In the overwhelming blackness, she feels more than just tiny. She's just about to call out Elsa's name when a smooth hand slides into hers.

Anna feels a warm breath puff over her cheeks, and when Elsa murmurs, "Trust me," in her ear, she thinks she can hear a smile. She turns her face a little, and she can't hold back her own grin as their noses brush. Elves are not as tall as the stories would tell.

"Okay," she whispers back.

With Elsa's hand in hers, Anna doesn't fear walking into any walls. They don't speak, as though conversation will wake the mountain gods from their slumber, but that doesn't mean they're silent – or rather, Anna isn't. If it weren't for the hand in hers, she would never have known that Elsa was walking next to her; several times, she almost walks into the Queen, unable to tell where the darkness stopped and the elf begin.

Contrarily, she seems to be made of nothing but noise; scuffles of her feet, her breaths that quickly become pants. They're heading down, she thinks, but she isn't really sure. The path twists and turns, and Anna wonders how the elves are all supposed to fit down the narrow walkways.

Eventually, Elsa slows and releases Anna's hand. It feels cold, without the elf's presence (even if she did create ice not that long ago), and for a second, Anna becomes disoriented.

Elsa's voice, muttering something in Elvish, steadies her. Gives her an anchor. She creeps forward, towards the sound. Elsa must have heard her, because she reaches out another hand, wrapping it around Anna's waist as she tugs her closer.

"Ready?" she asks, and Anna can only nod. She knows Elsa can feel it, so she doesn't bother speaking. "Close your eyes."

It makes no difference to her whether her eyes are open or shut, but there's a smile in Elsa's voice – an excitement that seems so foreign. It infects Anna, lifts her heart and puts a small, anticipatory smile on her face.

Her eyes are still shut when she feels a warm breeze on her face, and they're still shut when Elsa guides her forward, step by tentative step. It's the first time since arriving that Anna's experienced any kind of ambient warmth, and it's almost enough to make her open her eyes. She doesn't, because she sort of wants to hear that same exhilarated excitement in Elsa's voice.

She isn't disappointed. She can't really imagine Elsa giggling like a schoolgirl, but the way she sounds, it's very close.

The first thing Anna notices is how bright the cavern is; the second is that it truly is a cavern. It would fit Arendelle Castle in it a hundred times over – both in height and in breadth, she guesses. It's only a guess because whatever is causing the light makes it impossible to see the roof.

Beneath her feet is the greenest grass she's ever seen, emitting some strange fragrance that goes straight to her head. Anna giggles, and then giggles some more at the sound of her voice echoing around.

"What is it?" she asks. Elsa doesn't say anything; merely smiles and beckons her closer.

Together, the two of them make their way to the top of a small mound. The rest of the area is flat, and from the height Anna truly gets a glimpse of the sheer size. Arendelle is surrounded by mountains and hills and the fjord that leads into the ocean. She's never seen such an abundance of land. She's so distracted that she doesn't notice Elsa, whose arms are stretched up to the roof, calling the light towards her.

It's only when Elsa whispers, "Look, Anna," that Anna tears her gaze from the room and back to her friend. The light is not one giant object, but rather made up of what must be hundreds of thousands of little floating orbs. They hover, far too high to be reached, but it doesn't matter because Elsa seems to be able to call them with little thought. She waves one hand, calling Anna over. The little light lands in Elsa's hand and dims, enough for Anna to make out its shape.

It's some kind of stone or crystal, it seems; oblong in shape, about half the size of her own head. Elsa holds it like it's made of glass – or diamond. She holds it like it's the most precious thing in the world. It pulsates gently, and with a smile, Elsa holds it out to Anna.

"What is it?" she repeats, reaching out tentatively. Surely Elsa isn't going to trust her with such a gem? But the Queen keeps holding it, and with more care than Anna ever remembers doing anything, she grasps the light. It's warm and pulsing in her hand, and seems to glow a little brighter in Anna's hand. "Is it alive?" Elsa nods.

"Sort of," she says, before adding, "You make it happy." Anna lifts a hand and runs a finger along the top. The stone seems to hum, and she smiles again. It does seem happy. If that's possible.

"So... what is it?" Anna repeats, eyes locked on the light.

Elsa clears her throat and moves closer. "It's an elf heart."

Anna fumbles and Elsa lurches forward. They catch the light at the same time, and once Anna's sure Elsa has it in her hands, she lets go. "A what?"

"An elf heart," Elsa repeats. With it sitting on her palm, she opens her hand, and it floats up to join the others. "When we die, our hearts crystallise. If we get to it in time, we can... hmm, harvest, I suppose, the heart. A heart on its own is just that; a heart. But put them together, in this room and, well... elf magic is powerful magic. There is more power in this room than the greatest cities in Europe."

"So this is the Heart of the City," Anna says. "Literally... hearts..."

And then she's laughing. She plops on the ground, looks up at the ceiling, and just giggles. Elsa gives her a strange look, but follows her to the floor, smiling.

"This is amazing, Els," she says. Her eyes widen briefly before she grins. "It warms my heart that you showed me this."

Elsa quirks an eyebrow. "Was that a pun?" she asks. "That was terrible." She shakes her head and Anna shrugs.

"Bah, your heart just isn't in it," she counters. Elsa glares at her for a second before they both descend into laughter once again.

Above them, the hearts seem to shine even brighter.

Anna swiftly falls into a routine. Every morning, she'd wake up and have a pleasant breakfast with Elsa. Usually, it would be in the dining room or the solarium, but a few times she was taken into the town. The elves soon stop caring about her, and they go about their day content to completely ignore her. Occasionally, Elsa would introduce her to someone; she'd usually get a pleasant, if empty, smile of acknowledgment before they moved on. She's not sure if Elsa knows she knows, but it's a matter that hardly seems worth bringing up.

Mela hasn't bothered with her since that first night in the bathroom. Anna doesn't know why, but she's definitely not going to complain about it.

She's had another meeting with Elsa's councillors, too. Most of them were unremarkable when she first met them, and they remain so this time, too. She avoids Cirava's gaze – and everyone else's – by looking at the floor most of the time. It works quite well, the 'humble' thing, until one of the elves stands up and approaches her.

He's old. Of that, Anna is certain. There are crows feet around his eyes, and he has the kind of weariness that comes, not with age, but with hardship. His eyes are a light grey, and they pierce through Anna and make her shirk back in fear.

It's unfounded, of course. No one would harm her in front of Elsa, and he's a nice enough person anyway. He claps her on the back and gives her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and he welcomes her to the city. It's better than anything Anna's had from anyone else, and she soaks up the gesture. His expression might have been rather empty, but the effort wasn't, and she appreciates it all the same.

The days are spent with Kristoff, learning the prayers and greetings, and other various things she apparently needs to know about the elves. He tries to teach her a little of their history, but Anna discovers that unless it's Elsa sharing, she finds the whole business rather dull.

He takes her around the city and asks her questions of life in Arendelle. She doesn't tell him of the recent developments, but he seems happy enough to listen to her waffle on about her childhood.

She begs him to teach her how to read Elvish, too, but he refuses. They have too much work to do with the spoken language; reading isn't important. There's an unspoken maybe after the celebration, but it's coupled with an if you're still here, and Anna doesn't like thinking about her future beyond the next two weeks.

Dinner is taken either in the dining room, or Elsa's bedroom. Elsa quizzes her on the prayers, and Anna finds she cares a lot more about the Queen's opinion than Kristoff's. She tries harder, but still screws up. While Kristoff meets each mounting error with a strained smile and a, "Let's try it again," Elsa is much more open in her praise and much more reserved in judgement. She still corrects – recasts and clarifies and provides feedback on the phonology – but only when Anna desperately needs it; when her words are incomprehensible, or the sentences a jumbled mess. Each correct utterance is met with a growing smile and encouraging nod.

The first time Anna makes it all the way through with no mistakes, it's three days before the festival, and the night before Ekud and the Vetrstøv clan were to arrive. Elsa only wanted to go through it once – they had other things to discuss, and there would be less time to chat until the celebration.

"You should know about Ekud," she starts by saying. They've taken dinner in her room again, away from the bustle of the palace as rooms are prepared and the larders stocked. "He is a wonderful leader, but he allows his heart to rule his head too often for my liking."

Anna looks at Elsa, taking in her words but not really sure where she was going with them. Elsa sighed. "He, like many of our people, dislikes humans. I wish you could remain by my side until he has left, but unfortunately there are certain rules we have to obey."

At that, Anna nods. She vaguely recalls Kristoff telling her of some kind of sabbatical, but she was sure he only mentioned Tiril. When she brings it up, Elsa nods.

"Yes, only Tiril. I'm talking of political rules. My time will be taken up as escort for Ekud and several of his dignitaries. And..." Elsa trails off and looks away, embarrassed, "I'm afraid I'm going to be a terrible host again," she says. "You will have to stay at Kristoff's."

Anna frowns. She doesn't really want to argue against Elsa – and if the Queen, in her capacity as monarch, asked her to do something, she'd do it – but, "Why?" she asks. "I mean... I thought I was 'mystical' or whatever–"

"–Mysafir–"

"–Yeah, that." They share a smile before Anna continues. "Surely it doesn't matter?"

Elsa sighs, long and low. "Ordinarily, I'd agree with you, Anna. I'm sure Pabbie will have words for me when he finds out. This isn't about your standing at all – or, rather, it's about your status. For as much as you've adopted our customs with an acceptance I could only have dreamed of, you are a human. Ekud would take it as a personal insult if you shared accommodation. It is wiser for me, and safer for you, if you are not in the castle while he is."

Anna nods. "So what's the plan, then?" she asks. Elsa gives her a relieved smile.

"Thank you for being so understanding," she says, but Anna shrugs it off.

"I get it," she says. "Politics. Sometimes it makes us do things we don't want to..." She gives a half-shrug, a what can you do?, and Elsa sighs again.

"Okay," she says. "Tomorrow, breakfast as usual. As much as I would like to take the day off to enjoy with you, I have to entertain. There will be a meeting in which we discuss news and developments, and a small banquet. Unfortunately, I can't get a place for you." Elsa grimaces, and to Anna it looks like it really physically pains Elsa to say such things. Anna reaches out her hand and squeezes the Queen's gently.

"The day after, you will have to meet the Vetrstøv Clan. They will likely be unhappy at your admittance – a human hasn't partaken in an elvish ceremony in centuries – but they will have to get over it. It is not an unprecedented event. Even my own people won't argue against it, so you should have no problems. Just in case, though, Kristoff and Tiril will both be present, as will my council and I."

Their hands are still joined, and Anna finds herself not wanting to let go. She looks at them absentmindedly; such fingers could create ice, and yet they brought more warmth to her than anything she'd ever felt.

She feels suddenly compelled to tell Elsa how much she appreciates her company, but it gets stuck in her throat. All she manages is a hoarse, "Thank you for being my friend, Elsa."

It's the first time she's ever called Elsa that out loud, but the way Elsa looks at her, she has a feeling the elf was calling her that in her head, too. Elsa reaches over and envelopes her in a hug, and repeats the same words in Anna's ear.

It's not much, but it's something.

"Welcome, friends, to the City of Elves."

Elsa's voice carries clear over the gathered elves. She gives a diplomatic smile, and sees the same one returned on Ekud's face. There is no love lost between the two, and the entire assembly knows it. Nevertheless, she continues.

"Our brothers and sisters to the south are too few in number to join us here, but let it be known that their spirits are with us as we celebrate this momentous event. In two days, we begin the Morning Ceremony. Until that time, you are all free to experience the city as you would your own. Until the celebration, enjoy."

She gives a small bow and leaves the room.

The Vetrstøv Clan is smaller than she remembered. It's possible that some chose to stay behind, but few do. She resolves to ask Ekud when she has a chance.

She knows he doesn't trust her. It's in his eyes, the way they rove over her figure. She's too youthful, too inexperienced. Never mind the fact that she's successfully led her people since her coronation.

His ideas are too outdated, and she's sure she'll hear even more of them. Her councillors are already in the chamber, additional seats surrounding the table and filled with the colours of the Vetrstøv. Ekud is waiting for her, tapping his heeled shoe against the floor impatiently. Elsa grins; she's still taller than him.

"Greetings," she says. "I hope you weren't waiting long." Ekud scoffs.

"When you have lived as long as I," he says, his moustache quivering with every word, "another few moments makes little difference."

"I do pride myself on punctuality," Elsa responds acidly. She turns to address the seated group before Ekud can come up with a retort. "How fares the east?"

There's silence for a few moments, and every eye in the room turns to Ekud. He stands, taut as a bowstring under the scrutiny of his p