Work Text:
A small, unobtrusive thought: What if it happens again?
Quickly, easily dismissed, like a hand wave to brush away a fly. There was too much else to focus on - wonderful, marvelous, miraculous things. Too much to do, too many people to meet and new things to try.
Every morning, running to the window, making sure it was still true: the gates were open. Wide open, waiting for Anna to go through them. And she did. Every day, she did, and every day, the same leap in her chest, standing for a long moment, just beyond, staring down the causeway, hands clasped together, overwhelmed. Then off, and who said a princess couldn’t gallop?
(Okay, nobody had ever actually told her a princess couldn’t gallop, but it seemed like the sort of thing someone would say.)
There was so much to do - that was a little overwhelming, sometimes, too. She could visit the shops - there was a whole shop just for hats! And another that only sold cheese! - or eat at a public house or go down to the docks to watch ships coming and going, summer sun glistening on the water. She sometimes found musicians or jugglers or puppet shows in the square. Goats being herded down the old roads, children chasing one another, giggling and giddy; men hauling crates of fish; women with woven shopping baskets on their arms; cats gone soft and still in warm patches of sunlight - she wanted to drink in everything, drink until she was flimsy and weak, intoxicated by life. She wanted to talk to people. And to pet dogs! She had never realized how great dogs were.
(Maybe she would ask Elsa if they could have a dog?)
Evenings, back home, were intoxicating in a different way: evenings, she spent with Elsa. No more dinners eaten alone, with a book in place of conversation. The conversations now were still a little one-sided - Elsa wasn’t much of a talker, some nights - but that was okay, because Anna was happy to chatter away about hat shops and petting dogs and the particularly exquisite sandwich she had had for lunch. And Elsa listened, and smiled, and sometimes, Anna even made her laugh. Or she offered a quippy little comment that made Anna laugh.
Elsa was funny. Who’d have thought it?
There were still books, but now Anna read them sprawled on the sofa in Elsa’s study, as Elsa did some final work for the night, or sat next to her. Sometimes, she asked about the story, though it seemed rather unlikely that Elsa was going to take up reading romance novels. They played chess - Anna tried not to mind losing three times in a row - or snuck to the kitchens for extra dessert. (And even if it was no longer technically sneaking, it was more fun to think of it that way.)
But sometimes…
Passing by the library, and for a fluttery moment, remembering: the pain of the cold, the pain of being left to die, and most of all, the pain of her own naivete.
But no, push it away, that was gone, gone forever.
What if it happens again?
The feelings of being overwhelmed - she told herself they were good ones. And most of the time, they were. But occasionally, just occasionally, she felt a little sick, too - an uncomfortable churning in her middle, heart beating just a little too fast, a kind of buzzing in her head, like too many angry whispers were suddenly demanding to be heard.
But only occasionally.
Anyway, she wasn’t like that. Being anxious, being afraid, focusing on the past instead of the glorious, beautiful future? Uh-uh. No way. She needed to be there when Elsagot like that.
(Another disquieting thought - was that what it felt like, for Elsa? How had she stood it, all those years? Even now, sometimes, there was a certain closed-off look on her face, her hands twining, shoulders stiff. It always passed, but…)
What if it happens again?
“It won’t.”
Muttered aloud, and Elsa looked up from her desk. “Hmm?”
“Oh - nothing. Sorry. Talking to myself. I do that.”
Elsa smiled - no hand to cover it. “I’ve noticed. Though speaking of talking - I almost forgot - let me find it…”
That sounded promising. Anna sat up on the sofa, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. Trying to be patient as Elsa rummaged through the papers on her desk - stacked neatly, but there were a lot of them.
Finally, though, she found it - it being a rectangle of thick card, a green border around black script. “They’ve asked if we might attend. It was… it used to be traditional for the royal family to open the celebration.”
Anna took the card. “St. Olaf’s Day? That’s appropriate.”
Elsa laughed. “I thought so, too.” She hesitated, then said, “I thought maybe… you’d want to do it?”
“Huh?”
“Open the celebration.”
“…Me?”
That made her laugh again. “Yes, you, silly.”
“I… I mean… I’m not sure… can I do that? Open things? Really?”
“Of course you can. If you want to.”
“I…” She looked at the card. Amongst the text: food and drink. Sporting events. Music. Dancing. Back up to Elsa, and Anna could feel herself smiling, and it was all she could do not to just bounce with glee. “Yes! I… of course I want to do it! Oh, thank you, Elsa, this is… I don’t know what this is. But yes, a thousand times yes!”
Overwhelming. So much that was overwhelming.
But it was a good thing. Of course it was.
What if it happens again?
Harder to push away, worming its way into her mind, insistent: What if?
It won’t.
But it could. You know it could. You know how the temperature still drops, when Elsa is tired or irritated or stressed out. She’ll be out in public. It could happen again.
It’s a celebration!
So was the coronation.
She tried to ignore it. But it seemed it was impossible to refuse to hear your own mind. And the worst part was that she could see it, too, the past culled to become visions of what felt, in those moments when fear gripped her, like an inevitable future.
She crossed the causeway, still - doggedly. Determined. Maybe she was hoping for distraction. And there was - for a time, there was. They even let her help with decorating for the festivities: hanging lanterns and moving long tables into the square. That part was fun, all smiles and clumsy attempts at communal work.
But at the end, a thought bubbled up: What would they do if it did happen again? All these people, laughing and chatting and wiping sweaty hair from their faces. Elsa’s people. Arendelle’s people.
They would never hurt Elsa. But she had thought Elsa would never hurt her.
That was an accident!
But accidents, too, could happen again. She reached and touched, almost absently, where the strand of white had once snaked through her hair.
She was quiet at dinner - so much so that Elsa asked, painful concern in her voice, if something was wrong.
Anna shook her head, forcing a smile. “No. Of course not. I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. And none of it made any sense. She had been fine through all that had happened. Scared, but not like this. Manageable-scared. Normal-scared of things that were scary.
She felt the churning, the buzzing, almost constantly. Her stomach hurt, now. Maybe she was getting sick, and the fear was some kind of weird symptom? She thought of asking Elsa - but what if that just got her upset, too?
What if it happens again?
It echoed. And no matter how she argued, how she silently screamed at it, it was still there. What if - what if - what if?
They’ll kill her. What choice will they have? You’ll watch her die. And it will be your fault.
When it happens again.
Her breath caught. Her heart fluttered, fluttered above the pain. She had to find Elsa. Warn her.
Instead, she stumbled, somehow, to her room - none of her wanted to work right, she’d turned weak and floppy and shaky and cold.
Not the cold. No, no, no. Please…
Happens again.
She sat heavily on the end of her bed, hugging her arms desperately around her middle, hunching, holding herself together. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
My fault.
My fault.
All my fault.
“Anna?” The voice penetrated, a light knock and the squeak of the door. “Anna - ! What in the- Are you hurt?”
She managed a frantic little head shake.
In her peripheral vision - Elsa’s hands. She had stopped a few feet away, and those were wringing, wringing, wringing.
My fault. Everything. She’s scared because of me. And - and -
It took all the strength she could muster to lift her head. Her voice was ragged, forced: “Please - Elsa - I… We… we can’t go. It’s dangerous.”
Elsa’s brow contracted. “What? What’s dangerous?”
“The… the… the celebration… the…” She shuddered. “Please!”
“Anna… Yes. I mean… of course we don’t have to go, but I… I’m afraid I don’t understand…?”
They didn’t have to go. It was safe - she was trembling so hard it hurt, clinging to herself. “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Elsa. I’m scared. I’m sorry… I’m…” She let her head drop, folding in on herself. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” She felt the weight shift on the bed as Elsa sat, the hand on her back. “Take the deepest breaths you can. It will pass. I know - it will pass.”
Of course Elsa knew. Thanks to Anna, she knew.
“We’ll talk about it,” Elsa said. “But for now, just breathe. It’s okay, Anna. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m right here”
She kept talking - more words than Anna had ever heard from her at once, all spoken in a low, soft, careful voice, her hand rubbing circles on Anna’s hunched back.
And finally - an eternity - Anna pulled into her lungs a true, deep, desperate breath. Then another. Another. Shuddery and harsh.
“Better?”
She was still shaking, still so afraid, but - “A little?”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I… I don’t know.” She did want to talk about it - but still, she feared Elsa’s reaction. All my fault. “I don’t want to… upset you.”
“Is that what this is all about?”
“…Partly? I don’t know…”
A pause - and she glanced at Elsa, who was staring off at nothing in particular. Thinking, or feeling the same awful, painful thoughts?
But when she finally met Anna’s gaze, she offered a warm little smile. “Can you do something for me?”
Surprise - but what could she say except, “Of course.” Her heart was finally slowing, and most of the shaking had stopped. She carefully released her grip on herself, sat up a little straighter.
“If you’re scared or upset about something, could you… try not to worry about me?”
“I can… try. I guess. Doubt I’ll succeed.”
That made Elsa smile again. “Fair enough. So - can we talk about it?”
Anna took another deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts from the crazy jumble they had fallen into. “I…” She looked down. “Look, I know it’s stupid, but… all I could think about when I thought about a celebration, like St. Olaf’s Day, was…” Her voice dropped, almost a whisper: “What if it happened again?”
“Oh.” For a long moment, Elsa was silent, her hand now still on Anna’s back. “Oh… Of course. I’m… I’m sorry Anna.”
“Huh?” Anna looked up again - needing Elsa to see. To see her, and to see the truth. “No - stop. I’m the one who should be sorry. And I am. Everything that happened, everything that could happen - it’s all my fault!”
“Your fault? Anna, no, it’s -”
“Yes. It is. You spent 13 years locked away - because of me. You were scared and lonely and felt like a monster, all those years, and it was all because of me! And if it happens again, if anything happens to you, that’s my fault, too!”
“No, Anna. It wasn’t. And it won’t be.” There was a decisiveness in Elsa’s voice, the same tone she used when speaking to someone officially - the voice of the queen. “It was…” She sighed then, and looked down at her hands in her lap. “I don’t know. I don’t know who to blame, except for myself.”
“You were a child, Elsa, you -”
“So were you. And I’m not finished - regardless of who’s to blame, it happened. But… it won’t happen again.”
“It… it won’t?” Anna wanted to believe her - Elsa was older, she had always seemed to know so much more about everything - but it was hard, so hard.
“No.” Elsa was still looking at her hands, but she was smiling. Just a little smile, but it was there. “It won’t. I won’t let it happen. I won’t let fear take over again. Not completely.”
“But how do you… stop it?” It had been so overwhelming, so all-consuming - and Anna could still feel it lurking, dangerous and eager.
“Sometimes… sometimes, I can’t. Sometimes…” Elsa took a deep breath of her own. “What I had to remember to believe is that when it comes, it will pass. I don’t have to try to hold it in. You can be afraid, and… and still live. Until it goes away again. Even if it seems impossible. You showed me that.”
“I… I did?”
Finally, Elsa looked at her. “Yes. I know you were scared, when… I mean, out on the ice, when…”
“You don’t have to say it. I was there, too.”
There was another ghost of a smile. “Thank you. But - you were scared… but you still came to my aid. You were scared, but still willing to… to be there for me. And it saved your life - choosing not to give in to your own fear, when it seemed like there was no other way. When I’m scared… I remember that. And it helps me remember that no matter how scared I get sometimes… there are things that are more important than fear. And they can win out in the end, if I allow them to.”
“I’d do it again, too.” Then, reconsidering: “Let’s not, though.”
Elsa laughed softly - a nice sound to hear. “Agreed.”
“But… is it really all right? Missing St. Olaf’s Day?”
“Of course it is. I can even come up with some official excuse, if that would help to ease your mind. It will come again, and there will be other holidays. We’ll go when you’re ready, Anna. When you’re certain you’re ready.”
She leaned her head against Elsa’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Enjoying pulling deep breaths into her lungs, and knowing she was safe. She was okay. It would be okay. Elsa said it would be okay.
Then, another thought: “And Elsa?”
“Hmm?”
“Could we get a dog?”