Hey look, another chapter.

I'm just apologizing in advance for all the feels, if this hurts you as much as it hurt to write. It's a filler chapter and I'll admit that I just really wanted to explore the amount of angst and hurt between the accident and the coronation. Shorter chapter. Next chapter will be a time skip to just after the end of the movie. Maybe. I think.

I do actually have a plot idea for this. I sort of know where it's going. Yay plots!

(If you find any discrepancies in timelines, contradictory statements or typos, let me know, please. :D)

EDIT:

I realized after I uploaded this that I had completely skipped over a part of the story I meant to include. Sooo I went back and revised it a bit. If you find any errors or lack of continuity anywhere, please let me know.

Also, if you've been at all confused by me calling the king and queen Anna's parents, instead of "adopted parents", it'll be explained later. Just so nobody got confused. ;)

At first, the king and queen were hesitant to allow any close contact between the girls. After all, their daughter did have powers over the ice. What would happen if they fought over something, or Anna annoyed Elsa?

They needn't have worried. Elsa had taken her role as older sister seriously, and was careful to never hurt the younger girl. She was also fiercely protective of Anna; the one –and only—time that some of the servants' children had teased the redhead, she had sent them running with frost licking their heels. They left Anna alone after that.

The castle came to adore the feisty little girl the royal family had adopted, from Elsa's parents to the staff, in a way that they had never adored Elsa. Anna was given special treatment, let off the hook more times than anyone could count for being naughty, and received a greater amount of attention than the princess herself.

Her parents had all but forgotten their biological daughter, aside from her lessons during the week to control her powers. Beyond that, they didn't much acknowledge her. She couldn't exactly blame them – what parent wants a child that could kill them accidentally? So she said nothing about it, and only watched from afar as Anna became the favorite.

But she held no resentment for it, especially toward the younger girl. The adopted princess was too kind, too sweet for Elsa to blame her for any wrongdoings. And furthermore, she was the only one who had never been afraid of Elsa. The redhead found wonder and beauty in her powers, never fear, though the princess expected that to change one day. She was certain that eventually, Anna would see how bad those powers were, and distance herself.

But for now, she was happy to enjoy the attention.

"Elsa. Psst, Elsa!"

Just maybe not at four in the morning.

She tried to ignore the girl, but that was a bit difficult when Anna climbed on top of her and started shaking her. "Elsa! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

The older girl groaned. "Anna, go back to sleep."

She may have loved the girl, but that didn't mean she was willing to forego some much-needed rest for her.

Anna sighed and fell dramatically onto her back – on top of Elsa. "I just can't!" she cried. "The sky's awake, so I'm awake, so we have to play!"

The eight-year-old rolled her eyes and shoved the little redhead off of her, unceremoniously dumping Anna on the ground. "Go play by yourself!"

Anna had her own bedroom, but she rarely slept in it. After she had been tucked in for the night, she usually snuck out and went to sleep in Elsa's bed instead. She felt safer with the older girl, somehow.

The five-year-old pouted for a moment, thinking, and then grinned and jumped back up on the bed. She pried Elsa's eye open with one hand and raised an eyebrow. "Do you wanna build a snowman?"

Blue eyes popped open to look at her, and a telltale smirk formed on the younger girl's lips. It was their tradition to build snowmen –without Elsa's powers– whenever Anna saw fit. And she could never refuse the feisty redhead's pleading.

Within a few moments, they had run down to the ballroom, Elsa shushing her little sister the whole time. As soon as the door was closed, Anna grabbed her hand. "Do the magic, do the magic!"

A smile lit her features as she crouched a bit and beckoned the younger one closer with her finger. As she formed little snowflakes between her hands, Anna watched in rapt amazement until the princess smirked. "Ready?" Her adopted sister nodded eagerly, and Elsa flung her hands into the air, creating an impressive ice-works display and showering the room with snow.

"Watch this," she grinned, stomping her foot on the ground. Ice spanned out from where she had touched, carrying her younger sister with it. After creating more snow, they made a snowman, and Elsa named him Olaf.

"Hi, I'm Olaf, and I like warm hugs," she chuckled, waving his little stick arms at Anna. The younger girl tackled him with one of those hugs and Elsa smiled.

It was so rare to be able to show off her powers and not feel like a monster doing so that she was still a bit reserved about it. Even so, it was nice to see that someone enjoyed them, even if she wasn't exactly sure why Anna liked them at all.

But then everything changed.

She nearly killed Anna. It was an accident, sure, but that even worse. She had nearly killed the person who meant the most to her because she had no control over her own powers. Over her emotions.

The king and queen put an end to all communication, and Elsa was only too willing to oblige. She didn't miss the heartbreak in her younger sibling's eyes when Elsa ignored her. Of course she saw it… but she was not willing to risk Anna's life for some stolen happiness. Not again. She would never, never hurt Anna again, and until she could trust her powers –no, not trust, crush— she would not subject the younger girl to that kind danger.

The princess didn't need anyone to tell her how terrible she was for her to know it. She was a monster. She repeated the words to herself under her breath, quietly, in the privacy of her room, until she believed it herself. Only a monster could hurt people like that. Only a monster had the ability to kill someone with a sweep of the arm.

And she could see it in her parents' eyes. They were afraid. Ever since she struck Anna, the way they acted around her changed. It was too cautious, too conscious. Every step, every move, every word was precisely placed and planned to avoid upsetting their ice-wielding child. What few smiles they gave her were tinged with regret, sadness, and pity. It was that pity and tangible fear which, more than anything, made her withdraw into herself. She stopped accepting any praise, any love, any affection, any physical touch. She shied away from it as if it were the plague – because what if someone touched her, and froze? What if she panicked, and hurt them? What if she couldn't control the frost?

When Anna came to her door, she tried to ignore the small voice outside. At first, it was vigorous, determined, joyful; as if Elsa was only taking a break and would return soon, and she knew it, she knew that, because Elsa would never leave her.

But as the days –and eventually months, then years– dragged on, Anna began to lose faith. She gave up her signature knock rhythm, certain that her sister found it annoying. Found her annoying. Yet, she couldn't bear not to talk to her –the door, rather– so she continued to sit outside. At least once during the day, she would stand or sit outside Elsa's room, talking, babbling about her day, her week, her month. Many times, she wondered aloud why Elsa never opened the door. Why she never replied, or even acknowledged that Anna existed. She pleaded, built herself up, and broke again when the door remained closed.

It took less than a month for Elsa to stop ignoring the younger girl's voice. Greedily, selfishly, she listened, with her ear pressed to the door if Anna was being quiet, and facing away if she was speaking exuberantly. It was the only pleasure she allowed herself, and there was no harm in listening. She never said a word in reply; there was no need to give Anna the false hope that anything would come of it. But she listened. She lived through the feisty redhead, but never spoke a word of it.

The happiness faded. Year after year, Anna's voice became duller. She stopped caring, stopped believing it would all work out. She realized that Elsa wasn't just gone for a week, or a month; she was gone for years. Perhaps forever. And they would never have that close bond ever again.

When the king and queen left on royal business, Elsa didn't know what to do. She had never been without them – it was always too risky for them to leave. The last thing they needed to return to was a frozen castle and death. As Elsa grew older and the lessons progressed, their comfort grew, until they were comfortable enough to leave without worrying that the kingdom would be frozen over when they got back.

The night they informed Elsa that they had to make a trip, and they wouldn't be back for a while, she shook her head in disbelief. They couldn't leave. Who would keep her on track, who would keep her in check? Nobody but her parents could do anything, or even knew anything about her.

Conceal, don't feel.

She bit back the panic enough to nod, swallowing the dread she felt.

The day they left, she asked again, "Do you have to go?" It was one of the first times she had been out of her room in a few months, and she was already so out of place. She had only left the confines of her chamber to see them off.

"You'll be fine, Elsa," her father assured her.

It wasn't until she was alone in her room that night that she realized just how lost she was without her parents. Since the accident, they had been her only contact and the only thing controlling her. How was she supposed to tame her powers without them around to guide her? There was no way that this could work. There was no way she could possibly keep them to herself.

She refused to sleep, convinced something could happen, and spent the entire night pacing the floor, back and forth, repeating, "Conceal, don't feel. Don't feel, don't feel," the whole time. She could feel the panic rising, the fear, the terror. Her heart rate picked up, her breathing became shallow and quick, and it felt like someone was smothering her. Her arms clasped over her abdomen protectively, and she couldn't help sinking to the ground to wait it out. Frost and snow swirled around the room, and it was a good thing the door was locked or it might have spilled into the halls. It was a wonder the windows didn't break.

The blonde tucked her knees up against her chest, buried her face in her hands, and couldn't help the sob that escaped her. She was going to die. And if she didn't die, someone else would.

Some time later –had it been moments? Hours?—she managed to calm down enough to scramble up into her bed, draw the covers up, and curl into a protective ball under them. She didn't need the blankets, but they provided some form of security and comfort, and it was all she had right now.

It was a wonder her tears didn't freeze on her face that night.

And when word reached Arendelle that the royal ship carrying her parents had been lost to a storm out on the ocean, she knew she would never, never open her door for Anna again. The elder girl locked herself away. Her own parents were dead, and why? Because she couldn't control her emotions. Nobody had blamed her to her face –they had hardly seen her to do so, anyway— but the night they left had been clear. It was a day's journey to their destination, and they never made it. It had been a "freak storm" that overturned the ship.

It had been the product of a panic attack that Elsa couldn't control. She would never forgive herself, and she would never allow herself to hurt anyone else. She –and everyone else– was safest when she was locked behind closed doors.

She didn't attend her parents' service. It was too much of a risk. But Anna came to her that night, told her all about it. After the service, she returned to the door every night, usually in tears. It killed Elsa to hear her so heartbroken, but then she reminded herself that the heartbreak was all her fault, and drew up strength enough to keep the door shut.

Some nights, Anna thought she heard movement from behind the door. Those were the nights that Elsa had to do something, anything, to tell Anna she was there, she was listening, and she cared. She couldn't speak. She couldn't open the door. So she made a bit of noise, just enough to tell her sister she was alive and listening.

Sometimes it backfired.

"Elsa… I know you're in there."

It was nearly three in the morning, Elsa figured, but that had never stopped Anna before. She stood, padding to the door, without a sound, and sat, her back against it. It could be three in the morning or three in the afternoon, and she would always go to listen at her door. If nothing else, she craved the younger girl's voice. It was all she had to go on. Once in a while, before the storm that killed her parents, she had seen her sister at special occasions, during which she only stayed long enough to seem proper and polite.

It always surprised her to see how her adopted sister had grown up. She was taller each year, until she finally stopped growing at fifteen. Or it looked that way – Elsa couldn't tell for sure. Her face narrowed out, her hair had gotten longer, and whenever she saw Anna, her hair had been in two braids. For one Christmas, she had stopped using the braids, and gone for an elegant bun. It was more sophisticated. Her chosen color was generally emerald green with gold accents; occasionally, a royal violet.

She still had the same innocence, though. But something was different… more desperate. Anna hadn't lost her childlike traits, but she was so desperate for someone, anyone, that she would babble incessantly to anyone who would listen. As cute as it was –Elsa always pushed that thought away– it was far from sophisticated, and furthermore, a clear development of being locked away so long.

A sigh from the other side of the door snapped her out of her thoughts. "It's been twelve years," she murmured, and she didn't even sound sad or disappointed; she just sounded resigned, numb, indifferent, with a lilt of hope. "I know you won't come out. I know you won't say anything. Hell, you may not even be awake."

Elsa blinked in surprise. Anna rarely swore, and it concerned her.

"I just…" the voice on the other side stopped, and something thudded to the floor. A hand? Something else? "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For… for whatever I did that made you shut me out. For whatever I said or did. I'm so sorry. I wish you'd give me the chance to say it to you, but… whatever I did… it must have been awful, so I don't blame you…"

Her hand was on the door knob before she could say a word, and in her haste, it jiggled a bit. She could hear the breathing on the other side of the door stop, and then the shifting of clothes as Anna stood. "… Elsa?"

Elsa swallowed hard, biting her lip and willing herself not to make a sound. Giving Anna false hope would only make it so much worse.

"Elsa…" This time it was quieter, nearly a whisper, followed by silence. "You're there. I can hear you breathing." Oh, was she really breathing that loudly? How stupid of her… "Please, Elsa. Just tell me you can hear me. That you know I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – that is, I wouldn't have – I just wanted to be with you all the time because you were so cool and I just…" She sighed again, stopping herself. "I'm so sorry I got so annoying. I must've been such a pest."

Elsa paused for one heart beat, then two. Nothing hurt her more than Anna hurting. She had to do something, anything to consol her the slightest bit. For the first time in years, she spoke just a few words. "I can hear you." They were soft, tentative, unsure. She hadn't used her voice in a long time, and she wasn't sure exactly how it worked anymore. "It was never your fault, Anna. It was mine."

The sharp gasp she heard outside the door instantly told her it was a terrible idea to have said anything at all. "Elsa?" Her name came out on a breath of relief, terror, and hope, and Elsa stepped back from the door as if she had been struck. False hope. She had given Anna false hope.

"It was for your own good," she said quickly, sharply, maybe a bit too loudly. Then, softly, "… Good night, Anna."

"What?" Anna asked incredulously. "No! Don't you dare – you can't – please, Elsa! You can't just give me a cryptic answer like that and leave again! You just can't!"

I can. I can and I must.

For over an hour, Anna stood outside her door, pleading and screaming and crying, trying everything she could with renewed vigor to hear that voice just one more time. Her heart broke all over again when the door stayed shut and no more words came, and she was sobbing with her forehead pressed against the door before she finally gave up and returned to her own room. A murmured, "Good night, Elsa," was all she said.

The visits stopped after that. No more knocks. No more talking. She had broken Anna one time too many, and now she was getting what she deserved. In a way, she was glad. At least this way, Anna might stay away. It was for her own good.

And Elsa would tell herself that until the day she died.