Work Text:
Anna poked her head through the open double doors, peering out into the pale blue of the summer evening. The heat of the day had burned away and it had grown cool. A breeze blew off the fjord, carrying with it the bracing salt air of the ocean, which tangled together with the blossoms hanging heavy from the vines that framed the balcony.
The palace servants had moved a loveseat outside so that the queen and her princess might enjoy the evening together, as had become their custom. Elsa sat there now, half illuminated by the last rosy splashes of sunset.
“Hey, Elsa. How is it?”
Elsa turned, and the fading light caught the side of her face, highlighting the angry red of a sunburn. “With Oaken’s sun balm it’s not so bad.”
Anna winced. “Oh, ouch. Wow, Elsa, you really got burned.”
“And whose fault is that?” Elsa asked dryly, though Anna could hear the smile in her voice.
“Not mine. Here, let me get your back. Scoot over,“ Elsa obliged and Anna plopped down beside her sister, upsetting the bottle of sun balm balanced on the bench beside her.
Elsa deftly rescued it with a tired, indulgent smile. “Then whose fault is it?”
“It’s – can you hold your hair back?” Elsa lifted her heavy braid out of the way while Anna poured sun balm into her hand and applied it to her sister’s back as gently as she could. Elsa’s skin seemed to radiate heat, and Anna found herself distracted by the feel of it beneath her fingers. “Ah – anyway, it’s both our faults. Don’t pin this all on me!”
Elsa chuckled at Anna’s tone of righteous indignation. “You’re the one forever dragging me outside,” she pointed out.
Anna opened her mouth to respond and shut it again. It was true. Ever since Elsa had brought back summer – ever since their relationship had begun to mend – Anna had dedicated herself to coaxing Elsa outside. And, although Elsa was often caught up by the many duties attendant to ruling their small kingdom, she had never once refused.
So, they spent whole days outdoors, riding and strolling and talking. They joked and told old stories, and their conversations were full of Anna’s bright exclamations and Elsa’s gentle laugh filling in after. They held picnics in the castle gardens, and Anna showed Elsa the shapes in the clouds. Once, on a cloudless day, Elsa sang.
Today they had taken a boat out on Arendelle’s harbor. The sun had been bright and hot, and Anna tanned brown as a nut. Of course, Elsa, with her pale, delicate skin, burned a vivid, painful red.
“Okay, true,” Anna allowed. “But… you liked it right?” Her voice broke a little on the last word, and she cleared her throat self-consciously.
“I would do it all over again,” Elsa glanced over her shoulder with a crooked smile. She paused thoughtfully and added, “Though maybe with a parasol next time.”
Anna snorted and gave her sister a playful shove. This startled a laugh from Elsa, and she made to shove her sister back, but Anna leaned away. Off balance, Elsa toppled back into Anna’s lap with a surprised “Oh!”
And, much to Anna’s delight, Elsa nestled close with a contented sigh and closed her eyes. “This is nice,” she said quietly.
Anna moved slowly, as if a wild bird had landed on her and she was desperately trying to avoid startling it back into flight. She smoothed Elsa’s hair away from her sunburned face, revealing a freckle high on her sister’s temple.
It was one of many that had appeared following the Great Thaw. Elsa had always had a faint dusting of freckles, of course, but she’d spent so much time indoors that they had mostly faded. The difference was striking now. Freckles spangled the tops of Elsa’s shoulders and dotted the bridge of her nose. They described a map of dark stars across her pale skin that Anna caught herself studying with far greater interest than she had ever devoted to the night sky.
She’d noticed the first freckle several weeks ago, had been so sure it was a speck of drinking chocolate leftover from breakfast, had even tried to kiss it away. Ever since then she had been trying harder than ever to get Elsa out into the sun.
Maybe she’d overdone it.
And still, a small, selfish part of her wanted more.
She looked down at her sister and sighed without knowing it. She watched Elsa’s chest rise and fall rhythmically and mirrored the gentle half smile that tugged at the corner of Elsa’s mouth. A constellation of freckles, arcing like a scattering of stars across Elsa’s cheek, drew her eye, just as it always did.
Of all the many dozens of freckles patterning her sister’s skin, that constellation was Anna’s favorite, though she couldn’t say why. In truth, Elsa’s freckles meant more to her than she cared to admit. To Anna, it was like watching fragments of her sister’s icy reserve fall away. Elsa was changing, warming, thawing. She laughed more and worried less. She touched Anna with casual familiarity, and every time she did, Anna’s heart sang.
Timidly, she traced the line of freckles that swept into the shadowed hollow of Elsa’s cheekbone. Elsa stirred and opened her eyes.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?” Anna made to pull away, but Elsa caught her hand and drew it back, pressing Anna’s palm to her cheek.
“No.” Her hand remained clasped over Anna’s own, holding it close. “No, you didn’t. I… I liked it. Your hand is nice and cool.”
“I really am sorry you got sunburned, Elsa.” Anna said, absent-mindedly stroking Elsa’s cheek with her thumb.
“It’s okay.”
For a time, it was quiet. Though the bustle of Arendelle’s busy port had subsided with the setting sun, the night was pleasantly full of gentle sound – the sea lapping against the quay, the hollow jostle of ships at their moorings, and the distant strains of music and conversation flooding from open doorways.
Elsa drew a breath then, recalling Anna’s attention. It seemed as though Elsa meant to speak, but no words came. Silence stretched between the two of them, moving from a comfortable pause to a hollow, empty quiet, made of things left unsaid. Anna found herself resisting the urge to fidget.
Just as she began to cast about for something to say, Elsa finally spoke. “Maybe if I hadn’t shut you out when we were growing up it wouldn’t have happened.”
Anna grew still, somehow doubting they were still speaking of sunburns. Elsa very rarely brought up their childhood, and when she did it was almost always colored by brooding self-reproach. “Elsa, I –"
“I saw you.” The words came out in a rush, and Elsa exhaled hard. She continued more hesitantly, avoiding Anna’s eyes. “In the gardens outside my window. I saw you out in the sun, always jumping out of trees and ruining your dresses. You used to get terrible sunburns, but then you started to tan instead, and I – I could have been outside, too. I should have been. With you. I just—I couldn’t—“
“Elsa, stop,” Anna interrupted firmly, wondering just when the conversation had gotten away from her.
In truth, it was a conversation they’d had many times in various forms. Though their relationship was certainly stronger than it had ever been, Elsa still allowed seeds of guilt to gnaw away at her, until doubt and self-recrimination clawed to the fore.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Anna said gently, wishing she knew the perfect words that would erase Elsa’s guilt entirely. “You and Mama and Papa – you were only trying to protect me. And, yeah, growing up without you wasn’t easy, but you’re here now. That’s – that’s all I ever wanted.”
Elsa met Anna’s eyes then, a pair of pinprick stars among the constellations overhead. “I’m here now,” she repeated, and there was a kind of quiet intensity to her words. She turned and pressed a hard, lingering kiss into the palm of Anna’s hand.
Though much of Elsa’s reserve had thawed over the past few months, these tender moments were rare, precious things that always caught Anna a little off guard.
“I know,” was the most she could manage past the tightness in her throat.
Her words hadn’t been perfect ones. They never were. But she knew they had been the right ones, and for her – for now – that was enough. She settled back, resting her head against the high back of the loveseat. Her palm tingled where Elsa had kissed her, and she smiled up into the dark. And if by chance a few tears tracked down her cheeks, she could be forgiven. They were happy tears.
And anyway, only the stars could see.