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Fantasy ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ

thinking

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ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ

At long last, the glacial helms of the sawtoothed mountains had begun to recede . They had, once again, defended Arendelle from the blistering winter storms that battered the mainland fjords surrounding the kingdom. The introduction of the warmer weather allowed them to shed their rounded snow caps, leaving their jagged scalps bare. Their formidable omnipresence remained unwavering, reflecting off the quivering water. Working men busied themselves under their watchful eye, hurriedly preparing for the arrival of incoming foreign ships. A vinous fragrance caused by over twelve-dozen oak barrels currently consumed the dock’s occupation. Over six different varieties had just finished being offloaded, on their way to the main castle by cart. It was rare that Arendelle received such exotic imports; their ostracised nature made them rarely contacted by oversea land. However, considering the importance of today's arrivals, the gift from the Mediterranean was graciously accepted by Queen Elsa.

The Queen had meticulously planned to restore and strengthen relationships with those far and surrounding. Last winter, despite Arendelle’s protected bay, had proven devastating for the Spring trade. Reindeer herds travelled further south, to escape the bitter cold and seek edible vegetation and fishermen rightfully did not set their sails in dangerous storms… The situation was not aided by a sudden influx in illness, mainly affecting the vulnerable and young, caused by the frosty atmosphere and isolation. Elsa of Arendelle’s wicked abilities caused further detriment; rumours began to unlawfully plagued her pessimistic subjects deeming her at fault. If it was not for Princess Grethe’s compassion for the public, then Elsa would have found herself vulnerable for treason.

Further inland, women darted around, completing quaint touches to the port. They hung newly bloomed flowers, replacing the oaky scent with floral sweetness, while teenagers aided with pitching bunting to posts. A stray elkhound scampered his way in and out of the crowds, his maw dribbling with saliva as he held something in his mouth. He was so intent on a path, that he accidentally bowled over an unaware child (who immediately combusted into tears) in his primal excitement. The large dog was bounding toward the castle, a place where he received scraps from the kitchen staff and kindness from Princess Grethe herself. Such a heavy bodied animal hurdled over obstacles as elegantly as a goat on a mountain, the obscenities of an angry mother had been long drowned by the scents of blood sausages and freshly baked pastries. As tempting as they were, nothing could distract him from his mission up to the castle.
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Daylight trickled through the drawn curtain of Grethe’s chambers. The princess, who lay encased in blankets made of various pelts, did not appear enticed by the dawning sunshine. She groaned, rolling onto her side, smacking her lips in an attempt to return to sleep. She probably only managed to save three minutes, before an immense knocking echoed through the room.
“Grethe!” called a low, yet starkly feminine voice, “That dog of yours was caught causing mayhem down in the dock now! Mauled a child they say!” Grethe, at last, jolted awake. Kristoff, as much as he caused mischief, would not dare harm a fly! The wild haired princess leapt from her bed with immediate haste, stumbling in her sleepiness and threw the oversized door open, panting breathlessly in panic.

Mathilde, a rather hardened woman, stood impatiently in the middle of the frame. She tapped her foot methodically against the granite floor. Her face drooped down into a saddened frown, noticing Grethe remained in her nightwear. The housekeeper shook her head slowly, disappointment radiating like steam from melting snow,
“Oh Grethe… You know what day it is, no?” she paused, muttering something under her breath before continuing gently, “The whole village awaits your attendance and the Queen orders you–” she was abruptly halted by the clang of armour.
“Stop!” a yell painted the hall with panic and Mathilde gasped in shock as the incompetent guard slipped on the tiles, “Stop that dog!” Grethe could not help but exhale a sigh of relief that turned into a fit of hysterics but laughter irked Mathilde further. It had seemed Kristoff had managed to outsmart the guards and reach the princess, who welcomed his presence by bowing down to meet him. She allowed for slobbery kisses as the dog’s tail slapped the angry housemaid on her thigh, his eyes wide with innocent pride. Steadily, the irritation evaporated and Mathilde to joined in with the joyous reunion and petted the dog's back, chuckling softly. “My dear, if you want him out of harm, then you must learn to control him…” Mathilde sneezed, the moulting fur that floated up from the dog tickling her senses, “This thing stinks and like yourself could do with a hot bath,” the older woman pointed to the guard who just about recovered from his fall, “You here, see to it that this wretched dog gets the best treatment! Rid the mutt from fleas, even if you have to pick them out one by one- I don’t care! I will not see any harm to come to him by orders of the Princess!” It was often Mathilde spoke for Grethe, however this occasion she proved very appreciated. Returning from the floor, Grethe hugged the housemaid who in turn muffled another sneeze with her spare hand. Kristoff attempted to join in with the love, balancing on his hind legs to reach them. Frustrated, he began to spin round in circles yapping through his closed mouth, realising he could not get to the women’s faces for another peck. Despite his heightened happiness, discontent wracked his brain. He needed Grethe to be alone, to give her the artefact he found earlier.

The disgruntled guard, who was immediately demoted from his position to care for Kristoff, pulled out a chain from his pocket to restrain the dog who again evaded his seizing and out of sight again.
Princess Grethe finally released Mathilde from her warm and earnest grasp.
“I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to keep Kristoff properly now… You know how much he means to me, that ‘wretched mutt’ got me through some of my hardest chapters, you know, with Elsa’s breakdown and all…” She trailed off, abruptly remembering the cause for the gathering! She swore aloud, much to Mathilde’s shock, and threw the door in her face. Suddenly she felt a painful tenderness in her chest, locking the door from the inside. A sharp coldness clawed on the left side of her breastbone, the scar from five years ago suddenly seemed to be reopening. During Elsa’s quest for freedom she found herself struck in the heart by her sister’s destructive ice magic. The dire quest to restore the summer resulted in the almost destruction of Arendelle and Grethe’s near death. However, did it reveal Arendelle’s truest allies.

She fastened her eyes shut, seeking some sort of composure in the darkness. The princess was often reminded of the Big Freeze in times where sociality was concerned. Whenever the Queen opened up the gates did the sore reopen on her wounded heart.
 
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The breeze that assisted the vessel on its course toward Arendelle had a frosty touch as it grazed the cheeks of the young woman standing on the bow of the ship. Rather than finding the slight sting to be too harsh, she found it to be quite welcome due to its familiarity. Warmth was fleeting, something to be gained from the presence of a flame that would eventually fizzle and extinguish when it was eventually starved of materials to consume. Better to be at peace with the cold, with solitude and silence, than constantly yearning for something that was guaranteed to abandon her in the end. The slight sting also helped to ground her thoughts so that they didn't wander too far from what she was needing to focus on. The faint outline of the bustling port could be seen from where Cecilia stood, and she needed to make sure that she didn't make a mis-step with her first introduction to Queen Elsa. Relations were exceptionally rocky between the Southern Isles and Arendelle, so Cecilia's success was pivotal to at least shoring up one ally should the aggression with Eldora continue to escalate. After the actions that her cousin Hans took during his last venture to Arendelle, she was going to have her work cut out for her.

Not that she really blamed Hans, if she were to ever be forthright with anyone. Being born with limited means to make a name for one's self with the likes of Soren lingering about to stifle any chance to rise above mediocrity made one become more vicious, and opportunities were to be taken when they presented themselves. It had been a sound strategy, from what Cecilia had heard of his deeds. Not that she had actually spoken to him herself about it; he had been banished to be working in the stables as his punishment and the last thing that Cecilia needed was to have her name dragged down by association. If she was going to be bested by the other harpies at court, by the hounds always sniffing for weakness, then she was going to make them work for it rather than give them an easy target to tear their teeth into.

No doubt Arendelle would be equally as unwelcoming to Cecilia as the Southern Isles was, and at least Cecilia would be prepared rather than expecting genuine niceties. She continued playing scenarios over and over in her mind of how her first moments with the royal family might play out, trying to linger on the most distressing ones so that she wouldn't be shocked if it came true. Rebukes, she could handle that. Remarks with daggers poised at the end? Her governess would have likely said something far more cutting and cruel to her in her childhood than anything either Queen Elsa or Princess Grethe could ever utter. Nothing could phase her, she was certain.

Cecilia turned from the bow of the ship to return to the room she had been staying in during this voyage. Time to prepare to disembark and see which of her preposed scenarios would come to fruition. She had already taken pains to arrange her nearly white hair into comely braids tied with black ribbon, so all that was left was slipping into her more ornate attire. Blue was to be worn only by members of the royal family of which Cecilia was certainly not. Red was acceptable for nobility such as Cecilia, and so it was a black and red gown that she donned with minimal jewelry. No need to be ostentatious. Everyone was aware of why she was to arrive so she didn't need to impress upon them wealth or status. The only accessory that she did bring was a small knife carefully cinched against her thigh as a last line of defense should her rapier be out of reach or her training to detect poison fail her.

A sharp squawk drew Cecilia's attention toward the stand close to where she had been sleeping, and a ghost of a smile curled on her lips as she slipped a thick leather glove on her left hand. Once the glove was in place and she had lifted her hand, Sigrun flew from her perch to land on her mistress's glove.


"Did you think I was going to leave you here on your own, Sigrun? You know me better than that," she said softly to the bird, her right hand softly stroking the peregrine falcon's feathers more to soothe herself than Sigrun. Cecilia was all that the bird had ever known so the bond of trust was exceptional between the two. Sigrun was the only creature in the world that had Cecilia's complete faith and trust, in fact. "If I were the queen then I would be sure to greet my guest as soon as she disembarked. Not because of respect, but rather to catch the person off guard and therefore have the upper hand. So I will assume that we are going to be meeting Queen Elsa quite swiftly. At least I do not have to remind you to be on your best behavior."

After making sure that her belongings were going to be tended to carefully, specific instructions being given for the trunk bearing her rapier, Cecilia steeled herself and made her way toward to disembarking ramp. Each click of her heels echoed in her ears as they struck the solid wood of the fine ship she had sailed upon, and she was quite aware of each breath entering and then leaving her lungs. Shoulders rolled back with her spine straightened as much as possible to achieve her tallest height, Cecilia paused once she was no longer on the ship. Not so much to give time for the herald to announce her presence, but rather to acclimate to how the ground still felt like it was moving beneath her.

"Lady Cecilia, Countess of Zollern of the Southern Isles"
 

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