Anna Arendelle dreams of a white dragon.
There is no rhyme or reason to her dreams. She can sleep dreamlessly for week, and then nearly every night after that becomes dominated by the beautiful white dragon. And the dragon is beautiful, nothing like the cruel beasts depicted by artists to be slain by some would-be hero. She – Anna just knows that this dragon is female – has large, blue eyes, proud and sometimes sad.
It is not always the same dream. Sometimes the dragon glides through the skies, powerful , taloned wings bearing her across the sea. She never looks down into her reflection. Other times, the dragon merely perches atop a cliff and stares at the moon, whose light reflects silver on her scales. Rarely, Anna sees the dragon battle, and for all her beauty, the dragon can be fierce too. Silver fangs line her jaws, each one the length of a human's forearm. Claws shred armor and helmets. Blue flames erupt from her jaws when she roars, but she does not resort to this often. Instead, she would rather flee.
She looks back, the dragon, and Anna wonders if she worries for her attackers.
Anna does not actually always see the dragon in these dreams, but she wonders whether that is true, because she has the odd feeling that she does even when she doesn't really. If there's no white dragon, then there will be a girl standing on that cliff, skin practically translucent and blonde hair so pale that it appears silver-white under the moonlight. She's dressed in rags and her feet are bare, but she is regal. She sits at the cliff, legs dangling over the edge, and hums quietly with her hands over her heart.
An alarm wakes Anna every morning at seven in the morning, and today is no exception.
Anna opens her eyes, slowly, adjusting to the sight of her home, but as her dream fades she murmurs a name she remembers only at the edge of her consciousness.
"Elsa."
She will not remember having uttered it.
Click.
Some cooking channel.
Click.
Drama that he has never watched and thus will be unable to follow.
Click. Click. Click.
Music blares out of the speakers, accompanied by uncomfortably loud pyrotechnics and flashes and bangs as a band performance appeared on screen. Kristoff fumbles with the remote before hurriedly smashing the OFF button, breathing a sigh of relief when the unfortunate music ceases. He collapses onto the sofa and sinks somewhat into the soft plush, but his relief doesn't last.
Once Kristoff realizes how the noise might have disturbed Anna at work, he whirls around and looks back at his friend, mouth opening as he readies an apology. It stays in his throat. Anna is not glaring at him but simply reclining in her chair with legs crossed, head resting on her hand and eyes closed. Kristoff doesn't see her rest very often. Anna throws herself into work every day, desperate to maintain the failing company that is her father's legacy—but she won't admit she's tired.
Kristoff quietly rises to his feet and tiptoes over to Anna, hardly daring to believe that she has fallen asleep. Her breaths are long, slow, and the tension in her face vanishes, leaving her looking like the Anna he has known all his life and not the one breaking down from stress.
Under her breath, Anna mutters, "Elsa."
Kristoff frowns, not recognizing the name. But it doesn't really matter because Anna smiles again, and the sight is enough to make him smile too. Hopefully she can rest well. Kristoff looks out the window that takes up an entire wall of the office, and the winter storm from the previous night has blanketed the city in snow. It's cold even inside, and there are goosebumps on the exposed skin of Anna's arms. Kristoff takes off his coat jacket and drapes it over her shoulders, but Anna sleeps lightly. As soon as the jacket makes contact, her eyes snap open.
"Hey, Anna," Kristoff says quietly.
Anna takes her head off her hand and shakes herself once or twice, expression back to its seriousness.
"Why did you let me sleep?" Anna asks.
"You should get more rest. Overworking won't do you any good," Kristoff says, ignoring the halfhearted glare sent his way. "Just curious, but I heard you talking in your sleep, and...who's Elsa?"
Anna frowns, though not out of annoyance. She looks more confused than anything, and curious, maybe. "I'm…not sure. I don't remember that name. Sounds familiar though, sort of, maybe."
"Hmm." Kristoff shrugged. "Still, you should get some more rest."
Anna slams her laptop shut and stands abruptly from her desk, making her way towards the coatrack and taking up her winter jacket. Flinging it on and brushing her hair out from behind the collar while walking, she strides towards the doors across the room.
"I'm going out for a while," Anna says.
"I'll go with you then."
"Alone."
Kristoff stops in his tracks, but Anna looks uncharacteristically serious – not the horribly forced seriousness from her newfound responsibility, but something raw. Maybe his concern shows. Anna allows herself a smile, one of her genuine smiles that used to grace her lips every day, now turned rare.
"I just need some fresh air," Anna says. "Think of this as my break."
Kristoff nods, half-worried and half-confused, but he watches her go anyway, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.
Nighttime is more lively than usual, no doubt because of the snow.
And with the season comes festivities. Almost every building has lights and tinsel, and the streetlamps have been decorated with wreaths. There are small groups here and there playing in the fresh layer of snow, some families with their excited children, others groups of laughing teenagers, along with the occasional couple strolling down the street hand-in-hand.
Anna walks along the road, alone, her breath forming a light steam in the crisp air and her hands in her pockets. She feels a little uncomfortable around this happy scene. Once she would have been in the thick of it all, but she only feels tired.
A little ways down the road, where there are less people, Anna stops at a bridge crossing the now frozen river. It's unfortunate that there happens to be an electronics shop close by. It ruins the beautiful scene, the solitary bridge crossing a river whose frozen surface is smooth and unbroken. Anna ignores the sound of the news from the televisions on display and rests her hands on the bridge-rail, ignoring the cold that bites into her skin. She leans over to stare at her distorted reflection in the ice.
With a sharp intake of breath, Anna shifts her gaze out to the distance…and then she blinks and looks up towards the sky. Snow has begun falling again, drifting down from the clouds. Anna finds herself stretching out one of her hands, palm up, as she continues to stare above. One snowflake floats down into her awaiting hand, evaporating from her body heat almost immediately.
Anna curls her fingers, forming a hollow with her hand, and she looks at it for a few more moments.
She can't stop thinking about her dreams.
Every time she sees that blonde girl, that white dragon, there is a sharp, twisting pain in her chest. It takes all her effort not to cry out now with a desperate, sorrowful scream.
"Elsa," Anna says, testing the name on her tongue, and she wonders if she imagines that it feels natural. Maybe. She had only heard it from Kristoff less than an hour ago.
It seems to fit that girl in her dreams, though.
"Elsa," Anna says again, and her chest constricts as that horrible pain grows.
She shakes her head and turns away, intending to return to the office. She's been out here long enough. But the instant she looks back, something on the television screens catch her attention.
GIRL FOUND FROZEN DEEP IN THE ARCTICS…THOUSANDS OF YEARS OLD…POSSIBILITY OF REVIVAL.
Anna feels her breath hitch as she stares at the screen, at the girl asleep within her cocoon of ice.
She recognizes that face, that white-blonde hair; and she knows that if the girl were to open her eyes, they would be the same piercing shade of blue that haunts her dreams every night.
"Elsa."