Elsa pauses near a grove by the path, a small, an inviting patch of green. She extends her hand and flicks her wrist. Three rosebushes in ice sprout. She smiles as she watches them twist up from the ground, each one perfectly in bloom. "Memory is the power to gather roses in winter," she murmurs. But her memory is bittersweet, tinged with lingering regret.
Anna walked by Elsa's chamber door. There was a cool breeze in the hallway. This was not unexpected; it was almost always a few degrees chillier near Elsa's chambers. Before Anna knew Elsa's secret, Anna always had assumed that Elsa preferred to leave her windows open. But now Anna knew truth of her sister's powers, and what caught her eye was layer of frost streaking the floor. Anna knocked. "Elsa?" There was no answer, but she could hear something.
She knocked again. No answer. "Elsa, I'm coming in," said Anna. She opened the door, tentatively at first, and then with a gasp pushed it open. The whole room was frosted over, and there were a few icicles, dark red and pulsing, reaching out from the walls. In the far corner, Elsa was curled on the floor, her knees bent, clutching her Little Anna doll and burying her face in it.
Anna immediately ran over, but froze just before reaching Elsa. Her impulse was to hug her sister. The Great Thaw had just ended, and the sisters were reunited. They had grown closer in the past few days, finding themselves again. But thirteen years of separation were not going to be erased in a few days, no matter how much the sisters might want that. Anna also knew Elsa was not yet comfortable with human touch. And so, Anna sat down near Elsa; close but not too close.
Anna did not say anything for a long time; she just listened, trying to figure out what to do as her sister breathed and sobbed. "Elsa, what's wrong?" Anna ventured. She had never seen Elsa in a state quite like this; it was as if years of suppressed emotions had emerged with a vengeance, and were overwhelming Elsa.
Elsa pulled her head up and looked at her sister. Crystalline tears streamed down her pale cheeks; her sapphire blue eyes were tired. Her features were strained with exhaustion. She had been crying for a very long time.
"Anna, I'm so sorry. Please, please, forgive me," said Elsa, a wave of sorrow passing through her body as she spoke the words.
"Whatever it is," said Anna, "I forgive you, Elsa. We're together again, just as sisters should be. There's nothing to be sorry about."
"Oh, but there is!" said Elsa, "There is!" And Elsa dissolved into another wave of tears.
"Shh," said Anna, as comfortingly as she could. "Elsa, what are you sorry for?"
"Everything that I've done to you," said Elsa. "It would have been so much better if you did not have a sister like me."
"Don't talk like that. I treasure you, and would want no one else to be my sister," said Anna. "You never have to be sorry for anything ever again, as far as I am concerned."
Anna reached out, and tried to put her arm around Elsa; but Elsa flinched and shrank back further into the corner. Elsa put her head to her knees, her whole body heaving. The room grew a little colder.
"Elsa! Look at me! I am fine!" said Anna, pleading with her sister. "You have not harmed me!"
It took some time for Elsa to collect herself enough to respond. She couldn't look at Anna, but she tried to control the sadness that was wracking her body so she could tell Anna the truth.
"There is," said Elsa. "You just don't know. You don't know how I have harmed you, because you don't remember."
Anna was unnerved by this, like a sentence had been passed, one which had no power to throw it off. "Elsa, you're scaring me," said Anna. "What do you mean?"
Elsa took a deep breath. "Anna, when did you find out about my magic?"
"At your coronation," said Anna, "along with the rest of Arendelle."
Elsa shook her head. "You've always known about my magic. You just don't remember."
Anna thought for a bit; she needed time to grasp what Elsa was suggesting. Then she
tilted her head and furrowed her brow. "Wait, what?"
"Anna," said Elsa. And then she paused, thinking about how to say what needed to be said. "You dreamt you were kissed by a troll. Do you remember that?"
"Yes," said Anna.
"It wasn't really a troll's kiss," said Elsa. "When we were little, there was a terrible accident."
"What do you mean?" asked Anna.
"We were playing in the ballroom, building a snowman, using my magic. We were carefree, as we always were when we played together. And then, I almost killed you by striking you with my magic. You were on the verge of death, but Mama and Papa took us to see the trolls, to see if they could help. Grand Pabbie drew out my magic from where I struck you. And then it was decided that you should not know what happened."
Anna thought about it for a moment. "So my dream was the result of an accident," said Anna. She smiled at Elsa. "That doesn't seem so bad."
"That's only part of it," said Elsa. She did not make eye contact with Anna, but gazed across the room as she spoke. "Anna, I used my magic all the time. We used to play together, and you loved my magic. You would say my magic was, 'The most beautiful, perfectful thing in the whole world.'"
"Elsa," said Anna, "I remember we had so much fun together as children, before you turned away. But I do not remember any magic. That's not what happened."
"It is!" said Elsa, looking at Anna directly. "It is! It is! Grand Pabbie transformed your memories. Where you remember us skating or tobogganing, we were actually sharing my magic together. They were afraid that if you knew I had powers, there might be another accident. And I let them. Oh, Anna, I'm so sorry. I let them give away your childhood."
Anna, who is rarely at a loss for words, did not know what to say. Her memories had been altered. She knew—or had known—that Elsa had powers. She watched as Elsa buried her head in her hands, and let out a low, terrible moan. Anna was shocked; she felt violated; and she didn't quite know how to make sense of what she was hearing. But there was a more immediate concern: seeing her sister there, the tears splashing on her pale shoulders and shimmering gown. Anna's heart broke.
Anna reached out and touched Elsa's cheek. Elsa was so upset, she did not notice at first; but then she did. Her sister's hand was warm; it was comforting; it was healing. Elsa was about to pull away, but there was something about Anna's presence. Anna was so patient and gentle. And so Elsa let herself lean, pressing her cheek into her sister's hand. They stayed like that for a long time. Elsa felt herself calming down. She needed Anna, both Anna's presence and her strength. The icicles in Elsa's room started to recede; the frost on the floor dissipated. And then, Elsa lifted her head, took Anna's hand, and pressed it between her own.
"The magic one is you," Elsa murmured.
"What?" said Anna, not quite making out her sister's words.
"I had almost forgotten what it was like to feel the touch of another person," said Elsa. "Thank you."
"Elsa, it's not your fault," said Anna. "These were not your choices."
"It was my fault," said Elsa. "I wasn't strong enough to control my powers."
Anna put her arm around Elsa. "Come here," she said; Elsa snuggled close. "You do not have to be everything to every one, Elsa." And then Anna paused.
Elsa tilted her head quizzically, as if the thought had just occurred to her.
"Little children who are terrified that they have hurt their little sister, and are being told by adults how to act, are not making moral choices," said Anna. "Not even little children who are Crown Princesses and think they are responsible for everyone else."
Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa and held her sister close. Part of Anna did blame Elsa. Elsa should have trusted her enough to say something earlier; and Elsa should have certainly opened up after their parents had died. But Anna loved her sister too, and that love had no bounds. Elsa dragged her guilt behind her like a stone through life; Anna was not going to add to that burden.
In her heart, Elsa thought: It was my choice. It was the wrong choice. She sighed. And then, with resolution in her voice, Elsa said, "I will never again not be strong enough. You are my family, and I will do whatever it takes to protect you. I promise."
Anna's heart broke again when she heard Elsa's words. And Anna decided, right then and there, that she would not ask Elsa about her magic again. She would not shrink from her sister's magic; but she would not ask Elsa to "do the magic" or ask Elsa about lost memories. The cost was too high—not for Anna, but for Elsa. And Anna cared more for Elsa than anyone in the world.
Elsa knows she should have been more open with Anna; she should never have let her parents isolate them. And as Elsa looked at the roses in ice, and remembered sharing her magic with Alexander in the forest, she couldn't help but feel some regret. Alexander was so kind; so gentle; and he had given her permission to share her magic with him. And Elsa just wanted to share her magic with someone. So in opening up to Alexander, Elsa had compounded the error she had committed so long ago.
Elsa knew that regrets were useless. Regrets were impossible desires to remake the past. But she did have one great regret. That first time, when she shared her magic. It should have been Anna.