For Iduna's part - well, she had never seen anyone quite like him, though, owing to the popularity of her sisters, as well as to her own beauty, which had attracted a number of suitors before her aloofness had turned their attentions to her sisters as well, she had seen many handsome charmers before. It was his smile - the smile that had never failed to endear him to any woman or man who saw it, for, with its warmth, it spoke of a desire to know her, whosoever she might be, and with its gentle kindness, its solicitousness, it asked to know what was troubling her just as it offered to set it right. Because of those eyes, his face was, to her, nothing less than the face of angel.
Iduna had remembered herself after several moments, had glanced away, turned away. But Adgar had sought her, relentlessly, but always sweetly, gradually drawing her into conversation with his persistence, after many failed efforts, requesting dances, continuing to hold her hand or her arm for a while after the end of each waltz. Yes, he pursued her, though Iduna never quite believed it or cake to terms with the reality of it till the day she went with him to the marriage altar.
And as they had exchanged vows as well as hearts, each of the newlyweds had each exchanged a bit of him or herself for a bit of the other, or, more accurately, each had given up a bit of himself, wordlessly and without request, for the sake of the other with whom life would be shared from this day onward. Adgar had begun to strive to be a more sober and efficient king, though perhaps this sobriety and efficiency became excessive over time. As for Iduna, it was no simple task for her to shed the mantle of "aboveness" and "pridefulness" that she had worn for so long, or to rid herself of the reticence that had become a part of her character, but for Adgar's sake, she made valiant efforts, though they yielded small successes.
But now, as they gazed together upon the face of their fair-haired little beloved, smiling drowsily up at them, it was as if a fairy had stolen into the palace, past the stolid, steely-eyed guards and the iron shutters, to deliver to them a ray of sunshine of their own, brighten every corner of their abode and transform it into a haven of laughter and joy.
"Her name will be Elsa," Iduna declared unexpectedly.
A line appeared between Adgar's brows. "Elsa? Why Elsa, my love?"
He had wanted to name the child Anna, which meant "favored," in the event that it was a girl, for this child WOULD favored. He was determined, as all new fathers were, that HIS child would receive the best upbringing that he could give her. No queen in the history of Arendelle would be stronger-minded, cleverer, more selfless, more charitable, more courageous than his firstborn princess. Before this day, Iduna had deferred to him, as she usually did.
Iduna, still flushed from the rigors of childbirth, sank back against an array of headcushions. Her eyes were soft, dark and lustrous, surrounded though they were by faint dark rings, shadows of exhaustion and exertion.
"Because she will be joyful, lighthearted, as you were when we first met - I know that she will. And I hope that she will be noble - graceful, filled with pride - but with a good pride, a virtuous pride . . .as I have always . . .longed to be . . .as I always ought to have been."
By this time, the baby's great blue eyes had closed, as she had fallen asleep. Adgar laid her at the foot of the bed, as carefully as if he were returning a rare and precious stone into its box. Then, going over to where his wife lay, he knelt at the bedside, taking one small white hand into his.
"My angel, you have always been graceful, gracious and noble, and you will remain beautiful and noble forever. I do not know how to make you understand - but till the day you die, you will be my vakker jente, my edel kvinne, my Iduna."
He received no reply, except for the sound of slow, soft breathing. Idun, like her baby daughter, had fallen asleep.
Lifting her hand, Adgar pressed it to his lips. He rose, then, and quietly departed the room.