Disney Before the Story, Page 2

  Queen Iduna cleared her throat. “Let’s get started by reviewing some of the material your teacher gave me to go over with you,” she said, consulting the large book in her lap. “Do you remember the first ten rulers of Arendelle?”

  Just like her routine back home, the day’s lessons started with a little history. Usually Elsa did her lessons with her governess, Miss Larson, but her mom had explained that she would be taking over Elsa’s teaching while they were away. After all, her mom had taken the same lessons before she had become queen many years before, and who better to teach Elsa how to be a proper ruler than the current queen of Arendelle?

  Elsa kept her voice steady as she recited the past kings and queens. It was a long list of names, but Elsa remembered every single one.

  “Very good!” Queen Iduna said when she was finished. “Shall we move on to the national treasures?”

  Dutifully, Elsa described the national treasures of the kingdom. They were crowns and jeweled scepters, ceremonial robes, and special books that had been important to the family for centuries.

  “Well done!” her mother said. “Soon you will be ready to visit the vault where they are kept.”

  Elsa did not want to visit the vault. She did not want to do anything except finish the lesson. None of this was how she had imagined her time at the Sommerhus. But she knew that complaining would only make the lessons longer.

  Queen Iduna seemed to sense Elsa’s disinterest. After reviewing a few more national treasures, she said, “Let’s finish today’s ­lessons with something new and review proper place settings and table manners.”

  Her mother stood up and led the way back to the table where they had eaten breakfast. Thanks to King Agnarr, the mess had disappeared and the plates were neatly stacked after washing.

  Queen Iduna took a clean plate off the top of the stack and laid it on the table in front of Elsa. “A formal meal is different from a family meal,” she began. “First, let me show you how a place setting should look.”

  Elsa nodded.

  “The plate is at the center,” the queen said. Then she showed Elsa the proper place for everything else that would surround it on a table, from the napkin to the dessert plate. Elsa did not know there was supposed to be a special plate for dessert!

  Forks, knives, spoons, glasses—Elsa knew what all those were used for. For a formal occasion, though, it turned out each place setting needed three forks, three spoons, and something called a finger bowl. “It will be filled with water,” her mother explained. “And before dessert, your guests will dip their fingertips in to clean them.”

  “Like a bath?” Elsa asked. “Just for your fingers?”

  Her mother smiled. “Exactly like a bath. But only for fingertips. First one hand, and then the other, but never the whole hand.” Elsa bit her lip to keep from laughing. It all sounded so silly.

  “And of course,” Queen Iduna added, winking, “one must never drink the water. That is considered terribly rude.”

  The idea of someone drinking the finger-bowl water made Elsa crack up. “Like drinking from the bathtub?” she said, giggling.

  Her mother ruffled her hair a little. “Just like that,” she said. “See how much you have already learned today?”

  Elsa frowned. She knew her mother was right, but there was so much more that Elsa needed to know.

  Finally, she asked, “But why? Why do I need to know the names and the treasures and the rules? What makes the crown jewels so special, or the place settings so important? Who were all of these kings and queens, anyway?”

  Queen Iduna replied, “Well, that is the best part of preparing to be queen. Learning the stories of our people.”

  “But I don’t know any of the stories!” Elsa insisted. “I only know the lists and the rules.”

  Her mother gave her a patient smile. She unstacked some more plates and placed them on the table in front of her, all in a row. “The stories are in everything we do, Elsa,” she said. “Even on these plates. They hold memories of my travels, yes. But also memories that are passed from one generation to the next.”

  She pointed to the plate Elsa’s pancake had been on, now clean. “This crocus is the crest of our kingdom, the symbol of rebirth after a long winter.” Elsa had never really thought about the crest before, but she knew the joy of seeing spring’s first blossoms.

  The next plate showed bright lights in a dark sky, and Queen Iduna said, “The day your papa’s parents were married, the northern lights blazed overhead, just like this. It was a good omen for their reign. This picture shows that bit of history.”

  Elsa had never heard that detail, but she liked it.

  There was a giant white bunny on the next plate, bigger than any Elsa had ever seen. “And here is the mythical snow hare, said to bring good luck to those who can catch him. But he is tricky,” the queen said, “so his good luck can be hard to find. Arendelle has many legends like this one.”

  Elsa studied history every day, but she had never thought of it this way before. It was about facts, yes, but also about stories and legends.

  Just then, she heard her father and Anna coming up the path from the village. Her father was walking slowly, scanning the sky for birds. Anna was doing a series of cartwheels. How long had they been gone? The morning had passed quickly after all.

  Elsa had wanted to skip her lessons so she could play with her sister and experiment with her magic. But there was another reason, too, one she didn’t like to admit.

  Sometimes Elsa was nervous about becoming queen. With her power, she knew she’d be unlike any queen Arendelle had ever known, and learning how to use a finger bowl would not make a difference.

  But what if her mother’s stories would help Elsa understand her place in the kingdom? Those were lessons she could use—and they could last a lifetime.

  The next few mornings at the Sommerhus followed the same routine as the first. After breakfast, Elsa would join her mother for ­lessons while Anna and King Agnarr would go play outside.

  At the end of every lesson, Queen Iduna would take out one of her special plates and tell Elsa the story that went along with it. The stories almost made Elsa forget about the playtime she was missing with Anna. Almost.

  Just as Queen Iduna finished telling Elsa the legend of a horse made of water, Anna burst into the cottage like a tornado. She told Elsa about every animal and flower she’d seen on her walk, barely pausing to catch a breath as she led Elsa upstairs.

  Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, Anna narrowed her eyes and looked critically at the fort. “I think we should make it bigger,” she told Elsa.

  Elsa found extra chairs and blankets in their parents’ room. She dragged the chairs to the fort and re-draped the blankets to fit. The new fort was so big that it went beyond their beds and took up almost the girls’ entire room!

  Anna crouched and went inside. “We need supplies,” she said.

  “What kind of supplies?” Elsa asked.

  Anna thought for a moment. “Art supplies. Some toys. And definitely sweets.”

  In one corner of the fort, they piled paper and quills in case they wanted to draw pictures. They created a place for toys and books. Anna flopped on her back and announced, “I think we can stay here all summer!”

  Hildy and Hanna, their beloved dolls, had a corner of the fort to themselves. Anna made sure each one had a place to sleep, then Elsa remembered a tea set that was buried in the trunk. “Maybe Hildy and Hanna need a place for tea,” she said.

  Together, the sisters fashioned a table and chairs from a book and two small cushions. But when Elsa uncovered the tea set from the depths of the trunk, she found that the cups and saucers were chipped and coated with dust. Frowning, she told Anna, “Hanna and Hildy deserve better than this. I know something they will like much more.”

  Elsa hurried downstairs and back to the table, slipping two plates—the crocus and the snow hare—off the top of the stack. Her parents had not seen or heard her take them, since they w
ere walking in the garden.

  The family would not need every plate at each meal, Elsa told herself as she returned to Anna. Okay, she was not sure she was allowed to play with them. But these plates were special to the whole family, Elsa reasoned. And if the plates were in the fort, she could tell Anna what she had learned about them. Surely, her mother would be okay with that. On top of the plates, Elsa placed a pair of teacups for the dolls.

  Back in the fort, Anna had propped Hildy and Hanna in sitting positions on their beds. Elsa gave each doll a teacup and a plate, then a couple of sweets from the kitchen. She swatted away Anna’s hand as it snaked toward the treats. “Those are for Hildy and Hanna!” Elsa said.

  Anna made a face, but she dropped her hand. Then she poured pretend tea into each cup. Anna acted like she was taking a sip, then blew cool air over the top. “Oh, that’s too hot for you,” she told the dolls. “You’ll need to wait till it cools.”

  “Or maybe not,” said Elsa. She smiled at her sister as an idea came to her. “After all, I happen to be an expert in ice.”

  She stretched out her hands. She closed her eyes and concentrated, and when she opened them, there was a misshapen piece of ice resting on each palm. If Elsa squinted hard, they looked like ice cubes that were just the right size for the teacups. She dropped them into the cups as Anna begged, “Again!”

  Elsa clamped her eyes shut and thought about ice cubes once more, but something else burst forth in her hands unexpectedly. It was small and lumpy, but she had made a snowball! Elsa held it out for her sister to see.

  “Can I touch it?” Anna asked.

  “Of course!” Elsa said.

  Anna grabbed the snowball and tossed it in the air. She rolled it around in her hands as if she was testing it. Then she got a mischievous glint in her eye, and Elsa could tell what she was thinking. Elsa ducked out of the fort just before Anna could throw the snowball in her direction.

  “You can’t get me!” Elsa called out. But there was nowhere to hide from Anna, because their little bedroom had been overtaken by the fort.

  Elsa ducked into a hallway closet but regretted it. Anna would be waiting for her when she came out, Elsa suspected, and she was right. The moment Elsa peered out of the closet, she felt the snowball splat against her cheek.

  Fortunately, she knew how to make another one. If her magic behaved as she hoped.

  Elsa came out of the closet, acting like their snowball fight was over.

  “Let’s go back into the fort,” she said to her sister. Anna looked at her suspiciously, but Elsa just said, “What?” Anyone could see that her hands were empty.

  Anna led the way inside the fort, settling down next to the dolls. Elsa picked up Hildy and gently gave her a sip of pretend tea, which was really a few drops of melted ice. Then, just when Anna was starting to relax into the fort’s pillows, Elsa closed her eyes and focused on forming another snowball. It took a little more effort, but when she was done she noticed that the snowball she had made was a little firmer, more ice than snow.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Anna yelled when she realized what her sister was doing. She grabbed the snowball and lobbed it at Elsa. There was a quick scuffle in the enclosed space of the fort, the sisters batting the snowball back and forth like a real ball until it fell from the air with a thud.

  Right onto the snow hare plate Elsa had smuggled into the tent.

  Breaking it in two.

  For Elsa, it felt like time had stopped. She picked up the two pieces of the plate and thought about how it had looked just seconds before. The snow hare had been hopping without a care in the world, and now he was split in half. How had things gone so wrong so fast? The plate was ruined, and it could never be fixed.

  Or could it? Could her magic solve this problem? If only she could freeze the pieces back together . . . Elsa tried to use her magic, imagining ice that would connect the two broken sides. But it was as difficult as if she’d never had magic in the first place. Was her power as broken as the plate?

  As she stared at the broken plate in her hands, she felt a warm stream of tears pouring down her face. Anna, who noticed Elsa had begun crying, wrapped her arms around her and said, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  Ignoring Anna’s words, Elsa shook herself free of her sister’s embrace and burst out of the fort. Anna meant well, but she didn’t understand. The plates were part of the kingdom’s history, of the knowledge Elsa was supposed to gain to become queen. How would she ever explain this to her parents?

  Elsa wiped away her tears, a look of determination coming over her features. She would have to face the consequences. The sooner she admitted her mistake, the better.

  Somehow, she pulled herself together. She changed out of her nightgown and went down the stairs and into the garden. She would own up to what she had done and accept any punishment. She would be as cold as ice.

  But her courage melted away as soon as she stepped outside and saw her parents sitting in the shade of an elm tree. “Oh, Mama,” she cried, running toward her. “I am so sorry!” She crumpled to the ground by Queen Iduna.

  Anna was right behind Elsa, and she explained what had happened. “Elsa borrowed the special plates for a tea party. And then we had a snowball fight . . . and one of them got broken.”

  King Agnarr’s eyes grew wide. “A snowball fight?” he asked.

  “I started it with my magic,” Elsa said. “It’s all my fault! I borrowed the plates, I made the snowballs, and I ruined the snow hare.” She still had the pieces of the plate in her hand, and she put them together to show her parents. “He’ll never be the same again.”

  Queen Iduna pulled both of her daughters into her lap. “Shhh . . . shhh.” She soothed Elsa, stroking her hair. “Everything will be all right.”

  “But it won’t!” Elsa wailed. “A little piece of the kingdom has been broken. By someone who is supposed to be the queen!” That was the worst part of it all. How could she be entrusted with such a huge responsibility when she couldn’t even take care of a plate? Maybe she would never be ready to rule a kingdom.

  Queen Iduna turned Elsa’s face toward her and wiped away her tears. “It will be many years before you are expected to take the throne,” she reassured her daughter. “Nobody expects you to be perfect now. You are only learning. And one of the ways we learn is by making mistakes.”

  Elsa sniffled. She did not like making mistakes, and no matter what her mother said, she knew this was a big one. She took a deep breath. “But now no one will know the legend of the snow hare,” she said. She swallowed hard and willed herself not to cry anymore.

  “Only the plate is broken,” King Agnarr reassured her. “Not the story! The legend is much more important than the plate itself. And it will live in Arendelle forever.”

  From the other side of the queen’s lap, Anna piped up. “What’s the legend of the snow hare?”

  Queen Iduna leaned back and paused, as if summoning a precious memory. “The snow hare lives in the woods and fields of Arendelle, blending in with his surroundings all winter long,” she said.

  “And he is magic?” Anna asked.

  Elsa smiled, though her eyes still felt a little puffy. Of course Anna wanted to know about the magic.

  “Some say,” added the king, “that the snow hare can bring a person good luck for a lifetime.”

  Anna’s eyes widened. “How does he do that?” she asked.

  “All you have to do is hold the snow hare in your arms,” the queen explained. “But that is easier said than done, because he is almost impossible to catch. He lives in the open, so people may spot him in the woods or fields in summertime. He may even come close, daring us to catch him. In the end, though, the snow hare darts away. He always manages to keep his good luck to himself.”

  “That’s no fair,” Anna said. “The snow hare should share his magic with everyone.”

  But Elsa saw the story differently. Magic could work wonders, but she knew why the snow hare would guard his caref
ully. Because magic could also be too powerful to control. And when it slipped out of your hands, it could even be a little dangerous.

  By the end of their first week at the Sommerhus, the broken plate was just an ache in the back of Elsa’s mind, something she could almost forget. She was still in her favorite place with her favorite people, and nothing could ruin that.

  One night, near sunset, Anna and Elsa went to the edge of the woods to look for kindling for a fire while Queen Iduna stood nearby. They scampered along the hiking path, piling sticks and pieces of bark into baskets they carried and playing their usual game. “Don’t touch the ground!” Elsa said, hopping from root to root. “Anna, you’re slipping. . . .” Her sister had one foot on a rock and one on a rickety log.

  Anna’s gaze was fixed on something deep in the woods. “Shhh,” she told her sister, putting a finger to her lips. “I think I see the snow hare!” She pointed into the distance, and Elsa stepped in that direction.

  “You touched the ground!” said Anna. “I win this round!”

  Elsa frowned. “Were you tricking me?” she asked. “Did you really see the snow hare at all?”

  Anna shook her head. “Okay, I made it up,” she admitted. “Because you always win the game.”

  “I’m older,” Elsa said, standing up straight and sticking her chin out.

  “And someday you’ll be queen,” replied Anna, sweeping into a curtsy.

  Elsa did not want to think about being queen or imagine what the next day’s lessons would bring. In the past few days, she had learned how to write official letters and how to call for the royal guards.

  “Don’t touch the ground!” she cautioned her sister, moving up the path and starting the game again. She just wanted to enjoy her time at the Sommerhus, where worries seemed to vanish in the breeze that fanned the fjord.

  When their mother led them back to the cottage, King Agnarr was building the fire. He took the kindling from their baskets, feeding the flames until the family’s bonfire lit up the early evening. As the sun sank lower in the sky, the fire grew bolder and brighter, crackling with life.