All or Nothing Chapter Twenty-One
Late autumn brought the beginnings of the winter chill to the borders of Arendelle, and the country's farmers were finishing up their harvesting and filling their granaries when Arendelle's high council decided it was high time they hosted a harvest ball.
Any and all parties had been tiptoed around since the notorious coronation incident. They had a yule celebration the year after, and they had celebrated Anna's birthdays and her official engagement to Kristoff. Visiting traders were allowed to celebrate their national holidays in the open market and the local townspeople held spring festivals and summer fetes without any input from the royal family or the council. Elsa was perfectly happy with this.
“Anna can host it,” she told Holm, who had been sent to speak to her. “She'd be delighted to.”
Holm grunted under his breath (as she knew he would) and shook his head.
“You have not been seen properly in public for far too long, your highness,” he told her sternly. “There are rumours amongst the townspeople that you are on your deathbed.”
Elsa groaned into her hands, mostly to get on Holm's nerves. Of all of her advisors, she found him the most irritating.
“I dispelled the early snows on the balcony just last week. I looked healthy enough then, right? No reason to throw a ball....”
“It's not just for the benefit of the townspeople,” he continued. “Our foreign trade officials would like to speak to you outside of office, and some royal visitors would do wonders for your public image...”
“Is my public image suffering then?” she asked snidely.
He didn't answer, just stared her down.
“Fine, fine,” she grumbled. “Throw the damn ball. I'll sign whatever you need me to.”
“I know it doesn't make any sense,” she explained to Merida later. “Don't focus on the name. It's just a big party.”
“Why don't you people just make new words when you need them?” Merida grumbled, idly tracing circles on the sheets.
“Take it up with the linguists,” Elsa told her. “It's a large gathering of people and we have to attend, that's all you need to know.”
“I know why you have to attend,” Merida shot back. “Why do I have to?”
“By royal decree?” Elsa offered.
“True,” Elsa nodded, flopping back against the pillows. “But it's going to be an ordeal for me as it is. If you were there it would be at least a little more bearable.”
“That's black-....black-something....”
“Blackmail,” Elsa corrected. “Yes, it is. Is it working?”
“Fine,” Merida shrugged. “I'll go.”
“Marvelous. You'll be seeing the dressmaker in the morning.”
“Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?”
Elsa didn't reply, just kissed her, and that was that.
The doors were opening to the main ballroom, and she'd been wearing her heavy cloak for less than an hour and already she felt the strain in her shoulders. From under her window she could hear Anna's chirpy voice greeting the visitors. Elsa sighed; it was going to be a long night.
There was a gentle knock on the chamber door.
“Come in,” she groaned, and the person obliged. Elsa turned to greet them, and instantly felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.
She'd long suspected the royal seamstress, who spoke about ten words a year and had a permanent frown etched on her face, had a soft spot for Merida. She didn't complain as much as Elsa or fidget as much as Anna, and was perfectly fine standing on a chair in her underwear stoically being stabbed with pins.
The woman had clearly gone out of her way to make Merida look as stunning as possible, tossing out the customary velvet bodice and painted silk for sapphire-blue silk chiffon with gold embroidery. The back of the gown was high enough to cover her scars and dipped teasingly low in the front, and a gold brocade sash nipped in her waist. The skirt wasn't overly full, but floated with every step. To top it off, the royal dresser had pulled her hair to one side, wrapped it in gold cord and set small gold flowers into the curls.
“What?” Merida shrugged awkwardly, and Elsa realized she'd been staring in silence for who knew how long.
“Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “You...you look beautiful...”
Merida chuckled and went pink in the cheeks, fiddling with the end of her hair.
“It's a bit fancy for my liking...” she mumbled. “But it's not too tight, at least.”
“Which is more than I can say for this,” Elsa laughed, tugging at the closure on her cloak. “I feel like a cart horse lugging this thing along behind me.”
“I thought you were going to make a dress?” Merida asked, dropping lightly into a chair in front of the fire to warm her feet. “Like your ice gowns?”
“It's not proper,” Elsa answered. “I have to wear the royal emblem at public functions, and it never lasts when I try to make it in ice. It splinters too quickly.”
Merida laughed softly and rolled her eyes, but didn't comment. Adjusting her collar one last time and smoothing a stray hair back into her rolled braid, Elsa reached out a hand to pull her to her feet.
“Follow me downstairs in ten minutes,” Elsa told her. “I have to be formally announced.”
Merida took her chin in her hand and kissed her on the cheek softly.
“Good luck,” she said, and then she was gone.
Two hours into the ball, and the ache in Elsa's shoulders was matched by a climbing ache in her jaw from holding her smile in place. She'd been greeting dignitaries and visiting royals at a rate of one every five minutes and trying desperately to remember who they all were, and it was exhausting.
Anna had finished her royal duty some time ago, and was freely sweeping across the ballroom with a stumbling Kristoff, rather too close for comfort. Elsa raised a reproachful eyebrow at her, but was met with a rebellious clenched jaw and hand gesture.
I know what you've been up to, you don't get to talk about my love life anymore! She could almost hear her say from across the room.
She hadn't seen Merida at all, and it concerned her. There were objectively more beautiful women in the ballroom (though to Elsa's eyes Merida outshone them all) but she looked different to everyone else, and looking so polished as she did this night was bound to attract unwanted male attention. That little uneasy sickness at the pit of her stomach grew as she watched handsome young men mill about the room, sneaking glances at any unaccompanied young woman.
“Cousin Elsa!” a soft, musical voice trilled. “It's wonderful to see you again.”
She started as a small hand landed on her shoulder, and was pulled away apologetically. She stared into the enormous doll-like green eyes of the woman in front of her, who was nervously biting her lip.
“Cousin Rapunzel,” she said, smiling genuinely this time. “I'm sorry, I was distracted. I almost didn't recognize you.”
Princess Rapunzel of Corona wasn't truly a cousin; their royal lines had been connected by marriage over three hundred years before but the two women hadn't a single drop of blood in common. Still, they and other royal families with close alliances used the term 'cousin' interchangeably to denote how close they were.
And indeed, Rapunzel looked quite different. Elsa had seen her briefly at the coronation, and she and her husband had been whisked out of the country over the land bridge when Elsa went on her rampage, she had not seen either of them since. Rapunzel's short, spiky brown hair was now past her shoulders and a silky-smooth golden, only brown at the tips.
She touched her hair, a nervous gesture.
“It's been a long time, I know,” she said. “The blonde coming back was unexpected, there's no real magic left in it but still...”
All of the royal families had been told and retold about how the infant princess had been stolen from her crib because of the strong magic she possessed. Elsa had been warned to keep the nursery windows locked at night, to never sneak out of her bed, to always stay within sight of the palace staff, with this tale on everyone's lips. Some of the maids had gone further in their tales, said that the baby had been devoured by the witch, that she'd had her entrails carved out to make potions, that she was taken to be raised in the swamps by toads and eels, more creature than human.
Still, there were nights that Elsa wondered if she herself would be better off in the clutches of a woods witch, raised to revel in her magic, casting snow and ice far from the reach of human eyes. Who was to say Rapunzel's abductor had only the worst in mind for her? But then, Rapunzel had returned as a young woman, unharmed as far as anyone could see, and settled into her role as a princess as though she had never been taken.
The same could not be said for her husband, a commoner named Eugene something-or-other, who had to publicly sign away any claim to the throne before he could even propose to her. The rumour mill had pegged him as a petty thief and charlatan who had taken advantage of the young princess's naivete to get himself a kingdom. Elsa couldn't say for sure what the truth was; the few times she had seen him, he looked uncomfortable and strained in royal company. However, Rapunzel marrying a man from a humble background had paved the way for Anna's engagement to Kristoff, and for better or worse he made Anna happy.
“Where is Eugene tonight?” Elsa asked casually. Normally, he was glued to Rapunzel's side at these functions.
“He went out to the balcony for some air,” Rapunzel told her. “He got through about thirty meet-and-greets before he gave up.”
“If only we could call it quits so soon,” Elsa quipped, and they shared a quiet, conspiratorial laugh.
“When is Anna going to set a date for her wedding?” Rapunzel asked. “Eugene shouldn't be the only royal spouse to suffer.”
“It's complicated,” Elsa told her. “The advisor's council are dragging their heels on the paperwork, and Anna keeps skipping the meetings...”
“It's such a lot of fuss to be with the one you love,” Rapunzel sighed. “I almost envy you, Elsa. Things might have been much simpler if my country told me to stay unwed.”
“Well, that has its own problems,” Elsa told her, feeling a sharp pain in her heart. Marrying a commoner was messy, marrying another woman was unheard of. Although....
“You were the first, weren't you?” Elsa said, linking Rapunzel's arm with her own and tugging her towards a quiet alcove. “To marry someone with Eugene's background?”
“Sort of,” Rapunzel said with a slow blink. This was the longest time they had ever spent talking to each other. “The first princess. There were kings before me who married widows and kept their crowns...and those that married mistresses, but they had to abdicate. We had to read up on them before we could get engaged.”
“Who objected the most?” Elsa prodded. “Did it cause a lot of problems?”
“Well, my parents were fine with it,” she said. “They were just happy to have me back alive, whatever the circumstances....most of Corona's people took a public vote and were fine with it too....the noble families made a big fuss because they had a lot of sons they wanted to push as marriage prospects....but in the end the one who objected most was Eugene.”
“What?” Elsa spluttered. “Why?”
“He always said he felt I was too good for him,” Rapunzel said quietly, stroking the ends of her hair. “When they said he had no claim to the throne, he was relieved. He wanted me to be happy....but to be really happy I needed him to stay by my side, and so here we are.”
“That makes sense,” Elsa hummed. It could be done....somehow, she could find a way. Whatever objections her council and people could have to her marrying another woman, the marriage would have no children to pass her powers to, and Merida was a royal in her own right...what was the difference, really?
Just then, Rapunzel was tugged away by Anna to tackle the buffet together. All of the attending guests were spread out, eating and mingling and dancing. Finally, she could escape to the balcony for some fresh air herself.
As she approached the thick velvet curtains separating the balcony from the hall, she heard familiar laughter mixed with a man's low drone. Pulling back the drape, her stomach dropped the same way it had when she caught Meena talking to Merida.
Rapunzel's roguishly handsome husband was perched on the balustrade, telling some grand story to Merida, all expressive limbs and cheeky half-smile. Merida was enthralled, leaning in and nodding along and laughing at his dramatic flourishes.
It was irrational to feel this sudden, heated jealousy. Eugene was a married man, and Merida wasn't interested in men as far as Elsa knew. But to see them both together like this, comfortable and relaxed in each other's company.....Elsa had never seen the man relaxed full stop....it put her on edge. She breathed deep, trying to keep her ice under control. She sent it upwards, towards the roof. At least up there it could be blamed on the approaching winter.
“What's going on here then?” Elsa said, plastering her friendly smile on her face.
“Oh, your highness,” Eugene straightened up, visibly tense once again. “I was just talking to this young lady....”
“Princess Merida,” Elsa corrected, enjoying how he suddenly went pale.
“Princess?” he sputtered, looking over at Merida (and probably realizing he had been massively inappropriate.)
“Yes, well, I was just telling her some stories of things I did before I was married...”
“Have you been in here long? I think your wife might be looking for you,” Elsa told him smoothly.
“Yeah, okay,” he laughed nervously. “See you around....your highness. Highnesses.”
He scurried out as fast as he could. Elsa took his place on the balustrade beside Merida, who was sitting up against the marble gargoyle and didn't seem annoyed that her companion had left so suddenly.
“Why are you hiding out here?” Elsa asked.
“People keep asking me to dance,” Merida told her. “I can't dance. Especially in these shoes.”
“Nobody asks me to dance anymore,” Elsa sighed. “It's quite a relief, actually. I used to just send them off to Anna instead, now they go straight to her without asking me at all.”
“What if I asked you?” Merida teased. “Would you send me off to Anna?”
“No,” Elsa said, smiling sadly. “If I could, you'd be my one exception.”
Maybe they could dance at their wedding, she thought but did not dare say. Maybe they could have a wedding. Maybe they could be together, with no problems keeping them apart.
Once upon a time, a princess marrying a commoner was unheard of. Rapunzel had been the first. Elsa could also be a first. If they accepted her choice, why not Elsa's?
As the ball was winding down, Elsa ended up on the flat platform roof, lying face down in the snow that had gathered up there. It was late enough that her absence wasn't that notable, but the dancing music was still playing and there were still a crowd on the ballroom floor. If she looked up, she could see their shadows whirling against the snow.
The trapdoor to the platform roof creaked open and Elsa heard someone pulling themselves out into the night air, shivering with the cold. The person tiptoed over beside her and sank down into the snow. Elsa turned over onto her back, looking up into Merida's face peering down at her.
“Were you asleep up here?” she asked.
“No, just resting,” Elsa mumbled. “You're going to ruin your dress, sitting in the snow like that.”
“I probably won't be wearing it again, right?” she said. “The dressmaker makes a new one for everything...”
She was holding the shoes that had been tripping her up all evening, and she tossed them off of the roof as hard as she could. They both watched them drop down in a copse of trees.
“Was that necessary?” Elsa drawled.
“I'll get them in the morning,” Merida replied. “Anyway, now that they're gone, I can dance with you.”
“What?” Elsa said, sitting up. “Here?”
“Why not? No-one can see us from here. And the music's still playing...”
“I thought you said you can't dance....”
“That's what I told them. I can, I just wouldn't,” Merida explained. “Unless it's with you.”
There were times when Elsa woke up at night, spent evenings staring into the fire, tuned out of meetings because she was sick with worry that Merida simply did not care about Elsa the way Elsa cared about her. There was always the lingering fear that this was just a nice way to pass the time for her, a bit of fun. But then there were times like now, when she just knew it wasn't all as one-sided as she feared it was. Nobody could ever make Merida do something she didn't want to do without a fight.
As she clambered to her feet, dropping her heavy cloak out of the way, the snow that had built on the roof was quickly thawing into water and trickling down from the eaves like summer rain. She curtseyed, stiff and suddenly awkward, and Merida copied her more lazily though she'd never quite mastered curtsying.
Elsa took her hand and pulled her close, winding an arm around her waist the way men usually held the women. But the first few steps were clumsy, she'd only ever been taught to dance with men and didn't know how to lead, and Merida didn't know how to follow. After having her feet stepped on for a third time, Merida yanked her forward until they each had a hip pressed against each other, an arm around her shoulder and hands entwined.
The music faded underneath them, and the shadows of the people in the ballroom grew smaller and smaller. They spun in circles together, half-dizzy and giggling. Merida's skirt caught droplets of water from the ground and tossed them into the air to shimmer in the moonlight.
It was all Elsa had ever wanted. It was perfect.
