Rifiuto: Non Mirena

A/N: So, Elsa finally gets up the courage to show Hans the letter she received from Anna...

Written: 2019 - Licia

Silence. Dead silence.

His green eyes glanced quickly at her as he took the letter, as he skimmed the first line, the second line, the first paragraph, always glancing back at her. And then, they stopped darting up towards her; instead, they widened in surprise and then horror as he read the explicit, illicit fantasies written within the letter. At first, his cheeks colored with a soft blush before the color drained, and soon, the letter began to quiver as he slowly began to shake with barely controlled rage. Elsa ducked her head; she'd worried this would happen, and silently kicked herself for showing him the letter at all.

When she looked up next, it was to Hans pulling her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. He was silent for several minutes before, "I'm sorry, Elsa. I'm so, so sorry."

Though his apology did not hit on anything specific, it was there; I'm sorry for you having to bear witness to those disgusting thoughts. I'm sorry she would actually dare to put it down on parchment, let alone send such vile things. I'm sorry she views you in this way. I'm sorry for not being here for you sooner.

She clung to him, and his warmth, burying her face in his chest as he gently stroked his fingers through her hair before kissing the crown of her head. "I'm so sorry. So, terribly, terribly sorry."

They stood in silence for several minutes before she finally pulled away, looking up at him. He still shook with barely contained rage, but it had lessened some. As gently as she could muster, she replied, "The person that wrote that letter... it's not my sister. She looks like my sister and talks like my sister, but she's not my sister. She's a troll's changeling. My sister..." She swallowed, stepping back and turning from him, arms going around herself. "My real sister disappeared when we were children. Not long after the accident that wiped my magic from her memory. Stolen in the dark of the night by the trolls. Replaced by a troll changeling, who grew up alongside me, despite our forced separation. That was part of the reason my father extended my isolation-"

She turned back as Hans reached out, resting a hand against her shoulder. Should she tell him what Papa had told her? Of the real reason behind her thirteen years of forced isolation? Because at that point, it had stopped being just about your powers.

Slowly, she straightened, but didn't turn back, didn't speak, as she gathered her thoughts. Papa had said that Anna was thirteen the year she broke into your room and he caught her watching you. Up until then, Papa had been willing to lax the rules on your isolation, possibly even let you be around Anna again, and then-

"I was... must have been... fifteen? Sixteen? Going on sixteen? I don't really remember." She released a slow breath. "But I woke up one night, to voices in my room."

"Annika Miriam Dagmar, what are you doing in your sister's room?"

"Just watching Elsa sleep, Papa. Can't I watch my sister? I so rarely get to see her anymore."

"It was Anna; she'd gotten into my room somehow. And Papa, he'd obviously come to check up on me and found her. I just remember waking up and being so stunned to find my sister sitting on the window seat in my room, watching me, and my father trying to get her to leave. But she wouldn't. She kept staring at me, with this... sick little grin on her face, like she was... sizing up a piece of meat or..." She shivered, stopping at his presence behind her. Slowly, she turned to glance at him over her shoulder.

"I won't touch you unless you say, Els." He whispered, and she smiled softly, touched that he respected her boundaries and wishes. After a moment, she reached behind her, finding his hands after a couple minutes, and tugging his arms around her. He moved closer, allowing his arms to slide around her waist, and after a moment, she turned, meeting his gaze as her hands moved up to wrap lightly around his neck.

"I wasn't her sister, I was an object to be desired. I always have been- whether it's as a political piece, a shiny bauble to sit on a shelf, or for the mere fact that I possess a womb to one day carry and bear children," She swallowed. "by men both of common and royal birth, by my council, by the ambassadors and soldiers and citizens of my country and others," She lifted up the letter she'd managed to take back from Hans as she'd tugged him close. Her blue gaze skimmed over the words, over the lust-filled, orgasmic fantasies of a creature who knew nothing of love or kindness or any other emotion but hate and jealousy.

Trolls know nothing of real human emotion. Nothing. "I was a means to an end, branded a monster for my power, in the hopes of making a very, very small duchy that much more important, and a means to an end for a prince filled with bloodlust in his heart and an overwhelming desire for my throne." She glanced at Hans, who didn't hide the shame in his eyes, though he did lower them. "And now," Her voice was soft as she returned her gaze to the letter in her hand. "my own sister... my real sister... my own flesh and blood, the only person I have left with any ties to our parents... has been gone these last eighteen years... stuck... either in the Fae realm or the... the land of the trolls or... or for all I know, she could be dead..."

"Shh, shh, easy, Elsa." He reached up, taking her face in his hands. "Shh, don't think that. Anna's okay-"

"You don't know that, Hans. My parents have been gone these past eight years, and that... that impostor has been upon the throne of Arendelle- my throne- for the last two years... and I'm here... in the Enchanted Forest, bound to serve Ahtohallan simply because I'm the Fifth Spirit-"

It was then that Hans covered Elsa's lips with a finger, stopping her ranting. He could see that she was starting to get upset, not to mention she'd brought up something he kept forgetting to ask her about whenever they were together. "Elsa, if I ask you a question, will you be honest with me? Completely?" A moment passed before she nodded. "Everyone keeps talking about the Fifth Spirit. And usually when they do that, they mention you in some form. What exactly is the Fifth Spirit and why are you always mentioned when they talk about it?"

A moment passed, before he finally removed his finger from her lips, and she swallowed thickly, meeting his gaze. "The... weren't you listening to my story, Hans?" She met his gaze. "The queen became the Fifth Spirit, the bridge between the worlds." She shrugged. "Nearly two years ago, I drowned in Ahtohallan after going too deep. The Fifth Spirit?"

She pulled away then, stepping out of his embrace and holding out her arms. "It's me." He furrowed a brow. "Hans, the Fifth Spirit is what bridges the natural, physical world with the magical, it controls the other four spirits and protects Ahtohallan. It was given to the Queen of Arendelle for her bravery during the battle that brought down the mist in the Enchanted Forest over thirty-four years ago." She sighed, shrugging. "I'm the Fifth Spirit."

A moment passed, before she moved closer to the fire, picking up the staff he'd made for her. Her gaze moved over each detail as she rolled it in her hands, noticing how in the firelight, the snowflakes seemed to glimmer, how the sun shone. After a moment, she moved away from the fire, tossing it lightly into the air and catching it, testing the weight. It really, truly was a beautiful staff, and she was honored that he'd made it for her. "This really is beautiful craftsmanship, Hans." He stayed silent, watching her, trying to get his thoughts in order, lest they come out wrong when he spoke.

"Elsa... what... what do you mean you're the Fifth Spirit?"

She turned it, so that the crocus, the symbol of her kingdom, faced her, before turning it back so the end with the sun faced her. She seemed to be ignoring him on purpose. "There's just... something missing." She worried her bottom lip. "But I'm not sure what." Then, she turned it so the bottom rested gently against the ground and began to pace back and forth, using it like a regular cane on occasion.

It was long, she noticed, but not too long- she herself stood at five-foot-seven, and the staff was maybe an inch above her head or so. Elsa let her gaze shift to Hans briefly, drinking in his figure. She knew that the former prince stood at an impressive five-foot-nine, something that, when she'd first met him, had intimidated her, but now, it was second nature for her to have to tilt her head slightly when they stood face to face. And then there was the added benefit of her being able to tuck herself right beneath his chin-

She shook herself, turning back to the staff. The fact that Hans had spent so much time, put so much effort into making this for her... yes, she'd once had beautifully crafted gowns, pieces of jewelry and small trinkets made for her, but never anything with as much tender, loving care as Hans had put into this staff. It was special, and he deserved a major thank you- if only she knew how to properly thank him for such a gift. She sighed. For all its beauty, it really was lacking something, but she couldn't figure out what, exactly-

"Els, you never answered my question. What do you mean you're the Fifth Spirit?"

Her blue gaze darted to his, before she returned to the staff in her hands. Absentmindedly, she tossed it between her hands, before clumsily spinning it, only to drop it. Honeymaren had tried to teach her how to fight using a staff, but Elsa had never really been able to pick it up, even though the girl had told her repeatedly that all she needed was practice. The Snow Queen chalked up her inability to learn to her being more of a lover than a fighter. She quickly snatched it up off the ground, returning to lightly tossing it from hand to hand, keeping her gaze on the wood as she did so. Papa offered to teach you to spar, once but Mama put her foot down.

"She's a princess, not a peasant girl! She's going to be Queen someday, Agnarr! She need not know the proper way to wield a sword or shield or staff! She will never use one! Her words, her diplomacy and her wiles- those will be her weapons, not anything made from metal or wood! She is not the ill-fated Jeanne d'Arc, listening to supposed angels in her ears that claim to be from God! She is the Crown Princess of Arendelle, the heir to our throne. So long as I am living, I swear to all that is Holy, my child will never need use of a weapon, nor will she ever need learn."

"And what of her powers, Iduna? Those same powers she was gifted with could one day become weapons if she becomes entangled with the wrong people. I want her to at least be able to protect herself if that happens."

"Agnarr-"

"I just want our baby girl to be able to stand... even a fighting chance if she is forced to face someone who could do her terrible harm. Or have you forgotten the horror we faced the day the mist fell?"

"I have done nothing but try to forget that day, Agnarr. If I hadn't called the wind-"

"I know. Which is why I want Lisbet to know at least the basics of how to fight. It may come to nothing, but if she ever finds herself in such a position where she's threatened, she should at least know how to defend herself long enough to either get away or until help comes. She's a smart girl, Iduna. She clings to her studies; she longs to become a great Philosopher-Queen someday. And she very well may; she has a gift not just for conversation, but for spotting deceit and dishonesty amid the flattery. Just because our Lisbet is leans more towards intelligence, doesn't mean she can't also lean towards defending herself. And you're right, she's going to be queen some day, which means it'll be equally important that she have at least a basic understanding of defense. If anything, it will help her to learn to be even more aware of her surroundings once she becomes queen."

She remembered ducking into the shadows outside the library when she heard footsteps making their way to the door. Once her parents were gone, she'd scampered back to her room, only to open it two hours later to find Papa standing on the other side. He had held our a pair of black breeches, a pair of black riding boots, and white blouse. Neither had said a word; he'd simply held the items out to her. Slowly, she'd taken them, shut the door, and quickly changed, pulling her long blonde hair back into a twist and securing it with pins. The look on his face had been one she'd never forget as she'd tugged the door open. And then, unafraid of her, though she was of him, Papa had taken her hand, pulled her out of her room, shut the door, and then they'd dashed through the halls towards the ballroom. "Hurry, Lisbet, lest Mama finds out, and then we shall both be in trouble."

From that night on, Papa had spent evenings teaching her to spar- "In case you ever find yourself at the mercy of someone who wishes to do you great harm, Lisbet. You need to know how to defend yourself, even if it's only temporary. And this way, you won't be using your powers."- until it had become their thing. From the time she was roughly eleven, until Agnarr and Iduna had left on their voyage, Elsa had spent two nights a week with her father practicing sparring in the ballroom, always quickly changing into the breeches, boots and blouse, pinning her hair back, before hurrying to join him. She had reveled in it, feeling a mild sense of freedom for the first time in years.

So when she'd told Honeymaren that maybe she had no inability to fight because she was not a fighter, but a lover, she hadn't necessarily lied, merely stretched the truth. Could she fight if she chose to, if her life or the life of those she loved and cherished depended on it? Yes, to an extent. Would she? Not necessarily, unless forced. She chose the more peaceful route, for though Papa had trained her in minor combat, he had also taught her that battles weren't just fought on the battlefield; they could also be fought in council, in discussion and debate.

Yes, Agnarr had made sure his beloved baby girl was well-rounded in as many forms of combat he could teach her.

It had been years since she had picked up anything resembling a weapon, practiced any form of sparring. A part of her truly wished to return to it, for she'd felt a sense of freedom she'd never felt before in those nights with her father.

"Elsa?"

Slowly, she looked up, pulled from her thoughts and the memories of those late night sparring sessions in the ballroom. Hans still stood before her, green eyes filled to the brim with curiosity and worry. "Sorry, Hans?"

He scoffed gently, stepping up to her. She held the staff horizontal, unintentionally keeping a barrier between them. Unaware of the late hour, the pair didn't realize the others in the tribe had slowly slipped off to bed. Only Yelena remained up, making sure everything was back in its proper place and that all fires were out, except theirs. She left theirs alone. As she moved towards her hut, she stopped, turning back to watch them. "Would you please tell me about why you're the Fifth Spirit?" Yelena bristled in worry at the question, but realized that Elsa could handle herself. She would not step in until absolutely necessary.

The chief watched as her niece regarded the disgraced prince with a critical eye before glancing down at the staff she held. Then, without a word, she rose onto her toes and kissed him, making it clear that she was not going to answer his question tonight.