Chapter Text
The first thing Anna sees when she opens her eyes is the navy blue canopy hanging over the bed. She frowns, confused - it’s not her bed, the sheets are blue and the pillow is lumpy in all the wrong places. She finds she’s laid out on her back rather than curled up like she usually is when she wakes. She pushes herself up on her forearms and looks around the dimly lit room.
“You’re awake-” a voice says from off to the side. Anna shrieks, startling backward in surprise. Both her hands fly up and she cries out again, this time from a deep, sharp pain in her left shoulder.
Hans, it’s Hans - her brain is sending her too much information she can’t make sense of it - her legs are tangled in the bed sheets and it’s Hans rumpled and sitting in an armchair at her bedside.
“What are you doing here?!” she demands, pulling blankets one-handed up to her chin - she’s in her nightgown! - “How did you get in here?! Guard!”
He had started to reach for her but at her squalling he has pulled back, both hands up in front of his chest, and he speaks in a low soothing tone, “Anna, Anna, Anna, it’s okay. You’re okay. Anna.”
No one has burst through the door at her cry, and he’s backing off still, looking so odd with unkempt hair and wrapped up in a dressing gown, so Anna brings her knees protectively up to her chest and demands, “Where am I?”
“You’re home, Anna,” he says, frowning, concerned. “In our room..?”
“Our room? What do you mean in our room! You get out of here, how did you even-”
His mouth drops open and his hands move to clutch at his chin. “Oh, Anna. Tell me you remember. Anna, please.” She can’t quite make out his face in the gloom, but he sounds just about as shaken as she feels.
There is more hesitance in her voice than she wants when she replies, “...remember what?”
He drops into the armchair and makes a sound as though all the air has been punched out of him. “The doctor said this could happen, but I didn’t believe him. No, no, no...” he trails off, miserably.
“What!” she fairly snaps, urgent dread coiling in her stomach.
He looks up at her, watching closely. “You had an accident, Anna. You hit your head in the stairwell. You’ve been asleep for days. The doctor said there was a risk, but I didn’t imagine - ! Anna, what is the last thing you remember?”
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
“You,” she fairly hisses, puffing up in anger, “you were being taken back to the Southern Isles. Elsa was queen again and the fjord was back to normal. The gates were open. And - and…”
A void, where memories should be. She sets her jaw, concentrating. What happened after that day? They had dinner together, Kristoff was going to stay… Elsa, they were going to properly talk… what next? What happened after?
A pulsing headache rises from the side of her head. She reaches up to put pressure on the side of her temple and pulls her hand away with a pained gasp.
“Try not to touch it,” Hans cautions, uselessly. He’s still watching her from his chair but he hasn’t come any closer, hasn’t pushed her for more answers. She probes cautiously at the source of the pain. She finds bandages circling her temple, holding puffy gauze over her left ear. She pushes again and receives another sharp flash of pain.
“Do you have a mirror?” she asks, shakily.
He jumps to his feet and hurries across the room to an armoire. Outside the window is still dark, she doesn’t know what time it is, but she can see by the lamp light that the surface is set up for a woman to make herself up; a large mirror, hair brushes and powder boxes. He rummages in a draw then returns with a smaller, handheld mirror and holds it out without encroaching on her space. She takes it and lifts it up, peering squint-eyed into her reflection - the bandage is large and she can see the shadowy edge of a dark bruise at her hairline. No wonder she wasn’t sleeping on her side! She brings a hand up to inspect closer when the glint of an unfamiliar set of rings catches her eye. The mirror drops to the bed, discarded as she holds her own hand, inspecting what is very clearly a wedding ring and an engagement ring.
“Ah,” says Hans, drawing her attention back. He clears his throat and smiles, an anxious, apologetic expression. “It’s been four years, Anna. Since - the fjord.”
Anna swallows around her pounding heart. “Who - who am I married to?” she asks the man who has been watching over her bedside while she slept.
“Anna…” he says, gesturing broadly.
She shakes her head determinedly. “No,” she says, scooting to the far side of the bed, ignoring the way her shoulder pulls painfully and her head throbs at the motion, “No, I need to talk to Elsa.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” he says, hurrying around the bed to meet her, hands outstretched as if preparing to catch her should she fall, “Anna. We’re not in Arendelle. We don’t live there. I’m so sorry, I'm sure it’s confusing.”
“I’m in the Southern Isles?” she nearly shouts, now scooting the other way, avoiding him.
“No, no, I’m, uh, I was banished, after - listen, will you please lie back down? I’m very nervous of your condition and the physician said to make sure you rested.”
She maneuvers backward, ignoring his outstretched hand, so she can lean against the headboard. Her shoulder had begun to shake with the strain of supporting her, she rolls it a little and gasps in pain.
“I don’t understand,” she whispers, near tears. She hurts, and everything is confusing, and she’s barefoot under the blankets and for some reason that makes it all so much more overwhelming.
Hans sits on the side of the bed. Anna draws her legs in so they are in no danger of touching. He scoots deliberately away.
“We should talk tomorrow. Maybe when you wake up it will all be there…”
“I want to talk now,” she argues around and yawn.
“It’s late,” he counters, “you need rest.”
“Tell the short version, then,” she says, staring straight at him.
He sighs. “Very well, the short version. My father banished me, as I said, and I was sent back to Arendelle for you and your sister to pass judgement. Luckily for me, Arendelle does not execute people, and neither of you were fond of locking me in a dungeon for the rest of my life, so I was put up in a house under guard. You and I formed a connection, and then…" he gestures again, this time at her left hand.
She frowns - a very short version. "How did that happen! I wouldn't ever-!" He winces, looking away, and abruptly Anna stops talking. "Sorry," she offers, "just…"
"It took time," is the only explaination he offers, smiling at her apologetically.
He still hasn't answered her questions. "What about... Kristoff?" she asks, "what happened to him?" Last she remembers - a blush - a searing kiss and a promise to stick around.
"The ice harvester?" Hans shrugs, "He went back up the mountain. Why?"
She frowns. She doesn’t remember. Concentrating just brings her headache to a crescendo. That can't be right. And yet here she is. She wants more information, but she’s scared and she doesn’t want to keep talking to him. The weight of sleep pulls her back down to the bed.
For a moment it looks like he is heading back to his bedside armchair, but she sits back up, wary as he approaches. He nods, tells her goodnight, and she collapses back onto the bed when the door clicks shut behind him.
Perhaps it's all a strange dream. Either way, she will get more answers tomorrow.
{ - }
The woman who shows up in the morning is considerably older, and Anna feels very awkward in the her presence. She bustles about the room, running through a routine that may well be long-established, but Anna feels stiff and out of place, vulnerable in her night clothes and bandages in the face of this utter stranger in her bedchamber.
"I'm sorry," she ventures eventually, "I hope Hans filled you in…"
The woman stops, coming to stand at the end of Anna's bed.
"Of course he did, Princess. I hope you're feeling better this morning."
"Oh yes, much, thank you," Anna responds, automatically. She, in fact, still has a throbbing headache and must have rolled onto her side in her sleep because her injured shoulder is aching horribly, "though I'm afraid I don't, uh, seem to remember, still."
The woman says, "Oh, how awful," with a sympathetic expression.
"Right. So I'm afraid I don't actually know your name…"
"Bertha, Princess." She does a little bob at both knee and neck.
"Oh, no," Anna rushes to say, "honestly, no need for any of that. Just Anna, is fine."
It is strange, though - why does it feel like Bertha is meeting Anna for the first time too?
“Have you been with the household long?” she asks, confused.
“Coming up on two years now, Miss Anna.”
Anna files the information away, adding to her vague sense of a timeline. It seems a long time for them to still have such a formal relationship...
“Is that how long we have been at this house?”
“Oh, um. Well l, you were settled here before I joined the household. I don’t know exactly…” Bertha looks to the door, seeming agitated.
“Not to worry,” Anna reassures her, “I'll just ask Hans. Is he going to be coming by, do you suppose?”
“I haven’t seen him yet today, but I’m sure he’ll be along. Will you be getting dressed today, do you think?” Bertha asks.
Anna feels nervous about seeing him. She doesn't know if she can trust him still, but he is likely her best source of answers for now - this poor woman is clearly trying to transition quickly away from question time. But Anna has never been one to lounge in bed even when ill, so she's happy to go along with the new topic.
Bertha moves to the wardrobe and begins to select and lay out Anna’s clothes. Usually Anna likes to choose her own clothes in the morning, surely Bertha knows that though - it must be because she is injured, so Anna doesn’t correct the assumption.
Anna hesitates, then decides to push on anyway. “If you don’t mind my asking - how do you find Hans, as an employer?”
Bertha looks up from unhooking a mess of buttons down the back of an unfamiliar blue dress. “Oh, very fair. The both of you. Wallace and I both appreciate our positions here.”
“Wallace?” asks Anna, scooting to the edge of the bed, being mindful of her swimming head and aching shoulder.
“Wallace manages the kitchen, and the groundskeeping,” Bertha explains.
They take a minute to get Anna’s nightdress over her head, the motion pulls her shoulder horribly and repeating it to get her arm in the sleeve of the new dress leaves Anna winded and seeing stars.
Once Anna is recovered she stands and turns, bracing on the bedpost and Bertha sets to work on buttoning the back.
“How did I hurt myself so badly?” she asks.
“You slipped in the back stairwell. You were alone, and the stone is quite worn in some places. I’ve nearly fallen myself a few times.”
“Well we should have carpets put down, perhaps.”
“I’m sure your husband will see to it.”
Anna frowns, uncomfortable with the reference to her apparent marriage, but she can't exactly argue the point.
“So I was just found alone at the bottom of a stone stairwell?” Behind her, Bertha hmms in agreement. Anna can picture it in her mind - not a memory, but more as if she were hovering above herself - a bloodied face and her arm laying at an unnatural angle. She’s probably lucky to be alive, really.
Bertha finishes the buttons and steps away. “Will you be needing help with your hair?”
Anna doesn’t like the thought of trying to raise her arm to the top of her head, so she agrees. They move to the vanity and Anna sits, suddenly face-to-face with herself in the clear daylight.
The dark bruising peeking out from her hairline and the bandage holding the gauze in place makes her look quite shocking, actually. She can see more bruised skin along the collar of her dress, and she traces it from her shoulder to the base of her neck. Her injured arm is stiff and throbbing, the skin sore and painful to the touch. Dislocated, Bertha said. The doctor had reset it while she slept.
Unsettled, Anna peers beyond all that, trying to find evidence of those missing years - she doesn’t visibly appear older than her memories suggest. Her hair is cut slightly differently and it has grown longer, reaching further down her back. Behind her, Bertha clears her throat, cutting short Anna’s self-examination. Embarrassed, she sits straight so the woman can get to work.
Bertha’s touch isn’t ungentle, but it is certainly brisk. She brushes Anna’s hair out and twists it up into a rather tighter bun than Anna would have. Anna supposes she must manage her own hair each day, so Bertha may not have had much practice at it.
“I suppose something must be done about the bandages,” Anna wonders, “shouldn’t gauze be changed every so often?”
“I’m sure your husband will be able to help with that. I wouldn’t want to disturb the wound.”
“Of course.” Anna bites at her lip for a moment, before screwing up the courage to ask a very inappropriate question, “How, um... well, forgive me, but how do you find Hans and myself, as a couple?”
She watches Bertha’s face in the mirror. She frowns, a little, shifts uncomfortably. To be expected, Anna is way out of line.
“Very much in love, Princess. And happy in each other’s company.”
Anna blushes and ducks her head. It is a fine answer, but she cannot make it feel true.
She needs to speak with Hans.
{ - }
Anna spends some time familiarizing herself with her bedroom. She doesn’t find any evidence that she shares it with her husband, which is both a profound relief and also makes the place feel quite sad and empty. She has never liked to have her own bedroom, and had imagined in marriage that she would share. Not that she isn’t grateful for the space today, however.
She investigates a shelf of books and a desk, but finds no letters. She’s apparently grown more mature in her reading taste over the years - her old favorites have been replaced with proper classics, the kind of thing her tutors had to bribe her to crack open when she was a child. She runs her fingers down the spines, trying to remember reading any of them more recently. Nothing comes.
Her window overlooks the front of the house and she settles on the bench there, watching the birds. Illness has never suited Anna - she likes to be outdoors, or at least in company. From what she can tell, their house is very isolated, surrounded by dense trees and distant mountains. Not a single coach has gone by while she has been watching, though it may be Sunday for all she knows.
Hans comes by around mid-morning. He looks odd in the daylight, lingering and uncertain in her doorway. He isn’t wearing his coronation suit - why would he be? - but it’s strange, to see him in a comparatively casual blue suit. Anna supposes she must have seen him in a whole range of different attire, but her brain isn’t supplying anything at the moment. Just a white suit and a punchable face. She waits, unnerved still in his presence.
“I’ve asked that brunch be set up in the conservatory,” he suggests, offering an arm, “I thought we might share tea and talk?”
Something they do often, she wonders, or a special occasion on account of his wife having become an untrusting stranger overnight?
Anna’s head spins as she gets to her feet, but she does her best to hide it - she’s not going to miss a chance to see more of the house. Taking his arm takes another mental push; she remembers so clearly the way she had hung off him all night at the coronation, embarrassingly eager. Now though, she’s braced and tense as she rests her hand on the inside of his elbow. Waiting.
Nothing happens, but he guides her through a hallway, down a set of stairs (a different one, obviously), past a drawing room and into the conservatory. It’s not a big house at all, in fact it is one of the smaller homes Anna has ever stayed at, but she doesn’t mind that. The place just has an uncared for air that she can’t quite put her finger on. There doesn’t seem to be enough furniture to make proper use of all their rooms, the pictures on the walls are too dreary for her taste, and the wallpapering strikes her as deeply out of fashion. Though she’d never admit it, the whole effect makes her wonder about their financial situation: if their stone staircases are bare and their walls need re-papering, if their household cook also manages the gardens…? Her dowry would have been enough to set them up for life, surely?
The conservatory is very nice though, there’s little beads of water along the glazing, like it must have been raining earlier in the morning, and a lovely silver tea set sits, still steaming, waiting for them on a tray. Hans guides her to a seat and sits in the chair opposite, which is considerate of him, as a husband would typically sit beside his wife. He pours the tea, citing her hurt shoulder, while Anna looks out into the garden and chews her lip.
They make light conversation - he asks how she slept and how she got along that morning.
“I met Bertha,” Anna says, for want of a conversation starter, “she seemed -” Anna hesitates on the word nice, “well, I didn’t get the impression we were close.”
Hans waves dismissively, “I’m sure she was just on edge due to your condition. She was very concerned when I spoke with her this morning. And she’s very formal, in general.”
“Yes…” Anna agrees, halfheartedly. “Just - usually I become quite good friends with everyone working in the household.” She doesn’t like to mention it, but typically her personal attendants are much closer to her own age, as well. She can't imagine two years with Bertha, still so stiff around each other after all that time.
“Would you like me to speak with her about her attitude?” he offers, seeming totally sincere.
“Oh, no, no, don’t!” Anna can’t imagine anything worse - she’s had many a servant’s child offered up as a not-Elsa playmate. It became more excruciating the older she got.
He rests a hand over hers and stares into her eyes. “I want to make sure you are comfortable, Anna.”
She avoids his gaze. The real issue is that it’s him that makes her uncomfortable. She is struggling, still, to believe they are married. She wants to interrogate him, she wants proof, but he has been considerate and concerned and she can only imagine how painful it would be to have the woman you love wake up one day and insist that she could never truly grow to love you.
He offers her the cup and she takes it, thanking him. It’s hot still, so she blows on it. It’s quite an awkward situation. There is a newspaper folded under the tea tray. She turns her head to try and read it. Hans catches her and laughs lightly, shifting the tray, and handing the newspaper to her.
“It’s yesterday’s. I can have today’s fetched, if you’d like.”
Anna barely hears him. She sets her hot tea down on the table and holds the newspaper in two shaking hands.
September 23rd, 1847
Last she remembers it was July. July of 1843. Four years, four years - lost. It’s true. The print blurs through a veil of sudden tears, she feels herself choking and spluttering, her heart trying to beat through her ribs.
Four years... her head spins.
Hans leans over to pull the newspaper away. He holds her hands instead and ducks to meet her eye.
“Anna, my love. Ask me your questions. I’m not going to be offended. I understand that you’re confused.”
“How,” she bursts, seizing his offered hand with her own, “how did we - ?”
“Well,” he says, “we had a connection, at the Coronation. That was all real, for me. I asked you to marry me and you said yes, you remember all of this?” she nods, flushing slightly. To her, it sounds so childish and insipid, but she can remember feeling carried away by the romance of it at the time, “You remember everything with your sister? How she froze Arendelle and ran away? You left to track her down, but you weren’t there when we finally located her in that ice palace in the mountains.”
“You attacked her,” Anna says, trying to reconcile Elsa's explination with Hans’ retelling. She pulls her hands back, suddenly uncomfortable with the warmth of his touch.
He shakes his head. “You had disappeared, the town was still frozen, she was emotional, unstable, we were trying to get her to come back peacefully.”
Unbidden, Anna remembers the cold hit to her chest. She nods.
“She escaped, the storm seemed to be getting worse. She ran out onto the ice and I thought - she can’t be reasoned with, she can’t stop it, she can’t be kept safe until she calms down, it seemed like to save Arendelle, I would have to…” he looks up, now, straight into Anna’s face, “and then you came out of nowhere, I never would have - !”
Anna frowns. He seems sincere, but he has left something out and she cannot leave it unsaid.
“But, you wouldn’t kiss me,” she argues, frowning, feeling the dual chill of the memory, “you doused the fire and left me to freeze. You said - you said, horrible things.”
He looks uncomfortable, now. He reaches for her, but she shifts further out of his reach.
“Anna, sweetheart, you were saying something about a frozen heart and true love’s kiss. It didn’t make any sense. I regret that I was harsh, but it was a stressful situation. I left you in the palace, surrounded by servants and guards, you weren’t in danger of freezing - not until you went out onto the fjord, anyway...”
Anna feels wrongfooted, but she doesn’t doubt her memory - for her it was only yesterday, after all.
“No,” she insists, hurt and angry, “no, you said no one would love me, and I was freezing, but you doused the fire!”
She can barely repeat it back to him without ducking her head, but he stares right into her eyes all the while.
“I’m sorry Anna, it’s been years, I don’t remember exactly what I said.” He leans away now, bringing up one hand to brush at his face, “You know, it's funny, the first time we had this conversation you were more upset about me trying to kill your sister.” He chuckles a little.
The comment stings. It’s the first truly cruel thing he’s said to her since she woke up last night. She swallows bile and politeness and asks him, “Is that how you speak to your wife, then?”
For a moment she thinks he looks furious, but his expression morphs into something open and vulnerable and deeply sad.
“No, Anna, no. I’m so sorry,” he actually slides forward so he is on his knees before her, “I shouldn’t have said that. It has been a very stressful few days since your injury and I have hardly slept, though that’s no excuse at all.” He does catch both her hands in his own now, taking a second to brush his slender fingers over her rings. He looks up into her face, “I love you, I’m just worried.”
She’s startled to see this side of him suddenly, thrown off balance by the sincerity in his face.
“No, it’s okay,” she assures him, “I’m not trying to be difficult.”
She’s relieved when he gets up off the ground, though she feels a little crowded when he slips onto the cushion beside her.
“You haven’t had any of your tea yet,” he points out, “would you like me to call for something else? I’ve not been a very good husband this morning, but at least I can keep you hydrated.”
“No thank you,” she says, collecting what is now her lukewarm cup.
“Scone?” he asks, gesturing at the rest of the tray, “butter? strawberry jelly?”
Anna feels drained and off-kilter, she’s tired again and her head is still hurting. She doesn’t like strawberry jelly, but it's an insignificant factor in the face of everything that’s happened.
“Just butter,” she says, “and I’d like to take it in my room.”
He tries to protest; he offers to take her out into the garden, but she won’t be swayed. She wants rest, and time to herself. She needs to process.
He promises to have the tray brought up and walks her back up to her room, a steady elbow grounding her as they move slowly through the unfamiliar house.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asks once she has been safely returned.
“Yes, actually,” she says, “I didn’t find any of my letters or diaries or anything, do you know where I keep them?”
She seems to have caught him by surprise and he fumbles when he answers, “Uh, no, actually, I’m afraid I can’t say where those types of things are kept...”
The answer strikes her as odd - does she keep her correspondence hidden from her husband? He certainly seems embarrassed to admit it.
“Alright,” she allows, “if you can have Bertha bring the newspaper up, I’d like to spend some time reading it. Oh, and some parchment and a pen, if we have any.”
“Are you sure? You don’t want to strain yourself…” but he catches her resolute expression and relents. “Of course. Anything else?”
“Yes, I was thinking about my bandages. Do they need to be changed or...?”
“No,” he explains, “the physician said to leave them. Not to touch anything and give it time to heal.”
That’s a relief, at least. She didn’t particularly relish the idea of having him poke about there anyway.
Anna bids Hans a good day, and leaves him out in the hallway. She’s dizzy again, as she turns away from the closed door - she probably could have done with an assisting hand on her way back across the room, but she manages. It’s not the most dignified landing on the bed, but she has herself settled by the time Bertha arrives with the tray.
Anna is alone again before long. The room is warm enough, but she's cold under her blankets. He doused the fire, she remembers sleepily. Kristoff had seemed so worried that she assumed it was obvious she was freezing, but Hans - hadn't noticed?
The blue stone of her engagement ring glimmers at her. She closes her eyes, hiding from the reality of it, and sleep takes her once more.