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frozenprocedural · 2 years ago

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Storms

A very, very happy birthday to the one and only @bepoets! I hope it’s a great one!

This is set in @patricia-von-arundel‘s Shardsverse. Alarik and Jenny belong to her. This is just pure fluffiness.

Storms

Rating: K

The first time Alarik witnessed Elsa's fear was during her visit to Leisalla.

They were eating together- Knut, Beata, Elsa and himself- when lightning lit the hall so bright it seemed to be mid-day. Less than a second later, thunder roared, shaking the windowpanes and causing them all to jump in their seats.

Alarik laughed with Beata and Knut, but after a few seconds, he noticed that Elsa had not joined them. Instead, she stared at the windows with wide eyes, and Alarik thought he could see her shaking. As soon as she noticed his gaze, however, Elsa schooled her features, carefully placing her fork by her plate and excusing herself, stating exhaustion.

Alarik almost rose to follow her, but then remembered Elsa's rebuke from after the trial. He didn't know her.

He remained where he was, hating the helpless feeling in his gut as he watched her disappear down the hallway.

……….

The second time was during Alarik's early visits to Arendelle- still a stranger then, but somewhat more familiar with Elsa than he'd been in Leisalla.

He was coming back from the library, so focused on his studies that he almost ran into Elsa in the hallway. He opened his mouth to apologize, but was interrupted by a rumble of thunder. Elsa leapt back, and he saw a coating of frost encase the paper she was holding.

"Elsa? Are you…"

She stepped back, eyes wide as she shook her head. Frantic, jerky movements that made him think of a trapped prey animal, terrified and ready to run. He took a step back of his own, giving her space, trying to find the right words to say, something that may provide her with a measure of comfort.

He could find nothing.

"Elsa? I'm here."

Anna stood beside Alarik, giving him a meaningful jerk of her head. He caught the hint, leaving the pair as Anna continued to talk to Elsa in tones too low for him to hear.

Hours later, Anna found him in the library. He couldn't sleep, still replaying the event in his head, Elsa's terrified face haunting him. He hated how he couldn't help her, couldn't provide even the smallest amount of comfort.

"How is Elsa doing?" Perhaps it was far too familiar of a question, but he needed to know.

Anna took a seat on the couch beside him, running a hand over her face. There was exhaustion there, and a look of profound sadness.

"As well as to be expected, I suppose. The worst of the storm's over at least. Still, I doubt she'll sleep much tonight."

Silence stretched between them, but Alarik once more lacked the ability to come up with something to say. He didn't have to, as Anna broke the silence.

"Neither of us do well with storms. Not since our parents died." She cast a sidelong glance in Alarik's direction, and he nodded in understanding.

"I think it's something Elsa's never been able to come to peace with. I remember her asking them if they…" Anna's voice broke, and Alarik saw a tear running down her cheek. Taking a chance, he offered a hand and she took it, squeezing hard.

"She asked them if they had to go. And… they never came back. Elsa… I'm sure she thinks it's her fault, no matter how ridiculous that is. But she… well.."

Anna looked away, and Alarik could hear her quiet sobs. He patted his pockets, wishing he had a handkerchief to offer.

"I'm so sorry…" What more was there to say?

Anna sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, giving a rueful chuckle. "Don't tell Elsa- she hates when I do that."

She sighed, standing up and clasping her free hand over his. "Thank you. For caring."

He only wished he could do something more.

………..

The third was a decade later, when he faced his truth and admitted what needed to be admitted. When he and Elsa both finally accepted that the feelings between them were something far more than just a friendship.

Anna, Kristoff and Neta had taken a trip to the summer lodge, while he and Elsa remained behind to finish various projects. Alarik was in his lab when he heard the first clap of thunder. He was deep in his work, hardly able to be distracted by the weather, but something kept niggling at his mind.

When another thunderclap shook the windows, he remembered instantly.

Elsa!

He was out the door in seconds, leaving his notes behind, rushing as fast as his feet could carry him. He heard a few startled cries from the servants as he dashed past them, but he didn't stop- not until he reached the door to her study.

Only then did he pause, making himself take several deep, steadying breaths. He needed to be calm. For her.

Once his heart rate and breathing slowed, Alarik tapped on the door with his knuckles.

"Elsa, it's me. May I come in?"

"I'm f-" Her voice cut off at another roll of thunder, and he could hold back no more. Alarik pushed the door open and felt an immediate drop in temperature. What he saw inside made his heart sink.

Elsa was still sitting at her desk, but she was curled in on herself, flinching with each flash of lightning. Her desk was coated in a thick rime, and a small pool of ice sat at her feet. She was shaking- not from the cold, he knew well.

"Elsa." Even his gentle tone was enough to make her start, spikes of ice forming on the desk. She shook her head, scrambling off the chair, putting more distance between them, and he stopped. Another boom of thunder, and she yelped.

"Elsa," he tried again. "I'm here." Repeating those words Anna had spoken so long ago. "I won't come any closer. Not until you're ready. But I'm right here. You're not alone. I'm right here."

Elsa watched him with wide eyes, but after a moment, she nodded her permission. He stepped in- slowly, gauging her reaction- and held his hands out. He kept up a stream of murmured reassurances, and when lightning flashed again, Elsa let loose a sob and collapsed into his arms. He pulled her close, running a hand through her hair.

Some tiny part of his mind brought forth the idea that this wouldn't be proper- him holding her in what could be considered an intimate manner before their marriage, but just as quickly as it arrived, he mentally swept it away. Propriety be damned- Elsa needed him.

So he held her tight, heedless of the cold, hoping that his own warmth would help. He lost track of how long they sat there- certainly long enough for his back and joints to start aching. But he made no effort to ease the pain.

Eventually, as the storm quieted, so did Elsa. She sniffed and shifted, and he released his hold enough that she could sit back, although he remained close enough their legs still touched. Elsa pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and nose. Alarik couldn't hold back a small smile, remembering how Anna had used her sleeve those many years ago. It dropped when he saw how exhausted Elsa looked.

Elsa glanced around the room and sighed, closing her eyes. The ice around her desk began to recede, dripping onto the floor, but she clearly lacked the strength to dissipate it fully.

"There go the last three hours of work. At least they were documents I was writing." Elsa's voice was more resigned than upset.

"I'm sorry." Alarik got to his feet, wincing at his sore muscles, then offered Elsa a hand and helped her to her feet. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"No, I'm sorry you had to… deal with that. It's not fair to you."

"Elsa, no." He took her hands in his, squeezing them gently. "There's no 'fair' in this. And it's nothing I have to 'deal' with either. I love you, and I am here for you. No matter what."

She finally looked up at him, and he used his thumb to brush away the tears at the corner of her eyes. After a moment, she nodded, and rested her head against his chest. He could just barely hear her whispered "Thank you."

Alarik pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll walk you to your room, if that's alright."

They left the study hand in hand.

……….

When Jenny was three years old, everything changed.

Alarik was jarred awake by a roar of thunder that rattled thr windows. He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings, and recognized the drumbeat pattern of heavy rain.

And something else.

A whimper, so soft he almost missed it. But it drove away the last vestiges of sleep more effectively than the thunder had.

"Elsa."

She was still asleep, but her face was tight with fear, her body jerking with small, sharp movements. He could see small semicircles of frost surrounding the tips of her fingers. He stroked a finger down her shoulder, trying to wake her carefully so as not to cause more panic.

It didn't matter, because that moment, the loudest crack of thunder caused her to jolt awake, her hands clutching the sheets that had frozen beneath them, and scream.

"Elsa! It's alright! I'm right here. You're safe." Alarik kept his hand on her arm, hoping the contact would help calm her down. Elsa cast a wild glance around the room before her eyes landed on him. She whimpered, curling away from him, but before he could speak, another scream sounded. But not from Elsa.

"MAAAAMMMAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!! PAAAAAAAPPAAAAAA!!!!!!!!"

Elsa straightened and leapt out of the bed, dashing to the door and throwing it open. Jenny stood there, clutching her stuffed rabbit and bawling. Elsa scooped her up into her arms, holding her close. Jenny buried her head in Elsa's shoulder, and even from where he was, Alarik could see she was shaking.

"Shhhh, little one, shhhh. It's alright. We're here, and you're safe."

Elsa carried Jenny back to their bed and climbed in, nestling her between the two of them. Alarik reached out and smoothed a stray curl away from Jenny's face, and used his thumb to brush away a tear.

"Did the storm scare you, Eldig?"

Jenny nodded, then ducked her head with a muffled shriek when lightning flashed yet again. When thunder followed it, Alarik snuck a quick glance at Elsa, expecting to see signs of fear. To his surprise, while he did see lines of worry on her face, it was clearly due to Jenny's distress rather than the storm. She pulled Jenny closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Storms can be scary, little one. Even to me."

At that, Jenny's head shot up. "You're scared too?"

Elsa's eyes flicked to the window, then back to Jenny. "Yes, little one. But I am surrounded by people who love me and are brave. Your Papa, of course. And Aunt Anna and Uncle Kristoff."

"And Neta! Neta's very brave."

Elsa chuckled. "That she is. And there is one other very important person who helps me."

Jenny wrinkled her nose in confusion. Alarik noticed that neither she nor Elsa flinched with the next flash of lightning.

"Who?"

Elsa kissed Jenny's forehead. "You, Jenny. You help me so much."

Jenny's face lit up, then fell a bit. "But I'm still scared!"

"And that's alright. Just being here helps me."

"Oh." Jenny yawned, laying her head down on Elsa's pillow. "Okay. Love you Mama." Her voice was thick with sleep. Within moments, she was snoring softly, one hand clutching a handful of Elsa's night shirt.

Alarik tucked a blanket around Jenny, even though he knew it wouldn't stay on her for long. Catching Elsa's questioning look, he nodded and wrapped an arm around the both of them, feeling his own drowsiness grow.

"Let's let her sleep here tonight. It will be good for all of us."

Elsa turned her head to kiss his fingers. "Thank you," she whispered, so softly he almost missed it.

"You're welcome, min älskling. Sleep well."

He fell asleep, happy to know that Elsa's fear was abated.

#elsarik #shardsverse #shards of shards #elsa #alarik #Jenny #bepoets

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inkskinned · 16 days ago

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i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.

#how many poems would one have to write to walk through the gates of their own humanity #so it is just writing and not a miracle.#as if writing is ever anything except miracle - all creation is divine.#writeblr #poetry #i am almost certain i have written more poetry than most members of the presidential cabinet #so maybe i am MORE human?#... but alas.#perhaps BECAUSE i'm a poet- i do not like the idea of measuring my own humanity against theirs #they are people. many terrible people are unfortunately still people.#i know i cannot touch this world in the same way other people can.#but i still.... i lay down in the glass shards #i let it into my hair.#i don't like talking about this part of me and i rarely write poems about it.#it is sharp here. i thought that you liked how sharp it is for me. you've been running your hands through the blood #when it was painful enough.... even YOU might have called it poetry

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