From what she understands, between the hushed snippets of words and sentences, the marriage was arranged to favor some spoiled king who wanted to take Arendelle as his own. The only other option that would have been available would be to go to war, and with her own ever increasing anxiety and the lack military personnel at her kingdom's reach left them with only one other option.
She was getting married.
In hindsight, it wasn't terrible. The man was too much older than her, though old enough that her mother's face fell in a sad line whenever someone mentioned the man. He was slightly taller than her and a bit fat, and the first day she ever saw him was on the wedding day, when his shirt front strained to stay buttoned and she walked in the chapel wearing a dress that overflowed with embellishments and fabric. And gloves, of course.
The gloves are still a key player in her life, no matter how much Jon - the husband - wants them to disappear. He tried to rip them off her hands once, during dinner when she's politely avoiding the finger foods native to his kingdom and he reaches over to tug them off, resulting in her screeching in such a high pitched voice she almost passed out.
More often than not, he goes to bed without her. She takes her studies and duties seriously, staying up late into the night to pour over texts and write in ink. It bugs him, she thinks, because one day when she's reading through mathematics she hears thumps and moans coming from their chamber's, and the next morning he introduces a curvy whore named Sylvia.
Though he hates him, she feels the sting of rejection and betrayl even so. She opts to taking longer hours reading in the library, or working on mind numbing puzzles until she falls asleep stiffly in a chair and a maid comes to wake her up and escort her to a room she specifically set aside for herself. Then, she waits patiently for them to undress her and tug a night dress over her so she can collapse tiredly into the sheets and blankets.
Anna notices a decrease in her appetite, watching her push around the buttered vegetables on her plate. Jon responds to this by asking her how she's planning on producing heirs if she refuses to take care of her body. She stands to excuse herself from the table and then have Kai bring her up all the fattening foods she wants to her room.
From that point on, she takes her three meals a day in her study. Anna joins her occasionally for breakfast while Jon and Sylvia laugh throughout the course.
…
After her parents die and she's crowned Queen, she attends meeting three times a week with a council. Jon can't (or won't) be bothered with them, so she goes by herself most days while he fucks his mistress.
The topic for opening trade with the Southern Isles, which she signs rather quickly when an old man says they would provide cocoa and coffee beans, takes a turn to personal matters once they have her signature splattered on the page. The thought of them taking her ice while she rolls in her chocolate and oranges disappates quickly.
"Queen Elsa, when are you and your husband planning on producing heirs? It's been nearly five years since your marriage."
Someone whispers that she might be infertile, but she knows the real truth is that her and Jon have had intercourse an entire two times - the consummation and a night he took advantage of her when she was blubbering over red wine. She has no desire to let the man touch her, now or ever, but the topic makes her swallow uncomfortably.
"I don't… know. I guess we haven't really been… actively trying." Her cheeks burn and she looks down at her gloved hands.
"Don't you think it's about time you started?" One advised. "Before you know it, you'll be out of time."
She sighs and looks up at the men who are staring, expectantly. "We'll work on it," She agrees, after a long pause. She stands to leave. "Please contact the Southern Isles to have them send their first shipment, in exchange for the ice and salt."
"Yes, of course, your majesty."
…
The letter was sent out the following day, sealed in wax and stamped with the Arendellian royal seal. During the entire exchange, Jon is not bothered to ask questions of any kind until she steps downstairs to share dinner for the first time in years. She can only assume he is requesting her company because Sylvia fell ill.
The dinner affair is rather quiet. She has nothing to say, and after explaining the new trade agreement with the Southern Isles - "They'll be providing lemons, oranges, coffee and cocoa beans in exchange for ice and salt" - she falls silent and simply picks apart her chicken and green beans.
"What do they want with ice?" He finally asks. She swallows the part of a biscuit in her mouth so fast it hurts, and immediately raises her wine to her lips.
"Their climate is too warm, I suppose and they're having trouble keeping goods cold and preserved. Naturally we'd be the best choice to trade with, since we produce so much ice."
"But what about the summer months?"
She sighed. "The lakes up in the mountains still freeze over."
The table fell silent again, her picking at her food and him refusing to look at her while he ate more than his share.
"I want a baby," She blurted out. Technically, the council wanted her to have a baby, and while the idea of them being intimate was rather disgusting, the thought of having a child of her own had intrigued her and by the next morning she had come to the realization that she wanted a child of her own. One to raise and spoil and love.
If she could have nothing else, she wanted that at least.
"A…. child?" He asked, clearing his throat. He reached for his wine and drank about a fifth of it in a gulp. "Isn't this rather sudden?"
She felt her heart sink at the words. "I didn't think so. The council wants a heir, and I want a child. Seems rather reasonable, I would say."
"But they're so much work. Wouldn't you rather adopt one of those grubby town kids that's already trained and such?" He asked.
Tears stung her eyes, and she pulled the napkin off her lap and threw it on the table. "Fine."