"How has Anna been lately?"
The queen blinked in surprise. She had stopped by Elsa's room that afternoon simply to visit for a while. Her eldest daughter had been less reserved with her for a while now, and she found that to be encouraging. Perhaps they hadn't quite reclaimed the same level of comfortable ease they'd shared when she was younger; it seemed unlikely that they would ever return to their old rhyming game, for instance. But they did take turns reading poetry to each other now and again. It was the closest they'd been for ages, and Ellinor was determined to make the most of it while it lasted.
"Anna's just fine, dear. Why do you ask?"
Elsa frowned. "I think you may be wrong about that, Mother." When the queen's only response was a puzzled look, the princess went on. "When was the last time you sat down and talked to Anna? I mean, really talked to her. When was the last time you or Father did anything with her, or did anything for her?" She looked at her mother expectantly, making it quite clear that she was awaiting answers.
The queen opened her mouth, but no words came out. So she closed it. And then to her credit, she appeared to think long and hard before trying to respond again. "Her father took her down to the launching of the Voloe, back at the end of February. I remember, because I had a brand new dress made for her just for the occasion."
"It was early March, actually," Elsa corrected. "And from what Anna told me, she practically had to beg Father to let her go. But okay, that's one. What about before that, hmm? Have you done anything since then?"
"Elsa, I don't understand what brought this on all of a sudden. Why are you asking these questions? And I'm not sure I like your tone."
"Please, Mother," Elsa responded in a calm and carefully controlled voice. "Please, just think back. Father took Anna to the christening of the Voloe. Did he do anything to make it up to Anna after the launch went wrong? Did he offer to take her back when it relaunched?"
Slowly, the queen shook her head.
"What else has Father done with Anna since that day. Since 'That Night'? Has he taken her with him anywhere? Has he spent any time with her inside the castle? Played with her? Read to her?"
The queen didn't shake her head this time. Didn't move at all. Except her eyes, which were moving back and forth as she searched her memory.
"What about you, Mother?" Elsa continued, sympathy and regret coloring her voice. She could see what these questions were doing to her mother. Knew it without even needing to see. "When was the last time you went for a walk through the gardens with Anna, like we used to do? When was the last time you brushed her hair for her?"
Her mother remained silent and still as a statue. Elsa watched her eyes darting from side to side as she frantically tried to remember. Watched as the dawning realization gradually spread across the queen's features. Watched as the color slowly drained from her cheeks.
"Mama, when was the last time you held her and told her that you loved her?"
Elsa inwardly hated herself for having to push that last button. She knew that it had to be done. And after Marie's visit, she realized that she was the only one who could do it. But her gut clenched violently when she saw the first tear spill down her mother's cheek.
She got up from the bed and hurried over to where the queen was sitting on the bench beneath the window. Her mother turned away, trying to hide her shame. But Elsa climbed up to kneel on the cushions right beside her. Then she leaned over, cheek close against the glass, trying to place herself in her mother's line of sight. The queen simply squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
Elsa reached up and, with her gloved fingers, dabbed away at the tears. Then she laid her palm tenderly against her mother's cheek. She was relieved when the queen didn't flinch away, but instead turned her head slightly to press back against her daughter's small hand.
"It's alright, Mama," Elsa soothed. "It's okay. You made a mistake. We all make mistakes. Even parents."
She a got a tight chuckle in reply. "Especially parents," the queen agreed.
"I know that I can't be there for Anna like I used to," Elsa continued. "I understand why, even though I hate it. But Anna's hurting too, Mother. She just hides it so well. And she doesn't understand why everything suddenly had to change, which makes it all the harder on her.
"So if I can't look out for my sister, I need to know that someone else is. And I thank whatever stroke of fortune brought Marie's family to Arendelle, because I don't think Anna could ask for a better friend. But she needs her parents too. It's bad enough that she has to be cooped up in the castle all the time because of me. Please don't make it worse. Anna deserves a chance at a normal life. Or as normal as can be. So don't spend so much time worrying about me that you can't make time for her."
The queen opened her eyes and at last met Elsa's. And through the unshed tears, she gave her daughter a look of deep maternal admiration. "You aren't even ten years old yet. How did you become so wise?"
Elsa gave a small, lopsided smile. "Well, I'll be ten in two months."
And her mother laughed. She reached up and took her daughter's hand from her cheek. Kissed the gloved palm. "Well, we'll have to do something special to celebrate."
"Oh, speaking of celebrating..." The princess drew herself up straight and gave her mother a look of mock severity. "I understand that you didn't observe Midsummer's Eve last year." The queen shook her head, looking a little confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. "Well, we simply cannot have that this year. I think you need to hold the feast again for the castle staff. And the bonfire down at the waterfront, of course. It's a little over a month away, so you should still have time to get everything organized, if you don't dilly-dally too much."
Her mother sniffed once, then nodded slowly as she began to catch up with Elsa's train of thought. "Yes. Yes, I think you're right. It always was a big event every year."
"One of Anna's favorites," Elsa added. "And if I might make another suggestion..."
The queen held up a hand, and in a voice laden with all the false ostentatiousness that her daughter had affected earlier, declared, "I do believe that it would only be appropriate to invite Miss Marie and her family as our special guests of honor this year, don't you?"
Elsa grinned. "I couldn't agree more. But I do have one other suggestion."
She hopped down off her seat and hurried over to her desk. After a brief search, she returned holding a piece of paper. "Mr. Yorikson still has his shop in town, doesn't he?"
The queen thought for a moment, then nodded. "I believe so."
"Perfect!" But now, it was Elsa's turn to look a little uncomfortable. "I know that it still wouldn't be a good idea for me to join in the festivities. But I want Anna to know that I'm at least there in spirit. So..." She thrust the sheet towards her mother, who took it with a wary look in her eyes. Then she proceeded to read over the note carefully. Twice. When she looked up at her daughter again, the wariness had been replaced with something else entirely.
"Elsa, if you grow up to have even half the love for your people that you have for your sister, you will become the greatest leader Arendelle has ever known."
The young princess's entire face burned scarlet.
• • •
The next few weeks flew by in a flurry of activity. Orders were placed throughout the town for provisions of all kinds. The lumber reserves were raided to find the best logs with which to build up the bonfire. Invitations were extended to all the palace staff and their families. And the king himself made a point to personally deliver one additional request for attendance.
No attempt was made to hide the plans, so Anna found out almost immediately. And the first thing she did was to rush to her sister's door to relay the good news. "Elsa, did you hear? It's really happening! We're going to be celebrating Midsummer's Eve! The banquet, the bonfire, everything! And Marie! Marie and her family have been invited too. Oh, I'm so excited, I could just burst!"
Sitting at her desk inside her room, Elsa smiled. It was wonderful to hear so much honest joy in her sister's voice. And it was all too easy to take such a simple thing for granted. So while it lasted, Elsa basked in the reflected warmth of Anna's jubilation.
"The only way this could be better would be if you were joining us," Anna continued, then seemed to catch herself. "Oh, not that I want you to feel bad about not joining us! That wasn't what I meant at all. I mean, I understand. Okay, no, I don't. Well, that is, I understand that you have your reasons, even if I don't know what they are. And I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. But I want you to know that I'll be thinking of you, Elsa. In my heart, you will be there. I promise."
So if now her smile became just a little bittersweet, Elsa didn't begrudge it of herself. She had helped make her sister happy. And after all the pain she had caused Anna, it meant the world to her to know that she had still been able to find a way to be the big sister.
And she continued to receive daily updates from Anna as the solstice drew ever closer. How Gerda had been allowed to temporarily recall some of the old kitchen staff to help prepare all the food. How the dining hall was being cleaned from top to bottom, and set with several long tables for the feast. How the queen had even sought Anna's advice in selecting the centerpieces and place settings!
When the morning of the big day finally dawned, Elsa had no lessons scheduled. There were simply far too many last minute preparations that needed seeing to. So when the sound of her mother's voice at the door interrupted her casual reading, it was a somewhat unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome, surprise.
"I just wanted you to know that everything is ready, exactly as you suggested," the queen said after she had seated herself by the window. "I plan to make the presentation after dinner, right before we head down to the bonfire."
Elsa grinned broadly and nodded. "That sounds perfect. Thank you, Mother, for doing this favor for me."
Her mother returned the smile warmly. "It was the least I could do, sweetheart. The very least. And because of that, I wanted to do a little something more." So saying, she withdrew from one of her billowy sleeves a short, narrow package, wrapped with a bright blue ribbon. And she held it out to Elsa.
"For... for me?" Elsa asked, surprised. When the queen nodded, Elsa stood up from her desk chair and crossed the few steps to the window. As she took the parcel, her mother slid a little ways down the bench – a clear invitation for her daughter to join her, though there had been plenty of room next to her already.
So the princess sat next to the queen. But still, she just stared at the present in her hands. "Well, open it," her mother prompted, a note of eager anticipation sneaking into her voice. "I hope you'll like it."
Elsa tugged at the end of the ribbon, and the bow came easily undone. Then, she carefully unwound the soft cloth that wrapped the object hidden inside. And when the brilliant brass cylinder rolled out onto her lap, Elsa didn't know what to say. Her mother, fortunately, filled the silence.
"It's a spyglass," she explained. "I know that you still aren't ready to join us tonight. But once we've all left after dinner, the castle will be essentially deserted for several hours. I thought you might consider it a good opportunity to, you know, get out and stretch your legs. And if, by some chance, you found yourself in the top room of the central spire... Well, the windows up there offer a spectacular view. You can see everything from up there. Even the spot down by the shore where a big pile of logs has been stacked up for some reason."
The queen couldn't help but laugh as her daughter suddenly turned to look at her, eyes round as saucers. "Oh, Mother!" And before Ellinor knew what was happening, Elsa's arms were wrapped around her, squeezing her tight, while her little girl buried her face in her mother's neck. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
She returned the embrace, gently rubbing her daughter's back. "You're quite welcome, sweetheart."
• • •
Anna found it hard to sit still during the banquet that night. She was too excited for what she knew was coming after. Fortunately, she was seated between her mother on her left (whose watchful eye ensured that Anna would attempt to maintain her best behavior) and Marie on her right (who provided excellent conversation, at least once she got over her nerves at finding herself seated at the high table with the royal family). Marie's parents, Anton and Jacqueline, sat on their daughter's other side. The king's side of the table was occupied by his closest advisors. He had tried to convince Kai and Gerda to sit with them, but both had insisted that they were far too busy seeing to the festivities to be able to spare the time for such trivial activities as eating.
One by one, the courses passed before them. Appetizers, soups, fresh meats, breads and cheeses, berries and dried fruits. Marie only took a small sampling of each dish, but she was soon proclaiming that she couldn't possibly eat another bite.
"Betcha can." Anna winked as their plates were cleaned away once more. And then the final course was brought out and set first before the diners at the high table.
"Raspberry souffle?" Marie gasped. Anna grinned, digging a slightly too large spoonful out of her bowl. She raised it to her friend in a sort of toast. Marie hastily plunged a spoon into her own dish, then returned the gesture with a look of eager anticipation. Both girls slipped their first bites into their mouths at the same time.
Marie closed her eyes and sighed, savoring the flavor as the dessert melted on her tongue. Anna's eyes, on the other hand, flew wide open. "Oh, Marie! That's absolutelywonderful!" And she quickly devoted her full attention to the remainder of the bowl in front of her.
A few all too short minutes later, the souffles were gone and the last plates had been cleared away. Then, the king stood and addressed the assembled guests who filled the room. "My friends," he began. "I think I don't use that word often enough, but it is what I consider each and every one of you to be. Without you, this castle would not function. Without you, Arendelle would not prosper. Without you, I would be completely and hopelessly lost." He turned to glance down at his queen seated beside him. "Though there are some who would say that is the case regardless of the company I keep."
Anna laughed along with the rest of the room. She always admired the way her father spoke to his people. He managed to project authority and wisdom. But at the same time, his sense of humor made it seem like he never considered himself to be in any way above the common man. Anna thought she did reasonably well herself with the humor part. But authority and wisdom had always been more of Elsa's specialty.
She sent her thoughts questing out through the corridors of the castle, twisting up the staircases and straight to her sister's room. I'm thinking of you, Elsa. Now and always.
The king had all but finished his speech by the time Anna drew her thoughts back to the dining hall. "And so, the time has come for the second part of our annual Midsummer's Eve tradition. If you would all please make your way down to the waterside, we will join you shortly." There was the sound of chairs scraping across the floor as the revelers began to make their way towards the doors in groups of twos and threes. Marie began to slide her seat back as well, but Anna put a restraining hand on her arm.
"Not yet. Just wait a minute." Marie looked at her questioningly. But when no further explanation was forthcoming, she settled back into her chair and waited.
Soon, the hall had emptied of all but the royal family, Marie, and her parents. Looking around, Marie was slightly annoyed to find that nobody else besides her seemed to be at all surprised by this arrangement. "Anna," she said, turning back to her friend, "what's going on?"
The first thing Marie saw was the ear-to-ear grin splitting Anna's face. The second thing was the case that her friend was carefully cradling in both arms and holding out towards her.
Marie looked up at Anna, then down at the case. Then past Anna to the king and queen, who were standing behind their daughter and smiling broadly. Slowly, Marie reached out, lifted the case from Anna's hands, and laid it gently on the table in front of her. Flipping the two latches that held it shut, she opened the lid. And gasped.
It was a violin. And a more beautiful instrument, Marie had never seen. She didn't even dare to touch it for fear of marring the shine of the meticulously polished wood, which seemed to almost glow beneath the candlelight of the dining hall. Cautiously, almost fearfully, she ran a finger ever so lightly down one of the strings. She felt its faint vibration through her fingertip, which seemed to run all the way up her arm and down her spine.
"Anna... Anna, I can't accept this. It's too much. I can't..."
"Yes, you can," said her father's voice from behind her. She turned and looked up to see her parents standing there, smiles warming their faces as well. "After His Majesty delivered our invitation to tonight's event, he took me aside and spoke to me in private. He told me how you confided to Princess Anna about your dream of being a musician. And he asked me if I might know your favorite instrument. Because, he said, the princess wanted to do something to thank my daughter for... What was the phrase? Oh, yes. 'Services rendered to the Kingdom of Arendelle.'
"Dearest Marie, I only wish you'd told us about this dream of yours sooner. We would have supported you in any way we could. But now that we knew, we offered all possible help to His Majesty. I told him about the look you always got on your face when the strings rose above the rest of the orchestra, how you seemed to be transported during those moments. And so it was settled."
Marie gaped at her father, then at her mother. Then she turned to stare at Anna again, who was still wearing that ear-splitting grin. "You're lucky that we happen to have an expert craftsman in the village who specializes in all sorts of stringed instruments," Anna said, picking up the explanation without missing a beat. "And Mr. Odegaard also gives lessons, too. He's agreed to start teaching you one day each week, and then decide how to go from there. Isn't it wonderful, Marie?"
Marie didn't even try to find the words, for she knew there were none. She just threw herself at her friend, tears of joy streaming down her face. Anna caught her and held her. Both girls felt like they would be perfectly content to just stay right there the rest of the night.
But eventually, the queen cleared her throat. "I'm afraid we really must be getting down to the bonfire," she said. "We can't keep our guests waiting all evening. But I don't think they'll mind if they have to wait just a minute or two longer."
She knelt down beside the two girls, and turned first to Marie. "I have another gift for you." And she extracted a small but colorful object from somewhere inside the folds of her gown, which she handed to her daughter's friend. Marie took it with wide-eyed wonder.
It was a doll, almost the twin of the redheaded one that she had played with once in Anna's room. Only this one had no crown on top of its head, and its dress was the exact shade of sea green that Anna had worn that day when they had both boarded the Voloe.
"And also one for you." Marie looked up to see the queen handing Anna a second doll. But this one was wearing a yellow dress, and its brown hair was sculpted into a ponytail at the back of its head.
"Marie!" Anna exclaimed. "It's you! And it's me! It's us!" She turned back to the queen, wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, and proceeded to give her a series of kisses all over her cheek. "Oh, Mother! They're amazing! They're perfect! Thank you so much!"
"Yes, thank you, Your Majesty," Marie replied, finally finding her voice and somehow remembering how to curtsy.
"You're both welcome, I'm sure," replied the queen. "But I'm afraid you're thanking the wrong person. These dolls were your sister's idea, Anna."
"Elsa?" Anna's question was barely a whisper. "Oh, Mama. I have to go thank her right away!"
"Not now, dear," the queen responded with just a touch of sternness in her voice. "I meant it when I said we can't keep our guests waiting much longer. But there will be time for you to thank your sister later. I suspect she will still be awake when we get back tonight."
Anna nodded, a little disappointed, but knowing that this was not the time to press the issue. When she turned back to Marie, and saw her friend smiling down at the miniature princess in her hand, any regret slipped away. "Come on, Marie. You can leave your violin here. It'll be safer than down by all the water and the fire."
Marie looked to her parents for their approval. When they nodded, she ever so carefully closed the case and refastened the latches. Then, arm in arm, she and Anna led the way out the doors and down to the celebration at the shore.
• • •
Elsa had watched from her window as the families of all the palace staff had filed in late that afternoon. She had watched them leave hours later as the sun was beginning to set below the mountains. And she had watched when, a few minutes later, six more figures walked out of the palace and passed through the castle gates.
She had watched them all using her mother's gift. Had seen so many faces she'd nearly forgotten, and a few that she didn't recognize at all. And as the daylight was finally fading, she had watched her sister and Marie, skipping hand in hand across the courtyard. And though she couldn't quite make it out for sure in the dim light, she liked to imagine she caught a flash of bright color in each girl's free hand.
As soon as they had disappeared beyond the gates, she'd taken her mother's advice. With no need for secrecy or concern about running into anyone else, she had practically marched out of her room and headed straight to the stairs that led up the central spire. In no time at all, she was looking out the windows from the topmost room of the castle.
But with the sun having fully set now, Arendelle was nearly invisible. All that could be seen were the glows from scattered windows stretching back up the hillside and the regular, rhythmic flashes of the lighthouse towers that marked the entrance to the harbor. Using those as guides, Elsa tried to guess where the bonfire would be lit. She trained her spyglass on what she thought might be the spot, but couldn't see a thing. So she settled in to wait.
She didn't have to wait long, however. Only a few minutes had passed before she saw tiny specks of light flicking near the location where she thought the bonfire would be. Lifting the telescope to her eyes, she focused on the distant sparks. They were torches. And soon, one after another were thrust into the towering pile of carefully stacked logs. The kindling ignited, and in almost no time, a roaring fire was blazing forth, casting a wavering orange glow across the pebbly beach.
The light wasn't enough to discern much from such a distance, even with the spyglass's aid. But she could make out silhouettes as they passed before the flames. She watched them dancing to unheard music. Followed couples as they strolled past the blaze, hands clasped together or arms intertwined. Saw young children dart back and forth, in the middle of some game made all the more exciting by the shimmering shadows that played alongside them.
So no, it wasn't the same as being there herself. And yet, in a way, it was. Elsa's powers had made her an outsider, whether she wanted to be or not. If she had been down there by the bonfire, she felt certain that she would have ended up standing far back from the group, skirting the unstable line between the darkness and the light. Not joining in, but only watching.
"Except," she said quietly to herself, "for Anna." And she smiled. For she could just picture the younger girl bursting out of the middle of everything, darting into the darkness, grabbing her by the hand, and dragging her right back down into the warmth and light. Yes, that was Anna. That was her sister.
Elsa continued to watch the strange shadow theater for a long time, until she noticed the number of shadows starting to dwindle, and the fire beginning to burn lower and lower. She collapsed the spyglass, wrapping it carefully in the soft cloth in which it had been presented to her. Then she retraced her steps down the stairs and back to her room.
She sat on her window bench for a while, gazing out at the dark courtyard below. She had thought she might be able to watch the few people who actually lived in the palace as they straggled back in. But the moon was only a sliver in the night sky. It might provide enough wan illumination to pick out a familiar path up from the harbor, but nowhere near enough to make out anything from this distance. Finally, she abandoned her vigil and prepared herself for bed.
She had only been ensconced under the covers for a few minutes when...
Knock knock-knock-knock knock knock.
"Elsa? I hope I didn't wa-a-ake you." The yawn in her sister's voice made it abundantly clear that she would not be awake for much longer herself. "I know it's late, but I couldn't wait until morning. I had to stop by and thank you tonight. I don't know where you came up with the idea, but..." Anna's voice trailed off. For a moment, Elsa half thought her sister had fallen asleep outside her door. But then her voice returned, and there was no trace of muzzy sleepiness in it now.
"Thank you, Elsa. From both Marie and me. That's not enough, I know. But I've never been as good with words as you. And if I try, I'll just start babbling and ruin the moment. So just... Thank you. I'm so lucky to have you as a sister."
Then came the sound of a mighty yawn, poorly stifled. "G'night, Elsa. Pleasant dreams." And then the sound of shuffling footsteps fading away down the hall.
"Good night, Anna. I love you."