For Loridhhp

Lady in White

"Here, Mother. Please. Drink your tea."

The old woman's face contorted itself into an expression of utter disgust. "You . . . You know I hate tea," she protested stubbornly, her breathing slow, labored.

The man nodded respectfully. "I know you do," he said, his voice soft. As carefully and tenderly as he could, he adjusted the blankets on the aged woman's bed, making certain the pillows were positioned in such a way as to make her as comfortable as possible. "I'm not particularly fond of it myself, if I'm being honest. But . . . But it will help you rest. Help you to sleep." He paused, doing his best to swallow the lump forming within his throat. "You . . . You need to sleep."

The old woman rolled her eyes as she accepted the cup of steaming liquid from her son. "If your father were here, he wouldn't be . . . trying to make me drink this," she muttered.

A sad smile tugged at the man's lip. "No. No, he wouldn't. He would know it's useless to try to force you to do something you don't want to do."

The old woman scowled as the taste of the tea assaulted her tongue. No matter how much sugar and milk were added to it, she had never, ever developed a taste for the drink. "Strange that his own son thinks otherwise," she grumbled.

The man smiled. "Perhaps I'm just more stubborn than he was." He brought his hand to his mother's brow, gently caressing her wrinkled countenance, running a hand through her disheveled, gray hair. "I wonder where that comes from."

The old woman glared at her son in mock indignation. "Watch it, boy! Like I've told you since you were little, I brought you into this world and . . ."

"And you can take me out of it," the man finished.

The old woman laughed twice before descending into a spasm of coughing. Swallowing, she looked up at her son, her eyes moist, whether from the coughing or . . . "Please tell me you've read the papers I gave you."

The man sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Mother, please. Let's . . . Let's not talk about this now. The . . . The doctor says you . . . says you are getting better, and that—"

The old woman glared at him, crossing her arms in the posture her son learned long ago to mean that she knew he was lying. "Don't . . . Don't lie to me, Tyrell," she said. "We both know I'm dying, and that there is nothing anyone can do to stop it." She took hold of her son's fingertips, her hand trembling. "I've accepted it. You need to as well." She looked about the bedroom, her gaze suddenly distant. "You . . . You will be king of Arendelle soon, Tyrell. You . . . You must be prepared—"

"I am," Tyrell said, stroking his mother's hand. "I have studied. I have read everything you have asked me to. I have memorized every detail I can about our allies. I . . . I have watched you for so many years now, learning from your wisdom. If . . ." He felt his eyes growing moist. "I could not have asked for a better teacher. If . . . If this is the . . . the reason you . . . you are still fighting, please . . . Let . . . Let yourself rest—"

The old woman waved her hand dismissively. "Not . . . Not yet." She looked her son in the eye. "Our family's legacy is one of both honor and . . . and shame. Your great-grandfather . . . Promise me, Tyrell, that . . . that you will never—"

"I promise," Tyrell said, his expression grave. "I have studied our family history. I know the unspeakable acts my great-grandfather committed. Just as I know about the honorable reign of my grandfather. Of . . . Of my aunt before she . . ."

The corners of his lips turned upward slightly. "Soon . . . Soon, Mother, at . . . At least you will be able to see her again. Forever . . ."

To Tyrell's surprise, his mother did not look comforted by his suggestion that she would be spending eternity with the spirit of her sister. Rather, at the mention of his long-dead aunt, his mother's face became drawn, pained even.

"Did . . ."

The queen's voice was little more than a whisper now. "Did . . . Did you send for her?"

Tyrell paused, his mind requiring several moments to follow the sudden shift in his mother's train of thought. "The . . . The Lady?"

The queen nodded. Tyrell sighed. "Yes. Yes, I did." He frowned. "Although I don't know what makes you so certain she will come. It's been . . ." He furrowed his brow, thinking. "Five . . . Six, maybe, years now, since she was here last. I don't know why—"

"She will come."

His mother's voice was a whisper, filled with steely certainty.

Tyrell sighed. "Please don't tell me you're refusing to rest . . . because of her!"

"My business is my own in this matter, Tyrell," the queen said, her eyes suddenly filled with the fire that meant Tyrell would be most wise, indeed, to drop the matter entirely.

A knock sounded at the door. "Your Highness?"

Inhaling, Tyrell kissed his mother on the brow. "Rest now, Mother," he said softly. "I will be back soon. I promise."

As the aged queen's eyes closed, her breathing shallow, Tyrell turned and crossed the span from the bed to the doorway. Opening the door, he beheld the figure of one of the castle servants. "Yes?" he whispered, not wanting to wake his mother. "What . . . What is it?" he asked, stepping into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

The servant bowed before him. "Your . . . Your Highness, forgive the intrusion. But she is here now."

Tyrell gasped. "The . . . The Lady? You . . . You're certain it is her?"

"Tyrell?"

The prince of the 'Delle turned to his left. Immediately, he fell to his knee, his head bowed low. "My . . . My Lady!"

A hand, cool to the touch, pressed against his cheek. "Please. None of this, Tyrell."

Rising, Tyrell beheld the vision before him. The Lady in White of the North Forest stood before him. Platinum blonde hair cascaded about a face composed of skin paler and more flawless than any Tyrell had ever beheld on any woman, her form contained within a dress more immaculate than any shade of white known within the kingdom. Icy blue eyes stared deeply into his own. "I . . . I wasn't certain that you would come," Tyrell finally said.

Immediately, he cursed himself for his stupidity. "I mean, I just, I am very glad you are here, My Lady. The queen . . . My mother has been asking for you for some time now, and I . . . I didn't want to give her false hope and—" Dammit! What the hell is wrong with you?! "No, I mean—"

The Lady brought her finger to Tyrell's lips, silencing him. "It's fine," she said softly. "Of course you wouldn't have expected me to come. I haven't visited in a very long time." She glanced at the closed door, her hands suddenly clutching one another. "How . . . How is your mother?"

Tyrell sighed. "She is resting now, My Lady. If . . . If you would be so kind as to wait for an hour or so, perhaps, before you see her. I . . ." He felt his lower lip begin to tremble. Clenching his fists, he shook his head. "I do not think she has much time left at all, My Lady."

The Lady nodded. "Yes. Yes, I . . . That is what I feared when I received your message."

Sensing the anxiety, the sadness emanating from the Lady's being, Tyrell attempted to change the subject. "I . . . I have missed seeing you as well, My Lady." Memories swirled through Tyrell's mind, of his childhood, of the Lady coming to visit the castle at least once a month, though always, he recalled, through the secret entrance to the castle, never where anyone but his mother and father could see her. "The things you can do. The ice. The snow. You . . . You used to build snowmen with me in the middle of summer when I was a child. You seemed to be so close, such good friends with Father and . . . and Mother."

The Lady closed her eyes, her lips drawn. "'Friends.' Yes, that is what . . . What we are. Friends . . ."

"My Lady, if . . . if I may be so bold, I . . ."

Tyrell cleared his throat. "What . . . What happened? Why has it been so long since you were here last?"

The Lady opened her eyes. "I . . . I have been busy watching over my forest," she said softly. "Keeping it safe from those who would still, even now, try to take that which is not rightfully theirs. From those who would hunt its game until there is nothing left. I . . ."

Tyrell bowed before her. "My apologies, My Lady. I was out of line. You do not owe me an explanation."

"No."

The Lady's voice trembled now. "That's . . . That's just the excuse I have told myself for so long. The . . . The reality is that for one like me, it is unwise to become too attached to the things of this world. Things that can fade away and vanish with the passage of time. Especially since I . . ."

Tyrell nodded in silent understanding, noting that the Lady looked exactly as she always had every single time he had seen her, as if time itself had exempted her from the consequences and ravages it meted out to all other living things.

"Tyrell!"

Tyrell and the Lady both started slightly as the voice emanated from the bedroom. "She's here, isn't she? I can hear both of you! I'm . . . I'm not deaf, you know!"

Tyrell opened the door, smiling in spite of himself as he saw his mother sitting upright in the bed, as if the mere arrival of the Lady had been enough to rejuvenate her spirit. "Yes, Mother," he said, moving to her bedside. "She . . . She is here."

The queen leaned forward, squinting, fighting her fading eyesight. As the Lady entered the room, the old woman nodded. "Hey."

The Lady smiled, her icy blue gaze fixated upon the queen. "Hey, yourself."

"Tyrell?"

The prince looked at his mother. "Yes?"

"Be a dear and give us some time to ourselves," his mother said. "The Lady and I have . . . much to catch up on, and . . ." She paused, her hand resting above her heart. "And not a lot of time to do it, I fear." She gestured toward the door. "So, go on, now! Shoo, boy, shoo!"

Tyrell kissed his mother on the cheek. "I'll be back soon," he said. Turning to the Lady, he bowed. "My Lady. Take . . . Take all the time you need."

As the prince exited the room, closing the door behind him, the Lady moved to the chair next to the bed. "You . . . You look beautiful," she said, taking hold of the queen's hand.

The queen laughed. "Stop it! I'm old, not senile!" She paused, considering something. "Although if I were, I'd be the last to know about it anyway, wouldn't I? Hah!"

The Lady turned back toward the door. "Tyrell. He . . . You've done such a good job with him. You . . . You should be so proud of him, Anna."

"Of course I am."

The queen reached for the teacup on the table beside the bed. "He's so much like his father, you know. Overprotective. Trying to make me do things I don't want to do because he thinks it's what's best for me." She smiled mischievously at the Lady. "Of course, he probably also gets that from you. 'You can't follow me into fire, Anna!' Remember?" She thrust the teacup into the Lady's hands. "Here. You drink this. I can't stomach another sip of the damn stuff."

The Lady laughed in spite of herself. Bringing the teacup to her lips, she drank slowly, carefully. "I never understood why you never learned to like tea."

The queen folded her arms defensively. "Hey, you are the one who went through all the official royal training and all on how to do queen stuff like drink tea. Not me!"

"Sorry," the Lady said. Her smile faded away, replaced with an expression of melancholy. "He . . . He still doesn't know, does he?"

"Of course he doesn't," the queen responded. "I've done what you asked. I've made sure never to let him know. He thinks you—the real you, not this 'Lady in White' person you pretend to be—died three years after becoming queen. That's all he's ever been taught." She ran a hand through her gray hair. "So does everyone else in the kingdom." She looked at the Lady intensely. "He's going to find out, though. I've put it in the papers that are to be unsealed after I'm . . . well, you know."

The Lady shook her head. "Please, Anna. Don't . . . Don't do that. He can't know—"

"Why not?"

The queen—Anna—glared at the Lady, her lips pursed, the wrinkles in her brow now deep and furrowed. "I'm tired of lying to the entire kingdom, let alone to my own son. He has every right to know. I'm not going to be around to keep an eye on him when he's king, but you are. The least you could do is tell him the truth . . . Elsa."

At the sound of that name, the Lady held up her hands. "I thought we agreed that no one was ever to call me that name again."

"As I recall," Anna countered, "it wasn't so much an agreement as it was you telling me this without asking my opinion first."

The Lady shook her head. "We've discussed this before. It's better this way—"

"Says who?"

Anna threw up her hands, exasperated. "You're doing it again, Elsa. Just like you always do when you think someone you love is going to get hurt. You're shutting people out. You're shutting me out."

The Lady sighed. "We decided—"

"You decided, you mean," the queen interrupted.

The Lady ignored her. "We decided that Elsa died when she ventured too deep into Ahtohallan. When she froze solid. The person who froze the floodwaters . . . who saved Arendelle is the Lady in White, the protector of the North Forest. That's all anyone needs to know. That's why you became queen. Because, like I said, Elsa is dead. Only you and . . . and Kristoff knew the truth."

Anna shook her head, her aged face lined with sadness. "You can keep telling yourself this, Elsa, but it doesn't mean I have to agree with you."

The Lady regarded the queen—Anna . . . her sister—with an expression of utter despair. "I . . . I can't do this," she whispered. "I . . . I shouldn't have come."

"Wow."

Anna shook her head. "After all this time, after everything we've been through together, you would just let me die without saying goodbye?"

"No!"

The Lady clenched her hands together once more. "That's . . . That's not what I meant. I . . . I just . . ."

She sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek. "This is what I've feared ever since I first noticed you were getting older while I . . . while I just seemed to stay the same."

"Hey."

The queen gestured toward the spot next to her on the bed. Obediently, the Lady rose, sitting beside her sister, allowing the old woman to wrap her arms around her. "I've accepted it, Elsa," Anna said softly. "I accepted it a long time ago. You're the fifth spirit of the Forest, after all. It only makes sense that that means you're . . . you know."

The Lady—Elsa—was crying now. "How am I supposed to do this, Anna?" she whispered. "I can't . . . I can't live forever, knowing that everyone I love, everyone I let myself get close to is going to eventually die while I . . . while I keep existing." She looked toward the window, in the direction of the Forest that was her home. "That's why I haven't visited in so long. The thought of you slowly slipping away from me, little by little, just . . ."

She looked at her hands, fingers pulsating slightly with blue and silver light. "I didn't realize this would happen to me," she murmured. "After I . . . After I died, the . . . the other spirits told me I could come back. That by destroying the dam, you had proven that Arendelle was worth saving, and that I could save her from destruction if I . . . if I agreed . . ." She shook her head. "If I'd known that this was the price to pay for a second chance at life, I . . . I don't know if I would have said 'yes.'"

"Yes, you would have."

Anna hugged the Lady with every ounce of strength remaining in her frail arms. "Because the Lady in White . . . Because Elsa is the most selfless, most courageous person I have ever known. It wasn't even a choice for you, was it? The moment you had the opportunity to save innocent lives, you took it. Just like you always do."

"Why?"

The Lady's voice was so soft that Anna's old ears could barely perceive what she was saying. "Why would I be given a curse like this?"

"Maybe," Anna offered. "Maybe it's because the spirits trusted you to watch over Arendelle. To guide her rulers. To help them make choices that will honor the peace between the 'Delle and the Northuldrans." She coughed, louder this time. "Tyrell . . . My son will need your counsel, Elsa. As will his son. And his son after him, and on and on and on. Don't hide yourself in your forest any longer, Elsa. Come back to us. Be the bridge between the mortal and the spirits you are."

The Lady . . . Elsa looked at her sister, her heart breaking as she beheld how shallow, how labored the queen's breathing had become. "I'm so selfish," she murmured. "Forgive me, Anna. I . . . I was so worried about how I feel, and here you are . . . Oh, God, Anna, no . . ."

"Shh!"

Anna's bony finger rested upon Elsa's lips. "I'm not afraid of death, Elsa. I haven't been for quite some time." She sighed, resting back upon her pillow, her eyes growing heavier with each passing second. "I'm looking forward to finally being able to just rest. To see . . ." A smile tugged at her lips, her breathing now almost imperceptible. "To see Kristoff again . . ."

Elsa clutched Anna's hand tightly, her own tears flowing freely down her pale cheeks. "I'm going to miss you so much, Anna! I have all eternity before me . . . an eternity without you . . ."

"Hey."

Anna opened her eyes, her gaze fixated upon something over Elsa's shoulder. "I'm always going to be with you, Elsa." Straining, she lifted her hand, cupping the Lady's chin. "You'll never be able to get away from me. Ever!"

Elsa laughed in spite of her tears. "Promise?"

"Promise . . ."

Anna's hand fell to her side, her eyes closing once more. "Elsa . . . Please . . . Sing me . . . Sing me our lullaby. One . . . One last time . . ."

The Lady nodded. Climbing into bed next to the dying queen, Elsa wrapped her arms around the old woman. As she stroked Anna's hair, she sang, her voice little more than a whisper:

Hush my sweetness. Don't you cry,
For I will sing you a lullaby.
Close your eyes and do not fear;
Nothing will harm you while I . . .

Elsa found herself choking on her own tears, the saltiness of the liquid coating her tongue. Clearing her throat, she tried to continue. Nothing will . . . will harm you while I . . . while I . . . I am . . .

The room became silent. "Anna?" Elsa whispered, listening desperately for her sister's breathing. "Anna?!"

The silence of the room was interrupted solely by the soft sobs of the Lady in White as she clung tightly to the frail body that had once housed the vivacious spirit of Anna, once Princess, now Queen of Arendelle.

"What is it, Gale?"

The Lady in White smiled as the wind spirit of the North Forest swirled and danced about her. A folded piece of paper fell into her hand as Gale departed. "A message?" the Lady asked aloud. "From . . . From him?"

Unfolding the paper, the Lady began reading the writing, a smile tugging at the corner of her lip as she did so.

My Lady,

If you are reading this, then I trust my late mother's directions for contacting you in a . . . more timely fashion than conventional methods have succeeded. I would be honored, My Lady, if you would grace Arendelle with your presence tonight. I . . . I have many questions that need to be answered, and while the documents my mother left behind have answered some of them, she was very . . . explicit that I contact you personally in order to receive a full explanation.

I do hope, My Lady, that you will consider me a friend, just as you were once so close with my mother and father. In point of fact, My Lady, my mother's documents revealed, much to my surprise, that our relationship is much closer than I would have otherwise suspected. I give you my assurances, My Lady . . . Aunt Elsa, that I have every intention of honoring the peace you and my mother worked so hard to achieve in our lands. And, if I am honest, I would always welcome your counsel and advice in matters going forward.

I look forward to seeing you this evening here in the 'Delle.

With all respect and familial affection,

King Tyrell

Lost in thought, the Lady walked to the glade in the center of the forest. "What do you think, Anna?" she asked softly. "Should . . . Should I go?"

The ice sculpture in the form of Anna glimmered in the light of the late afternoon sun.

"Hmm," the Lady said, stroking her chin. "Good point." She turned to the sculpture next to it. "What do you think, Kristoff?"

The ice sculpture of Kristoff stood unmoving, its arm wrapped tightly around the sculpture of Anna's waist.

"I agree," the Lady said. "It's . . . It's time."

As the Lady made her way to the waters at the edge of the forest, she was certain that, as the wind rustled through the leaves of the trees, she heard, if only for the briefest of moments, a familiar laugh. Exactly, Anna, the Lady thought. Exactly.

Arriving at the waters, the Lady whistled once. Instantaneously the waters shifted, forming themselves into the shape of a large horse. The water beast whinnied softly, brushing its nose against her palm.

"Hello, Nokk," she said, stroking the beast's head. "Ready to stretch your legs?"

The horse reared back, neighing excitedly.

The Lady brought her hand to the beast's form, the water turning to solid ice at her touch. Climbing aboard, she gestured in the direction of Arendelle. "So am I," she said, pulling at the horse's reins.

As the Nokk raced across the waters toward the castle in the distance, the Lady . . . Elsa smiled. So am I . . .

AN: Inspired by a thought that came to mind following my viewing Frozen II and a logical implication of how the story concluded.