There isn't a whole lot to say that won't sound like a huge excuse, so I'll skip all that and just say that I am really, really, really sorry this update has taken so long. I hope you will forgive me... and if you happen to enjoy this chapter, please review, it really does help to push me to keep writing. - Thank you to all who've stuck around and fav'd and followed and all that goodness.
It's an odd feeling. Nothingness. Elsa thought as she picked at her breakfast.
She had awoken with a start, sleepy eyes blinking open to find her mother propped up on one elbow and peering down at her. It wasn't that she was afraid… far from it; she just hadn't been expecting it, is all. It's not like her mother was in her bed with her any other morning, so why today?
She reached out quickly, gently, and caressed Elsa's cheek. Her mouth was moving, attempting to sooth the girl, but no words were coming out.
Ah. She remembered now.
Elsa pouted, disheartened to find that this all had not just been a horrible dream. I really am stuck like this.
Her mother softly brushed the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Blue eyes locked with blue, in an exchange that needed no words. Elsa knew her mother sensed her distress, which only added to her own. It was written all over her face; she was worried and scared and unsure, and yet, she was there, continually loving her in every way she knew how.
Elsa felt her stomach rumble in an impressive attempt to demand her attention. Given the series of chaotic events, they'd all but forgotten to eat the day prior. Not that any of them would have had much of an appetite anyway. But Elsa's focus was elsewhere, her gaze fixed on her mother, finding comfort in the warmth of her smile - for whatever reason it was there, she didn't care.
"You're hungry."
Elsa narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to read her lips, replaying how they'd moved over and over again in her mind, hoping to piece together what her mother had said. But a tickle to her stomach broke through her concentration.
Her stomach. The rumbling. Mama must have heard the angry growls.
With a silent giggle – the first moment of happiness since this whole nightmare began – Elsa pulled back and smiled, nodding her head.
The Queen slid off the bed and went to the door, poking her head into the hall for a moment before returning to her daughter.
It wasn't long before a tray of food was brought in and set on the end of the bed.
Elsa nibbled on her toast, preferring to take smaller bites in an attempt to avoid noticing the lack of crunching she would have normally heard with larger ones. It didn't help, though, it still felt wrong. Even drinking her orange juice was strange.
Everything was different. And nothing was the same.
Nothing's ever going to be the same again.
The loss of one sense - the deprivation of something that is so often overlooked, a right, rather than a privilege - how easily it had been taken from her, never to be given back. It's absence had forced her into a prison, to live her life confined to her own mind. The door had slammed in her face, locked; the key thrown into the bottom of the ocean, and with it, every beautiful sound she'd ever hope to hear again.
Nothing would ever be able to break through to rescue her from the eternal silence. The physician couldn't fix it. Being royalty couldn't fix it. Not even her magic could fix it.
"…nothing else they can do…" Papa had said last night, before Elsa pushed the book away and settled into her window seat. She was done. There was nothing left to say.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
She was forever trapped in 'nothing' and freeing her was an impossible feat. The sooner she accepted that, the better it would be for everyone.
Everyone else, anyway, but she wouldn't be selfish. Why should they suffer any more than they already have because of her mistakes?
Even if she was miserable, she would do her best to keep it to herself, for their sake; the last thing she wanted was to cause them any more pain. She would conceal her own, ignore it the best she could so no one would see.
Yes. Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show.
Elsa squared her shoulders, the epitome of the regal little princess she was trained to be, mask in place.
She forced down a silent bite of banana.
Nothingness.
An odd feeling, indeed.
The morning had started out surprisingly upbeat. Aside from a moment or two of mild panic when she first woke, Elsa had seemed relatively happy. She even responded to her mother's tickles with a soft laugh, temporarily overshadowing the unease that the woman had been feeling.
But, as they sat together, sharing a light breakfast of fruit salad, toast, juice and tea, Idun noticed Elsa's countenance begin to turn somber. In the quiet – something they'd both have to learn to get used to – thoughts crept in and minds wandered and she was concerned about where her daughter's was off to, if the stoic look on her face was any indication, it was nowhere good.
Distract her.
She retrieved the quill pen and what was left of the little journal they'd used the night before – noting that they'd need to get some more to have on hand, especially if a turn in Elsa's mood could quickly destroy them – and scribbled a little note onto a clean page. She forced a lighthearted smile as she showed it to her daughter.
"What do you say we go and get you into a nice warm bath? Doesn't that sound lovely?"
Elsa looked down at her nightgown, still the same one that she'd gone to bed in before the accident with Anna. It might feel good to freshen up a little. She bit down on her lip, eyes still downcast, and gave her mother a nod.
The Queen reached out to cradle her chin in her palm and titled her head til their eyes met. "That's my girl." She smiled and pulled her face close to place a kiss on her nose.
"Now, why don't you go pick out an outfit and I'll have Gerda draw your bathwater."
Elsa nodded again and went to do as she was told. Once again, Idun poked her head out the door, remaining there a minute or two while she relayed her wishes to the help that passed by. She turned back into the room to find her daughter standing in the center with a fresh sky blue nightgown clutched to her chest.
"Elsa... that's a nightgown, darling. Why didn't you pick out a dress?"
Elsa took the book in one hand and read the query on the page, then looked over at the gown held in the other. Her mouth opened instinctively, wanting to speak; but the only sound that came was the catch of her breath. Her eyes screwed tight, her jaw quivering as she fought back tears.
Oh… my sweet girl. Idun's heart plummeted to the deepest depth of her gut as she was forced to witness her daughter's frustration. How awful it must be to not have your body respond like it was supposed to, to hinder what once came natural due to its newfound limitations.
She'd give anything to be able to make her baby whole again. She wanted her to hear. Wanted to hear her.
How would she ever be able to get used to the absence of that angelic little voice? It hit her then that the days of listening to her daughters playing and giggling in tandem were over. No longer would she have to referee their squabbles. There would be no more gentle shushing them when they stayed up talking past their bedtime. And to make matters worse, she realized the very real possibility that she may never get to know the sound of adult-Elsa's voice - would she recognize it if she'd had the chance to hear it for the first time after the passing of so many years?
She would never have those precious memories of her daughter's squeals of delight as she told her all about her first kiss, or of the sound of pure joy in her voice when she'd announce she was having her first child.
She knew she could never fully understand the loss that Elsa must feel, but she was beginning to think that she may have an inkling.
She felt like she'd been robbed, and she couldn't help her selfish desire to hope that one day Elsa would be brave enough to attempt to speak again.
She wished it was now.
It's alright, baby. Say it… say something. You can do it, I know you can. Her soul yearning as much as her mind.
Instead, Elsa clamped her mouth shut and thrust the clothing in her hand out towards her mother, trading her for the pen.
"I didn't see the point. Nobody else is going to see me anyway."
She slipped the book from Elsa's grasp, the girl's words blurring through the layer of tears that clung to her eyes as she read.
"How is Anna?" Idun asked later that evening as she sat by the fire in their chambers, removing her shoes before working her way out of her dress.
"Asleep. Finally." Her husband, propped against the headboard, lowered the book he'd been reading and sat it on the side table. "Although, you should know... tomorrow we will be having ice cream for breakfast," he smiled guiltily.
"Agdar, you didn't."
"I'm sorry! She was so upset that she hasn't seen Elsa and she didn't understand why she couldn't go back to her own room. I... didn't want to make this any harder for her than it had to be, so I told her if she let Gerda put her to bed in the guest room without any further fuss, then... well, I thought a little treat might be an incentive—"
"A bribe."
"Technically." He smirked at her, a carbon copy of those she's seen on their daughters' faces. It was no secret where they'd gotten their mischievousness.
"They have always had you wrapped about their little fingers," she teased, crawling under the covers. He lifted his arm for her to duck beneath and wiggle up beside him. She took the offering, snuggled in close and rested her head on his chest.
"And Elsa? Is she—"
"The same."
"I meant—"
"I know," she sighed. "Yes, she is asleep as well. It took a while, after you kissed her goodnight, but she finally dozed off." She fiddled absently with the buttons on his pajama top. "She didn't want me to lay with her, said she was fine, but she did let me sit with her, at least. So, I pulled up a chair and sat and waited for her to fall asleep. But watching her, the way she curled in on herself and when she does that thing where she pats on her ears, almost like she's testing them, like one of these times something will have changed... it just breaks my heart. I wanted to hold her so badly. I don't understand why she wouldn't let me comfort her."
"Idun, this is all very, very new. It will take time for her to adjust. For all of us to—"
"I don't want it to take time. Don't you see? These have been the longest two days of my life. I don't know how much more I can take... I hate watching her suffer."
"As do I. I would do anything in my power to undo this. I wish I could go back in time... see the warning signs."
"I find myself wishing that since magic caused this, that it could in turn, fix it. Is that silly?"
"No. Not at all. If only it worked that way," he mused.
"Magic." Idun whispered to herself as an idea came to mind.
"Hm?"
"Why can't magic fix her? What about the trolls?! They helped Anna, maybe Pabbie can—"
"I'm afraid this isn't exactly the same thing, dear," Agdar spoke gently as he stroked up and down the length of her arm. "There has been actual physical damage to her body, to correct that would require the ability to reproduce the human anatomy that is missing. As much as I wish they could help us, troll magic just doesn't work that way."
"I see," she said solemnly. "So… there really is nothing more we can do, just... accept and support."
"...Yes."
Accept.
Okay...
Just say it, Idun. Say it and move on; stop feeling sorry for yourself. Be strong - for Elsa.
Accept it.
"Our daughter is deaf."
There.
He swallowed. "Yes."
She took a long, deep breath, exhaled slowly. Then, so composed and determined, it was as if she had become an completely different person: "okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay we need to make some changes. Accommodate her the best we can."
"What did you have in mind?"
"For one, we'll have to give them each their own bedroom. Elsa is extremely uncomfortable with the thought of being anywhere near Anna right now and I have no idea how long that will last. And we certainly won't be eating ice cream for breakfast every morning until it passes because we have to repeatedly convince Anna to sleep in a guest room."
Agdar chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. "I think that is a wise decision, my queen."
She tipped her head up and caught his lips before he pulled back. "Mm, yes," she grinned, "what ever would you do without me?"
"I hope I never have to find out." He smoothed her hair away from her forehead, smiling down at her with pure affection.
"We're in this together."
"Yes, we are." He sighed, redirecting back to the topic at hand. "So... who do you suggest we relocate?"
"Well..." she thought, "their current room is the nearest room to ours. And I think it's probably best that we keep Elsa close. If she's not…" Idun closed her eyes fighting to hold on to her calm long enough to get through this conversation. "If she is uncomfortable being… vocal," she winced - verbalizing her previous realizations only made the situation hurt even more, "I want to be able to check on her easily."
"I agree. Anna is old enough now to do well despite a bit of distance from us; it's only a little farther down the hall," he added. "And Elsa... her powers have been surprisingly manageable so far, but an entire bedroom change might be one more change than she can handle right now."
"Then it's settled, we'll have it done tomorrow."
"Tomorrow then."
Agdar reached over to the bedside table to extinguish the lamp, the couple slipping deeper under the covers, settling into their usual spooning position.
"Goodnight, darling."
Idun pulled his arms tighter around her middle, finally feeling content. Perhaps things wouldn't be as terrible as she'd thought; as long as they were together, they could weather every storm. "Goodnight, my love."
Thunder struck a mere hour later – startling them awake – in the form of the bloodcurdling screams coming from the little girl in the next room.