His wife had a point. A child like Anna needed attention, a companion to chatter with and ask questions and mingle. And the man knew of what came with loneliness. He knew very well.
And yet he worried. He worried that with another child came more people to bring into the castle, more eyes and ears in the walls.
”I will think about it,” he murmured at last, finally bringing his wine back to his lips, other hand around Idun’s shoulders, “You are right that she needs companionship.”
It was a problem that needed to be addressed indeed. One of many.
And Idun supposed that was the best she could ask for. For him to ‘think about it’. It was like the response they gave their children–normally it meant no. Idun could guess that that would be his conclusion as well.
It used to be easy to keep her children company. Not that they had needed it when they had each other. But now? Now when she spent time with one, they worried about the other being lonely. Anna would practically drag her to Elsa’s room to make her spend time with the elder princess. Elsa would convince her that she wanted to be alone, forlornly playing with the toys she had taken with her, or curled up with a book, a pinch between her eyebrows.
There was Gerda, of course, who could step in from time to time, and governesses ready and waiting. But neither of their girls had ever really bonded with the governesses, and Gerda had other duties. A sigh very nearly left her.
"How are the council taking the changes?“ she murmured quietly, eyes transfixed on the flames in the grate.
Safe? Keep her safe?
”So I’ve done something then,” she murmured, forced to look at her mother—her eyes were that of someone who was hurt, ”What did I do? What was my mistake? Tell me Mama, what is going on? Mama, please.“ Her last words were trembling, having had quite enough of vague words.
She couldn’t stand it, not knowing what happened, what exactly everyone was keeping from her. Perhaps it would sound farfetched to anyone else, but at that point Anna was wondering if her mistake had affected the kingdom’s diplomatic relations itself.
Why else would the gates be closed? Why else would they have been stuck in the castle all these years?
Keep her safe from what?
”No,“ Idun said instantly, her voice fierce. "No, you have done nothing wrong, my love. Don’t even think such a thing.”
But who would believe that the reason for the locked gates, the reduced staff was their golden child? Everyone had always believed that Elsa was the good girl, and it didn’t take much to see that that was what she always tried to be. But this situation had sat heavily on her shoulders for ten years.
"It is not your fault, Anna, do you understand me?“ she said, hands drifting to her daughter’s shoulders. "It was decided a long time ago that it would be best if you didn’t know. It was taken out of our hands.” And Idun still didn’t see why memories of her sister’s abilities were taken from Anna’s head.
But, oh, that voice. Tears sprang into her eyes, seeing the pain in her child’s. “I wish I could tell you, darling. But it’s not my secret.” A sigh. “It’s Elsa’s.”
So it was true. They were all hiding something from her. She’d always felt as such; she could tell by the guilty glances, by that feeling like she was missing out on something, that there was a puzzle piece absent from her life.
”You’re lying,” she whispered, her shoulders tense, her eyes staring at the floor, “this can’t just be Elsa’s secret. You’ve all been hiding something from me, all these years.”
It made her stomach twist. Why her? Why did they want to keep something from her? Anna couldn’t help feel that it was because there was something wrong with her. Something about her that didn’t cut it for her own family.
And suddenly her hands were cupping Anna’s face, lifting it so she had to look at her. Idun had known that Anna would figure out there was something amiss. She was a bright girl, a smart girl. And she had every right to be angry with them.
But Idun couldn’t reveal the secret that was not hers to tell.
"Darling, I’m so sorry,“ she murmured, stroking her thumbs over her daughter’s cheeks. It was a confession, without saying the words. She couldn’t keep denying things now. "It–it’s to keep you safe. Please, Anna, please understand. None of us wanted to keep things from you.”
And yet she knew her child wouldn’t take that for an answer. Half of her wanted her husband there to help, and yet half of her knew he would only scare Anna into not asking more questions.
"Sweetheart,“ Idun began, reaching out for her daughter. But she thought better of it, and folded her hands before her, a deep sigh leaving her lungs. "Anna. Please understand. This is Elsa’s secret to share, not mine. I–I wish I could tell you. I wish I could.”
The idea of being to help the gardener finally brought out a smile from the child. She wanted to see what the flowers would look like, and maybe if she helped a lot, they could grow faster.
”The gardener said they were… uh, pri… pri.. primroses,” she murmured from her mother’s chest, “Are they pretty flowers, Mama?”
That crown of hers was kissed, and it was a head that held no chill to it, no aches or pains, and though the streak remained, and the confusion surrounding it as well, at least Anna had none of the headaches and poundings she had not long ago; the ones that left her in bed for a whole day, crying and wondering why her head hurt so much.
"They're very pretty flowers,“ Idun replied, hearing the smile in her daughter’s voice. "Pretty and little. A bit like you, my love.”
The day following the accident had been horrible for all. Elsa’s things had to be moved, Anna was in pain. It had been so hard to watch, and Idun had had to send Gerda to keep an eye on her eldest while she remained at Anna’s bedside. Holding her, and calming her as best she could. And Agdar had been nowhere to be seen, holed up in his office. That hadn’t put him in his wife’s best books.
But now Anna was smiling again, finding ways to occupy her time. It was a good sign as far as Idun was concerned. Anna had bounced back–now everyone else needed to as well. The sooner they could get this horrid business behind them, the better.
”…And as father it is my job as well,” he replied in turn, “But soon we shall have it so that the worry is of the normal sort; the worry in a time of no worries.”
The man was already in the midst of a balancing act—on the one hand, he was already becoming hyper-sensitive to the problems around them, the issues arising. But at the same time, he had to keep to the course. So the King was already putting a blind eye to certain issues, praying that in time they would fade in the results of his supposed ‘solutions’.
So he assured, and he listened, and he worked his hardest. And he prayed to the Lord that all would work well. That the effort and the hard decisions he had made that night would pay off enough for them to return to how it was before.
And it would seem the matter of their eldest daughter had been put to bed. But there was still Anna.
"Could we not find a playmate of some sort for Anna? It is perfectly normal in other royal houses,“ she said quietly, still pressed into his side. "I worry about her getting lonely. It’s not healthy for a child to be all alone." The way we’re allowing Elsa to be. "Just one other little girl allowed into the castle during the day?”
But from his worries, Idun could already guess how such a suggestion would go. Even she was starting to feel trapped within their own home, and it hadn’t even been that long. How could a five year old feel?
"It might help Elsa if her sister was not spending her days outside her door,“ she added.
{ ❅ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ———
lips pressed into a solemn line, one that seemed to age
the young princess beyond her years. it was the curse
of maturing rapidly sparked by tragic circumstance. there
was no carefree childhood for the heiress, jovial giggles
absent from small lungs. her days consisted of carefully
crafted schedules, private tutors as well as what literature
she could acquire to offer little respite. there was no
carefree excitement, the halls devoid of the liveliness her
younger sister always seemed to cultivate. & snowmen
were no more than heaps of snow, seemingly mystical
figures in their extended absence.
❝ ——— because of what the trolls said ? ❞
slowly, the hands resting in her mother’s grasp would strive
for freedom, retreating out of obligation as opposed to her
yearning. distance was for the best, especially parting
from tactile comfort. the magic was only growing within
her, surging, becoming more difficult to conceal as instructed.
"Yes, sweetheart–because of what the trolls said.“
Oh, how she wished they had left as soon as Anna had
been healed. If only they had not heard that warning.
Then perhaps Elsa would still be happy, would still be
the carefree little girl Idun remembered. She missed that
little girl, mourned for her. Because looking at her child’s
face now, she knew that little girl wasn’t coming back.
"But please know that he isn’t afraid of you, neither of
us are. We just want to help you, darling. Won’t you
please consider letting us hold you again? I have so
missed your hugs.”
It was a guilt trip, and she knew it, and she felt awful for
doing it. But how else was she to convince her daughter
to try? Taking risks had never been Elsa’s thing, no, that
was Anna, but now it was like she wouldn’t try anything.
It had been four years too many. Something had to
change.
The man sighed, rubbing a hand over hers.
”I know it’s not the best situation, but we must keep her safe,” he replied quietly, “And this won’t be for long, surely. It is only until things settle. And… perhaps we can encourage Elsa to visit her sister more often.”
This wasn’t how he wanted to raise his children. Not in a castle, hiding away. But what choice did they have, really? The troll spoke of fear, and Agdar knew, he knew of the fear of the unknown swirling in people’s hearts. He could not allow those people to get to his daughter. He would not allow them to hurt her.
So the castle would remain her safe haven until she could manage to control her powers.
”They’ll be fine, we’ll all be fine. Soon things will return to normal, do not worry.”
There were several things she wanted to voice. The fact that Elsa’s control–once tentative, but palpable–was now non-existent. The fact that she felt pressured by her father’s utter belief she would control it. The fear and guilt their daughter carried upon her shoulders, like Atlas carried the world on his. The fact that Elsa had lived eight years of her life without the slightest hint of unrest towards her. She was a well liked little girl amongst their people, both princesses were.
But she said none of it. Idun knew her husband would listen to none of it, not really. He would pretend and then assure her things would be fine again. And the Queen knew that no matter how much he loved her, he would not listen.
"I hope you’re right,“ she sighed. Her eyes flicked up to his face then. "I am their mother–it is my job to worry about them.”
Tomorrow there was a meeting, right about when Elsa’s lessons were. But meetings be damned. He would not be his father.
He wouldn’t.
That hand came on his arm, and the man looked up at his wife, a hand of his own instinctively bringing itself on top of hers. “Of course,” he replied, “I will do as such.”
He made no promises of anything else. No changes to the way things were. Anna still couldn’t be told of Elsa’s powers, and his eldest still needed to learn how to control her powers.
But he had faith in his child, in his own self. He had the discipline of a King, and also a soldier. And with discipline, came control. He knew of techniques, of training.
Surely Elsa would fast become a master of her own magic.
"That’s all I ask,“ she replied softly.
Oh, Idun knew of her husband’s idea of discipline. But the kind a soldier needed was different to what a child needed, even if that child was a princess. And she’d be damned before she willingly let Agdar impose such a thing upon their little girl. She was delicate and impressionable enough as it was.
"I still don’t agree with you,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. It was a conversation they needed to have again, neither one energised enough to pay attention to the either the last time she had attempted it. “The troll spoke of fear–and now she’s utterly terrified, every waking moment. And even her sleep is plagued with nightmares. It’s not healthy for her to be locked away in this castle. Either of them.”
For indeed, Anna was innocent in all of this. Most of the familiar faces in the castle had gone, her home was dark and gloomy, and her sister had disappeared, no longer willing to speak with her. It was hard for the little thing to understand, and she was becoming clingy. And Idun couldn’t split herself in two for her daughters.
Those last words brought the King back to a terrible place. To a childhood with a mother despondent and a father… a father who was no father. Who was King and only King. Whose dinners left little words exchanged between son and father—no, between prince and king.
It left his mouth dry.
”…I will talk to her,” he finally murmured, eyes looking at nowhere as he put aside his drink. “I hadn’t meant to I… Of course she needs her— I am not—not just a King. I am her father.”
He had been busy. The change in policy had meant there were many long meetings, many long nights. And now he has been causing distress not only with the councillors, but his precious daughter as well.
His decisions were not popular, and they certainly seemed harsh, even he understood that. If that’s what he needed to do to protect his family, then so be it.
But Elsa thought he was afraid of her?
Idun knew those words would have the desired effect. It was a low blow to bring up the poor relationship her husband had had with his father, but he needed to see.
"Yes, you are, sweetheart,“ she replied, standing from her chair to join him, her hand on his arm. "And that’s why she needs you to prove her wrong. She thinks I’m lying to her when I tell her it’s not true. Perhaps if you take her for her lessons tomorrow, talk with her then. Hold her. She’s hardly been letting me do that, and you know how tactile she is normally.”
It had been worrying to say the least, to be pushed away before tears arrived and then held again. The upheaval had not been easy on either of their children, but at least Anna still had her familiar surroundings to wake up to in the night.