Chapter 13: Unless You Share with Everyone

"Keep it together. You can do this."

Elsa pressed her fingertips to her temples. Her room, cavernous as it was, felt too small. Her resolve began to waver.

You don't have to tell him. You've barely made a snowflake in the last two months.

But she had, no matter how insignificantly. She'd frozen the wall when he kissed her. A passing moment of panic in an eternity of bliss, perhaps, but a moment that mattered. Her powers were quiet, but not silent. She had to do this now; the only other way was back. And she was not going back.

What if he's afraid of you?

"He won't be," she told herself. He knew she wasn't a monster. He knew.

Splsh.

She gasped at the sound. Her foot quickly retreated from the forgotten puddle, no larger than her hand, lying innocently on the floor. Beside it were two neighbors, the liquid remains of her practice snowballs.

Practice. It had been so long since she'd practiced. The hours spent with Anna, making little icy dolls, skating in the ballroom - they were the most distant of memories now. She could hardly remember what it felt like, to let the magic flow freely without it ripping its way out of her. And, much to her chagrin, she liked it this way.

Her first snowball had been a pathetic, malformed thing, like a muscle trying to exert itself after years of disuse. But the icy tingle that rippled along her fingers had been stronger than remembered.

The second had been larger, but too dense and icy. Still, Elsa could not fully describe the satisfaction that she felt, holding a freezing ball that had come with her permission.

The third was the best of all, six inches around. It left a powder of snowflakes on her palms whenever she touched it. It felt like a sugared pastry, fresh and perfect.

Her powers were ready. What a travesty that she was not.

Elsa approached the mirror of her vanity, taking a good long look at herself. Platinum hair slanted across her forehead like a wind-bent fence, pointing rather intentionally at the braid trailing down her left shoulder. Her dress was the same one that she'd been wearing that first night. A night of nightmares that she wished she would never wake up from.

It was as she wanted it. The dress, the hair, it had all been carefully chosen. Why, then, did she not feel beautiful? Her shoulders were too high, like she were walking on needles. She felt out of breath, yet her heart pounded away like it had all the energy in the world. And then there was the trembling, a little nausea…

You can't do this.

Elsa clenched her jaw, violently protesting the thought. It had paralyzed her to the point of agony for as long as she could remember. No more.

She tried to focus only her own thumping chest. She forced her breathing to slow, ignored the trembling reflection in the mirror, blocked out the incessant doubts.

I'm going to tell him. I'm going to show him. And he's going to love me anyway.

Slowly, reluctantly, the panic began its retreat.

The knock at the door interrupted all of that.

He's here. Her mind seemed incapable of anything but that unhelpful thought. She took one last tremulous breath before she made it to the door.

"Lunch is served," came Adam's familiar voice. She smiled weakly.

"I think you said that yesterday."

"You could try greeting me when I come in."

She laughed at that, opening the door wider for him. "Not a chance. You need the practice."

He rolled his eyes as he set the tray on her desk. Elsa squeezed the doorknob tightly before letting go. Beads of moisture had condensed on the gold leaf, not cold enough to freeze but still far too cold for the peak of a September day.

"I've been practicing the subjunctives," he added, pouring out a cup of tea for them both. "If only I were aware of them the last time you checked my work…"

His ease was infectious, making the eight years of silence seem somewhat surmountable.

Elsa strode past her desk and took a tentative seat on her bedside. Adam paused, the kettle still steaming in his grip .

"Elsa? You alright?"

She gave him the most convincing smile she could, hoping that soon, she would be much more than alright. For now, however, it felt more like she were trapped in a burning building, leaping out a window to safety.

"I'm fine," she lied. "But we're not going to be talking about the subjunctive today."

"Oh?"

There was a hopefulness in his confusion that simultaneously amused and flustered her.

"And not that either."

"Oh?"

It was amazing how different the same word could sound.

"Please." She motioned to the spot beside her, shaking her head when he gestured to her tea. Shelving his own beverage, Adam came to sit beside her.

It was strange, feeling the mattress dip with his uncustomary weight. He was much heavier than the last person to climb on her bed. Those emerald eyes fixed themselves upon her own, drawing her in and dizzying her mind. Now she didn't want to tell him the truth for an entirely different reason. She blushed, averting her eyes in an attempt to remain focused.

"Elsa?" Adam placed a hand on her knee, not invasive, merely supportive. "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

His question made her smirk. Even when he himself was the source of her anxiety, he had a strange power to alleviate it.

"No." She sighed at herself. "I'm just not sure where to begin."

"How about the beginning?"

Elsa bit her lip. He did not deserve the burden he was about to receive.

"Adam…" She returned his gaze. "I have so much to thank you for…"

"Elsa-"

"No, please." She raised a hand to silence him. "Not until I'm finished, okay?"

Adam swallowed, and his eyes grew a bit more distant, uncertain. He nodded.

Elsa took one last breath.

"When we first met two months ago… I never told you why I was in the stables. And I never told you why I wasn't speaking to my sister. Do you remember that?"

He shrugged. "If you wanted to tell me, you would have."

"But that's the thing…" She forced herself to look directly at him, no matter how much it increased her trembling. "I did. I always did."

His eyes pinched slightly in confusion. "Elsa…?"

"I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise me that you won't be afraid of what I'm going to show you."

She didn't lie; she did need it. No matter how ridiculous a request it was, she couldn't bear seeing horror on his face.

He eyed her suspiciously, as if he already knew this was no ordinary confession.

"I would never be afraid of you."

She wanted to cry at those words.

What did you ever do to deserve him?

"Alright." Her fingers stuttered between one another, unwilling to remain at rest. She wanted to ask him if he really wanted to know, give them both a way out of what was about to happen.

You want this. It's what you've wanted all along.

Her mind had always been against her. She had always tried to block it out, tell herself what she knew to be real. But this, it seemed, was something on which they could both agree.

Elsa raised her palm, letting it hover between them. Her fingers fell into line with no small amount of will, flexing in rhythmic unison as she felt the tingling coolness ripple down her arm.

Whenever she used the magic, she could feel it racing through her. From the deepest, most hidden part of herself, Elsa always had to extract something so essential that even she did not understand it. All she knew was that the intentional use of her powers made her feel like nothing else. Liberated was not the right word; she wasn't sure what was.

What she did know was that, as she passed her left hand over her right, she had never felt more complete. The magic flowed between them, forming first a blue glow, then white, until something very solid began to emerge. The snowball that resulted, simple as it was, stirred in her a vague splinter of pride. It had been years since she'd felt anything similar, and as she cupped the complete white sphere in her hands, it seemed easier to look Adam in the face.

She did not know if she had expected what she saw. He had never looked so blank; no smirk, no concern. Only shock. He gave her no kernel of support, nothing from which she could extrapolate his feelings. Adam had never worn a mask. Not knowing how he felt was more difficult than she'd believed possible.

He didn't know what to say. Not even a few stupid ideas; nothing. How did you react to something impossible? Elsa had just pulled a snowball out of thin air.

"Was that…" He couldn't believe he was saying this. "Magic?"

Elsa laughed a little, a gentle gasp that only her smile could save. "I suppose that's the best word for it, yes." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn't want to bore into her face with his stare, so he looked everywhere else instead, trying desperately to process what was happening. He didn't even know what to ask next.

"I… I've been able to do it as long as I can remember," she said, nervously rubbing the snowball. It didn't seem to be melting on her skin. "Not even Anna knows. Only my mother and father do."

"Why?"

Elsa seemed to cringe at that question. He felt guilty immediately, but he was definitely not backing off from this one.

"She knew, once."She whittled flakes off of the snowball with her thumbs. "We played all the time with my… my powers. But one day, she got hurt." Elsa's eyes focused on something he could not see, trapped, perhaps, in another time. "When she recovered, she didn't remember any of it. And I… we decided that I'd never use them or tell anyone ever again."

But she had told him. He too now bore the weight of the royal family. Elsa had a power, a potentially dangerous power, and she had trusted him with that. Only him.

He was part of this now.

"That's why I never left this place," she murmured, looking about the walls of her room like they were some grand landscape. "I could never control them, not completely. I was afraid I would hurt someone again. But one night, this summer, I…"

Her eyes fell shut, hardened against the pain of some memory. "I couldn't. I couldn't stay here any longer. I tried to sneak into the stables, just to go on one ride, for one night." And then, her eyes were on him. "And then I found you." She smiled, that stunning smile, a thing that for once, he did not have to elicit himself. A fortuity, for he had no words but the utmost honest ones.

"Elsa, I… I don't know what to say…"

She blinked. The smile began to fade, cast downward toward the white sphere in her hands.

"I know it's a lot… I wouldn't know how I'd handle it, myself…" Her hands balled into fists, shattering the snowball into a million powdery flakes. "I had to tell someone. You were… I'm sorry." He saw her face wrench. He had never seen her truly cry before - now, faced with even the full force of his own shock, he could not bear to see it now. "I should never have-"

Adam took Elsa by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"Elsa." He stared her straight in the eye. He had never noticed how icy blue they were; the intensity of their shade seemed magnified today. Being so close to her awakened powerful feelings - confusing feelings. One thing, however, he could say with all honesty. "It's okay."

So focused on her eyes, he could see every glint and emotion pass through them. A hazy line of water collected beneath her irises, glistening in the sunlight as her features spread into a smile. Elsa let out a choking laugh, pitching her head forward to rest on his shoulder.

"How do you do it?" she asked, shaking her head against him. "How do you know what to say?"

It was a good question. He always did seem to know what to say when he needed to - it had gotten him out of prison. It had gotten him into the kitchens. It had gotten him to her.

And now, finally, he did know what to say. But this time, as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, as simple as the three words were, as much as he knew they would help, Adam Westergard found that he could not say them.