It helped Iduna to pretend that it was happening to someone else.

It wasn't all that hard to do.

She had barely recognized herself in the mirror. Skin pale from a lack of sun over the past three months since she had been brought to the castle. Painted lips and cheeks. Hair smoothed, combed and tamed into tight braids that pulled sharply against her scalp. Leather shoes that pinched. A corset that made it near impossible to move or breathe. A gown so white they had slapped her hands away from it while dressing her, lest she sully it with her dirt. There was lace. There was perfume that burned her nose.

There was King Runeard, on her arm, looming and overbearing as he walked her up the aisle to the cacophony of instruments and a choir. Her own father, in the front pew, trying and failing to hide his distress at seeing his daughter for the first time in three months and seeing a stranger. Her mother, sobbing into a handkerchief, as she watched helplessly. She recognized Yelana and several others who also watched in various states of dismay. Part of the King's wedding gift to her. The release of all Northuldra prisoners held for non-violent offenses. The bastard had made all of them wear Arendellian clothing to the ceremony.

And there, at the end of the aisle, was her groom.

Taller than she remembered him. Much taller. Broader too. No longer a weedy teenager, he had filled out. The naval uniform he wore with its ridiculous golden trim accented the width of his shoulder. His gently clenched hands looked much the same size as the paws of a white wolf. His hair had darkened to an auburn shade over the past seven years since she had last seen him. He sported a trim mustache of the same shade. There was only the faintest hint of the boy she had played with in the woods to be found in his stern face. The silly southerner who had flapped in the North Wind and kicked up the autumn leaves and shared a stolen bottle of beer with her during the celebration between their people to commemorate the completion of the dam.

He had even written to her, although after the massacre near the North Mountain, she had burned his letters without opening them. But even as his father's grasp in the North had tightened through forced re-settlements, as the Northuldra had been ground under the boots of the Arendelle infantry and the culling of their reindeer herds, he had written to her. For three years. It had been a relief when the letters had stopped. Her father had been named the Chief Elder of the Northuldra around the same time. After so many deaths and imprisonments, he had the strongest claim and no one else had offered to take the mantle of leadership. King Runeard had appointed him to the role, ominously promising his full backing and support.

The King now stood at the steps of the altar as the music swelled one last time and turned so that she faced the assembled mass of dignitaries, Northuldra and Arendellians that were crowded into the nave. He stooped to give her a chaste kiss and she was unable to suppress a shudder as his lips brushed her cheek. Fortunately, she was wrapped in too many delicate layers of lace and silk for it to show. Runeard turned her so that she was facing Agnarr. Despite his serious expression, she thought she could detect the ghost of a smile in the curve of his lips, an old, familiar gentle light in his eyes.

Runeard released his hold on her and she faced the Bishop. Iduna could see the man's mouth moving, but was unable to hear the words over the roaring in her ears. She bit her tongue. Hard. The past three months had been an endless, hellish parade of chaperones, etiquette experts, dancing masters, tutors and seamstresses who had instructed, begged, slapped and harried her into behaving like a proper lady of Arendelle. A future Queen. And behind them all, at the end of every day, Runeard demanding that she master their lessons, master the art of high Arendellian society. Reminding her that she would not be the one to suffer the consequences if she failed to comport herself as a suitable spouse for his only son.

He had shown her off like a prize horse the night before. A grand banquet for all the diplomats, dignitaries and prominent traders from foreign lands. He sat in the center of it all, with her on one side and Agnarr on the other. They had not even been granted the freedom to exchange pleasantries, although she would have been hard pressed to make polite small talk with the son of a tyrant in front of so many curious strangers. But she had used the right forks during the correct courses of the meal. She remembered which titles and honorifics to use when introduced to the various members of European nobility who had travelled to attend the wedding. She had managed to drink just enough wine to numb herself without losing control to make the whole affair tolerable. King Runeard had risen and given a toast to his son and the beautiful bride-to-be, daughter of Northuldra royalty – she had nearly bit through her lip at that falsehood – and to a happy and harmonious union between the two of them. The two halves of one whole bound together, both in land and a bond made flesh as soon as they produced an heir.

Afterward, she vomited in the privacy of her room. She was slowly coming to understand why Runeard had threatened to execute her entire family if she killed herself when he first brought her to Arendelle. Acts that she would have once dismissed as insane and ludicrous were becoming increasingly attractive prospects the longer she lived under his roof.

Now, the Bishop stepped forward. He motioned for them to face one another, Agnarr reached out and took her hands once more. Their vows had been one of the first things that Runeard insisted she learn. And that she be able to recite them in a clear voice with a flawless accent. She forced herself to gaze up at the Prince, taking in the flecks of green and brown in his hazel eyes and hoped that her expression was as controlled as his.

"I take you, Agnarr, to be my husband from this day forward. To join with you and share all that is to come. And I promise to be faithful to you. Until death parts us."

Her hands were so tiny in his.

He was careful to slide the golden wedding band on as delicately as possible.

It hadn't come as a surprise when his father had sent him the missive a few months ago informing him of his engagement and impending nuptials. He was twenty-one and knew where his duties as the future King of Arendelle lay. But it had been a pleasant delight when he was told that Iduna had been chosen as his intended. Agnarr had been expecting a match with Weselton, but he could see the good sense in strengthening their ties with the Northuldra. The relationship between their people had been uneasy since the Northuldra had marched south in a failed invasion. His father had shown a great deal of restraint, opting to use policy instead of outright military retaliation. He had even been so merciful as to release several Northuldra prisoners in a show of good faith now that their two lands were being united through holy matrimony. Nonetheless, too much blood had been spilled for there not to be some animosity.

Iduna's hands were trembling as she slid the ring onto his finger and he smiled to reassure her. He clasped her hand gently and traced his thumb against her knuckles. She was soft and warm against his touch. He felt a small flutter in his chest reminiscent of how he had felt when he was near her in their youth. Agnarr's mind wandered as the Bishop continued with the ceremony.

He had been relieved when told that she was to be his bride. He still had fond memories of their time spent together in their early teens when he had accompanied his father to the forest on several occasions. He had even written to her, though she hadn't responded after the first few and truth be told he had no way of knowing if the rest of his letters had reached her given the semi-nomadic Northuldra lifestyle. It had been nothing important. Just childish musings and questions about her people and their way of life. He had sent a flurry of correspondences when her father was appointed the Chief Elder of the Northuldra, offering his congratulations. Then his father had sent him to sea and the continent to learn leadership, tactics, trade and diplomacy. He had written on occasion throughout his travels, from Paris and Berlin and Rome, but eventually he had stopped.

Agnarr had hoped he would have more time with her before their wedding, to reacquaint with one another and to put her at ease. But his tour had lasted until only a few days before the ceremony and he hadn't had the opportunity to speak with her at the banquet the night before. She had left so quickly at the end, there hadn't been time. His father assured him that it was perfectly normal for a woman to be nervous before her wedding.

"She's been working hard these past few months to learn what she needs to be a proper wife to you, Agnarr," his father had patted him on the shoulder. "She just needs her rest. Your mother was nervous too. Could barely say her vows. But we ended up perfectly happy. God rest her soul."

He peeked down at Iduna. She was looking demurely at the ground as the Bishop droned on. He couldn't help but smile. He remembered her long, wild hair and ready smile. Her lively, brilliant blue eyes. But that had been when she was practically still a girl. She had only grown lovelier. And now she was next to him, his, looking as coiffed and fashionable as any foreign princess to whom he had been presented. He felt more excited than nervous, for all that Mattias had told him it was perfectly normal to be nervous.

Of all the women his father could have chosen for him to take as a wife, at least Iduna had once been a friend. He was certain they could build a solid marriage on that. To have the kind of relationship that his parents had enjoyed before his mother passed away. He couldn't always remember her face clearly, but he could always remember her dancing with his father at a ball held when he was only six. How they had laughed and smiled as he spun her around the ballroom, looking at one another as though they were the only two in existence.

He smiled encouragingly at her and raised his eyebrows as the Bishop gave him permission to kiss her. He wondered if she remembered the innocent kisses they had once shared. In those days, he hadn't needed to bend down nearly as far, but she was still so petite. He hoped they could share a laugh about it later. For now, he bent his head and gently kissed his wife who seemed a little overwhelmed by everything. Agnarr thought he understood. He was used to being on display in front of crowds, but he could still recall feeling like he was under a looking glass in his younger years. He would help her learn to grow accustomed to the watchful eyes of hundreds. How to carve a sense of privacy into a public life.

As he pulled away, the crowd broke into a roar of approval and applause. He delicately linked his arm through hers, stooping just a bit, and led her down the aisle to the congratulatory shouts and out into the bright sunlight where they were showered with dried rice and confetti. A path of crocus petals had been laid on the ground leading from the church to the castle and a warm breeze stirred them in gentle eddies over the stone. She gripped his arm tightly as they made their way across the courtyard.

"We should wave," he spoke into her ear to be heard above the din as they ascended the steps to the castle. She nodded. They paused at the top and he gazed at her as she flashed a brilliant smile to those who had gathered to see the newlyweds and waved. His heart swelled and he beamed out at the crowd, raising his free arm above his head to acknowledge his people. He could see his father exiting the church, followed by the diplomats and dignitaries so he dropped his hand and led his wife inside. The halls were resplendent with bunting and crocus regalia.

Agnarr had to admit that the wedding banquet was a rather awkward affair. He supposed it was bound to be awkward given that his father was seated next to him. He was permitted to sit next to Iduna this time, but her father was sitting on her other side. Her mother next to him. It wasn't exactly the most intimate environment to strike up a conversation. Iduna was radiant and smiled beatifically at every luminary brought before them, but other than introductions and the most basic pleasantries she was silent. She did not speak to her parents. She did not initiate conversation with him. Despite trying to engage in small talk with her several times, the most he had been able to get out of her was a quiet "Yes, it was quite delicious, thank you." when he asked if she had enjoyed the cake.

His father, ever aware, had winked and spoken to him in French. "Your wife is simply shy, my son. It's been a long day for her. And you've both a long night ahead. Let her be." Agnarr felt his face heat at his father's words. Iduna looked over questioningly at the unfamiliar language, so he simply smiled apologetically, shrugged and asked if she would like to open with the first dance. They waltzed several times, taking breaks to speak with various nobles and merchants and representatives from foreign lands. At one point, Agnarr was separated from her and bumped into her parents as they were leaving.

"It's so early in the evening," he said. "You can't possibly be heading back to the forest, I hope? Please, stay – there's going to be at least another three hours of celebrations. And I know Iduna must be thrilled to be able to spend time with you. Father told me that she's been down here in Arendelle for the past three months."

Chief Elder Valde wasn't meeting his eyes and her mother was staring fixedly at the ground. "You'll have to excuse my wife and I, Your Highness. It's been a long day. We are staying here tonight. At King Runeard's behest."

"Then please, at least join me for a drink. We're all family now," he smiled. "We should talk."

"With your pardon and permission, Your Highness, I think it best if we retired for the evening. We will be leaving early in the morning." Agnarr blinked. He was about to insist, when he noticed how tightly drawn Valde's mouth had grown and the redness in Seita's eyes. His face softened. He bowed his head.

"Of course," he relented. "And, sir, might I just thank you wholeheartedly for permitting me the honor of marrying your daughter. I can't tell you how many times I've thought back fondly to the times that she and I spent together. I sincerely hope that we will lead our people forward into an era of peace and prosperity. And, oh my honor, I swear that I will do everything within my power to make her happy. I promise that I will be a good husband to her."

There was a long moment of silence as the ball swirled around them.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Seita's tremulous voice was barely above a whisper. "We appreciate your assurances that our daughter will be treated well." He bowed uneasily as they departed. True, he hadn't spent much time with them all those years ago, preferring to play in the woods and the wind, but he found it odd that there was no happiness in their demeanor. He wondered if they had already said their goodbyes to Iduna for the evening and glanced around the room, searching for her. He made his way through the crowd, smiling, shaking hands, accepting the congratulations that were offered.

And then he saw her.

His father had a hand resting against the back of her neck, drawing her forward as he spoke directly into her ear. From across the room, there was no way to tell the words being spoken. But he could see the dullness in Iduna's eyes. The flat expression that grew more impassive the longer she was held there.

He frowned and approached them, forcing a smile as he drew near.

"Father!"

"Ah, Agnarr," Runeard smiled easily and clapped him on the shoulder. "We were just talking about you." Agnarr looked at Iduna who bit her lip and looked away. "I just wanted to offer you both a final congratulations on your wedding. Your union is the key to Arendelle's future. And, of course, you're more than welcome to depart at any time. I know it's been a long day for you both." He smiled again and strode off, leaving Agnarr alone with his new wife. Who was determinedly not looking at him and had barely said ten words to him throughout the evening.

"Well," he said slowly, trying to make his voice sound light. "I believe we've been given permission to retire." He offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

Agnarr's heart pounded as he followed her into their bedchamber. The staff had lit several candles and there were small bowls of fruits, almonds, and a kransekaka cake laid out on a long table. There were also several bottles of wine, water and spirits. He wandered over to the food and drummed his fingers on the back of a wooden chair, hoping to hide his sense of uncertainty from her. He knew what was expected of him. And if those expectations were enough to unsettle him, then he couldn't imagine how it must feel for a young woman. He'd had enough ribald conversations while serving on ships and visiting foreign courts to know that this sort of thing was generally easier for men.

He licked his lips and glanced over at her. She was standing next to the bed, hands balled into fists and held rigidly at her sides. She stared intently at the fire as it crackled in the hearth. Agnarr took an almond and crushed it between his teeth. He swallowed. Enough hesitating. He turned to face her and clasped his hands behind his back.

"I was thinking of how we used to write to one another," he spoke into the silence. "When we were young After my last visit. I never really stopped, you know. I wrote to you for years. Nothing important. Little thoughts and things." She bit her lip. He waved his hand, hoping he didn't come across as accusatory. "I mean, I just assumed they stopped reaching you. I remember you telling me how you moved with the seasons and the herds and the weather."

He waited for her response, but she stood taut and mute. He tapped his fingers against his pantleg and began to fiddle with his wedding band, twisting it as he tried to think of what he could say to help her relax.

"Um. I know that, you know, there are a lot of expectations on us for tonight. Things that are spoken and unspoken. And, I just – you needn't worry if – if you aren't ready. To do anything. Marital. I mean. We have time. Lots of time. Not just tonight. To, uh, you know, consummate the marriage. It's not so important to do it now. If that's something that y-you're worried about. And it's been a long day. I'm sure we could both use some rest." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling stupider with every passing moment. He sighed.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm fine with waiting. I completely understand if you're not ready, Iduna."

Her eyes flicked up at him.

Agnarr had taken part in a fairly large naval skirmish off the coast of Sicily earlier that year. It had been his first experience with battle. And what struck him, in this moment, on the night of his wedding, was how the pirates they had captured and condemned to death had looked at him with the same expression now etched on his wife's face. Her eyes were hard and glittered in the candlelight. He took a step back.

"I received all of your letters." Her voice was a tight, incensed distortion of how she had spoken earlier in the evening. "I burned them. And I'm ready now. Let's get this over with. And get to sleep. As you said. It's been a long day."