Chapter 9: Answers?
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"I cannot tell you how it happened, or why it did, or even who did it. I know only this because I saw it with my own eyes - she is gone."
- Grand Pabbie, on Mara Halcyon's death
Arendelle - Present Day
The ocean waves had always fascinated him. Sailing, perhaps, was not his strongest point, but since he was a child, he had been content to watch the water roll and crash against the sides of Valhalla's docks. There was something in their steady sway, their rhythmic flow, that mesmerized him. They would gather up and spew their various contents out - a sailor's hat, a small fish, a stray glove or boot, only to swallow them up again when they receded. Arthur remembered how he had gasped with delight when he discovered a rusty old toy on the end of the pier. He had only been three.
But the waters of Arendelle were not home to any renegade tools or runaway morsels of food. A constant cleanliness was present in the pristine blue expanse, with only the light pitch of the North Sea's waves to break its calm. He let the cool water lap around the toes of his boots as he stood on the rocky shore, feeling its soothing touch and listening to its docile swish each time it arrived.
The soft crunch of footsteps made Arthur turn around. Pabbie approached, dressed in his tribal garments and jewelry, the calm breeze ruffling his spiky mane. He had come out of a postern behind the shoreline, one of the side exits to the castle. Arthur gave him a polite nod as he descended the stairs.
"I trust that you're refreshed from our journey?"
"It was short," Pabbie waved his hand in dismissal. "I am far from tired."
"That's good."
Pabbie stopped alongside Arthur, though he did not step past the water's edge. "There are a few things we should discuss."
"Such as?"
"The manner of your approach to the Queen."
Arthur's eyebrows spread in question. "She took the news rather well. Had you not been there, I have no doubt that things would have been different."
Pabbie shook his head. "What I mean is your language."
The young man frowned. "Meaning?"
"You cannot just speak to her as though she were some fishmonger you met on the street," Pabbie said with agitation. "She is a Queen, and you are in her kingdom. You must give her the respect she deserves."
"She's hardly worthy of it, as far as I can see," Arthur replied scornfully.
Pabbie sighed. "She acted in the interest of protecting her kingdom."
"She acted like a child," huffed Arthur. "She convicted me of treason with no witnesses and a scrapful of misinterpreted evidence. What on earth was she thinking?"
"Do you think she means you any harm?" Pabbie argued, "She chose to believe your claim and pronounce your innocence, despite that you had not even shown her an inkling of your powers."
"Is that supposed to justify her outlandish accusations?"
"I thought your father taught you about respect," Pabbie said, almost in exasperation.
"He taught me that it should be earned by a man's character," countered Arthur.
"And did he tell you that it is not a man's actions that determines his character, but his intention?" Pabbie folded his arms. "In this case, a woman's."
Arthur drew in his breath to argue, but stopped short when he saw the truth in the troll's words. "Yes," he admitted, "he did."
Pabbie nodded, glad that the young man understood. "Queen Elsa is not a bad person. True, there is confusion in her, and sometimes fear. But her heart is kind, and she loves her people."
Arthur considered what Pabbie had said, then consented. "I guess I'm lucky she's not the type to kill her enemies in their sleep," he said with a grin.
"Yes, you are." Pabbie returned the smile.
"Anyway, we arranged to meet here a while ago," Arthur turned his attention to the afternoon sun. It had long since passed its peak. "Where is she?"
"Fashionably late, maybe," Pabbie suggested.
Arthur flashed a look of annoyance at him. "Fashionably?"
The troll shrugged. "She is the Queen. Everything that she does is to be treated as an acceptable action."
"So I have to patronize her?"
"Well, yes," Pabbie said reluctantly, "although you would be better off seeing it as honoring her."
Arthur eyed the troll carefully. "Fine," he replied.
"You do know how to converse with nobility?"
"Of course," Arthur replied. "The sages and my father taught me how."
He glanced at the postern, and caught a glimpse of Elsa walking outside. "Looks like she's here."
Pabbie had seen of the Queen as well. "I will take my leave now," he announced, turning to the gate.
"Whatever for?" asked Arthur.
"To speak with Kristoff," Pabbie replied, moving toward the postern. He reached the stairs, and waited for Queen Elsa to clear the steps before bowing deeply to her.
"Your Grace," he greeted her respectfully.
She acknowledged him in return with a polite nod. "Grand Pabbie," she said and continued down the shore as Pabbie climbed the stairs.
The Queen was dressed well as usual, this time in a lilac dress and cape. Her tiara nestled lightly on her braided hair. As she came nearer, Arthur stepped from the water's reach and called out to her. "It is good to see you again," he bowed. "Your Majesty," he added quickly as she stopped in front of him.
Elsa took his hands and pulled him to his feet. "No need to call me that," she said, "not after what I've done to you."
Arthur paused, wondering what he should say. "There is nothing you have done that I have not forgiven," he decided to tell her, and bowed with his arm tucked in at his waist. "I apologize in turn for my language this morning."
She smiled warmly at him. It was only then that Arthur realized she had tear stains on her cheeks. "Are you all right?" he asked her cautiously, hoping she would not take offense.
The Queen widened her eyes in surprise. "Oh, this?" She rubbed her cheeks hurriedly. "It's nothing, I'm fine. And please just call me Elsa."
"As you wish," Arthur bowed curtly, though he did not believe her words. They stood quietly next to one another for a moment, each trying to find something to say. It was Elsa who managed to rekindle the conversation.
"Did you manage to read the letter?" She asked.
"I did," replied Arthur. "Its contents were very valuable to me."
They were silent for a few seconds once again. "I hope this space is suitable for us?" Elsa said swiftly, so that their conversation did not fall into another awkward lull.
Arthur nodded, scanning their surroundings. "It is small, but as long as we are not disturbed unexpectedly, it will serve its purpose."
"We won't be interrupted," Elsa assured him, "I've instructed the staff not to approach this place without permission, and as you can see, the only way to get out here is through the castle."
"Or you could swim," Arthur pointed out, trying to lighten the mood.
It worked. The Queen's lips curved into a wry smile. "Yes, you could do that."
Arthur felt the moment was opportune for his question. "Your Grace, if I might ask-"
"Elsa," the Queen said firmly.
"Elsa," repeated Arthur obediently, "if I might ask, why did you ask me to train you?" He had pondered this issue for the better part of the day, confused by the Queen's request for him to teach her. At first he suspected that she had merely voiced it in passing; as a sign of respect or to make amends. But then she arranged for them to meet that very day - something that had taken Arthur by surprise.
The tone in the Queen's voice changed abruptly, and her face fell. "I've hurt a lot of people in the past because of my powers," she said sadly, "I don't want that to happen anymore."
Arthur folded his hands behind his back. "So you want to learn how to control your magic?"
Queen Elsa responded with a nod. "I thought at first that I could control it with love, but sometimes... when things get out of hand..."
"Ah," said Arthur with a smile, "but that is the first flaw in your approach to magic."
She looked at him inquisitively. "What do you mean?"
"Show me what you can do with your powers," Arthur told her.
"But you've already seen them," Elsa replied.
"Show me again."
"Well, what would you like me to show you?"
"Anything."
The Queen seemed nervous, but she extended her right arm in front of her, and with a light flourish of her hand produced a magnificent spout of frost in the air before her. Its ends curled slowly as it expanded outward and dissolved, turning into a freefall of fresh powder. Elsa turned to Arthur quickly, hoping he approved.
The red-haired man's smile widened. "Now see, that's not quite right," he critiqued.
Elsa's shoulders sagged slightly in disappointment. "I'm afraid I'm still confused."
"As someone rather accustomed to magic, I can feel the source of your power," Arthur explained. "And I can sense that you are using an emotion to fuel your ice. Like you mentioned earlier, this emotion is love, am I right?"
"I... I suppose," Elsa admitted, "although I am not sure that love is an emotion."
"It is a collection of emotions, at most," Arthur granted her that. "But the basis of it is still founded on your feelings."
"So what does this mean?" asked Elsa.
"Emotion is an outlet for channeling your powers," said Arthur, "yet it can be unpredictable and volatile. When a Sentinel experiences positive emotion-"
"I am sorry," Elsa interrupted, "but I fear I don't know what a Sentinel is."
Arthur scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Forgive me, Your Grace-"
"Elsa," she insisted.
"Elsa," Arthur corrected himself once more. "That was my mistake. In Valhalla, Sentinels are what we call those who can use magic. It is their duty to protect the peace and law in the city."
"Oh, I see," replied Elsa, "was your family part of this?"
"Yes," said Arthur. "But that's beside the point."
"Of course," Elsa said instantly, "please continue." She inclined her head toward him.
He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, a Sentinel may experience positive emotions, and it will be easy for them to control their powers. But if they feel negative emotions - and believe me, they will eventually - it is likely that chaos will ensue. For each element, there is one emotion that is deadly in particular."
"I never knew that," Elsa said in wonder.
"You cannot be blamed," reasoned Arthur, "there is little you could have experienced so far away from other Sentinels. For fire, anger is the emotion to be wary of."
"Grand Pabbie told me something like that when I was a child," said Elsa, remembering. "He said that fear would be my worst enemy."
"He was right," Arthur said. "For ice, it is fear. If you allow yourself to be afraid, it will be nigh impossible for you to control your magic. The greater your fear, the worse it becomes."
"But what if I'm not afraid for myself, but for another?" Elsa asked.
"It makes no difference," said Arthur matter-of-factly, "the emotion itself causes the chaos."
Elsa placed a hand to her forehead, and said nothing in reply. Arthur looked at her in concern. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," Elsa shook her head, "it's just that... All this time I was afraid of hurting those around me. I never realized my fear was just making it worse."
"Your desire not to harm others is more of a thought, and not truly the emotion," Arthur said. "But if panic or fear do seize you, for whatever reason, your powers will grow out of hand."
The Queen nodded in understanding, but she was still troubled. "It's hard to keep my feelings in control. I don't think I can do it."
"Of course you can't," Arthur replied. "Don't you think that I get angry sometimes?"
Elsa bit her lip as she remembered the red-head's reaction to his arrest earlier that morning. "Perhaps once or twice," she said quietly.
Arthur saw the look of guilt on her, but chose to ignore it. Instead, he held his hand up at chest level. "That is why it's better to an alternative way to channel your magic." With a simple flick of his fingers, his entire palm ignited in orange flame. Elsa drew back in surprise and gave a small cry.
He laughed at her reaction, though not unkindly. "I thought you knew I had powers?"
"Yes, forgive me," Elsa replied quickly, regaining her composure, "I had just never seen yours before."
"Well, now you have," Arthur smiled, "I suppose I should have shown them to you a while ago."
"Indeed," Elsa nodded. She stared at his flaming hand, almost enraptured by it. "So how do you do it, without using your emotions?"
Arthur explained, "I will the fire to happen. And I control it, I command it, with my will." He intensified the flames so that they turned a bright blue. Elsa could feel the heat of it on her skin.
"Think of it as using your right or left hands to write," he held up both of his palms. "If you were to use your right hand all the time, your left would be less adept and unused to the task. But if you were to train yourself to use your other hand, you would find it easier to write with the more you practice."
"What does this have to do with magic?" Elsa questioned.
"The same goes with emotion and willpower. If you were to practice using your mind instead of your heart, your emotions will almost never be able to cause chaos, because your magic no longer channels through your feelings.
"It will become more natural to you as time goes on. The easiest way to channel your powers through this method is to use motions with your body at the same time. Valhallan Sentinels and sages have discovered countless moves to produce different results."
"I've noticed that," Elsa said, "it works with emotions too. I often have to use my magic through my arms and hands. But how is willpower really that much better?"
"With willpower, you can manipulate your element," said Arthur, "until it can do almost anything for you."
Then he swerving aside and stretched out his hand, and the fire raced forth from his fingers in the shape of a human arm, grabbing a small rock and lifting it into the air. Elsa watched in amazement as Arthur whipped his arm backwards and sent the rock flying into his other hand. He caught the stone neatly with his fingers.
The Queen was in awe. "How did you-"
"It is something my father invented," Arthur grinned, "called the Halcyonian Form. As a Sentinel, he was supposed to bring justice to the streets. But it is easy for someone else who is innocent to be injured in the process. That is why a Sentinel's duty is to be precise. In Valhalla, all Sentinels learn to use their powers only to do what is needed, but sometimes it is difficult to keep the damage to a minimum. My father helped with this by creating the Halcyonian, as a non-lethal way to use fire in apprehending criminals or performing other tasks."
"But how does it work?" Elsa asked, looking intently at the rock in Arthur's hand.
"To do it, you need to command your fire to take physical form. I trained for more than ten years with my father to accomplish this," said Arthur rather boastfully. "It requires a great deal of concentration to restrain flame while still manipulating it."
Elsa opened her mouth to ask something else, but Arthur had already anticipated her question.
"And I am sorry," he shrugged apologetically, "but the Halcyonian Form will only synergize with fire. My father and the sages both agreed on this. The other elements simply do not possess the malleability that Halcyonian requires."
"Oh," Elsa said in disappointment. Arthur looked upon her with pity.
"There are still many ways to make your powers safe," he consoled her.
"And you can teach me how, right?" Elsa asked, just to assure herself.
Arthur gave a short pause. Can I? he asked himself. I've never done this before. I know little to nothing about ice. He doubted he had the capability to teach Elsa anything new. But when he looked at her again, he saw the anxiety in her eyes.
"Of course," he lied, hoping she did not see the uncertainty on his face. "I definitely can."
The Queen nodded primly, but Arthur knew she was relieved by his answer.
"So where should we start?" she asked.
"I suppose we should begin by teaching you how to use your willpower," Arthur told her. He remembered an exercise the sages had taught him when he was a child. "Hold out your arm, if you will."
Elsa obeyed him and extended her right limb forward.
"Now, if you would make some ice..."
She flicked her index finger and spawned a light draft of drifting snowflakes. It hovered before her in a small cloud of white.
"Now think of an animal, any animal," Arthur instructed her.
"A rabbit," Elsa said after some thought.
"Now tell your ice, tell your ice - command it, do not feel it - to take the form of a rabbit."
The Queen's brows creased in concentration, and she waved her fingers. The draft in front of her spun gently in accordance to her hand. But no rabbit appeared. She stopped after a while, and turned to him with embarrassment on her face.
"I can't."
Arthur understood why. "You are too used to using your emotions. When you channel magic through your emotion, you move your arms and body, and hope that your ice will follow your wishes, as though you were friends."
"And with willpower," Elsa said, "I should be its master?"
"Not quite," Arthur smiled, "with willpower, you have to be your element."
He lifted his arm up and closed his fist. A blast of flames erupted from his hand, growing rapidly until it transformed into the shape of a huge and roaring dragon, so great that Elsa had to look up to see it. It spread its wings and turned directly to Elsa, so that goosebumps appeared on her skin, and gazed at her fiercely, though she could not see its eyes.
Then, as quickly as he had summoned it, Arthur took a deep breath and drew back his arm, and the dragon flames died instantly.
Elsa stared where the animated beast used to be. "That was amazing," she said in astonishment.
"It's not that difficult to do," Arthur smiled, "once you have been used to your willpower. Try again." He pointed to her hand, which was still raised upright.
She frowned again, focusing hard on the ice before her, but it continued to simply swirl in the air.
Maybe she needs more help, thought Arthur. "You've created snowmen and ice giants before with your emotions," he said, "it's not too different from using your mind. Imagine about the distinct features of the animal and put your concentration into each one, one by one."
"Long ears," Elsa said out loud, closing her eyes.
"Say it in your head, but keep going," encouraged Arthur, watching the ice.
The Queen thought silently, and her frown deepened as she focused even more. It was a while before she was finished, but when she opened her eyes, she gasped in delight. Before her floated the replica of a life-size rabbit made of snow and ice, complete with buck teeth, whiskers, four scrunchy legs, and a fluffy tail.
She glanced at her teacher for approval, and he bestowed it with a smile. "Very good," Arthur said. "You learn fast."
"Thank you," Elsa smiled back. She dropped her hand, and the snow uncombined and fell to the ground, disappearing as it touched the shore. "It was difficult at first."
"It seems as though you are grasping the concept well," praised Arthur. She gave him a look of gratitude.
"This means a lot to me," she shifted her gaze to her hands. "Especially with what's happening next week."
Arthur raised his eyebrows questioningly. "What is?"
"My sister's birthday," Elsa explained. "We've planned a party for her, and everyone in the kingdom will be there."
"Everyone?" Arthur repeated, impressed. "It sounds like a big party."
"It's... the first time she's had one for fourteen years," said Elsa, looking guiltily at her feet. "My father and mother never really threw an official one for her... because of me. She deserves a celebration like this."
"I am sure she does." It was all Arthur could think of to say. The Queen's eyes flitted up and met his.
"You're invited to attend, of course," she said. "You'll have a seat of honor with us."
Her offer made Arthur hesitate. It had not been a shock to him, but the invitation had been unexpected. "I would be humbled to join you," Arthur bowed courteously.
A party, he thought, why not?
Valhalla - Outer Ring - 21 Years Prior
Gareth's chestnut destrier shook its mane as he dismounted.
"Stay put," he commanded the horse, who rocked its head up and down in understanding.
The dark night sky glowed from the fires of the damaged city and the torches of the repairmen at work, so that the stars were only a faint glimmer. Smoke rose from pillaged buildings nearby, and the smell of charred wood and concrete wafted through the Working Quarter's streets. Raindrops pelted his hooded head as he trod carefully on the slippery cobblestone tiles.
The recent downpour had been both a blessing and a curse. The storms helped to put out some of the smaller fires in the city, but the wet had worsened the conditions for Pabbie and the repairmen. The Eight Armies had touched the Working Quarter the least, and so most of the infirmaries had been moved here. Gareth made his way into one of these now, a wealthy business-owner's gigantic estate.
A man dressed in black robes met him at the entrance as he stepped inside.
"Ah Gareth, it's you," the man raised his lantern to get a better look of the Sentinel.
"Sir Kay," replied Gareth in greeting.
Kay leaned to the side so that he could peek around Gareth. He saw no one behind the cloaked man.
"Where is Arthur?" He asked.
"In our residence, with Sage Rikkem," said Gareth, shaking the water off of his cloak.
"I see," nodded Sir Kay. "Does he know?"
The red-headed Sentinel looked into Kay's eyes. "No."
"Ah."
Gareth removed the hood from his head. "Where is she?"
"Follow me." Sir Kay beckoned further into the hall.
The two of them walked briskly through the dark corridor, which was lit only by a meager spread of torches. Gareth drew forth his arm and brightened them, so that he could see clearer. Along the walls were beds and cots laden with the sick and wounded. A few men and women rushed to and fro, caring for their patients. Blood was splattered on the ground almost everywhere, soiling the beautiful marble floor of the manse.
"I gave her a separate room," Kay told him as the walked, "I thought she deserved one."
"Thank you," Gareth said quietly. She deserved more than that, he thought to himself.
They stopped near the doorway of a room, as Kay had promised. The frame was made of pure jade, though in the dismal light its beauty was dulled. The room itself was large enough to fit a dozen people inside, since it was furnished only with a great stone slab that served as a table. The only light came from a rusty brazier hanging from the ceiling. But the only thing that Gareth cared about was lying on the block.
At the center of the room, a shrouded body was set on the makeshift surface. The two men stepped forward until they were within a foot's distance of it.
Gareth touched the block. "Where did they find her?" he asked, his gaze riveted on the veiled corpse.
"Under some rubble by the markets," Kay replied. He watched as Gareth placed a hand on the edge of the cloth. "Gareth," he warned, "it's bad."
The Sentinel said nothing, but lifted the shroud slowly. He felt his heart sink at what he saw.
"Heaven help us."
They had not changed out of her blood-stained Sentinel's robes yet. Her hair was soaked with red as well, though it was clear that someone had already tried to wash it out. The shape of her body was bent unnaturally, crushed by cannonfire, and her left arm twisted from her shoulder in some inhuman way. But her face was still recognizable, at least. She lay with her eyes closed, her features serene and beautiful. Even in death, Gareth thought sadly, she is still all I could ever have dreamed of. He touched her hand gently and continued to stare at her, longingly and yet hopelessly.
It was awhile before Kay put a hand on his shoulder.
"I am sorry, Gareth."
The Sentinel swallowed a lump in his throat. "It makes no sense," he said, turning to the Kay, "how could she have failed?"
"I do not know, my lord," Kay answered humbly, "the weapons of the Eight Armies were many."
Gareth shook his head. "But even so she would not have been overwhelmed. I know her well."
"They say she had stopped to help a child-"
"I do not want theories, Kay," Gareth said forcefully, "I need answers. And answers are the only thing I do not have right now."
"Perhaps she may have been distracted-"
"Speak no more!" Gareth snapped angrily. "Unless you were there yourself, your words are meaningless!"
Kay shut his mouth immediately, not wanting to infuriate the Sentinel any further. Gareth sighed.
"Forgive me, Kay," he said, "I am not in control of myself."
"It is I who should be forgiven," Kay insisted. "I spoke out of turn."
The Sentinel groaned and rubbed his forehead wearily. "What has the world come to, Kay?"
"If anyone can find us an answer to that question, it is you."
Gareth did not reply, but pulled the shroud back over the limp body. He adjusted his cloak and turned to the door, preparing to leave.
"I will arrange for her to be prepared for a Sentinel's funeral," Sir Kay told him.
Gareth nodded his thanks and strode out of the room, with Kay by his side.
"Will the boy see his mother?" asked Kay, toting his lantern as they moved back down the gloomy corridor.
"Not like this," Gareth said with a shake of his head.
Kay understood. "At the funeral, then?"
"Indeed."
They halted at the entrance to the temporary infirmary. Kay crossed his hands behind his back.
"I suppose you will not be needing an escort?"
"You have my thanks, but no," Gareth said. "I would prefer if I was... alone." He donned the hood of his cloak.
"Farewell, then, my friend," Kay bowed.
"Farewell."
Gareth exited the building, greeted at once by the rainy torrent outside. His steed was still there, snorting unhappily in the deluge. The Sentinel placed his foot sharply on the stirrup, and mounted swiftly. With a slap of the reins, he urged his horse through the streets. He listened to the pattering rain as he rode through the Outer Ring, until they reached the great wall that separated the Inner Ring. A heavy iron portcullis was in place, manned by a trio of guards - a measure that the Council had seen fit to take after the invasion.
A guard called for him to halt, but let him through quickly once he had identified himself. He galloped his way further into the Inner Ring. There were men hard at work transporting supplies and organizing repair crews, their torches and lanterns throwing their shadows along the flooded brick roads. A few of them hailed Gareth in passing, to which the Sentinel responded with a raised hand or nod.
But he did not slow his destrier until they had reached a pasture within the city, and the hard clack of his horse's shoes on stone turned into a quiet tread on dirt road. Gareth rode down the empty field in silence, for there was no one to speak to. In the distance, the lights of his house gleamed warmly.
He waited until he was deep into the plains, unseen were it not for the faint glow of the pale moon and stars. He slackened his hold on the reins, and held his drenched head up to the sky.
It was only then that he began to weep.
The Southern Isles - The Royal Castle of Jur Rasaa - Present Day
"Your Grace, may we present, His Worship the Baron of Endwall." The herald stooped low as he bowed to his liege, using a flourish of his hand to usher in the visitor.
The Baron strode forward, a puffy middle-aged man with a finely combed mustache and extravagantly styled hair. His expensive attire, a suit made of golden cloth and studded with ruby and sapphire, trailed on the cold marble floor as he flaunted inside.
King Nikolaus the Almighty sat on his throne, bedecked in his royal crown and uniform, leaning on the gilded armrest. His brother Lorenz stood at his feet, serving as adviser and member of his court.
"Kneel before King Nikolaus the Almighty, the Third of His Name, Ruler of the Northern Firth, and of Arran, and of Eigg, and of Rhum," announced Lorenz, who was called by others as the Blessed.
The Baron of Endwall had difficulty balancing his pudgy body on his knees, but managed to do so as he paid homage to the King. Nikolaus nodded to his brother, who addressed the herald at the door to the Royal Court.
"You may take your leave now," he ordered. The servant bowed once again and backed away until he left the room, just as the two guards at the entrance slammed the iron doors shut.
Once the man had left, Nikolaus rose from his seat of power and spoke to the Baron. "Rise, Alexander of Endwall," he said in a deep voice.
The fat noble struggled as he shuffled to his feet, but greeted the King and His Court nonetheless.
"It is an honor to see you again," Alexander turned to each member and named them individually, in order of their status.
"Master Balthasar." The third eldest brother, Balthasar the Enlightened made no reply, but stared at the Baron with knowing eyes.
"Lords Rune and Rasmus." The fifth and sixth brothers, twins almost impossible to tell apart, except that the nose of Rasmus was crooked.
"Prince Bjorn the Strong." Bjorn was the seventh, a great man with rippling muscles and a solemn face.
"Prince Lorenz the Blessed." The tenth brother was a man who stood at the foot of the throne nodded in response.
"Honored Princes Franz and Aron." Alexander called out to the eleventh and twelfth brothers. The former possessed a tall and lean figure, having the reputation of being an adept sword duelist. Aron the Scarred was a relatively short man, with a bad temper and a lip that was prone to curling in suspicion.
The last of the court remained unnamed. Hans the Unworthy's place was at the end of the table, closest to the door, and furthest from the King. Nikolaus' gaze passed over his youngest brother, but it did not linger long on the disgraced prince.
"But pray tell," said the Baron, "where are the rest of your esteemed brethren?"
"My second brother Fredrik is managing his province in the Northern Firth," answered King Nikolaus. "He will not return for a full moon's passing. Our fourth eldest is in Rhum, investigating rumors of a rebellion."
"A rebellion which you will crush if these rumors are true, of course, Your Grace," the Baron put in patronizingly.
"Indeed," agreed the King confidently. He looked to Lorenz. "Brother, where are the rest of our mother's sons?"
"Theo is off gorging himself in the kitchens," replied the tenth brother. "Though I am afraid I cannot say I know where Otto is."
"I can answer that for us," Prince Bjorn spoke up, a crude smile on his face. "He was last seen today at Willa's House."
"Get that whoring laggard out of that wench-house and back into Jur Rasaa at once," Nikolaus commanded angrily. Lorenz gestured to the assembly of Royal Guards, and a trio of them stepped forward and saluted crisply. They turned and marched out through the doors as they were opened again.
Baron Alexander watched as they left. "Your Grace," he beckoned to Nikolaus, "I believe you already know why I am here."
"I have my suspicions," the King answered. "But I am not certain. Perhaps it is best if you would state your business here."
The Baron scanned the faces of the royal brothers, and saw one or two that were confused. "Of course," he said, twirling his mustache.
"Have no fear of speaking private matters," Nikolaus assured him. "My brothers and I are all sworn to secrecy. As our father once said, Family Above All."
"The gods watch over his soul," Lorenz the Blessed intoned.
Alexander nodded, but he could not help but noting something else. "But Your Grace, what of your Royal Guard?"
"They cannot tell anyone anything," said Nikolaus. "A man without a tongue can speak no words."
The Baron's eyes widened slightly in surprise at the King's words.
"We cut them out upon their recruitment," Lorenz explained. "It is a commitment that all Royal Guards must undertake."
"I see," Alexander replied, still uncomfortable with the concept. "Well then, I suppose I shall relay to you the purpose of my visit."
A few members of the court nodded their approval. Alexander turned to them, raising his hands up ceremoniously.
"The time of the Inquisition has come again. Endwall and the Gantish Lands have already pledged their allegiance. It is time for us all to unite under the One True Banner."
Bjorn the Strong grunted. Rune and Rasmus shared a look. Lorenz glanced at Nikolaus, who stroked his clean-shaven chin.
"Why now?" The King asked.
"I believe you are aware with the current state of affairs regarding magic, Your Grace," Alexander said humbly.
"If you mean my esteemed brother's cavorting in Arendelle, then yes," Nikolaus answered, looking sharply at Hans, who averted his eyes from his eldest brother.
"He was sent there as a customary guest to attend the Queen's coronation," spoke Lord Rune, "though we now find that he had other plans in mind."
"And we thought Otto was the Trickster," grinned Rasmus. The other members of the Court laughed at his jest.
Prince Hans said nothing, but merely studied the table in front of him. Nikolaus sat back into his royal chair, observing his little brother. "He is disgraced on multiple grievances." He placed a finger to his mouth in thought. "The first of which, of course, was betraying the trust between our kingdom and Arendelle's. The second was his failure to eliminate this Queen of theirs."
"Not to mention that he was bested by a woman," rumbled Bjorn.
"The princess did not defeat me," protested Hans. "It was just an unfortunately-timed swing."
"She knocked you off of a ship later," Bjorn argued. Lords Rune and Rasmus sniggered at their brother's words.
Hans made no reply once again.
"We recognize your gallantry given the situation," Nikolaus said to Hans. "But in the end, your efforts were performed... imprudently, to say the least."
"There were reports that he had foiled the assassination attempt made by another member of the Inquisition," commented Alexander. "If I am correct, the Duke of Weselton had sent men to shoot down the Queen in her monstrous Ice Palace, but our good prince stopped them."
"The poor fool was too frightened and flustered to act himself," growled Hans. "I was the one who set plans in motion to neutralize the Queen's magic."
"Brother," Prince Aron spoke up with a scowl, "it is clear that you did not have only the Inquisition's interests at heart. Your plans were first crafted as your rise to power. Had you allowed the Snow Queen to be slain, instead of saving her for your own selfish ambition, this would have been a different story."
Hans glared at his older brother. They were born only a year apart, and had grown up together, but it could be said that they were the most different of all the brethren. Aron was surly and sour, with an ugly scar across his right eye that crumpled every time he frowned, while Hans had always been a cheerful, innocent lad, quick to laugh and slow to anger. Their differences had existed as a barrier between them since they were boys. But then again, it could not be said that any of Jur Rasaa's royal siblings were ever close to each other.
"If I may be so bold to ask," Alexander interrupted, "how is it that Prince Hans is still in court?"
"Regardless of his failure, he is still of my blood," answered Nikolaus, "and a member of my court. His actions were not severe enough for me to warrant his arrest or exile. And perhaps sometime there may still be an opportunity for him to redeem himself, through battle or service to the throne."
"That is unlikely," Lord Rasmus quipped.
"But the matter we must discuss now is not the alleged treason of our beloved Hans,"King Nikolaus reminded them. He addressed the Baron. "The Southern Isles has long been a devout follower of the Inquisition. If our fellow nations are gathering beneath the One True Banner, my brothers and I will gladly join this summons."
"We are thrilled to hear of your acceptance, O King Nikolaus the Almighty," Baron Alexander said. "I am sure you are willing to hear my report on our war against magic?"
"Certainly," Nikolaus agreed.
It was at this moment that the doors burst open and Prince Otto the Trickster was brought in by the Royal Guard, drunk and staggering like a child. The three armored men hailed their King with a wordless salute, and returned to their posts, leaving Otto standing alone at the entrance.
"Prince Hans," the King called to his youngest brother, "see to it at once that our venerable kin is escorted back to his council seat."
It was clear that the youthful prince was loathe to help the stumbling drinker anywhere, but he got up from his chair. Otto held up a hand to stop him.
"I can handle myself perfectly, sweet Hans," he insisted, his voice drowsy. The prince waddled slowly past his younger brothers and took his seat on the eighth spot.
"Your actions are a disgrace to the gods and our family," Prince Lorenz the Blessed scolded his older brother as he sat.
"Oh, but Lorenz, my brother," Otto grinned, "certainly I cannot be the cause of any shame amounting to more than that of our venerable Hans."
"Swine," Hans muttered under his breath.
King Nikolaus chose to ignore his brothers' bickering. Diverting his attention away from Otto, he spoke to Alexander again. "You may begin, Your Worship."
The Baron cleared his throat. "As we discussed, a month ago Queen Elsa of Arendelle revealed herself to be the Sentinel of Ice, or so she would be, if she were under the tutelage of Valhalla. For reasons that we do not know, our enemy never discovered her existence, or failed to recruit her in their pagan ways."
"This we know," Nikolaus said.
Alexander nodded. "If you will recall with me, Your Majesty, the Sentinel of Earth vanished two decades ago without a trace at Baron's Watch."
The princes of the Southern Isles all gave signs of their agreement, with the exception of Otto, who stared blankly into space. The Baron continued on.
"Our spies in Valhalla have just informed us that Gareth Halcyon has been executed by the Council of Five for serious crimes. His son fled the city soon after, disappearing just as the Sentinel of Earth had. That accounts for both Earth and Fire."
"And with Queen Elsa so far North," Nikolaus said, understanding the Baron's words, "Valhalla has the defense of only one Sentinel."
"Indeed," Alexander smiled. "In the past, we suspected that Valhalla had been keeping their Sentinel of Ice in secret. We see now with the Queen of Arendelle that this is not the case. They have only one young Sentinel of Air. One that we can easily break if we amassed our armies once more."
Bjorn the Strong pounded his fist on the table in accord. "This is our chance to wipe out the power that magic has had on this world. Let us march our armies to Valhalla, and rid ourselves of those hellspawn."
"Patience, good Bjorn," Alexander said politely. "Remember that our sole purpose in the Inquisition is to cleanse humanity of all magic. Valhalla itself is not our target, only its Sentinels. With the Sentinel of Air already hiding behind the Great City's walls, we have decided that it would be best to remove our more vulnerable enemy first."
"Queen Elsa," Hans answered for them.
King Nikolaus stroked his beardless chin again out of habit. "Arendelle has close to no military power," he said, "our forces would crush them easily, even if the Snow Queen tried to protect her kingdom."
Balthasar the Enlightened voiced his opinion. "It is not Arendelle that we fear," he spoke in a whispery voice, "it is the wrath of her allies that we do not want to face. They have strong ties with Frankland, Etalia, Corona, the combined might of which we cannot withstand without severe casualties."
"And as you know well," Nikolaus said, "it is unlikely that an assassination will work against someone possessing magic."
The Baron nodded in understanding, as did most of the King's brothers. But it was Prince Otto who disagreed.
"And why is that, brother?" He drawled with a mischievous look on his face.
"You will address the King with the proper respect he is due," reprimanded Lorenz sternly.
"Peace, Lorenz," Nikolaus waved his hand in dismissal. "Otto, brother, tell me what you mean."
The drunken prince gave a toothy grin. "This council says that a Sentinel cannot be slain by a single, ordinary man, or even by a group of assassins. I would beg to differ."
"Be silent, Otto," Prince Hans said officiously. "Don't make a fool of yourself."
Otto paid no heed to his youngest brother. "Our cherished brother Hans made the mistake of revealing his intentions before the kill," he said to the rest of the court. "Wisdom dictates that if our assassin is to be successful, he does not do this."
"You are implying exactly what an assassin is to be," Prince Franz said incredulously.
"And it does not matter how prudent our man is in his venture," Lord Rasmus spoke up as well, "a Sentinel's magic will protect them from harm, whether by ranged or close-quarter attack. If the first attempt fails, it will only serve to frighten the Queen into establishing increased security around herself. Assassination is not an option.
"All I am simply saying," Otto said, rising from his chair, "is that if you leave this matter to me, I can assure you that the Queen will be neutralized before the turn of the month."
"And how will you accomplish this?" Lord Rasmus questioned him. "Tell us brother, if not by blade or by dart, how will you slay our Sentinel?"
Otto laughed. "Why, I cannot reveal all of my secrets, dear brother," he smiled. "After all, I am the Trickster."
The room was quiet. The Baron scanned the table of faces, searching for their opinion. Prince Hans eyed the eight eldest brother suspiciously. Baron Alexander could see why. If Otto was to succeed as he claimed, Hans would fall further from the King's favor.
Balthasar broke the silence. "Your Majesty, I would advise against this. It is merely a futile attempt for our wayward brother to try his luck in-"
Nikolaus held up a hand. "Be still, Balthasar." He switched positions in his throne, clearly pondering the issue.
"As it stands," Otto said, "I believe I am already in possession of a disadvantageous repute. If I were to be discovered, it would not be a difficult choice for our esteemed family to denounce me. The other alternative would be Prince Hans, but we all know the Queen would recognize him in an instant."
The King straightened his back and lifted his head up in interest. "Yes," he said slowly, "Otto's words do have some merit."
"You cannot be serious, m'lord," Bjorn the Strong said in surprise. "To disgrace our own brother?"
"He is disgraced as it is," Nikolaus countered. "It will not be too far of a step to allow this. Besides," he said, rubbing the armrest on his throne, "it is in the interest of the Inquisition. Duty dictates such sacrifice."
"Spoken like a true king, Your Majesty," Baron Alexander replied readily.
"I assume then, that you have no qualms against this arrangement?" King Nikolaus asked the chubby Baron.
"I do not," bowed Alexander.
"My liege, I urge you to reconsider," Balthasar insisted.
"Enough," Nikolaus said firmly, "your King has made his decision. Prince Otto will settle this issue."
Bjorn opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing. Hans crossed his arms and placed them at his chest, his face drawn with unhappiness. Rune and Rasmus looked at each other once again. Franz twirled his finger lazily around the patterns on the council's table, and Aron brooded quietly next to him.
Nikolaus surveyed the room, looking for any further signs of dissent. "If there is nothing more to be discussed, then I hereby dismiss this court for the day. Lorenz, show the Baron to my study. We have other private matters to outline, and I have questions I want answered."
"Certainly, m'lord."
He smiled. "Now be of cheer, my brothers. Today is a great day. The Inquisition has risen again."
Baron Alexander knelt to the ground. "For the Purity of Mankind."
"For the Purity of Mankind."
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