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Only Ahtohallan knows .
Elsa is engulfed in ice so cold it feels like fire. Burning . She is burning alive, and she must warn them all, but she cannot move.
Anna! Arendelle...! Northuldra…
Honeymaren.
Elsa can feel the last vestiges of magic slipping from her grasp, feel her lungs crystallize and her fingers stiffen as the bitter ice overtakes her. A gasp escapes her lips, perhaps a name, perhaps a plea, and then --
-- then Honeymaren’s blessedly-warm hand is sliding into Elsa’s cold fingers, and she can breathe just a little once again.
It is dark inside Elsa’s tent, except for the moonlight, and a small, purple conflagration that scurries over and comes to rest harmlessly on Elsa’s woolen blanket, perching on her knee. Bruni trills, and Elsa strokes the salamander’s head absently with her chilled fingers.
“Elsa?” Honeymaren’s voice is tentative, concern softening her features imperceptibly in the gloam.
Honeymaren’s hand has not left Elsa’s cold grip. Each woman takes notice. Neither lets go. A little squeeze and the ghost of a smile is all Elsa needs to know that Honeymaren is here, and she is safe now.
“Mare.” Elsa’s voice is choked, as if she truly cannot breathe again, as if the weight of Ahtohallan still rests on her chest. That is all she can say, and then Elsa lets it all go.
She crumbles, like fresh powdered snow, and tears stream down her cheeks unchecked.
“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” Honeymaren lifts her free hand to brush away a lock of Elsa’s pale blonde tresses that had fallen in front of her face. The contrast of white-gold locks against her warm brown skin pleases Honeymaren.
Elsa nods, breath coming in shallow gasps as she trembles and cries. She can’t coax a single coherent syllable from her lips, and the dark seems to press in on all sides.
Honeymaren lets go of Elsa’s hand. Elsa makes some small sound. She does not know to what end, only that she does not want Honeymaren to go.
But the umber-eyed Northuldra woman was only rising from her side in order to gently place Bruni outside, after a whispered word to the fire spirit. He chirrups and stands sentinel outside Elsa’s dwelling. Honeymaren ties the tent flap shut and returns to Elsa’s side. Her movements are smooth and fluid, and Elsa can’t help but notice Honeymaren’s grace anew.
“Come on, Snowdrop. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Cuddle close. Scooch in.”
Elsa lets out a breath of laughter and smiles between sobs. She can’t speak the words in her heart, but she feels her mother’s spirit close by, approving of the way Elsa’s girlfriend -- she still thrills at the thought that she was actually courting Mare, her heart doing a small flutter in her chest at the word girlfriend -- deftly weaves the late Arendellian queen’s words in with her own for the nightmare-beset Elsa’s benefit.
Honeymaren sits herself behind Elsa on the former queen’s open bedroll, the furs and woolen blanket pushed to the side. Among the Northuldra, Elsa is highly respected, but all the People of the Sun are more or less equals, and that means Elsa sleeps close to the ground these days.
Honeymaren pulls Elsa backward into her orbit, squeezing gently as Elsa sinks gratefully into her embrace. The older woman cannot help loosing her tears. She has spent so long afraid to show any unpleasant emotion. When she is with Honeymaren, all her walls dissolve like the last traces of the mist that once blanketed this forest. She has just enough control not to wake the entire Northuldra camp with the residual terror of the nightmare. For long, aching minutes, Elsa releases the fear through her tears, low, grieving moans being pulled from her lungs like splinters, and Honeymaren simply holds her, whispering sweet words, rocking gently side to side with her inamorata in her arms. Elsa has not felt this safe, especially not while at her most vulnerable, in years.
Minutes more pass as Elsa’s quiet sobs subside to soft sniffles.
“It must have been a terrible nightmare,” Honeymaren says, lifting her right hand to stroke Elsa’s cheek.
Elsa takes a moment in the deep silence of the night to contemplate her response and dry her cheeks. “It was more like a memory. Ahtohallan… left its mark on me.”
Honeymaren says nothing at first. Then, “How could it not? It nearly claimed you.”
“I’m afraid, Mare,” Elsa whispers.
“Ahtohallan won’t hurt you again, Elsa. The past holds no more dark secrets for you to uncover. You have no reason to dive into Her memory again.” The words almost sound like a prayer.
“I hope you’re right,” Elsa says, wiping a few remaining wet spots from her cheeks. Then she takes a deep, steadying breath, and smiles in the dark.
“So… Snowdrop , hmm?” Elsa asks her girlfriend, a cheeky grin spreading across her face.
Honeymaren titters, blush rising, and she lets out a nervous laugh. Maren looks away even though she knows Elsa cannot see her face.
“Bet you a kiss that you’re blushing right now.” Elsa says slyly. She feels the air coming into her lungs easier now, can smell the forest around her, no longer enchanted, but replete with magic still.
“I am not! I mean -- it’s too dark to tell!” Honeymaren’s arms tighten around Elsa’s midsection.
“That means I win,” says Elsa, and Honeymaren giggles.
“All right, you win.” Elsa shivers as Honeymaren admits her defeat, her breath tickling the back of Elsa’s left ear. Honeymaren plants a soft-lipped kiss against the nape of her lover’s neck.
“There,” she says, with a playful lilt in her voice.
Elsa scoffs. “You would offend royalty with paltry tribute?”
Honeymaren isn’t about to rise to this bait, however. “You may be royalty, Snowdrop, but you’re not queen anymore, and we’re not in Arendelle, either,” comes the husky, level response, her lips so close to Elsa’s skin that Elsa stays still as a winter morn -- but she is no longer cold. Rather, she feels warm and bright, as though she were filled with a sweetness so intense it could only be expressed in lumens.
And then Honeymaren nips playfully at Elsa’s earlobe, sending a rippling wave of desire and heat through Elsa’s body, and her thoughts begin to transmute themselves into a keen craving. She has, by now, all but released the terrors of the night.
“Mare,” Elsa groans, but there is a warning note in her voice that makes Honeymaren pause, rather than continue.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you want to stop?” Honeymaren scoots back a few inches, her left hand rising to check Elsa for damage, as though she could feel her lover’s pain or pleasure with a touch.
“ No, ” Elsa catches Honeymaren’s hand midair with both of hers and brings it to her lips for a kiss. Her aquamarine eyes are fathomless in the dark, and Honeymaren is still behind her, but, “it isn’t that. I… do want you.”
Even now, in the near-private intimacy of the darkened tent and the night sounds of the forest, it is hard to speak the words.
“What’s wrong, then? You can tell me anything, Elsa.” Honeymaren’s tone is earnest and sure as she comes closer to the other woman. Honeymaren brushes back a thick lock of white-blonde hair that had fallen loose from Elsa’s sleeping braid, tucking it gently behind her sweetheart’s ear.
The tender gesture nearly undoes the former queen of Arendelle again. Elsa had long made a study of concealing her feelings, and her true nature. Conceal it. Don’t feel it. King Agnarr’s words and her repetition of them echo in Elsa’s memory. But Elsa takes a deep breath, thanks her father’s memory for what he tried to do for her, releases the tension -- and farewells her father’s ghost.
“The, ah, nightmare,” Elsa says, still hesitant to reveal this deepest, most vulnerable sentiment, even though she feels safer with Mare than she ever had behind Arendelle’s walls, guarded by might and steel and stone.
“I was so afraid , Mare. I thought--” The words stop in her throat, but she will not allow her courage to fail. “The thought that hurt the most, when I was down there in the deepest parts of Ahtohallan -- was that I would never see you again… would never get to tell you how I really feel.”
Honeymaren speaks not a word, but leans into Elsa, squeezing her in a tight embrace, her arms around Elsa’s midsection, resting her chin on Elsa’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, breathing deeply the smell of her lover -- milk and honey, snow and starlight.
Elsa turns to kneel in Honeymaren’s arms when she relaxes her embrace, determined to make Mare understand. “My first thought was for my sister, and my kingdom,” she says, with all gravity. “But my last thoughts were of home... which is this amazing forest, and with the People of the Sun. And most importantly,” Elsa whispers, looking deep into Honeymaren’s warm bistre eyes, wide, dark, and lustrous as volcanic glass, “home is with you.”
Mare’s normally-confident voice quavers. “ Me? ”
“ You , Mare.”
The heat and electricity between the two women is suddenly more than Elsa can bear.
“May I kiss you?” she whispers to Honeymaren. The words are barely more than a caress of air, and the hush in the tent is such that Elsa can hear Honeymaren’s breathing quicken.
In response, Honeymaren crushes Elsa to her in a heated embrace, her lips unerringly, magnetically finding her lover’s, their mouths gently parting. Their warm breath mingles together until their lungs no longer know the difference between Elsa and Honeymaren.
As Elsa continues to kneel before her, Honeymaren’s hand dips from Elsa’s wool-clad shoulder to the buttons of her dark blue sleeping robe, her fingers drifting over Elsa’s exposed collarbone first. Elsa shivers, and lifts her hands to help remove the outer gown, even though they tremble. Beneath the outer layer of her sleeping robe, she wears a pale blue Arendellian silk chemise, the hem and neckline finely embroidered with white-blue snowflakes and gleaming, tiny purple crocuses.
Honeymaren’s callused, gentle hands are burning embers, warming every inch of Elsa’s skin that they brush against. Her eyes shine like polished crystal as she drinks in the shapes of her lover’s body. Her breathing is shallow, her heartbeat quick with excitement.
Elsa knows Honeymaren wants her. And she wants Honeymaren, too.
Mare is biting her bottom lip, and Elsa would bet her chemise she doesn’t even know it. Honeymaren’s eyes are half-lidded with desire, her intense, full, dark lashes sweeping down to disguise the depth of her wanting. Elsa can tell Mare is holding back, perhaps afraid of hurting her, or of upsetting her so soon after a nightmare. Silly, precious girl.
Gaze locked with Mare’s, the charge between them intensifying with every second, Elsa takes the hem of her chemise and lifts it, very, very slowly, a wicked grin spreading across her face at the same time.
The game between them is ever-changing and subtle, but like any good strategic game, some tactics are best left a surprise.
“ Elsa! You…” Honeymaren gasps and blushes, a charming rose color suffusing her features, and quickly fixes her gaze on Elsa’s left shoulder, which frankly doesn’t help matters at all. All of Elsa is sensual and alluring, especially when she goes au naturel .
“I’m not completely bare,” Elsa said primly. “I did wear stockings. One must always be prepared.”
It was too much for Mare. Suddenly, like the dam Elsa’s devious grandfather, King Runeard, had built to weaken the Northuldra, Honeymaren’s desire for Elsa broke its unnecessary restraints, and spilled its bounds, rushing through her in a heady tide.
Honeymaren wraps Elsa in her arms, her right hand sliding up to bury itself in Elsa’s hair, which is at last coming free. It spills loose around Elsa’s shoulders and down her back in a dimly-luminescent halo of fine, white-blonde curls and wisps. As she draws Elsa in closer, her left arm comes around to encircle Elsa’s waist, and fits itself to Elsa’s body like they were made to complement each other. Two halves of something whole. The sweetness of the embrace lends a keen edge to Honeymaren’s desire.
“I need you, Elsa,” says Honeymaren. Her voice sounds rough and husky to her own ears, and she is afraid of the force of her own wanting. She has never wanted anyone or any thing like she wants Elsa. There is no one who can hold a candle to her brilliance in the whole world, and of all the people in it, Elsa chose her.
Elsa’s eyes close as she leans into Mare for another kiss, her arms draped over Mare’s shoulders. Honeymaren surrenders to the feeling, and when she opens her own eyes once more, she has to blink away the wetness that stings at their corners.
“Did I do something wrong?” Elsa’s face crumples inward at the sight of Mare’s tears. “I’m so sorry, I--”
“No,” Honeymaren hurriedly reassures Elsa, her hands coming up to cup the face of her beloved ice queen. “Nothing’s wrong. I just -- I finally know the blue of the sky because of you. I know what love tastes like thanks to you. My heart soars every time I see your face. Elsa, you are simply the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Maren breaks the intense gaze between them, a scarlet flush blanketing her cheeks. This vulnerability has cost her something, but she will not let that stop her. Elsa deserves the truth.
Honeymaren looks up, then, at Elsa, who sits entranced, in utter worship of the stunning, sensual creature before her. The forgotten, raw honesty on her face, longing mingled with admiration mixed with pure lust… it undid something in Mare. She has never been more sure of anything in all of her life. How could she have waited so long for this moment?
It is still and quiet in the tent.
She wants to say so much more, wants to explain to Elsa how she’s adored her from the day she arrived, the day their dwindling, all-but-forgotten people grew in number by two more.
How she’s loved her from the moment she saw the clear, blue sky.
How she’d give it all up again for Elsa, if that were the price of her love.
But she suddenly finds her heart is too full to speak. The very next moment, Elsa has surged forward, and her lips are colliding with Mare’s. It is everything Mare could have dreamed. It is more than she dared to hope.
And now Mare is greedily sliding her hands up Elsa’s flawless, shapely back, while only a thin layer of ice-blue silk separates the naked heat of Elsa’s breasts from the dark blue wool fabric of Honeymaren’s sleeping gown.
Thank the spirits this thing ties in the front, thinks Honeymaren. More touching, less layers. The deep blue wool gown is warm, but it covers Mare’s nakedness, and for the first time in her life, there is someone she wants to see her naked. Honeymaren guides Elsa’s hand to the closures on her gown, breath hitching when Elsa greedily slips a hand inside the wrappings of her garments first, cupping one of Honeymaren’s unbound breasts. She thumbs one of Honeymaren’s nipples idly as she kisses her mouth. Honeymaren moans a little too loud for propriety, and Elsa covers her lover’s mouth again with her own.
Elsa is hungry for this side of Mare. She wants more of this incredible woman. All of her, in fact. She wants to struggle closer until there is not a thing between them but their passion and the friction of their bodies. Honeymaren shrugs out of her gown until it pools around her hips, leaving her bare and faintly shining, every glorious inch of her illuminated by the moonlight piercing the open top of the lavvu .
Whatever else this was, Elsa decided, it was holy, first.
Elsa leans back and lowers her head to Mare’s breast. She hesitates just before touching her, and waits a moment. “Do you want me to stop?” she inquires, looking up to fix Honeymaren with her intense aqua gaze. She thinks she knows the answer, but she doesn’t want Honeymaren to have any regrets. She wants her to be ready for this, too.
“Do reindeer fly? Of course I don’t want you to stop!”
“Are you sure?” Elsa teased.
“Never been more certain,” whispers Honeymaren in a husky tone.
“Oh, good,” Elsa says, “because I was just about to do this …”
Tenderly, she uses just her soft lips at first, gently kissing the buff skin of the dark areola. In the center of the areola was the taut, hard cherry of Honeymaren’s nipple. Elsa had never wanted anything so badly as she wanted to hear an eternity of Honeymaren’s undone whimpers of pleasure. And so she followed her instincts, which so far had been nothing but good, and which she had, slowly, learned to trust.
Elsa felt the utter thrill of what they were doing lighten her fears of what people would say or what mistakes she might make. Every time they lay together, there would be something new and interesting to discover, or try -- or feel. And that was worth any censure. She would stand against the rest of the world, for Honeymaren, even if they stood alone.
Elsa kisses all around the young Northuldra woman’s erect nipples, spreading her attention evenly, slowly, between the left and right breasts. She can gauge her lover’s excitement by the pitch of her small, urgent whimpers and moans. These increase in pitch and frequency as Elsa continues her ministrations. Slowly, she circles one dark nipple with the tip of her tongue -- and maybe just a little ice magic, enough to make Honeymaren shiver and her nipple harden with desire, just before Elsa covers her girlfriend’s nipple with her mouth and lets the contrasting, wet warmth shock Honeymaren into a muffled gasp of startled arousal. Elsa also begins to apply just enough suction to leave Honeymaren wanting when she pulls away a moment from now.
Honeymaren’s arms begin to tremble a little as the shivers of pleasure run through her lithe, athletic body. Her eyes are closed, and she is lost in her inner world of building sensation. Honeymaren sits on Elsa’s bedroll, naked from the waist up, breasts proffered in one of the most holy acts of trust Elsa has ever seen. Her heart does a funny little skip as she greedily drinks in the smell and taste of her lover’s skin, no longer holding anything back. This, she thought. This was what the church spoke of when they spoke of the bonds of holy matrimony. Here, she was free of their expectations, and the rules were her own.
If anything in the formerly-Enchanted Forest was worthy of her worship and wonder, it was Honeymaren.
“Lay down,” Elsa instructs her lover, in a husky voice that sounds… hers, and somehow not-hers. New. And just for Honeymaren.
Honeymaren practically collapses backward onto Elsa’s silk-covered pillow. Her shaking arms, which had been holding her up, give way to stupefying arousal. She pants breathlessly for a hazy few moments, her eyes glazing over with her intensifying internal focus.
Elsa’s hands find their way to the laces of Honeymaren’s pants. Once Honeymaren realizes what Elsa is doing, she adds her fumbling fingers to the tangle of hands at Honeymaren’s waist, and soon, amid a few giggling “No!”s and “Let me!”s, a light, playful slapping away of unhelpful fingers, and a small ensuing power struggle for control of the laces -- which Elsa won -- the laces were undone. Elsa helped a breathless, love-drunk Honeymaren out of her pants, and couldn’t help but admire the lean angles of her body, the soft-yet-firm planes of muscle and the gentle, mesmerizing jiggle of her bare breasts. She rubs her palms all along Honeymaren’s dusky skin, stroking, squeezing gently, reveling in the fact that she could touch her lover like this, that her lover wanted her to touch her like this.
Elsa sits back for a moment, thoughtful. She runs her left hand through her loose hair, considering all the potential ways she could proceed. Honeymaren is propped up on her elbows, and is making the most alluring come-hither eyes at Elsa, made all the more attractive by the soft light coming from the moon. Really rather romantic, thinks Elsa.
And then, I know what will really wind her up .
“Now what are you going to do?” Honeymaren asks the stunning, statuesque silver queen as she straddles Maren’s thigh. Honeymaren brushes her dark brown fringe away from her eyes so she can see better. And then Elsa replies without words, and Honeymaren actually gapes in astonishment.
Elsa leans back as she grinds her pelvis into Honeymaren’s thick, muscular thigh. Skies above, this feels right!
She gasps as she shifts subtly, the wet heat in between her own thighs responding to the way Honeymaren is now cupping her bottom with both hands.
“I want all of you, Mare,” Elsa pants, legs and gaze locked with her lover’s.
“And I you,” Honeymaren responds.
Elsa’s hands are on the ground on either side of Mare, holding up the top half of her body. She is closer to Honeymaren’s face now, and her hips continue to grind rhythmically against Honeymaren’s hot, damp skin. Honeymaren watches in rapt, aroused fascination as Elsa creates her own pleasure, using only her lover’s thigh and the energy between them. Honeymaren presses her leg up higher, watches Elsa’s face scrunch up, her fulfillment already so tantalizingly close.
Elsa’s breath begins to hitch. Honeymaren’s hips follow the pace Elsa sets, meeting her midway through each hip thrust as she inches closer and closer to her climax. And then Honeymaren has an idea.
Her hands are still supporting Elsa’s impossibly fine posterior. She looks up at Elsa, and a mischievous lopsided grin takes over her features. Elsa, concentrating and lost in the moment, doesn’t notice.
“Hey, Elsa.”
“ Huhwha? ” comes the faint reply.
“My turn.” And Honeymaren lifts Elsa, who squeaks in surprise, and lays her down where Honeymaren had been a moment before.
Honeymaren, still glowing with ardor, kisses Elsa lingeringly on the mouth. Then she moves to her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Honeymaren spends a long time kissing, nibbling, licking, and sucking various parts of Elsa’s throat and neck.
“Everyone will see,” Elsa says, breathless. It’s not a protest. It might have been, once. But she’s strangely thrilled at the thought of love marks left by Honeymaren.
“Let them,” Honeymaren murmurs between kisses. “Let them see you’re mine now.”
She continues her slow migration south, stopping to pay homage at her sweetheart’s breasts, the dip of Elsa’s midsection, and the smooth, shining planes of her belly and hips, the hard muscles there forming the slightest, most seductive valley. She caresses Elsa’s hourglass waist, marveling that such a creature could be real. She nips at Elsa’s thighs, making the other woman twitch toward her. Finally, Honeymaren reaches the mass of dark blonde curls between her lover’s thighs. Elsa is quivering with anticipation and desire. The folds of her most intimate flesh glisten with pearly wetness. Mare’s mouth waters.
“Are you ready?” she asks Elsa, pausing her work.
It is Elsa’s turn to prop herself up on her elbows. “If you don’t, I think I’ll die,” she answers, breathless.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”
Honeymaren lowers her head and begins a methodical appreciation of Arendelle’s most beautiful flower.
“ Oh, ” is Elsa’s only remaining noise, by the sounds of things. Honeymaren uses her tongue to slowly, lightly lave the outermost ridges of Elsa’s center until Elsa’s hands are clutched in her lustrous hair, which spills freely over Maren’s shoulders and back. Elsa is holding onto handfuls of Mare’s hair for dear life, as though she were riding the Nokk for the first time again.
By Honeymaren’s reckoning, it’s time to hear Elsa make a new noise. She comes up for air with a wide grin, and it is Elsa’s turn to look glassy-eyed and bemused. Elsa makes a small noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and Honeymaren feels her heartstrings wind a little tighter around her lover’s littlest finger.
“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, you know,” Mare says, sotto voce , slipping her hands beneath Elsa and pulling her just a little closer.
“I hope you never have to,” Elsa replies, “but I hope you know, I love you, too.”
At this Honeymaren grins, triumphant, and redoubles her efforts. Elsa whimpers as she scales the dizzying heights of passion with Honeymaren at the fore, leading the charge. Elsa’s fingers twine themselves seductively through Mare’s sleek brown hair while her hips involuntarily angle themselves toward Mare, as a flower seeks the sun.
When Honeymaren begins to probe her tongue lower, and she slips into the deliciously salt-infused wetness at Elsa’s core, she is rewarded with another new noise. A throaty, escalating hiss of pleasure escapes Elsa, her body tensing briefly with the shock of abrupt sensation. Honeymaren does not release her grip on Elsa’s rear. She digs her fingers in, just enough pressure to create a frisson of excitement, and then Honeymaren pulls back, wetness glistening on her chin and lips.
Elsa is struck by the need to taste Mare’s lips. For once, intense heat is rolling off of Elsa’s skin. Perspiration clings wetly to the women’s skin as they cling together, Honeymaren’s head between Elsa’s thighs. Elsa untangles her fingers from Maren’s hair, which is now quite mussed, and beckons her lover up to her, with fingers dancing suggestively in the air.
Mare slides effortlessly forward, muscles shifting alluringly beneath fawn skin. “Yes, my queen?” She supports herself with her muscular arms, leaning over Elsa, and presenting the former queen of Arendelle with a most succulent offering. Mare’s nipples are taut and aching, but all her thought is for Elsa’s pleasure. Elsa is about to change that.
Elsa lifts her left hand to gently cup Mare’s right breast. In response, Mare groans just a little, as if the barest touch left her frostbitten by lust. Perhaps it did. Elsa smirks up at Honeymaren. And then Mare gasps, for Elsa has taken her nipple wholly into her mouth. The scent of Mare’s skin is spice and woodsmoke, and Elsa’s mouth genuinely waters, intoxicated and absorbed as she is by her lover. For Honeymaren’s part, the moment has crystallized, snowflakes bursting into life behind her eyes.
Honeymaren’s eyes are closed as her attention turns sharply inward. Suddenly, she is aware as if pin-pricked by her own desire.
“Elsa, please, I need--” she blurts, unable to contain her own wanting.
“That’s all you had to say,” Elsa says, mirth dancing around the edges of the statement.
And Elsa rolls them to the side, where a thick, squishy wool blanket has lain forlorn and forgotten until now. Giddy with euphoria, she pulls Honeymaren to her.
“I want to try something,” Elsa says. “I’ve been thinking, and--”
Honeymaren interrupts her with a quick but thorough kiss. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous. Just do it.”
Elsa does. She presses close against her lover, the full length of her body pressed to Honeymaren’s form, milk and honey, magic and mystery…
She slips between Honeymaren’s thighs and hooks one leg over Honeymaren’s hips.
“What are you-- oh. Oh!”
Honeymaren flushes and her eyes lock with Elsa’s. She’s never been closer, physically or emotionally, to anyone, ever. And with her soft heat pressed against her, she never wants this to stop. Elsa begins to move, slowly, rolling her hips. Honeymaren is swept into the tide and out to the Dark Sea of passion. This, she thinks, this is what I was born for. Her . Here. Now.
Each woman’s arms wrap around the other as they move together.
“I love you so much, Elsa,” whispers Honeymaren. She isn’t sure why she’s whispering, because the feeling inside her is so big she thinks she could shout it to the stars and spirits until her voice gives out, and it wouldn’t even scratch the surface of the regard she has for this beautiful creature, who lusts for her pleasure.
She’s never felt anything this good in all her life. All she wants is to show Elsa how much she means to her, and to bask in her affection.
The pleasure builds, and builds, and as the slick heat of their centers combine, their soft moans intertwining as the moon looks on, Elsa’s breath begins to come faster and harder. Soon she’s hissing on each indrawn breath, and Honeymaren isn’t far behind. Two sets of eyes lock as the reverie draws them ever deeper.
Elsa’s climax overtakes her first. “Oh, Mare! Oh, spirits!” She shudders and shakes in Honeymaren’s arms, and an exultant feeling of triumph floods through Honeymaren’s veins, better than winning any race, better than her own pleasure, headier than the flute of champagne she had tasted on her first visit to Arendelle.
It’s enough to drive her over the edge, too.
Her nails dig into Elsa’s shoulders and back as Honeymaren whimpers, a deep, low moan rising from the pit of her stomach and rising higher in pitch as it escapes her throat. Neither woman has stopped moving, but their movements are more ragged, more desperate, as if by colliding thusly they could smooth away the jagged edges of their broken hearts. Maybe, just maybe, they can.
Their gaze remains locked for several more minutes as each woman pants. Elsa has never felt more undone, or more at peace. These acts, this love, this place, this woman… Stars and spirits, but Elsa has never felt more alive, more real, and for the first time in her life, there is someone to share her deepest and truest self with.
For the first time in forever, she isn’t hiding some part of herself, or minimizing her presence. There is room for all of her here, in the blessed space of Honeymaren’s arms.
“What’re you thinking?” Honeymaren asks her lover, lifting one brown hand to cup Elsa’s paler cheek. She slowly rubs her thumb across Elsa’s cheekbone, and Elsa leans into the touch.
“I feel… like I’ve come home. Like I’ve never known what home was until this moment. Mare, I love you. I love you more than chocolate, more than Arendelle, more than my magic and my freedom,” Elsa says earnestly. She punctuates each item on her list with a kiss on Honeymaren’s lips.
Honeymaren grins hugely. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. How happy you make me. This… you, here. I don’t have words for the feeling in my heart. There is a rightness to this that I have never known, yet always yearned for.”
Elsa takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her sweetheart’s skin -- leather, pine, and woodsmoke, with just a hint of nutmeg. And above that, the scents of their lovemaking, and the hard-earned, clean sweat glistening along their bodies.
“I’m not afraid when I’m with you,” Elsa tells Honeymaren. “When I came to this forest, I was running away. I didn’t want to be queen, as much as I love the Arendellian people. There was the pressure to marry and have children, the diplomatic pressures, the economic concerns… It was all so much, and I felt so stifled . The night the spirits woke to my call and drove out the people of Arendelle, I was so afraid I had made a terrible mistake that had cost my people everything safe and familiar.”
Honeymaren nods, listening to every word with rapt attention.
“But look where we are now. Our two peoples united, my sister is queen of Arendelle -- and a better one than I ever was -- the enchanted mist is lifted, and I am with you, free to be myself. Every day I spend with the Northuldra, I feel like another layer of who I was supposed to be falls away, and the woman I was meant to be emerges.”
Honeymaren wipes a tear away from her cheek and laughs shakily. “Elsa, I feel exactly the same. When I’m with you, I’m not the granddaughter of Yelana, or the orphaned, lonely girl who spends too much time with her herbs and salves, or the servant of the land. I’m just… me. And nothing’s missing. Not when I’m with you. Elsa,” she says, thinking how the blue of Elsa’s eyes reminds her of her first sight of the wide, blue sky, “I can’t imagine a life without your love.”
Elsa leans her forehead against Honeymaren’s, their noses touching. Elsa lifts Honeymaren’s right hand with her left, her fingers twining with those of her lover.
She plants a kiss on her sweetheart’s lips. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted, and everything I never knew I needed. You are everything to me, Mare.”
A few minutes pass in contented, languorous silence. The women slowly untangle their legs, and they lay down upon Elsa’s bedroll. Unwilling to part completely just yet, Elsa fits herself into Honeymaren’s embrace, her bare buttocks resting against Honeymaren’s pelvis, Honeymaren’s warm breasts pressed to Elsa’s back, and her chin on Elsa’s shoulder.
Honeymaren reaches to pull the woolen blanket over the two of them, and they snuggle like that for a while -- long enough that Honeymaren thinks Elsa might have drifted off to sleep. Her breathing is slower now, more even.
But Elsa isn’t sleeping. Her thoughts are racing, euphoric, maybe even giddy.
Honeymaren plants a soft kiss behind Elsa’s right ear, and Elsa giggles and shivers.
“Are you cold?” Honeymaren teases.
“Me? Never,” Elsa laughs. “I’m warm through. I can’t remember the last time I felt this warm.”
“Mmm, me either.” Honeymaren has held other women in her arms, but none of them could hold a candle to Elsa’s brilliant daylight.
For a daughter of the People of the Sun, it was ironic that Honeymaren had never seen the sun until the day the mist was lifted. In her mind, Elsa and the sun and sky were inextricably linked, and always would be.
“I have something for you,” Honeymaren says suddenly.
“You do??” Elsa extricates herself from Honeymaren’s embrace, and Mare lets her. She has to get up to retrieve it, anyway.
“Close your eyes,” Honeymaren instructs. “And no peeking .”
“Oooh, mysterious,” laughs Elsa, but she closes her eyes obediently.
On a humble wooden table on the far side of the tent, there sits a wooden box. It contains Honeymaren’s most priceless treasures -- things like a feather from her first falcon, Lyra; her mother’s comb and hand mirror, a rare treasure among the Northuldra that had been a gift to her mother from her father; a small pan flute that Ryder, her brother, had given her as a coming-of-age gift; and the ring.
The ring had belonged to Yelana’s mother, Tsira, Honeymaren’s great-grandmother.
The ring, a solid gold affair with the symbol of her people engraved on the face, a radiant sun, had been modified with the help of Arendelle’s most talented jeweler. Honeymaren had asked Anna’s blessing over a month ago, and she would almost swear her ears were still ringing from the shriek of glee Anna had made when Honeymaren asked for her permission to ask her sister for her hand in marriage.
Honeymaren’s hands tremble as she pulls the small blue velvet pouch from the box. She can hear Elsa fidgeting with excitement and curiosity.
“No peeking, remember.” Honeymaren warns as she returns to the bedroll to kneel before her beloved.
She takes a deep breath, and takes the ring from its pouch. The metal has been polished until it gleamed, and in the light of the full moon, the faceted blue topaz sparkles. Honeymaren’s heart flutters. This is it. I’m really going to ask her. Spirits, I want her to say yes.
“You can open your eyes now.” Honeymaren is kneeling before Elsa, and holding the ring with one hand while shielding it from view with the other.
“What--” Elsa starts, but Honeymaren kisses her and cuts her off.
“Wait, I have something to say before you can see it.”
Elsa’s heart skips a beat. Honeymaren’s long dark hair is unbound, and spilling forward over her shoulders and still-bare breasts. Elsa can’t help but greedily drink in the sight of her lover.
“Elsa, I have to tell you something. You are, quite plainly, the most remarkable person I have ever known. Since you came here, you’ve turned my life upside down in more ways than one, and as strong as I am, as capable, you’ve done things I could never hope to accomplish. And it’s not because of your magic, or your station, but because of your determined spirit, your dogged loyalty, and your unwavering compassion. Without you, I would have died without ever knowing the color of the sky on a crisp October afternoon. I would never have seen sunrises, sunsets, or stars. I would still believe Arendellians to be a horrible blight upon the land. The magic of the forest would be dying, and instead, it is flourishing . You have given us, the Northuldra, the greatest gift of all -- freedom. But you didn’t stop there.”
Elsa’s mouth hangs open. She has an inkling of what is coming, but her head is spinning with all the lovely things Honeymaren is saying to her. She feels the tears begin to slide down her face. She’s only ever wanted to show people love, to connect, to bridge the divide caused by her magic and by fear. Honeymaren’s gratitude undoes her completely.
“You could have crooked your finger at anyone, and they’d run to do your bidding. But of all the people you know… You’re here with me . When I told you you belonged here, my love, I meant it. And now,” Honeymaren says, lifting her trembling hands to reveal the ring, “I’m telling you that you belong with me.”
Elsa chokes on a sob, an enormous grin splitting her face.
“Elsa… Will you be my wife?”
“Oh, spirits, yes ! A thousand times, yes!”
With trembling fingers, tears of relief and joy in her eyes, Honeymaren takes Elsa’s left hand and slides the ring onto her fourth finger. Elsa sits, stunned, looking at the ring with wonder.
“It was my great-grandmother’s ring, but with Anna’s help, we added the stone. It’s topaz,” Honeymaren offers shyly. “You’re the sun in my life. The source of all light and the catalyst for life to begin. We are the People of the Sun. This is your heritage, too, and your people. Yelana and Anna both gave their blessing to the match. Kristoff and Sven, too,” Honeymaren laughs.
“You spoke to my sister first? And she’s in on this? Of course she is! And, Yelana approves? Really? I didn’t think she approved of anything!” Elsa laughs delightedly. “I bet Anna told you that blue topaz is my favorite gemstone.”
“Actually, it just kind of spoke to me when we were deciding how to modify the ring.” A blush rises to Honeymaren’s cheeks.
“Well, it’s perfect. It’s beyond perfect. You’re perfect.” Elsa kisses Honeymaren again. She never wants to stop. “Honeymaren, I-- I have something for you, too.” Elsa was trembling like an aspen, whose leaves quiver in the slightest breeze.
“I’d been waiting for the right time. I guess that time is now!”
Elsa gets up from the bedroll and crosses the earthen floor of the tent to her little bookshelf. She doesn’t have many books here, but she likes sharing her favorites with Honeymaren, and Honeymaren is even learning to read with Elsa’s patient tutelage. She’s a quick study, Elsa thinks, whip-smart. But this book holds a secret. It isn’t a book at all, but a clever wooden box designed to look like a book. It’s locked, and only a key of Elsa’s own devising will open it.
Elsa twirls her fingers through the air, and an elaborate key made of ice appears in her hand. Honeymaren grins. Trust Elsa to have layers of magical security around something she wished to keep secret!
Honeymaren shifts impatiently, excitement making her palms sweat. Euphoria is uppermost in her heart, and she isn’t sure how this day or her life can get any better.
Except that when Elsa unlocks the box, vanishes the key, and holds the box out to Honeymaren, the thoughtfulness of the gift inside nearly does her in.
“ Elsa , you… It’s a square belt buckle . You remembered.” The buckle is gold, and engraved with feathers, a nod to Honeymaren’s hunting skill. Honeymaren’s vision blurs, and she picks up the belt buckle with one hand and sets the book box to the side.
“Oh, Elsa.” Honeymaren is crying, unabashedly. “You can’t be real ! You’re just too perfect,” she blubbers, feeling ridiculous, but so overwhelmed with feeling. “Am I dreaming?” She flings her arms around Elsa.
Among their people, a round belt buckle -- like the one Honeymaren has always worn with her gákti -- means a person is unmarried. A square buckle means that person is wed. Apparently, Honeymaren was not the only one conspiring with ideas of a lifetime commitment!
“No, love,” Elsa laughs, kissing Honeymaren’s cheek and wiping her tears, while crying her own. “I had it made by Ernaan. He helped with the design, but the feathers were my idea.”
Honeymaren takes a deep, steadying breath.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Elsa,” Honeymaren says, her voice solemn and serious. “Wherever you go, wherever destiny or whim leads you, I’ll be there. I’ll defend you until my dying breath, and love you until the stars go out. You’ll never be alone. You’ve got me now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Funny,” Elsa smiles, “I was thinking just the same thing.”
Elsa leans in to kiss Honeymaren deeply and lingeringly. Overhead, the stars look on with approval. They were two disparate daughters of the Northuldra; one forgotten, one lost, but both now safe and sound. Their peoples were linked by blood, and soon, would be by (another) marriage.
It was almost more beautiful than either could bear.
Placing the belt buckle with her gákti, Honeymaren returns to the bedroll and cuddles Elsa tighter than ever. Elsa giggles. “Honeymaren, I can’t breathe!”
“Sorry! I just love you so much. This is the best day of my entire life, Elsa. You are pure magic,” Honeymaren leans her dark head against Elsa’s blonde head, nuzzling close.
Elsa sighs happily. “We’re going to get married , Maren!! I’ve never been so excited and so happy. I love you more than life.” Elsa places a hand -- the hand with her ring -- upon her betrothed’s hands clasped around her midsection.
“I asked Ryder if he would officiate the ceremony,” Honeymaren admits shyly. “He’s always wanted to. He’s such a good brother. If that’s okay with you? I don’t want you to feel like I’m leaving you out of anything!”
“It’s more than okay,” Elsa reassures her dearest. “I’d be honored to marry you with my new brother-in-law officiating. And you’ll gain a sister! Be warned, though, Anna sobs at weddings.” Elsa laughs, remembering the wedding of Rapunzel and Eugene in the kingdom of Corona. Anna was a joyful wreck for days. “She’s such a sentimental soul.”
“She nearly crushed my bones and split my eardrums when she screamed and hugged me after I asked her blessing to propose. I loved it, honestly. I already feel like a part of your family.”
“You are my family,” Elsa says, grinning.
“Where do you think this will take us?” muses Honeymaren.
Elsa sighs happily, looking again at the ring on her left hand. “Only Ahtohallan knows, but wherever we go, whatever we face, we’ll have each other.” She turns in Honeymaren’s arms and kisses her again, lingering sweetness on her lips when she pulls away. “And that’s more than enough for me.”
The End