Chapter 9: Let it go
The dress was beautiful, without question. It was a confection of draped, sheer silver layers that cascaded down from a snug-fitting dove grey bodice, and it laced in the back with shining ribbons. Elsa had to admit that there was something about this gown that seemed to whisper about possibilities, an evening filled with romance and being swept off of her feet and all that.
So. It was too bad that this evening was merely an uncomfortable obligation, that she'd be forced to dance with numerous suitors she had no intention of marrying, and that the only man she wanted to sweep her off her feet was the one she could never have.
Elsa twirled slightly as she gazed blankly into the mirror. She did like the way the material of the dress blew around in a lovely, shimmering cloud of silver with her every motion.
"Elsa, you look amazing!" Anna breathed, entering the room looking gorgeous herself in a deep purple gown, her hair swept into a complicated pile of auburn curls, interwoven with matching ribbons.
"No, you look amazing," Elsa demurred, grinning at her sister's predictable enthusiasm about a ball. There was nothing Anna enjoyed more.
Sometimes, Elsa wondered if it would have been easier if Anna had been the elder sister, the destined Queen of Arendelle. She was so much more merry and sociable. But then again, as Queen, she'd have had to fight to be allowed to marry Kristoff, a commoner. Nothing about this royal life seemed to offer easy solutions, even in hypothetical pondering.
"You don't understand," Anna explained, circling her sister and taking in the full effect of the gown. "You actually look like this is the night you're going to meet the love of your life. There's this crazy air of destiny around you!" Anna cocked her head to one side and reconsidered her words before hastily adding, "Of course, I know this whole ball to find a suitor thing is just for show and based on a totally insulting patriarchal tradition, but you know…"
"Yes," Elsa smiled gently. She patted the sleek chignon that held her hair in place and nervously gave her diamond bracelet a few quick turns.
"Kristoff is so mad that he had to wear a purple vest and tie to match me," Anna divulged as they made their way to the ballroom.
"At last, a reason why this ball might be worthwhile," Elsa winked.
"Don't forget about the chocolate!" Anna reminded her as they entered the lavish room with its opulent pink and silver decorations, the many tables laden with food and drink, and a vast crowd of party-goers chatting amongst themselves as the string quartet set up on the stage.
Elsa made her way to the middle of the room as the crowd opened to provide her a passage, eventually creating a circle of people that surrounded her with their admiring murmurs and kind words of welcome. All of the council members were lined up in their seats against one wall, looking so smug that Elsa felt tempted to tell them what she really thought of their idea about her marrying. At the front of the room stood a line of young men dressed to the nines, their hands neatly folded and their faces expectant. A faint air of competition rippled among them.
The suitors, Elsa realized, striving to remain calm and keep her irritation and nerves from showing. Graciously, she strode in their direction, and upon reaching their vicinity, swept into a neat curtsey by way of greeting.
One of them, the quickest thinker of the bunch, immediately stepped forward to kiss her hand with great ceremony. "Your majesty," said Councilor Carston, "This is Prince Michael of the kingdom of Regalla."
Prince Michael released Elsa's hand and bowed deeply. "May I have the honor of this dance?"
He was comely enough, with his brown hair and eyes and his perfectly symmetrical features, and it was clear that he held Elsa in the highest esteem. However, as they danced, Elsa felt the burden of his extreme respect as an impediment to any interesting conversation. Whenever Elsa asked a question, Michael automatically deflected it to suggest his opinion on the topic was whatever she would prefer.
Then again, when she experienced the conversational style of her next partner, Sir Randall, Elsa wished she was still dancing with Prince Michael, who while dull was at least considerate and polite. Sir Randall seemed to think that flirtation and aggression went hand in hand, and as he took the lead, he pulled her closer than she felt comfortable with. She pulled back and repositioned them with a pointed look that Randall seemed to take no notice of. He spent the rest of the dance making announcements of everything they would do when they were married one day, the laws they would change, the children they would have, the vacations they would take. Elsa accidentally stepped on his feet for most of the dance and took a quiet satisfaction every time he winced.
Her third partner, Prince Ulrich, seemed to think conversation was a waste of time, but staring rudely at his dancing companion was entirely appropriate. Elsa was making the best of the situation by enjoying the comparative peace after her time with Sir Randall, but scarcely had she started to slightly relax when she caught sight of Hans, standing from the edge of the dance floor.
He wore a plain white catering uniform, his hair slicked back neatly and everything about his appearance suggestive of a simple, common-place waiter. That is, except for the fact that he was easily the most handsome man in the room. Elsa processed her burst of joy and anxiety at seeing him just in time to notice that Hans, who was loading a large silver tray with empty champagne flutes, did not look happy to see her. Far from it.
In fact, he looked angry. Elsa realized that she'd never seen him angry before. She'd seen Hans in the throes of so many emotions and impulses, from his selfish and manipulative times to his redemptive moments of bravery or tenderness. But never before had she glimpsed that intense glare she noticed plainly now, as Hans pulled his eyes from hers and disdainfully left the room.
"Thanks for the dance," she murmured hurriedly to Prince Ulrich, not caring that the song was only half-over. As the Prince's expression shifted from intent scrutiny to confusion, Elsa made as subtle an exit as she could and headed for the palace kitchen.
Hans was standing with his back to her, rearranging food on platters, and since all of the other waitstaff were on their way out of the room with more items to serve the crowd, they found themselves alone.
"Hans," she began apprehensively, willing him to turn and face her.
"Why did you give me this job?" he asked tersely. Oh, yes, he was mad.
"Because I knew you didn't care for the life of a farmer, and this was a more pleasant line of work where you could still prove your intention of regaining your honor," Elsa said smoothly, lightly, traipsing over well-rehearsed words crafted by her sense of duty.
"And if I have to come here and see you dancing with other men whom you might marry, that's perfectly fine with you?" Hans bristled.
"It's not perfectly fine with me that I have to dance with them in the first place," Elsa explained. "I only do it to make a show of good faith to the people of Arendelle that I will one day marry."
"Why can't you be honest with me, even when there's no one else here?" Hans asked, gesturing around at the temporarily abandoned kitchen.
"Fine!" Elsa burst out, seething all of a sudden. Why was he doing this to her? "You want to know why I got you the job, Hans? Because I couldn't stand to think of you living that grim life, alone and hated. So I got you a position where you could at least be comfortable and earn some respect. I'm sorry I bothered now!"
"And that's all there is to it?" Hans asked, crossing his arms.
"Of course not!" Elsa exclaimed, caring less and less if someone heard. It was all she could do to keep her powers in check as her frustration grew. "If I can't be honest with you, it's because it hurts to tell you the truth. To tell you that I gave you the job to keep you near me. So that I could see you every once in a while. Even tonight, when I'm trapped in this fake situation that I hate! Happy now?"
"No," Hans said, pacing and fuming. "I'm not happy, Elsa. I'm not happy that when I walk into a room you're in, I want to go to you, talk to you, touch you, hold you, but I can't. So I have to stand there like an idiot, nodding and smiling while some buffoon twirls you around the dance floor."
"You didn't even attempt to nod and smile," Elsa corrected, trying to push aside the rush of warmth already rushing to her cheeks at his words about what he wished to do.
"That's right," Hans admitted, getting too close for comfort as their eyes met fully. "There you are, swanning around with these other men who have a chance to maybe, someday be with you. The whole evening is constructed around the idea of you finding someone to love, someone to marry."
"Well, I don't want to—" Elsa began, but he cut her off.
"I know," Hans allowed, "I know that you don't want to be here, that you're going through the motions for your people, that you live for them. And of course, I know that the reason I have no chance to court you is my own fault, for my past crimes and unbelievable stupidity. It's a simple collision of your selflessness and my selfishness.
But I think you're missing the point, Elsa. I'm not angry because I'm a waiter instead of a Prince or a soldier, or because of anything that's even remotely your fault. I'm angry because I want to be the one dancing with you. I love you! I want to marry you!"
His eyes were blazing with so much emotion that Elsa felt utterly unable to reply. Her body seemed as still and stuck as it had been under Lars' power. The words he'd spoken were the most passionate and shocking ones ever addressed to her by anyone.
"I know," he relented at last, as her silence continued, "It's absurd. It seems more absurd than ever when I say it out loud. Please, forget I said anything. Enjoy your evening, your majesty." So much bitterness dripped from his words that Elsa was again mute and awestruck. He brushed past her, sending a thousand shivers running up and down her spine.
She returned to the ballroom with a heavy heart sinking in her chest and sat quietly in her throne, staring down at her hands, which were shaking slightly. She realized that the sensation didn't come from fear or anger, but rather from a desire fighting so hard against her every sensible defense that she couldn't help but tremble.
Anna and Kristoff were dancing merrily, the latter not entirely successful in his attempt to remember everything he'd been taught in ballroom class. They laughed so hard that Elsa could hear them over the sweet music that suddenly seemed to be sickly sweet, nauseating and oppressive. The music urging her to be true to her duty.
"Your majesty?" Councilor Carston inquired, "Are you quite well?"
Elsa scanned the room, noticing all of the suitors gathered still in their sector, chatting amongst themselves. Were they gossiping, establishing solidarity or competition, laying odds as to who had the best chance at her hand in marriage? She saw her beautiful, kind, joyous subjects filling the room with their excited chatter, steaming plates passed around the tables as children ran across the dance floor dropping chocolates and cookies in their wake. A whole world of satisfied jubilation, and another one meant only for obligation. She had been shoved so hard into the latter realm that she wanted to scream.
Suddenly, she stood, looking around quickly until she saw a scowling Hans, his arms laden with trays covered in used dishes, preparing to leave the room again. She made a beeline in his direction, observers be damned. She heard Councilor Carston calling after her and didn't care.
Hans had made a rapid path through the kitchen, where he'd left the trays and made off down one of the dimly candlelit hallways, finally slipping into a finely appointed art gallery as if his intention was to clear his mind for a few minutes. She did not intend to make it that easy for him.
Scarcely had Hans even had time to notice her entrance into the room when Elsa launched herself into his arms, grabbing his face in her hands and kissing him with shameless abandon. He didn't hesitate even for a beat, but kissed her back so searingly that she felt she might melt away on the spot. Elsa sighed and tangled her fingers in his hair, making no argument as he pulled her closer, tighter. Then he moved back slightly so that he could really look at her as strands of white-blonde hair fell loose around her face, her carefully constructed bun no match for the ardor of this moment. Still staring intently into her wide, pleading eyes, Hans ran a finger slowly along her jawbone, over her lips, until she could barely breathe, and certainly had no defenses left in place.
It was a moment that seemed frozen in time except that their faces started to get closer and closer again, their breaths coming heavy, full of anticipation. Just as their lips were about to touch once more, a voice interrupted them.
"Elsa!" Anna exclaimed in a huff, her hands perched on her hips. Her face was red with anger and disbelief. An aghast Kristoff stood beside her, his mouth open in shock. "What in the world is going on?"