The Kindest of All

“Poor thing,” you muse to yourself. Feeling guilty for even trying to awaken her during her holiday, you yourself lie down for a quick kip, but when sleep overtakes you, you feel so comfortable in Anna’s snoring presence that when you open your eyes, she’s staring down at you, with the glittering starry canopy behind her. Your eyes widen as you realize, in partial mortification, that the two of you have spent the entire afternoon here.

“Oh,” she mumbles, blushing. “I’m sorry. I was just studying you, kind of. You’ve a wonderful countenance.”

You joke that as her trusted and intimate confidante and advisor, she has every right to observe you. But you soon realize that she’s taken your jest with the utmost seriousness, and as you talk back to the village heart of Arendelle together, you realize that to be close to Anna’s heart is no joking matter. Not for her. Indeed, although she invites you to dinner (since you’ve been with her for the whole day anyway), she speaks very little as you join her in Arendelle Castle’s dining room. There’s a palpable vulnerability about her as you finish your meal, and when it’s time for you to leave, the queen gives you a silent hug, still not saying a word.

Perhaps there isn’t much to be said. What else can be said after such an encounter, when so much of her has been borne to you? Is it much different to having been seen naked? Surely this was intimacy of an emotional kind that can be no less intense than what is commonly understood to be intimate?

In the next few days, since you see each other often, neither of you mention what happened under the tree. Perhaps Anna’s waiting for you to say something. Or perhaps she’s already dismissed her holiday from her mind, launching right back into her work as our sovereign head of state. The matters of the heart shouldn’t be forced into verbal expression. One thing is for sure: it’ll be a memory that both of you treasure for a very, very long time.