#(i've always been curious about e.lsa meeting h.ans way back before they met in the movie)

[vintersang]

@umbravirtus walked into the unknown.

Lord Peterrsen has served her family for many, many long years. The death of her parents, King Agnarr and Queen Iduna, led the kindhearted man to become her regent until she became of age to properly take the throne. Four months have now passed, but the mourning period is still in full effect. Even though her birthday is quickly approaching, Elsa dresses in black. She does not allow any celebrations to occur, though she still thinks Anna is going to try to do something for her birthday...

Though the gates were closed, Lord Peterrsen had invited someone from the Southern Isles to the Arendelle Castle to try to settle some important arrangements. It was private business, something that Elsa should know about... But she couldn't focus. Lord Peterrsen requested an audience from her, but she didn't answer his knocks. She told him to go away. Unlike Anna, the nobleman did not go away as easily.

She urged him to do whatever he thinks is best, telling him to do what he thinks is best for Arendelle. Still, he didn't leave. Growing with urgent desperation, she told him that she will see him in three days time. Somewhat satisfied with her agreement to see him, he left her to her own devices. A wise queen would automatically let him in, immediately address the important matters. But she is too deep in her grief, not wanting to see anyone except for two people she would never get to see again. Will she forget their voices?

She knows she is fortunate enough to have family portraits spread throughout the castle, but the fear of forgetting them spread as fast as the ice in her bedchamber. She feared the idea of forgetting their voices. She wished it was possible to record the sound of someone's laughter, every inch of their voices... Record everything they ever said. Writing down melodies and songs upon music sheets were easy, but no amount of parchment or ink can preserve the preciousness of someone's voice... You can write down the lyrics of a precious lullaby, allow the lullaby to be immortal upon the paper, but you can never preserve someone's beautiful singing.

Gone, gone, gone.

It was all gone...

Why didn't she write down their conversations in her private journals? She has dedicated herself to writing as much as possible during her years of isolation. She should have wrote down every drop of wisdom from her father's mouth, but she didn't do it. I won't have to do that, she once thought to herself, so very foolish. Papa and Mama will always be there for us. But now they were gone, forever lost at sea.

Elsa didn't want to write down just her father's endless wisdom. She wanted to immortalize her single inch of her mother and father's very souls, but it is far too late now. They were dead. She could ask people about them, but... Talking about them left her with the urge to scream. She has never been one to scream before, not even during moments of pure joy. She swallowed back the urge to unleash a loud sob, too terrified to know what would happen if she unveiled her emotions.

One day, Anna will leave her once she grew sick of being shut out by someone as coldhearted as her. One day, Anna will find someone to happily marry— Elsa cannot predict the future, but she knew that Anna's marriage had to be written in stone. In her mind, it was a fact. She simply didn't know when or how. Anyone would be happy to have her sister's hand in marriage, even if she never got her hands on the throne. One day, Anna will no doubt live elsewhere in her husband's home. These halls, these very grounds, will no doubt be where Elsa will spend all of her days until she takes her dying breath.

Elsa kneels down in the darkened chapel. Only a single candelabra, heavier than the royal scepter she will one day hold in three years time, with three brightly lit candles were her light in the otherwise empty royal chapel. She was once wrapped up with her mother's scarf, but now she removed it from her shoulders to cling to it with gloved hands. She embraces it to her chest, lost in prayers to a silent god— Not even the gods of old, the ones that her people once worshipped long ago, would answer her prayers— She has found herself in this chapel for two, maybe three, hours since she struggled to sleep. She thought, yet another foolish thought, that the chapel would be able to ease the storm of many swirling thoughts.

In the beginning, she stood and stared up. Ever since the castle received the news of the sunken ship, Elsa had began to regularly visit the chapel. In the earlier days, she tried to sought comfort through being in the presence of the quiet chapel. Her faith has always lingered in the back of her mind, never quite the strongest. Though she may have struggled with religion, she did still believe. How could she sit back and not believe when she was given such a dazzling power as hers? Even if she did believe in the existence of a deity, praying has also been a struggle since none of her prayers were answered.

Soon, her visits to the chapel quickly turned into something more productive. If prayers cannot held her, then she will make use of her nightly visits by practicing for her coronation day. Tonight is like no other. She is here, pulled by the duty of needing to practice without her gloves. She is alone on this cold night in December, but that will soon change. She didn't know when she rose back to her feet, but she had done so without much thought. Elsa had removed her gloves, something she only chooses to do when she knows she is all alone.

Though she was worried about ruining her mother's scarf, she still clings to the fabric with both of her bare hands. It felt so soft... How soothing to feel something that her mother created from nothing. She clung to it with both hands, temporarily lost in a reverie of nostalgia. Her mother was always busying her hands, often bouncing between detailed embroidery to her newest knitting project. She had a gift for creation, her mother. The thought of her mother brought a lump in her throat as she pictured her face, but all she can remember is the way her mother looked so sorrowful, no doubt still hurt by her decision to be all alone...

The sound of a door opening instantly makes her drop her mother's scarf. The knitted scarf will no doubt not mind the floor since the chapel was extremely clean, thanks to the more pious members of the castle's staff. Still, she feels a pang of guilt for dropping something so precious so easily— But her panic shoots through her, stronger than anything else, as she didn't have time to put on her gloves, which were resting neatly on one of the empty pews. Her hands quickly reach over to grab the candelabra with both hands, the next best thing for her. She spins around, surprise written across her face. She sees the silhouette of a tall man, though she cannot see his features so clearly.

"Who goes there!" Elsa called out, silently cursing herself for not being able to get to her gloves in time. Part of her wished it was only a worried Kai, but she knew very well that the proud steward was not shaped as tall and muscular as this stranger. Was it Lord Peterrsen, the very same man that vowed to be her regent until she could properly take the throne in three years time? She hoped it was the case, even if he would no doubt lecture her on how she shouldn't be sneaking off in the middle of the night. The silence stretched, immediately confirming her worries... This person, the same person who was now blocking her only exit, was no one that she knew.

"What are you doing here?" No trace of uneasiness, thankfully, does not seep into her voice. Her hands are trembling a little bit, but they appear as steady as can be from a distance. With no heat to stay warm on this December night, she can pretend that she is cold. It was a good enough excuse for a trembling monarch. Elsa is still reeling in shock, but she holds her head up high. She cannot show weakness...

She cannot show anything.