Cold Hearths, an iceburns oneshot

Author's Note: Just a short, conceptual piece I concocted over the course of the past two days, so please send questions and replies if you have any. I'll do my best to answer them. Otherwise, please enjoy!

Fanart here: http://calenheniel.tumblr.com/frozen

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She's not sure how long it's been since she first started reading—it could have been a few minutes, or hours, by then.

She always loses track of time in that particular room of the castle; she wonders if that's because she rarely visits it—or because anyone rarely visits it, these days.

Anna wanted to have it boarded up.

Her gaze is drawn from the book in her lap to the fire, still crackling in the hearth a few feet away.

I guess I haven't been here that long.

Her blue eyes are fixed on the flames, red and orange and bright with life, and even though she's always been a creature of the ice and cold, there's something hypnotic about the way they dance over the wood kindling—something that's unlike anything she could conjure.

"The book's not holding your interest, Your Majesty?"

She shrugs at the question, her gaze never leaving the fire.

"I just got distracted, that's all."

He's just on the periphery of her vision, now, as he circles around the back of her armchair before sitting in the one opposite, his eyes likewise attracted to the only source of warmth and light in the room.

He smiles a little. "You get distracted a lot whenever you come here, it seems."

She finally turns to regard him, her cheeks lightly pink with ire.

"You know why."

His green irises stare back at her, and there's a coldness in them that makes her shiver.

"I do."

Her lips purse at the short answer, but she doesn't pursue the matter any further, looking back into the glow of the hearth.

We've been over it so many times, after all.

She sighs at that, resigned, and there's silence for a while before he speaks again.

"What were you thinking about, Your Majesty?"

Unexpectedly, slowly, a smile creeps onto her lips. "I was wondering if it were possible to be born with fire powers."

He chuckles at the idea. "Well, why not?"

Her eyes warm at his laughter, small as it is. She always finds it comforting, somehow.

Reminds me of Papa's.

"Perhaps you wish you had that set of powers, instead?"

She scoffs at the question, though she knows it's just as facetious as everything else he ever asks her.

"Good Lord, no. Ice is difficult enough to control."

He laughs a little again and rises from the chair, standing by the hearth. The flames throw into sharp relief the impeccable whiteness of his jacket and trousers, the intricate patterns stitched into the sides of his garments, the silkiness of his light green cravat, the red sash over his chest.

His gloved hands hover over the fire. "I suppose you're right, really."

She watches him curiously, wondering how he's not burning hot, standing so close to it; then, when she remembers, she reddens, feeling stupid for getting caught up, just like she always does.