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Elsa was three years old when her world changed forever.
It was high summer, and the castle had reached a fever pitch of frenetic activity as the entire kingdom awaited the birth of the queen’s second child. Her labor was longer and more fraught than that of her first child, the crown princess; Elsa was an easy baby from the moment she came into the world as Arendelle’s heir.
The princess sat quietly in her room with a nursemaid while they waited for news. When the king came to get her hours later, Elsa took her father’s hand, a strange premonition building with each step closer to her parents’ room.
Her mother was propped up in bed, looking drained but radiant. Instantly, Elsa’s eyes were riveted to the swaddled bundle in the queen’s arms. Her hand fell from her father’s grip, and she padded up to the bed in hushed anticipation. The bundle was tilted towards her so she could see, and a scrunched little face with a head of bright, strawberry blonde hair came into view.
“Her name is Anna. She’s your little sister, Elsa.”
Elsa held out a hand, pushing up on her tiptoes to reach one impossibly small fist, gently running a finger over the baby soft knuckles in awe. She gasped; those miniature digits moved, wrapping themselves around Elsa’s finger and holding tight.
Elsa felt her world shift, and something in her young heart knew in that moment she would never be so taken with another.
Elsa was nineteen when her world changed forever, again.
Golden summer light streamed through the castle kitchens, adding to the humid warmth from recently used ovens. Lunch was being served upstairs, leaving it perfectly deserted for a pair of princesses who were sneaking off for a secret lunch of their own.
Elsa set aside a couple fastelavnsbolle from one of the dessert platters, hesitating for a moment before plucking out another. Anna’s appetite had always surpassed hers; all of that natural exuberance required more fuel. The cardamon flavored buns were cut in half and filled with whipped cream— one of Anna’s favorites. It was no coincidence she spent so much time buttering up the head cook; like everyone else who came within range of Anna’s charm, they had difficulty denying her. Elsa had stopped any half-hearted efforts in solving that particular conundrum long ago.
She jumped when there came a bang, followed by a muffled ‘ouch’ from the one of the store rooms. The one where Anna was currently searching for the cook’s private stash of chocolate.
Elsa paused her culinary foraging. “Are you alright?” She called softly.
Anna’s head appeared from behind the pantry door. “Yup! Totally fine, nothing to worry about over here!” She eyed something inside— probably whatever had fallen. “Pretty sure those dents will come out,” she muttered under her breath.
An eyebrow inched up Elsa’s forehead and her lips twitched fighting a smirk. “Just try not to make it too obvious we’ve been here, please,” she said, her voice leaking exasperated fondness. It wasn’t the first time they’d been in the kitchens when it would be otherwise frowned upon. Midnight chocolate runs were not unheard of — which was probably why Anna was having difficulty finding it now.
“Don’t worry Elsa, it’ll be like I was never even here. A ghost.” She waved a hand in front of her face, fingers wiggling. “Poof.”
Elsa snorted delicately, more of a forceful exhale through her nose, and gave her sister a pointed look. Anna wasn’t exactly known for not leaving her mark wherever she went. Which was nearly always a good thing, except perhaps, in this particular instance.
Sunlight caught Anna’s face then as she smiled back innocently, burnishing her hair and illuminating her freckles, flashing more green than blue in her eyes. She seemed to glow like the sun had sought her out, or perhaps, and more likely, that radiance simply came from Anna, as she gave Elsa a cheeky salute and ducked back into the pantry.
Elsa shook her head, smiling softly to herself.
She had just finished wrapping the smørbrød with smoked salmon when she felt an odd ache in her chest. Elsa frowned and brought a hand up to rub at her sternum until the sensation faded. Brushing it off, she continued packing the rest of their picnic. Reaching for a jar of lingonberries, her hand fell on the lid just as an itch sprang to life in the back of her throat. That was Elsa’s only warning before she was coughing roughly into her palm, and pulling something from her mouth.
She looked down and froze.
Stared, uncomprehending.
A petal, blush pink, lay in her palm. Alien and accusatory, it looked like an omen in a language she had never seen before. There was no time to begin questioning how and why; a rustling from Anna’s direction had Elsa snapping her fingers closed, the silken flower petal crumpling in her fist. She slipped it into the folds of her skirt, knowing without knowing how she knew that this was not something she could share. With anyone.
Anna reappeared, concern pinching her face. “You okay Elsa?”
Elsa cleared her throat with a quick smile. “Perfectly.” She uncurled her fingers slowly and let the petal fall to the bottom of her pocket, masking the tremor in her hands by fiddling with the tablecloth in the picnic basket. Tying off the corners over their food, she glanced up at Anna, who still hadn’t moved. “Well?”
Her sister blinked. “Well what?”
“I don’t see any chocolate.”
Anna rolled her eyes with a grin and ducked back inside. “Yeah yeah, hold your horses your highness, I’ll get you your chocolate.”
Elsa chuckled, but the mirth slipped from her face as soon as Anna was out of sight.
She shivered and rubbed at her chest again.
It no longer felt warm in the kitchen.
It was six months before Elsa found another petal on her tongue.
She was troubled by the occasional tickle in her throat, sometimes a lingering congestion, but for a while everything seemed normal and she could almost forget the strange thing that happened on that summer afternoon in the kitchen.
Elsa’s twentieth birthday came and went, and so too did any illusions that the first petal had been a fluke.
One morning, early in spring, she woke from a dream she couldn’t remember with a petal in her mouth. After that, one appeared every few weeks, until she could no longer deny the truth.
Something was growing in her lungs.
Once, when they were still very little, Anna had bitten into the core of an apple, swallowing some of the seeds. Convinced that an apple tree would grow in her stomach, Anna had devolved into hysterics that for once, Elsa had not been able to soothe. It distressed seven year old Elsa enough that she decided to seek out the king.
When he opened the door to his study and Elsa explained the problem, their father had merely laughed and ushered them inside. He lifted both princesses into his lap, one on each knee, and reassured Anna that it was quite impossible for plants (or trees for that matter), to grow inside a person’s belly. They needed soil and water, and most of all—my little sun, he said, chucking Anna under the chin— plants need the sun to grow.
See Anna? Elsa said when they were safely back in their room and equilibrium was restored. She’d tickled her sister’s stomach until Anna shrieked and squirmed with laughter. There’s nothing growing in there.
Anna had snuggled into her arms, blown a squeal inducing raspberry into Elsa’s neck and all had been right with the world.
There was nothing right about this.
For all his wisdom, Elsa knew her father’s knowledge was not infallible. This, however, was the last thing she ever expected him to be wrong about.
It was becoming obvious to everyone that something was not right.
Worried glances clung to her in the halls and lingered over meals, from family and staff alike. Gerda in particular fretted over Elsa to the point she’d taken to avoiding her as tactfully as possible, just to get a little peace.
Anna was always there with a reassuring smile, though it grew more and more strained. The unease in her eyes deepened every time she had to supply a fresh handkerchief, or ran to fetch a glass of water, or rubbed soothing circles over Elsa’s back.
Their parents had finally summoned the royal physician. He would be there first thing in the morning.
Elsa stared up at the canopy of her bed, heart pulsing with dread.
She’d devoted every free moment to the library, pouring over medical books until she’d exhausted the entire section. Desperate, Elsa began scanning the shelves for any literature that might illuminate this sickness, no matter how tangential or bizarre. Her desk, usually pristine and rigorously organized, was now littered with haphazard stacks as a result of her latest efforts.
Again she ran through the list of her symptoms, cataloguing every ailment.
She thought of her last fit— the one in the library. Curled up on the plush loveseat with Anna tucked into her side, Elsa had been reading from an anthology of old fairytales. Anna had looped an arm through Elsa’s, leaning her head on Elsa’s shoulder with a sleepy sigh. She’d only made it through two pages after that before her lungs seized and Elsa had to excuse herself.
Before that had been during a state dinner. It was the sort that dragged— full of dignitaries who waxed on about the driest subjects through an interminable number of courses. To escape boredom, Anna had resurrected an old game: first one to smile lost. Her tried and (mostly) true method was to make increasingly absurd faces at Elsa when no one was looking. Elsa rarely lost, but that night she’d cracked, fingers shielding her lips to avoid offending the present company with an inappropriate smirk. Except it wasn’t a giggle that came out of her mouth next, but a cough. With a few murmured apologies, Elsa was gone, necessity forcing her to duck into an empty room to clear her lungs.
And before that…she and Anna had been in town when they ran into the baker’s boy, little Gunnar. He had barely finished telling them his cat was lost when Anna had taken his hand and promised they’d find Mittens. Two hours of searching later they finally located the cat up a tree in a nearby orchard. With a leg up from Elsa, Anna had shimmied into the branches, nearly giving Elsa a heart attack as she reached the higher limbs. Scooping up a spooked Mittens, Anna made her way back down, but on the last branch she placed her foot wrong and slipped. Luckily it wasn’t a tall tree and she didn’t have far to drop. Terrified, Elsa reached out all the same to grab her, though mostly ended up breaking Anna’s fall as she landed on top of her, knocking the breath from Elsa’s lungs.
The cat still safe in her arms, Anna had turned to beam at Elsa over her shoulder. “Nice catch,” she’d giggled. “That was like a crazy trust exercise.”
Then she’d hopped up to return Mittens to an overjoyed Gunnar, and Elsa had started coughing.
Elsa worried her lip, trying to remember the last time her lungs had bothered her when her sister wasn’t around. She came up blank.
Could …proximity to Anna be making her worse?
The idea was impossible, absolutely ridiculous, and yet…
Elsa thought of her sister. Anna. Little Sun- the king called her- Arendelle’s summer princess. Full of relentless enthusiasm and joy, who had a kind word for everyone she met and would go out of her way to help anyone who needed it. Any situation was made better, simply for her being there. Anna was loyal and selfless and fierce, and sweet.
She thought of the way their hands fit just right, like when Anna reached for Elsa’s because she had something to show her and couldn’t contain her excitement. How she rambled with passion about whatever caught her interest, or stuttered adorably when she was flustered. The way her freckles accentuated the charming slope of her nose, or the appealing silhouette she made in her dresses. The way her lips…
Elsa convulsed, her body curling into a ball as a bright flare of pain twisted in her chest. When it passed, she was left gasping raggedly, clutching a fist full of petals. A flood of horror turned her stomach, threatening what little she’d had for dinner.
When had she started noticing…those sorts of things about Anna?
How could she— when did she start feeling that way about her own sister?
How could this have happened?
Fingers twisting in the nightgown over her heart, Elsa thought suddenly of Icarus. Was there a moment he’d missed, a sign he had ignored that could have stopped the undoing of his ambitious flight? When the sun seared a warning into his skin as the wax began to soften? Or was there no discernible line between safe and deadly, between one moment and the next before he was plummeting towards earth, crashing to the swallowing sea in a blaze of feather and flame?
Plants need the sun to grow.
Like Icarus before her, Elsa had flown too close to her sun.
She turned her face into the pillow, and wept.
The royal physician pulled the dressing gown closed over Elsa’s chest, a frown tugging at the wrinkles bracketing his mouth. He removed the stethoscope and set it on the bed, where it lay, limp and sinuous as a snake. Rocking back in his seat, he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, then turned to address the monarchs who stood on the opposite side of the bed.
“There is an… obstruction in her lungs.”
The king and queen shared a look, distress painting their features.
“An obstruction?” Elsa’s mother tugged at her hands fretfully. “What does that mean, what kind of obstruction—”
“—can it be removed?” Her father’s deeper baritone cut in.
“Is it contagious?”
“Is it consumption?”
The physician held up a hand. “Forgive me, your Majesties, I wish I had more answers to give but…” he glanced at Elsa. She stared at the patterns in her comforter, spine rigid, hands folded primly in her lap. “At the moment I don’t know more than that. All we can do for now is continue to monitor her, make sure her diet is healthy, and see that she gets fresh air and sunlight.”
Elsa flinched.
“It may go away on its own,” he added.
The look on his face said he doubted that very much.
Their parents were reluctant at first, but eventually Elsa convinced them that isolation was the safest option for everyone, including Anna. Especially Anna. At least, she reasoned, until they could be sure she wasn’t contagious.
For a little while, things seemed to improve. Less coughing, fewer petals. If the staff caught Anna lingering outside her door they were instructed to shoo her along; Elsa tried not to hear the desperate cajoling and entreating as their voices faded down the hallway, leaving behind a cavernous silence and an even larger ache. Breathing marginally easier afterwards was the smallest of comforts.
Most days, it really wasn’t a comfort at all.
It became a concerted effort to keep Anna occupied and away from Elsa, but that didn’t mean there weren’t nights when Anna camped outside her door anyway. In hushed tones she’d tell Elsa about her day, what she thought about her studies, the latest gossip she’d overheard— anything she could think of to draw Elsa into conversation. When those nightly monologues were interrupted by more frequent bouts of coughing, Anna reluctantly conceded her sister wasn’t fit enough for visits.
Letters and notes started appearing under Elsa’s door instead.
You’ll never guess what Einar did today…
I found a family of baby ducks by the pond, they came right up to me— one even hopped into my hands! You wouldn’t believe how soft they are. I think I could sneak one in to show you, though that would probably traumatize the mama duck…
How did you ever tolerate Mr. Oddvar? He’s the worst tutor ever! Was he always so condescending??
There was a new boy in the market today selling ice. Kind of hulking and gruff at first, but he softened right up when I offered his reindeer Sven a carrot. His name is Kristoff and he lives up in the mountains with the other ice harvesters. I think we might be friends.
Elsa tried to keep herself busy with her own studies, tried to keep thoughts of her sister as far from her conscious mind as possible— when she wasn’t inundated with endearing slips of parchment containing every thought Anna wanted to share.
Dreams however, were out of her control.
The petals she occasionally found on her pillow in the morning made that abundantly clear.
A year went by and still, Elsa tried.
It’s been such a perfect summer and we’ve had so little rain, I can’t help spending every possible moment outside. But then I remember that you’re in there, sick and miserable, and I feel awful that I’m enjoying things you can’t. Remember when we used to sneak out and have picnics by the fjord? Gosh it really sent Kai and Gerda into fits didn’t it? Don’t think I never noticed how you always packed more dessert for me, or claimed you couldn’t finish so I could have yours.
Kristoff is back in town for a little while. He’s finally letting me ride Sven (just around the square) while he sells ice. It’s nice to have a new friend… but he’s no you.
I’m sure you know mother and father are leaving next week for that coronation down south on the continent. I bet the summers in Corona are even warmer. Maybe when you’re better we can go, just the two of us! You’re twenty one now, plenty old enough for us to travel alone. Apparently the princess is around our age, though I guess she’ll be the queen soon.
I wish I could see you Elsa, I don’t even care that I might get sick. I just miss you.
Their parents went to sea and never came back.
Anna attended the funeral alone.
Elsa lay in bed, sheets strewn with handkerchiefs and the corollas of a flower she still had no name for. Her tears had long since been exhausted and she stared listlessly out the window at grey skies heavy with unspent rain. Emptiness carved a cavernous hole inside her, hollowing out all other feeling.
Except, that wasn’t exactly true. Guilt slithered inside her, making its presence felt lest she forget her sickness was adding to Anna’s pain. The one thing that might give them both a measure of comfort— finding solace in one another — Elsa’s curse prevented. The one thing she wanted so badly to do was the one thing she couldn’t, because she wanted it so badly. She couldn’t hold Anna, or dry her tears, or squeeze her hand as they stood at their parents’ empty graves and the last rights were spoken.
She was bound to her bed with a corrupted heart and damaged lungs, useless.
Anna came to her room late that night. She sat with her back to the door, not speaking a word. Frozen between fear and longing, Elsa waited until eventually, her sister slumped over and fell asleep, right there in the hallway. Elsa stumbled out of bed and sank to the floor, the unforgiving hardwood digging into one hip as she lay facing the gap between them. It was only about an inch, but she could see a swatch of black fabric and the red of Anna’s hair, muted in the darkness. She was still in her mourning dress from the funeral.
Elsa splayed one hand flat on the floor as close to the crack under the door as she dared. Close enough to touch, almost. She watched the rhythm of her sister’s breathing until sleep pulled her under.
When she woke there was an entire flower beside her lips, and Anna was gone.
For a while, there were no notes or letters, and Anna avoided Elsa’s door.
Elsa hadn’t realized how much she’d taken them for granted until they stopped coming. Logically, she knew that Anna was still grieving, as she was, and her sister simply didn’t have energy to devote to an already one-sided exchange. Emotionally though, it made Elsa feel bereft, desperate.
So, for the first time in more than a year, she wrote Anna back. It no longer mattered that it cost her more petals and sometimes an entire flower, she just needed Anna know she’d been listening, that she was still there. Regardless of her… illness, Anna deserved more than silence.
It only took a few days for Anna to respond. Soon they were writing nearly every day.
With her letters, Elsa began including flowers. Kai or Gerda were gracious (and eager) enough to fetch them from the garden, which had been cultivated rather extensively under their mother’s direction. One of the books she’d kept since those first frantic searches in the library was a piece of literature called Le Langage des Fleurs by Charlotte de la Tour. The Language of Flowers. Elsa had read it so often that she knew the illustrations and their corresponding meanings by heart.
So, when she could, Elsa added an extra sentiment to her letters, a veiled meaning that Anna would never guess at.
That summer she sent honeysuckle often. Devotion and affection. Sometimes buttercups. You are radiant with charm.
In the autumn, the pansy. You occupy my thoughts.
For winter, cyclamen. Sincerity and love.
Nearly every morning Elsa tossed handfuls of her own petals and the occasional full bloom into the fire, burning the evidence of her heart’s indiscretion to fragrant ash. If Kai or Gerda noticed a lingering floral scent amongst the metallic tang and wondered at it, they said nothing.
As time passed, Elsa found herself slipping in flowers that were more revealing of her true feelings, things she could not, should not ever say, even if her heart desperately wanted to. Not that Anna would ever know. They were hidden in a language she would never think to learn, and probably wasn’t even aware existed.
That next spring her letters were perfumed with orange blossoms, so popular with brides. Eternal love.
For the summer it was lilac, for first love. Myrtle for fidelity. And, in some of her weaker moments, Elsa sent the cornflower. Hope in love.
In fall, the intoxicating scent of jasmine. Romance and sensuality.
Primrose for winter. I can’t live without you. Sometimes, when she was feeling melancholy, a daffodil. Unrequited love.
Now that she was expelling entire flowers, Elsa finally understood what was growing in her lungs.
Camellias.
They meant deep longing.
I never realized how much you enjoyed flowers. Did we ever spend much time in the gardens? I don’t think we did, at least not together, though I know it was one of mother’s favorite places.
Either way, I love them. Each one is so different and beautiful. But that’s not surprising. I think beautiful people have an eye for beautiful things. Or actually, maybe that’s just you. Being beautiful I mean, not that you aren’t beautiful and only have an eye for— never mind, you know what I mean.
It really is just the two of us now, isn’t it? Though, there are some days it feels like it’s just me.
I miss hearing your laugh. I miss seeing that intense face you make when you’re concentrating, or hearing your voice when you read aloud. I miss the way I could talk about anything and you’d listen, even if I went on forever about something silly or stupid. I miss how safe I felt when you were with me, like no matter what happened things would be okay, and you’d catch me. I miss watching your eyes light up when you try to hide a smile.
I miss you.
“The documents you requested, your Majesty.”
Elsa tugged her thick dressing gown more securely around herself and offered the steward a small smile. It was only the cusp of winter, but already a permanent chill had seeped into her bones, agitating her lungs. Camellias thrived in this season after all. While the blooms in her chest flourished, Elsa was withering. Her strength leeched out of her a little more each day; time that wasn’t devoted to official paperwork or Anna’s letters, was lost to sleep.
“Thank you Kai.” She reached for the first paper in the stack. “Please inform the finance minister he shall have a final draft of the budget to review by Thursday.”
“Very good ma’am.” Kai inclined his head and retreated a step, standing at attention while he waited for the question she never failed to ask. For all their renewed correspondence, it was one thing to read her sister’s letters and quite another to observe her in person.
“How is she?”
Does she laugh like she used to? Is she eating enough? Sleeping enough? Does she ever ride that double seated bike alone through the halls when she thinks no one is around to catch her?
Is she happy?
Her chest writhed. Elsa bit her lip until the ache lessened.
“I think you might know better than I ma’am,” he said kindly. When Elsa remained silent, Kai relented. “She is doing well… as well as can be expected.”
Elsa sighed. How often had she heard that phrase? Over the years it had become the ubiquitous answer to whoever asked after her, the well meaning and prying alike. It was the most diplomatic response one could give while Elsa stayed locked in her room, struggling ineffectively with her illness. Elsa is doing as well as can be expected.
She gave Kai a small nod of acknowledgement. He accepted the dismissal and turned for the door.
Elsa hesitated, then called after him before he reached it. “Kai— one more thing.”
“Yes Elsa?” A rare breach of protocol, one only he and Gerda had the privilege of getting away with. But not often. A muscle in Elsa’s jaw twitched. His gentleness chafed at her, rubbing up against her protective walls like sandpaper. She needed it, and could not accept it.
Elsa swallowed and wet her lips. “I would like Anna to begin more intensive study. Contact my previous tutors and arrange for them to take over her training, and everything that entails.”
Anna will be queen after me. Soon.
Make sure she’s ready, before I…
“Are you certain that’s… necessary, your Majesty?”
Elsa fidgeted with the handkerchief on her desk, folding it into a crisp square. The creases in this one were so deep they had become permanent guides, a map she followed to sooth anxiety and pain. Hand stitched in one corner, the words: To Elsa, love Anna.
I do. So much.
Too much.
She lifted her gaze to the window. It was snowing out. Would Anna make snowmen again this year, right below her window?
Kai was still waiting behind her. Elsa eyed his reflection in the window.
“As soon as possible Kai,” she said softly, but there was steel in her voice. “That’s all. Thank you.”
Kai’s reflection bowed curtly. “Yes, your Majesty.”
As soon as the door closed behind him Elsa sagged in her chair. She was so tired.
Anna would chafe under more lessons. Elsa hated herself for imposing them on her, for not being strong enough to endure her burdens alone, or love her the way any normal sister should. But she was weak. Of the flesh and of the heart.
Like a bolt from the blue, her lungs rebelled; Elsa’s forehead nearly touched the desk as she bent over, expelling her floral inhabitants into one hand. She scrambled for another handkerchief, fingers reaching blindly across the desk until they encountered cloth, bringing it quickly to her mouth.
Only after she’d caught her breath did she realize, too late, that she’d used Anna’s. She unfolded it, picking out the handful of petals and one full bloom, setting them to the side in a small pile. Elsa stared at the painstakingly stitched cloth, full of slightly crooked flowers and missed stitches. Anna hated embroidery. It required a patience and precision her energetic spirit did not often allow.
Her finger followed the threads of Anna’s signature. This had been pushed under her door in the early hours of her twenty second birthday, wrapped in blue tissue and silver string, along with a letter and a handful of crocuses.
I know you’re going to be queen soon (well, I guess technically you already are) and I thought these were appropriate. Or maybe giving you our national flower was dumb? I don’t know, but Gerda said they mean cheerfulness and hope, and that’s something I think you need right now. Happy birthday Elsa.
The letter was still in Elsa’s bedside drawer, next to all the other letters and notes Anna had ever slipped under her door. The flowers had been pressed between the pages of her favorite book, and the handkerchief she kept with her always. Though never used— for this very reason; now it was stained in blood that would never come out, not completely. An indelible corruption on something otherwise pure.
Slowly, Elsa folded it back up again, allowing the clean sections of linen to obscure the lurid evidence of her deviant heart, until she could almost pretend it wasn’t there at all.
She picked up a pressed flower from the desk, the one to be included with her next letter to Anna. Twirling it between thumb and forefinger, Elsa watched the snow drift down.
Purple hyacinth. Forgive me.
It was confirmation enough— the way his expression fell. Color drained from the royal physician’s face the longer he kept up the pretense of examining her, his stethoscope sliding over her sternum in palpable defeat.
Elsa’s breath hitched, a cluster of petals clamoring for release in her throat. Pursing her lips, she drew in shallow breaths through her nose and did her best to swallow them back down. Hastily the physician withdrew, tucking the stethoscope away in his satchel. When he turned back to deliver the news Elsa caught his eye, closing hers briefly and nodding to stall him from offering the dire particulars. Or empty reassurances.
“How long?” She rasped softly.
He averted his eyes and licked his lips. This physician was new— younger than his predecessor, who had been the first to examine her all those years ago. No salt in his chestnut hair or deep lifelines on his face. His name was… Johan. “There’s no way to be sure,” he said slowly. “But if I were to give an estimate? No more than a year.”
So it could be even less.
Elsa had known her time was running out, still, a definitive time frame felt different. There was a disarming finality to it she wasn’t quite prepared for.
Elsa thought she had come to terms with the end of her life— some days the thought even gave her relief— but …maybe she hadn’t.
“I am so sorry, your Majesty.” Rifling through his bag, Johan drew out a vial full of murky red-brown liquid and set it on her nightstand.
Laudanum.
She stared at it as he stood, gave a deferential bow, and left.
The door clicked shut behind him and Elsa brought a handkerchief to her mouth, emptying her lungs until all she could taste was copper and the faint aftertaste of camellias.
Collapsing back into her pillows, Elsa stared once more at the little bottle sitting so innocuously on her bedside. The conclusion of her final diagnosis.
The only thing left is a reprieve from your pain.
One she didn’t deserve.
Elsa was losing time.
Dizzy and weak, she’d find herself suddenly in bed, or slumped in a chair. A handful of times she woke with her cheek pressed to the cold floor, body aching all over.
Sometimes she thought she heard Anna’s voice, but the line between reality and dreams was blurring, and it was impossible to know if her sister was truly there, or a figment of the visions that clung to her like cobwebs after waking.
The bottle of laudanum remained untouched on her nightstand.
Her official duties began to tapper off; Kai brought her fewer treaties to sign, contracts to draft, or disputes to mediate. Anna must be dealing with them.
Elsa didn’t write many letters anymore, but the flowers said what she couldn’t.
Pressed gladiolus. You pierce my heart.
Dahlia. One true love.
The red tulip, pressed and preserved. I declare my love for you.
A knock on the door.
Kai let himself in, calling softly, “Your Majesty? You wanted me to deliver Anna’s gift?”
Elsa stirred, rousing from a half sleep. Anna’s gift? Her mind fumbled, trying to understand what he was talking about as a tide of lethargy fought for her consciousness.
It was still December… wasn’t it? It must be Christmas.
“On the desk Kai,” she wheezed. Was that her voice?
“The stack on the corner ma’am?”
“Yes…thank you.” Sleep was dragging her under. “… Merry Christmas Kai.”
She did not hear him leave.
Elsa was having a rare good day.
They were few and far between, but when she was able to rise in the morning, lucid and aware, that was a special thing. Elsa reclined in bed, nursing a cup of tea, a book of poetry propped against her knees. She couldn’t find her copy of Le Langage des Fleurs, which she’d been in the mood to peruse. It was nearly always on her desk, but it came as no surprise that she seemed to have misplaced it.
Knock knock kn-knock knock
The blooms, the heart in her chest strained towards the sun.
“Elsa?”
Anna’s voice, sweet and painful; ache and salve both. Grey winter light flickered through the gap underneath the door, Anna’s footsteps throwing off distorted shapes. Elsa stared at Anna’s shadow, heart shuddering at her closeness.
After a moment there came a big sigh, and her sister sat down against the door with a thump. A fond smile tugged at Elsa’s lips.
“I hope you’re doing okay in there.”
Elsa closed the book and set her tea on the nightstand. Slipping out of bed, she made her way silently to the door and sat down against the wall, tucking her legs under her. She fussed with her velvet dressing gown, arranging it over her bare feet.
“I’m here.” Elsa winced. It sounded like she’d swallowed gravel. She pressed her fingers gingerly to her throat; it was difficult to remember the last time it hadn’t felt raw.
There was a sharp intake of breath; Anna probably hadn’t expected a response, let alone one so close. Clothes rustling, Anna scooted over, and her voice came from mere inches away. “Hey.”
Elsa could hear the soft smile in her sister’s voice, could picture the charming curl of her mouth. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, savoring the warmth that flooded her chest like a gentle fire, even as it clenched in warning. She couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Hi.” It came out slightly bashful; all at once Elsa felt giddy and a little shy. They hadn’t done this in so long, actually talked face to… well, door.
“So…,” Anna said after a beat of silence. She seemed equally as affected while she searched for something to say. “Christmas was nice. We sent out that invitation for an open brunch… I was a little surprised at how many people showed up. Oh—Kristoff made it too! I told him he had to leave Sven in the stables, otherwise I think he would’ve had him at the table. Can you imagine?” Anna snickered.
Elsa certainly could; Anna had given her sketches of the ice harvester and his reindeer many times over the years. “I think that would have given poor Kai a heart attack.”
“Hah! Tell me about it. It was nice to see the place so full, but…well, you know. It’s not the same.”
Without you, she didn’t have to say.
Elsa toyed with a lock of her hair, winding it between her fingers. It hung in loose platinum waves to her waist; she hadn’t braided it in days. At least she’d brushed it.
“I’m sorry.” For all of it, she wanted to say. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I’m sorry I can’t be normal.
“You don’t have to apologize silly, it’s not like you can help being sick.”
Couldn’t she though? If Elsa had just tried harder? When had she stopped trying to fall out of love with Anna?
“It was a really good idea, by the way, the whole Christmas meal thing. Thanks for organizing it.”
“It was my pleasure.” The thought of Anna sitting through another holiday alone had been untenable. Perhaps this would be a new tradition, one Anna could continue after… “I’m glad it worked out so well.”
“Went off without so much as a hitch. Though I should probably give the kitchen staff the week off, otherwise I’m sure they’ll revolt,” Anna said lightly, as if neither of them were aware how thrilled everyone had been to prepare a feast like in the old days, when Arendelle still hosted banquets and state dinners. “As long as you’re okay eating sandwiches for a week, I’m pretty sure I can manage.”
“Only if you don’t mix pickles with lingonberries again.”
“Oh come on it wasn’t that bad!”
Elsa pressed her fingers to her lips, trying not to laugh. “It wasn’t that good either.”
Anna gave an exaggerated huff. “I was ten, I didn’t know which food combinations were good,” she muttered. “You still ate the whole thing.”
“How could I not? You were so proud of it.” In fact, Elsa had finished every culinary experiment her little sister had offered her, no matter how bizarre or questionable. “I think I may have enabled your delusions of becoming the head cook when we grew up.”
“Careful, it could still happen.”
“Lord help us.”
Their quiet laughter tapered off and an easy silence fell between them.
A sharp twisting in her lungs made Elsa grit her teeth, pressing her lips into a thin line. After a moment it passed, and she let out a weak exhale of relief through her nose.
There came a huff of mirth behind her. “Do you remember that one Christmas when we snuck buckets of snow into the ballroom? We had just enough to make that one lumpy snowman, what was his name again?”
Elsa remembered.
Anna snapped her fingers. “That’s right, it was—”
“Olaf!” They said together, dissolving into giggles.
Elsa chuckled and dabbed at her eyes. “They were so furious with us. I never heard them run down the staircase so quickly.”
“Honestly I think father was secretly impressed we managed it. Just a shame our little guy melted so fast.”
Elsa hummed. “It was worth it though.”
“Sure was.” A soft tapping sound filled their little space; Anna must be knocking her boots together. As a child she used to flop her legs out on the floor and tap the toes of her shoes together, expending all that restless energy through her feet. Some things never changed.
Nostalgia flooded Elsa, bitter and sweet. “You always had a talent for finding fun that involved trouble of some kind.”
“Some of us are just born gifted,” Anna responded, a crooked grin in her voice. “And you loved it. Besides, you were always there to get me out of it.”
“Of course. I’m your big sister, it’s my job.”
Anna was quiet for a moment. “Not just a job though… at least, it never felt that way to me.”
“No,” Elsa agreed softly. “It’s never been that.”
Pain, sharp as a thunderclap burst inside her breast. Elsa’s lips parted in a soundless gasp, her hand flying to her sternum. Her lungs roiled.
Not now. Please not now.
“…Elsa? Are you okay?”
Elsa staggered to her feet with a whimper, camellias already occluding her throat. She suppressed the first few hacking spasms, but this was so much worse than usual. A few steps into the room her knees buckled, and gave out. She crumpled to the floor at the foot of her bed, unable to stem the floral tide from her lips as the flowers came and came and came. Faintly she registered Anna pounding on the door, calling out, but then it was lost to the darkness.
Elsa
Elsa!
A voice, calling her from above a dark ocean as she sank. It was so hard to breathe, her limbs weighted with lead and useless while the sea seeped into her mouth. In her darker moments she’d imagined what it would feel like to drown, what it must have felt like when their parents were dying. The pressure, the ache, the burning breathlessness—
But no. It wasn’t water in her lungs.
A living thing clamored in her chest, growing where no living thing should grow. Roots… she was rooted to the earth, not adrift in the ocean. She was being swallowed up in dark soil, a garden ready and waiting to burst fully bloomed from her ribs as soon as her body finished struggling. Then she could finally rest. Then she would be free.
And Anna would be alone.
Anna.
“No…no, no, no—”
She was being lifted, jostled into someone’s arms. Hands, fluttering and frantic, ghosted over her, soft as butterfly wings, unable to settle. Words filtered in and out of her awareness. The voice sounded incredibly upset.
“Elsa… oh please, Elsa…”
Confusion snagged thoughts adrift in a heavy fog. That couldn’t be right… Anna wasn’t supposed to be in her room. She was on the wrong side of the door. There was something she wasn’t supposed to know, that Elsa had to make sure she didn’t know.
It drifted away from her.
She was in bed.
Elsa felt the familiar weight of her comforter and the pillows at her back. How had she gotten there? How much time had passed, and what had she been…?
Anna.
Her eyes fluttered open with difficulty, weighted by fatigue.
She froze.
Anna was perched on the side of the bed. On her bed. In her room.
“Hey.” Anna’s smile was soft and hesitant, and a little sad.
Elsa pushed herself upright on shaky arms that nearly refused to hold her weight. Reflexively she touched her mouth, but found it free of blood. Anna must have lifted her into bed and cleaned her up.
“Hi.” Her voice was a painful croak.
Anna quickly reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, pressing it into Elsa’s hands. Elsa gave her a grateful smile, studying her as she drank.
Anna’s thick russet locks hung free over her shoulders, the hair near her temples braided in a circlet around her head. The dress she wore was deep green with plum embellishments, a matching sash cinched at her waist. A black jacket, sharply tailored and embroidered at the shoulders with their autumn wheat motif finished the ensemble. She looked older. Beautiful.
Elsa set the glass back on the nightstand. There was so much to say, too much, and Elsa had no idea where to begin or even if she could.
She looked at her sister and found herself blurting dumbly, “How did you get in?”
Anna gave her an exasperated look, one that said— really Elsa, that’s what you want to ask me? “I learned how to pick locks.”
“Oh.”
“Elsa…what is all this?” Anna looked deeply unsettled, even a little afraid as she gestured to the flowers scattered on Elsa’s floor. In her hand was a camellia, spotted with crimson.
Elsa’s throat tightened, but she couldn’t tell if illness or raw emotion was to blame. She felt suddenly, unbearably naked.
“It’s…” Elsa waved a hand over her chest, feeling small. “They’re in my lungs,” she finished in a whisper, shrugging helplessly. It was not even close to the whole truth, but how could she explain the nature of her affliction? How was she supposed to tell Anna that her sickness had manifested as a reflection of her perverse heart? The heart that was in love with— desired— her own sister?
If she did one thing right in her life, it would be to take this truth with her to the grave. Anna had enough burdens to carry.
Anna gaped at her, then down at the flower nestled in her palm, her brow pulling into a deep frown. “Wait… what? How is that possib— I…I don’t understand.”
The absurdity of it all struck her then, startling a faint laugh out of Elsa that ended in something closer to a sob. She quickly pressed a hand her lips. “Neither do I.”
One of Anna’s hands gripped the comforter, twisting the fabric until her knuckles turned white. She struggled for a moment, and Elsa’s heart squeezed painfully when Anna’s eyes turned glassy. “I… I can’t lose you Elsa, not when I—”
Elsa reached for her, but something behind Anna caught her eye and she stopped.
At the foot of her bed was a bouquet of flowers. Not just any flowers.
“Are those…” They couldn’t be. Elsa was fluent in the language of flowers, but Anna wasn’t. Her sister had no idea what those meant. No idea what they said. If she had, she wouldn’t be giving them to Elsa.
It was a bouquet of Camellias.
Pink and red camellias.
Pink, like hers, for longing and red for—
Desire. Passion.
Romantic love.
A mistake. It was a mistake, there was no other explanation.
“Are those for me?” Elsa rasped, weak with disbelief and a shameful pang of longing that slithered out before she could stop it.
“Yeah Elsa, they are.”
She shook her head in denial, staring at those impossible flowers. “But—”
Fingertips settled against her lips, and Elsa’s heart stopped.
Soft and warm, it was the first skin to skin contact she’d had in longer than she could remember, and it sent shockwaves through Elsa’s body. Suddenly every sense that had been dulled over the years, though intention or neglect, came alive. She had the irresistible urge to press a kiss to those fingers, had only to apply the slightest bit of pressure to do so, but that beautiful teal gaze had turned her to stone.
“Yes Elsa,” Anna said quietly. Unshed tears lingered in her eyes, her expression solemn yet underscored by a quiet resolve that blazed just beneath the surface. So unlike the girl Elsa remembered; a queen now in her own right. Regardless of necessity, seeing it now broke something in her as much as it made her proud. She was meant to protect Anna from that burden. She had failed in so many ways.
Anna’s hand fell away, and her thumb grazed the corner of Elsa’s mouth, making her breath hitch. “I know what they mean.”
How? How could you? Elsa’s gaze drifted to her desk and the designated corner where Le Langage des Fleurs always sat, now empty. The last time she’d seen it…. was three days ago, when Kai had retrieved Anna’s present. Which had been sitting on top of the book. Elsa’s heart stuttered. Had he…?
Anna clasped Elsa’s hands. “Every flower you ever gave me... I finally understand what you’ve been telling me all this time.”
“That wasn’t... that wasn’t my intention, I— ” Elsa stammered. She could hardly breathe, her heart was beating so fast. “You weren’t supposed to know. Ever,” she whispered thickly, too laid bare to even deny it.
Anna’s smile was rueful. “I kinda figured as much when I got my Christmas present and your Le Langage des Fleurs was there too, with all your notes and bookmarks,” she said, pronouncing the title flawlessly.
Elsa squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear streaking down her cheek. Shame raged inside her, hot and hungry. She felt lightheaded.
“Hey.” A hand brushed her face, encouraging her to open her eyes. When she did, Elsa was met with an expression so tender it took her breath away. “It’s okay Elsa, I promise.”
Anna reached back, liberating a red camellia from the bouquet. She held it up between them. “It’s okay because… I love you too.” Anna took her hand and closed Elsa’s fingers around the stem. “And when I say ‘love’,” she continued gently, “I mean in love.”
“How?” Elsa whispered, feeling as though she had slipped into another dream without realizing it. “Why?” This can’t be what you want. You aren’t broken, like me.
A fond smile curved Anna’s lips. “Because you’re you, Elsa. Beautiful and kind and smart and thoughtful and loving, and so many other things. You’re my best friend, and my favorite person. You’re the one I want to be more like and the one I want to be with. You’re perfect.”
Elsa most certainly was not, but it was difficult to argue when Anna was looking at her like that. Enamored and radiating simple but undeniable conviction.
“And, lately…,” Anna whispered, her gaze traveling down, over the planes of Elsa’s face, stopping at her lips. A delirious intoxication fell over Elsa the longer her attention lingered there, bewitching her in a haze of anticipation. “I haven’t been able to stop wondering…,” Anna continued, leaning in, those dark pupils still fixed on Elsa’s mouth, “what it would be like to kiss you.”
“You could get sick,” Elsa hedged weakly.
“I don’t care,” Anna murmured.
She was so close now and Elsa couldn’t think; words deserted her as those flushed pink lips drew her inexorably into their orbit, a gravitational pull she couldn’t escape. Didn’t want to.
Anna’s lips brushed hers in a whisper, her kiss ghosting over Elsa’s mouth in a touch so sweet, so unerringly devastating, it shattered the last crumbling walls Elsa had erected around herself. Her foundations fell away beneath her, until the only anchor was that forbidden touch, more perfect than anything she’d ever experienced. Frisson rippled along every nerve, shivering over her bare skin.
Elsa reached out a hand and found Anna’s neck, the delicate pulse beneath soft skin thrumming in time with her heart, accelerating under Elsa’s touch as she allowed herself to claim Anna’s lips like it was the last thing she’d ever do.
Maybe it was.
A noise, soft and high, caught in Anna’s throat, and her mouth parted to allow Elsa in. Elsa took what she offered, losing herself in the lush warmth of her, caressing Anna with a purpose she never dreamed she’d have the chance, let alone the right to do.
Anna broke the kiss first, her gasps falling heavy against Elsa’s lips, amplified in the quiet room. Elsa cupped her cheek, stroking it with her thumb as she gazed into eyes heavy lidded and bright. For the first time in so many years, she felt weightless.
Anna closed the distance again, her nose brushing along Elsa’s as she brought their foreheads together.
“I love you, Elsa,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t, not now.”
Elsa opened her mouth to respond and stopped. Something had changed. She’d almost missed it in the overwhelming euphoria of kissing Anna, but now a stunning absence was made plain. The revelation echoed through her like silent thunder.
“You won’t,” she said, her voice possessed by certainty, and filled with awe. Elsa lifted their hands, placing Anna’s flat against her chest. The heartbeat under Anna’s palm was no longer weak and thready, but strong and sure.
Elsa stared at Anna in wonder and inhaled deeply, from lungs that were completely empty for the first time in six years.