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The cruel winds cause the woods to shiver, and Anna's bones rattle in response to the frigidness of her surroundings. Porcelain fingers gently clutch over the agonizing pang in her chest. Chattering teeth betray her dire state. The piteous sound it makes erupts deafeningly against her eardrums.
She cannot stop to rest now, though her limbs are wearied to exhaustion. Every few steps her boots slip into the mire. She drags herself free only to stumble again. There is no room for the bitter tired to take hold. No room for fear.
The fate of all of Arendelle, the fate of her sister, rests upon her shoulders. Only an act of true love could save them all. The cold chill of the curse is spreading rapidly within her own veins. Too rapidly. The Rock Trolls expressly warned her that she herself had days, if that, left before her sister's curse would kill her. She took that as an open challenge.
Anna knows she must find this rumored enchanted palace that was concealed in these woods. She is staking her life on the rumors being true. That somewhere, deep, in the vastness, is a reclusive prince. Failure to find him wasn't an option. There's also rumor that he is guarded. Guarded by a hideous beast that requires vanquishing. Anna doubts the rumors that this unearthen creature is ten-feet tall with teeth like a sawblades. Eyes as piercing as shattered glass.
These woods are so thick, so extensive, it is impossible not to feel LOST. Overwhelmed, Anna spins slowly. Has she passed this path before? Her brows furrow over cerulean eyes. There are so many of them. With a ratted breath, she follows her instinct down the thicket-lined opening.
Before her, to her great surprise is a menacing tower. Wispy lashes flicker in an attempt to cast flakes of snow away from her eyes. She did it. Fumbling with her cloak, Anna's gloved hand finds the pummel of her sword. The cold metal trembles in her slowly stiffening hand. "Well, here goes nothing." Anna speaks her herself as she rasps her fingers along the solid wooden doors.
To Anna's absolute astonishment, the door gives way with a stricken squeal. For a moment, the unsure princess stares into the dark void looming before her. The lone swath of light cast through the room exposes marble floors and a set of stairs -- It doesn't look nearly as frightening as some of the locals made it sound.
All that was left for her to do, is to find the prince. Tired legs threaten to cave beneath her. The pang in her chest debilitates her for a moment and she has to lean fragilely against the railing. Haggered, Anna takes a tattered breath in. Up her arm spreads a crystalline path, with forms as delicate as one would find in a snowflake. She winces. The swift sprawl, as pretty as it is, is only a reminder of the curse destined to doom her.
Just as Anna manages to garner enough strength to stand again, the rusted gates slam behind her. She spins, a whirlwind of crimson hair flies free of her shoulders only to settle there again once the movement had stopped. Her cursed heart jackhammers anxiously within the confines of her chest as she lets her cerulean eyes observe the surroundings. It's nothing. Only the sound of a heavily rusted wrought-iron gate slamming shut. A greying hand is pressed over her chest as she lets out a tangible sound of relief. She shouldn't have been so keen to listen to all those tavern stories about beasts. Certainly never from the lips of those well into their tankards.
Then. Heavy. Measured. Footsteps flood the hall in which she stands. Oh, it's not the frantic scurrying of an animal, but the deliberate approach of something, or someone who knows exactly what they are doing.
Her breath snares. Anxiety pin-prickle's all the way up her spine and settles at the nape of her neck. Tremulously, she ambles a step backwards. Anna's trembling hand slips beneath her cloak for the sword she brought with her. But the refined steel's weight is heavy. Far too heavy for her deteriorating condition. Still, precociously and rather stubbornly, Anna forces herself to levy it. "Wh--- who's there?" She hates the tangible falter in the undercurrent of her question.
The interloper does not race to answer. Does not care to gift her comfort. No. He makes her ruminate in the darkness before growling, "you were TOLD not to come here."
Anna freezes at the vitriol. It is earned, of course. The young princess is very keenly aware that she is trespassing. "I-- " She felt her voice snare. "I had to. I have no choice."
Emerging from the shadows is figure. Tall. Imposing. Oh, but very human. Human enough to be unsettling. There is no grace in the way he carries himself. Torn are the rags that she supposed were supposed to pass for clothing. His hair is wild, disordered. She can tell as much even with his face half concealed in the shadows.
It takes every bit of her strength not to gasp. Suddenly, she understood every tale passed around the wooden tables of the taverns. Instinctively, her fingers curl tighter around the pommel of her sword. "I---" She starts feeling the ache in her chest intensifying, "I must speak with the prince. Now."
Her command. Was it a command as wearily as it was uttered? She doesn't know. Doesn't care. It is met with a derisive snort. "What makes you think he will speak to you instead of having you thrown in a cell?" His expression hardens.
He's right. She of course deserves to be punished for her flagrant disregard for home etiquette. Still, with a surge of desperation, Anna answers, "because we share the same problem."
His interest is immediately piqued. His steps bring him to circle her, his eyes never drifting from her figure. Up close now, he can see how badly the sword trembles, how the masquerade of strength is faltering. And she is turning white. Not just white, a ghastly shade with chrystiline patches that shimmer in the dim sliver of light permitted into the room. He swallows and after a long moment, he forces himself to speak, "which is?"
Anna forces herself upright despite the pain ripping through her chest. "W-- we're cursed."
That manages to snag the prince's full attention. He is analyzing her now, with keener eyes than before. Closer still he treds. Although her eyes are the shade of fathomless blue skies, there's something wrong with them. There is no vivacious twinkle. No spark.
Crestfallen, Anna's gaze drops. The sword in her hand lowers. Her greying free hand collapses over her heart. She hadn't realized she had pressed it there again, not until he speaks.
Then he hears it, the agonal, sharp way breath rattles through her lungs. "You're dying." He mutters rudely before he can stop himself. His eyes ruthlessly narrow.
Anna says nothing. She has no witty remark, no casual joke. She has no energy to entertain such notions, nor would she want to. Thinking about her own death feels so grotesque. So wrong.
Somehow her silence inflames his nerves more. He takes another commanding step towards her, this time deliberately invading her space. He allows his boots to strike the marble with a palpable echo. "Did you not hear me?" His voice raises, carrying that familiar growl beneath every syllable. "You are dying."
Anna flinches at his invasion of her space. Her jaw twitches tempernmentally as she gifts him a response. "I-- I know." Anguish floods her voice.
The answer is so MADDENINGLY calm that his brows knit together. "You know?" He repeats the words as if they themselves are offensive. He snorts wistfully. Shrewd eyes drop to the crystalline veins creeping up her arm before returning to her cherubic face. "And yet, you thought it prudent to stumble into my castle, point a sword at me, and demand to see the prince." It is almost scoffable how audacious she is for someone of her stature and her condition.
Anna's tiring fingers tighten around the pommel. "I wasn't --" Her voice drops off for a moment as she blinks at him, "I wasn't pointing it at you. I was-- expecting a- beast."
Dark eyes flick towards the blade before returning to her. He allows a humorless huff to escape his nose. "Forgive me." He snarls. "You were merely threatening me with it while nearly collapsing. Do I look like a beast to you?"
Anna immediately feels the need to interject, "I am not-" But she hardly gets through her sentiment before her knees cave.
Adam is close enough that instinct overrides anger. His hand snares her by the arm before she can hit the marble floor. For one, brief, startled moment, neither of them moves. His grip tightens about her forearm. "Not what?" He demands harshly, irritation carving a path through his voice. "Not collapsing?"
Infuriated. Anna tries to wrench herself free of his inhospitable grasp.
That only causes his expression to sour. "Stop." He commands snappishly.
Stubbornly, Anna refutes, "I can stand on my own. Thank you very much."
"You can barely breathe," he snaps back. Oh, he can hear it. He can hear how her lungs continue to battle. It's obvious.
Anna summons up enough strength to try and wrench herself back. "I can stand."
Adam cannot help but scowl down at her. "You are insufferable."
Trembling with ire, she clips back, "and -you're-- rude."
Adam's jaw clenches. There it is. Even dying she has the audacity to bicker with him like they were small school aged children. He releases her arm only when he is certain she might remain upright. He then reaches for her weapon, snatching it with ease from her hands.
"Did you steal this?" He growls.
Anna's begrudging gaze flicks up to meet his. "No." She answers with more firmness than she thought she still had left. "It's mine."
With a practiced eye, he observes the pommel. It's expensive. Fine craftsmanship, the kind gifted to a royal. But there it is again, the tremors. Her body is failing. Any levity the moment prior offered in the form of her stubbornness is vanquished. His jaw tightens. This time with severity. "How long?"
Anna blinks. Exhaustion is starting to win out. "How long what?"
Adam's expression clouds. "How long have you been like this?" Concern echoes vaguely in the corridors of his words.
"I-- I don't know?" A pause. "A few days," she answers. She is already regretting her intrusion enough as it is without him badgering her.
"And you came here anyway?" Adam haphazardly prods. He is surprised at her bravado. Most in town would be severely inconvenienced by a walk to the store in this weather. She had made it from some foreign territory of the world, and she did so while dying.
Weak, quiet, in a sotto voce, Anna answers. "I had to."
Those words. AGAIN. Adam's nostrils flare. "You keep saying that." He snarls. God. He wished she'd stop repeating herself.
Deadened eyes hone in on his in frustration. "Because it's true."
"You are foolish." He snips.
Anna staggers a few steps away from him towards the stairs which catches Adam wholly off-guard. Just what in the heck did she think she was doing? "Where do you think you are going?"
"To find the prince since you refuse to help me. I have to speak to him." Anna answers adamantly.
"SIT! DOWN!" He commands, his voice shaking through the vastness of the space and echoing off the walls.
A knot forms in the pit of Anna's stomach. The order makes her quiver with fear. "I don't have time."
His eyes flash with all the lively vehemence of lightning. "You have less time than you seem to understand." He assesses assertively. Begrudgingly, his feet carry him to her side again.
Anna's hand presses over her heart again. There. That nearly insignificant, tiny, movement garners his attention again. He can't help but notice the delicate way her greying fingers curl against her chest as if by doing so she can physically hold herself together. He watches with interest as she swallows. Her breathing startles him. It is almost as if every breath requires concentration. His expression shifts.
He sets aside her sword and opts to gather her slinking frame into his arms. There she feels so small. So fragile. So helpless. The realization unsettles him deeply. Adam has seen people afraid of him before. Has witnessed their trembling and cowering. He's even seen them beg for their lives. This was different. This young woman isn't trembling because of him. Her own body is betraying her.
Startled eyes fall to the crystalline veins creeping beneath her skin. "This is getting worse," he murmurs now feeling a pang of remorse for how he had spoken to her.
Her crimson lashes flutter open. For a long moment, she seems ready to argue with him again.
Adam waits. However, whatever protest she had dies somewhere between her lips and another heavy labored breath. Instead, she whispers, "I have to find the prince."
"You've found him." He answers more indulgent than he cares to admit. He startles when Anna goes still.
Heavy slitted eyes pull slowly upwards to meet his gaze. "What?" She tremulously asks.
"The prince." He answers. His expression severe and giving her no inkling of the fondness that was growing for her.
Understanding dawns slowly across her exhausted features. Her lips part with the desire to speak and yet, she cannot fully.
Adam's eyes harden, almost daring her to question it. To question his authority. To challenge him like she has ALL evening. He decides to speak brusquely. "You wanted to speak to him." He shifts her weight in his arms. "So speak." Then under his breath he adds, "while you still can."
Anna stares at him for several long seconds. Perhaps, too long. Then her fingers curl weakly into the torn fabric over his chest.
He flinches. Her hands are like ice. Too much like ice to be a comfort.
"I need your help."
Finally. He thinks, letting out a slow breath of half amused relief. The stubborn young woman finally admitted she required assistance. But his brows furrows in confusion. What help can he be to someone who is dying? Adam allows his expression to soften. He looks away, before gazing down at her. His voice is quieter now. "I gathered that." He carries her up the steps, deeper into the heart of the castle, away from the touches of winter that dominated the marble hall. The rooms beyond are warm, fueled by a gentle crackling fire.
Anna's eyes drift shut and do not immediately flicker open again.
A pinch of panic lunges through his heart. Adam glances down at her and gives her a gentle shake. "Don't fall asleep."
"I'M tired," Anna shakily whispers in confession.
He knows. He can see it etched plainly in her countenance. Her cheekbones which had once held some color were now whitewashed, paled by the same crystalline shapes that crept along her arm. His arms tighten protectively around her. For the first time since she has entered his castle, he feels a twinge of pity for her.
Anna rests her head against his shoulder, her eyes half cracked open for his sake more than her own.
Despite every instinct telling him to put this troublesome stranger back on her feet and send her away, he carries her to his bed instead. Because whatever curse has brought her here, he refuses to watch it claim her without a fight.