"Do you want to build a snowman?"
Of all the reactions Anna had expected, dread was the last.
"I don't think we should," Elsa said, entire posture changing in the blink of an eye. She hunched inwards, hugging her arms close so even her shoulders were raised, as though that mere question were anathema. Anna felt something bleed through their link, something sickly and poisonous that seemed to seep into her bones, infecting all of her thoughts with doubt and hesitation. Fear?
"Why not?" Anna asked.
"I have to..." Elsa cast her gaze around the office, settling on the discarded reports with relief. "I have to finish reading the petitions and make my decisions—"
"That can wait," Anna insisted. "Nothing is going to collapse without you micromanaging for half a day, I promise. Please?"
"I'm really not sure, Anna, I think—"
"You know I'll never stop bothering you about it until you agree," Anna said. She could tell something was bothering Elsa—anyone could tell—but at the same time, Elsa needed this. It was one of the last remnants of a ruined childhood, one that she needed to overcome.
"Just this once, then."
Anna grinned and took Elsa's hand, all but dragging her out the stuffy office and through the halls, feeling incredulous glances in their direction from all the servants. Elsa shifted uncomfortably but allowed her to continue, taking only a moment to silence the hushed muttering with a dark stare that sent the workers scampering. Anna only grinned wider. Before long they burst through the doors with aplomb, leaving them swinging furiously while they stepped outside.
Without the perpetual storm, it really wasn't so bad outside. Anna could appreciate the beauty of winter when snow and ice wasn't flying through the currents of a howling wind and biting into her skin. Nearly all of Elsa's snow was the powdery stuff too, the type of snow that was soft and sifted through the fingers, not hardened blocks of what was essentially ice.
There was a bit of childish wonder in seeing the pure plain of white.
"Well, come on!" Anna ran farther out as Elsa trailed behind, seemingly reluctant, but she could feel a tiny jump of excitement in her heart that undoubtedly came from Elsa.
Anna released a loud whoop and flopped onto the bed of snow. "Oh, wow, that's cold." She stretched out her arms and legs and swept them back and forth.
A shadow grew over her as Elsa peered down, looking utterly perplexed. "What are you doing?"
"Making a snow angel," Anna said. "You've never done it?"
Elsa shook her head slowly.
"It's easy! All right, just lie down next to me and do what I'm doing." Anna moved her arms up and down to demonstrate. "See? Easy."
"...Okay." Far from Anna's ungraceful flop, Elsa tentatively bent down, turned, and lowered herself as though she were falling onto a bed of nails. But the moment she lied down her mouth opened in a tiny gasp, and for a split second Anna saw through her eyes. Looking up at the open sky, feeling the hum of each snowflake all around her join into song as though rejoicing her presence. . .
It was freedom.
"You can hear them? I mean, you can hear the snowflakes?"Anna asked, turning her head to see Elsa with her eyes closed and a peaceful smile on her face.
"Each and every one. They're all unique, and they all have their own voice. It's not that they're sentient, exactly," Elsa explained. "But they are alive, in their own way." Elsa stretched out and followed Anna's example, fingers brushing through the snow; and again Anna could feel it, the way every one stuck to her hands greedily and filled her mind with a content hum.
And then Elsa laughed.
Not the restrained sounds she had always made before, but a real, honest laugh of delight. It was clear, and bright, and very much unlike the sharp, frigid ice Elsa tried to be. It was like snow. There was so much more color than anyone could have imagined. Snow reflected the warmth of sunrise better than anything, and Elsa was so much more than anyone knew she was—Anna supposed the sound of Elsa's laughter was to her what the song of the snow must have sounded like to Elsa. Anna had never heard anything more beautiful, and for a moment she was struck dumb by the sound of it.
"Why are you staring?" Elsa asked suddenly.
"I'm not!" Anna cleared her throat, but the reddening of her face betrayed her. Even Elsa had to know it wasn't from cold, and judging from her widening smile she was enjoying this.
"Is it the cute laugh thing again?" Elsa teased.
"Oh my god, you did hear me that time." For a moment Anna wanted nothing more than to burrow into the snow and never come out again; but on second thought, Elsa would probably dig her out without much problem so she just huffed and shuffled her arms faster, trying to calm herself down—
Her fingers brushed over Elsa's hand.
That might not have been too bad, but then Elsa decided to hold her hand and Anna stopped dead. Not that Anna hadn't done the same thing before, but when she wasn't expecting it. . .
"Is this okay?" Elsa whispered.
"Y-Yes!" Anna had felt Elsa beginning to pull away. It took less than a second for her to decide to tighten her grip, and Anna knew she made the right choice when Elsa smiled again. Besides, it wasn't like Anna didn't want to herself. Quite the opposite. "But, uhh, our angels are going to overlap so maybe they'll end up looking a bit weird. . . "
"That's fine," Elsa said.
So with their hands linked together, they continued making their snow-angels. Anna was worried her hand might start sweating, but luckily the comfortable briskness of Elsa's skin made it a moot point. Still, her heart was beating fast enough for the both of them and Anna had to remind herself to continue breathing. Something about being in contact with Elsa made her lose her senses.
At last they stood and observed their handiwork.
"Yep, looks a little strange," Anna said. "Look, the wings are all. . . "
"Maybe they're just standing close together," Elsa said. "I can see it. Two angels holding hands."
Then Anna realized she was still holding onto Elsa's hand. She let go with a shaky laugh and pointed back to the snow. "So, uhh, let's make a snowman! Th-That was why we came out. Snowmen."
Anna bent down and collected a handful of snow, patting it together into a ball. When Elsa didn't come to join her, she looked back. For whatever reason, Elsa was stalling again. She was actually brushing her foot across the snow over and over in a rare show of discomfort, and something like terror leaked through their link. Anna felt as though an icy hand had gripped her heart.
"They hated me," Elsa said, and Anna knew she was talking about her parents. She looked down at her hands. "Because of what I could do. Because of snowmen."
"It's okay," Anna said. "No one is going to tell you to hide anymore. You can enjoy yourself. You can be yourself. Elsa? Let's build a snowman. Is that okay?"
". . . Yes. Thank you, Anna."
"You can do the honors then!" Anna laid the snowball on the ground and shuffled to the side. Elsa took a deep breath and kneeled, reaching painfully slowly. Her hand stopped and hovered over the snowball, and she looked towards Anna. Anna nodded encouragingly. Only then did Elsa finally make her decision and roll the snowball along, and as it collected more snow and grew larger so did her smile.
"You should get started on the middle section," Elsa said.
"Yes, Ma'am!" Anna saluted, and Elsa shook her head in amusement.
Anna packed another snowball and rolled it along, running to keep up and making it take wild turns. She nearly collided with Elsa on a particularly sharp pivot and again almost slipped on the icy surface as she skidded to a stop. Elsa only continued laughing quietly and rolling her snowball. Anna had no idea how when she was doing it so slowly, but Elsa had made both the top and bottom by the time she completed her own part. And they were perfect too, completely spherical. On the other hand, hers. . .
"It's looking a little. . . lumpy."
"Just a little?" Elsa asked.
It was an understatement. Maybe Anna had been a little overambitious, but her massive snowball resembled a porcupine gone wrong with all the little bumps and ridges decorating its surface.
"You're being sarcastic again," Anna grumbled. She tried to chop off one of the offending appendages on her snowball with her hand. It was frozen solid and didn't budge, but it did leave Anna waving her hand and cursing under her breath.
"I can fix it," Elsa said.
She waved her hand towards the snowball, and even Anna expected that the edges would smoothen out, that the snowball would become perfect.
But instead it exploded.
Snow exploded outwards so strongly it struck Anna with the force of a cannon strike. She was thrown back and rolled on the plains until her back hit the fountain close by, and only then did she stop. Elsa looked at her hand with horror and raced towards Anna. Just a few feet away, she froze.
"I-I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine!" Anna coughed. "I'm fine, really, I'm okay." But Elsa didn't look any less horrified. Anna felt the blood pounding in her head, driving out all thought but panic. "Then the snowman, I can fix it, I can do it—"
Elsa waved her hand again, but it wasn't so much a wave as a graceless jerk of her arm. Something began to form, some grotesque caricature of a snowman; Anna saw the beginnings of jagged teeth and ridged
spines before Elsa flinched and a veritable avalanche destroyed whatever was left. Elsa recoiled, breathing harsh and heavy, hand trembling violently.
Larger feats are easier by comparison. When I was younger I could create more things, but my powers grew stronger and stronger, until now. .. well."
Anna finally understood. Even more than the influence of her parents, this was why Elsa didn't want to build a snowman. She couldn't. When was the last time Anna saw her do anything with her powers that wasn't for the sole purpose of destruction? Elsa wasn't capable of the finer control needed to create, to design like she had when she was younger. Because her powers were too strong. Because of her choice to make her reliquary. Elsa's one comfort had been torn from her and Anna had done nothing but make her feel the loss all over again.
"I'm so sorry," Anna whispered.
It was the wrong thing to say.
"I don't want to hear it!"
Anna rose to her feet unsteadily, watching as Elsa bent inwards and heaved long, uneven breaths, clutching her chest where her heart was... or where her heart should have been. "E-Elsa. . . "
When Anna reached towards her, Elsa flinched away. A wall of ice rose between them, transparent so Anna could still see Elsa but never touch her. She was so close, but she was so far away. Anna let her hand fall slowly, the terror of her own heart mingled with the fear and anger from Elsa, the need to escape, to retreat, to never let anything hurt her again. It was a deluge of desperation, so much all at once she could barely stay on her feet.
"I don't want your pity; I don't need anybody to pity me! Do you get that?" Elsa was all but screaming. It was snowing again. A sudden, contained blizzard sprung to life where they stood, so strong even Elsa needed to shield her eyes from the vicious gale.
"I-It's not pity, I just—"
Elsa backed away, shaking her head slowly and clutching her hand to herself. "Just leave me be, Anna, please. I just want to be alone. I need to be alone."
Alone, where I can't hurt you.
Anna couldn't have stopped her if she tried. She could only watch from behind a barrier of ice as Elsa left, bringing the storm with her; and suddenly, the plain of white snow, saturated by the dark purple of sunset, no longer looked so pure and perfect.
…
"You can be king. I know you can, if I'm not there to burden you. It's the only thing I can do for you; I'm so sorry, Hans. .. I have to disappear."
"Mother!"
Hans was jolted out of his dreams with hand outstretched in a futile grasp; but no matter how much he reached he was reaching for a comfort that was no longer there, the nightmares he suffered even as he craved them. Everything hurt. He woke in a cold sweat, heaving breaths so harsh he could barely breathe. At the sound of his scream, the maid he had picked out for the night woke as well.
"Lord Hans...?" Hans didn't know her name. She blinked groggily and reached out for him, to touch him again. The thought made him so sick he thought he might throw up. "Is everything all right?"
Hans flung her arm away and she fell out of bed with a cry. "Get away from me! Get away—I don't need you to—"
"L-Lord Hans?" Stupid wench. She rose and perhaps thought to comfort him again, but he knew why she was here with him.
"I told you to leave!" Hans caught her wrist in a steel grip, and this time he saw her eyes clouded by pain mingled with fear, delicious fear that told him he was in control at last. "Who do you think you are? You're just a whore, I bought you, I needed your services and I don't anymore, so leave! Get out!"
He threw her back and it took only an instant for the girl to scramble away, half-dressed but desperate to flee. Hans sat back, hid his face in his hands, and focused on the simple act of breathing. Set a controlled pace, breathe in and out. Even that was beyond him. Finally he rose to his feet and dressed, cleaned his face in the wash basin, and let his feet take him where they would.
As much as he tried to deny it, Hans already knew where he his path would eventually lead. Maybe he wasn't letting his feet take him after all. Maybe he still wanted to go, after so long.
First to the stables, where he saw the stable-hand Kristoff Bjorgman still hard at work. As usual, they gave each other a polite nod.
"You're here for Sitron?" Kristoff asked. As an afterthought he added, "Your Highness."
"Yes. Thank you," Hans said, because he knew from experience that Kristoff would ask no questions, only nod and retrieve his horse for him despite the late hour. As expected, it took only a moment before Kristoff returned with the tan-colored horse and handed him the reins. Sitron neighed happily once he saw him, and Hans let himself smile just a little.
"I know the storm stopped and all, but you might still want to bring an overcoat," Kristoff said. He strode over to the coat-stand and snatched up a particularly heavy cloak. "Take this one, Edmund left it."
Hans took the coat and shrugged it on. Only when warmed did he realize his walk through the snow had chilled through his thin garb. Without another word, Kristoff returned to his work and Hans left.
It was close enough that riding Sitron would be an exercise in lethargy, and the horse was not a beast of burden but a companion. Hans walked, taking the reins only to lead Sitron along, but he doubtless knew the path just as well. Far from the castle and even farther out from the stables were the surrounding gardens, now little more than a forest of dead trees. Dry, brittle branches that would snap at the slightest pressure. If only they were always so. . .
"We're here," Hans whispered. Sitron lowered his head in deference. Within the woods stood a single tree no different from the rest. "Another year has passed, Mother."
There was no marker for him to pay his respects to, no tombstone to kneel at and properly grieve. There was only the tree where his mother had chosen to die, unassumingly and quietly so she would bother no one in death as she had bothered no one in life, with but a single sign to show for it. The rope was still looped around its branches.
"I thought I wouldn't need to come this year, but here I am anyway," Hans said, and he reached out to trace his fingers across the rope. Part of him wanted to take it down at last. Another part wanted it to stay as a memorial. Nothing else marked this spot.
When Hans stepped back, Sitron neighed softly and trod forward, nudging his head under his palm so Hans could feel the soft hair of his mane and the warmth of his body. Hans brushed Sitron's hair and together, they stood in vigil.
"Those brothers of mine who forced you to your death, Mother? Two of them are dead. I'm that much closer to avenging you," Hans said. "Would you be proud of me?"
Something told him no.
Hans heard that little voice in the back of his head very often. Just as often he shut it out.
". . . It was a high like I've never felt before. I remember Alvard pushing me around, Tobias spreading lies about you. It felt like I was finally cleansing myself of something cancerous, cutting away their filth. But then. . . I was alone again."
"Sometimes I don't remember why I'm doing this. I tell myself, for you, but I can barely remember you now. I can't be sure. Maybe this is for myself," Hans admitted. "Is this what you felt? When you told yourself you would die for my sake? I wonder if you did it for yourself after all."
Sitron whinnied, and Hans turned away.
"Let's go, Sitron."
…
Anna wasn't sure where to go.
She wandered about the castle for the next few hours hardly knowing where she was going, but she wandered anyway because there was nowhere she wanted to be. There was no one she wanted to be with, other than the one person who wouldn't want her company anymore.
During her aimless walk she encountered many of the princes. No sign of Alek, but Saul took one look at her and simply walked away again looking pained. Anna didn't question it. Even Fabian gave her a wide berth rather than tease her or jeer some insult, and Anna vaguely recognized that she must have looked really troubled to garner that type of reaction.
"If you are distressed," Gustaf said in the lounge, "I suggest calligraphy."
". . . Is that what you're doing now?" Anna asked.
Gustaf nodded and continued to ink large, elaborate letters onto sheets of parchment, all of them in different styles. "I find that it helps me keep my thoughts in order. Imitation to find focus, and freeform to allow the imagination to run free. Perhaps you should give it a try."
"Maybe another time," Anna said.
It was even later, when all others had gone to sleep and the already muted activity of the castle gave way to nearly complete silence, that Anna realized it had been quite some time since she visited Kristoff. In all the excitement of the past few days, she had neglected to drop by the stables. It might be good to get away from the castle. Anna left to the outdoors and followed the familiar path.
There were still lights inside the stables. Anna opened the door and peered in.
"Your Highness?" Kristoff called, but when Anna stepped through fully he corrected himself. "Oh, Anna. I thought you were. . . never mind."
"Were you expecting someone else?" Anna asked.
"Hans should be dropping off Sitron again soon," Kristoff shrugged.
"Oh."
"Yeah, he came by a while ago. Comes pretty often, actually, but always really late. Sometimes he just stays here and talks to Sitron, and I go out and do something else." Kristoff dragged up a stool and Anna sat down, knocking some of the snow off her boots. "What are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to drop by," Anna said.
So Anna stayed and chatted for a half hour, being evasive and avoiding the subject of why exactly she was out so late even as Kristoff obviously worried. Eventually he gave up and tried to cheer her up with Sven, the both of them incredibly synchronized as Sven pulled facial expressions Anna hadn't thought possible for a reindeer and Kristoff translated what he was saying, most of them corny inspirational lines.
"The night is darkest before the dawn," Kristoff boomed, and Sven somehow smiled and blinked earnestly. "The, uhh, grass is always greener on the other side?"
"Hey, that one might actually make sense from Sven."
"These are all from Sven, I'm serious."
Then the doors opened again, and Hans blinked at the sight of Anna. She smiled in greeting, and strangely, Hans paused for a moment as though unsure how to respond. After finally answering, he handed the reins to Kristoff and the stable-hand directed Sitron to his stall.
"You're up rather late," Hans said. "I'll bring you back."
"I don't really want to just yet," Anna said.
"You probably should," Kristoff suggested. "Prince Hans is right. It can get pretty cold out here, and I'm going to be leaving soon myself."
"I'll take her off your hands." Hans held out his hand to help Anna up, and after their farewells the two of them left. "Since you don't want to go back yet, would you like to visit the pantries?"
Anna nodded, feeling the chill air now and trying to blow into her hands to keep warm. She felt even more wretched than ever. Not even the heat of the castle could warm her, or the fires of the kitchen. She claimed a seat at the wooden tables where the workers no doubt rested and perhaps ate for themselves, gazing around at the stone walls in silence.
Hans sat next to her and asked, "So why were you. . . ?"
"I couldn't sleep," Anna answered. Not entirely untruthful. Just the thought of facing Elsa was unbearable when Elsa probably hated her now. "What about you?"
"I couldn't sleep either," Hans said, smiling too tightly for it to even be considered a smile. It resembled a grimace. "Would you care to share a drink with me?"
Anna watched curiously as Hans rummaged in the stores and withdrew several bottles. Wine. Alcohol. She had tried some before, of course. It was practically a rule of royalty to be able to appreciate fine wine, but Anna had never been very fond of the rancor, the strong burn in her throat, and especially the numbing dizziness that came with it. She thought she could use it now though. In fact, she welcomed it.
"Sure." Anna took the glass in her hand almost before Hans could finish filling it, and she threw it back without a second thought of etiquette. It tasted horrible on her tongue, bitter and sour.
"You're drinking like someone who wants to get drunk," Hans said, but he followed her example and downed his own without the essential steps both of them knew needed to be taken. No careful wafting, no swishing of the glass, no rolling the wine over the tongue. "Did something happen?"
"I messed up," Anna said. "I messed it all up."
"What, exactly?"
"What else? I should've known when to quit, but I kept pushing. I was actually stupid enough to think I was helping. Now Elsa..." Anna shook her head and took another glass as Hans watched curiously. Past the burning reflux she muttered, "She must hate me. She's going to shut me out again."
"I would never shut you out," Hans said quietly.
What? Anna turned to look at him more closely, heart thumping in her chest. Had she misunderstood?
"You're genuine. Compared to others born of nobility, you haven't let it change who you are," Hans said. Anna stilled when he smiled hopefully and reached for her hand. She could barely breathe, but not from thrill, not from the rightness she had always expected she would feel when she met the one. "I'm sorry if this is sudden, but Anna. . . I want to protect you. If you'll let me, I can—"
Even through the fuzzy buzz of alcohol clouding her thoughts. . .
Anna jerked her hand back.
"I'm sorry," Anna said quickly. "I-I can't, I don't—I'm sorry."
Hans drew back his hand, lips turned into a wry smile. "I should have known. I'm sorry." His laugh was a bitter sound, clear and yet not, like the drone of a funeral toll. "I never have experienced the feeling of true love. I doubt I can give it. I thought... I could feel it with you."
She remembered asking Hans about himself, and he had refused to answer. Right now, at this moment, Anna was seeing the real Hans. "Have you ever tried to love with your heart?"
"And what is considered loving with your heart?"
Maybe it was some sort of moment of epiphany. Maybe she had known all along. Or maybe it was the alcohol talking, but whatever it was, Anna felt an answer come as readily as if the words had been put in her mouth by something divine. "When your self becomes unimportant. When your heart only belongs to. . . her." She had meant to answer from Hans' perspective. But the moment Anna said her, she could think of only one person. "No matter what pain or heartache, you just can't leave her, you can't turn back. Without a choice, and without hesitation. It just has to be."
Hans stilled and repeated her words, pronouncing each one slowly like a foreign language. "It just has to be. . . ?" He rose and walked away so his back faced Anna. She couldn't see his face anymore, but though he spoke evenly again, there was something raw and real there, something he had lacked until now. "I won't lie to you, Anna. I've had quite a number of women, but to tell you the truth. . . I've never loved anyone. No one has ever loved me. I don't know what love is; I don't believe in it."
"Why?" Anna asked softly.
"Father abandoned my mother from the time I was young. He doesn't love my mother, or me. He only loves himself. He only loves power," Hans said. "Since I was young, no one cared about what I felt. No one cared if I even existed. And certainly no one... has ever told me something like it just has to be."
"Today is the anniversary of Mother's death. No one will ever remember her. She died a worthless death because she thought she could escape from the shame of being called an adulteress, and she had the gall to say it was for me? Her last thoughts were never about me, or she wouldn't have done it."
"That's why I only care about myself," Hans laughed. "I'll protect my own life, and satisfy my own desires. I won't give my heart to anyone. Because no one... is worthy."
Anna rose and stepped closer, carefully laying a hand on his shoulder. "It's just that your heart's been hurt. Your parents. . . "
Hans whirled around, jaw tightened and eyes alight with violence. But he didn't strike. He exhaled slowly in a shaking laugh. "Then can you tell me why? Is it because I cared too much?"
"If you really want to give your heart to another person, then don't ask," Anna said. "It's enough to give all that you can. It's hard to force yourself to hate someone you love, you end up hurting yourself. Numbing yourself is. . . worse than feeling pain. Isn't it?"
". . . Maybe so. But are you sure you're talking about me still?" Hans smiled and walked back to the table, picking up a bottle and drinking from it directly. Wine spilled down his chin and stained his coat, but he didn't seem to care at all. "Well, let's drown it all away and forget it."
Anna obliged.