"The King brought his wife and her twelve older brothers home to the castle. A messenger was quickly dispatched to deliver the good news to the Queen's faraway mother that her twelve sons were fully restored and that her daughter, too, was alive and well. Joy and gladness washed over the whole kingdom because the wicked witch was gone, and because the lovely Queen had set free her twelve brothers.
"The End."
Anna leaned her head back against the door and gazed thoughtfully off into space. There were no other sounds to disturb her contemplation. The hallway was dim and quiet, as it nearly always was at this time of the evening. In fact, the silence was actually all too familiar. She would have given almost anything to hear an unexpected noise from the room behind her. That hadn't happened in far too long.
At last, the young princess spoke.
"You know, I think that might be one of my favorite stories Mr. Asbjørnsen has sent so far. I'll have to tell Prof. Engelstad to let him know, and to thank him yet again for continuing to send all these wonderful tales. I mean, who would have guessed, right? At this rate, I could end up being almost as big of a reader as you! Well, okay, probably not. But still, if it wasn't for his stories..."
She cut off whatever she'd been about to say when she heard the sound of quiet footfalls approaching up the adjoining hallway. With a sigh, she tidied up the sheets of paper upon which the story had been written and was already getting to her feet when the queen turned the corner.
"Anna..."
"I know, Mother," Anna said. "Just a second, okay?"
She turned back to face the door and spoke once more, regret obvious in her voice. "Sorry. I guess I lost track of time again. We'll just have to pick up where we left off tomorrow, alright? I already have our next story picked out too. I hope you'll like it. It's quite a bit longer than tonight's was, so I'll try to be sure to get here early. I hate having to make you wait to find out how things end. I don't imagine you like that very much either.
"Anyway, sleep well tonight. I hope you have beautiful dreams. Maybe you'll be like the princess in the story and dream of a little hut in the woods where you'll find... you know... whatever it is you're... um... looking for."
Anna winced a little at the awkward turn that last sentence had taken. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead lightly against the cool wood. That helped her feel just a little bit more collected, probably because it also made her feel just that much closer to her unseen sister. With that thought in mind, she lifted her free hand and pressed it flat against the brightly painted surface as well.
"I love you, Elsa. Good night."
Turning, she walked over to where her mother waited patiently. The queen laid her hand on her daughter's shoulder, and the two began walking toward Anna's room on the other side of the palace.
This had become an almost nightly routine for both of them lately, so Anna was grateful that her mother had not yet complained about having to come fetch her from Elsa's door night after night. Truth be told, Anna didn't really lose track of time each evening. Really, she just kept pushing it as long as she could, because it was the closest she was able to get to Elsa these days.
Of course, she could and often did visit her sister's door at other times too. When she did, she would usually talk about things that were going on in the castle and the kingdom and in her own all-too-uneventful life. That was part of the problem, however. Most days, there simply wasn't that much interesting for her to tell.
They reached the younger princess's bedroom, and her mother waited while Anna changed into her nightclothes and got into bed. Then Queen Ellinor kissed her daughter's forehead, tucked the blankets snugly up under her chin, and bade her goodnight.
"I love you too, Mother. Good night." Anna watched her mother stop in the doorway to give a warm smile and small wave before she stepped out into the hall and drew the door closed behind her.
Nearly two years ago, Anna had complained to her mother that she had grown too old to need tucking in. Now however, even though she was ten years old, she welcomed that little gesture every night. It was a comforting act of kindness that she appreciated all the more after she'd been reminded how easily the ones you love could suddenly disappear from your life... again.
It was just one of many things that had changed unexpectedly over the years. When she was younger, for instance, she'd rarely had any problem finding things to talk about when she'd visited outside her sister's door. Everything had somehow seemed more exciting and interesting back then, and she'd been eager to tell Elsa all about every little detail. That had been especially true when, a few months before her seventh birthday, she had made a new friend.
Marie was the daughter of a veteran harbor master. Her father's skill at organizing ports across Europe had brought him to the attention of Anna's own father, King Agdar. He had invited the entire family to the palace to try to convince Anton to take on the job of improving the efficiency of Arendelle's docks.
Anna, who had been without a companion her own age ever since the castle gates had been shut and her sister had gone into hiding, had eagerly latched onto Marie as a new playmate. And at first, that was really all she had been. Even so, it had been clear enough to the king and queen how much happier Anna had become now that she was no longer quite so alone. So her father had soon made an exception to the standing rule about the closed castle gates, and Marie had been free to come and go as she pleased.
As the months had passed, the two young girls had only continued to grow closer. Still, Anna didn't realize how dear a friend she had truly made until one afternoon when she had been sitting outside her sister's door and recounting the events of a day gone badly wrong. Then she had looked up to find Elsa standing in the hallway, staring at her in shock. Feeling betrayed that her sister had been secretly leaving her room without telling her, and that she'd been pouring her heart out to an empty room, Anna had said some truly hurtful things before she'd run off in tears.
It was Marie who had helped reconcile the two sisters. Without her intervention, Anna didn't know how long those bitter feelings would have been allowed to wear away at their already strained relationship. From that point forward, Anna had determined to become as good a friend to Marie as she had been to her.
That was why Anna had been absolutely devastated when an accident down by the docks had shattered both of Marie's legs. She and her family had been forced to leave Arendelle and return to France, to seek the assistance of a skilled surgeon who specialized in such injuries. Having rediscovered friendship only to have it torn away from her once again, Anna had been nearly inconsolable.
Even in her absence, however, Marie had still managed to find a way to bridge the divide between Arendelle's two princesses. Unable to bear her sister's suffering, Elsa had actually reached out to comfort Anna when no one else could. Then slowly, over the course of that year, the two estranged girls had begun to reconnect again. Even though Elsa continued to remain mostly hidden in her room, she at least continued to talk to Anna, something that her younger sibling had almost given up hope of ever hearing again. It had been like a dream come true.
Then, she had woken up.
On Anna's ninth birthday, Elsa had inexplicably fallen silent once again. Their parents had seemingly been at a loss to explain to Anna what had triggered this sudden setback. So she had begged Elsa to speak to her again, even a single word to let her know that she was still listening. The only response she had ever received, however, had been the sound of plaintive tears.
Still, Anna refused to give up on her sister. Three times now in her short life, she'd had to watch one of her best friends vanish beyond her reach. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, she remained determined to pull Elsa back from whatever darkness had swallowed her. Her sister had been there for her when she'd been at her lowest ebb. Anna knew she could do no less.
And so, when her regular recounting of each day's events had begun to sound boring and deathly dull even to her own ears, Anna had eventually come up with the idea of reading stories instead. She'd actually done it once before, back when Elsa had still been talking to her. Her sister had seemed to enjoy it so very much back then that now, Anna tried to find a new story to read every single evening.
Every so often, her tutor (Prof. Engelstad) would provide her with tales that an old friend from his university days would forward his way. The rest of the time, Anna scoured the shelves of the castle library, sometimes with help from her mother. The queen had even begun ordering new volumes just for this purpose. From things her parents said, Anna remained convinced that Elsa did indeed look forward to what her father had taken to calling their nightly "bedtime stories," even if she refused to tell Anna as much herself. So the younger princess doggedly persisted in their telling.
Still, there were nights when the pernicious silence simply became too much. On those nights, despite her best efforts to remain hopeful and optimistic, the young princess couldn't help but cry herself to sleep.
Fortunately, tonight was not such a night. It was, however, one of those evenings when she found herself wide awake – a thousand miles away from the slightest hint of drowsiness. Those weren't uncommon either, especially when she found herself thinking about her situation just a little too much. But there was more to it tonight than just that, she realized. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention to the tall triangular window that overlooked the castle gardens below.
Flipping the covers off to one side, Anna slipped out of bed and crossed to the padded bench beneath the glass. There, she gazed up at the shimmering green and rose colored streamers that lit up the night sky.
"The sky's awake," she whispered softly to herself. "So I'm awake."
She wished with all her heart that she had someone with whom she could share her sleepless vigil.
• • •
Elsa watched the shifting patterns of light as they danced tirelessly across the dark firmament. Tireless also described her on this lonely night. Try as she might, sleep stubbornly eluded her. Finally, she had simply given in to her restlessness. Dragging a blanket and a pillow off her bed, she had instead laid herself down on the cushions beneath the window, made herself as comfortable as she could, then raised her eyes to the heavens and attempted to distract herself with the mesmerizing beauty of the aurora.
So far, she'd been only partially successful.
Despite her best efforts to clear her mind and allow sleep to come to her, her thoughts kept returning to "The Twelve Wild Ducks," the story that Anna had read earlier that evening. She could certainly understand why Anna had enjoyed it so much. Personally, however, the parallels with her own life made Elsa a little more uncomfortable than she cared to admit.
In the tale, a young princess discovered that she had only been born because her mother made a deal with a witch. Like all such deals in these folktales, the price the queen had been forced to pay had been unexpectedly high. In return for finally being gifted with a daughter, she'd had to watch as her twelve sons (come to greet her back from her travels) had then magically transformed into ducks and flown off into the sky before her very eyes.
Even though she had not yet even been born at the time, the princess still felt horribly guilty about the curse. So she set off on a journey to find her missing brothers, despite having no idea where they might have gone. After searching for three years, she finally found them in a tiny hut hidden deep in a forest. Only within the hut each night did they appear human again, and there they told her of the only way that their curse could be broken.
Their sister would have to weave each of them a shirt of thistledown, all by herself with no help from anyone else. And from the moment she set herself to this task, she must neither talk nor laugh nor weep until her labor was completed.
Elsa knew all too much about curses beyond her control, guilt at the suffering of innocent siblings, and penances paid in silence.
There had been a time two years ago when she had allowed herself to believe that there just might be another way to redeem herself. She'd become convinced that, if she could only learn to control her magic – not just hold it in, but truly master its every facet and idiosyncrasy – then perhaps she would no longer need to fear it. Maybe then, she would finally be able to leave her room, confident in her ability to properly direct her powers away from all those around her.
So she had set out to learn all that she could about how her abilities worked. It had been a struggle, for she'd had no teacher and no guide. All she could do was experiment and, through trial and error, slowly map out the fine workings of her magic. Despite a few setbacks, however, it had all seemed to be going so well.
During that time, she had also allowed herself to reach out to her sister once again. Anna had been suffering so deeply at the loss of her friend Marie that Elsa could simply hold her silence no longer. In fact, Elsa's desire to truly and completely comfort her sister was what had finally pushed her to take the chance on exploring her powers.
That year had been glorious. She had actually felt like Anna's big sister again for the first time in years. And as she learned to master the mysteries of ice and snow, her confidence had grown steadily as well. She'd been certain that her grand plan was going to work. In fact, she'd even been able to work up enough courage that, on her eleventh birthday, she'd actually ventured out of her room to join her family for a simple, intimate little celebration.
In hindsight, her desperate desire to succeed at her self-appointed mission had blinded her to the signs of its impending failure. On several occasions, her powers had behaved in peculiar and inexplicable ways – including on the morning of her birthday when ice had suddenly begun to form in her water glass, even though she had been wearing her gloves at the time.
Elsa looked at her hands now, lying lightly upon her chest atop the blanket. They were still covered with supple white fabric, but the gloves she now wore extended well beyond her wrist and up onto her forearm. Her father had presented the new style to her a few weeks after Anna's ninth birthday – the day on which Elsa had finally paid for her presumption.
All the strange signs that she had chosen to ignore or explain away had actually all been symptoms of a single fundamental reality. Elsa's magic had been steadily growing stronger. Even worse, her constant practice had only accelerated the process until, at last, her power had finally exceeded her ability to contain it. When that had happened, she'd needed all of her willpower to just barely rein it in, gloves or no.
Eventually, with time and the help of these new gloves, she'd been able to strengthen her defenses enough to prevent ice from randomly exploding out of her at the slightest provocation. Even now though, she remained constantly aware of the fact that she was having to hold her powers in check. An entire year had passed, and yet she dared not take the gloves off for more than a few seconds at a time. Anything she touched with her bare hands quickly became encrusted with a thick layer of hoarfrost.
In the end, it had all left Elsa more isolated than she'd ever been since she had first retreated inside her room. No matter how much she longed for it, she could not allow herself the indulgence of her parents' comforting touch. She was afraid of what might happen if she allowed herself to drop her guard, to relax her constant vigil in the warmth of their embrace. She couldn't let her magic hurt those she loved. Not again.
That was also why she had attempted to cut off her ties to her sister, why she once again refused to speak to her. She'd hoped that Anna would eventually just give up and go away, for her own safety. This was, of course, another case of self-delusion on her part. Her sister had inherited a stubborn streak from both of their parents, and she remained absolutely determined not to give up on Elsa.
So Anna came to the door, night after night, and read stories to her big sister. And Elsa listened. She cursed herself for not having the strength to properly push Anna away. In this one thing, however, she knew herself and her limitations only too well. Despite everything, she anxiously looked forward to Anna's visits each evening. No matter how guilty it made her feel, she still knew that it was pointless to try and fight it.
Elsa turned back to the auroral light show, rolling onto her side and pressing her forehead against the glass. It was cold outside, and she could feel the chill stealing through the window panes. It didn't bother her, though. In fact, she'd found that she didn't mind the cold much at all anymore. She'd brought the blanket with her tonight not for the warmth it provided, but more for the faint illusion of security it carried with it. Perhaps it was a childish affectation. Then again, Elsa's childhood had, in many ways, been cut short on the day of Anna's accident. Among all the many things in her life that brought her feelings of guilt and inadequacy, this tiny bit of naive immaturity didn't even register.
The same held true for the one other thing that she had brought with her to the window box, and which she had carefully positioned so as to give it a clear view of the spectacular night sky. She reached out to it now, running a single finger lovingly along the familiar soft curves. Then she picked it up ever so gently. With tender care, she brought it up and placed it on the pillow beside her head, facing it outward and upward towards the coruscating ribbons that skated across the dark roof of night.
"The sky's awake, Anna," she whispered to the little red-haired doll. "I'm awake. And you have no idea how much I wish that we could play."
• • •
Both of Arendelle's princesses remained awake for a very long time that night. They sat beneath their windows, losing themselves in the radiant beauty outside. They thought about the inexplicable twists of fate that had brought them through all the years to this one singular night, losing themselves in their own memories. The two blended together in a kaleidoscope of images and emotions, so that they soon lost all track of time.
Mostly, however, Elsa and Anna both simply felt lost.
It was near midnight before they were both finally able to lose themselves in the blissful forgetfulness of sleep.
A/N: The insecure part of me (an embarrassingly large part, I'm afraid) feels like I should apologize for this chapter. First, for making my readers wait while I pieced together two transitional chapters to handle this multi-volume split. Second, for spending so much of this particular chapter recapping the major events of Echoes, in a probably futile attempt to allow new readers to come on board now without necessarily having to read the previous book. And third, for taking this opportunity to quietly skip the narrative ahead a year, because I'm simply not confident in my ability to fill another decade of story without a cheat or two like this along the way.
If you found any of those things to be unduly annoying, I am indeed sorry. I expect the next chapter will bring us back to normal again. In the meantime, I hope you will simply think of this like one of those signs you see at the entrance to a store that's currently being remodeled. "Please pardon my dust. I'm working to make a better story for you."