Elsa - “Protector of This Dominion”
One of the things that some readers fail to realize about Elsa – but this is a vitally important point – is that in her flight from Arendelle, she is, in fact, fullfiling the primary oath that she took when she was crowned monarch: and that is, to be the “protector of her dominion.”
According to the novelization – in the film, this speech is uttered in Old Norse, so for this we need to refer to the novelization – the bishop proclaims Elsa to be "The undoubted queen, protector of this dominion," as he bestows upon Elsa the crown jewels. And Elsa – whose sense of responsibility and self-sacrifice always supplants any concerns for her own well-being or happiness – takes these worlds very seriously and, by her actions, fulfills them.
Why does Elsa leave the kingdom?
Because she becomes a danger to it.
It is precisely because of the oath that she took – the oath to be the “protector of this dominion” – that she exiles herself.
She is literally defending the realm by removing herself from Arendelle, because she herself has become the biggest threat to Arendelle.
As a little girl, when her powers were minor, she nearly fatally injured her sister – and that happened at a time when she was only slightly disconcerted.
Ever since then, as the film clearly establishes, her powers have been growing. And she cannot control those powers even under the best of circumstances.
But now – suddenly – when she is exposed, she stands before her entire kingdom and presents a threat to every man, woman, and child in Arendelle.
In the glove scene, she witnesses her powers erupt as threatening spikes pointed towards everyone. If they had been just a little bigger, people could have been impaled.
Again, remember: she nearly killed her sister once already, and since then, her powers have only gotten worse. Now, suddenly, all of her subjects stand right before her; now no longer is it just her sister in danger, but everyone in Arendelle.
When she asks the Duke to stay away (for his own safety), ice shoots uncontrollably out of her hand, causing him to fall. The Duke and his men could have been injured right there. (It happened to her sister, after all.) The Duke is a panicky sort, but he is right is his assessment of the danger that Elsa poses.
Elsa, therefore, recognizes herself as a walking weapon of mass destruction and a threat to any geographical spot that she inhabits. (She obviously has no way of knowing or even guessing that her power extends far past where she is, to even to where she is not.)
For the good of her people, for their safety, then, Elsa removes herself from the kingdom.
In performing this self-sacrificial act, she is not abandoning her royal oath. Rather, she is fulfilling her oath – her oath to be the “protector of the dominion.”
She is protecting her dominion from its greatest, most immediate threat.
She is protecting it from herself.
She clearly has no other options. What could she do – stand around, attempting to get herself under control, and possibly blast people in the meantime, as she once blasted her sister?
The only fault that anyone could possibly lay at Elsa’s feet is that perhaps she should have exiled herself from Arendelle even sooner.
But that is an unreasonable expectation to have of a teen girl whose parents have just died. And besides, she clearly felt the responsibility of at least trying to fulfill her duty as queen without endangering anyone.
It was a reasonable attempt. It failed. Leaving her with no other option but exile.
The only other solution available to her apart from exile is suicide. But if Arendelle is a Christian land (as the religious trappings of the coronation ceremony indicate that it is), then suicide is a damnable offense and absolutely forbidden under any circumstances.
Therefore, exile is the only option left to Elsa, to keep her people safe, no matter that this presents her with the prospect of a lifetime of isolation and banishment. But because of her noble nature, because of her impulse always to put the safety of others above her own wants, she makes this terrible sacrifice and removes herself from Arendelle.
[More below the cut — warning: minor spoilers.]
Rape culture is when I was six, and
my brother punched my two front teeth out.
Instead of reprimanding him, my mother
said “Stefanie, what did you do to provoke him?”
When my only defense was my
mother whispering in my ear, “Honey, ignore him.
Don’t rile him up. He just wants a reaction.”
As if it was my sole purpose, the reason
six-year-old me existed,
was to not rile up my brother.
It’s starts when we’re six, and ends
when we grow up assuming the natural state of a man
is a predator, and I must walk on eggshells, as to
not “rile him up.” Right, mom?
Rape culture is when through casual dinner conversation,
my father says that women who get raped are asking for it.
He says, “I see them on the streets of New York City,
with their short skirts and heavy makeup. Asking for it.”
When I used to be my father’s hero but
will he think I was asking for it? (will he think)
Will he think I deserved it?
Will he hold me accountable or will he hold me,
even though the touch of a man - especially my father’s -
burns as if I were holding the sun in the palm of my hand.
Rape culture is you were so ashamed, you thought it would
be easier for your parents to find you dead,
than to say, “Hey mom and dad,”
It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for it.
I never asked for this attention, I never asked
to be a target, to be weak because I was born with
two X chromosomes, to walk in fear, to always look behind me,
in front of me, next to me, I never asked to be the prey.
I never wanted to spend my life being something
someone feasts upon, a meal for the eternally starved.
I do not want to hear about the way I taste anymore.
I will not let you eat me alive.
Rape culture is I shouldn’t defend my friend when
an overaggressive frat boy has his hand on her ass,
because standing up for her body “makes me a target.”
Women are afraid to speak up, because
they fear their own lives - but I’d rather take the hit
than live in a culture of silence.
I am told that I will always be the victim, pre-determined
by the DNA in my weaker, softer body.
I have birthing hips, not a fighter’s stance.
I am genetically pre-dispositioned to lose every time.
Rape culture is he was probably abused as a child.
When he even has some form of a justification
and all I have are the things that provoked him,
and the scars from his touch are woven of the darkest
and toughest strings, underneath the layer of my skin.
Rape culture leaves me finding pieces of him left inside of me.
A bone of his elbow. The cap of his knee.
There is something so daunting in the way that I know it will take
me years to methodically extract him from my body.
And that twinge I will get sometimes in my arm fifteen years later?
Proof of the past.
Like a tattoo I didn’t ask for.
Somehow I am permanently inked.
Rape culture is you can’t wear that outfit anymore
without feeling dirty, without feeling like
you somehow earned it.
You will feel like you are walking on knives,
every time you wear the shoes
you smashed his nose in with.
Imaginary blood on the bottom of your heels,
thinking, maybe this will heal me.
Those shoes are your freedom,
But the remains of a life long fight.
You will always carry your heart,
your passion, your absolute will to live,
but also the shame and the guilt and the pain.
I saved myself but I still feel like I’m walking on knives.
Rape culture is “Stefanie, you weren’t really raped, you were
one of the lucky ones.”
Because my body wasn’t penetrated by a penis,
but fingers instead, that I should feel lucky.
I should get on my hands and knees and say, thank you.
Thank you for being so kind.
Rape culture is “things could have been worse.”
“It’s been a month, Stefanie. Get out of bed.”
“You’ll have to get over this eventually.”
“Don’t let it ruin your life.”
Rape culture is he told you that after he touched you,
no one would ever want you again.
And you believed him.
Rape culture is telling your daughters not to get raped,
instead of teaching your sons how to treat all women.
That sex is not a right. You are not entitled to this.
The worst possible thing you can call a woman is a
slut, a whore, a bitch.
The worst possible thing you can call a man is a
bitch, a pussy, a girl.
The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl.
The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl.
Being a woman is the ultimate rejection,
the ultimate dismissal of strength and power, the
When I have a daughter,
I will tell her that she is not
When I have a daughter, she will know how to fight.
I will look at her like the sun when she comes home
with anger in her fists.
Because we are human beings and we do not
always have to take what we are given.
They all tell her not to fight fire with fire,
but that is only because they are afraid of her flames.
I will teach her the value of the word “no” so that
when she hears it, she will not question it.
Don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love
you have for yourself
and the lengths you go to preserve it.
I am alive because of the fierce love I have
for myself, and because my father taught me
to protect that.
He taught me that sometimes, I have to do
my own bit of saving, pick myself off the
ground and wipe the dirt off my face,
because at the end of the day,
there is only me.
I am alive because my mother taught me
to love myself.
She taught me that I am an enigma - a
mystery, a paradox, an unfinished masterpiece and
I must love myself enough to see how I turn out.
I am alive because even beaten, voiceless, and back
against the wall, I knew there was an ounce of me
worth fighting for.
And for that, I thank my parents.
Instead of teaching my daughter to cover herself up,
I will show her how to be exposed.
Because no is not “convince me”.
No is not “I want it”.
You call me,
“Little lady, pretty girl, beautiful woman.”
But I am not any of these things for you.
I am exploding light,
my daughter will be exploding light,
better cover your eyes.