#❛ 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀 ⧽ — ic.

[dangaer]

           it's been far too long since he's found himself alone with someone crying. difficult to believe he would find himself in such a situation, truly, beyond that fateful day shared between cousins in the aftermath of one's loss and their promise spurring beyond centuries yet had he known this would be the situation waiting for him beyond the numbness between his cheeks and fingers, his breath warm enough to feel like smoke against his face ... there's a part of him that cannot deny wishing he'd have more time to arrange for it. hoping for the best and preparing for the worst a hard learned lesson, as such scenario has reminded him if not anything else. but he's standing before her now, freezing before her now, and it's ... uncannily nostalgic, in a way, to find him face to face, alone, with the once-queen of arendelle ( elsa, he mentally corrects himself in head and head alone. it does not matter that the coronation ceremony did not completely go through, royalty is still royalty in his eyes even if her people wish to deem her as no better as a witch. ) on the precipice of becoming a warm hand or a cold husk.

he's less surprised by how such tears are enough to help him understand the parts of this moment he supposes she may not quite be ready to share, the more he considers it; lonely girl left with the wish for no family to chase her, of course she would use her magic more out of protection than deliberate harm, to think that no soul would embark where he now stands in some macabre lesson in how she is due to live her days alone. that's what he can pick up, applying her emotions to that boy who couldn't bare to mourn his mother until someone confirmed it was okay to do so. but to consider anything beyond that, fill in holes of a situation he's spent the majority of his life beyond the sea to even hope to understand ...

it's her story to tell, he retaliates. if he takes a better look at it, this goes beyond a simple upheaval, the reveal of a lie that the public have missed while the young princess grew; nicola believes that such a story wasn't sprung back up overnight, well rotting between the counties roots and ties in a way that would eventually spoil the core. while this, for one, is the unfortunate moment for the magic to spill. showing itself in face of one not afraid to shout it out loud, a soul to brazen to use it in favour of politics or blackmail in a way that makes it stand of being the only good thing to happen in that moment and maybe if it were someone else they'd (he'd) think of the relief, view it in favour of getting rid of such a duke for tyranny or a ploy to set up the queen, a game on chess where he will sacrifice a pawn to reveal the king, but the queen ... is not one to think this way. is someone who remains the lone fish bait in a pool full of bloodthirsty sharks, cold simply on the outside where he remains certain her broken heart remains burning-pure.

she's the kind of person who should never have been caught up in this game of cat and mouse, really, and that ultimately guides them back to the fact that she is still sat near-huddled in a storm of her own making and can only afford to look like a scared shadow of her former self and he can merely stand over her with a posture rivalling the now shaken trees, eyes soft and smile curved upwards in a way he's long learnt people to find by, hand holding her cape at a slightly stiff angle as if he'd simply planned to hand the item back and make his hopeful leave. it would be easier, if he didn't have a sore spot for this kind of situation. it's a thought that's plagued his mind, though not one he has spent any energy in attempting to follow through; it's a given, knowing the one he chooses to live for, but that doesn't mean he can assume a grown woman's reaction will be similar to a small child's. for all who have abandoned her and the politeness to his features, she is honestly concerned, rightfully wary of his presence, and as always he will find more faith in the suspicion, those with a head on their shoulders above reckless situations that near ruin it all.

❛  would your knight in shining armour be considered a little too on the nose?  ❜ he thaws himself out of it, the cold that racks his bones to position himself properly, arms leaning gently, openly, to wrap the cape once more around her shoulders in what he hopes comes off as compassionate if not positive. not that he thinks such a gesture could be considered otherwise but ... he is not as good as most people performing such an action should be, weapon half covered and dried blood on the lapel his jacket enough of a warning sign for one to keep their distance and with how her thoughts remain in some semblance of what he presumes to be flight or fight he's unsure if he can be seen as anything beyond a threat, the unknown executioner from an unknown assignment considering how much he has risked to stand here for even a moment. she hasn't reduced him to a block of ice upon meeting so he figures there's still a thread of trust; the questions directed to him all the same.

❛  i apologise for not making my acquaintance much sooner, your highness. ❜ gentle, tone closer to that of one handling a wounded animal than one introducing themselves to a person in power, ending with an attempt of appeased humour. he can't say he can go back so that they can try again, because he's unsure they'll have another opportunity to talk if he does, a chill in his bones reminding him he could near freeze soon, if his hummingbird heart has nothing to say before it. he ties the pieces of her cape together with a flourish, considers. he could afford to be extremely honest here, he supposes, but even when knowing so ... he doesn't truly know how to be, and considering that even his knowledge is littered with blanks as to why he's come this far ... well.

❛  you can call me nicola. nicola francesca. i accompanied as part of the delegation from burlone with my cousin, signor falzone. ❜ he pauses, frowns, a flicker of sternness following upon his features. ❛  i followed you here on the calling of my already burdened heart. from my understanding as a man who has watched a breach of etiquette happen right before his very eyes. ❜ is that too far? he hopes not. he struggles to tell, the more he considers it, words bordering between what he knows and the various observations he's made from times back in his familiar cafe, his hometown and it's square. it would help, he knew her well enough to understand what was best to say, but knowledge of that comes with time and he's certain they will have a lot to spare. a lot of moments they can give, or take, should their apparent storm will it, should she will it.

❛  those men. ❜ a strong topic, perhaps. something rather blunt for what remains at the forefront of his thoughts. ❛  are you, perhaps, willing to allow them to disrespect your kingdom like that? to even disrespect you? ❜

@dangaer has walked into the unknown.

Her hands have been trembling all day, starting ever since the gates were opened for her coronation day. Only God knew this, but Elsa has used her three years to try to prepare herself for the day where she must take her vows. Once a week, maybe twice a week if she was feeling brave, she would secretly go to the royal chapel to train herself. She would grasp the solid scepter and orb, gold and ancient, without the use of her gloves. She should lose herself in prayer when visiting the royal chapel, but all she could do was practice and practice on holding her pose.

Three years of private training by herself were wasted, however... Frost still crept over the sceptre and orb the moment she was forced to remove her gloves, much to her dismay. No one, she hoped, would notice the sight of their newly crowned queen. They may see her stiff shoulders, maybe even the rigidness of her hands, but hopefully not the chill in the air. Completing one single day is all she needed to worry. Her coronation day may have almost gone terrible, but she managed to handle such a daunting task... only by a thread of pure luck.

Everything was almost over. All she had to do is survive the celebrations until it was time to retire back to her bedchamber, safe and all alone. She skillfully avoided invitations to dance, weaving together excuse after excuse. Not many, however, had the courage to ask for her hand. One messy conversation with Anna, her dearest sister, is all that it took for her world to come crashing down before her very eyes. Ice burst forth, dangerous and sharp and refusing to listen to her. Everyone saw the sight play out, including many wide-eyed foreign guests— The Duke of Weselton cried out of the word she feared most: Sorcery!

One word is all it took for Elsa to flee from her own home.

It rang in her mind, louder than any church bell.

The horror of the people, her people, played back in her mind with each step she took across the lake. She ran and ran and ran, adrenaline fueling her legs to keep moving. She ran until her lungs burned. She left a trail of decay in her wake, frost creeping over everything around her. Elsa didn't know how much time she has lost, but soon the world was covered in snow. The cool summer night is gone, replaced with a cold that was more colder than the corpse of a body. The wind howls, matching the unseen storm within her racing heart...

Fat snowflakes fall from the heavens above, not showing any signs of stopping any time soon. The onslaught of snow and loud wind make a violent yet beautiful dance. Anyone caught in this weather would no doubt lose their bearings... if they weren't already freezing to death. Elsa pushed forward, still wearing her coronation dress. She kept moving, not bothered by the weather. She only had one single thought in her mind: Get as far away from Arendelle as possible.

How many in attendance saw her secret become revealed? She knew there were many influential people at her party, ranging from the Southern Isles to all the way in Italy. The list was too long for her to remember, but the castle's staff were more than prepared to welcome as many guests as possible. They had more than enough plates and finery to entertain foreigners, eager to have the castle come back to life again. Even though she was far from the eyes of society, the memory of all their eyes landing on her body is enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. Their shock and horror stabbed her, pinning her to her spot. Even now, the thought of being caught only encouraged her to move.

"What do I do now?" She murmured the desperate question to herself, but she knew she was speaking to her father. She secretly wished for her father's spirit to materialize, though she doubts she can handle the sight of his disappointed expression. She longed for his comforting hand as much as she desired a drop of his wisdom. There are no spirits on the mountain tonight, no one here to guide her away from herself. Like her mother and the rest of the people on their ship, her father's body is lost at sea. Her prayers for them to miraculously survive were not granted as the whole world of Arendelle fell upon her shoulders.

Elsa falls to her knees, hindered by her dragging cape and aching legs. The snowstorm continues to beat down upon the land, only lightening up once every few minutes. Soon, her tracks will be covered up by snow. She stares down at the tiara in her bare hand, weighing the options in her head. "I don't know where to go..." The words are released to the wind, unable to escape from the harsh reality of how she fled from her people and duty and... her own sister.

"But I can't... I can never go back..." They will kill her, will they not? No one, not even Arendelle's nearest and oldest allies, will accept a sorceress as a legitimate ruler. A witch with a cold heart is not meant to rule anything or anyone; their fate is meant to be condemned to death. She was, perhaps, even more disliked than a bastard trying to claim the throne. Elsa remains on the snow-covered ground, clutching her tiara closer to her chest. She allows the wind to muffle her sobs, unknowingly allowing the wild storm to grow stronger...

She doesn't know how long she sits in the snow upon the mountain, lost and confused. She knows her tears have long since stopped, but she still clung to the tiara in her bare hands. She has allowed both her cape to be carried away by the wind. She, however, was still unable to throw away the tiara. The quiet sound of a crunching snow alerts Elsa in an instant, drawing her gaze upward to gaze upon a man with semi-long brown hair and ocean blue eyes...

She stares at him, voice now caught in her throat. His body, she distantly noticed, went still as a statue, almost as if she caught him red-handed with only her very gaze. Any stealth attempts were foiled by the unnatural snowstorm, though she couldn't quite confirm if he was aiming for stealth. He looked vaguely familiar, but what did look very familiar is the sight of her purple cape in his grasp. He has a handsome face, but what caught her attention a lot more faster is the sheathed weapon at his hip. He looks very pale, no doubt struggling with the harsh winter in the middle of July. The inner depths of Elsa feel completely and utterly unraveled, but she is certain that she still appears as cold and unapproachable on the surface.

"Why are you here?" Elsa has found her voice, breaking the spell of silence with her now hardened voice. She remains on the ground, snowflakes kissing every inch of her body. Though she is tired, she still tracks every little move the man makes with her piercing gaze. She has no weapons on her person, not like him, but the cold air has only dropped until it was as cold as a winter night. There is no need for pleasantries or small talk on the mountain tonight, not when she is on the run.

"Who are you?"