The room is dark, save for the spill of moonlight and the flickering glow from her bedside candle. She has brushed her teeth, changed into her night dress, and refreshed herself on the next day's duties. There's no clock to confirm her suspicions - years of isolation have made her despise nonstop ticking - but as the minutes drag into hours, Elsa resigns herself to accept that Anna's probably not coming to say goodnight. She closes the book she's been reading to pass the time, and leans over to blow out the candle.
Elsa feels silly being so disappointed over such a trivial thing, and tries to console herself with the knowledge that she'll see Anna first thing in the morning at breakfast. But she always looks forward to their nightly ritual of brushing each other's hair and talking in the dark until their eyelids droop. Sometimes, when Anna is undoing her older sister's braid, she sifts her fingers through Elsa's pale platinum hair and rakes her fingernails gently over her scalp, sending shivers down her spine. She won't admit it, but Elsa craves that most of all.
She half-heartedly lets down her hair and combs it herself. She's just closing her eyes and settling into the nook of her pillow when there's a knock at the door. The familiar beat leaves little doubt as to the knocker's identity. Her eyes shoot open.
"Anna?" she calls, sitting up expectantly. She fumbles in the dark for a match to re-light her still-smoking candle. "Come in!"
"Actually, can you come out?" her sister's voice responds through the door.
Confused, Elsa abandons her search for matches and leaves her bed, making toward the door. "Why?"
There's a brief pause. "Ah, well, I... there's someone out here to meet you."
Elsa freezes with her hand hovering over the doorknob. "What? At this hour? Anna, I'm already in my nightdress." She frowns and turns her ear towards the door. "Who is it?" she asks finally.
"I can't tell you, it's a surprise. " There's a barely concealed smile in her tone.
Elsa wonders if this is some sort of prank. She wrings her hands. "I'm not decent right now. Please tell whoever it is they can arrange a proper meeting with me tomorrow."
She hears her sister groan in frustration through the thick wooden door. "Elsa, just trust me, ok? It's fine."
There is a heavy pause, but finally the door cracks open a sliver, revealing one suspicious blue eye.
The unexpected sight draws a gasp from the darkened queen's chamber. "Oh..." Slowly, Elsa pushes the door fully open to better appreciate the view.
It's Anna, just Anna, but she looks different. It's a good different. Elsa looks her up and down. Instead of her usual loose, flowing skirts, she's wearing a dapper suit - a slick formal jacket the color of frosted pine, her copper hair pulled into a tight braided bun. Elsa can't remember ever seeing her sister wear trousers, and that is a shame, for they certainly flatter Anna's figure. She's wearing cream gloves to match, and black boots. Not the dainty winter boots she is so fond of, but smart, polished men's boots that gleam in the dim moonlight of the hall. And is that the scent of men's cologne? Elsa is suddenly very aware of the quickening pitter-patter in her chest. She unconsciously gnaws her lower lip.
Her speechless attention does not go unnoticed. A sheepish smile tugs across Anna's lips, and she gives a little turn for her sister's benefit. "Do you like it?"
"Y-yes. Wow. You look... very nice." Elsa stammers, startled at her own ineloquence. She chalks it up to being tired. 'Get it together, Elsa,' she mentally berates herself. "Where did you find this?" she asks curiously, gesturing to Anna's ensemble.
"It's one of Papa's old things, I found it in his giant closet. You know how nostalgic he was. I think he might have been wearing this the first time he met Mama," Anna says, giving her silk cravat a nervous little tug. "I know you're still nervous about the ball, and I tried to think of what else I could do to help, and I thought, well... maybe you'd like to practice dancing with a prince instead of a princess."
"I see!" Elsa presses her fingers over her smile. Her gaze flickers to each corner of the hall, checking for servants. Assured that they are alone, she fixes her gaze on her sister once more and steps out of her room. She straightens into a formal posture, folding her hands elegantly before her. Lifting her chin, she looks down at her sister through lidded eyes. Within seconds she manages to transition from a startled girl in her pajamas to the collected, regal persona she assumes for the public. Anna can't help but be impressed at the transformation.
"And what is your title, Mr. Prince?"
Anna perks up, delighted by Elsa's acceptance of her charade. She bends low to give her sister a respectful bow. "Prince Andre at your service, my Queen." Following protocol, she straightens up and extends her gloved hand to the queen, a silent request.
After a moment's hesitation, Elsa offers her own hand in return. Anna's warm leather grip is firmer than expected. Elsa shivers at the warm tickle of air on her skin when Anna gently lifts her hand to her lips; Elsa's own breath seems caught in her throat. She hopes Anna doesn't notice the tremble in her fingers when she kisses them.
"May I escort you to the dance floor, Your Majesty?" Anna asks, barely concealing a giddy smirk.
Elsa nods and threads her arm through the one her sister offers. "Please do." So close to Anna now, Elsa can confirm she is definitely wearing men's cologne.
To her surprise, Anna leads them straight past the hallway that leads to the ballroom. Elsa is privately very relieved - the ballroom is a bad place with bad memories, an unfortunately central room which to this day she must take inconvenient detours around when navigating her castle. Elsa wonders if Anna has noticed her strange habit, and intentionally planned their practice elsewhere. Anna's altered memory is still distorted regarding the terrible incident there, or perhaps it was removed entirely. Elsa has no doubt that someday, they'll have to have a painful discussion about that, though the thought makes her heart lead-heavy.
Elsa's dreary musings dissipate as she suddenly realizes where Anna is leading them instead. The sisters glance at each other sideways to share a knowing smile. Their entry to the chamber is observed on all sides by hundreds of eyes, although none of bystanders utter a syllable. The wall-bound, two-dimensional audience is merely painted, after all.
Anna has clearly made some preparations in advance, indicated by the lit candelabra bathing the gallery in a warm, romantic light. Against the wall is a phonograph. As Anna excuses herself to go tinker with it, Elsa imagines her sister scurrying around all evening preparing this for her, and is filled with a rush of affection that sends her bare toes curling against the polished wood floor. Their missed hair brushing ritual is immediately forgiven.
Anna, usually so clumsy, seems quite practiced with the phonograph. Once she coaxes a wafting waltz out of the trumpeted machine, she turns her attention back to her sister.
"Your Majesty-" she says, extending her hand once more, "May I have this dance?"
Elsa nods, struggling to maintain an appropriately subdued smile. "It would be my pleasure, Prince Andre."
Thanks to Anna's earlier lesson, Elsa finds her footing and position easily. What Elsa hasn't accounted for is the snug pressure of Anna's buttery soft leather glove in her hand, the other pressed intimately into the curve of her lower back. Elsa wears nightdresses only for modesty, the material itself is thin, and through it she can feel almost everything, especially the starchy stiffness of Anna's coat against her chest. This combined with the intoxicating scent of cologne is proving very distracting, and despite her better efforts Elsa begins to fumble, stepping slightly out of time.
Anna breaks character for a moment to comfort her sister. "Don't worry! You're doing great." The whispered reassurance in her ear only flusters the queen further, sending a warm flush up her cheeks. Mistaking it for anxiety, Anna decides to ease her sister's nerves with some polite conversation roleplay.
"So, uh... how about this winter solstice ball? Pretty awesome." Ok, so her princey talk is a little rusty. Anna's never been one for the flowery regal language.
Their footsteps echo hollow against the backdrop of the gentle waltz. "Ah, yes. So... loud and lively," Elsa says, tossing a bemused glance at the surrounding portraits. "What brings you to Arendelle, Prince Andre?"
Anna pretends to search from side to side as if wary of eavesdroppers. "Don't tell her I said this, but I heard the queen is really hot, well, cold, but in a HOT way, and I thought I could use my manly wiles to charm her into marrying me."
Elsa snorts so hard she startles even herself, clasping a hand over her mouth a moment too late to stifle it. "Anna!" she hisses, laughing through her embarrassed blush. "I thought this was a serious practice."
Anna grins widely, pleased at the reaction she was able to elicit. "Hey, princes are seriously that sleazy, Andre is just more open about it! Let's get real, you're going to be buried under an avalanche of marriage requests. You gotta get used to it."
Elsa's smile fades a little at the sobering reminder. Anna's right, and deflecting the inevitable countless proposals isn't something Elsa's looking forward to at all.
"Your honesty is truly astounding, Prince Andre. It's actually a little refreshing," she says, her nightdress swirling as they move to the music.
Anna blinks. "Wha... Huh? How clumsy of me, I was going for presumptuous jerk."
Elsa's smile returns. "You missed the mark a little. I would much rather a frank prince than one who lies about his true intentions. The person I love most is also extremely candid."
Anna's glove tightens around her sister's hand. "Oh...? And who might that be?" Anna asks, a sudden nervous quiver in her belly.
The queen tilts her head; a few loose waves of pale hair spill over her shoulder. "My sister, of course."
Anna's face suddenly feels too warm, and the look Elsa is giving her is giving her butterflies. Even the butterflies in her stomach have butterflies. She presses her cheek into the crook of Elsa's neck to hide.
Elsa turns to lean her head against hers. Anna feels her sister's breath on the exposed neck under her coat, cool, like crisp morning air. Although it's hardly that cold, her skin prickles with goosebumps.
"Uh-oh, I'm going to do something presumptuous again!" Anna says, and before Elsa can voice a response, her sister takes a sudden step forward. Elsa finds herself dipped back, throwing her completely off balance. "Anna!" she gasps surprise, clinging tightly to her sister, whose firm grip keeps her from falling to the floor. Elsa's heart is hammering against her ribcage and it's all she can do to calm the awakened swirls of winter threatening to burst from her naked fingers. Her tiny frosted fingerprints melt on Anna's sleeve.
"It's ok, I got you!" Anna laughs. "I'm stronger than I look, you know." She pulls her sister upright again. "I'd never let you fall."
And she doesn't. As they continue dancing, Anna occasionally dips her again, and again, until her sister is giggling. Elsa had never realized dancing could be so fun. By the end of an hour, or maybe two or three - she has completely lost track- the phonograph slows to a stop. Although they are both breathless from exertion and laughter, neither girl seems eager to bring their midnight practice to an end.
"Again?" Elsa asks hopefully.
"Again," Anna agrees.