Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Frozen. So this is an obvious AU (modern day), and it's basically about Elsa being in the Olympics. This is gonna sound bad, but I only watched one event in the Winter Olympics, as I was forced to watch it (however, it was the couples figure skating, so all was beautiful and amazing. Much nice. So wow): So I don't know the procedures about who and how anyone gets in the actual Olympics. This is basically my rendition of it. Please forgive my mistakes! :)

This story is going to be in two different points of view: Elsa's and Anna's.

~ Elsa's point of view~

My hands begin to shake. They quiver in front of me, ready to erupt like a volcano. I stare at them, pleading, begging them to stop. Then I clutch them to my chest, close to my patterned bodice. They shake so hard. My entire body is nervous. I will it to not be. I will control myself.

I close my eyes, breathe deeply. Not now. Not now. I will not allow my body to betray me. Now is the time to have full control of it. Now is my time to shine, and it is the only time that matters. After hours of practice, of trying to control my frightful abnormality, I just have to conceal it now. Just this once, I beg.

In my ears, I hear the cries of the crowd around me. The audience everywhere, their eyes all on me, watching, waiting. They will see every slip and every flaw, every daring dive and every sweep of my legs. They will see my mistakes; they can see me. And I can't let them. I won't let them. I only pay attention to the voices that matter: I hear the screams, and I ignore them, but I hear the shouts of those calling my name. I hear my younger sister, Anna, calling my name excitedly. I smile a little. My biggest fan. She always has faith in me.

The music will start soon, announcing the start to my tryout. I open my eyes to see my hands slowly trembling. I look up from them to see my family behind the stands of the ice rink. They believe in me. They know how achingly I've worked. My practice will pay off; I win this trial, and I will enter the Olympics.

I see Anna behind the glass. Her dark orange braids wave in the air as she shrieks, her hands holding high above her head a sign saying "GO ELSA!" Her smile is infectious; I smile at her. She notices and calls my name encouragingly louder and louder.

Next to her is my reserved mother. Her hair pulled back, her hands calmly clasped in front of her, she is everything I model myself after. If only I could be like her. She is stern but smiling. A firm, kindly mother. I smile.

Then my eyes shift to my father, searching his face for an answer. His face is grim, his lips pulled into a frown. He wears jeans and a sweater, with a whistle hung around his neck. My coach. He has watched every step of my practicing on thin ice. He and my mother are the only ones who know of my ice powers, of how they are fast approaching uncontrollable. I'm not wearing gloves now; the dress code doesn't have them. I remember the words he said last night as they pound against my head, beat against my heart. Last night he argued with my mother behind closed doors about my powers; how one slip can damn my chances for even making it in. Anna and I had listened against the door in the dark in our pajamas and bathrobes. She sat against the wood and leaned her ear against the knob; Anna loves listening at doors. I stood tall and pressed my ear against the door. Then I stood back. I could hear them clearly, they were so loud. For all our effort, they still doubted my capabilities. I still doubt them.

To have Father's confidence in me diminished slowly kills my own self-confidence. If I am the only one who believes in myself, what is that worth?

He nods slowly; he knows I am ready; my smile drops from my lips. I set them into a firm line and turn away.

My feet glide on the ice as the words from the announcer fall silently on my ears. Unlike my hands, my legs are totally in my control. What I command, what I will them to do, they will do. My hands betray me, but my legs obey me. I grip my fingers into my palms as I finish a lap around the cloudy, cut ice, and I look up. I wait. My fingers dig deep and cut. It hurts, the pain, but the pain of having worked so hard and then having all my work for naught cuts deeper.

I stand up straight, balanced on my cutting edge skates. Then I hear the music being played; it's light and soft, gentle and kind, telling a story of spring in full bloom and sun, with beautiful flowers dancing gently in the bend of the wind. I whip off and become an ice cold flower. I bend and I bow; but I cut, cold and sharp. I bow and I dance, twirl at least three times. All is silent, gone, except for me and my music and my ice. I smirk to myself as I laugh; I cut and dare to dive; I catch myself from falling, and burst up out of my shell. I am in full bloom, cold and beautiful, stretching and bending softly like a stem, but threatening and dangerous, like a thorn. My hands spread out, my palms facing the air. My arms stretch up high above me as I balance on a single leg, gliding on the ice. I close my eyes, my back as an angle, almost as straight as a board. I am parallel to the ice below me. I am gone in a state of being gone, gone far away from what I am. Then I smile softly. I open my eyes, and I bend myself forward, my other leg meeting the ice, the crystal, the glass, beneath me. My arms aren't tired but on fire. My hands shake as on their own; I cannot do more than will them to stay as they are. They beg to fire out shards of precious ice; but I glide to a stop with my fingers bent delicately, my arms still so high they beg for praise from the bystanders. And applause do I receive.

I bring my arms down and bow, my arms cast to my sides. Then I stand up straight and pause a second to glance at my hands, my teeth biting into my purple lips as I realize the sudden etches of crystal snowflakes against my skin. My hands are formed into fists as I draw them close to my chest, to hide them from prying eyes. I look up to see the roaring crowds but all I see is my father hurrying through the stands towards the entrance of the ice rink.

I smile as I swiftly skate to the entrance; nobody knows but me and him. Keep the show going, for they know none the better. Nobody needs to know.

My father's head bends down towards mine so it looks like he is congratulating me; but the reality is that he is slipping gloves over my trembling hands. I keep my eyes down, concentrating on the problem at hand. But I ache inside; how foolish of me to think that for one moment I could forget. No. I can only pray that no one saw. I feel ashamed, too, presenting myself to my father so helpless and still so far from where we should be. After all those hours of practicing, I risked our hardwork, our time, for a moment of thrills. Of not caring.

I only look up when the last glove is over my pale skin. I meet my father's brown eyes; they are not grim, but smiling in pride.

"Nobody could have see. Your performance was perfect. But you have to be more careful, Elsa," Father admonishes.

I nod. He pats my hands and turns so my mother can come forward. She has a small smile on her face. She cups my hands in her hands, surrounding mine with hers. Protecting them. "You couldn't have done better, Elsa," she says kindly.

I breathe deeply. Appreciation. Hope that, despite my abnormality, I can still perform. I beam at her, whisper a meek "Thank you."

Then Anna comes running to me down the stairs, two at a time. Her sign in her hand still, she says, beaming at me, "I knew you could do it. Never doubted you for a second, Elsa."

I smile warmly at her. "Thank you, Anna."

Anna smiles broadly and hugs me very, very close. I feel her handmade, homemade sign at my side, cheering me on even now. For as aloft as I am, for all the time I spend away from my kind, thoughtful little sister, she still thinks the world of me. I don't know why. I wouldn't. But she holds out for me still, always waiting for the time to be able to make me see that I'm not half as bad as I am. Of course, Anna is ignorant to my powers. Sometimes I think her ignorance is bliss. Not true bliss, but true enough. I am cold and stoic. I rarely say anything. Anna is infectious, shining as bright as the sun. We are polar opposites. Would she be so lively, so childlike and hopeful, if she knew of the burden I carry? If she knew that I have a power so dangerous that it can hurt people, kill people, even her? I hold her tighter now as I think of it. My parents are always wary about our touching. My trying to restrain the urge to let the ice fall and overwhelm my better sense has gone astray; it does no good, trying to be good. I try so hard so I can protect my little sister so I don't hurt her; she loves me so much, and I can hurt her. I know that and I bear that thought, that worry, in the forefront of my mind every day. She remains unaware. Oh, Anna. I stroke her hair and feel tears at the back of my eyes. Why am I so burdened?

Then Anna thrusts me from her and says, "Elsa, Elsa, they are going to announce your scores. We're going to find out if you make it through to the Olympics!"

We clutch hands together as we roughly turn to see the judges. They hold up their telling signs, their white boards with dark numbers telling me if I have executed well enough or if I shall be ashamed for the rest of my life.

An 8; a 9; a 7.5; an 8.5; a 9. 42 by five judges—an 8.4. I am jumped up the scoreboard; I watch Anna's face light up, her eyes widening in astonishment, as I am on the top. She turns to me and says, "Elsa, you did it! You won! You're going to the Olympics!"

I smile a little, indeed glad about my performance, about my performances to come. Then I feel my hands in hers and realize how they ache. They want to splurge, ignore my righter judgment and spill, bleed ice out of my hands and create. Make beautiful, strong, shining, dangerous creations. I realize then—how can I control myself? How can I go and perform in front of millions when I can barely contain my powers here at a rink in Arendelle? The Games are in the North Pole; how can I hold myself together when there are flashing cameras, intrusive interviews, and eyes, eyes eyes eyes everywhere, watching for a single slip up?

How can I conceal my powers then?

My smile slowly fades; joy to hard realization . . .

My room is very sparsely furnished. Or, it is at least very clean, very simple. When my time is not consumed by practice, my time is spent in here, doing other practice; concealing my formidable powers. This floor I have paced many a long night through, tears down my face, begging my body to not betray me, to behave, to pause. Now my bed, neatly made, has a suitcase, open, on it, with a few clothes neatly folded and put in. I gather from my dresser and closet warm clothes, fashionable clothes. I will be broadcast across the entire world. Warm and fashionable are priorities.

I hear a knock at my door as I bend back from my dresser; "Elsa?" I hear an innocent, almost hesitant, voice ask.

"Anna?" I call. "Come in."

Anna comes bouncing in, wearing long sleeve green pajamas, her hair still in braids. "Lookie what came in the mail," she says, holding up a package.

I frown as I shake my head, bring my clothes to rest in the suitcase. "I don't know."

"Elsa, you realize how you're our entire country's hero right now?" Anna says, putting the box on the floor. "Okay," she says, her entire torso slouched against the box, "you have a massive fanbase. Everyone loves you, Elsa!" She looks around expectantly and then looks up at me eagerly. "Um, do you have any scissors?" Her fingers make a snip snip gesture.

I search through my craft box and hand a pair to her. I can't help but raise an eyebrow in curiosity at the box as Anna mangles it open. "Anna, what do you have in there?"

"Well, not fan letters, obviously. Nope, something better," Anna says. She reaches in and pulls out a flat stack of soft blue. She hands it to me, beaming, "T-shirts."

"T-shirts?" I say flatly.

"The Elsa fan club," Anna says, her hands stretching out as if envisioning a sign with that name. "Believe me, it is actually a thing. I founded it."

"Excuse me? Wait, what?" I say. How can anyone like me like that? How can anyone look at me and see someone to look up to?

Anna takes a seat on my bed and pulls off her pajama top. Then she puts on a shirt that fits her and says, "Elsa, please. People look at you and they see . . . perfection. People want to be like you. They love you. Your skating is beautiful; how can anyone not love you, Elsa?"

Wow . . . my acting is better than even I thought. Anna believes in my lie so wholeheartedly. I stop a moment and look out the window; it's a moon-lit night, snow all across the ground, not a footprint to be seen. It took us some hours to come back from the skate rink. All week my parents have been calmly smiling at my sister as she bounced around and became so excited to leave the country, to visit far off places and meet new people. It's been wonderful for me to give her something to almost compensate for my lack of true relationship with her. My gift for my lack of love and contact.

All this good comes from me; this is true. It is me, and it isn't me. I'm not perfect; I am out of control, pulling out my hair and breaking down. I am a storm swirling and breaking down everything in my path, crushing it. How can anyone look at that and see perfection? How?

"Hey? Elsa?" Anna asks hesitantly, her voice wavering.

I turn back from the window, smile a little. "They're beautiful, Anna." I smile harder and pull the T-shirt she tossed me over my pajama tank.

Anna nods and says, falling back on my bed and sighing at the ceiling, "Aren't you excited, Elsa? We get to go to the North Pole! Imagine the people there! Imagine the accommodations, the facilities, the gowns we get to wear!"

I decide to waste a simple moment of my time and lie next to my sister, looking up at the ceiling as well. I can't see anything but a ceiling fan and snowflakes etched into the whiteness; but my sister sees a beautiful dream. I try to see it too.

"And the pressure," I say cheerlessly.

Anna turns her head and pokes my arm.

"Don't be such a Debbie-Downer!" she says.

"Okay!" I laugh. I look back up at the ceiling. "The snow will be beautiful. And I can meet all the other athletes."

"And crush them!" Anna says, pounding her hand with her fist.

I laugh. "And we can see all the views from the hotel." I can imagine the snow across the mountains and the terrain. Terrible, but beautiful.

"And the Northern Lights," Anna says.

I can see the beautiful lights in my eyes. They flicker and emerge amongst the snowflakes.

"And the ice!"

"Mom says there's going to be someone there to meet us!" Anna says, her eyes lighting up. My sister longs to meet new people; another contrast to separate us.

"That should be fine. Oh, oh—!"

"Hot chocolate!" Anna and I shriek at the same time. Then we stare at each other, and then we break down into a fit of giggles. Oh, our love for chocolate is a bond we share. I giggle into my gloved hand, and I pretend for that single moment that my hand isn't gloved, doesn't need to be hidden away from my sister. For a moment, cautiously, I let my guard slip and allow myself to giggle with my sister. Tonight's session of calming my powers and finishing my packing for our five AM flight is pushed away. Not entirely forgotten, but pushed away. I, for a moment, let it go.

*Shamelessly drops movie references and fourth wall breaks* So, um, what do y'all think? Romance shall come up, including a crossover with another character with ice powers. *coughJackFrostcough*

Thanks for reading! God bless you!