Rifiuto: Not Mirena
A/N: If anyone has any feedback they'd like to give, please, don't hesitate! I'm merely uploading this for my sister-in-law here; perhaps you can catch critiques that I may have missed! An extra several pair of eyes never hurt! - Licia
1908,
The Gardens of Linnea Castle,
Arendelle
"What happened to the prince and princess then, Grandpapa? After her sister caught them in the library?"
"Who cares about that, Elsie? When do we get to the exciting part of the story?" The ten-year-old turned to glare at her older brother, who returned it. Their grandfather chuckled softly.
"Patience, Agnarr, patience. Stories such as this take time to develop." His father replied, and the boy rolled his eyes.
"But-"
"Have patience, my son. The adventure will come." Silence fell as the king glanced at his daughter and her grandfather. The older man smiled at the young royal, trying hard to crush the well of pain brought about by his words. Patience, my love, patience. The adventure will come. But you must have patience first. He glanced down at the book, gaze coming to rest on the date beneath the name.
1838
The Tercentenary year. This had been kept during the celebration. His heart constricted, and he swallowed thickly. If he turned the page, would he see her neat scrawl again, read her innermost thoughts, view the secret desires of her heart? Would he hear her voice in his head, reading to him the words she had put down on paper so long ago? Would a small part of her return to him?
"Grandpapa?"
He turned to his oldest granddaughter, tugged out of his musings by her soft voice, and after a moment, he smiled at her. "Yes, Iduna?"
"Was the southern kingdom really in so much upheaval? Did they really want to dissolve the monarchy?"
"The court wasn't interested in dissolving the monarchy, Una, my darling. They wanted to dispose of the king and put his nineteen-year-old son upon the throne. The problem was that that particular son was known to be careless, with everything. He would have bankrupted the country within days of taking the throne, but the younger brother wanted nothing to do with the crown, which meant, if there was no choice, the crown would go to the youngest."
"The brother who was sixteen, right?"
"Seventeen, Duna, weren't you listening?" The princess shoved her brother playfully. "Hey!"
"That's right. The three youngest sons attended the tercentenary celebrations in Arendelle a representatives of the Southern Isles, but there was an ulterior motive behind it as well." The children shared curious glances.
"What was it, Grandpapa?"
"Tell us, please!"
He sighed, turning his gaze back to the book. "While the three youngest sons were in Arendelle, the minor nobility of the Isles were in the process of overthrowing the king." He swallowed thickly. "The king was forced to abdicate and arrested, thrown into a cell to await execution. A coup was put into place; two of the princes were captured and executed, as well as a handful of courtiers loyal to the king. The nineteen-year-old son was proclaimed king while in Arendelle, but the news would not reach them until days later- and remember, the Tercentenary celebrations lasted for months, and those visiting as representatives were expected to stay a majority of the time to experience the wealth and beauty of Arendelle."
"So they were safe, right?" One of the younger children asked, and he nodded.
"They were. It also gave the prince and princess time to get to know each other on a more personal level. When able to spend time together, they went for walks in the garden- always accompanied by her younger sister or one of his brothers or another member of the court, as was custom- and so very rarely did they have time to spend alone together, as they had the night of the ball. The tercentenary was meant to celebrate Bekkerdahl rule; bazaars, performances, balls, festivals and feasts filled their days. The pair was always constantly surrounded by others, and they soon developed their own language- unspoken, silent and quick, they became fluent in it in a short period of time. It was a language that would last the rest of their lives."
"Were they ever alone again, Grandpapa?"
He chuckled at his youngest granddaughter's question, and gently patted her head. "Few and far between the moments were, Lisi. The pair took to sneaking around the castle at the most inopportune times- oft in the early morning hours before the dawn, or late at night after all had gone to bed. They would meet in the stairwells of the servants' quarters, hide in the shadows of the hallways and often escape to the library where they could fade into the darkness of the bookshelves where no one would look."
"Did they ever kiss?" Fourteen-year-old Paulina asked, starry-eyed. The teenager had hit that stage where she was enamored with boys, especially the young soldiers in the Royal Guard. Grandpapa chuckled as her brother rolled his eyes.
"Not at first, Pia, darling. Both were so relieved to find a kindred spirit in each other, that the majority of their conversations centered around their tastes for literature, their dreams and what they would do had they not been born royal."
"I would love to see the Colonies some day."
"The Lost Colonies of Britain? Why on earth would you want to go there?"
"For the adventure, of course!"
His voice softened at the memory. "They soon became enamoured with each other, their attraction growing slowly like a fire being fed dried leaves one at a time. Conversations turned to quiet moments, quiet moments turned to silent stares and gentle touches, which turned into moments curled together among the books, and yes, eventually, kisses soon followed. The time spent in the hours before the Tercentenary celebrations gave way to a slow growing love that would get stronger with each day, and when the celebrations ended and the dignitaries returned to their own lands, the pair swore to keep in contact."
The book came back into view as he lowered his gaze. "They wrote too each other, didn't they?" Iduna asked, and he nodded.
"They took great comfort in the letters they exchanged, especially the young prince, for they had returned to carnage and a throne awaiting a new king."
"Was it the prince?"
"No. The prince's reign would not begin until a few years later, at the same time the Crown Princess would step up to take the throne from her parents. But the letters continued, detailing their days and sharing their secrets and desires for the lives they had imagined together in the darkest hours before the dawn during the celebrations. The prince never let slip what had happened in his country, though the princess was not stupid, because he did not wish to taint her innocent heart with news of such carnage. By the time the princess hit her eighteenth year, they had been corresponding secretly for two and half years. A romance blossomed, a romance not allowed according to ancient Arendellian law."
"What law, Grandpapa?" Agnarr asked, confused. The older man sighed. How did he go about explaining this? Did he even dare? Or did he wait and let the understanding of the law unfold with the story? After a moment, he glanced at the young monarchs.
"Å forlate monarkiet ville være å forlate krokus i en stor vinter." The others gathered around shared glances, before the king spoke.
"'To abandon the monarchy would be to abandon the crocus in a Great Winter.'"
"It would never recover." The queen whispered. He nodded.
"But... but the crocus can survive winter, Grandpapa." The ten-year-old replied, turning to him. He chuckled softly, patting her head.
"It can, Lisi, but even the sturdiest of winter flowers will break if enough pressure is placed upon them." A moment passed, as he let his gaze wander, drinking in the other members of the family that were there. He noted silently that two of the women- Grand Duchess Thyra of Russia and Princess Sofia of Denmark, both in their mid to late fifties- were visiting as well, and he smiled softly at them. It had been so long since he'd seen them, that he almost didn't recognize them. Both women smiled at him, Thyra reaching across the table to take his hand.
"How have you been, Grandpapa?"
He squeezed her hand gently. She looks so like her mother. "As well as an aging former monarch can, Thyra. How have things been at court?"
The duchess blushed, taking a sip of her tea. The Russian court of Nikolai II was known for its extravagance; they had a particular dislike of the German-born Tsarina, Alexandra, and Thyra, knowing what it was like to marry into the Russian court from another royal family, sympathized with the woman. Over time, the aging Duchess had gained the trust of the Empress, and the two often shared stories of growing up in their homelands. "As well as they have ever been, Grandpapa."
His gaze moved to Sofia, who studied him silently. The older woman was much more perceptive than the Grand Duchess, and her big blue eyes drank in everything she could see in regards to the former monarch. A light shiver coursed up his spine at her study, memories of another blue-eyed princess once doing the same thing, many, many years ago. "Denmark is lovely, 'papa, but it is not Arendelle."
"Nor the Isles." Thyra spoke up, sipping her tea.
"Nor the Isles." He chorused softly with a sigh.
"Grandpapa?" Lisi looked up at him. "The story. What happened next? When does the great queen appear? And the prince and the princess? What happens to them?"
He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her head. "Always impatient, as children are wont to be. Now, let's see, shall I pick up where I left off or continue on ahead?"
"On ahead, Grandpapa, please!"
"No, pick up where you left off!"
A mild argument broke out between the Crown Princess and her brother, and after several minutes, the queen spoke up, quieting her children. "What happened after the younger princess caught them in the library?" She glanced at her children. "And then, yes, I think continue on ahead."
He chuckled softly. "It is safe to say that the princess was quite shocked to find her sister in the arms of the prince..."
