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"Many people love the idea of you, but lack the maturity to handle the reality of you."


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"Buddhist says:
"If you meet somebody and your heart pounds, your hands shake, and your knees go weak, that's not the one.
When you meet your 'soul mate' you'll feel calm. No anxiety, no agitation."


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"dear self,

i have this inevitable tendency to over analyze, to say too much, or not enough. i say the wrong things at the wrong time. i am too honest at inappropriate times and keep my mouth shut at times when i should’ve said something. i am always clumsy, always tired, and always wanting more." ~ tumblr

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Personality Type: INTP

INTPs seek patterns and logical explanations for anything. They're usually extremely bright, and able to be objectively critical in their analysis. They love new ideas, and become very excited over abstractions and theories. They love to discuss concepts with others.

INTPs are very tolerant and flexible in most situations, unless one of their firmly held beliefs has been violated or challenged, in which case they may take a very rigid stance.

INTPs are likely to express themselves in what they believe to be absolute truths. Sometimes, their well thought-out understanding of an idea is not easily understandable by others, but the INTP is not naturally likely to tailor the truth so as to explain it in an understandable way to others.

The INTP is usually very independent and unconventional. They are not likely to place much value on traditional goals such as popularity and security. They usually have complex characters, and may tend to be restless and temperamental."

Life Path Number: 11/2



11

"There is so much going on in your psyche that you are often misunderstood early. You have more potential than you usually give yourself credit for. You galvanize and stimulate every situation you enter. You inspire people, but without conscious effort.

Ideas, thoughts, understanding and insight come to you without you having to go through rational thought processes.

You possess great abilities, but indulge in much self-reflection and self-criticism.

You may be frustrated, largely because you have extremely high expectations of yourself, but these expectations can be unrealistic and end up preventing you from accomplishing anything.

You can be very impractical, envisioning a skyscraper when only a bungalow is required.

As an 11 Life Path you are a highly charged version of the 2, and possess similar characteristics and talents, as you can be extremely tactful and diplomatic. However, when you feel you have been jilted, you can react with devastating artillery, using personal criticisms vindictively to wound your enemy.

2

The keyword in your nature is peacemaker.

At least, until you're pushed to your limit.

You are extremely emotional, perceptive and a bit standoffish or cold towards outsiders.

It takes a while for you to let others in, for others have to earn it.

These qualities are both your strengths and your weaknesses, for while you have enormous sensitivity to your feelings and those of others, the same sensitivity can cause you to hold back and repress."

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"Telling someone they can't be sad because other people have it worse is like telling someone they can't be happy because someone has it better."

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He's too old for this.

Really, ᖇᕮᗩᒪᒪY too old for this.

There's just a certain stage in your life when you shouldn't still be having what the "kids" call ᑕᖇᑌᔕᕼᕮᔕ. Especially on women ᗯᗩY TOO YOᑌᑎG ᖴOᖇ YOᑌ.

He'd been married before, so he should be mature enough to approach a gorgeous lady with tact.

Unfortunately, that's just not how it's been going for the past year.

Or as Kim Fields would say, "TᕼᗩT'ᔕ ᑎOT ᕼOᗯ ᔕᕼIT ᔕᕼOOK OᑌT."

.

.

.

[1]

.

.

.

It was ᑕOᒪᒪᕮGᕮ ᑭᗩᖇᕮᑎTᔕ ᗯᕮᕮKᕮᑎᗪ for the instructors of the ᗩᖇT IᑎᔕTITᑌTIOᑎ. The campus looked like a termite colony of noisy students and gaudy parents scurrying back and forth from the mixers to the breakfast cafeteria as they waited to be called in for parent-teacher meetings, but he couldn't wait for the Saturday morning to be over. Just staring at the lair of hobbits and orcs from the window of his classroom made him want to go home and ᘜO TO ᔕᒪᙓᙓᑭ.

"So, what exactly is this s'pposed to be about again?"

Eugene glanced back at the unwanted company sitting on top of a desk with a thick red book in his hand and a finger to his temple as he squinted at the pages of his own critically acclaimed novel.

"Flynnigan kills a witch ― right? ― saves the enslaved princess, runs away to live with the enslaved princess, takes the enslaved princess back home when she decides she wants to see her real family, marries the enslaved princess when he takes her back to her real family, and then...what? His life is fur'ever changed after getting the wealth and spiffy castle he always wanted?"

"Forgive me for asking, but...why are you in my classroom again?"

"It just seems a little...gah, I dun' know...anti-climatic 'er sump'thing. I mean, level with me here for a sec', what was the lesson he learned if he just ends up getting his selfish quote-on-quote "aspirations" handed to him on a silver platter? Since this won the National Book Award, I'd really like to know what I'm missing."

He wasn't too sure if his "company" realized that his heart wasn't set on the conversation, and that all that was there was his head, but he entertained the challenge anyway:

"Okay, first of all ― the silver lining is about transformation, which is what you're literally dodging by all means unnecessary. Flynnigan wanted to be rich, but he made the choice...to be in love, and because he threw that first choice away for something more noble, fate rewarded him with a noble living. It's a prime example of getting something good when you're not looking for it."

"...Not buyin' it."

"...And that's because you can't afford it."

"Ouch. That was way unprofessional. Do you flirt with the female students like that, too?"

"Haddock, aren't you supposed to be the bell-ringer? Shouldn't you be walking through classrooms jingling bells to let parents know when their time is up?"

"Not until the "procession" starts. Who's first on your list, by the way?"

"Uhhh...de-de-dum, do-do-deee~..." He flipped the pages of the roster on his clipboard. "Elsa Inge-borg."

"Anna Ingeborg's mom, huh?"

"Most likely, yes."

Or so he thought.

.

.

.

Cover by Kingdomdance by x-Jazzy-B-Real-x

Category: Movie Crossover » Frozen | Tangled
For: #promptchallenge > "Union of the Crowns."
Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Politics | Character Death | Family 


♕ Summary ►

(Prequel to "Indentured: Union of the Crowns")

♕ Previous Chapter



o()x༻༺༻༺xxxxxxxxxxxxxx༻༺༻༺x()o


༺()()༻


D e a r   C o u s i n


From
Queen Elsa



o()x༻༺༻༺xxxxxxx❅xxxxxxx༻༺༻༺x()o



༺♕༻



╓───────────༓───────────╖


February 8th


1847 A.D.


╙───────────༓───────────╜

To His Majesty the King,

Please don't be; you have nothing to be sorry about. You've no idea how much you've calmed my spirit by writing back to me at all. Anna read your letter out loud while I was in bed with a head cold. Worrying about your conditions has taken a toll on my own immune system; my conviviality with the Storting is not in the best shape, either – but that's neither here nor there. I've been isolated from the truth for so long that I thought my only option would be to "horn my way in" after all, armed with a tissue box and all.

I'm sad to hear that you didn't get my first letter. I put my heart into it. If you ever do find it, please ignore the hammy grammar; the ink seeped through the paper somewhere between the second and last paragraph. I do thank you for telling me about what happened to the third, but I'm not surprised to hear it; yours also had some trouble getting back to me in one piece before leaving Corona's harbor. When winter ends, I'd like to discuss using a messenger bird to maintain our privacy; there's a nominee in mind, but he's much bigger than your average homing pigeon.

To let you know likewise – I was recently notified about your message-bearer being attacked in Corona, but the story I received alluded to a mobbing in Hohendorf, not a confrontation with highwaymen. When I heard it, the first thought that came to mind was: "Why was the messenger in Hohendorf if he usually sails straight to the port island?" We're both in agreement about there being illogical variables in this anecdote. Strangely enough, I haven't heard anything else about these anonymous insurrectionists since. Was any light shed on Hohendorf or the aforementioned inconsistencies after you sent me your letter?

I'd also like to take the time to confirm that I was never informed by Lord Constantine about any Regency Act or " Care of King " installation. I was told to my face that you neither could nor wanted to see anyone as the result of a nervous breakdown. I'm familiar with dysthymia and dysthymic side effects, so I knew the best thing to do was to respect your space and go about future interaction with sensitivity. Since none of that was necessary, this letter has given me yet another reason to hold your ministers in low regard and reconsider that image of "horning my way into Corona." The fact that any expectations had been made for your "future death" without anyone in Corona's peerage communicating that much with me speaks volumes about the dysfunction in our interrelationship.

In one way, I have a right to be furious. In another, I wonder if I deserve it for allowing interrelations to become this dysfunctional, and you this vulnerable. In the best, your following disclosure overrides every feeling its predecessor left behind. It brings meaning to my morning to read about your mind state after all these weeks of suspense. Your vantage point is soothing; I think these were the same words I tried to tell myself when I was crowned in the chapel at twenty-one.

– Unlike that young girl, I'm confident that you won't "fall apart" if you remember to lean on the support system she mistakenly didn't. What I was essentially saying in my first note was that you don't need to be "that buttress" alone, and it's still true today. I confess that I did expect "rack and ruin," and I was preparing for the worst. Now I'm only proud to hear that you've chosen to prepare for the best as best you can. I think our family above is just as.

However, the paragraph about "food poisoning" has taken me longer to digest. I was made aware of the conspiracy before your letter reached my study, and I have to say that it's been harder to revisit, because I have a formal relationship with the third married brother of the Southern IslesKing Kasimir of Norrlind, along with his envoy, Sigfus Söderman, were attached to a scandalous post concerning homosexuality yesternoon, so I read everything you've written of here in that newspaper's sidebar, much of which had already been reiterated by my Council of State earlier that morning. Awkwardly, King Kasimir is also the husband of Queen Malmö, whom I'm good friends with, but if the rumors are true about Sigfus, then I'd much rather hope they are so that this might confirm his innocence in the ploy to bring harm to our family. It's still completely possible that he executed his lover to "save face," as you call it, but I want to hope that he's different from his youngest brother.

Be that as it may, he has invited me to a banquet in Vadstena Castle for something which he felt he couldn't tell me in a letter, and it involved you, Your Majesty. If it were possible for His Majesty to attend as my partner for the evening, I would be grateful to not confront him alone, but with how things are going, I know we'll have to find another chance to "infiltrate" the king. For now, I wish to tell you in confidence that I'll be conducting an investigation of my own for the sake of my conscience and your well-being. I'd herefore like to know whether there is any other information about the 'foreign physician' who exaggerated your illness, the exact timeline of your malnutrition, his arrival, the entrance of Sigfus, and a copy of the Southern Isles' apology appended with Norrlind's.

Fourthly, I've been interviewing pediatricians from my bedside about the premature symptoms you listed. One thing that's been brought up is placental abruption, which causes internal bleeding in the mother and hypoxic damage in the infant. Did your medic ever tell you whether Princess Isolde had sleep apnea, and was she blue after birth? There are doctors from the east who say the lungs are not always affected during sleep apnea in spite of the pauses, and there are others who spoke to me about resuscitated infants with perinatal asphyxia. A small group of Nordic clinicians have been researching a "controlled hypothermia" method here in Hordaland for babies with neonatal encephalopathy, too.

I actually became a participant in the last party's vocation. In April of 1846, their goal was to study whether performing body-cooling techniques on oxygen-deprived newborns could reduce the risk of brain damage and cardiac arrest in five orphans. To my hesitation, I was asked to partake in these trial runs as a key asset.

(Please don't be afraid of where I'm going with this)

In spite of the fact that I could harness my powers, I turned down the offer three times. The only "body-friendly content" I ever "distributed" involved ice cream cakes, chocolate ice cream, petticoats, and spiffy dresses. Later that year, I was "stuck between a rock and a hard place" after being presented with a list of newborns who had died from NE, many whose mothers I knew personally, and several who were on their way. My first collaboration with the "quack doctors" (this is what they called themselves; not sure why) turned out better than I imagined. Under their guidance, we practiced body cooling treatments between 33.5°C and 34.5°C for seventy-two hours before applying a four hour re-warming.

I spent a good amount of my time monitoring the spell for another five orphans in Hordaland, and at the end of the year, I made "therapeutic hypothermic" blankets for individual infants who have now been discharged with healthy oxygen flows to the brain. Because the cloaks were a hybrid between my magic and standard fabric, Anna thinks they look like "dragon scales" or a "mermaid tail cloth" with "water circulating inside the beads."

(I'm sorry – this recollection got a little too long.)

Even so, the body-cooling treatment for neonates has only been done six hours after birth, and I'm not sure what your daughter's core condition is, so I'm not giving you a referral to this practice. I would, however, like to get you acquainted with the practitioners. Two of them have successfully diagnosed and sustained infants with hypoxiation. This is also the part where I have to apologize for not asking for your permission first, but I've already asked them to set sail because I didn't feel like there was much time. I hope this is fine. Simply feel free to refuse or recruit them when they arrive.

If you do agree to a consultation, then from there on, a diagnosis can be determined, a proposition can be pitched, and a daily procedure can be utilized. Both men asked me to supply my blanket in addition; I don't know what good it could do, but if they can make another use out of it, then I'd like to contribute. Again, you don't have to use my charm if you're uncomfortable with it. The therapy hasn't been publicized, and neither has this cloak; we've temporarily decided to contain it in Arendelle for good reason. When the silver package arrives with this letter, please send it back if my offer oversteps your comfort zone.

If not, then know that the cloak inside is soothingly cool to the touch, so don't worry about holding the fabric in case you're curious. Dr. Ingul and Dr. Waldus will educate you further on it. Furthermore, I appreciate you for not holding my lack of past participation against me. Hohendorf and I had interesting encounters during my first stay in Corona, so believe me when I say that I'm very used to it. The only opinion I cared about yours.

Now I'd like to address the famine response methods you hinted at towards the end of your letter. My father devised Arendelle's relief operation before I was born, so I had a policy to turn to. I'll start with the most important question:

Is food unaffordable or unavailable in Corona's impoverished areas?

If the first, then retrenchment is a must. Hopefully your parliament is already considering lowering taxes and other means that they themselves may be living far beyond. Otherwise, upperclassmen will hoard the food they can purchase, sell it to underclassmen at a steep price, and drag the rural backcountry down to the ground in the game of exploitation. This will lead to riots, violence, and unbridled rebellions against the Crown. Taxpayers will always believe that the Crown alone is responsible for nationwide chicanery.

If the second, then you don't want to be in a position where your people are primarily dependent on imported shipments from other countries. By the time the rations reach the hinterlands, an outrageous amount of Coronians will have died. To prevent that, I would advise you to close Corona's ports now instead of exporting more raw materials as the pestilence claims the higher ground. It may seem like trading with foreign partners will "save your bacon" as Kristoff would say, but it will leave the belly of the country dry when you have to fall back on your own natural resources.

From this point on, I should warn you that these recourses may or may not have the same level of impact on Corona as they did on Arendelle. We've had years to find our footing in a parliamentary democracy, and from my understanding, Corona is making transitions, but still entertains a highly incompatible feudal system, so keep these effects under your surveillance if you choose my method. I think it's worth a shot.

╓───────────༓───────────╖


With friendship and support,


Elsa


╙───────────༓───────────╜

P.S.

What does "MIA" mean?

   Cover by Kingdomdance by x-Jazzy-B-Real-x

Category: Movie Crossover » Frozen | Tangled
For: #promptchallenge > "Union of the Crowns."
Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Politics | Character Death | Family 


♕ Summary ►

(Prequel to "Indentured: Union of the Crowns")

♕ Previous Chapter



[☀]༻♕༺[❄]




╓───────────☼───────────╖


February 5th


1847 A.D.


╙───────────☼───────────╜


To Her Majesty the Queen,

I'm the one who should be sorry. I want to start off by apologizing to you and Her Highness for all the drama that's been "systematically" choreographed under my nose. I didn't mean to leave either one of you ladies in limbo, and I most definitely didn't mean to leave you in a hotbed of controversy. I feel like if there's anyone who felt alone that week, it was you two. Now that I'm "lucid," I have a lot of damage control to do, but I also have a lot to mend, so here's to hoping that you're still open to hearing me out one last time as your ally, trade partner, and cousin.

First things first: I never received your first letter, so I'm apologizing in advance for not being able to respond to that in the future. Supposedly it was delivered to my study, but 'supposedly' is just that. That's one disadvantage to having other people in charge of shipping and handling when you're down for the count. Now, your second letter is what I do have, but I think you should know that this third one you sent was smudged and torn off after: "In conclusion, I hope that Your Majesty can t..." My messenger says he was intercepted by "highwaymen" on his way to the island, but I think there's a lot more to the story than what I'm being "allowed" to know.

Secondly: my representative. I don't know if you were informed by my council, but Corona's parliament has a program in place called "Care of King During Illness." You might remember this Regency Act being passed for King George III in my father's country, and like that one, this is pretty much the one time parliament can act without any go-ahead from the Crown. The difference between his and mine is that it doesn't take "losing your fellow marbles" to fall in line with what registers as "incapacitation" and what doesn't. Parliament chose to appoint my First Lord (in your country, the "Prime Minister") to administer the kingdom as the "Guardian of the Crown," so while I fell into the category of "suffering a life-threatening illness," he fell into the category of "calling the shots."

In accordance, I was suspended from my royal functions two days before you docked. Ironic, right? Now, you might still be asking yourself how I fit the "incapacitant" description when I wasn't on my death bed in the first place. By the time I could actually gurgle out a sentence, I was asking every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the room this same question. To be straightforward, "misinformation" — or a spectacularly orchestrated lie, and kudos to the maestro for conducting it — was kickballed back and forth between the "foreign" physician and my council about me not only being "mortician ready" in a month's time, but also being "mentally unfit" to re-take the throne because of "depression and self-starvation" if I did survive.

Whatever disbelief you have, please feel free to express it now. Keep in mind that none of this was "formally" pedaled out to the masses because parliament didn't want to add that to — what was supposed to be — the celebration of my wife's life. But I'm here to tell you, wide and awake, that what you heard was false. It's not true that I wasn't eating because of depression. It's not true that I had "withdrawn from socialization," and as long as I have something to say about it, it'll never be true that I've "practically succumbed to suicide." Not on my watch.

Your cousin, Queen Rapunzel, and myself, did not candy-coat, tippy-toe, or dance around what was going on and what could've happened as a result of what was going on. Attempting to have another baby wasn't something I wanted to do at all, but my wife had different plans, — or to put it correctly — a different dream, and I couldn't do anything to hold her back from pursuing that dream. She openly acknowledged the risks, made preparations, and talked about what should happen if anything ever did. Or at least, we tried to talk about them, and we tried to talk about them as rationally as possible. I made a vow to her, however, that should this day actually come — and we knew it would come either twenty years from now or ten years from now in another form — then I would be strong for our baby and Rapunzel's heart.

Rapunzel's 'heart' is her kingdom, her people, and her country, so if I did anything to go back on that promise, then that wouldn't just make me a liar and a hypocrite; it would also cause everything we promised each other to go to rack and ruin. I can't be a pillar for Corona, my wife, her parents, or our newborn daughter by falling apart, shutting down, and attempting suicide. None of those "evacuation options" are options; there's no time or room for them to be. Everyone in Corona has been hit; it's not just me, and I have to be that buttress to hold the kingdom together. Doing the opposite of that isn't what Rapunzel, her father, or her mother expect from me; they certainly haven't "left" by any definition of the word, so I know what they want.

What wasn't a lie was my fever; I did undergo that, but like everything else that was "skewed" for sensationalism, it was because my body was fighting poison. Heavy, consistent doses of poison being served to me on a platter each and every day like it was corn on a cob. The mysterious mastermind behind the scenes did a terrific job at it, too. He did the absolute best in the business, because he managed to avoid the entire, "Who poisoned the king?" fiasco; he set it up to look like the king was just making himself sick from natural, self-inflicted, and depressive "torment."

Thirdly: I see you mentioned the Southern Isles, our current "monkey in the middle." I know Arendelle is in a cordial place with the isles, but our two kingdoms aren't 'simpatico' at the moment, so I'm genuinely surprised that they used Rapunzel's ceremony for "peace-mongering." To add even more salt to the sandwich, I found out yesterday that one of their envoys (the married brother's, I believe) happened to be the so-called "mystery poisoner in question."  'Apparently' he and the 'foreign physician' had been in cahoots. An almost too obvious decoy, if I do say so myself, because there's always some swamp monster crawling out of that kingdom's marshland, but the king and his brothers denied any knowledge, made an inhumane spectacle of the man's execution, and wrote "the Coronian public" an open apology today.

Until I can dig up more dirt, I have no choice but to accept it. I'm still going to keep my reservations reserved, since as far as I'm concerned, if you're not trying to save face, then there's a good chance that you would've delivered that apology to me directly.

Fourthly: I can assure you that I didn't order anyone to keep you from Isolde. I had no idea any of this was happening. This was an issue that Constantine and our High Councillor took into their own hands, and from what you just wrote, they took it too far. As Rapunzel's cousin, you most certainly deserve to know that Isolde has some defects the High Councillor didn't want the public to know about during the week you were here. Because my little girl was born prematurely, she's been under an intensive care system due to low immune tolerance and respiratory distress.

For her first five days of life, she wouldn't even open her eyes. After the sixth, she caught an infection from her wet nurse's breast milk. There are still mornings where she will suddenly stop breathing for more than twenty seconds before the physician has to revive her. We've been trying to keep her strength up and find more adequate ways to deal with this ever since. Thanks to all of that, there were plenty of concerns I had during that first week; unless it was myself, I did want her nurse to be the only one to share air with her at that time, and even then I was paranoid, but some of my concerns were taken out of context by my council after I was "incapacitated."

Right now, I'm trying to decide what would be the best thing to do for my daughter when it comes to other problems I have to consider. She's a joy, though; a real little dragonfly. When everything is better, I'll have absolutely no problem with Her Highness coming to stay with us every once and a while to see Isolde smile. She's got enough horsepower in that little body to grin wider than Pascal when I tickle her little cheek. 

Fifthly: I don't feel bitter about you being MIA yourself. I appreciate you for stepping in when I couldn't. I know some people weren't happy about it, but don't beat yourself up with trying to find ways to make excuses for that audience. A lot were grateful. Some folks just won't change their opinions even after you try to prove who you really are despite having a clear record for almost ten years. I've learned to live with it; not that the pigeonholing ever stops, but you know how this story plays out: "Don't care about what they're going to say."

Now with that being said, "magic bashing" isn't a hobby we "advocate" in the capital of Corona. You aren't wrong about natives having certain views on magic. Our "theology" mostly derives around the sun, and anything that falls from it is seen as something that fell from "Kingdom Come." While Corona actually never knew about your cousin's hair being magical, the kingdom called her an "angel from above" when she was born, so she already had a label pinned to her. Then we have the conjurers, which are separate from "angels in disguise," and Corona has had a long history of staking these "Gothel type" women through the decades.

I personally never jumped on either bandwagon, since it's a little more than "irrational" to turn people into "angels" or "devils" based on what's "unknown" about them instead of what's in their character. Rapunzel and I outlawed witch-hunts and lynchings when we succeeded to the throne for that reason. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't know that rural Hohendorf is still a breeding ground for superstitious clans and their irrational fear of the unknown, but I do know that they'd never think of rallying against you. Any public harassment or assault is illegal whether the target is a vagabond or a farmer. While I can promise you that no one on the castle's island entertains their behavior, either, I do apologize on Corona's behalf if you faced any unspoken antagonism thinly veiled by "politics."

I do agree with you about the ceremony; I had a tug-a-war with the parliament about how arrangements should be done. Lying in State was not what I wanted, but spreading ashes over the ocean isn't a Coronian tradition that's up for "changing." I'm going to try to change that, anyway. All in all, I want to thank you again for coming down and doing what you could for Rapunzel on this side of the equator. I don't have access to a plethora of information about Her Majesty outside of journalism, charity chronicles, Rapunzel's word, and those thirteen hours spent in Arendelle before we sailed home, but I really do appreciate this year's support.

╓───────────☼───────────╖


With thanks,


King Eugene of Corona


╙───────────☼───────────╜

P.S.

I'm glad you mentioned the food crisis. I've drawn up a framework for a "famine relief" program, but I've been meaning to pick your brain for some useful concepts, since I recall that Arendelle gracefully dealt with a smaller outbreak a while back. Would Her Majesty be alright with sharing some cerebral synergy?





Next Chapter

Cover by Kingdomdance by x-Jazzy-B-Real-x

Category: Movie Crossover » Frozen | Tangled
For: #promptchallenge > "Polyamorous  Love Triangle."
Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Friendship | Romance | 15+


♕ Summary ►

She wears blonde wigs because her brown hair doesn't grow.
She wears gloves because her syndrome makes her hands numb.
He writes plays because he wants dramatic flair to substitute sob stories.
But they all knew what it was to feel like "you" weren't enough.

"Did you ever think about us? ...All of us?" [One-shot / Modern AU] + [Rapunzel's POV] + [Rapunzel/Elsa x Eugene/Elsa x Rapunzel/Eugene]


[ one /: "u s" ]

.

.

Musical scores.

He hated them.

But she liked them.

He seriously didn't get why she liked them, but if it made her happy, then that was all he cared about.

The perpetual shedding of her hair made her sad on many lonely weekends, so he tried to create a safe enough haven where, on a good day, she could bounce around the bedroom singing the songs of his plays, particularly every score from, "The Tangled Tales of Rapunzel." Each segment had been custom-made to serve as a type of self-surrogate for her.

Rapunzel, the sunflower girl.

Rapunzel, the frying pan warrior.

Rapunzel, the lost princess.

And she wanted to believe she was a lost princess. That the prickly, dark brown hair on her scalp only shed to make room for a diamond tiara and sunshine strands instead.

It became a harmless term of endearment, at first ― to call her Rapunzel; to nickname her Blondie ― because at least it took her mind off the flowing mane she didn't have. At least it took her mind off the disease.

But she'd grown used to answering to "Rapunzel" until she preferred it. Everyday he told her that she looked fine without the long wigs, that she needn't try to be society's stereotypical blonde, or some gorgeous conventional beauty, which her witch of a caretaker used to compare her to.

Eugene liked her buck teeth.

Eugene liked her brunette hair.

Eugene liked her chickenpox freckles.

Eugene liked her piglet snout.

Eugene liked her even though she didn't know what to like about herself yet.

And it helped that he knew. He knew what it was to feel like "you" weren't enough.

.

.

[ two /: "h e r" ]

.

.

She was harmless.

With her mellow smile, raised chin, folded hands, and elegant carriage, she was the Christine Daae of the theatre.

And above all else, she was beautiful. Sensual, even. 'Tastefully sexy.' A shimmering sapphire against a backdrop of bland 'dames.'

Everyone else said she was, so therefore she was.

"I want 'er," he blubbered, like she was a piece of merchandise to add to his inventory. "She's a walking, talking carbon copy wrapped up in one sellable package."

These little parts of speech didn't mean anything. It was just business. His art. And she was a walking, talking carbon copy wrapped up in one sellable package.

So she petted the back of her spiky brown hair, eaten away as it was by the disease, and nodded like she really agreed. "She'd make a great Snow Queen for your play, Eugene."

.

.

[ three /: "them" ]

.

.

She was polite in her first reading. Modest. Soft-spoken. "Underwhelmingly understated," he criticized. She read her lines with passivity and regality, which was not required of the "angelic villain" she'd play.

Then she sang. With power. Passion. The musical's catchy tune about letting go and just being you. The Snow Queen became a burning sunrise.

And she couldn't stop staring at her.

Her husband couldn't stop staring at her, either.

.

.

[ four /: "h i m" ]

.

.

He came home late that night and put one of his scripts down. He's always piling stories on the coffee table.

Anna and the King was on Netflix, so they watched it after a TV dinner.

She patted her spiky brown hair mid-movie. Her hand has to reach higher now to find a lock, so her eyes tried to focus on the film to make her heart focus off her scalp. She proceeded to comment on how unnatural it was for the king to have so many wives. He joked about how amusing it would be if polygamy was legal.

.

.

[ five /: "them" ]

.

.

"Hi."

"...Hey."

She came to his "For Cast & Crew" wineglass party in a tight, turquoise dress. Her hourglass figure was obvious, but he tried to act like he didn't notice. Said her legs must've been freezing in the New York weather.

She said the cold didn't bother her.

He said she must've lacked a normal body temperature.

This passive aggressive banter went on for a while, until they weren't talking to anyone else for an hour.

.

.

[ six /: "h e r" ]

.

.

He wanted her to rehearse the line: "The cold never bothered me, anyway," again and again.

He wanted her to be sexy.

She was embarrassed to be. Painfully embarrassed. Adorably embarrassed. But she curled her mouth the way he liked it, and wagged her eyebrow right at him, reciting the words with the sultriest purr she'd ever heard.

"...Would 'jou...mind saying that one more time?" he peeped, making everyone, including her, laugh in embarrassment.

These little parts of speech didn't mean anything. It was just business. His art. And she was a walking, talking carbon copy wrapped up in one sellable package.

So she petted the back of her spiky brown hair, eaten away as it was by the disease, and smiled like it didn't do funny things to her own stomach, too.

.

.

[ seven /: "h i m" ]

.

.

She kissed terribly on stage.

"You're serving it too cold."

She was meant to kiss Kay twice, the adult prince Eugene's Snow Queen had to freeze. Like in the original story, she had to kiss him once to numb him from the cold, and a second time to make him forget about his―

"Downer sob story," Eugene shoehorned in. "She's tabling the ultimate offer: 'Do you want to be numb?' This is a woman who's been told she can't be who she is her entire life. Right now is the one and only time she's ever been in control of something  and someone. So when they kiss, it has to be electric. Seductive. Dam-breaking. The Snow Queen has been a snow-capped volcano for twenty-one years, and you have to embody all of that: the virgin girl and the repressed temptress throbbing underneath."

But she couldn't kiss Kay the way Eugene 'liked it.'

She couldn't kiss him fiercely. She could only kiss him self-consciously ― timidly ― like she was scared of giving him frostbite. Scared to erupt and let go.

So Eugene asked to see her privately after rehearsal to "pick her brain and draw her out."

These little parts of speech didn't mean anything. It was just business.

.

.

[ eight /: "them" ]

.

.

She found them backstage.

Her with her hands folded against her chest. Him with his arms crossed as he leaned against the wooden post.

She was mouthing something about Raynaud's Phenomenon and "side effects."

Something about how she doesn't know if she can go on.

How she's sorry to be an inconvenience.

But he touches her forearm, cranes his head in, and says, "Hey..."

She looks up at him like a little girl.

He smiled apologetically. Apologizing to her. For her. For this. And tells her never to apologize again.

These little parts of speech didn't mean anything. It was just business.

.

.

[ nine /: "h i m" ]

.

.

After a quick breakfast at home, he said he wanted to change his script, or make a new one for a spin-off. He said he wanted to make it a love story about the Snow Queen's hands.

She didn't understand. What did hands have to do with a frozen heart?

.

.

[ ten /: "h e r" ]

.

.

She doesn't look the same at rehearsal. She's holding her elbows all the time. She carries gloves all the time. Her smile is tired all the time.

And above all else, she wasn't beautiful. Ugly, even. 'Hauntingly dead.'

Everyone else said she was, so therefore she was.

"Elsa, is everything okay? You don't look like you're feeling too well," she pointed out.

"I'm fine. I didn't get enough sleep last night; that's all."

When she leaves rehearsal, Eugene says she's lying. He says she has lupus. Then he says he didn't say it.

.

.

[ eleven /: "u s" ]

.

.

She and her talk about their autoimmune disorders in a coffee shop before she has to go to the doctor.

She says she has Raynaud's Phenomenon, which means her hands turn white when her body temperature drops due to lupus. Has to go to therapy. Has to monitor her stress levels because she was no longer in "remission." She even said that other people would treat her like she was "different" or "handicapped" whenever they saw her fingertips. That the kids used to call her a freak.

She told Elsa that she understood how she felt. How it helped that Elsa knew what it was to feel like "you" weren't enough.

Elsa told her Eugene already knew about her syndrome. That he'd tried to keep her "oddity" a secret, like he'd done hers.

"That sounds like him. He doesn't want people to know, but he's really sweet at heart."

She smiled tightly and said she already knew.

.

.

[ twelve /: "h e r" ]

.

.

She teaches her how to make sculptures one day. Guides her hand. Smiles warmly at her. They're both artists, but she's never sculpted anything. It feels awkward to have Elsa's chest pressed against her back, but she tried to respect her space as much as possible.

Then she put her thin, wilting hair behind the shells of her ears, just grazing them with her fingernails, making them tingle. "You have to put your hair back before you sculpt."

She nervously bit the corner of her mouth in response.

"...You know ― your hair is very pretty just the way it is," Elsa added. "You shouldn't hide it under blonde wigs."

She was beautiful, and there was something loving about her, like when her eyes go gentle and she smiles tenderly at you. Just you. But she was a hypocrite, too.

"You should love yourself just the way you are," she continued, still smiling. "I've had to learn that the hard way."

And she liked her.

Elsa liked her buck teeth.

Elsa liked her brunette hair.

Elsa liked her chickenpox freckles.

Elsa liked her piglet snout.

She liked her even though she didn't know herself yet.

And she told herself that she liked her back.

She liked her snow-white teeth.

She liked her ice-blonde hair.

She liked her faded freckles.

She liked her sharp nose.

She liked her because she wanted to be her and no one else, and that meant everything to her.

.

.

[ thirteen /: "h i m" ]

.

.

She was proclaimed "captivating" at the premiere by critics. It seemed like she'd become the audience's fap material.

Everyone else said she was, so therefore she was.

"G'ad..." he mumbled, barely getting the breath past his lips.

She was waltzing across the stage on her tippy-toes by herself, the transparent layers of her sapphire dress flying under her like a spinning flower. Her flushed throat resembled a red wineglass, and the overhead lights made her sweat look like sugar.

And he was looking at her like he was having a hard time swallowing and keeping his eyes open.

But it didn't mean anything. Her husband just likes to go weak in the knees for pretty, shiny, and superficial things. Things that remind him of sapphires and diamonds. Beautiful women and other womanizer addictions. A Dalmatian never loses its spots, after all. Especially one in withdrawal. It's always harmless. It's just a part of marital transition.

Everyone else said that, so therefore it was true.

But she wondered if he thought about her in the bathroom like the other men did. He wondered if he thought she was sexy, because she was and she was not.

.

.

[ fourteen /: "u s" ]

.

.

They have their first wedding anniversary. He makes love to her six times in a row. Had a blackout in the fifth.

He never blacked out before. He never made love to her six times before. He never touched her like he was touching someone new.

He kissed her the next morning, muttering sweet, romantic nothings in silly innuendos, nuzzling her hedgehog scalp. He loved it just the way it was, he said. That she's beautiful even with her hair (or lack of). The lace-fronts just weren't "befitting on you."

.

.

[ fifteen /: "h e r" ]

.

.

They all meet in the coffee shop.

He asks how her hands are doing.

She says they're fine, amused by how he asks.

She always says things are fine, but today she kept looking at her hands like they were strangers.

.

.

[ sixteen /: "them" ]

.

.

She missed three shows for her doctor appointments. They visited her at her apartment.

Upon entry, she doesn't look the same. She's holding her elbows, but she's not wearing gloves. Her fingers are exposed, and they look white and purple at the tips.

"It's been this way for three days."

But she says her doctor is handling it.

Eugene says she's lying.

Elsa says she's fine.

This passive aggressive argument went on for a while, until they weren't talking to each other for an hour.

.

.

[ seventeen /: "h e r" ]

.

.

She missed six shows in a row.

They called her apartment.

She didn't answer.

.

.

[ eighteen /: "h e r" ]

.

.

She left the show altogether.

They called her apartment.

She answered.

Then cried.

.

.

[ nineteen /: "h e r" ]

.

.

They invited her to the coffee shop when her joints have stopped hurting.

And she arrived. Sickly. Unhealthy. Ashen. Haggard. Skin-rashed.

But she smiled like everything's fine. Because everything's always fine. "I'm fine," she says.

There are so many ways you want to hold Elsa but can't. Because she's always fine and you always have to say okay. If you don't say okay, she leaves.

.

.

[ twenty /: "them" ]

.

.

They invited her to their apartment when her lungs have stopped hurting.

She can't walk well, so they both helped her sit down.

He gave her a reassuring squeeze on the cold hand in the process.

She smiled tightly. Tearfully. Looking up at him like a little girl.

He smiled back. Apologizing to her. For her. For this.

It's a wonder if her husband ever told her, "you're beautiful even with your hands," too.

.

.

[ twenty-one /: "u s" ]

.

.

They invited her to their apartment when her rashes have stopped coming.

The Dare was on Netflix, so they watched it after a TV dinner. The main cast had two boys and one girl weaved into a three-pronged relationship.

Elsa fell asleep with her hand in Eugene's and her cheek on her shoulder.

.

.

[ twenty-two /: "u s" ]

.

.

They invited her to their apartment when her fevers have stopped coming.

Anna and the King was on Netflix, so they watched it after a TV dinner.

Elsa commented on how unnatural it was for the king to have so many wives.

She joked about how amusing it would be if polygamy was legal.

.

.

[ twenty-three /: "them" ]

.

.

She found them in the kitchen after the movie ended.

Her with her hands folded against her chest. Him with his hands on her elbows. Her not looking at him. Mouthing something about kidneys and surgery.

Something about how she doesn't know if she can go on.

About how she doesn't want to tell her.

He was rubbing her arm, both of which she had crossed. Rested a hand on her nape and gave it a reassuring stroke. Trying desperately to make her look at him.

She held the bridge of her finger to her nose, trying desperately to not cry.

He reeled her in and wrapped an arm around her, setting the side of his chin against her temple as he frowned at the floor. She took to his shoulder like a drowning child clutching onto a life saver.

It was odd, the way they were intertwined like two gorgeous gods on a Roman painting, because it made her want to wobble forward and wrap her arms around them both.

.

.

[ twenty-four /: "h e r" ]

.

.

She appeared on their doorstep unannounced. Has something of hers to return.

When she unwrapped it, it was the small head bust that they had sculpted together.

"You kept it..." she murmured in shock.

"Of course I did. It was beautiful." Her voice was soothing. Modest. Soft-spoken. "But I thought you should have it, since you put so much work and effort into it."

She looked up at her. She was holding her elbows again. Looking misshapen and humpbacked. The face made old and ill from months of internally fighting her own body's attacks.

But she was still beautiful, and there was still something loving about her, like when her eyes went gentle and she smiled tenderly at her. Just her.

She felt a shiver of warmth spreading through her, like a ripple widening from the center of a pond. "Why don't you come inside?" she smiled, saying it like a nun at an orphanage.

"I don't want to intrude," her mouth said, but her face said something different.

"Don't be silly! You're always welcome here."

Still she declined. Her mouth said she had a dentist appointment, but her face said something different.

.

.

[ twenty-five /: "them" ]

.

.

He'd been talking on the phone all afternoon. Sitting in the corner of the window. Speaking in low murmurs. Mouthing something about anesthesia and hospitals.

She asked him what's going on.

He said Elsa's kidney transplant date had been put on the rocks.

She wondered why she didn't tell her first and why he didn't tell her until she had to ask him first.

.

.

[ twenty-six /: "h e r" ]

.

.

She was admitted into the hospital a month later without telling them.

They prayed for her in the waiting room, which felt like the saddest, most useless thing they had ever done.

.

.

[ twenty-seven /: "h e r" ]

.

.

They came to see her in the hospital without telling her.

She didn't respond to any of the conversations they were blubbering out.

So they stopped talking.

.

.

[ twenty-eight /: "h e r" ]

.

.

They called her apartment after she was released without telling them.

She didn't answer.

They kept calling.

.

.

[ twenty-nine /: "h e r" ]

.

.

They called her apartment after she had hurt herself without telling them.

She answered.

Then laughed and cried. Apologizing for how distant she's been. Hoping that she can see them as soon as possible.

.

.

[ thirty /: "u s" ]

.

.

They arrived at her apartment.

She looked worse. Like a dead cat instead of a living person.

They talked about her sculpture art and all the things they could still do while she stayed bed-ridden, trying to make her forget about the pain.

She promised that she and Eugene would cook something for her, which he tried to weasel out of. But for all his jokes and funning, he kept looking at Elsa like he missed the actress who sang with power and passion.

She missed the Snow Queen, too.

.

.

[ thirty-one /: "u s" ]

.

.

They were invited to her apartment when she stopped feeling anemic.

He asked them both why they liked musicals.

She said it was because they made her feel alive.

Elsa said it was because they made the singer and everyone hearing them feel collectively better.

Eugene said he still hated them.

She thought she saw them both smirking at one another from behind their tea cups, like two mischievous children scolding each other with their eyes, before they ended up swapping smiles with her, too.

.

.

[ thirty-two /: "h i m" ]

.

.

After a quick breakfast at home, she asked her husband why he had wanted to re-adapt the Snow Queen in the first place.

"Well..." he started, having been sifting through her 'ice dress' sketches. "This was actually one of my favorite books growing up, because I could digest the whole idea of a magic mirror making people nasty and mean. It was a comforting thought as a kid ― that people aren't really like this in real life; they've just got shards of a demonic mirror wedged in their souls like little grains of sand." He said the last part with a humorous ring to it.

But she, as his wife, thought about his eyes when he avoided talking about foster care. Or his parents. Or who he was at the heart, except for when he's around everyone except her.

Maybe he wanted to be numb sometimes, too.

Maybe Kay was Eugene and Eugene was Kay.

Maybe that made her Gerta.

.

.

[ thirty-three /: "them" ]

.

.

Musical scores.

He still hated them.

But she had empowered them.

He seriously didn't get how she had empowered them, but if they made her happy, then he said that was all he cared about.

The perpetual whitening of her fingertips made her sad on many lonely weekends, so he tried to create a safe enough haven where, on a good day, she could hum the songs of his old plays in her bed, particularly every line from, "Let It Go." Each segment had been re-made into an embodiment of her.

It became his own harmless term of endearment, at first ― to call her the Snow Queen; to nickname her Snowflake ― because at least it took her mind off the sob story. At least it took her mind off the disease.

...And it must've helped that he knew what it was to feel like "you" weren't enough.

So she watched as he watched Elsa's eyes love the pages of his old Snow Queen script, the one she had to quit.

She watched as she stroked her chapped, craggy lips and smiled, cradling the stapled pages against her chest with one hand.

He explored her warm face as she kept her eyes in her lap. Smiled shyly. Then looked down.

And it felt odd to watch them from the hallway, like the way they didn't look at each other but still smiled, because it made her want to leave.

.

.

[ thirty-four /: "u s" ]

.

.

They were invited to her apartment when she stopped needing pain killers.

Elsa had accidentally fallen asleep on her couch with the TV on when they all watched Once Upon A Time. It was too small for all three of them so her head was in her lap and her feet were in his.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose as she slept, using her ankles to write a new story on, while she used her ice-blonde bangs to stroke through. With her mellow smile, tucked chin, folded hands, and stringy hair, she looked so harmless.

And above all else, beautiful. Wholesome, even. 'Innocently pure.' Just suffering alone.

They knew she was, so therefore she was.

.

.

[ thirty-five /: "t h e m" ]

.

.

He was talking on the phone at five in the morning. Walking around the bedroom. Sanding his hand through his hair.

Saying something about a love story about a girl loving herself and never being afraid to love herself and how it'll be his next big thing, because "she" inspired it and "she" should know how strong she is. How if it ever sees the light, he wants her to be the star. A walking, talking carbon copy wrapped up in one sellable package.

The crackled chuckle on the other end was stuffy and sad. It said: "You always base stories on people who already know themselves. What about your own story? Do you know yourself?"

He said nothing.

Ended the call after a goodbye.

Climbed back into bed.

Maybe he still wanted to be numb sometimes, too.

.

.

[ thirty-six /: "u s" ]

.

.

Elsa arrived at their apartment and stayed the afternoon.

She looked better. Like a living person instead of a dead cat.

He shows them both what's been in his heart by peeling back the pages, clearing his throat, and reading it aloud: "Frostflowers & Sunflakes."

Elsa snorted at the title before trying to hide her breathy laugh behind her hand.

He got embarrassed. Painfully embarrassed. Adorably embarrassed. "Well...aw'right, okay  so the TITLE needs some help, but...still." He dropped it on the coffee table, where all his other stories have began and ended. "I made it."

They both observed the sketch on the cover page. He was no artist, but the snowflake inwrapped with sunlight looked creative.

"I'm sure it's very good," Elsa said, looking apologetically unsure of what else to say.

"That's not what I meant." He jiggled his coat pockets. Looking painfully shy. Adorably shy. "I'm saying I made it. As in, I made it for you two."

Silence.

"...You did?" She was tickled.

Elsa was shocked, but she wasn't.

He went on to say that it was about Rapunzel thawing the Snow Queen with her sunshine hair by giving her warmth. The former was locked in a tower because of her gift, and the latter was locked in a castle because of her curse, but their connecting point was a thief who wanted to be famous for stealing the hair and a frozen heart.

"That sounds like a mess," Elsa sheepishly said.

"...Thank you for rewarding my endeavors," he sarcastically said.

He then says the musical will get better. That all three learn to be okay with being who they are just as they are, because they all learn everyone has gifts and curses but those things don't define them. He just doesn't know how it'll end, or how they'll end.

"I think it's wonderful so far, Eugene," she encouraged.

"It's an interesting concept," Elsa agreed.

He didn't look satisfied. Like he wanted to throw the script away and say he never should've brought it up because it was silly and corny and now he's shown them what's been in his heart.

But they both patted the opposite sides of his legs, pretending to pity him as a duo, to which he pretended to sigh over.

.

.

[ thirty-seven /: "t h e m" ]

.

.

She found them at the coffee shop without her.

Her with her hands holding his story. Him with his hands holding his elbows. Mouthing something about getting cold feet.

Something about how he doesn't know if he can go on.

About how he doesn't know how to be her.

But she touches his arm, cranes her head in, and says, "Then be yourself..."

He looked up at her like a little boy.

She smiled shyly. Rested a hand on his. Gave it a reassuring stroke.

And it felt odd to watch them from the door, like the way they didn't embrace each other but still embraced with their eyes, because she didn't know what it made her want to do...

She left before she could hear the rest of the conversation that they were having without her.

.

.

[ thirty-eight /: "h i m" ]

.

.

He was talking on the phone at six in the morning. Sitting in the living room. Biting his knuckles with his teeth.

Mumbling something about how hard it is to write a love story about loving yourself and never being afraid to love yourself and how it'll be his next big breakdown, because "she" inspired it and "she" should know how difficult it is.

The crackled chuckle on the other end was stuffy and sad. It said: "I know."

He said nothing. Didn't end the call after a goodbye. Didn't climb back into bed.

Maybe he still wanted to be numb all the time.

Maybe Kay was still Eugene and Eugene was still Kay.

Maybe Elsa was the Snow Queen and the Snow Queen was Elsa.

...Hopefully that still made her Gerta.

.

.

[ thirty-nine /: "them" ]

.

.

He said he was going to meet "Sugar Snow" at the coffee shop. Brings along a wine-stained script for a musical.

She asked him why he stopped piling stories on the coffee table.

He dodged the question and joked about how they're not for decoration now.

She thought that must mean they're private now.

.

.

[ forty /: "h e r" ]

.

.

She meets her at the coffee shop.

She was smoking. Smoking even though she had lupus.

She asked her if she was trying to kill herself. She said no, but she'd have a reason.

.

.

[ forty-one /: "h i m" ]

.

.

The coffee table is littered with cigarettes instead of stories now.

And that night he didn't come home.

.

.

[ forty-two /: "t h e m" ]

.

.

She was harmless.

With her mellow smile, raised chin, folded hands, and elegant carriage, she was the Elizabeth Taylor of the birthday party.

And above all else, she was beautiful. Sensual, even. 'Tastefully sexy.' A shimmering sapphire against a backdrop of bland 'dames.'

"I want you," ―he blubbered― "and her to be a part of things if we rebuild the entire musical from the ground."

These little stammers in speech didn't mean anything. It was just business. His art. Because she could still be a piece of walking, talking merchandise wrapped up in one sellable package.

But it felt odd to watch them from the hallway, like the way they didn't touch each other but still touched with their eyes, because it made her want to be touched by them, too. Both pairs of them.

So she petted the back of her spiky brown hair, eaten away as it was by the disease, and approached them in front of her family like her heart was feeling what it was supposed to be: jealousy. Not negligence.

.

.

forty-three /: "Did you ever think about us? ...All of us?" ]

.

.

She was harmless.

With her modest smile, raised chin, folded hands, and elegant carriage, she was the Grace Kelly of their second wedding anniversary.

And somewhere between the modest smiles, countless drinks, nervous fidgets, and random politics, she joked about how amusing it would be if polygamy was legal.

Eugene said that would be a mess.

.

.

Cover by Kingdomdance by x-Jazzy-B-Real-x

Category: Movie Crossover » Frozen | Tangled
For: #promptchallenge > "Union of the Crowns."
Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Politics | Character Death | Family 


♕ Summary ►

(Prequel to "Indentured: Union of the Crowns")

♕ Previous Chapter



o()x༻༺༻༺xxxxxxxxxxxxxx༻༺༻༺x()o


༺()()༻


D e a r   C o u s i n


From
Queen Elsa



o()x༻༺༻༺xxxxxxx❅xxxxxxx༻༺༻༺x()o



༺♕༻



╓───────────༓───────────╖


January 10th


1847 A.D.


╙───────────༓───────────╜

To King Eugene of Corona,

We are sorry that His Majesty can not afford to see us before we return to Arendelle; I am by your council requested to leave the apartments of the palace at first light. As I pack in the bed chambers beside you, four things have blindsided me in the past four and a half days that I have been here. Of the first was your representative, Lord Constantine. Of the second was the detainment of your daughter, Princess Isolde. Of the third was the state funeral for Queen Rapunzel, and of the fourth was the outcome of all of the above.

Like most central countries, the northern fringe of Corona has dry summers and powdery winters, so the morning was white with snow when we arrived in His Majesty's port town. Our docking was nevertheless met by thousands of mourners who received Anna and I with the greatest warmth, but the last ten hours at sea had been very hard on us, so we were taken to the palace for ginger roots and peppermint tea. The servants who accommodated us there were very kind to a point, and the sovereigns who'd come from kingdoms afar ― this including various princes from the Southern Isles ― showed us commiseration. Upon entering your apartments, I was commanded to address Lord Constantine and the remainder of the King's Council in place of you. Therefore, once again, in which confusion procured me to do, I humbly asked to speak with Your Majesty as cousin and colleague, which I would not have so boldly done had I been updated sooner on your condition.

Before I continue, let me clarify that I am not holding you accountable for your absence. I did, however, voice the blame on your council, who failed to write me about your withdrawal from socialization, your refusal to eat, and the indisposition which has now left you bed-ridden for a week. If I'd known these things were happening, I would've made arrangements for a longer stay, and Anna would've been stationed here to help you recover during the months to come. As the current timing can not be adjusted, it will probably take as late as mid-February for the Storting of Arendelle to organize another set of sessions to fund a longer sojourn in Corona.

This aside, the second matter I need to discuss is the problem including your daughter. The gentlemen who guarded her nursery reported a forbiddance from human contact, so Anna and I were prevented from seeing our own blood like the other foreigners. Once again, I can not "horn my way" into the household of Corona or disrespect the orders of your peerage, but I couldn't accept their terms under these circumstances. I questioned them the way I wanted to question you, but what I received were aversions and coldness. In consequence of the conversation I had with Lord Constantine, I learned that my first cousin was being quarantined for an "ambiguous ailment" the physicians "could not yet doctor."

This information only made me even more worried than before. Instead of being deterred, hearing about this "quarantine" forced me to assert my right to see her state more times than I could count. After a series of misfortune events between myself and your ministers, I heeded the arrangements in the eye of the public for the sake of diplomacy, but I promised that, in a few weeks' time, Anna would stay in Corona until our cousin was well enough to be in the same air. The King's Council resisted. And so the headline goes that "Arendelle's" sojourn in Corona "spiraled down into a pit of troubles both civilly and ceremonially."

As said before, I am not holding you accountable for your absence. There's nothing Your Majesty could've done with a fever of 105°F at that time, but I don't understand the barriers you've placed on us. Your ministers couldn't have shunned me without a decree from you before our arrival. If you resent or mistrust me because I have not shown myself in Corona more than once, then I can't fault you. If you fear or mistrust me because I am what half of Corona may call an "Ice Witch" instead of a "drop of sunlight from the heavens," then I can't change superstitions, but please do not withhold Princess Isolde from my sister.

On my part, there was a third occasion I'd like to share with you. Because you were indisposed, the memorial service for Queen Rapunzel was a combination of mass paranoia and rumors. Journalists were falsely putting it out there that Your Majesty "would be placed in a grave beside his wife's" if you did not survive the morning, so public stress escalated. When it came to the actual ceremony, our journey through Corona's main municipalities was economically educational. Famine hasn't reached the kingdom's island, but I could see the aftermath of potato blight in the rural villages across the bridge.

In the beginning of the march, Her Majesty's coffin wheeled through the town on a horse-drawn carriage with Anna and myself by her side. The public's reluctance towards my presence will be reenacted in the tabloids this week, so please pardon me for not wanting to go into detail. Having to watch our cousin's open casket be placed on a catafalque in the middle of Wolgast Cathedral for attendants to "take a look at" was upsetting enough. Illness or no illness, I wouldn't have blamed you for not coming if you had the choice not to.

After two days of the Lying in State ceremony, Her Majesty's coffin was carried into the rural backcountry past a tavern called "The Snuggly Duckling," which had a beautiful scenery that reminded us of the Aust-Agder backwoods in Arendelle. A growing distress in Hohendorf, which I know will not be reported, stopped Anna and I from traveling further, but we accompanied the procession back to the castle, where we were joined by staff, parliament, pallbearers, foreign ambassadors, and Coronian guardsmen for the Common Prayer. At the burial site, I was made to give a speech to Corona as if I was His Majesty himself. A good chunk of the townsmen, clerks, and peers felt scandalized and "cheapened" by it; this too was understandable, because I didn't know enough about your wife to speak on behalf of their own memories of her. Despite that, I did my best.

In conclusion, I hope that Your Majesty can t〪〪〪〪〪〪〪〪〭〭〮〮〯〯〮〮〮〮〯〮〮〯〯〮〮〮〮〯〫〫〫〫〫〫〫〫

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^



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:iconrainbowxskittle:
RainbowXSkittle Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2016  Student General Artist
Hey I hate to be such a bother but would you mind answering one of my questions for me?
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:icontrackforce:
Trackforce Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2016
Oh one little detail I forgot to mention .. The kid has dark hair (just like me :D (Big Grin) ) . Just incase you ever did feel like drawing them.

I'm liking him more and more already. I'm almost tempted to say that they secretly copy my OC's first origins Tin Foil Hat - Short Version 
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:iconkumunii:
Kumunii Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2015   Traditional Artist
Oh goodness I loveeeeee your art :heart: I've always seen it xD!
And omg *-* I lovee those gifs of Elsa and the other guy I forgot his name xD They look perfect for eachother!! :iconloveloveplz: :heart:

And also, with the woman and man, is that a movie? It looks really interesting! :D Thanks!
And Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! :heart: :heart: 
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(1 Reply)
:iconarwen3108:
arwen3108 Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2015  Hobbyist
Hii I would want your opinion one more time :p What you think of the fact that a Tangled serie is going to arrive ? I do not know why, but I am afraid that they make a thing as to give them kids (Flynn/Raiponce telling the history to their kids for example). :S However, probably not, given that little of characters Disney having had children had their offspring in a sequel full-length film ... and between you and me I prefer to avoid this kind of thing XD
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:iconbahumutth:
BahumutTH Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2015
The one known as :iconshadila15: is an art thief read this journal and you will see. She stole darktomboy66gun.deviantart.com…
character.  She has also tried to steal a commission without paying and tried to trick :iconthethally: into sending her points just so she could sent it back or so she says.
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:icondust-bunie:
dust-bunie Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2015
thanks for faving! ^^
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:icondust-bunie:
dust-bunie Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2015
oh they are my favorite together! ^^<3
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:iconchanangelofdarkness:
chanangelofdarkness Featured By Owner Nov 17, 2015
Do chu have tumblr?
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:icondreamingwiththestars:
DreamingwiththeStars Featured By Owner Nov 5, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
You still goin' strong! Keep doin' you, you loveable intp and fellow lifepath 11! ☆
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:iconronan11231:
ronan11231 Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015
Hell! Nice to meet you! How are you?
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:iconrika-pika:
Rika-Pika Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hello, just thought you might want to know that someone recolored two pictures, that I'm 90% sure are yours. 
lightythedark.deviantart.com/a…
lightythedark.deviantart.com/a…
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:iconsnowballtheicecat:
SnowballTheIceCat Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2015  Hobbyist Artist
Your amazing! But one question.....

Where's your silver and amy pics?

I've looked everywhere, but I can't find them!

Thanks for great art! And stay awesome!!!
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:iconixluxorious:
ixLuxorious Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2015   Digital Artist
This may be a very stupid question but how do you get a lot of featured deviantion on your page? O: For editing my page I think once it is used you can not add another one like that again
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:iconknockoutandsonic:
knockoutandsonic Featured By Owner Sep 12, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
hey i love your arts it very lovely and beautiful
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:iconanna8448:
AnnA8448 Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2015  Student Artisan Crafter
I loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove your sonic arts and style very much Pikachu Loves It Plz Llama Emoji-03 (Sparkles) [V1] Llama Emoji-02 (Blush) [V1] Heart Love Llama Emoji-01 (Laughing) [V1] 
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:iconsoleil-grand:
Soleil-Grand Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
Love your stuff...and your profile! Gifs from Belle! Love that quote!
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:icontorysteller:
TorySteller Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Have your cake and eat it too Happy Birthday Sis!
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:iconkritone:
Kritone Featured By Owner Jun 17, 2015  Student General Artist
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:iconblackladyth:
blackladyTH Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015
:icongothicsoulizzy: is stealing youre art
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:iconstorm-grey:
Storm-Grey Featured By Owner Jun 13, 2015
T-thanks f-for t-the f-fave!....
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AndromedaWaits Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the :+fav:(s)!
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:iconvirxeno:
VirXeno Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2015
I just spent an hour writing a long comment only for the internet to crash. I cri everytime. But anyway I was ganna say thanks for the favorite, my life feels more complete having my biggest inspiration since I was 10 favorite one of my drawings. And thank you for the invite to that felsa group. I love that ship with all my heart. I need to draw it sometime. I also do video crossovers and stuff. Also just ganna say I took the time to read your journal. Holy shit girl I would give you so many hugs right now if I could. I know those feels well. There was a time when I didn't draw anything for close to two years since I would end up crying since I hated everything I made. Twas also going through a lot of problems with my mental health at the time. I can't guarantee about that that feeling is ganna go away since everyone experiences things differently. Well *virtual hugs*
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Aora-Li Featured By Owner May 22, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
:iconblushingdoveplz::iconthankwatch1plz::iconthankwatch2plz::iconletmehugyouplz:
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:iconobscurepairing:
obscurepairing Featured By Owner May 20, 2015  Professional General Artist
YOU FAV ONE OF RATTY PICS THINGS! RATTY IS SO NEAR AND DEAR TO MY HEART.
HE IS A PET PROJECT! ALONG WITH HIS PRINCESS LOVER THISTLE!
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