A pounding knock brought Anna out of her state of half consciousness. She lifted her eyelids and blinked several times, her sight clearing and focusing in on the plain ceiling above. She waited a moment, willing the intruder to leave her in peace, but another knock came, more insistent this time. With a heavy sigh, Anna extracted herself from the bed and went to the door, opening it several inches. A familiar face glared in at her.

"About time," Flynn said. "His Majesty wishes to speak with us."

"Of course." She murmured.

The redhead went to step out, but Flynn slapped his hand to the door.

"You're going like that?"

Anna looked up to him quizzically.

"There's still blood on your face from yesterday's spectacle," He continued. "Did you not -"

"Runeard won't notice." She interrupted, and attempted to push past him.

Flynn let surprise take him and allowed her to exit her room. His eyes searched the hall for any other presence, and finding none, he reached for Anna's arm. She turned on him with slight irritation.

"Anna, I don't especially care for you, but I will still remind you. Would anyone else allow you to refer so blatantly to King Runeard? Mind your words."

Anna's eyes softened noticeably and she sighed in resignation. Still, she tore her arm from his grasp and began her way down the hallway. Flynn took a calming breath himself before following after.

…

Runeard looked up from his papers when Anna and Flynn entered his chambers. Immediately, his eyes went to the three streaks of dried, crusted blood along his champion's cheek. A small and satisfied smirk began to cross his features that he covered with a large hand.

"Good morning, Your Majesty." Flynn said as he and Anna bowed deeply. "You wanted to see us?"

"Yes, I did."

The king stood from his chair and paced around to the front of his desk, hands linked behind his back. He took a moment to observe the two.

Anna stood ramrod straight, her head tilted forward with her copper bangs obscuring her eyes. She was a subordinate young woman, but she was full of so much hatred, she always had been, and was such an angry child, as well. He would always remember the night that she came to be in his care. One of his guardsmen had dragged in a little girl, only six or seven years old, who he had found stealing horse feed from the stables to eat. She was soaked to the bone from the fall rain, thin as a stick from hunger, but kicking and fighting her captor the whole way. Runeard recalled a fire in her eyes unlike any he had seen. And she had been vulnerable, a lump of malleable clay for his hands to play with, to stretch one way and push another, until she had been shaped more to his liking.

So she grew up under the steeliness of his wing, resisting less and less and bending more and more to his authority. At only nine years old, Runeard had decided she needed to learn discipline and an outlet for her wildness, and had ordered his finest fighting men to train her in the ways of sword fighting. And ten years later, at the age of twenty and at the prime of her strength, Anna had become not only a master of the blade with nary an opponent she couldn't match, but had reined in her emotions and was always cool and collected. The only way to know of the redhead's inner fire was to see it behind her eyes, always raging and never to be extinguished, or so Runeard hoped. She only let loose in a fight, which he gifted her with often. She would kill any man or creature that stepped into the ring just from a single word from her king. Runeard was ensured of her unswerving loyalty.

Runeard cast his eyes over the man beside his protege. He was a handsome young man with dark shaggy hair and eyes to match, and tall and lean. He had a roguish aura about him. Flynn was a fine swordsman as well, and had even held his own against Anna - though just barely, Runeard reminded himself. He was confident, just shy of cocky, and unafraid to speak his mind. Like the king himself, Flynn was a womanizer and didn't attempt to hide it; he had charmed many a woman into his bed, peasant and noble alike. In fact, he had recently been at the center of an incident involving the wife of a chancellor. It had taken several long days of negotiation and bargaining to resolve that issue. And unfortunately, Runeard was not sure if Flynn was or was not his son. He had yet to ask what Flynn truly knew of his origins.

Runeard ran a thumb and forefinger over the thick hairs of his mustache as he began speaking.

"The Days of Games is upon us again, you may have heard. It seems the kingdom of Arendelle, of all places, is hosting the festivities this time around. Being my best fighting men, I'd like you both to accompany me. You will represent Dovoryn in the Games."

"Sire," Flynn glanced once to Anna. "Not to be overbold, but are - that is, do women often partake in the Games?"

Runeard watched as Anna simply glanced back at Flynn, no expression on her face but her eyes hard to read. The king shrugged his shoulders.

"Not generally, no. Not many women have competed, though it's not against any regulation."

Runeard stepped down from the dais and went to Anna, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"But that's why I called you my best fighting men. Anna will enter the Games under the guise of a male persona."

At his words, they both looked quickly to their king. Flynn in sharp confusion, Anna in slight unease. Runeard lifted his hands with palms out.

"Do you doubt me? While in full armor, no one will be the wiser. It's a matter of keeping your face covered. Meanwhile, when not competing, you will be free to galavant around Arendelle as just another of my party."

Anna dropped her eyes from his then, back to her feet where she felt most comfortable. She sensed Flynn once again shuffling next to her.

"Yes, my king," The redhead breathed. "As you wish."

…

The young woman ran as quickly as her legs could take her, bare feet slapping against the wet ground beneath. Her hard, ragged breaths in her ears drowned out the natural noises of the woodlands. She didn't care because she was currently preoccupied. She ran on, whipping through drenched foliage and squelching through thick mud, pushing for the tree line.

She stopped quickly and threw her arms around a nearby trunk to steady herself and catch her breath. She looked out over the meadow, peering through the heavy morning mist for any signs of life, any signs that someone else was out here with her. When she was satisfied she was alone, the woman smiled shakily between pants. She stepped out slowly into the opening, the dewey grass tickling the bare skin of her ankles. Her fingertips grazed the tallest stalks, shimmying them and loosening the collected water droplets.

With a sigh, the young woman again surveyed the thick mist around her. Tentatively, she lifted a hand up through the fine vapor. Then a quick snap of her wrist, and her arm surged forward, and suddenly, the mist had solidified into delicate particles of ice, glimmering softly in the dull light of the overcast sky. The woman watched as ice swirled slowly downwards to settle in her braid of platinum hair.

She smiled.

…

"Elsa, you're late."

King Agnarr stood from his place at the dining table to reprimand his daughter. Elsa, however, merely brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes and took her own seat next to her brother. Agnarr bumped his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the dishes and cause the other occupants to jump. His queen, Iduna, went to place a calming hand on his arm, but the man shook it off.

"Where have you been this time? You're drenched."

The blonde looked down, unwilling to answer her father. From the corner of her vision, she saw her brother staring at her with distress deep in his eyes.

"I'm tired of this, Elsa. Answer me." Agnarr's voice rose slightly.

When Elsa still remained silent, the king pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He attempted to keep his ire in check when next he spoke.

"You cannot keep disappearing. The Days of Games is less than a month away, and you are now twenty-four years of age, no longer a child. This is a suitable opportunity for you to begin stepping into your role as future queen."

"I don't want this." Elsa mumbled.

"We've spoken about this. You are my oldest heir, I have been preparing you for this mantle since you were very young. This is not something you can simply choose to take or cast aside. Elsa, you are perfect for this -"

"If you only knew how perfect I really am," Elsa stood then, glaring down her father. "You don't know anything about me, who I am. And I…."

The snowy blonde trailed off, too afraid to voice her next words. She looked between the rest of her family members before turning on her heel and leaving the dining hall at a quick pace.

"Elsa! Stop!" Agnarr called after her, to no avail.

He sat down heavily then, a sigh exploding from his lungs. Iduna wrapped his fingers in hers, which he then squeezed lovingly.

"I don't understand. If she wants me to really know her… why won't she open up to me?"

Elsa's brother stood from his own chair, twisting his body in the direction she had gone.

"I'll speak with her. We can settle this, Father."

Agnarr bowed his head. "Thank you, Hans."

…

"Elsa, are you in here?"

Elsa considered hiding herself farther in the massive bookshelves and ignoring Hans. But her poor brother had done nothing to hurt her, and she would feel guilty brushing him off out of anger.

"Yes, I'm here." She called softly.

She came around the shelves into view, at which Hans smiled kindly. She couldn't help but smile back. Her younger brother had become her personal knight in shining armor since coming of age. An eight year age difference between them had been difficult for Elsa to consider, and often, when they were smaller children, it made for a rocky bond between them. Elsa would be too old to enjoy things Hans would enjoy, while Hans would be too young and inexperienced to partake in most of his sister's hobbies. Though over time, as Hans matured, both in body and mind, he figured he could support his sister in her queenly studies. He could see how she struggled with her destiny, and he knew why - the only one to know why.

Elsa had control of magic. Elemental magic.

A taboo subject in Arendelle, in fact, in most of the known world. Magic was seen as a thing left for the lowliest, vilest of creatures. Witches, sorcerers, demons. Whether one was born with magic or cursed, it mattered not. One caught practicing such arts would be branded, exiled, or put to death. Hans would not let such a fate befall his sister. He would devote his life to protecting her and her secret, even if that meant forfeiting it.

"You've upset Father again." Hans stated plainly.

Elsa sat on the plush duvet, patting the space next to her for him to join her. When he did, the blonde saw the slight trembling of her brother's shoulders. She sighed; it was happening again. Hans had been a fairly sickly child, and now was a weak boy even at sixteen. He suffered from a speech delay as a toddler, not beginning to speak until he was over three years old. He was often overtaken by fits of shaking and chills, and repeatedly found himself under the care of the castle physician. Elsa couldn't warm him now, she was too cold herself.

"I know," Elsa pinched along her brother's sideburns, the only place the poor boy could grow any facial hair. "But he has upset me, also."

Hans rolled his eyes, though good-naturedly. He swatted her hand away from his face.

"Just give me a couple of more years, and then I can take you away. Anywhere that you wanna go."

"Hans, I can't let you do that." Elsa laughed quietly, sadly. "We both know that if I leave… no, when I leave, that you'll have to take the throne. I know that's what you want."

The brunet looked at her, ready to deny her words, but he knew she spoke truthfully. He would like to ascend to the throne one day, following in the footsteps of his father and reigning over Arendelle as king in a peaceful and prosperous era. Admittedly, he was jealous of his sister, more so of her place as the eldest and rightful heir than Elsa herself.

"I do want that. …But you will really leave your whole life behind so easily? Where will you go? How will you make it out there? I don't want you doing it all on your own, sister."

Elsa clasped his hands in between her own, feeling him tremble strongly at the cold but he refused to let go.

"I have the beginning of a plan in the works. I won't run out on you tomorrow, dear brother, so don't worry for me. I do plan to enjoy the Games one last time."

Hans brightened considerably. He clenched back at her hands.

"That's good to hear."

Then the boy's mood dropped back to a somber one.

"Listen, just promise me something. Appeal to Father's wishes, just for the time being. I hate this conflict between you both, it… it hurts me. I believe it hurts Mother, too."

Elsa nodded strongly.

"I promise."

Author's Note: I wrote about a quarter of this story under an entirely different fandom, but decided I like it much better as Elsanna. I also originally had the roles reversed, Elsa as the swordswoman, Anna the princess, but c'mon, dark, brooding Anna is fun. Also to note, Runeard is not related to Anna, Elsa, or Agnarr in this story. He's just a mean old man. Thanks for reading!