“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.”