Elsa sat on the edge of her bed. She folded her hands on her lap. He had kissed her palms earlier that day, and she had been unable to shake the feeling, the memory of his touch. She felt his pull; but she was unsure how to respond.
When you spend years of your life hiding what you can do, afraid of your own hands, knowing that they are dangerous, it is most unexpected to have someone find you, and your powers, beautiful. Now for Elsa, there was such a person. Someone who loved her hands, loved her magic, because they were extensions of her. Someone who willed her to love herself.
Elsa looked at the shelf across the room. "What would you do?" she asked.
Sir Jorgenbjorgen and Little Anna stared impassively back. Elsa was restless, her nerves were asserting themselves. But this was not her coronation. She was in control of her powers now. This was different. And yet.
What if she became unable to control her powers in the face of his attachment to her? Each time he had become close to her, her magic rose. What if she harmed him? She would never will it, but she had accidentally harmed Anna—twice.
What if he turned away from her when he realised who she truly was? He did not know her, not really, not yet.
She had never felt like this before, whatever this was. She was distracted, her attention captured. She could feel a quiver in her body, unsettled energy, uncertainty. And a deep urge to be back in the forest with him; for just the two of them to be there again, alone.
She looked seriously at Sir Jorgenbjorgen and Little Anna. "I know it's a risk," she said. "But I'm tired of hiding. He wants me to show him who I am. Nobody since Anna has ever asked me to 'do the magic.' And now he appears. He wants nothing from me, except that I should share that part of myself that I have hidden away for so long." She let her head drop and looked at her hands. "He says he loves me—," she said.
"Anna has always loved me for who I am," she said, looking at Little Anna on the shelf. "She has always been there for me, even when I wasn't there for her. But this is different."
She held her hand out. A swirl of blue and white collected as a snowball on her palm. "I want, more than anything, to show what I can do. He is patient, he is attentive, he is loyal, and—," she said, but stopped short. And then with a self-conscious smile, she added, "he is handsome."
"But can anyone accept me who truly knows me?" She heard the Duke of Weselton's voice in her head, a sneer she had never been able to expunge from her mind. Monster. She made a fist, and the snowball fizzled. Her stomach was in knots.
Then she thought again of Alexander's kissing her palms; the memory so sharp it was almost as if his lips were touching them at this very moment. She opened her palms and looked at her hands. Shaking her head, she walked over to the shelf. She picked up Sir Jorgenbjorgen and said, "Without courage, beauty is lost." Then she smiled. "You always were such a good listener." She adjusted his cape, kissed him, and put him back on the shelf with a pat on the head. Then she picked up Little Anna, kissed her too.
Elsa had a small bite to eat, and bathed. Then Gerda arrived. The old servant was carrying a large bundle from the attic.
"Your Majesty, I have what you asked for," said Gerda, setting the bundle up on a hook.
"Thank you Gerda," said Elsa. Elsa felt a mixture of excitement and seriousness as Gerda unfurled the parcel.
The cover fell away, and Gerda took an uneven step back, covering her mouth with her hand. "My stars. I thought I would never see it again. Your Majesty, it is in perfect condition." Gerda turned with joy and tears in her eyes.
It was Elsa's débutante gown. So much of Elsa's past was bound up in it. So much promise left unfulfilled. And yet, it was magnificent.
The gown was bone white, with an elaborate golden brocade woven into the satin. The bodice was a strapless corset, severely cut in the sweetheart style; the skirt was heavy and voluminous, and rustled when moved. Queen Iduna had commissioned the gown, and Elsa had even gone so far as to have a final fitting. The idea had been that Arendelle would host a Winter Ball for the first time since they closed the gates, and that Elsa would be presented. Her gown was not just that of a princess, but of a princess who would one day be queen.
Elsa examined the gown carefully. When her mother had had the gown designed, Elsa had been consulted extensively. She had chosen the pattern of the brocade, the shape of the bodice, the fullness of the skirt, even the placement of the steel ribs of the corset. It had been Elsa's first real introduction to fashion, and she had found she enjoyed the exercise. Her choices felt very abstract at first; but the gown gradually took shape, and by the time of the final fitting, Elsa thought her débutante gown was quite acceptable.
The process of donning the gown was somewhat elaborate. Gerda threw the skirt and bodice over Elsa's head, and proceeded to fasten the steel hooks of the corset in front, and lace the two dozen eyes in back with a white satin ribbon. With each pull of the ribbon, the steel boning of the corset grew tighter, until Elsa felt like she could barely breathe. But the feeling subsided as she became accustomed to the corset's embrace, and she became used to the weight of the gown, and its rising and falling with each breath. Gerda then fastened the innumerable pearl buttons that ran from the bottom of the corset to the trailing edge of the train.
Elsa stretched her right hand out, and with her left she traced a swirling pattern. A glittering circlet of ice formed. Elsa gave it to Gerda. Then Elsa turned and said, "Do you think you could do my hair like that portrait of mama in the ballroom?"
Gerda sighed, and put her hands lightly on either side of Elsa's shoulders. "My dear girl, I did your mother's hair the day she had that portrait painted. Nothing would make me happier than to do the same for you."
The old servant then spent the next hour arranging her mistress's hair and fixing the headpiece in place. Gerda swept half of Elsa's thick platinum blonde hair up into a French twist at the back of her head; the rest of her hair Gerda teased into loose whorls using of the open flame of a spirit lamp and curling tongs. The whorls cascaded down the queen's graceful neck and caressed her flawless shoulders. The result was a perfect match for the picture of Queen Iduna in the ballroom. With her hair plaited in this way, one could be forgiven for thinking that the queen needed no other adornment to bring even the most casual admirer to his knees.
But Elsa was not finished. With a sweep of her hand, frost and crystals of ice clustered in her hair. They settled in the curves of her golden whorls, sparkling in the flickering light of her chambers. The queen smiled as Gerda stepped back with a quiet gasp; the servant's face lit up. Gerda wished so much Kai could see Elsa like this; in some ways, he was like a distant father, always looking out for her and taking joy in her victories. To Gerda, it seemed that Elsa was reaching towards the aethereal; transforming into a faerie queen before her very eyes.
A seriousness settled on Elsa. She picked up a long box and put it on her lap. Then, with a sigh, she opened it.
Inside was a pendant on a thin silver chain. The pendant was three clear stones, cut as elongated diamonds, each touching the others at a point, and fanning out like half of a flower in crystal. Her father had given it to her. No, that was not exactly true. Her father had intended to give it to her for her débutante ball, but he had been claimed by death before he had had a chance. Elsa had set it aside and never worn it. But if she intended to reclaim her past, reclaim lost promises, perhaps now was the time.
Elsa held up the box to Gerda. Gerda knew the significance of the necklace; it was she who had brought the necklace to Elsa after the funeral. The servant removed the necklace from the box, her fingers visibly trembling; she undid the clasp, and put it around the queen's neck. It had weight. It was very becoming. Elsa put her hand to the pendant, fingering the stones. She looked back at Gerda; the old servant could feel her breath catch at the sight.
After a moment, Elsa stood, and slipped on a pair of fine white shoes. They were formal, and patent, with a small heel that clicked on the floor of her chamber as she walked. As Elsa stepped to the mirror, she smoothed down her skirt, and smiled.
Gerda looked at her mistress, her hand to her mouth. A single tear rolled down the servant's cheek. "Madame," she said, "Your mother would have been so proud."
Elsa felt her heart full, and furrowed her brow as she smiled weakly at Gerda in the mirror. Elsa closed her eyes, and with a flick of her wrist a swirl of ice encrusted her skirt, thousands of tiny ice crystals, each catching the candlelight as she turned.
The queen paused. Then she asked: "My gloves, please, Gerda." Gerda did not have to ask which gloves Elsa meant; she had been waiting for Elsa to ask, but did not want to presume anything. Gerda placed the box with the long gloves on the table by the mirror, and removed the lid. Elsa noticed that Gerda did so almost proudly, almost with a flourish, stepping back to watch Elsa's reaction.
Elsa looked at the gloves in the box. They were very elegant. She absentmindedly ran her fingers along the shaft of the gloves. The artisanship was exquisite. The bone white leather had a buttery feel, so smooth and soft to the touch that the sensation was enjoyable, almost sensual. Her other gloves, no matter how well made, had not been like this. Yet there was something else about these gloves as well. They represented a past that had never been allowed to become a future. They represented her mother's hope for her. Could Elsa build a better future by reclaiming her true self? She was still unsure.
Elsa did not put her gloves on, but she did remove them from the box, holding them in her right hand. Gerda waited. When Elsa seemed disinclined to don her gloves, the servant approached with the cape. Elsa nodded, and Gerda draped the cape over Elsa's bare shoulders. It was white velvet, thick and soft, and fastened at the neck with a silver clasp. It was even longer and more dramatic than the skirt of the gown, training a full two steps behind.
Elsa was ready. Gerda poked her head out of the queen's chambers, and seeing nobody, she said, "There is no one, Your Majesty." Elsa was not going to use the secret passages; the silhouette of her skirt and the length of her cape made that impractical. She was going to walk down the grand staircase and straight out the front gate. It was her castle, after all.
Elsa went down the hallway and caught sight of her gown in the mirror. She turned in front of it, again puzzling over what Alexander had described the day before. How could he derive so much meaning and pleasure from a gown? She examined the woman in the mirror more carefully. It was elaborate. Perhaps he was attracted to its complexity. Men's clothes were comparatively simple; perhaps a woman's gown seemed exotic.
Just before she turned away from her reflexion, Elsa took a deep breath. The corset was so closely fit to her form that her breath caused the entire gown to move just slightly; in that movement, sparkles rippled across the surface of the bodice and skirt. It struck Elsa as quite becoming. She felt, perhaps for the first time, distinctly feminine. She turned away from the mirror and headed down the hall.
Elsa had not taken more than three steps down the grand staircase when she heard a familiar voice. "Whoa, Elsa. You look different."
It was Anna. Elsa rolled her eyes; she just couldn't catch a break. Of course Anna was lurking at the bottom of the grand staircase at night when Elsa had plans to leave the castle unnoticed! Where else would she be? Elsa felt a little found out.
The queen composed herself as best she could. Anna just stood there, frozen in place at the bottom of the stairs, her mouth agape. When you know your sister as well as Anna knew Elsa, you have a sense of how she tends to present herself. But there is always room for something unexpected, and this was definitely unexpected. Anna took an unsteady step backwards, her eyes still fixed on Elsa.
"It's a good different," said Anna, stammering.
"Thank you," said Elsa, smiling demurely. The queen regally descended the staircase, her back straight and her movements precise.
"Oh, Elsa!" said Anna, putting her hand to her chest and letting out a small gasp. As Elsa came closer, Anna had caught sight of Elsa's plait; Elsa reminded Anna so much of their mother at that moment, with platinum blonde hair exchanged for chestnut brown.
"Anna, shouldn't you be in bed?" asked Elsa
Anna smiled. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" And then a look of recognition passed over Anna's face. "Elsa! Is this your débutante gown, the dress mama had made for you?" It wasn't really a question.
Elsa nodded. "Why are you up?" she asked. The she looked at her sister more closely. There was a smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. "Is that chocolate?"
Anna smiled impishly and held out three perfectly cut hexagons of chocolate, each etched with a snowflake. She popped one of them in her mouth. "Thr rlly gd," said the princess, her mouth full of chocolate.
Elsa was surprised. It was not that she thought—well, actually, she did think—that the hexagonal treats were her chocolates. "Where did you get them?"
"The kitchen staff have been working on them day and night! I can't believe we've never had them before!," she said, as she popped the second into her mouth. "Evryn lvs thm, thr vry poplr." she said. She swallowed. "They're so popular, the only way to be sure you'll get one is when Chef takes them out of the mould. I was just headed down to see if there were more. Want my last?"
Anna held out the last chocolate, but Elsa shook her head and smoothed down her skirt. Elsa was not about to risk getting chocolate on her gown. "I've already had some," she said.
"You have? You never told me?" said Anna.
"I didn't realise there were more than the ones I was given," said Elsa.
Anna looked serious and tilted her head. "Why would you be the only one to have these chocolates unless—" and her voice trailed off. Her eyes narrowed. "Alexander," said Anna.
Elsa looked down and failed to suppress a smile. She was both embarrassed and delighted.
Anna noticed the white velvet cape. "Your cape. Wait, are you going out somewhere?"
"Yes," said Elsa, not expanding.
But that was all it took. Anna squeaked and pointed, her mouth open wide and bending at the knees. "You're going to—" but Elsa cut her off.
"Shh!" said Elsa with a hiss and a furrowed brow. "I'm am going out for a walk. It is my kingdom, and my prerogative. Please keep your voice down."
Anna was undeterred. "This is wonderful!" she said with a squeak. "Oh Elsa, I can't believe you're wearing this dress! And for Alexander!"
Elsa took Anna's hand in hers and pulled her into the crook of the staircase so that they were not quite so conspicuous. The queen couldn't suppress a blush, but she tried to look severely at Anna. "I'm surprised at you, Anna. I dress for myself."
Anna looked at her sister's carefully coiffed hair, her necklace, her circlet of ice, her flowing skirts, her corsetted bodice. "And if Alexander just happens to appreciate how you look, then that's up to him," said Anna.
"I'm sure I wouldn't know what Alexander appreciates. And sometimes even a queen wants to dress like a princess," said Elsa, not really able to make eye contact with Anna and smiling self-consciously.
"Tell me, Elsa. How many times have you worn your débutante gown for a late-night walk; you know, when you were dressing for yourself?" said Anna with an impish grin.
Elsa felt flustered. Anna had deftly cornered her, as usual. "Everyone knows a queen is expected to dress acceptably," said Elsa, looking as haughty as she could, lifting her chin.
Anna raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. Acceptably? She knew the way Elsa dressed captured Alexander's attention. Surely Elsa knows that as well, Anna thought. Alexander was a man of broad interests, and the nature of feminine beauty was certainly one of them. The day after Anna's birthday, when Elsa transformed her blue ice gown into a spring gown, Alexander had treated Anna to a long dissertation on the relative superiority of blue to green capes for dresses worn by women with blonde hair and a fair complexion. And the one day Elsa braided her hair over the right shoulder as opposed to the left, Alexander had argued at length over tea that the beauty of most women was such that braid side mattered, but incidentally that Elsa's appearance was so superior that she could carry off either side with no deficiency in overall effect.
"I think you need to look in a mirror if you think you only look acceptable," said Anna. "You look lovely!"
"Anna, do you really like it?" said Elsa, lifting the skirt a little, and turning to the side.
"You're breathtaking. And your hair is gorgeous. I'm not sure Alexander will survive your appearance," said Anna. Elsa looked down and blushed deeply.
"Elsa, mama would be so proud to see you," said Anna.
Elsa grew serious. She had always hoped her mother would be proud of her. She held her hands out to Anna. Anna was surprised and happy; Elsa almost never reached out to her. Anna gave Elsa her hands, and Elsa squeezed them. "I hope so, Anna. I hope so."
"I know so," said Anna, tears in her eyes.
The girls stood there in silence, holding each other's hands, thinking of their mother and father. Then Elsa sniffed and said, "Anna. I should go. And you should be in bed." Elsa took a step to go.
"Wait," said Anna.
Elsa paused but didn't say anything.
"Your gown is not complete," said Anna.
Elsa had been letting her evening gloves hang limp from her hand the whole time. Upon Anna's comment, Elsa put both hands, behind her back, as if that would conceal her gloves. She knew how Anna felt about gloves; she was embarrassed to have been caught considering wearing them.
Anna stepped forward so she was right in front of her sister, and held out her hand. When Elsa did not immediately hand the gloves to Anna, Anna made a beckoning motion. "Give them to me," Anna said.
Elsa sighed, and did as her sister asked. Anna was surprised by how they felt; they were so smooth and soft. They truly were gloves fit for a princess. She ran her fingers over them; the texture was enticing.
"These gloves," said Anna, "are part of your gown. They were made for your débutante presentation with love by mama." The princess looked at her sister. "They were put away for you for years, and then brought to light by a man who loves you."
Elsa looked down at the floor, her eyes closed, trying to steady herself.
"Elsa!" said Anna. "Look at me."
Elsa did as her sister asked, her sapphire blue eyes swirling with emotion and uncertainty.
"Nothing bad can come from this; you have them because of people who love you," said Anna. "You should wear them."
Elsa was moved; her magic asserted itself. She breathed out slowly, and small flurry of snowflakes fluttered about. Anna handed Elsa one glove, and then the other. As Elsa slipped them on, she felt a little daring. The silk lining felt so pleasant against her arms and hands, and she felt, perhaps, a little more than just 'acceptable.' She then turned over each wrist, and Anna did up the three pearl buttons on each glove.
Anna stepped back to have a better look at her sister. Elsa smiled, and folded her now-gloved hands in front of her.
"Perfect," said Anna. Anna took a step, and leaned in, and kissed her sister on the cheek. "Have courage," she whispered.
To Elsa, for this moment, all seemed right with the world. Her sister's blessing meant everything to her. Elsa lifted her skirts slightly, and swept out the front door of the castle into the courtyard.
Anna watched her sister leave. Elsa's skirts rustled, and her heels clicked on the floor, with each step. "I hope he knows what's coming for him," Anna said under her breath.
In the courtyard, Elsa had not walked more than a dozen steps before something caught the corner of her eye. She turned, and saw Kai standing with Fjørå. She had not expected to see anyone, let alone Kai, whose duties began very early each morning.
Fjørå was Elsa's horse; an imposing Friesian mare, fit for a queen. The animal's temperament was so proud, it was if she were actively conscious of her ancestors' having dwelt near the fjord for centuries, protecting the land and its people. Fjørå was over sixteen hands high, with a powerful body, and a wild, thick mane and tail. Her colouring was jet black, except for some white stripes on her tail, and on the winter feathering near her hooves. Fjørå did have a habit of rolling in the dirt whenever given half a chance; but tonight she had been bathed and brushed so thoroughly, there was not a spot of dust on her.
"I thought that you should have Fjørå this evening," said Kai as Elsa approached him. The chamberlain lifted his chin proudly and spoke in a formal tone. But as he looked at the queen, he could not maintain his reserve. "Your Majesty," he said, his expression and voice softened, "please do not be angry with Gerda. She told me, and I had to—," he said, but his voice trailed off. Elsa could see a tear in his eye.
Elsa reached out and rested her gloved hand lightly on his arm, just for a moment. "Tell me," she said, in a soft, kind voice.
"Your Majesty, your father," said Kai, looking at her. The tear rolled down his cheek. "He would have been overjoyed to see what a beautiful young woman you have become. I wish he were here to see it."
Elsa felt a lump in her throat. She couldn't say anything; so she clutched her hands in front of herself and sighed. The breath came out of her with a tremble. She looked down at the ground, feeling overcome.
Kai reached out and touched his mistress's chin. She looked back up at him. "You never need to look down," he said. "You are our chosen daughter. We are all very proud of you."
The queen was conscious, at that moment, of the presence of so many other people. Those who came before her: her father and mother; those who had always stood by her: Kai, and Gerda, and Anna; those who had become her family: Kristoff, and Sven, an Olaf. And there were so many of her subjects who wished that she should be well; so many who drew meaning from her happiness. She felt blessed. But it was not the blessing of her sovereignty or her powers. It was the blessing that arises by being loved by so many. In a sense, she was never truly alone.
Elsa knew that Kai was standing in the courtyard with Fjørå because he thought a queen should not have to walk within the bounds of her own kingdom. His sensibilities had been forged in an earlier time. And even though Elsa might have preferred to walk, she could not offend those sensibilities.
She extended her long gloved hand; Kai took it, and guided the queen as she ascended the mounting block. From the top step, Elsa settled into the sidesaddle, squeezing the fixed head and leaping head between her thighs, and arranged her voluminous skirts so that the drape was elegant. Kai handed her the reins (which she held in her left hand, in a fist), and her dressage cane (which she took with her right hand). Elsa's purchase was exact and studied: her posture was straight and aligned with Fjørå's spine, and she sat square to the horse's shoulders. Kai lifted and arranged Elsa's long velvet cape so that it fell evenly over Fjørå's haunches.
"Kai," said Elsa, "there are not enough words to express my gratitude to you for your dedication to me and my family. You have always been there for us, and I do not know what Anna and I would ever do without you. Thank you."
Kai opened his mouth slightly and put his hand to his chest. He was beaming with pride. Nothing meant more to him than his service to her family. And Elsa was not his daughter, but in some ways she might as well have been. My darling girl, Kai thought to himself.
Elsa touched Fjørå's right side with her cane. The horse walked on. Elsa passed beneath the courtyard gates, majestic in her aspect; the faerie queen on her august steed.
On the castle bridge, Elsa could feel her nerves assert themselves again. Flakes of snow began to fall, the hush of the night broken only by the sound of Fjørå's hooves on the paving stones.
Elsa felt a uneasy energy flow through her. The future, more than her magic or the air around her, seemed to crackle with potential. But that future was unknown, uncertain, and risky. As Fjørå got to the end of the bridge, before the horse stepped off into the village, Elsa pulled the reins taut. Fjørå stopped.
"Mother," Elsa whispered. "You know what's best for me. I don't know if I can do this."
Elsa looked towards the village and the forest beyond. She wanted so much to visit the forest again, alone and safe. But she felt weary. When she was young, she loved her magic; she did not fear it, and nor did anyone else. Her magic was an extension of her nature. But that love, that joy, had faded. Despite the kindly wishes of so many, she knew that some of her subjects did not entirely trust her, and she was constantly on guard lest she hurt anyone.
She held the reins and dressage cane in her left hand, and stretching out her right arm and hand. She could wear a pretty gown and evening gloves; she could make herself look different. But that did not change who she was.
"Monster," she whispered.
She felt doubt stalking her, as if she were its prey. She turned over her hand to look at the palm of her glove. Her magic could be so destructive, so deadly.
And yet, he seemed to love it. He did love it. He had never lost sight of the beauty of her magic. He had never forgotten the beauty that dwelt within her. He had dared to kiss her palms.
Elsa's weariness did not stem from the demands of others, but from the demands she made of herself. And now there was a man who wanted, more than anything, to see her flourish. He wanted to see her as she was. The only thing he asked is that she be her true self. She was so weary of concealing who she was.
Anna loved her more than anything; Elsa knew that. But Anna's memories had been taken from her by Pabbie. Elsa was frustrated that Anna's could not remember the truth. Anna remembered the fun; but not that Elsa's magic was part of the fun.
Alexander had been there, first as a boy, and then as a man. He had never suffered the outrage of Elsa's magic being turned against him; but he remembered her magic. He had seen her as a girl, and then as a young woman. And even when they called her "monster," he had not wavered.
"Mother," she whispered. "He is a link to my past and to who I am. Let me show him."
She lifted her chin and gazed out into the middle distance, towards the forest. An eagerness rose in her breast. She wanted to be back there. She wanted to remove the mask she wore as queen, if only for this night.
"Steady, girl," Elsa whispered to Fjørå, patting the horse's neck reassuringly. The queen let the reins go slack, and, catching the edges of her cape in her hands, lifted her arms high. She closed her eyes—the wind and sky obeyed. A breeze picked up; her cape rippled and billowed behind her. From the waters, a mist arose, enveloping rider and horse in tendrils of grey and blue and silver.
Fjørå stepped off the bridge and into the village.
Elsa didn't know what the evening would bring; but she wanted to find out. The mist from the waters moved with them, concealing horse and rider. They passed Market Square with its quaint shops and holiday decorations; Royal Place where the kings and queens of Arendelle would inaugurate festivals and celebrations.
The flat cobblestone streets of the village gave way to the incline of Hill Street. Fjørå walked on smartly, almost trotting, feeling the queen's anticipation and responding to it. As they turned onto the twisting paths of Windmill Way, Elsa felt her excitement grow. She touched her dressage cane to Fjørå's right side, this time to ask for a canter.
The horse broke into a stately lope. It did not take much encouragement from Elsa for Fjørå to open her stride still further, her powerful legs striking the ground in rhythm with a strain from her noble ancestors. The wind picked up, and Elsa could smell the sea salt in the air mixing with the pines of the forest. Her cape flew out behind her as she rode, and she inhaled deeply. She felt herself ruler of her own fate; not rebelling, but becoming who she was meant to be.
They ascended the ridge, past the farms and into the fields, towards the forest. The queen cast her eye back towards her kingdom. There was so much beauty caught in one place. It was the seat of her ancestors, the home of her people. The harbour was well-appointed, a welcoming shelter from any storm. The lighthouses reached towards the sky, their Fresnel lenses beacons in the night. The tidy rowhouses of the village and the orderly farms of the outskirts were dark and quiet. And Elsa could see where the university would be built on the hills opposite; she was proud of what she and her people wanted to accomplish.
So many people depended on Elsa; so many people cared for her. But she needed to put aside her natural sense of caution; she wanted to take a risk. A shiver flew down her spine. She knew what she wanted, at least in this moment. She wanted to be herself.
Elsa adopted a forward seat and put her hands on Fjørå's neck. The horse took the cue from her mistress, leaping into a gallop just as they passed beneath the shadows of the cliffs. Exhilaration gripped Elsa, and she threw her head back, thrilled and laughing as Fjørå's hooves pounded the earth. Elsa's heart was racing as she watched the fields flash by. She could feel her magic grow; she felt a longing, a pull.
Elsa slowed Fjørå to a walk and then a halt at the last lamppost of the village, right at the forest's edge. She was breathing hard, giddy, her cheeks flushed with excitement; a crackle of potential filled the air. Putting a fist to her chest, she inhaled sharply; the mists dissipated. She had no need to conceal herself, or what she could do, any longer. She was glowing.
The snow on the forest floor was untouched, except for a single set of footprints tracking up the slope. Alexander's footprints. Elsa settled herself; and letting the reins go slack, she directed Fjørå to follow them. The shadows lengthened as the trees closed in.
Then Elsa crested the rise.