#regiamsolis

The coronation tiara of Elsa I of Arendelle would not be recovered for several weeks yet (when the queen would have to coax it out of Marshmallow's fingers) and, although every speck of snow had disappeared from the land, the purple velvet robes of state were ultimately never found.  For all that the kingdom looked as if summer had never been interrupted, the coronation frost - as it was beginning to be called, in conjunction with the Great Thaw several days later - had left its mark.  There were blighted crops, frostbite victims, political reactionaries and on top of it all, the ship from Corona had capsized and sunk into the ice-encrusted fjord on the last day of the frost.

She was given to understand that things had been admirably well-handled during her absence - that is, of course, excepting policy towards the royal family - and Elsa made the swift decision to let the local recovery institutions that'd sprung up overnight be: like croci pushing through the remnants of frost.  As for the way in which Prince Hans had organized the castle...she was content to take credit for the way her subjects, hers, crowded into the dining hall for hot food and the efficient installment of stranded dignitaries in the guest wing.  As far as Elsa could see (and if her advisors doubted it they were silent on the matter), much of the kingdom would mend itself if she let it happen.  It was the least she could do.  As for the most - the problems she would have to solve one by one...

Elsa moved through the dining hall, trying to seem as though the stares and whispers didn't bother her.  It's because you're the queen, she reminded herself sternly, and more than that it's because you froze the kingdom.  It'll be okay.  Show them that.  She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.  The train of her glittering gown swept grandly behind her and her braided hair was a reassuring weight over one shoulder.  Though she wore none of the regalia that weighted her down with rich material and symbolism, Elsa found that she had never felt more like their Queen.

Not that that was saying much, considering.

She moved slowly and deliberately through the throng, although this was as much to emphasize her status as to pause and speak with her subjects: a kind word here, a small smile there.  It was nerve-wracking for the young queen, and occasionally the ceiling started to snow, but not long enough for too many people to glance up sharply in alarm.  Elsa forced herself to breathe deeply, to stop, to say the first words - although she couldn't bring herself to touch anyone, afraid of the recoil, the doubts - and later she would find that her demeanor had garnered her some sympathy, despite what she'd done.