CHAPTER TWO
Anna groans.
Of all things that are required of her as a Queen, paperwork is the worst. Letters from foreign delegates, trade agreements, agreements and requests that need to be read over and signed, and more—all in one messy pile on her desk. It only ever seems that, the more she reads and thumbs through, the higher the pile stacks.
How Elsa had such a clean and empty desk all the time when she was queen is beyond her.
Not even a couple of minutes later, when Anna releases another frustrated groan, does Kristoff knock and nudge his way into her study with a filled tray. The scent of soup and various meats hits her, and she drops her quill pen and slides her chair back.
"Oh thank God, is it lunch time? I'm starving. You have no idea how insufferable it is to sit here and read such pompous letters," she rambles, taking a sandwich from the tray before Kristoff can even set it down on a nearby table.
"I can imagine," he chuckles, pulling up a chair next to her. He eyes her workload before taking a generous bite of his sandwich. "Give yourself some credit; you did put a bit of a dent in your paper mountain."
Anna, already halfway through her first sandwich, glares at the papers on her desk.
"Yeah right," she scoffs, taking a rough bite of her meal. They sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying their lunch as the afternoon sun streams through the uncovered windows and casts a comfortable warmth into the study.
A frown settles over Anna's face as she stares at the enormous pile of papers overflowing on her desk. An overwhelming feeling of being lost and abandoned, left to pick up the pieces of her kingdom, settles within her abruptly burning chest. The flame is doused as quickly as it started; and, instead, a chilling sensation drops into her stomach like ice cubes in water.
When Elsa abdicated the throne of Arendelle to her, she made sure that Anna was equipped with all the skills she needed to run the kingdom. Her sister stayed for a couple weeks, and they spent long hours going over important documents, current negotiations in the works, and the like. For that, Anna was ever grateful to her; but, the moment Elsa left astride her majestic Dark Sea stallion, she missed her terribly. She still does.
She's wandered the castle on many sleepless nights, pausing to enter her sister's empty room, only to find herself waking in that exact bed the next morning, staring up at the ceiling feeling cold and empty. Not even Kristoff can fill the ache within her chest after nights like those.
It's as though her heart creates space for certain people; and, once they leave, all that's left is an aching gap.
It's irrational, and she always attempts to reason with herself. Anna was aware of what would happen once she agreed to become Queen of Arendelle, but that doesn't mean the absence of her sister's daily presence in her life hurts any less.
How did Elsa cope with such a heavy crown on her head for six years and manage to rise each morning despite her differences?
She's thought about writing to her with such questions but refrains each time. Elsa is finally free, and who is Anna to push her burdens onto her?
Anna sucks in a trembling breath. Her vision blurs as she struggles to rise to her feet and make her way to the window overlooking the bustling kingdom.
When she feels Kristoff's quiet warmth next to her, exuding a strength she latches onto, her lips tremble as she holds back a sob. His arms prevent her from crumbling.
"I miss her."
Honeymaren grunts, the air leaving her lungs upon the impact against her wooden staff. The backs of her hands are pressed up against her chest, fingers straining to keep a solid grip on her weapon. The muscles in her arms ache from the force of her opponent's strength, and she clenches her teeth so hard that they audibly grind. She steps backward, the leather of her boots sliding along the ice and snow that has become her battlefield. Sweat trickles down her temple and settles itself uncomfortably in the collar of her jacket.
Her brown eyes shift from the colliding staffs to the taller man in front of her. She bares her teeth and lets out a loud growl, stepping forward with one foot to use her other as leverage to push; but, instead, when her mentor releases her, she falls flat on her face into the snow.
Not one to give up, Honeymaren jumps up to her feet, spitting out a mouthful of snow before charging at her opponent's legs. He evades the swipe of the end of her staff and counters her momentum by catching her legs with a low sweep of his foot.
Honeymaren tumbles flat on her back, her hat now fallen off her head into a nearby snowbank, with the wind knocked out of her. She arches, gasping for air. Once she gathers her bearings, her grip on her staff tightens; but, when she attempts to rise, a foot pins her fighting hand down by the wrist.
"That's enough for today. You're too reckless, and you're going to kill yourself," her mentor says gruffly. "Your footing is terribly off. You should learn how to fight on the ice better," he continues, chiding her.
Honeymaren frowns, glaring up at him as she catches her breath, her chest rising and falling unevenly in an attempt to mask how tired she actually is.
"You know I hate fighting in Winter, Eret," she grumbles. Her mentor chuckles in response, the sound deep and rare enough to surprise her. She accepts his hand and allows him to pull her back onto her feet. Honeymaren brushes off any remnants of snow left over from her embarrassing fall.
"You'll have to learn and adapt no matter the conditions. You know this, Maren. Neither the forest nor the spirits give a damn when you're fighting," Eret tells her so matter-of-factly that she nearly cringes. The crinkles by his temples are prominent now that he has a moment to scrutinize her through squinted eyes.
The heat of his gaze burns through Honeymaren, and she clenches a fist at her side, despising how easily he can make her feel like a reckless child.
"You should hang out with your Spirit friend more; she seems to have perfect footing on the ice," Eret suggests with a tiny smirk, leaning on his staff.
Honeymaren rolls her eyes, picking up her own wooden staff. "That's because the ice is part of her; it's not the same."
"Sure it is," Eret says, standing up straight to rest his weapon on his shoulders. "You may not have the powers, but think of yourself as one with the snow and ice. You could stand to learn a thing or two from her, I think. . . especially patience."
Honeymaren shoots him a glare, her lips pulled thin.
"I have patience! You just test it too often. . ." Maren trails off with a grumble, averting her gaze to the tracks in the snow.
"Speaking of snow. . ." Eret turns his gaze to a nearby tree, and Honeymaren turns her head to spot Elsa by the edge of the forest leading into the clearing they were just sparring in.
The sunlight shines over the Fifth Spirit, catching her blonde hair in an intense, angelic glow. The crystals on her dress glimmer in a way that nearly blinds Honeymaren; her breath hitches. The sparkle of her white dress is almost as mesmerizing as the woman herself.
When they make eye contact, a soft smile curls along Elsa's features, causing Honeymaren's heart to skip a beat.
Eret pokes her from behind with his staff, making her lose her footing for a moment. Honeymaren catches herself and shoots him a glare. Her mentor chuckles.
"Get a grip; she's coming over."
Honeymaren straightens her back, turning on her toes and stabilizing herself on the snow. Her fingers tighten around the wood of her staff, enough that she's sure she'll find a splinter or two later. As Elsa approaches, Honeymaren tries to match her radiant smile, though it's crooked and forced.
She inwardly groans. Eret is right; get a grip Maren! Is this how you're supposed to act around a friend?! Like a dumb deer?!
"Good afternoon," Elsa says, halting a couple of feet from them. A soft smile is plastered on her face and her bright blue eyes twinkle with an amusement that tells Honeymaren that the Fifth Spirit witnessed enough of her tumbling and failed attempts at sparring on the ice.
The Northuldran woman wants nothing more than to dive deep into the depths of the Dark Sea. Next to Honeymaren, Eret chuckles lowly. It's a deep, but muffled, laugh. She's quite sure she's the only one close enough to hear it, so she leans a shoulder back toward him—as subtly as possible—and growls at him through the corner of her lips, parting just barely. "Shut up, you!"
"Honeymaren?" Elsa calls, her voice soft and melodic.
Honeymaren straightens herself again. She reaches up to toss her braid off her shoulder and scratches the back of her head.
"Afternoon, Elsa! Eret and I were just sparring," she replies, forcing herself to not gawk at the way the sunlight frames Elsa's form from behind; its rays outline the white of her dress and the paleness of her skin and hair in an ethereal glow that steals Honeymaren's breath.
What's wrong with me?
Elsa shifts on her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as her gaze flickers from Honeymaren to Eret and back again. "I saw. It was interesting to watch," she pauses to purse her lips. "Is sparring a common Northuldran tradition?"
"Uh. . ."
Eret steps up next to Honeymaren, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to say 'I got this' while also humiliating her for having a twisted tongue.
"It's not so much of a tradition as it's just a precaution to make sure we can protect ourselves," he says, digging the bottom-end of his staff in the snow. Eret squeezes Honeymaren's shoulder before releasing her.
The moment he backs away, Honeymaren tosses him a quick glare; her nose scrunches, and her eyes squint, the dark-brown of her eyes only glinting beneath the flutter of her lashes.
"That's a good strategy," Elsa says with a nod, catching Honeymaren's attention again. "Actually, Honeymaren, there's something I need to show you, if you're not too busy?"
Honeymaren notices the hesitation in her stance—how her delicate fingers twitch at her sides and how she catches her bottom lip with her teeth. They're nervous habits that the Northuldran woman has picked up on since Elsa moved into the Enchanted Forest after abdicating the throne to Anna. Her younger sister was at the forefront of her mind, and, despite Honeymaren doing all she could to ease Elsa's worries, the habits persisted. Despite all the power at her fingertips, the Fifth Spirit is quite reserved in nature, albeit a little apprehensive in novel situations.
"What? Oh, no, I'm not busy. We just finished up, right Eret?"
Her mentor just shrugs and picks up his weapon with a low grunt. Honeymaren resists rolling her eyes.
When she looks back at Elsa, she expects her to give an explanation of what it is that she needs to show her, but Honeymaren finds herself having to scramble—almost sliding on the ice—after Elsa, who seems to glide back into the forest, her ivory dress trailing behind her in the snow.
If Honeymaren didn't know any better, she'd think she's being lured in by a devious winter fae.
However, she knows Elsa. Deviousness is not a trait of hers. Mischievousness, though, that's another story. In the back of her mind, a little voice tells Honeymaren she'd follow Elsa to the ends of the Earth. She supposes that's not too far off from being lured by sinister fae.
Honeymaren is almost out of breath by the time she catches up with Elsa. The Fifth Spirit pauses in her movements along a familiar path in the forest. A thin brow is quirked above her bright blue eyes, and Honeymaren's chest stutters as she tries to act nonchalant while sparsely taking in more oxygen.
Honeymaren must be too transparent because Elsa takes pity on her. "Sorry," she says. "I should have waited until you were ready to follow."
Honeymaren wishes her tone didn't sound so soft and apologetic because a guilt settles in the pit of her stomach. The Northuldran woman catches her breath for a moment before straightening herself and placing a hand on her hips. "It's no big deal. I should have been paying attention," she replies, and it's true. She swears her attention span flew away with Gale as soon as Elsa entered the clearing.
"Hmm," Elsa hums, her eyes scrutinizing Honeymaren, whose breath hitches. "You seem quite distracted today. Are you alright?"
"Me? Oh, I'm fine. I might be a little disoriented after my sparring session, but I'm. . . great, actually."
Elsa nods, seeming to be satisfied with Honeymaren's answer, and turns back to the forest. Honeymaren watches how she straightens her back and, with a glance over her shoulder, starts forward again. The Northuldran woman is quick to react, falling in step with the Fifth Spirit with ease this time. Silence stretches between them as they walk, save for the shuffle and crunch of snow beneath their feet.
"What do you need to show me?" Honeymaren finally asks, the curiosity nipping at her heels. She's not prepared to witness the deep frown that mars Elsa's beautiful face. However, the blonde woman doesn't answer, and Honeymaren chews the inside of her cheek, sucking on the inside of her mouth. She's about to fish for an answer again when Elsa halts in her tracks. Honeymaren catches herself just in time, her feet slipping on ice; but, she slides a little ways past Elsa rather than into her.
"What—" Honeymaren gasps, the cold air seeping into her lungs.
Her throat closes around a sob. Her knees hit the ground, the coldness of the snow soaking through the fabric of her brown pants.
An array of haphazardly cut trees block their path, piled on top of one another. The white bark on each is peeled and ripped into visible scars that pierce the Northuldran woman's soul, eliciting a choked whimper to escape her parted and trembling lips.
Her brown eyes shift to the tree closest to her, and she scrambles on all fours to inspect. It's hanging onto the trunk by a mere shred of bark. As Honeymaren reaches out to trace its wound, the roughness of the man-made cut makes her recoil. This time the sob that bubbles deep within her chest is ripped from her throat. It's so raw and obnoxious that Honeymaren wonders if the sound is coming from her. She lurches forward and curls her hands into fists, crushing the snow she's accidentally scooped.
Honeymaren's teeth clench. The brimming in her eyes spills over; the tears are hot and salty as unbridled rage swirls deep within her core, mixing with the overriding sadness that already fills her heart.
"Who?" she asks with eyes locked on the sinister deeds in front of her. "Who would do this?" Honeymaren licks her dry lips. The chill in the air doesn't bother her.
She hears Elsa shift behind her. At the soft sigh escaping the Fifth Spirit, Honeymaren squeezes her eyes shut and pushes herself onto her feet.
"I don't know," Elsa replies, her voice soft as silk, dripping with a sadness Honeymaren hasn't heard before; it makes her heart ache, and she feels dizzy. "Someone who doesn't care. Someone who doesn't belong here."
The words strike Honeymaren like a punch to the gut, and she scans the area more closely, as if searching for the culprit. Instead, she finds wagon tracks and an overwhelming number of hoof and footprints between and around them. Plastic wrappers and torn fabric peek out of the snow, taunting her.
Honeymaren trembles with each breath. She can hear nothing but the pounding of her rapid pulse in her ears. In a swift movement, she plucks the plastic out of the snow and crushes it in her palm before releasing a loud yell that sounds like a growl. She chucks the plastic back to the ground, stepping on it.
This isn't just someone who doesn't care. This is someone who disrespects nature.
Honeymaren startles at the pale hand on her shoulder. When she looks up, her honey-brown eyes meet Elsa's icy-blue gaze, and she sucks in a breath at the new warmth they instill in her.
"I'll get to the bottom of this," Elsa promises, and it's the most sincere Honeymaren has ever heard her be. "I'm here to protect the forest and its inhabitants. I won't let these intruders do any more harm."
Honeymaren frowns a little. "It's my job to protect it too," she replies. Her ire dissipates and is replaced with a sense of duty to the forest and her people.
Elsa looks surprised for a moment, but she smiles in response.
"Then we'll protect it together," Elsa confirms. She then releases Honeymaren and takes a step back, eyes locking onto the pouch attached to the Northuldran woman's belt. "I think the sphere we found the other day is related."
Honeymaren's eyes widen, and she rushes to pull the object out of her pouch, inspecting it.
"How do you know?" she asks, pursing her lips.
"I don't; it's just a hunch. I'm going to head to Arendelle first thing in the morning with it," Elsa declares.
Honeymaren frowns, covering the sphere and holding it out of the Fifth Spirit's reach. She eyes Elsa's recently un-bandaged hand. Aasta, the Northuldran healer, only just declared the other day that Elsa doesn't need bandages anymore. "Oh, no you don't," she replies, voice raising an octave. "You're not going anywhere near this thing. I'm coming with you, then."
Elsa's eyebrows raise, and she looks ready to protest; but, she relents and bites her lip.
"Fine, then we'll go to Arendelle together."
This makes Honeymaren smile, mentally pumping a fist in victory.
"Together, then," she confirms.
A/N:
Let me know what you think and the next chapter will be up sooner than later ;)
Also, stay safe and healthy during this time (stay home if you can!)