ITALY, 1160
It was from pleasant dreams that Anna awoke one summer morning. Not prone to rising early, if at all, she gave herself time to collect her groggy thoughts by rubbing at her eyes and stretching lopsidedly on the bedroll on which she had slept. It was the same room and bedroll upon which she had found herself next to a bowl containing a single olive the morning after that strange winter night. Since that night, Anna had been extremely drawn to the room without any discernable reason except the unfathomable desire to rekindle the feeling of security and companionship she had not felt before or since. She knew it was attributed to the mysterious knight with whom she had fallen asleep, but thinking about the woman and that particular detail caused her grief, even months later, so she tried her best to dispel such musings.
It surprised her that her dreams had in fact been good; on countless occasions she had been plagued by unwelcome nightmares. They usually included bloodthirsty soldiers hacking away at faceless figures with silvery braided hair. Haunted as she usually was by these dreams, she was content to remain on the bedroll this morning and wade in a pond of vivacity for as long as she could. It was even now slowly trickling away, soon to leave her with that familiar faint ache in her chest.
At length, she bid herself to rise and after a fair amount of stretching, headed downstairs to see where her father had got to in the night. She found him exactly where she had left him, curled up underneath one of the tables, clutching a bar stool to his chest. The tankard he had been chugging lay on its side a foot away from the snoring man and beer from its innards had leaked out and stained the wooden floorboards beneath it. Her father was safe and sound, so she proceeded to tidy up the large room, putting away and cleaning anything she happened to have missed the night before. Sometimes she didn't have the motivation to do much in the early hours of the morning, especially when trying to escape prying and leery eyes.
Anna was in the practice of staying the coy hands of almost every man who walked into her father's establishment (even married men), but there was one neighbor who was becoming increasingly belligerent, someone her father insisted upon her marrying - Hans, a farmer's son. He had been asking every night for almost a month now, and Anna was running out of excuses. The most valid reason to stall was that her father would become completely hopeless without her help at the inn - who would make sure he didn't drink himself to death, if not Anna? Who would cook the gruel and brew the beer that they supplied in an almost endless amounts every night? Who would secretly inspect the opposition's cards so that her father could win the the big bets? Bringing up these points to her father was the only way to stop him from simply ordering Hans to kidnap her on the spot.
Anna meandered into the kitchen, throwing rags and tankards around and grabbing a broom to give the floors a good once-over. Once they were as good as they were going to get, she stepped outside with astute ambivalence, knowing that Hans would be waiting for her. And there he was, perched lightly on the fence close by the work space in which she would be mashing the wheat to malt for the beer. Holding in an exasperated sigh, she greeted him as brightly as she could manage, hoping that her pleasant dreams from the night before would sustain her through the bumbling and untoward conversation that would no doubt follow her all day.
And follow her he did, all the way to the market, blathering in her ear about a slew of intelligible waste, none of which interested Anna in the least. She nodded and feigned interest at the appropriate times, but his narcissism and vain ego had her turning away in disgust more than once.
The stroll for the market was less than pleasant for Anna, but once they had arrived she found she could successfully become lost in the crowd and avoid Hans fairly easily while making it look like their frequent separations were an accident. The cheerfulness induced by her proud elusion of Hans was tempered without warning when Anna spotted a stand peddling fresh olives. The soreness the sight brought on Anna waylaid her immensely, because the customary reaction to the fruit was indifference.
She was, for the second time that day, whisked back to that one winter night. How was it that memory distorts reality so much, that the candle could have been that much warmer, the bedroll that much softer, the woman that much more beautiful. Surely the armored shoulder had not been so hard or the dagger pressed briefly to her throat so cold. Despite actively attempting to suppress reflection on the cryptic knight, Anna's thoughts had rushed to the forefront of her mind and more often than not Anna was caught between worry that the woman had been killed in the wars and anticipation that she may come back. Both scenarios excited and scared Anna enough to cause physical stress, enough that her stomach was in a constant lump of knots.
Needless to say, she averted her glance and chose to pass up the purchase of olives in favor of a more tolerable fruit. The return trip to the inn was more satisfying than the initial walk because Anna had Hans haul her recently purchased goods and thankfully didn't have enough wind to drone on while under the burden. Anna was mercifully delivered from Hans' irritating presence when his irate father appeared at the inn's gate not long after their return, scolding him for shirking his duties at home.
"I'll be back for you later," said Hans, flashing Anna a look that had all the promise of mischief and possession that it could muster, and the redhead suppressed a shudder as the farmer and his son retreated next door. She was not looking forward to his reappearance later on - a sober Hans was one thing, but intoxication exposed a vile, beastly side of him that Anna could swear she glimpsed during the day, lurking just beneath the surface, encased in the mostly harmless self-assurance. Alone once more, Anna set to work on the new keg of beer, allowing visions of that winter night to seep into her consciousness to avoid frightening thoughts of Hans' inner demons. Longing and despair were preferred to that fear - they were old friends, and were welcomed as such.
A few hours after midday, her father stumbled out into the yard and groaned when the bright sun caused sharp pain in his tired eyes. He weakly made his way over to where his daughter worked diligently and caught her up into a rare embrace. He stank of booze and grime, but Anna let herself be pulled close, welcoming the break from her own incessant fatigue.
"Thank you," he mumbled into her hair, and she had to work to keep from showing any outward signs of emotional investment - she had a persona to uphold, she would not let herself be walked over, especially by the brutes who frequented the inn. She escorted her father back inside once his hold on her had broken and set him to counting his gold, knowing that he would be at the endeavor for hours, or at least long enough for her to finish her chores.
And so the day, like every day, was wiled away by cleaning, brewing, and cooking. Sometime after noon, her father brought out a bowl of olives from some obscure corner of the inn and offered them to his daughter. Anna had to suppress a jolt in her stomach and take one politely, smiling and popping it into her mouth even though it immediately turned to poison on her tongue at the lurching memory it produced.
Hans returned that evening while she was finishing up her keg full of beer. The sun had not yet touched the horizon, but the light was fading fast. She told him impatiently to go ahead into the inn, as she would soon be finished with the batch. Her pretense, however, was to accord herself more time before having to face him, and in his intoxicated form no less.
She did not know how long she delayed after the keg had been filled and discarded, but she knew she ought to soon return inside and, as per every night, run the festivities and tend to her father and his recklessness. She hesitated, wishing to at least catch the beginnings of sundown.
With a sigh, Anna leaned forward and placed her forearms on the wooden posts of the fence. The sky was stained pink and orange from the setting sun and everything around her was beginning to be dipped in shadow. Her foot came up to rest idly on the stile and her chin on a fist as she stopped to take in the awe-inspiring sight. Gradually, her view was arrested by movement; it was far away, but she could just discern a figure emerging from the center of the warm pool of colors that made up the sunset. It walked heavily, with something of a limp, its head disproportionately smaller than the rest of its body.
Her pulse quickened as she watched it near. She craned her neck and she couldn't help but to step onto the stile to add height to her view. Could it be? Had she returned? Anna swung a leg over the low wooden fence and stepped down into the grass below, squinting at the approaching figure. The sun, half-hidden behind the horizon, succeeded in blinding her enough so that she did not distinguish any features until the woman was almost upon her.
In the moment when Anna finally recognized the knight, she was afraid her heart had stopped - if she collapsed she would not be able to properly greet the approaching woman - but then it started back up in a doubled time and she used the relief and sudden exhilaration to propel her forward. She didn't bother to pick up her skirts and did not care that they were being caught in the brambles she passed; her destination was too important. Within seconds the innkeeper's daughter had closed the gap and was standing in front of the knight from her dreams, from a distant memory of a winter night long ago.
"You came back," breathed Anna, eyes raking over Elsa's form greedily. "You're alive!"
The knight had obviously been through trauma - the mantle was stained with rust and scorched by fire, even dented in a few places. The beautiful jeweled sword was missing and so was the helmet, which allowed the long, glorious braid to be free to dance on the breeze and frequently blow hither to strike Elsa's armored shoulders. The blue eyes were softer than Anna remembered, and her face more weathered, but Anna found her to be more beautiful than even her vague memory recalled. And here. She was here! Anna reached out a hesitant hand to trace the knight's jaw, as if to ascertain Elsa's existence. Without another thought, Anna, overwhelmed with joy, stepped closer and pressed her lips to the knight's briefly, before pulling back and smiling broadly.
"I missed you."
"You did?"
"And you thought no one would."
Elsa gave a short, wet laugh through her tears, then brought a heavy gauntlet up to wipe at the tracks they were making on her pale cheeks. A hundred questions were buzzing around Anna's head; what happened to you, why did you come back, did you miss me too? But the answers were not nearly as important to Anna as the miraculous presence before her. So, eyes locked, the couple smiled at each other for another moment before Anna opened her arms wide to Elsa, welcoming her home.
A/N: The home stretch… one more chapter to go! Huge thanks to everyone who's stuck with my little story. I've added a link to my profile called "Somewhere in Time Extras" and it includes a playmix and object map (tracing the common objects through the stories) if anyone's interested. Also, I could possibly be open to expanding on a story or two… MAYBE… so leave a review to cast a vote and let me know which is your favorite/which you would want to read more about. Thanks again!