Oh boy. It's been a while since I've visited this fandom.

I'm feeling fluffy and I love this song. You know what time it is. This drabble style fic will detail the lives of the Arendelle monarchs over the course of two weeks, alternating POV between Anna and Else. And let's pretend the events of the movie didn't happen while we're at it. Ready?

Disclaimer: Frozen belongs to Disney and Waiting For Love to Aviici. I own neither. Thanks go to Espada Harribel for giving me her feedback and criticism.

'Where there's a will, there's a way' kind of beautiful

And every night has its day, so magical

And if there's love in this life there's no obstacle that can't be defeated

For every tyrant a tear for the vulnerable

In every lost soul the bones of the miracle

For every dreamer a dream—

We're unstoppable with something to believe in

—Dreamer—

The most difficult part of being a monarch isn't what you'd expect.

It's not the endless appointments with advisors, other monarchs, troubled civilians, diplomats, party planners, festival committees, ballroom dance instructors, private tutors, etiquette trainers, hair dressers, tailors—ugh.

It's not forcing a smile on my face even when I feel far removed from happy.

It's not being stuck in princess limbo, unable to receive a proper coronation until my 25th birthday because there's already a queen in place.

It's not being treated like a porcelain doll: too pretty to keep hidden away, but too fragile to allow to make my own decisions regarding /my/ life.

It's not the ever-present pressure of knowing people expect more from me and running myself ragged in an attempt to /be/ more. Prim, pretty, endlessly pleasant, selfless, intelligent, patient as a saint, just shy of perfect, but still approachable, fair, but not too lenient-the list goes on.

It's not even the stress dreams that sometimes keep me up at night and the mile-long days that follow.

For me, at least, the most difficult part of co-ruling Arendelle is getting some alone time with my partner: the aforementioned Queen of Arendelle.

My beloved sister.

My Elsa.

Phew... Admitting it, even to myself, is still nerve-wracking. We "came out" to each other almost three years ago and our relationship is still the kingdom's best kept secret—one notch above Elsa's icy powers. She still struggles with them at times, but has been more forthcoming about that struggle-about her burden-with me. I never really agreed with the whole "conceal, don't feel" thing. Some days, she even seems ready to share her secret with the world, though she never quite goes through with it.

Baby steps. One thing at a time.

I hate to be selfish and I try to keep my bratty, little sister need to be doted upon in check, but I crave her affections. I've spent entire days just trying to catch her eye and coax forward that slow, sexy, brilliant smile she gives me when it's just the two of us. I've gone to ridiculous lengths—waited in the pouring rain, ridden halfway across the kingdom to procure her favourite sweets—just to extend what little time we have together. I love Elsa and unfortunately that's a sentiment shared by the hundreds of people within the kingdom and by droves of suitors from other kingdoms.

Suitors who I can't help but loathe because the advisors keep insisting that Elsa "isn't getting any younger and should seriously think about settling down." I know the polite interest Elsa shows is part of the monarch facade, but I can't control the ugly stirrings of jealousy every time she gets courted. I do, too, but I'm young enough that I can get away with dismissing their unwanted attentions. For now.

My blonde, gorgeous sister isn't so lucky and the very real pressure to procure an heir sometimes makes her retreat inside herself, into that contemplative silence that even I can't break her out of. The way her eyebrows draw together and her lips curve downwards at the edges makes me want to kiss her until her smile is back, but in mixed company I have to settle for taking her hand in mine and reminding her with gentle pressure that I'm here for her.

I always will be.

Time is a monarch's most precious resource. While the royal coffers may be full to the brim with all that glitters, money can't buy a quiet evening curled up with a book or a stroll through a sunny field. Leisure activities that the average person takes for granted become guilty pleasures when your life follows an airtight schedule. I imagine it's difficult to even find time to breathe, but Elsa does everything with such grace that it's easy to forget that the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

I do what I can to lessen that burden, but I'm not quite as good at managing royal affairs as she is. The royal retainers are always quick to remind me of that with pitying looks and hushed whispers. Just wait until my coronation. Elsa may not notice—or maybe that's just her big heart finding the best in people—but they're a rotten bunch. Mean-spirited and greedy, they want my sister to rule with an iron fist rather than a gentle hand. They're constantly pushing her, trying to get her to see their way, and she's constantly pushing back, albeit gently, and insisting that she appreciates their input, but /this/ is how things are going to be done.

Have I mentioned I love that woman?

The monarch facade is a mask we wear to maintain the peace, protect personal interests, and sometimes just hold it all together. In the face of brash young rulers threatening to crush Arendelle under foot, farmers bearing bad news right near the end of the harvest season, apothecaries reporting in on new, widespread sicknesses, or the demands of those who don't understand that their queen is doing her best I've never once seen her frown. She maintains a calm that's cooler than ice, her fair features arranged into a regal, impassive mask that can cow even the angriest of aggressors.

It's an expression I don't ever want to be on the receiving end of because that's the face of someone who conceals rather than feels. Before our parents died, she used to sequester herself in her room, refusing anyone entry, and it had killed me. Younger me didn't only miss having a playmate, she also worried for the ray of sunshine that retreated behind the clouds.

I can't go on without the warmth that Elsa brings into my life. I refuse to. While she may have come out of her shell, she's still prone to retreat into it in the face of adversity. I know it's a coping mechanism, but it isn't healthy. And when she shuts me out, I don't know what to do with myself. Like a loyal hound, I trail behind her, making myself readily available for even the smallest acknowledgement. Anything to ease the painful pressure beneath my breast.

When we were younger, Elsa and I had all the time in the world. We were inseparable, our every waking hour spent coming up with ways to surround ourselves with a fantasy of our own making. I don't know about her, but /my/ fantasies always included us living happily ever after... like the princes and princesses from bedtime stories.

I would give anything to go back to that. The bond we share as sisters has bloomed into something deeper and more meaningful, but with that depth came a careful distance. If anyone found out about us, Elsa is convinced that there would be an uproar. Who had ever heard of two women, much less sisters, loving each other in the way a man loves a woman?

I want what's best for my sister—at any personal cost. That's why I'll be here, waiting at a careful distance, until she finds the time and we can be alone.

We can be ourselves.