My Muse is cranking out one-shots like they're going out of fashion!
I was just exploring a little bit and wondered how this would've turned out.
In my headcannon, backed up by a deleted song, Elsa is quite a poet. This is what I think began her poetic journey.
'Snofnugg' means Snowflake in Norwegian, just an F.Y.I.
It was an odd thing to consider; words and their influence on people.
And that, without considering the tone of voice or body language used, it could move people to tears, be they tears of happiness or tears of sorrow. A young Princess Elsa of Arendelle had, at seven years old, never even considered the endless possibilities her words could have on people around her.
Until one day.
With the four year old Anna fast asleep for her afternoon nap as per usual, Elsa had no other choice but to wander the great castle alone, seeking a play mate of some sort. Her go-to people, her mother, being nowhere to be found, and Gerda, Kai and even her Father being much too busy preparing for some or other dignitary that would be arriving the day after tomorrow to discuss, whatever it is grown-ups discussed, Elsa was destined to be alone for the time being. The young blonde had a vague understanding that she would one day be doing what her father, the King, was doing in the future. But for now, the need to play was greater than the need to learn such boring things.
The girl skipped down the hall, humming a merry tune, unaware of anything else but the coordination she needed to continue skipping with the beat in her head. Subconsciously, she found herself on the path towards the library. Picture books were some of her favourite things to read with her sister; whenever she found herself without her sister's distraction, she quite enjoyed the stories. So much so that she started to read books with fewer pictures and more words in them. There were still quite a few pictures in them though, keeping her easily side-tracked mind firmly fixed.
So, on her way to the library she stopped by the threshold and glanced around at the many books waiting for her to caress them as they spilled all their adventures. Excitement bubbled within her as she thought of all the possibilities: far-off places, daring sword fights, Princes in disguise! Until a strange sound reached her ears.
A sniff.
Was someone crying?
Another sniff! But who could be crying and why?
Elsa frowned in concern searching for the source of the noise. Her eyes rested upon a figure tucked in the corner of the window nook on her right.
"Mama?" she whispered in recognition, immensely worried about her usually happy mother being reduced to tears.
Suppressing her panic and her stirring magic at her turbulent emotions in response to her mother's sniffling, Elsa made her way towards the seated woman slowly.
"Mama?" she called a little louder than before.
The woman stiffened slightly and looked over her shoulder to see her eldest walking towards her timidly.
"Are you okay?" she whispered her question, standing next to her mother nervously. "Did something happen? Is Anna okay?"
That triggered a spike in her anxiety levels at the thought of something happening to her baby sister. The temperature dipped ever so slightly, her magic vibrating inside of her chest while ice formed in the pit of her stomach.
"Nothing happened to Anna, Snofnugg." Her mother, Idun answered with a watery smile of encouragement, wiping her tears away. The temperature returned to normal mirroring her relief.
"But why are you crying then?" She asked innocently, crawling up to sit across form her mother on the nook bench.
"I read a very lovely poem," Idun began by way of explanation. "and it –"
"Did you get a paper cut?" she inquired impatiently, "I always get one if I turn the page too quickly."
"No, I didn't get a papercut, dear." her face took on a stern motherly expression, "What did I tell you about interrupting?"
"You told me not to…" Elsa answered lowering her head in shame, "I'm sorry, mama."
"It's alright my Snofnugg," Idun lifted her daughter's chin, smiling warmly, "Try to remember it next time."
" 'Kay!" she beamed a smile up at her, "What's a powum?"
"A po-em," she enunciated it slowly, "is like a story told in rhyme."
"What's rime?" she cocked her head curiously.
"Rh-y-me."
"R-i-me."
The Queen giggled at the face her eldest made as she tried to say the word properly. "You're spending much too much time with Anna."
She gasped in horror, "I can never spend too much time with Anna!"
"Right you are." She smiled down at her little girl and opened her arms up, "Here, let me show you what a poem is and what rhyme is, too."
Elsa crawled into her mother's lap and made herself comfortable as a book was held open for them to look at. The writing was different than any other writing the girl had seen before, but it seemed familiar to her as well.
"It-it looks kinda like the words in me and Anna's picture books." She observed, turning the page to see more column-like writing.
"A little bit, yes." Idun conceded, "Your books had rhyme in them, too."
"Really? Where? I didn't seem any r-rhyme."
"Good work at saying 'rhyme' correctly, my darling." She acclaimed warmly; Elsa preened at her praise. "Go get one of your books and I'll show you."
" 'Kay!" she jumped down from her lap and bolted to the bookshelf. A few seconds later her blonde head reappeared holding a colourful book in the air.
"Olaf's great adventure?" Idun asked curiously, taking the proffered book.
"Yeah!" Elsa scrambled up onto her lap again. "It's me and Anna's favourite."
" 'Anna and my favourite' dear."
"Oh, It's Anna and my favourite." She grinned up at her mother who smiled right back down at her.
"Right" Idun chirped, opening the book, "Look here."
Elsa followed her mother's finger as she read, trying to ignore the snowy wonderland scene depicted with a smiling snowman.
" 'There once was a snowman, you do well to listen,
Who was waddling along, clearly on a mission.'
Can you hear that those last two words sound the same?"
Elsa nodded studying the words closely.
"That is rhyme." She informed, pointing at the words respectively. "When two – or more – words sound the same."
"But shouldn't they look the same too?" The girl inquired with a frown. "Like over here: summer and warmer?"
"It doesn't really matter what they look like, as long as they sound the same." Idun answered with a proud smile, seeing how she had grasped the concept fairly quickly.
"Okay…I think I understand." Elsa said before an expression of utmost concentration graced her small features.
"Elsa darling, what are you –?"
"Thinking." She interrupted, her eyes widened contritely, "Sorry for interrupting again – I was thinking of a rhyme in my head…"
"What did you come up with?" Idun inquired, intrigued.
"What rhymes with 'snow'?" she answered her mother with a question of her own.
"Hmm…it depends on what you want to say." She cocked her head to the side and shifted her daughter in her lap to look at her. "What do you want to say?"
"Well, I, uh, thought about saying, 'My name is Elsa and I like ice and snow' but I dunno what to say afterwards." She pouted adorably.
"Alright, what about…My name is Elsa and I like snow and ice. 'Cause when I touch them, they feel so very nice?"
"Yeah, that works…" she answered uncertain.
"Don't you like my rhyming skills?" Idun teased tickling her sides.
Elsa giggled and squirmed in her mother's grasp, "M-mama! S-stop it!" she giggled when the tickle attack ceased, "I was just wonderin' why that rhyme would make a person cry."
"Oh, I see." Idun shifted her daughter back into her lap and picked up the book she had been reading.
"This book," the Queen began, showing Elsa the cover, "has been passed down from Queen to Queen for many generations."
The little Princess ran her hand over the deep chestnut coloured cover. Her fingers registered little raised bumps and lines raised in a pattern adorning it. Idun allowed her to open the book up; Elsa paged through the first few blank pages before stopping at the first page with the column script that she had come to associate a poem with. It was a hand written entry whose ink had begun to fade somewhat over time.
"Have you seen your father writing in a book like this one before?" the Queen asked, watching Elsa turn each page carefully. She nodded without stopping what she was doing. "That is his memoir."
"Papa's mem-what?" Elsa looked up at her mother as if she had just made that word up.
"His mem-oir, darling," she giggled, "His journal. Where he writes his experiences as King down for future generations to learn from his mistakes or to be guided by his good decisions. That means you'll be reading it when you become Queen one day."
"Oh, is this what the Queens used to write their ex-per-i-en-ces down?"
"Not quite. I have another one that I use, but this one is special because, it would seem that all the past Queens had enjoyed poetry and it looks like that circle will not end with you, Snofnugg." She touched the tip of Elsa's nose causing her to giggle. "The past Queens had each written down a poem she liked or penned one themselves. Some wrote down more than one during their reign, this book still has a long way to go before it's filled to the brim."
"So…one of the poems you read made you cry?" she deduced.
"Yes."
"But why?" Elsa asked completely confused, "How can words on a parchment make you cry?"
Idun remained quiet for a while, a pensive expression adorning her motherly face. Elsa looked up at her, wondering what she was thinking about, and why she was taking so long to answer her question.
"What happens when you tell Anna you love her?" she asked finally, looking into her eldest's icy blue eyes.
A grin appeared on the girls face so quickly it seemed like magic had conjured it out of thin air. "She's very happy when I say that."
"And what happens when you tell her you can't play because of your lessons?"
The smile dropped as quickly as it had formed. "She's not very happy when I say that."
"Exactly," Idun smiled broadly, "Just like the words we say affect the people we tell them to, so too do the words we read affect us in some way."
Elsa adopted her mother's earlier pensive expression precisely as she mulled over what she had been told.
"So…the words you read were sad?" she asked after a while.
"In a certain sense yes, but not exactly."
The little girl sighed dramatically. Why do grown-ups always have to be so complicated?
"Could you read it to me?" the blonde asked, immensely fascinated by the idea of written words having the same effect as verbal ones. The smile that formed on her mother's mouth was so bright that Elsa knew what her mother had learnt her today had merit. She had to be more observant on people's reactions to her words in the future.
"Nothing would make me happier." Idun stated lovingly, opened the book, and read the poem.
After that fateful day, the eldest Princess had paid very close attention to how people reacted to words in general. She had found out that she wanted to be able to make people happy with her words, make people smile at least. Not because she was clever or some such nonsense as to attain praise in any way, shape or form. No, Elsa wanted to know which words created which specific reaction. So that she would be able to use them more efficiently in her everyday communication and in her budding writing skills as well.
The Queen and Princess would often burst into spontaneous rhyme when speaking to each other, eliciting perplexed expressions from whoever was in their company at that present time. Thus Elsa's poetic senses grew stronger each day through her mother's constant nurturing touch. Leaves of understanding and creativity dappled her awareness in its overarching growth. It would seem that a poet of old had been reincarnated into the youth with blond hair and ice for eyes.
Elsa knew words.
She knew which words would cause which specific reaction.
And when the accident and ensuing isolation followed Fate's timeline, Elsa knew which words would keep her sister safe. Hurt, but safe nonetheless. Now she was beginning to understand why grown-ups where so complicated. Unbeknownst to the eight year old, her childlike innocence was stolen the night her sister's life had been put in danger by her own hands. Distraction became her new goal, replacing the search for words to create happiness. She still needed words, but they had to be new words to quell Calamity and its overwhelming consequences. Although her verbal communication had been immured, the quill found itself flowing freely with its ink.
Words tumbling through her turbulent mind, sprout forth through her poetry, lessened the amounting pressure she had been placed under, and carried her through the days that were unbearably difficult.
When her magic, something she had found great joy in turned to ash and tasted like gall in her mouth.
When the ice sat so heavily, it crusted her heart with fear. When the blizzard howled in the silence of her mind and frosted her touch.
When her door spoke with a muffled voice, begging her to build a snowman.
And when the words of her parents had ceased to exist.
But then…
When love had thawed her frozen heart and her kingdom, light flooded into the depression that had cloaked her words. Rekindling her cold words with the innocence that had been lost for thirteen lonely years; this time it would not yield as it had done before, no matter how much time had passed.
Queen Elsa sat in the nook her mother had occupied all those years ago, resting a chestnut tome on her lap as she stared out onto the kingdom. In the town amongst the bustling townsfolk, she glimpsed ginger pigtails bouncing along with a blond head following close behind her, she smiled, running her uncovered hands over the book absentmindedly.
Her fingers registered the bumps and lines that adorned the cover; she opened it. Cerulean eyes focussed on the book as pages crackled with their turning, echoing in the empty library. She came across the poem her mother had read that had reduced her to tears and had ignited the spark of poetry inside of the young girl of eight.
Back then, Elsa had had trouble understanding the big words that seemed to pop out of nowhere and just complicate something that should be simple, like grown-ups always complicated things. But now, as her eyes drank in the words, she finally understood why it had moved her mother so. And it would seem that it would only serve to move the mother and not the daughter. It's not that the poem itself was not beautiful, far from it, it's just that Elsa couldn't relate to what was being said like her mother before her did.
The pages turned again.
The Queen took her time reading each poem that her predecessors had deemed worthy to be put into the book. The poems were all quite intricate and complex in their own unique way, Elsa soon found herself enraptured with each poem individually.
Until she came across one written in a script she hadn't seem for years.
At first she froze, disbelief warring her logical mind.
Of course she would've put a poem in here, that's what it's for, is it not?
She stared at the flowing loops of her beloved mother's handwriting, solely focussed on the time-honoured calligraphy and not the words they spelled out. Lifting a slightly shaky hand, she brushed her finger tips across the page, picturing her mother writing each word.
Old, neglected memories were recalled, playing out before her as if she were making them right that moment. Her mother's gentle hand leading its tiny duplicate around a page as they spelt Elsa's name for the first time. Reading and analysing poems in the very nook she now occupied. Bursting into spontaneous rhyme…
As all memories do, they follow a specific chronology. Before her happy memories could turn blue with melancholy, she shook her head to clear it, deciding to focus on the words they formed instead.
'The lone girl stands amongst the immur'd ancient walls
Created by Fear of the ice in her veins.
Reduction,
For her protection.
Created as a fail-safe;
It failed to keep her safe.
'The lone woman stands in the turning December.
She's got ice on her lashes,
She stares through a haze of grey and grief.
Slow somnambulist's arm raise heavenward;
Catches a snowflake.
Intricate study never hinder'd by warmth
For the ice on her lashes flow through her veins.
'Are the two destined to become one?
Heaven forbid it!
Though her pillars have failed her,
And Misery embraces her;
There is a light form another
Solskinn'd light
Shining above her,
That will never fail to keep her safe.
A lone tear traced its trail down her cheek from swimming eyes as she reread the poem.
Her mother had penned a poem about her and her 'Solskinn', Anna; about her 'pillars', her parents failing her. Oh how she wished she could hug them close and assure them that they had not failed her when she was younger. She had had many years to think about what had happened and how things could've been done in a better way, but as Anna had taught her many years ago,
"What if's exist as much as flying pigs do." In other words, it didn't help anyone to dwell on things that don't exist.
The poem was right about one thing though, Anna's light had never failed to keep her safe and probably never will.
She sniffed softly, reading the poem again before a timid voice made her jump in fright. She looked over her shoulder to the source of the voice and saw a small dark haired girl with wide glacial eyes staring at her in concern.
"Mama?" she asked again in her timidity, "Are you alright?"
"Yes, Fjell," Elsa answered wiping her eyes dry, "I'm alright."
"Why are you crying then?"
"I just read something that made me cry, my Love."
At the girl's confused expression, the woman smiled in that warm motherly way, mirroring the very same woman that had smiled like that at her when she was younger.
"Let me show you something that my mother showed me a long time ago."
So, yeah that's that. I had fun exploring ways to write this, format wise, and this was the end result.
'Fjell' means mountain in Norwegian :) just so you know.
K, 'till next time.