A Matter of Gloves and Tradition
She didn't wear gloves anymore, yet she still wore them on her way to the chapel where, a mere few months before, she had been crowned as Arendelle's new queen. Queen Elsa of Arendelle. The young monarch still wasn't fully used to being addressed as "Queen". For eighteen years she had been a princess, three years a Queen-Apparent, and "Queen" for three months of her entire lifespan.
Elsa paused before the steps leading to the double, ancient doors leading into the chapel. Both doors were partially open, allowing a rectangle glimpse of the interior. Edges of pews poked into view past the doors, thrown into shadows by the sun coming in through windows high up on the walls at the ends of the pews.
Still completely calm, Elsa strolled up the little steps leading into the main entrance of the diminutive chapel. Light filtered through windows stained with religious scenes and important saints, including Norway's patron, Saint Hellig-Olav. The queen stopped behind the last pew, a hand reaching to touch the back of the long seat, eyes fixed on the front of the chapel.
To think I was standing there not four months ago.
The seats were all vacant, but for a moment, Elsa saw the afterimages of wealthy guests, foreign dignitaries, and officials seated in the pews. She still distinctly recalled the somewhat distracting snores of a guest who had dozed off during the coronation ceremonies.
But the person she recalled most vividly was her little sister, Anna, standing quietly off to the side with a small smile. Elsa remembered Anna's splendorous dress with its little shoulder straps and striped skirts patterned with green crocuses. Anna had not fidgeted—much—or grown restless with boredom—a feat Elsa had been surprised by and grateful for. Elsa remembered having been too terrified even to make eye contact with Anna—let alone the bishop—but just having her sister there had calmed her a little.
Thank you, Anna, she relayed to the past Anna who had been by her side on Coronation Day, thank you for being there.
"Ahem."
Elsa jumped, a startled flurry bursting from her fingers. Spinning around, she found herself face-to-face with the dour Bishop of Arendelle. He wore the same purple robes that were the same shade as his oft-donned crown. Deep wrinkles lined his aged, unsmiling face, and the hair left unhidden by the crown had long turned grey. His piercing blue eyes, pale as the sky on a winter's morning, stared down at the queen. Elsa wondered if she'd ever stop feeling like he searched her very soul—hunting for sin, perhaps?—when he trained his eyes on her.
"Good day, Your Honour," Elsa greeted him, clasping her gloved hands together, palm against palm.
"What has brought you to this House of God today?"
Elsa unclasped her hands, bringing them up to chest level so the bishop couldn't help but notice them—gloved, but relaxed. Her fingers didn't tremble as they had picking up the orb and sceptre on the day of her Coronation. Her hands were steady, not shaking as they had when holding the relics of a queen. She wasn't afraid now—not even of the bishop with his soul-searching blue eyes.
Elsa breathed deep before speaking. "It is a matter of gloves."
"Ah."
The bishop's nostrils narrowed, his lips tightening, the smallest of frowns at the edges of his mouth.
"I presume you are recalling what happened at your Coronation?"
Elsa lowered her hands, letting them rest at her sides.
"Yes, I am," Elsa confirmed.
"Hm." The bishop paused, letting it stretch long enough that Elsa began to feel discomfort, before gesturing for her to follow.
The bishop led her to the front of the chapel, where he placed himself behind a pastor's pedestal. Interlacing his fingers together, he leaned his elbows on the pedestal's surface, never taking his gaze off Elsa.
"I recall telling you to take off your gloves—as is tradition with all Coronation Ceremonies that one must touch the relics with bare hands. This allows you to connect with its inherent qualities of absolute power, as a monarchy such as yourself possesses. Were you not aware of the traditions held by many generations of crowned monarchs on their own days of Ceremonies?"
Elsa tried not to bristle at his slightly condescending tone—he was only doing his job, reminding her of the reason behind the tradition of touching and holding the sceptre and orb with bare hands. Of course she had long known all about the traditions embedded in the Ceremony of Coronation.
"I was fully aware," Elsa admitted, "my parents had ensured I understood what would happen at my Coronation. I knew all the laws inherent."
The bishop pursed his lips, eyes flickering over the queen's face.
"Hm. Did you believe you would be an exception to the traditions?"
Elsa bit her lip, chewing on it lightly as she thought how to carefully word her answer to the pious man's enquiry. She coughed a little, gloved hand over mouth, giving herself a bit more time to think.
"I had thought that my father might have told you something about my powers," Elsa unconsciously drew her arms across her waist, hugging herself, "I had to have the gloves on to control my cur—magic."
She was still getting used to the idea of her powers being beautiful, not an ugly curse brought down on her by some vengeful Fate. The bishop's grey eyebrows arched to the rim of his headdress.
"I was not aware you possessed magic of any kind. Not until the midsummer winter." The bishop pulled his hands apart, laying his fingers flat on the pedestal's top, "I do recall observing, however, the orb and sceptre being inordinately cold when I inspected them later."
Elsa's heart thudded once.
"What—what did you believe then?"
"Only that it was from an unusual circumstance—perhaps the temperature of their usual home had been cooler in the night. Or that you just simply possessed extra-cold hands."
Elsa tried to bite back her smile. "You could say that was really half the truth, wasn't it?"
"Mm."
Not a man of many words, is he?
"Your Majesty," the bishop continued, "if you knew the gloves had to be removed, why did you not remove them in the first instance?"
Elsa forced herself not to wince—she shifted her feet on the carpet, an uncanny feeling of déjà vu hitting her. She was standing not even five feet away from where she had when being crowned as Arendelle's new queen.
"I was scared of my magic," Elsa admitted, "and I knew that by keeping my gloves on, I could control my powers."
"And yet, you could control them just fine once I prompted you to remove your gloves."
"Almost," Elsa emphasised, "frost did begin coating the relics. Seeing my magic manifesting on the relics was why I had put them down and put my gloves back on."
"But you were in control," the bishop argued, "I believe, had you more trust in yourself, you might have found the Coronation Ceremony a little easier to go through—stressful as it is in the first instance, only a natural reaction. As God is witness to my honesty, you performed with paramount excellence."
"You give me too much credit," Elsa disagreed, shaking her head, "I went through all of that hardly knowing what I was doing."
Was that a twitch at the corner of the bishop's mouth?
"I understand, Your Majesty, and I assure you that you are not the only queen who has felt this way. You did very well for being crowned at such a young age. He may not have told you, but your father, the late King Agdar, tripped as he came up the stairs."
Elsa's blood ran cold—hadn't she read in her books that a monarch tripping up on his way to be crowned was a bad omen?
"Don't look so alarmed, Your Majesty," the bishop hastened to soothe, "It is a very old superstition, and we do not believe in such omens, at least not in Arendelle."
Elsa released a breath, but she still couldn't get the idea that maybe somehow her father's tripping up the steps on his way to the chapel's entrance led in some way to her having ice powers. Ice powers that would later submerge Arendelle into a deep winter that lasted at least three days. Her powers stirred in her veins, pulsing under her skin. Her head buzzed, the world swaying as blood drained from her face. A little flurry of snow began to swirl around her, the first outward sign of an impending panic attack.
Control it, she coaxed herself, think of Anna, think of Anna, think of…
Behind eyelids squeezed shut, Elsa brought up the image of Anna's smile, her blue eyes so full of love. She persuaded herself to remember how warm and tight Anna's first hug had felt after thirteen years. With all these soothing memories pushed up to the front of her conscious, Elsa could feel her powers begin receding, its strong pulse drawing away from her skin, retreating back to a place deep inside her.
"Your Majesty?"
Elsa twitched as the bishop's voice floated back to her, bringing the queen out of the recesses of troubling thoughts. He had moved away from behind the pedestal, and stood before the queen, hands hovering in front of the queen, obviously unsure whether he had permission to support her. Shaking her head slightly, Elsa stepped a little away from him, hoping her legs could keep holding her up.
If he hadn't tripped, this wouldn't have happened…I wouldn't have ice powers…I wouldn't have hurt Anna. Twice.
"Your Majesty, I apologise for alarming you unnecessarily," the bishop said, "I should not have mentioned—"
"No, it's fine," Elsa insisted, "You do not need to apologise."
"I fear I have misspoken in a way as to upset you."
"You have not upset me—just…I didn't know that happened on my father's Coronation."
"Nothing bad came of it—while, yes, there have been hard times, Arendelle is still whole and peaceful, is it not? Your father and mother have left a kingdom still whole, happy, and at peace with its neighbours to you when they passed away to Heaven. That had nothing to do with omens. You had nothing to do with any omens—and I believe for one that such things are fabrications of a mind searching for answers where they are false. Do you understand?"
Elsa was more focussed on trying to breathe calmly again, not to let her powers spiral out of control—not in the chapel, not where they had almost been exposed on Coronation Day. Her befuddled brain just barely understood what the bishop was trying to say to her. She couldn't make sense of some of what he said, but nodded anyway.
"If it may help you feel better, I remember King Agdar's hands were perfectly steady, and he stood firm as the foundation on which Arendelle's royal castle stands. Not a year later, he married his wife, the late Queen Idunn. If anything, their union has brought forth a young queen able and willing to do her duty for Arendelle as God willed."
Elsa forced herself to look into the bishop's eyes, this time feeling a sense of calm as she saw the concern there in them. Serious as he was, it was clear that the bishop did have Arendelle's monarchy's best interests at heart, Queen Elsa's included.
"Does that make you feel a little better?"
The queen nodded, her breathing mostly back to normal.
"Thank you."
"Is there anything else you wish to know?"
Elsa tried to make sense of what was going through her head, but all she could think of were two questions. She wanted to ask the bishop, a man of spiritual leanings, two questions. Two questions that might help her know that she was doing fine. She was such a young queen—even her father didn't ascend the throne until a little older than she. Not by much, to be fair, but he certainly hadn't had the weight of kingship on his shoulders at eighteen like she had. At twenty-six, he was King of all Arendelle, while she had been as good as a queen since eighteen, even despite having to wait until her twenty-first birthday to be officially crowned as a queen.
But was she a good queen? Was she upholding the deep traditions and values of Arendelle's spirituality in a way as to satisfy the religious who prayed at the chapel?
"Your Honour, do you believe my father and mother were a good king and queen?"
"I do," the bishop said, his voice strong in its conviction, "both ensured that Arendelle's people were well-satisfied in both their material and spiritual needs. They are sorely missed by many, I have no doubt."
Elsa took a couple deep breaths, her gloved hands winching into fists at her sides.
"And do you believe I will be…"
Her voice trailed off in surprise as the bishop's deeply lined face broke out into a smile, his eyes crinkling at their edges.
"Your Majesty, you already are reigning with utmost excellence," he praised, "I have no doubt you will be just as beloved of the Arendelle citizens, if not moreso, than your ancestors."
A moment passed where Elsa couldn't find the words to respond.
"Th-thank you." She stammered, not daring to hope that the bishop was being sincere, "But I've only been reigning three months."
"I believe you have proved yourself a worthy queen in just the first month alone," the bishop reassured, the smile leaving his lips but not his eyes, "And you will be remembered in Arendelle long after we have all passed to God."
Elsa nodded, finding all words had flown from her heart and mind.
"May your reign as Queen of Arendelle be blessed, and may your tribulations be light. I believe in you, Your Majesty, and remember God will guide you, as He did for your ancestors and for those who will come after you."
Elsa wouldn't call herself the most spiritual person in Arendelle, nevertheless, the bishop's words brought a sense of calm and peace to her heart, chasing away most of what remained of her near panic attack only a few minutes before. Managing the smallest of grateful smiles, she spoke two words of gratitude to the bishop.
"Thank you."