There was a certain chill to the air that night in the little village that was once nothing more than that, it's damp cobblestone streets and dreary atmosphere prominent features that were remarked upon by the occasional visitor and even less occasional new resident. The summers were idyllic, the spring pageants and fall harvest festivals passing every year with the ever so bitter winter that always seemed to hang over not just the village, but the entire kingdom. Very few people called it Arendelle anymore. Very few knew of its original name.
Anna Bjorgman was up late into the dark night, the deep, overwhelming blackness kept at bay by a few candles she'd lit by the windowsill, the trails of blue frost illuminated in their warm glow. She'd stayed up far later than usual simply because she couldn't rest easily, even though Kristoff had reminded her that she needed all the rest she could afford to get. But even with the bears of her new life she couldn't seem to grasp it in its entirety. In all the years she'd longed to be like everybody else it surprised just how depressing being nobody at all could be.
Even in her years of boring growth, people acted as if she were important when she knew in her heart she was merely a spare, her sister receiving all the graceful bows and curtsies as well as numerous people fawning over her when Anna secretly craved that attention she'd lacked and attempted in the past three years to make up for. She'd arranged numerous balls, gallas, feasts, festivals, anything to bring the people of her kingdom into the ballroom and make them feel important and wanted like she knew she'd desired to be. But despite her admiration everybody still looked to Elsa when there was a serious matter at hand, overlooking the princess as nothing more than an attendant when in reality, it made her feel like even less because half the time they hadn't even bothered to acknowledge her existence.
As she steadily matured into a graceful young woman Anna began to understand why. She was just the spare, and there was really no changing that. But she knew she could never be ruler even after her parents had resolved to try and control Elsa's gift over the ice and snow that everyone had once feared, accepted, and now did fear again. It had seemed like a logical conclusion that she should have had some sort of emergency tutoring or something to prove she was fit at running an empire, but Anna found herself jaded and exhausted when it came to being in charge of anything bigger than a palace sponsored event. She easily commended Elsa when she saw her hanging over the massive stacks of paperwork and trade deals at nearly all times like she always had been, skinny trails of ice and frost looping around the elegantly carved desk should something interesting or troubling catch the snow queen's eye.
But even as the princess, even as the spare, she was still important to everyone. Even if they didn't show it always. She could always count of some kinds of respect to come her way and she was surprised by just how empty being none of those things felt. They were once hated titles, but Anna knew that she was still technically a ruler of the area. She just couldn't reveal it.
The candle she held went out, and Anna stood up from her seating on the window box, waddling over towards the little kitchen that was across the room, the creaking of the wooden floorboards hopefully not alerting Kristoff that she was up and about. In the darkness, she fumbled in one of the counters drawers until she found the familiar shape of the wick cutter that they had brought upon their move, the trust fund Elsa had set aside for her and her husband finding quick use upon the realization that they needed a new place to call home. Finding what she was looking for, she slowly eased the drawer shut and waddled back to the light windowbox, the dying trial of smoke from one of her three candles visible from the distant light of the stars and moon as well as the other two healthy light sources that sat within inches of each other on the wooden surface.
Taking great care in her movements, Anna sat back down on the hard surface, the thin pillow she'd taken from the linen chest helping only a small bit. With a slow pace, she snipped the burned end of the candle wick by as little as she could get away with, and relighted it, making the room a bit brighter.
It was a constant reminder that she was away from her palace of luxuries like electric lighting. And while she did still have access to such things when she went out into the little city, it was still a bit hard to adapt to fully using candles. Anna had almost forgotten how messy they were, the usage of such primitive technology having been all but done away with when she was first growing up. The small flame was, however, better than electric lights in some ways. It wasn't as powerful, and given how she was trying to remain discreet about being awake, suited her evening purposes quite well. On top of that there was a certain charm and warmth that came from having the miniature flame dance on its wick for hours, the glow unable to be truly replaced. There was a sense of hope that came from a candle. If it's flame still lived, so did hope. And while Anna had given up hope sometimes, she knew on matters like this one that she would never lose hope. After all, Elsa had sworn she'd return either to or for them one day.
As time went on throughout the year that hope had dwindled a bit, especially when the letters gracing Arendelle's signature seal of its blooming purple crocus had been replaced by a red wax tudor rose. It was a symbol that either Elsa was imprisoned, dead, or just had misplaced her actual stamper. And while Anna and Kristoff still hoped in the back of their minds that it was the last assumption, they knew it meant Elsa had been overthrown by the place that called the tudor rose its symbol: Weselton.
When she'd first received the letter from a little girl who'd claimed she was from the palace with a message, she'd split the seal with great anticipation. Elsa hadn't sent anything telling her of the war in months, and letters between the two had become significantly less common and in some cases painfully brief. In her previous writings, Anna had noticed Elsa's penmanship had seemed to lack its usual grace, as if the queen were more exhausted than ever. She'd initially attempted to keep her spirits over the war optimistic, but along with the steady decrease of words came a steepening decrease in gusto and spirit, leaving Anna to pick up the pieces and cheer her up; albeit from a few miles and days away.
But instead of her usual greeting came the first troublesome sign. Elsa's parchment was iced with frost, her penmanship seeming to leave a feeling of desperation in those words she had penned. It took a moment of speculation before Anna and Kristoff actually read the letter, detailing about how Weselton and the Southern Isles were closing in, and that this would be Elsa's final letter for the moment. She wrote them to withdraw the remainder of their trust fund, and that she would attempt a visit in another month.
The rest of the letter was written in scribes penmanship that Anna knew wasn't her sisters, and ended with the words 'All hail King Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles and his glorious reign!'. That was enough to make Anna physically sick as Kristoff tore the letter from her hands and tossed it into the hearth, ignoring her protests and saying that he couldn't bear to look at that damned parchment again.
It took the princess hours to stop weeping, and her husband could hardly keep a calm face knowing the Arendelle sisters two greatest enemies were now coming around with armed assassins to find them and end the possibility of the integrated princess ever bearing a child or resurfacing. With that in mind, he packed their things on Sven, and took them both as far away from their previous home as they could manage to get, hiding with his adoptive family until Anna was in her final few months, knowing that while the trolls were gifted healers and great family, they knew next to nothing about caring for children smaller than Kristoff had been when he'd first stumbled upon the Valley.
That child was still in her now, waiting to reveal him or herself as the next in line for Arendelle… at least, if Anna could somehow take down Weselton and the Southern Isles with only her determination and whatever weapon she could fit in her dress. That would more than likely never happen. But even lacking a title, Anna knew her child would still be a prince or princess in her and Kristoff's eyes, even if they would wear a crown only in their imaginative youth.
She swung her legs over the window boxes top, her cream yellow nightgown a good distance from the candles that sat at the opposite end of the seat. Still, she took one of them and held it close to her side as she leaned against the alcove, running her small fingers across her swollen stomach. A tune was hummed as she soothed her growing prince or princess, imagining just what she would be doing if only her sister could be here for her on this special moment. Elsa would've loved to know her little niece or nephew. Anna resolved she wouldn't let her child accept the rumors that plagued her sister now.
A frozen heart as cold as the deepest winter, they often said with passion. An ice cold soul that felt for nothing and no one. Her skin and hair were as white as the snowflakes said to be her minions, as bees were to a queen. She was cruel, vain, selfish, every horrible thing imaginable was said about her in great rumors spread by none other than the duke and prince's men that had only seemed to have taken effect within the past few months. Everyone now seemed to have a negative connotation of the former queen, seeing her not as a royal monarch that cared for her people, but as a charlatan whose only true passion was her ice and snow. They didn't even call her by her given name. The ruler of ice and snow was no longer Elsa. It was the Snow Queen, and only the Snow Queen. She was a demon. She was a monster. But Anna knew she wasn't.
She took a deep breath, her eyes focused on her massive belly. The former princess smiled down at her child sweetly, and began her story in the softest voice still audible. Hundreds of little snowflakes began to swirl outside in a blizzard.
"Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Arendelle, there lived two sisters by the name of Elsa, and Anna."
The Snow Queen watched from her elegant throne, the powdery white snowflakes acting as a looking glass with which she could view anything in the entire northern hemisphere. She could keep up on news of her rightful kingdom, know exactly what was going on in the halls she once wandered through daily. However, she could only take so much pain before she called her little bees back to her. It was a dagger through her chilled heart to watch these barbarians ransack her palace of nearly anything of value and take advantage of everything her castle had to offer. Those grimy soldiers were tracking muddy boots on her floor, sleeping in her beds, bathing in her bathrooms, all the while she was powerless to do anything to stop the invading forces from taking her home and turning it upside down.
All the while she watched Hans through the windows of her throne room, the young prince taking her place as the ruler of what was once a proud kingdom, having been driven into the mud by the massive war Weselton began. He sat in the most undignified way possible, one leg folded over the other with a devious smile that illustrated his deepest desires to control another fair kingdom simply because he was never going to do so in his own place of origin. She fought the urge to send a spike directly into his heart when he appeared one day with her father's crown perched upon his auburn locks. That was inexcusable.
And people called her the monster as he tossed the family portraits into the main hearth, her parents, her ancestors, herself and her family, all burning to ashes like memories that were long forgotten. He drank expensive wines whilst calling upon a young woman named Ava to be his queen while Elsa could only watch, her teeth gritted in frustration as the once flawless columns of the palace began to crack from her anger.
This was why, in an essence, she'd resumed her snowflakes on her sister from where she was right this very moment, perched on a window box in her city home, rubbing her pregnant stomach and telling her little prince or princess a tall tale like Elsa would do with her on the snowy nights in the palace. It meant the world that she was safe. That all three of them were from harm's way. She chuckled lightly as Anna seemed to try to visualize the story with crazy hand gestures, and Elsa soon realized what Anna was trying to tell. She was telling them their story. Of how she'd gone off in a blizzard with the help of a grumpy mountain man to bring back summer and save Elsa from her isolation. It was a gripping and charming tale that Elsa knew all too well.
It was a pity the good times had not lasted.
Flashes of memory were called to her attention as they invaded her subconscious, taking form in her ice and snow as the blizzard suddenly ceased. The Snow Queen felt a lump in her throat as she attempted to dull the memories, but her powers refused to listen, Elsa's fear quickly shaping as it always had to control her.
Flash.
A bride in white and red, a massive bouquet of white snowdrops and red roses clasped in both hands as she threw her arms around the neck of her blonde husband, his attire a black suit with a burgundy patterned scarf tied to his waist as he embraced her smaller body and kissed her as long and passionate as he so pleased. Her tiara glinted in the sunlight that shone through the ice glass windows, the summer wedding being a dream come true.
Flash.
The light shone through her study window, the very same man stuttering and stumbling over his words much to her own amusement as he attempted to ask permission to marry her sister. Elsa had made him squirm that visit, but gave her blessings nonetheless with an empty threat that should he ever hurt Anna he'd make a lovely statue for the courtyard.
Flash.
Her sister sat beside her in bed, tucking a beautifully embroidered cloak around her shoulders as she sneezed, the piles of gifts sitting unused beside her bed reminding her that sisterhood was the best gift she could give Anna on her birthday, even if she'd almost killed herself before realizing it. The smell of broth hung in the air.
Flash.
The glow of translucent blue filled the queen's vision, the crystals of her ice rising in a sheer fabric that freed her from the confines of her responsibilities and fears of hurting anyone. Her platinum blonde braid was hanging loosely over her right shoulder as she strolled out the open doors to the balcony of her ice palace, vowing to start a new life of liberation. The light of the rising sun greeted her with this promise, the sting of the cold not bothering her in the least.
Flash.
The masts of the Southern Isles and flag of Weseltons navy entered the pristine waters of the fjord as the sky seemed to go dark at their presence, the warning bells of an imminent attack on her kingdom ringing in her ears as she stood on the balcony overlooking the entire scene, her face unreadable as she gave the orders of close the gates. Her family stood behind her, Anna and Kristoff holding tight to one another as even Olaf remained silent in anticipation for the queen's next words.
Flash.
The scent of smoke permeated the warm summer night as she fled her burning country, down the road to where Anna and Kristoff had been sheltered in their village. Only there was no village. It was nothing but ruins of black ash and and the distant glow of cinders, the sky above a near shade of red from the heat and destruction that Weselton armies had caused. The remains of the crested weaponry abandoned tipped her off. She had no idea if her family was still alive or not. Tears stung at her vision as she crumbled to the dirt ground in defeat, weeping in sorrow of what she knew to be dead.
Flash.
Her reflection was inlaid in the blue ice, the dead of night reminding her she was alone, even if her sister was within her metaphorical reach. Her new outfit was nothing like what she'd initially made in her first attempt. In the time that followed her adventure she'd managed to create more of a masterpiece with her ice than Elsa originally thought possible. It was a snow white gown, form fitting and soft, the ends of her sleeves and collar sharpened a bit, but no more deadly than a material such as silk or cotton. Most telling, she brought her hair up into a bun once more, simply finding it more elegant than the messy french braid. She was still herself. But she was no longer Queen Elsa of Arendelle.
She was the Snow Queen.
And the Snow Queen was going to have vengeance. But only when her niece or nephew came into the world would her real plan begin.
"I'll stop them Anna." She reassured her visions as the clusters of snowflakes showed her she sister, who was now sleeping peacefully in the sill of the window box. "I will keep my promise. I will see you soon, and your child;" She smiled at her sister with the most innocent of smiles.
"Your child will be ruler of Arendelle."