A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for all of the comments and reviews! It really makes my day to read them. I got some good ones for the last chapter (mostly "yeah, Elsa, be strong!"), so I hope you'll like this one as well. :D

And now we're seeing Elsa become the woman she was in the beginning of Frozen...

Standard disclaimers apply.

*A Beautiful Endeavor*

It was easy to appear calm and collected in front of the mirror.

It was harder to maintain that façade in front of others.

As the princess regent, it was her duty to oversee the ruling of the kingdom with the guidance of her councilors. She began to hold small audiences for a few hours a day, where she judged the major grievances that the courts passed on to her. In his reign, her father had opened the throne room to the public – courtesans and commoners alike – and all were welcome to hear the dictates of the king. Elsa wasn't quite so daring. She saw the petitioners one at a time in the cloisters of the cathedral, the columns and vaulted ceiling helping Elsa feel as if the room was bigger than it actually was.

The majority of the time, Elsa was perfectly fine. She sat stiff-backed in her chair, a gentle smile of encouragement on her face. She seriously considered the various plights that were brought before her – everything from land disputes, accusations of tax evasion or thievery, to the plans for the end-of-summer festival and a new vendor's location for the sale of mead – and gave her replies thoughtfully, with all the knowledge she had on the matter. The people seemed pleased with the fairness of her decisions, and some even begged her pardon to mention that they liked the intimacy of the smaller audiences better, since their problems felt more private. Elsa took their comments with a smile, glad that despite her years as a recluse from her people, she seemed approachable and benevolent.

But then something would happen. Something would always happen, and Pitch would come to her mind.

Often his memory was triggered by something small – and, Elsa admitted to herself later, insignificant: a cloth merchant who had the same smooth stride; a bishop who looked at her with the same tilt to his head; the undertaker who, despite the mud stains on his black clothes, still reminded Elsa of Pitch because of his slim, towering form.

The sudden familiarity always struck her hard – Pitch, her mind cried – and even his name was a small dagger to her heart. Her body instantly reacted; her hands clenched in her gloves, her fingers digging into the arms of her chair. Her breaths quickened. She felt the pulse of her magic awakening to her budding panic, beginning to stir beneath her skin.

Don't feel, she told herself, and took a slow breath. Don't feel anything.

She made herself look at the petitioners, made herself really see them. She looked into their white faces, and made herself focus on the nervousness that always surfaced under her scrutiny. She made herself see the differences, the changes. They weren't the same. No, she told herself. They aren't like him.

They aren't like Pitch at all.

And then she felt her heart begin to slow. She was in control again, and the danger of an icy reaction had passed.

Don't let them know, she chanted to herself, pleased she had kept her secret hidden. Never let them know.

Then there were other times – worse times, horrible times – when suddenly, for no reason at all, she remembered him.

His voice.

His eyes.

His smile.

His touch.

In public she wouldn't react. She forbade herself from reacting. But her body always stiffened, the horror and sadness and absence of him rocking her to the core. Once her mind overcame the initial shock and trauma of the merciless memory, she snapped her smile into place, trying hard to ignore the tendrils of crystal and frost that crept through her gloves and down the edge of her chair.

Don't feel, she told herself desperately.

Don't feel, don't feel, don't feel…

And then she made herself try to stop feeling. The thoughts of Pitch eventually faded, deprived of their heavy influence.

Then the world was at peace again.

But when Elsa was alone, she let the tears fall silently down her face. Don't feel, she thought, but it was useless; the words didn't seem to have as much power when the battle was solely in her mind.

Don't feel. Stop feeling things for him.

Just stop.

It was a difficult thing to simply turn off her feelings, Elsa found as the weeks turned into months, then into years.

It was difficult to crush her emotions, but she finally succeeded.

She learned not to feel.

She moved on. She changed.

Memories of the Nightmare King plagued her less and less. The details she had preserved of him began to fade.

She got over her heartache.

You can do this, Elsa, she told herself as she looked in the mirror the night before her coronation. You can live your life without feeling. You've made it this far – it won't be hard.

You can live without Pitch Black in your life.

She learned to conceal the truth, even from herself.

A/N: There will be more.