iceshattered:

   “Captain Mulan?” The inclined statement felt wrong on her lips, wrong when associated with this lovely mannered, gentle young woman. Captain was reserved for men with narrow gazes who were forced here by their country. Captain was reserved for people who hated eye contact, and hated idle conversation more. Elsa had understood them, in the calm manner that she did understand people who were not avid conversers, but she had to admit, it did make the time she was required to spend with each party more difficult than need be.

   Moving slowly to stay her fear, Elsa pulled the body her frozen dress rested on towards the window. The blinds were brushed out of the way, almost frightenedly, as if believing that the touch of the sunlight could kill her – and with how little she spent outside, perhaps it could.

   Elsa was unsure if it would melt on its own accord, but she hardly had a better plan. She couldn’t quite wear an ice-logged dress into a room full of dignitaries.

   The young queen’s eyes found the young soldier, and she offered a gentle smile, gloved greeting finding one another. It was so natural for her to be wearing gloves, that even mostly naked, she didn’t feel out of place with them against her skin.

   Communication would probably be preferred, would it not? If questioned later on how they knew so much, she’d merely say they ran in on the way to the festivities and decided to talk amongst each other on the way. Hopefully, her depth of Captain Mulan’s story would not get too far to make such a story seem outlandish. 

   “When did you join the army?” 

“Captain Hua,” Mulan corrected her, apologetically; then added, “But you can call me Mulan, if you want–Your Majesty.” Though the gesture of friendship was genuine, on second thought, Mulan couldn’t stifle her own amusement. Ambassador Kuei would squirm to see a member of his delegation (this member in particular) on familiar terms with the queen.

    Oh, well. Mulan wasn’t the one responsible for maintaining Arendelle’s relationship with the Middle Kingdom…though, of course, she’d still be careful of what she said and did. From now on, anyways.

    As Queen Elsa moved towards the window, Mulan was unaware of mirroring her movements once more–as effortlessly as if she really had been assigned to protect the woman. Foremost in her mind was the problem at hand: Glistening with ice in some places and furred over with frost in others, Elsa’s gown shone in the dying sun like the clothes of some heavenly goddess. Unlike a goddess, though, the queen was surely very uncomfortable, and Mulan’s first thought was of getting her warm (and dry!) again. 

    “Last year, the Huns invaded from the north and the Emperor called for army recruits from all his provinces. My father is a veteran soldier.” She wrinkled her nose; it felt strange, to tell the story so simply, as if it had happened to someone else. Mulan was fumbling for something in her waistband. “But he’s…he walks with a cane now. Some families are able to send sons to war, instead of husbands, but I–ah!”

    At last, her fingers closed on something slender and sturdy. With a practiced flick of her wrist, Mulan pulled a fan out of her clothes and unfurled it. Not for the Savior of China the cheap paper of her girlhood: she’d gone through too many fans in previous months, once she realized how useful they were in combat. This one was sturdy silk, stretched across cherry wood and decorated with fashionable geometric patterns. It wasn’t indestructible either–she’d be sorry to see it go–but might serve the purpose Mulan wanted it for now.

    “Do you think your dress would thaw faster,” she suggested, “if I fanned it? And–maybe you could open the window? If it’s still warm enough outside.”

iceshattered:

   Elsa’s face bent, somewhat, in a smile at this woman’s simple offer. Help you get ready. The thought was tempting, but… wasn’t the entire reason the ice was here in the first place was because of Elsa’s fear of people?

   Then again… Hua Mulan standing outside the door of the queen would only raise questions in her servant’s lips that need not be there.

   No matter. Elsa could still attempt to ready herself, and Hua Mulan could stay in here.

   “You can wait for me in here.” Elsa still had no idea what she would wear. Nearly everything was frozen, and what wasn’t wouldn’t be proper to wear to a… a party. The offer of the other woman’s clothing still hung in the air, but it was one Elsa felt foolish to comment on after so long.

   Regardless… she had to take care of first things first.

   Elsa existed the clothing room, hopefully with Hua Mulan in tow, and went to one of the three dressers stretched throughout the room. She pulled them open, cringing slightly when ice bit at the handles, and hurriedly reached for the first pair of gloves, fitting them tightly over her fingers.

   As she worked, she called to the stranger, “What would be your title, Hua Mulan?” 

She drifted after the other woman, feeling like an unexpected guest in someone’s home. Mulan’s cheeks still burned: she was, in a way.

    Worse–she’d never actually burst into someone else’s home before. If Queen Elsa had ordered her out in a towering rage, Mulan wouldn’t have been in the least surprised. She’d been a fool to invade!–even if there was no harm done. And while the queen might have forgiven her, Ambassador Kuei certainly wouldn’t. The thought made Mulan, who had a poor opinion of the man, wrinkle her nose. Kuei had a way with words; her impulsive rush to protect the queen had jeopardized the Chinese embassy in Arendelle, and Kuei wouldn’t forget it. 

    If he found out, anyway. Calm down, Mulan told herself. Despite her bare limbs and–well–all the ice, Queen Elsa carried herself like the royal she was, and Mulan did her best to pattern her conduct after Elsa’s.

    “My title?” she parroted, watching. There weren’t many people who, once undressed, would reach first for a pair of gloves–but then again, Mulan supposed, she didn't know many people who wore gloves at all. The Queen of Arendelle didn’t look like the sort of woman who wanted to avoid callouses from archery or hawking, and neither did her gloves–

    –but then, Mulan didn’t look much like a war hero, did she?

    And then said hero blinked, remembering that in Arendelle, as well as in China, it was usually considered good manners to answer a question when it was directed at you. “Oh! I don’t really–I’m a captain. In the Chinese imperial army.” Her smile was bashful and small–for a moment Mulan had half-thought that Elsa expected her to be something…grander. Although “Savior of China”–an unofficial title–was nothing to sneeze at.

iceshattered:

   There was a tempting thought, when the prettier, younger woman offered that she knew so “little” of such things, to offer that she, too, felt out of place in this skin. The only drawback, however, was that there was no skin Elsa did feel comfortable in. In the workplace of a queen, one had to guard their tongue and their emotions against accidentally betraying them. In the familiarity among contemporaries, one had to speak and communicate and relax in a way that was foreign to Elsa. When she felt safe, felt as if she could breathe, her ice hurt people.

   There was no escape for Elsa. She had known that for so long, and the sliver of hope that there was an escape had died the day her sister had.

   Regardless of her sister’s life, restored, it was impossible to completely reign in her newfound pessimism.

   “I see.” Elsa nodded, forgoing the improper statement that had passed her mind. A soldier? “I’d like to hear more of your experiences later.” The smile she offered this Hua Mulan was bare, but kind, indeed.

   “I should probably be more… properly clothed first.” 

Not for the first time, Mulan had an overwhelming urge to hug Elsa. The queen’s eyes were round and fearful as a child’s–and perhaps a queen had more to fear than most anybody–but she was a queen, her person was sacred, and it was shameful that Mulan must meet the ruler of Arendelle in this state: vulnerable, half-naked, perhaps on the verge of tears.

    A wave of anger surged in Mulan’s stomach then, sickening her; it was most shameful of all, that the queen could be so unhappy. It was as bad as seeing your comrades cut down in battle, there was no light in their eyes and you could not reach them in time.

    But her pity had raced ahead of reason. In less time than it takes to write Mulan had stepped forward, reaching out to the ethereal figure in the flimsy robe. “Your Majesty.” Her voice was low, but her own eyes were soft with sympathy and Mulan struggled to keep a tiny, encouraging smile on her face. She could feel the coolness of the other woman’s skin, even through the fabric of her sleeve. “If there’s anything I can do, to help you get ready–”

    Flushing, she released Elsa’s arm, but persisted bravely. “Or I’ll happily wait outside, to escort you downstairs.”