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From the age of, oh, maybe five, Elsa knew she was going to be Queen of Arendelle one day.
She was the eldest daughter of the reigning king, she was the firstborn, the heir; however you put it, Elsa was the one the kingdom would look to when her father was too old to lead or eventually passed away, whichever came first. Elsa spent much of her younger years in lessons, being taught proper etiquette, the names of foreign dignitaries and trading partners, and the laws of Arendelle and how they worked. The burden was heavy, the threat of responsibility terrifying, but Anna would usually interrupt these serious lectures to drag Elsa off to build a snowman or race each other around the halls on bikes, and the childish play would wipe all thoughts of queendom from Elsa’s mind.
After the accident, there was no joyful respite from the looming threat of leadership. The hours of Elsa’s days that weren’t spent worrying or pacing, whispering harsh mantras under her breath, were spent in front of history books, official documents, maps and royal decrees. When her tutor (who only came once a month, stayed very briefly, and never entered Elsa’s perpetually frosty room) wasn’t assigning an essay on some former king or another, she would be reading Arendelle’s histories, the diaries of former rulers that were kept in the Great Library, any information on Arendelle she could get her hands on.
By Elsa’s fifteenth birthday, she knew what would be expected of her, inside and out. She could recite Arendelle’s constitution as well as the kingdom’s juries, she was well acquainted with the detailed maps of the kingdom, the North Mountain, and the surrounding forests, and she knew by heart the unspoken rules of Arendelle kingship, or queenship, as it were: be responsible, be righteous, and, of course, be married by at least a year after your coronation.
As a child, the prospect of love frightened Elsa. Anna was the one who liked stories of dashing princes and beautiful maidens. Elsa much preferred to hear of her parents’ pasts, the kingdom she lived in; anything but a boring old love story. As she grew older, romance, love, all of it seemed so much more distant than it had even when she was a child; her powers were only growing, and with them her fear of even touching someone else, much less courting them, or, heaven forbid, having children. Iduna and Agnarr promised her it would be an issue for another time; perhaps by her coronation Anna might have married and produced plenty of suitable heirs. In any case, it was certainly the least of Elsa’s problems.
And so Elsa pushed love, arranged or otherwise, out of her mind. In fact, until the day her parents died, she had fallen into somewhat of a routine. She spent her days studying, practicing, worrying, and trying her best not to freeze anything. It all went to hell when she learned of the news: Queen Iduna and King Agnarr’s ship had gone down in the Southern Sea. They would not be returning to Arendelle.
That night, Elsa cried frozen tears, and didn’t even care to wave away the flurries that fell from above her head. When she woke to a frozen room, suspended snow all around, she couldn’t even raise herself to clean up; she only sank further into the pillows, unshed tears stuck to her eyelids, and couldn’t stop her mind from running through all of the ways her life had suddenly changed.
Across the next three years, there wasn’t much time for thoughts of suitors or marriage or heirs; by now, everyone knew the Queen of Arendelle would be untouchable until her twenty-first birthday, and when the day finally dawned, Elsa’s mind was too crowded with fears, reservations, and panic to be overly worried about a future king.
Even after the Great Thaw, once it was certain that Queen Elsa of Arendelle, the Snow Queen herself, was here to stay, Elsa had far too much on her plate to think about finding a husband. There was life with Anna, first and foremost. Though she had been too proud (or scared) to admit it, Elsa had dearly missed her spitfire of a little sister, her other half. Now, with the gates open, and the doors between them too, there was no more reason to deny Anna a morning in the gardens, or an afternoon out among the townspeople, or a trip up to see the trolls for Kristoff’s birthday.
There was that, too: suddenly, a burly but sweet ice harvester, a talking snowman, and a reindeer had taken up residence in Elsa’s home. And yes, she loved them dearly, and yes, she had magical ice powers and was probably not one to talk about strange people or living situations, but the whole thing was definitely an adjustment. And then there were her people – the fact that her people, who somehow, after being plunged into a seemingly endless eternal winter, still thought she was good, still bowed to her when she walked by, still looked at her with respect and happiness in their eyes, well that… that was beyond Elsa’s wildest imaginings, something she never could have dreamt up in all her years alone.
And so, for three years, Elsa worked on getting her life back together. She restored Arendelle to the glory it had held before the gates closed, she restored her family to the happiness it had held before Anna’s accident, and she did her best to restore herself, to become a whole person again, instead of a shell made of ice.
It was difficult, this becoming-a-person thing, so Anna had come up with a plan. Step one: don’t hide your powers. Well, that ship had left the fjord long ago, Elsa thought, but the spirit of the thing remained: Anna wanted Elsa to be proud of who she was, inside and out. And, for the most part, she was. She no longer feared she might freeze off a limb if she touched someone the wrong way, and with Arendelle’s monthly Ice Skating Days, she was afforded plenty of opportunities to exercise her abilities. It took time for her to warm up, per se, to using her powers without fear, but Anna was there by her side, and it felt nice to let herself go every once in a while.
Then was step two: let people help you. That one was a bit more difficult; Elsa was naturally very driven, focused, and she didn’t like to let others shoulder burdens she herself was capable of handling, thank you very much. But being queen was challenging on its best days, and without some delegation, Elsa might have succumbed to the pressures. She let Anna deal with the interpersonal relations in the town, something her warm and friendly younger sister was much better at than her, and begrudgingly allowed Kristoff to help out with goods and distribution within Arendelle. She took on foreign relations and trade, and as a system, it worked pretty well. Well enough, in fact, that all thoughts of finding a partner to rule almost disappeared from Elsa’s mind.
On the one year anniversary of the coronation, the thought tickled at her, and she spent the morning in her study regarding her mother and father’s portrait with a sort of intense curiosity and characteristic furrow of her brow. Sure, the unspoken rules of Arendelle said that the queen should be married by one year after her coronation, but they were unspoken, not legally binding, and besides, did the unspoken rules of Arendelle say anything about ice magic or talking snowmen or reindeer living in the castle or any of the other countless rules Anna and Elsa had already broken?
The thing was, Elsa didn’t particularly want to marry. Her life was difficult enough without a husband to think about, to have to… interact with, and do things for, and all of that business that came with being romantically… entangled with someone. And, well, the thought of children running around the castle, at least Elsa’s own, seemed like something out of a nightmare. No, every time she thought of herself beside some tall, handsome-ish prince or dignitary, an involuntary shiver ran down her spine, and she just simply… couldn’t do it.
She wrote the twisting in her stomach off as fear, when Kristoff put a casual arm around Anna, when she watched young couples pass, starry-eyed and tangled in one another, underneath the ramparts of the castle. It was only discomfort with something she knew she couldn’t avoid forever, that was all.
She tried her best to forget about it, and went on to Anna’s third rule: let yourself be happy. Oh, did she try. She held events and festivals for the people of Arendelle, she bested attempts from Weselton (Weaseltown, as it was commonly referred to within the palace) to interfere with trade, she utterly failed at charades and did mildly well with card games at Family Game Nights, she talked with Anna for hours on end, and she studied her math and architecture, hobbies she’d given up as a child which she’d been encouraged to take up once more. Life went on.
Anna tried countless times to set her up on dates, to even get her to think about romance, courting, any of it, but after plenty of hilariously failed attempts and more than one snowball to the face, she gave it up.
It didn’t really bother Elsa. She had gotten more used to physical affection since the gates had opened and Anna had come back into her life, but the thought of someone doing it romantically made her almost sick, and she wasn’t really one for grand romantic gestures or sharing her feelings. She had long ago accepted that in this, her heart was permanently frozen, and it was about time everyone else did, too. After a while, the townspeople stopped asking about Arendelle’s future king, the palace staff knew to turn away potential suitors, and even Anna let go of her matchmaking schemes.
There was little talk of anything remotely romantic in Elsa’s life until the voice started calling, and the five of them set off into the unknown to follow it.
The second Elsa found herself among the Northuldra, a part of her knew she was home. She loved Arendelle, with all of her heart, but here, this haven in the woods with its warm fires and small, cosy huts and beautiful reindeer and wonderful people, this felt like a place she could belong.
The Northuldra did not call her “your majesty.” Yelana told her it was because they did not have the concept of royalty there. They referred to her as “the Queen,” or, if they were brave, “Elsa.” If they were brave meaning only Honeymaren, the kind, intelligent Northuldra woman who seemed not to fear the ice queen. Whenever her golden eyes caught Elsa’s and her name fell from her lips, she swore she felt something almost like magic pass between them.
Elsa wanted to stay among the Northuldra forever, but the voice called and the lure of answers proved more tempting than the gentle warmth of the forest, at least for the time being; for even though she had followed the voice, found her mother, found herself, Elsa returned to the Enchanted Forest, and this time, she stayed.
The adjustment was… well, not rough, necessarily, but a change. Surprisingly, Elsa found that she missed little from her old life, with the exception of her sister, of course, and the rest of her family. But she was finding a new home with her mother’s people, one that felt far more comfortable than Arendelle’s castle ever had. She spent her days exploring the forest with the spirits, helping Ryder and the other shepherds take care of the reindeer, listening to the elders’ endless stories, and, when time allowed, simply relaxing.
She found time to read and draw, still, and when Anna visited she often brought books and parchment as gifts. “I know how your mind gets when it isn’t working,” she was fond of saying, and while Elsa was touched, she found she needed the distractions less than she formerly had. Once, the crown had been like a weight – no, like the mist that shrouded the Enchanted Forest, hiding her true destiny in plain sight. Now that it had been lifted, forcing herself into the cage of Queen felt so… punishing. And besides, when she saw the golden crown, fitted with an emerald jewel, atop Anna’s fiery hair, she knew that was where it rightfully belonged.
When she returned to Arendelle, now, the people were unsure what to call her. Despite many reassurances that simply Elsa was fine, those who had seen her as an untouchable royal for years still had trouble adjusting. Even so, she could certainly live without the title of Queen and the responsibilities that came with it.
Responsibilities like marriage. Elsa hadn’t thought about it in months, and now, whenever the concept, however abstract, entered her mind, she didn’t cringe away like she once had. She was no longer Queen, no longer an example, and the Northuldra viewed marriage as a sacred vow, something between two lovers alone, so someone interfering in her private affairs didn’t worry her.
Still, Elsa feared the practice. She no longer felt obligated, and whenever Anna might tease her about marrying one of the Northuldra, or an Arendellian who was particularly handsome, Elsa still froze up. Her powers were under control, the choice was finally hers to make, so why was she so afraid?
Watching Honeymaren laugh with her brother on the other side of the fire, golden eyes sparkling with the flames, head thrown back and detailed perfectly with shadow, Elsa thought she might know.
Since Elsa left Arendelle, Honeymaren had been her most constant friend. During the adjustment period, the Northuldra woman had been there for her, and she’d even attended Anna’s coronation (with Ryder, of course, who had been dying to see Kristoff again). Honeymaren was warm, and funny, and kind, and smart, and she knew things of the forest that Elsa could never have learned on her own. They spent their time together climbing, running, riding, swimming, laughing, talking, and just taking up space, and Elsa found it came easier to her than she might have thought. Even with Anna, it had taken time for her carefully constructed walls to thaw, for her to let down her guard. With Maren, everything felt effortless, as if she had been doing it her whole life.
Honeymaren made life a little brighter. She was golden, sweet and wholesome and caring. She was quick witted and wise beyond her years. She laughed at Elsa’s pitiful jokes, told her stories and listened to tales of Arendelle, shared her special skills and marveled at Elsa’s own. Never once did she seem afraid of the former queen, and never once did she act like Elsa was some sort of deity, like some of the other Northuldra seemed to think. Honeymaren treated Elsa like one of their own, like just another person, and it made her heart soar. Everything about Honeymaren made her heart soar.
In Arendelle, such… unnatural matters were not discussed, not publicly, and definitely not in the castle. Elsa’s only experience had been through books her tutor had brought her, ancient texts reconstructed from Greek, Roman stories and even some from nearer lands. She devoured these long-lost tales of forbidden romance, at least until her parents found out and banned the books from the castle. Elsa got the feeling that it wasn’t that they disapproved, but rather, they were afraid of what they did not know.
If she had learned anything in the past three years, it was that fear could not be trusted.
It took time. A lot of time, spent pacing and snowing and fretting and worrying, wringing her hands till they were raw and freezing her tent more times than she could count. It took days upon days of forcing things down, looking at Honeymaren and feeling something hot and thick twist in her stomach, rise like bile. It took a trip to Arendelle, staring at her parents’ portrait for hours on end, like she used to do all those years ago, wondering how she could ever measure up to them.
She found a list, tucked into the back pages of an old book, that she had written when she was a teenager. It was dated somewhere around her sixteenth birthday, and, in neat but shaking letters, it spelled out the unspoken rules of Arendelle, and of her queenship:
Be responsible. Be righteous. Be just and fair. Be gentle. Be direct.
Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let it show.
Elsa could feel the fear in the paper as if it were woven through the threads themselves. She brushed a shaking hand over the thick lines that had once spelled out her future, so final, so damning, so… wrong.
Conceal, don’t feel. How could these three words dictate the rest of her life? She had made mistakes, but she had learned, above all, that her fear led to darkness, and was that not what these words were borne out of? She remembered her father, so staunch in his belief that without the gloves, she would never be normal, and yet here she stood, happy, accepted, and entirely gloveless. She remembered the day of the Great Thaw, believing that no one would accept her as their queen, yet seeing respect in the faces of her people nonetheless.
Conceal, don’t feel. It was not an adage. It was a threat, and it was one she would not live under anymore.
As queen, she would have married a man of noble birth and produced heirs, but as Fifth Spirit, she knew that Arendelle’s unspoken rules were not always right. It had taken three years, many slammed doors, and trial upon trial, but she knew now that following a predetermined path was not in her blood. She would forge her own way, and she would do it with who she chose by her side. What she felt for Honeymaren was not dirty, or wrong, or unholy; it was pure, sweet, and lovely, and she knew that it was something worth keeping.
Elsa rode to Ahtohallan before returning to the tribe. She visited the memory of her mother and father, love clear on their faces, watching her and Anna play. She could not know what they would think of her now, but astonishingly, she found herself not caring.
She went home, to the Northuldra. She approached Honeymaren, a shy smile on her face, and asked to take a walk.
The golden woman smiled, and that was the start of Elsa’s new story.