AN: So, for those of you wondering, this is the song I used (Elsa centric in this video, but it fits) youtube dot com /watch?v=3XLqmP-EYp4
In other news, so much time off this week gave me a lot of time to write. Sometimes, unfortunately, contract work falls through and we get left out in the cold. Next week's shaping up to be better on that front though. Oh, and I also seem to have a tumblr… from several years ago. Insert Gandalf "I have no memory of this place" meme. tumblr /blog/free-the-verse/.
It was early in the morning, and the sunlight streaming in through the high windows of the throne room stung his eyes. Being forced to sleep on a cot in the castle dungeon, he hadn't managed to get much rest, and a fog still veiled his thoughts. Like why he had been rescued by Arendelle's Royal Marines, and not Nikolaus's forces. Especially given the chaos that was supposed to be going on in Arendelle, what with their queen having been assassinated several days ago. Of course, martial law could have descended, but he knew Arendelle was not a strongly militaristic nation, unlike his homeland.
That was when he saw her—when he saw them. The royal sisters maimed and crippled by his own flesh and blood. Both of them, Princess Anna and Queen Elsa. The Queen rolled forward sedately in a wheelchair made of ice and snow. Behind her a royal guard stepped away, clearly seeing no risk in Frederik. The royal princess stepped forwards aggressively, balling her fist, stopping short when revelation flowered across her face. Something at the back of his mind clicked into place and Frederik said the first thing he could think of, which, in retrospect, did not sound very smart.
"You're alive?"
"You seem surprised, Prince Frederik. The Duke of Weselton has now tried to kill me twice, and my sister, Princess Anna, at least once. I hear at least half his fleet lies at the bottom of the fjord. Is that your doing—trying to start a war in my sovereign waters?"
Frederik sighed heavily. Sometimes his brother's loyalty could be a curse. He was an able commander and tactician; he just couldn't see the big picture. Frederik pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration—and also to block out some of the aggravatingly bright light. It wasn't making his headache any better either. Then there was the fact he had likely been pre-judged by the actions of his youngest brother. Cursed three times over, and with no easy way out. The Queen of Arendelle would be justified in keeping him prisoner or holding him for ransom given his pedigree and the actions of his brothers.
Footsteps echoed through the room, and as he opened his eyes, he saw the Royal Princess approaching. She was squinting slightly, as if she were looking at something in the blurry distance. Frederik remained still, unsure of what, exactly, was going on. She was halfway across the room already, and the royal guard was now moving to follow her. Queen Elsa urged her to be cautious, but she just waved distractedly behind her. Then she was right in front of him, and Frederik couldn't help but see all of her.
Red hair, glowing like fire in the sunlight; hair that framed a small, delicate face. She had green eyes. Or blue eyes. He looked closer—they were such an amazing shade of turquoise that he couldn't decide if the blue or the green was actually the stronger colour. She had a rather small nose, and her face was covered in youthful freckles. Frederik could see at once why his traitorous brother had chosen her over Elsa—who was a much more classical beauty. But he forced himself to look further. To see what his brother had done. How her right arm ended five or six inches shy of where her elbow should have been. The tiny puncture marks where a large number of stitches had been removed—they would heal shortly, so they must have been removed only recently. The scarring on what was left of her arm was fading, but still visible. An intense wave of hatred washed over him. How dare Hans hurt this woman. In any way.
The young princess stopped, holding herself apart from everything, and Frederik could see the fire burning behind her eyes. Even with the conservative cut of her dress—though it lacked sleeves, for what he assumed were practical reasons—he could still appreciate the modest swelling of her chest, a young woman blossoming in to true womanhood. There was her slender neck and pale throat, the gentle curve of her cheek. On her lower lip was a tiny scar, evidence of more violence against her—recent violence—and his mind turned to Langenberg. Just what had the Count done?
Her arm raised to touch the side of his face, and around her wrist he saw the scar, a fine, red line. Frederik cursed inwardly. Then he froze, because soft, warm fingers were tracing the line of his own scars, from temple to cheek, and just above his upper lip. The Princess nodded, as if coming to some kind of decision, and turned back towards the throne, conversing quietly with the Queen as she passed. Then she simply stood, fidgeting every now and then, glancing nervously around the room. It was all very enigmatic.
"Please, excuse my sister, she has been through a lot this past week and is still recovering from her ordeal," the Queen's voice was even and measured, but Frederik could pick up the hint of concern and fear it masked.
"I am quite sure she meant nothing by it, your majesty," he paused, gathering his thoughts. "As to you earlier question, I would answer that it both is, and is not, my fault that half of Weselton's invasion fleet lies beneath the waters you call your own."
"Would you care to explain that in full?" the Queen's voice was ice. Clearly she didn't like half-truths, or confused admissions.
"If I may?" getting a curt nod, Frederik continued. "I sailed here, on the Victory, with my twin brother Nikolaus. We had hoped to make some kind of restitution for the actions of our youngest brother, but when we arrived the fjord was covered in ice, and ten ships of Weselton sat at the mouth of the harbour. We, that is to say, Nikolaus and I, decided to open parley with Weselton, assuming that the Duke would lead a fleet this size in person. We were wrong—he sent his lapdog Count Langenberg instead. Ruthless little bastard he is. He attempted to goad us in to attacking you, claiming you had kidnapped several of his men. I refused.
"That was when he drew his weapon, claiming that I was abetting an enemy of Weselton—and further claiming that a state of war existed between Weselton and Arendelle due to your death four days prior. I had assumed him as good as his word. You must know that while he may be incompetent in most naval matters, Langenberg is excellent at selecting only the most ruthless agents to enact his plans. I feared you dead—along with any chance of making right what my brother did to both yourself and to your sister."
"An interesting claim. Although it still does not explain why you attacked Weselton's ships while in my waters."
"I didn't, Nikolaus did. I am quite sure it was meant to be a distraction to keep the men on the Trader from realizing a party of Southern Isles marines was about to board. It would appear, however, that your men managed to strike first, taking advantage of the chaos my brother caused in trying to rescue me. I'm sure he will have been most disappointed to find out I had been rescued—or captured—from right under his nose. The same goes for the Count. I would dearly love to see him rot in a dark cell. A very dark cell. Underwater, perhaps. He doesn't have to be alive. Or in one piece. Not after all he's done."
"Perhaps I need to talk with your brother then, or this Count Langenberg."
"If you talk to Langenberg, your majesty, be on your guard. I wouldn't trust that stunted growth of a man as far as I could throw him. Less, in fact. Nikoluas, should you wish to speak to him, is likely to come under a flag of truce. He will honour it. We are not like our youngest brother. Nikolaus's first love has always been the sea. And mine… well, I will just say that I have good reason for hating Langenberg the way I do. And I would be more than willing to risk a war should I be able to get my revenge."
"Then it would be best you and he were separated by the greatest possible distance," the Queen then turned to her guard. "Lieutenant Erikson, make sure he cannot access the dungeons in any way—discuss it with the Palace Guard. Then find Kai and have him prepare one of the guest rooms on the second floor. Something reasonably comfortable." Then she turned her attention back to Frederik. "I am giving you a place to stay, for now. Know that I am not normally so trusting, especially with those of your lineage. And if I find out you're lying"—here the Queen snapped her fingers and icy fractals suddenly spread around the prince of the Southern Isles—"you will come to know just how bitter the cold can be."
Frederik shivered, and the fractals spiraling around him fell to icy powder. He saw the Royal Princess lean in to whisper something, and the Queen responded with a quiet word, making the princess smile and blush before she turned to leave. The Queen herself turned away a moment later, their conversation obviously over. The royal guard—Erikson—made his way towards Frederik.
"Walk with me. Nice and slow—I know all about your treachery."
Frederik sighed. If not to the Queen, then at least to her guards all the Westergard brothers had been tarred with the same brush. Yet another justifiable reason for his acrimonious parting words to his youngest brother. More than a decade they'd spent carefully building their reputation, repairing it against the sins of the past, and now one idiot brother had managed to destroy it completely. Frederik hung his head in shame, quietly following the royal guard deeper into the castle.
"Are you okay?" Anna asked when they were safely away from the throne room.
"No," Elsa replied with all the honesty she could muster. It was more than a little concerning, this entire diplomatic incident, occurring inside her sovereign territory. The fact that there were now two of Hans's brothers within Arendelle didn't help her mood either. Or the revelation that she held in her dungeon the man responsible, in the end, for everything that had been done to her sister. She didn't trust herself to not kill him when she saw him. No, she thought savagely, if I killed him that would be mercy compared to what I want to do.
"No, Anna, I'm not okay. I just learned that Weselton has declared war against us, and that I should—according to Prince Frederik there—by all accounts be dead. What Hank told me of the battle this morning corroborates the Prince's story, at least in part."
"The Count?"
"Well, with that surname, he's not the Duke's son—actually, as far as I can recall, the Duke of Weselton has no heirs. Or at least, no legitimate ones. I doubt I could ransom him back in return for calling off hostilities. I cannot trust a word the Duke says, and I have to think he feels the same way about me."
"He could swim home?" Anna offered brightly, but the smile that crossed her face sent a chill down Elsa's spine. "Can he swim? Or maybe a raft—and lutefisk for company. All of our lutefisk…" Here Elsa couldn't help but imagine her sister rubbing her hands together in glee—if she'd still had both of them. She tried hard not laugh at the attempt Anna was unconsciously making to do just that. It was the closest Anna had come to her old self in days, and Elsa didn't want to spoil the moment—not when it was so perfectly her that it made her heart ache. But eventually the spell had to be broken.
"Anna, that's the man responsible for everything that happened to you. Everything you can't tell me about, and everything you have already. It's all his fault. So is the attempt on my life—the one Hank saved me from. I do not doubt the Duke himself is responsible for a great deal of this, but it is the Count we currently hold in the dungeon. The Count whom I don't trust myself to question, knowing what he had his men do to you. For three days. Three. Days. I… Anna… why did I have to take so long to save you?"
Elsa felt the sting on her cheek before she heard the slap. That was definitely Anna in there, frowning adorably at her for being an idiot. It was a look she was often on the receiving end of these days. She decided to move the topic away from her failings. "I want to hurt him. Hurt him like his men hurt you. Hurt him so he knows the pain we both felt. I would… I… does it make me a bad person? That I want to do these terrible things to him? Does it make me a monster?"
Anna didn't answer at first, gently touching a finger to the scar on her lower lip. Her eyes traced the thin red line around her wrist. Other scars. Elsa watched as her sister gently pressed a hand against her tender ribs—where Hank had accidentally struck her the previous night. And though a fire burned behind her eyes, Elsa saw her sister come to a softer, gentler conclusion than she had. "No. Y–you're not monster. Not a monster. You're my sister—want to help. You always want to help. To protect me. From real monsters… like him. Like Hans." Anna cleared her throat, her voice taking on a questioning tone. "But why? Why hurt me? Why try killing… why… you?"
"I don't know, and that's what worries me," Elsa looked up at her younger sister, trying to draw as much strength as she could from the bond between them. "First the Duke sends his guards to kill me in my ice palace. Then he sends this man to try it again, using my own citizens no less—citizens I am now forced to pass judgement on. And then—" She froze mid-sentence, realizing just how much the Duke, or perhaps the Count in this case, had managed to force her hand. By using her own citizens they could judge how ruthless she might be in her pursuit of justice. How much she would sacrifice. And how quickly she would react to such an attack. Then, as an added bonus, they would see how the rest Arendelle responded to her decision. She wondered how it was she hadn't seen the trap before. Because she'd only been thinking about the repercussions if she had died—not the sequence of events that would have to follow if she lived.
Events, she was sure, that were supposed to have paralyzed Arendelle's leadership at a critical time, throwing the kingdom into chaos as Weselton's troops invaded. Throw in a crisis of succession with a missing princess and a queen that could not be risked and the invading troops might have been able to walk all over everything. It was fortunate, then, that she had decided to freeze the harbour, denying entry to Weselton's ships, troops, and other forces. Then those ships had anchored in a blockade, trying to play for time—time they knew Arendelle didn't have. But they hadn't counted on another force joining the fray. A force whose commander was willing to risk inciting war on two fronts—not that she would declare war against a possible ally, but that commander—Nikolaus, she recalled the name—he would have to have known that it was a risk engaging a supposedly neutral party in Arendelle's sovereign waters.
And thinking of additional forces and other nations, were they not expecting a clipper from Spain? One that was now a day overdue. Although a day was no big issue, she couldn't fight the nagging feeling that something else was going on here. Something far more dangerous than anything she wanted to be involved in. And just what was that wandering across her field of—oh.
"Elsa," her sister's voice was exasperated, what little of it remained. "So, daydreaming about me?" Anna made a crude gesture, and Elsa blushed so deeply she had to look around to make sure they weren't being watched. Then Anna relented, asking more seriously: "Is it bad?"
"Worse. I played right into it—or they got lucky with their plans," Elsa rested her head in one hand, massaging her temples. She knew exactly who she had to talk to about this, and she hated it. Hated just how necessary he was. "I think I have to talk with Marshal Gerhardt. It's that bad."
"Is it–is it still okay to take the money?" Anna asked with some trepidation. They'd discussed her plans this morning.
"It's fine, Anna, really, it is. I know how much you want to do this, and I appreciate you asking my permission first," then Elsa made a most un-queenly face. "I did not, however, appreciate hearing every detail of what you planned to do with your boyfriend today."
"Prude."
She had no comeback for that. For the most part it was true. Anna's descriptions had not been graphic, but even what she had hinted at was enough to make the Queen's cheeks burn hot enough to brighten the room. It also scared her, more than she cared to admit. If this went wrong, both her sister and Kristoff stood to lose a lot, and wind up very, very hurt. It was by no means simple, nor easy, but it was something Anna said she needed to do. And Elsa knew that once her sister had set her mind on doing something, it would be done. It was that simple. She just hoped no one would get hurt this time.
Kristoff blinked and rubbed his eyes, making sure he'd read the sign above the door correctly. They were at a sauna—one of the most exclusive in the town—and Anna was placing a not insignificant sum on the counter, asking for complete privacy. Which would mean he would be alone with the young princess, for however long she wanted to stay there. However long she could stand being near him. He still remembered the way she had shied away from him several days ago, not saying a word, running off in a panic. He didn't think it was his fault—and if it was, he questioned exactly why she was willing to be alone with him now. Especially given what she apparently planned to do, which was… something he couldn't actually figure out. All he knew was that she wanted him here, and she wanted privacy. She had also said something about needing to get help from more people than just Elsa.
That was probably the best thing he had heard all week—that Anna wanted his help. After the shock of seeing her run away, it was heartening to see her facing the world once more. In whatever way she chose to face it, and to fight her demons. And given everything he knew of her indomitable spirit, he had no doubt that those demons would not last long. Not long at all. And then she was dragging him behind a changing screen, looking him straight in the eye, almost daring him to do something.
"Help," and here she made a show of trying to unlace her bodice. Kristoff moved closer to help, trying not to notice the way his shadow seemed to loom over the princess. He began carefully unlacing the back of Anna's bodice, and as he did so he felt his fingers brush across the exposed skin on the back of her neck. He stilled as she drew away, a lace in each hand. He heard her quiet cursing, and when she looked over her shoulder to smile reassuringly at him, he couldn't help but smile back. That was the heart of the Anna he knew. The Anna he wanted to bring back from wherever those Weseltonian bastards had forced her to hide.
Kristoff gradually resumed the process of unlacing Anna's bodice. "It's okay. I–I guess you still might be scared after what those men did to you. And knowing you, feistypants, you just don't want to admit that you're still scared. I don't blame you for running away the other day either, even if you can't tell me why. I just don't want you to be afraid—of anything. You fought wolves, climbed mountains, even held off a giant snow monster. If that's not brave, I don't know what is."
He felt Anna wrap her fingers around his right hand as he placed both hands reassuringly on her shoulders. There was a warmth there that simply could not be extinguished, like glowing embers in a dying hearth. He wanted so badly to rekindle that fire, the great warmth of love and passion the young princess in front of him had always been. Even if she did have a tendency to destroy sleds and other belongings with her misadventures. I really shouldn't blame her, Kristoff tempered his thoughts. Not for the second one, at least. I guess I should just be thankful none of us were hurt by that.
Even though her fingers were still wrapped around his, Kristoff managed to extricate his hand from Anna's grip. She turned, dress loose, a hurt look on her face. He reached out for her hand, and she drew back, suddenly terrified. He could see the fear in her darting eyes, in the sudden blankness of her gaze, and in the small, furtive movements she made as she looked around. He was about to step back, to let things play out in her mind the way they had to, until a sudden surge of protectiveness drove him forwards. He would protect her, even from herself—even if the harm was only on the inside. She struggled and whimpered as he embraced her, arms tight, chin resting on her shoulder. He both heard and felt her sucking in a deep breath, looking around frantically after doing so. He couldn't help but worry he'd crossed some invisible line; pushed too hard in trying to save her that he might be driving her further away.
So when she pulled away, only seconds later, he didn't try to stop her, letting his arms fall back to his sides, and doing his very best to keep the hurt and worry from his face. She shivered, and turned, and in her eyes he saw her fear. She was afraid of driving him away, afraid of losing his help when she wanted it—maybe even when she needed it. She tried to talk, but no sound came this time, and he saw the panic spreading across her face as she tried to turn away in shame. He was not going to let her keep feeling that. Not if there was anything he could do. So with his left hand he gently took hold of her shoulder, just enough to halt her turn. With his right he pressed a finger softly to her lips.
"Don't say anything, it's alright, I won't go away."
He could see the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, and as she closed her eyes, she sniffled a little, tears slowly coursing down her cheeks. He made to wipe them away, but Anna took firm hold of his arm when he moved. He understood then, these were not tears of sadness, or weakness, or anger. They were cleansing tears, washing away the fear, the pain, the uncertainty. Tears that had to be shed so she could heal. No matter how much it might hurt others to witness her letting go of that pain by reliving it. Reliving it and casting it out.
Opening her eyes again, Anna continued to undress herself, not even blushing despite still being so close to Kristoff. There must not have been a single self-conscious thought in her head—but he was sure he was starting blush hotly enough for both of them. It was about that time he realized he was still wearing his clothes while the young woman in front of him was down to just her undergarments. And if they were going to share a sauna, he would need to be similarly attired. Well, with a towel for modesty, at least. He made to move away, but a soft tug against his sleeve stopped him in his tracks.
He turned back, and there she was, smiling softly at him. He grinned back, and made a subtle gesture towards another of the privacy screens. Anna shook her head, then pressed against his chest, her hand undoing the first button of his shirt. He blinked, looking down at her, seeing deep within her eyes. He saw the tempered desire there—but this was not for that. This was about something else, something she wanted or needed to do. Something involving clothing. His clothing. She struggled with the last button, but before he could offer any help she had it undone, removing the shirt one arm at a time, as best she could.
Then she pulled that shirt over the stump of her right arm, struggling to slip her left arm into its respective sleeve. If they were going to use the sauna, he honestly had no idea why she wanted to wear his clothes. Underwear, sure, if a bathing suit was not so readily accessible—even though most wore nothing but a towel in the sauna room. But a shirt? Even if she wasn't bothering to close it up, it didn't make a whole lot of sense. Until seeing the bruising on her ribs and the scar above her left breast reminded him of the last time he'd seen her wearing so little. Bandages that just managed to preserve her modesty, and—pants; which would be why she was tugging at them now.
"They made you wear these, didn't they?" Kristoff's voice was low, pitched just enough to cross the distance between them. She merely nodded in reply, smiling thankfully as he handed his pants over, still wearing his undershorts and a light undershirt. Arendelle could get remarkably warm in the summer months, and this day was no exception. Seeing Anna dressed in his own clothes had quite an effect, and Kristoff tried his very best to suppress any of those urges. Maybe in the future, but not now. Not when she seemed so fragile and delicate. The way she walked into the sauna room caught at his breath, but he knew it was far from deliberate. It was just the way she was.
After carefully folding his remaining clothes into neat piles—and doing the same for the garments Anna had discarded—Kristoff wrapped a towel about his waist and quietly opened the door to the sauna itself, before reconsidering. If they were going to be alone, then no one would pass comment about his lute. Retrieving said instrument, he entered the sauna, making barely a sound as he opened the door, and turning slightly to make sure it closed properly behind him.
The first thing he noticed was Anna's brassiere. He noticed it because it was next to the door and he'd nearly tripped over it. He also noticed that it was lace—emerald lace, and the design was more complex than he'd first given it credit for, something meant to be seen, not merely worn. And he'd paid it no mind while she was wearing it; because she was far more than what she wore. She could have worn only the plainest of clothes, and he would still think she was the most interesting person he had ever met. It was a strange thought, the first time he had acknowledged that truth, but he couldn't in any way deny it. Anna made his life more interesting whenever she was in it. He wanted to share more of it with her—not just to help her heal, but to show her things he found interesting too. Like the springs nestled behind the Valley of the Living Rock. Springs that his family, for the most part, ignored.
His mind was wandering, so he turned to face the young woman, princess, and friend he meant to help. As he turned his fingers idly strummed the lute he carried, a soft melody rippling through the barely visible steam. In the middle of the room she stood there, frozen, transfixed, her face devoid of expression and her eyes blank. She blinked, confused tears starting to roll down her cheeks. He could see then everything that she was. Her hair, copper and fire, braids falling past her shoulders and over the shirt she wore. Her eyes of noble turquoise, hiding so much fear and passion and strength. Soft lips, parted gently, a tiny scar on her lower lip—a scar he wanted to reach out and caress, to make it better with a single touch, a gentle kiss. Anything to lessen her hurt.
Through the open front of the shirt she wore he could see the small, circular scar above her left breast, a wound he knew nothing about—just like the rest. He could see her breasts, and while she was not as endowed as some women were, she was shaped to perfection, such that size would never matter. In fact, he considered, her petite frame probably played well to her advantage there. And below her breasts, masked in no small part by the open front of the shirt, he could just see the purpling edge of a bruise, and a sickly yellow that spread further across her skin. He knew those marks well—broken ribs. Just one of many injuries ice harvesters could suffer if they weren't quick or careful enough.
He moved closer, wanting just to touch her, hoping in some way that would make things better, but as he drew close the blankness in her eyes turned to abject terror. She shied away, stepping backwards until she was dangerously close to the heating stones. Another step and she would—Kristoff sprang into action, circling her swiftly, interposing himself between Anna and the hot stones with a gentle shove. She was not going to be injured again because of another failing. It happened anyway.
It was only a gentle push, just enough to keep her from touching the stones, but mid-stride it was also enough to throw her off balance and she landed hard on her backside, slipping sideways as her non-existent right arm failed to arrest the rest of her fall. She almost screamed as her back hit the wooden floor—he could see the pain shooting across her face, how hard she tried to fight it. She wasn't about to show any weakness in front of him—which meant she might not be seeing him, Kristoff realized. She might be reliving another memory, a more painful and terrifying memory.
So he circled her slowly once again, keeping his distance, sitting on the furthest bench from her, strumming a gentle tune on his lute. The music seemed to calm her, and she looked up at him, eyes wide with fear and confusion. He said nothing, just gave her an understanding smile. She could heal in her own way, in her own time. It couldn't be rushed. Just like love. And no matter how long it took her to heal, he would be there, picking up the pieces, ready to put her back together. So as she found the strength to stand once more, he began to sing.
Look what they've done to you
It isn't fair
Your light was bright and new
But they didn't care
They took the heart of a little girl
And made it grow up too fast
Anna looked up, smiling sadly, and Kristoff continued his song.
Now words like innocence
Don't mean a thing
You hear the music play
But you can't sing
Those pictures in your mind
Keep you locked up inside your past
A dark cloud crossed her face, and he could tell she felt betrayed—by what, he couldn't say, but he could read it in her eyes. A secret truth she thought could not be known to any other. Perhaps a truth she feared, about what she really was now; a truth she couldn't accept. She stood there, and the music seemed to flow around her, the words falling against her skin.
This is a song for the broken girl
The one pushed aside by the cold, cruel world
You are
Hear me when I say
You're not the worthless they made you feel
There is a love they can never steal away
And you don't have to stay the broken girl
An understanding smile quirked her lips, and darkness seemed to lift behind her eyes with the final line. Kristoff couldn't help but smile at that little victory. He knew from such victories the battle against the darkness inside was won. Not great acts or epic deeds, but by the little things. Things like being loved, appreciated, valued, known. As he sang the next verse, he changed the melody slightly, something brighter, exultant, powerful.
Those damaged goods you see
In your reflection
I see them differently
I see perfection
A beautiful display
Of healing your own way
Anna shivered as the words sunk in, and she made to move—but he noticed that she was no longer backing away. This time she chose to approach him. To conquer her fears through sheer determination. He loved her all the more for it, wondering how it was he had found someone so amazing—remembering in the end that she had found him.
This is a song for the broken girl
The one pushed aside by the cold, cruel world
You are
Hear me when I say
You're not the worthless they made you feel
There is a love they can never steal away
And you won't always stay the broken girl
You won't always be the broken girl
After the chorus he changed the melody a little more, culminating in a rich, powerful crescendo that tapered off into a quiet, contemplative tune. Anna was closer still, leaning forwards, stray hairs framing her face and something new burning behind her eyes. A fiery determination, mixed with no small hint of mischief. Her smile was weak, but it was happy, and Kristoff sang the final verse much more softly than he had first intended. It worked better that way.
Let your tears touch the ground
Lay all your shattered pieces down
And be amazed by how we can take a broken girl
And put her back together again
A warm shadow blocked the light falling on his face, and Kristoff felt soft lips tenderly planting the ghost of a kiss against his own. Then Anna drew back—but just enough to look at him fully as he gently set his lute aside. She tried to talk, but all that came out was a slight cough. She looked so sad and angry at herself—Kristoff stood to embrace her, extending his arms, and Anna stopped him by taking his hand gingerly in her own, finding just enough of her voice to whisper the words at him, a questioning look in her eyes. And his reply was as simple and honest and loving as anything he'd ever said before. 'You won't stay the broken girl'.
"Because you never were."
