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It’s a question he hoped he’d never hear. One he’d dreaded asking, but nonetheless lurked behind his mind, the moment he first laid eyes on his daughter. ‘Blonde,’ he remembers thinking, feathering through the infant’s hair. Not uncommon for his country, in truth, but in a family of darker-haired individuals (himself, his wife, and their parents, too) it is cause for slight concern.
“She’s beautiful.” Her mother whispers, worn from birth but glowing all the same. A ruffling of sheets draws him away from his thoughts, and he looks down at wife and sleeping child. His eyes meet those of tired blue, a slight furrow in her brow despite her smile. “Agdar?”
“She is.” He, Agdar, assures her, hoping the vocal admittance will bring him comfort, too. A blond child means no more than that. Hair color is not a guarantee of things to come. It can’t be.
Briefly kissing his wife’s head, he crouches, gazing more gently at the newborn in her arms. Beautiful, as spoken previously. A child any king should be proud of. I am proud.
“Do you…” he murmurs, after a second or two has passed. “Do you want to use the name we chose?” An odd question, perhaps, but one he feels necessary; he remembers well his sister’s frustration over her name, growing up. His wife, his queen, again knots her brow, as though asking without words why he’s chosen now to ask.
“You’re the king, my love.” She tells him gently. “It’s up to you.”
A quiet and brief burst of laughter drops from his lips. Title is no substitute for bad decisions. All the same, maybe this is a result of overthought. A day and night spent worrying… lack of sleep must be getting to him.
“I like it.” He says finally, a soft smile breaking through. The queen reflects this, gazing back at their little girl.
“Then ‘Elsa’ she will be.”
She’s two years old when it first happens. Towards the end; he remembers because his wife, his queen, his dear Idun, was still with child.
It’s early morning—nearly fall, if the dwindling leaves are any indication. He wakes early, as he has been of late, to prepare the day ahead of time. Having gone through it once, planning ahead works best when guiding one’s pregnant wife through the day. Not to say she requires looking after; only to ensure she’s comfortable.
Regardless, he’s up and dressed and on his way down the stairs when his boot slips, nearly sending him down. If not for wall and drapery hanging by it, on his hindquarters he would have ended, and with it, all his planning. However, he snatches the fabric and pulls himself upright, catching his breath before smoothing down his tunic. What on Earth…?
Looking back, he’s fortunate Elsa’s room lies parallel to a window; otherwise, he may not have noticed it. A sparkling glitter along the floor, extremely unnerving behavior for a carpet, and with good reason: webs of ice stretch from beneath her door, climbing up the wood and bringing along a biting chill.
“Elsa!” He cries, trying the knob and relieved it’s not yet frozen shut. The door flies open, but to his… relief? Surprise? (Shock, perhaps shock), yes, to his shock, his daughter is not frightened. Is not crying, as he feared she would, upon this… revelation. You knew, you knew this would happen.
No no. Not known, only worried. Only suspected. Whatever the proper answer, it’s not important now. King Agdar enters carefully, making his way to the wide-eyed toddler. “Are you alright?” He huffs, reaching for the bedpost for support. It’s covered in a light frost, and threatens to fuse his hand if kept too long. You should have gotten gloves. He hadn’t time for that. Elsa might have been in danger. That isn’t how it works.
It could be.
Not in this case.
No, thankfully… his daughter seems perplexed, more than anything. Expected, really, given her age, but worrisome, no less. Slowly, he kneels before her, taking her tiny hands in his. “Elsa, do you know what happened here?” He’s got a good feeling, if her chilly fingers are anything to go by, but he needs to hear from her.
Elsa pauses a moment, before a little smile lights her face. “It snowed.”
“… yes, it did.” He answers, remembering just now his child was two and verbal communication would at best be… limited. Still, worth a try. “Do you, Elsa, do you know where the snow came from?” Again, the toddler falls quiet, shaking her head.
“It’s pretty.”
Though the king’s chest tightens, he brings a smile forth for her. “It is, isn’t it?” Elsa nods, and after debating with himself, Agdar picks her up. “What say we leave the snow to melt for a while? Maybe find ourselves some food?”
At the mention of the snow, the small blonde’s face falls. She does not, however, voice any protest aloud, hopefully distracted by his second suggestion. Taking her answer as cue to depart, he treads back towards the hall, closing the door behind him.
You’ll have to tell Idun about this. Tell her, and find someone to dry the room out.
“I feared this would happen.” He quietly laments, cradling his head. Questionable behavior for royalty, but permitted in the presence of his elder sister. He’s gone away for a spell, however risky, with Anna so young, but needed, he’s told his queen, adding promises of quick return. She knows now, of her oldest daughter, known shortly after that first morning. He had to tell her, as he’d planned to leave sometime before. Not for good, never for good. Only for advice from the one other person who’s been through it before.
“Does Idun know?” His sister asks, and he nods, shoulders rolling forward.
“I would have brought her here, were the children old enough.” Weary green eyes glance over into matching ones, seeking shameful confirmation he’s made the right decision. Sympathy scrawls across her face, abandoning her armchair to join his side.
“Breathe, Agdar.” She instructs, and he does, deeply, until his nerves die down.
“… Thank you, Ambrosia.”
“Of course.” Touching his shoulder, she smiles. It fades soon after, though her arm remains. “You haven’t told her everything.” It isn’t a question.
He sighs, answer weighted this time. “Would you?”
“Yes.” She responds adamantly. “If I were marrying a man who’d once been cursed, I’d like a warning.”
He nearly protests her contradiction, reminds her of the years passed since that time. How was he to know he carried with him remnants?
He chooses, instead, to redirect conversation. Quarrelling will get them nowhere. “… what I have and haven’t done aside, Elsa is my primary concern. I don’t think it’s wise to let her keep her powers.”
Though Ambrosia does not try to redirect, a cross between confusion and concern now rests in place of frustration. “Can they be taken away? You said she was born with them, I don’t know if—”
“She’s only this way because of me.” He cuts in, earning an off-put look. Breathe, echoes through his ears. He does so, then resumes. “… I’m sorry. But we’ve… we found a way to lift it once. Destroying what remains can’t be much different.” He certainly hoped not. Elsa was young enough now she did not understand her capabilities, but time would change both that and her powers. They would evolve, and so would risk for others around her.
Worn and perhaps now verging on desperation, he again seeks his sister’s face. She’d helped him once. Surely she’d do so again for his daughter.
“… I’m afraid that isn’t possible.” She looks away, then up again, a wary guilt framing her features.
“What?” Indeed, what? “What do you mean, not possible? I know it’s difficult to find, but we’ve done it before, there must be a way!” He doesn’t mean to snap. He simply can’t believe it. How different is his life from Elsa she sees fit to refuse a remedy?
“I know that look, Agdar.” Says Ambrosia, cautiously. She stands, shaking her head. “This isn’t my decision to make.”
“Whose is it then?” He barks, a chilly dread filling his heart. How dare she deny the child aid. She remembers, he knows she does, this isn’t something taken lightly. Rising to his feet, he clasps the backing of his former chair. Ambrosia holds her hands up, but otherwise, does not flinch.
“It’s no one’s decision.” She utters slowly, daring a step forward. “The flower is gone, it can’t be used.”
Before he has the chance to question, she launches into explanation, telling of her own infant daughter. He remembers hearing, but hadn’t been able to visit before now. Too close to Anna’s birth; this was the first they’d seen each other. The first time he’d seen Rapunzel.
“… golden hair.” He echoes, shoulders rolling forward. “Because of the…”
“Flower, yes.”
He sighs. A hand runs down his face. “What will I do?”
His sister’s smile returns, sadder, but genuine. “Be there for her.” She encourages, touching his arm once more. “Ice and all, she’s still your daughter.”
…she was, wasn’t she: his child, his daughter, his responsibility. He had had no one to learn from. Elsa would not be alone.
“… thank you.” The king at last murmurs, covering Ambrosia’s hand.
“You’re welcome,” smiles Corona’s queen, before silence takes over.
“Your highness,” Grand Pabbi calls, waddling into the clearing, “may I have a word?”
The king turns, a sleeping Anna in his arms. There were still a few hours before sunrise; he wanted them home before she woke up. “I’m afraid there isn’t time.” He looks to his wife atop their horse. At his side, a still-frightened Elsa clings to his pant leg; indeed, they’ve been through enough.
“Please.” The troll tries again, “it will only take a moment.”
Moment or not, Agdar hesitates. In truth, he does not wish to further conversation. In reality… eyes fall to his eldest daughter. In reality, it does not matter what I wish. Finally, he raises his head, meeting Grand Pabbi’s gaze. “Alright.” Handing Anna to Idun, and detaching Elsa from his leg, he follows the creature back behind the rocks.
They walk for a spell, which only tightens Agdar’s nerves. They haven’t time, he knows they haven’t time, and he nearly utters so aloud when the troll stops in his tracks. Stubby hands fold behind his back, rotating to once more face the king. “I did not want to say anything in front of the child, but it is rare to be born with powers such as hers.” Bushy brows furrow, as though studying the human man. “Unless… previous efforts have proved ineffective?”
King Agdar shakes his head. “No, I assure you, mine are gone.” Brushing the fringe of hair along his temples, he adds “Wouldn’t look like this, if they weren’t.”
Grand Pabbi rubs his chin, seeming unsatisfied. Eventually, he appears to relent, hunched form sagging further. “I suppose not…” He trails off, uneasiness filling the absence of his words. It lasts but a few seconds. “I wonder...”
“Wonder?” Pipes up the monarch, “wonder what?” He can’t help himself. Anxiety has taken his heart hostage; not until he reaches home again will it relent.
“I wonder if a trip to Corona might serve in your benefit.”
…Ah. “…We’ve unfortunately drawn that conclusion, already.” Agdar laments, pushing aside any prickles frustration. It’s not his fault, he wouldn’t know, you must keep that in mind. Indeed; the King hastens through a summary of his last voyage. By the end, Grand Pabbi sports a troubled frown.
“I see…” Again, he strokes his chin, something grave filling his eyes. “Forgive me, your majesty, but… do you think He foresaw this?”
The monarch stiffens. “What do you mean?”
Glowering further, Pabbi continues. “If I recall correctly, you and your sister discovered a way around your frozen heart.”
“We didn’t go around it,” corrects the king, “we found another way.” He prays the answer will push their discussion to its close. Though time has safely distanced him, reflection never fails to rouse dormant unease. The old troll’s answer does little to help.
“Precisely. Could it be the curse was never lifted?”
No, no it couldn’t, he remembered that day, bore no physical signs—but her hair, her powers, how else would she receive them? “…I’ve never thought of it, before. When the ice left my body, I’d assumed that was the end.” He ran a hand over his chin. “If what you’re theorizing is true, then Father Winter isn’t through with me.” His burden was now Elsa’s to bear, and his to watch her suffer.
There’s little else to say, after that. He could—he could ask long into the coming day for a solution, better solution: he could not control the storm, expecting a child to do so seemed mad. You had no one to teach you. She does. Very true... Let’s hope it makes a difference.
With a polite nod, Agdar bids the troll farewell, heading back towards his family.
“Good luck, my king,” he hears as he departs. A pit forms in his stomach, but he keeps a calm façade. We’re going to need it.
“You’ll be fine, Elsa.” He told her, trust laced within his words. She’s come a long way from that day; cautious, controlled, provided tranquility surrounds her. Two weeks alone like this... he worries, but they’ve spoken to Anna, advised her to keep to herself; with any luck nothing will go wrong.
Is that why you’ve decided not to bring them?
No… but should an incident, however small, occur, the girls will be safer away from Corona. One marred image is trouble enough; no need to bring their winter, back.
Anna waves at them from the dock; unsurprisingly, Elsa is not with her. “Do you think they’ll be alright?” Asks Idun, joining his side. Returning the wave, Agdar remains pensive.
“I think so.” He says at last, tugging her close as the ship pulls out to sea. They’d grown up considerably, since that night. Though Anna held no recollection, she knew better than create a fuss. Elsa, too, though she never ventured far. Gaze rises past the water line, falling on the enclosed gates of Castle Arendelle. Two weeks, runs through his mind, again. If both stuck by their promises, peace should reign until their return.
Father Winter would be none the wiser.