Chapter Text
“Don’t touch me! Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Iduna couldn’t help it as her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide and stinging. Elsa is only twelve, she thought. She recovered quickly, though, blinking away the tears and moved to place a comforting hand on Agnarr’s shoulder as he straightened up. She had seen him handle any number of political crises over the years, numerous council members and foreign dignitaries in various states of aggression or emotional distress, his own subjects in their darkest hours when they cry for or to or at their King. He is always so poised, so in control and radiating that ethereal calmness that only she knows is a complete act perfected over the past twenty-two years of his rule. But the words of their daughter leave him defeated and dumb in his grief.
“Elsa,” she managed to speak past the painful constriction of her throat. “You could never hurt us.”
“You don’t know that,” her daughter sobbed, clutching her hands tightly to her chest, as she turned away from them. Beside her, she heard Agnarr make a soft, helpless sound. She gripped his shoulder firmly, drawing on his strength to keep herself standing.
“I know it in my heart, love,” she swore with as much sincerity as she could muster. She could see the panic in her little girl’s eyes, glittering as brightly as her ice coating the walls and door. She had felt that same trapped, wild, animal panic when she was not that much older than Elsa is now. And it would have hurt less to cut her own heart out, to slit her own throat, before continuing to see her eldest daughter suffer so. If it was as easy as dying, she and Agnarr would have done so long ago.
“Please!” Elsa begged. “Please just stay away from me!” Iduna watched as Agnarr practically shrank and took a step back. She dropped her hand from his shoulder to grip his bicep through the rich fabric of his uniform. He halted his retreat, but never stopped looking at Elsa.
“Elsa,” he said in a strained, broken voice.
“Please!” The ice was crawling up the wall, spreading across the door and if it continued, regardless of her desperate request they wouldn’t be able to leave.
“Darling,” Iduna said in a forced, calm voice. The same she had used whenever her daughter had an incident during their time together. “Papa and I will go. If you want us to. We will. We’ll leave you alone this evening. We can have something nice you like, maybe that double chocolate cake, sent up for dessert. But before Papa leaves, I would like to get something. Is that alright?” Elsa nodded sharply, face turned to the corner of the room and shoulders shaking as she tried to cry silently. But the ice had stopped spreading.
“Stay with her,” she whispered softly to Agnarr who flashed her a look of annoyance that she knew demanded if she really thought he would leave Elsa in this moment. There was a crackle from the top of the door as she broke through the thin layer of ice and a small flurry cascaded to the floor. Iduna hurried down the hall to their bedroom.
“Mama?” Anna’s voiced piped up from the long afternoon shadows. She turned and managed a faltering smile.
“Yes, dear?”
“Is everything alright?” Anna peered up at her as she came closer. “I thought I heard yelling from Elsa’s room. Is she hurt?”
“No, wee one,” she ran a hand along her daughter’s cheek and knelt so that they were at eye level. “Your sister isn’t hurt. She’s just a little upset from her lessons today.”
“Oh? I thought she liked arithmetic a lot more than me!” Anna squinted and peered into her eyes. “You look sad, Mama,” Anna reached out and touched Iduna’s cheek. She bit her tongue. Hard. “Why are you sad?”
“Oh, Anna,” Iduna pulled her into a tight hug, rocked her back and forth and tickled her tummy, making her giggle just a bit. “It’s just a trick of the light. How could I ever be sad when I have you to cheer me up?” She leaned back and tapped Anna’s nose. “Now, could you run along to the kitchens and ask if they have any extra double chocolate cake?
“For dinner?” Anna gasped, her face the very picture of delight.
“For dinner,” she smiled as she stood. “You deserve a reward for working so hard on your sums.”
“And what about Elsa? Should she get some because she had such a bad day?”
Iduna’s heart warmed at her selfless girl. “I think that’s a lovely idea. Elsa will appreciate you thinking of her so much. Why don’t you go tell them?” Anna clapped her hands and ran off down the hall. As soon as she rounded the corner, Iduna bolted for the bedroom. She went to her dresser and opened the top drawer where she kept her shawl. She bunched it in her fists and scurried back to Elsa’s room, hoping that Anna was actually heading to the kitchens and wouldn’t see her with the shawl. It was a warm spring and would only raise more questions. Iduna knocked and entered to see Elsa sitting, cross-legged on the floor, gloved hands clasped against her stomach. She had stopped crying, but the occasional tear still tracked down her cheeks, and she was staring fixedly at her lap. Agnarr was also sitting on the floor, cross-legged, while gently speaking to her. They both looked up at her as she came into the room and she tried to give her daughter her warmest smile.
“Here, love,” she offered Elsa the shawl. Elsa sniffled and blinked up at her.
“The cold doesn’t bother me, Mama.” She said in a tone that Iduna remember taking with her mother when she reached the age where she believed her parents to be among the stupidest people who had ever lived.
“I know, darling,” she knelt down. “But if you don’t want your father or I to give you a hug, please take this. I hope you know that our love is always with you. Even when we’re apart.” Elsa’s lip trembled, but she reached out and took the shawl, drawing it around her shoulders. She played with the fringes, purple against white. It was huge on her and draped down to the ground from where she sat. Iduna fought the urge to reach out and stroke her daughter’s face. “It looks lovely against the blue.”
“Thank you, mama,” she whispered. The ice on the walls had already started to melt.
“We love you, Princess,” Agnarr said in a hoarse voice. “We love you so, so much.”
“I know, Papa,” her voice shook. “I love you too. I don’t want to hurt you.” There was a long silence. “A-and I’m sorry I’m not controlling it. That I get upset. I know I’m letting you down. Letting the kingdom down.” Iduna’s heart sank lower with each word. Elsa had all of Agnarr’s earnest desire to be a good ruler in addition to a burden that was starting to appear insurmountable.
“You’re not letting me down, Elsa,” Agnarr reassured her.
“But I am,” her eyes started to water again. “I promise, Mama, Papa – tomorrow I’ll try again. I’ll try as hard as I can. But right now . . .can I please be alone?”
“You won’t be scared?” Agnarr asked.
“I have Sir Jorgen Bjorgen,” Elsa mumbled. “He listens when I’m scared. And it’s scarier to think I might hurt you.” Iduna had to give Agnarr credit for the stuffed penguin – she had thought their daughter was beyond the age where it would have helped. But it still hurt her heart to think that her twelve year-old’s closest confidant was a stuffed animal. She rubbed her arms as she rose, looking down at her daughter’s impossibly blonde hair. It seemed a cruel joke now, that they had once told her that her powers were a gift. That they themselves had believed they were a gift. Agnarr sighed and got to his feet.
“Elsa, you’re an incredibly brave young woman,” he said. “But I don’t want you to believe that you have to go through this alone.” He wrapped his arm around Iduna.
“Your father is right, darling. We’ll keep doing this together.”
“I know,” she mumbled, intently fidgeting with the shawl. Agnarr tightened his hold on her waist and she stroked the top of the hand at her hip.
“Have a good evening, Princess.”
“Have a good evening, Papa. Good evening, Mama.” Agnarr dropped his arm and the two reluctantly walked out into the hallway. There was a resounding click in the silence as Elsa locked her door. They walked in silence down the hall towards their bedroom.
“I sent Anna for the chocolate cake for dinner,” she said dully. “She’ll be down there for a little while.”
“I’ll send Gerda to try and dry what she can of the rug,” Agnarr replied with the same deadened tone. “After Elsa is asleep, of course.”
“Of course,” her throat and chest ached as thought she had been breathing smoke. Her body was becoming foreign to her. Limbs like lead. Her thoughts kept churning over her baby’s pain and fear. She could remember with heart-pounding clarity that rush of fear when she first came to Arendelle, the nearly overwhelming sense of helplessness and loss of control. She had seen Elsa’s expression on her own face in the middle of the night at the orphanage after she woke from her own nightmares to splash water on her face, her terrified reflection foreign in the tiny, battered mirror on the wash stand. I had hoped for so much better for them.
Agnarr held the door open for her as she entered their room. The sun was low in the sky, dusk threatening to settle before long. She went to light a few candles as Agnarr removed his uniform jacket and hung it on a stand. In his shirt and suspenders, he walked to a small chaise and crashed into it, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. There were new lines around his eyes and mouth. She supposed there were new lines around hers as well. Usually, this was where she would go to him, or he would come to her depending on whose self-loathing was greater, and put her arms around his chest from behind. They would hold one another until their thoughts had formed into coherent words and sentences.
This was different. This wasn’t Elsa upset. Or expressing her self-hatred. Or frustrated. She didn’t realize she was staring at him until he looked up at her. He raised his arms as he did when he wanted to embrace her, but Iduna felt rooted to the spot where she stood.
“Agnarr,” her voice was hardly her own. It had the sound of a bitter, twisted woman lost in her own frustration and rage. “It has been nearly five years.”. He frowned at her tone and sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“I know how long it’s been,” he said. She could hear his own controlled frustration. “But tomorrow, we’ll try again.”
“This isn’t working, love!” She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but his eyes widened at her response. “The girls have been apart for so long. We have been trying and trying to help her to control it, but she’s right - it’s only getting stronger.”
“She’ll learn to control it. I just need to-“
“Agnarr! This is bigger than you! Something needs to change!” She gestured at their door. “Our daughter just told us that she thinks she’ll hurt us if we hug her!”
“Well, what else can we do?” He hissed, looking wounded and enraged. He hit his hand against the cushions of the chaise. “We can’t open the gates – she’ll be found out. I’ve written discreetly to some scholars. We’ve been buying every book on magic we’ve been able to find. Agents sent to every corner of Europe to try to find what they can! And so far, we haven’t found any solid leads. No signs of Judet’s brother, no confirmation of anyone else like Elsa – nothing except rumors and stories to frighten children!”
“I don’t know, Agnarr, I don’t know what the answer is,” she growled, drumming her fingers on the dresser. She hated this, this feeling of impotent helplessness in light of her daughter’s suffering. She had spent the better part of her youth helping people, figuring out how to cure their ills, but this was not a sickness to be defeated. She hated that she was letting her anger get the better of her, that she was lashing out at Agnarr when they were both trying and failing desperately to help Elsa and that he, in turn, was snapping back at her. They had done so well keeping one another together. But she was tired and angry and this escalation of Elsa’s fear – to reject what little comfort they could provide their daughter for fear of hurting them – this was too much. “We need to try something new! Maybe we can send someone we trust. Tell them about Elsa and the exact kind of information we’re looking for. Maybe Atohallan is worth looking into more-“
“Iduna,” he cut her off. He was rubbing his temples with his eyes squeezed shut. “Darling, do you hear yourself? We’re lucky that we can trust Kai and Gerda with the girls’ lives, but the more people who find out the more likely that Elsa will be publicly exposed before she can control her powers. Twenty-two years might seem like a long time, but too many people in Arendelle still don’t trust magic. When the time comes, Elsa needs to be ready and in control! The very model of a powerful Queen.”
Iduna shook her head, hating the ugly feeling building in her chest, hating that their words were loaded as though they both weren’t raw enough from their daughter’s earlier declaration. “Maybe,” she said desperately. “Maybe the people of Arendelle will surprise you.”
He snorted at that and waved his hand dismissively. “I didn’t hear you complain when we first separated them. You saw the same vision the trolls showed me, no? Our daughter being torn apart by a ravenous mob? Because I don’t think you have any real grasp of the danger our daughter is in if you believe that telling more people is a good idea!” There was a high-pitched buzz in her ears and her sight clouded as a black tunnel narrowed her focus to the uncharacteristic scowl twisting her husband’s face as he spoke.
“What did you say?” She demanded, a smothering rage coursing through her body. She saw his expression slacken, the apology already apparent in his face and eyes as he opened his mouth. He had spoken carelessly, out of aggravation, and knew he had gone too far. “What did you say? You, of all people, think that I do not fully comprehend the danger that my daughter is in?” She marched across the room and grabbed his uniform jacket from its stand. She threw it at him.
“Put this on. We’re going for a ride!”