The Guardian

by Concolor44

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Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all you wonderful people who Reviewed or Favorited or sent PMs! You are too, too kind, and you gladden my heart.

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Chapter 9: Unsettling Information

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Arendelle Castle, 31 May 1841, 7:45am

When Kristoff came to his senses, he was in his bed in his room in the castle. He jerked awake, practically jumping out of bed … and noticed that he was dressed only in his smallclothes. For a minute or so he stared off at nothing, trying to reassemble the recent events that had so thoroughly shocked him, then gave a small shudder and shrugged it off. A quick survey of the room showed him a tunic and breeches hanging from the valet, and some soft boots standing below them. He was dressed and out the door in a minute and a half.

The agreement had been that he would never be completely alone with Anna until they were married. Standing off away from a group and talking was one thing. The occasional kiss was even deemed reasonable. But Anna always had to be at least in sight of Lydia or Elsa if Kristoff was around. She'd occasionally chafe under the scrutiny, but was keen enough to realize the importance of maintaining chastity. She understood it … but she didn't have to like it.

Kristoff ignored that entire concept as he raced down the hall and up a flight of stairs to Anna's room, startling the guards at her door. "Johann, Albrecht." He hardly slowed as he jumped between them, nearly ripping the knob out of the wood.

"Hey!"

"I'll leave it open!" He zipped across the room to his fiancée's bed and knelt beside it. "Anna! Anna, wake up! I know you don't usually do mornings, but this is important!"

"… Whuh?" She lifted her head a finger-width and let it drop. "Wasso … 'portent?"

"I talked to the trolls."

That percolated through, and she sat up, pulling crusted hair off her tongue and trying to push the bushy mane out of her face. "… Trolls? You mean … your family?"

"Yeah. And Grandpabbie … ah, showed me some stuff. Some things I needed to know. You need to know, too. So does Elsa. But I know sometimes it takes you a while to get yourself together in the morning, so I wanted to give you enough time to brush your hair out and get dressed and whatnot. I'll go let the kitchen know we'll need some breakfast – and have Cook make you a pot of coffee – and we can meet in the small dining room so I can let you both know what I found out.

Anna caught about half of that, but what stuck out in her mind were the words 'breakfast', 'coffee' and 'Grandpabbie'. "So … you had breakfast … with Gran'pabbie … and he gave you coffee?"

His groan was epic. "Anna! Pay attention!" He pulled her to the edge of the bed, scooted the covers out of the way, and swung her around into a more-or-less sitting position. Then he took her shoulders in his big, rough hands and said, "Focus! Look at me!"

Her eyes only crossed twice before they locked with his. "Kristoff … hi."

"Listen. We're gonna have breakfast. You, me, and Elsa. And I'm gonna tell you about what happened to me yesterday."

She looked suddenly concerned, and a lot more alert. "Something … happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. But I've got information you have to know, and I need for you to be awake to absorb it. Now," he said, helping her to stand and guiding her to her dressing room, "you get dressed. Then come down to the small dining room. I'll make sure Elsa's there. Okay? You got it now?"

She stretched hugely and yawned in his face, then stood straight. "Dressed. Breakfast. Elsa. Got it."

"And where?"

"The small dining room?"

"Right. I'll go wake your sister, and we'll meet in twenty minutes." Gently, he kissed her temple, drawing a low sigh, and then he was gone.

Well, ran her thoughts, it certainly hasn't been boring with him around. Then she turned her attention to her outfit of the day.

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Arendelle Castle, 10:20am

Elsa rocked back in shock. "What did you say?"

"It is you, Your Majesty," replied the courier. "He wants you. His terms are that you come alone, on a ship he will send. He says if you do not agree, that within a fortnight, Arendelle will be laid waste."

She rose to her feet, panting slightly.

"No." This from the Admiral.

"But, Mikael! He-"

"No. Under no circumstances will we deliver to that mad dog our Sovereign Queen, and he knows it. He cannot possibly be unaware of that. This is only a ploy against your spirit." He stood as well and walked around to her, pulling her chair out for her. She took the hint and sat.

The Minister of Tradesmen, one Alaric Sbordsen, said, "We already have nearly every citizen armed. Everyone is on the lookout for anything unusual. My Guilds are getting upwards of twenty reports a day from the borders, and so far, nothing is happening." He shifted forward to lean his arms on the table and lace his fingers together. "My opinion, for what it's worth, is that Larsen was either exaggerating, misinformed, or already hallucinating. If a force the size of what he claimed was wandering around Arendelle's hinterlands, we'd have heard something by now."

Mikael concurred. "We will keep the patrols on high alert, watch all the passes. We have signal fires ready, and horns to back them up. If anyone tries to get in, we'll know it." He glanced down at Elsa, who was studiously examining the polished wood for microscopic defects. "But one thing we will not be doing is surrendering our Queen. Ever."

"Is that what you intend to tell him?" Her voice was strained, and smaller than she liked.

"I don't intend to tell the blackguard anything. I'm going to send a couple of men back there in disguise and hustle our ambassador out of Weselton, and that wretched Duke can squat in his little web of deceit and wonder if his message got through."

She didn't like it; none of it. The threat to her kingdom, she thought very real. "He has a large army."

"And they can't get to Arendelle via the sea. They'll have to land somewhere rather far away and hoof it over some of the most inhospitable mountains in this part of the world. And, besides, neither Norway nor Bergen would appreciate an incursion like that. I doubt he'd risk a war with either of them."

That did make sense. She took a deep breath. Another. This, on top of what she'd learned from Kristoff less than two hours ago, was giving her a headache. "Gentlemen … I am fresh out of ideas. What do you think would be the best thing for Arendelle at this point?"

That started a few small discussions. Her other Councilors had been shaken by Larsen's admission, and three of them had interrogated him after their emergency meeting with the Queen, though by that point the fever was affecting his mind. His office had been a wealth of information, though, and the detailed maps he'd made showing secret ways into Arendelle nearly gave the Admiral apoplectic fits. He'd already dispatched scouts to set up outposts at watch-points, places where they could observe without easily being spotted themselves.

The most curious – and most frightening – happenstance that stemmed from their examination of Larsen's study was when one of them unearthed a slim clutch of letters between the Councilman and Weselton. They contained damning evidence of the Duke's intentions, and would prove invaluable in making their case to their allies. But one letter, written on a fine vellum rather than paper, had burned the man who opened it. He dropped it with a curse, then he and the other two investigators had watched open-mouthed as it caught fire and burned with a fierce, red flame, leaving nothing but fine ash.

The only magic the people of Arendelle were familiar with was Elsa's, and to a much lesser extent, the local trolls. This was outside their experience, and none of them liked it, even a little. Why did it burn? It was already open, so Larsen must have read it, handled it. Why didn't it burn him? All that the investigator had managed to read before it suddenly became too hot to touch was Larsen's name, inside a complicated circular symbol with a bunch of runes around the edge. Then he threw it down and sucked on his scorched finger.

The Council had yet to propose – and Elsa to approve – a replacement for Doran Larsen. However, Mikael's Spymaster was on hand in case they needed his input. He had been made aware of all that had transpired, and had been horrified that his reports and expertise, rather than aiding the royal family, had gone instead to support Weselton's efforts to conquer them. After hearing about the burnt letter, and quizzing at some length the aide who'd touched it, he'd drawn a few conclusions. Clearing his throat, he waited until the rest of the Council was looking at him. "If I may, Admiral, Your Majesty?"

Elsa nodded for him to continue.

"I've made something of a hobby of the study of various types of magic."

That got their attention. Mikael asked, "Do you have any idea what sort of magic was involved with Larsen?"

"Possibly." He pulled out a thick book, set it on the table, and opened it to a marked page. "After hearing Johansson's description of the sigil, what he could recall of it, I dug through my personal library and unearthed this." He pushed the book down the table so they could all see the drawing. "As soon as he saw it, he nodded. He told me the letter was very similar in structure, but since he'd not recognized any of the runes, he couldn't be sure they were the same. That's not really important, though."

"Not important?" exclaimed Elsa. "How can something so vital to our-"

"Please, Your Majesty, that wasn't my point."

"… . . . … Proceed."

"The runes accompanying the master sigil would be different for each victim. In this-"

"Victim?"

"… Yes. The target of the spell, in this case, the Councilor."

She motioned for him to continue.

"This is a kind of sympathetic magic called a geas. It forms a subconscious command in the target's mind. Depending on the nature of the geas, the skill of the wizard, and the character of the victim, he may not even know he is doing something the spell commanded, even while he does it."

Elsa blanched, and abruptly stood. "Are you telling me the Duke was … was controlling Doran?"

"Quite possibly. If not directly controlling him, he was probably guiding his actions in a broad scope." He shrugged. "I'd have to see the original letter, but as you discovered, only the victim can safely touch it. Well, not safely, because the spell would probably kill him eventually anyway, but … well, you know what I mean."

Her mind whirling, Elsa whispered, "I condemned him."

"Beg pardon, Majesty, I didn't …"

"I condemned him," she stated clearly, though her voice shook. "I … he begged me, and I … denied him absolution for his crimes. And now you say it may not have been him at all?" That last word jumped an octave.

"Well … not entirely." He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. "But that doesn't relieve him of culpability. From what we read in his correspondence with Weselton, he was the one who brought up the possibility of having the Duke steal your throne. He took his, ah, infatuation with you to, um, a rather unhealthy extreme. That didn't lead to his making very good decisions."

Mikael harrumphed, "I should say not."

Elsa began pacing and muttering to herself. After half a minute she turned back to them and leaned her fists on the table. "Gentlemen. How did Larsen get the letters?"

The Minister of the Press looked around at the others and shrugged. "Most likely through a private courier. That's a common method for transporting sensitive documents. It's how we're getting the mutual defense treaty down to Corona, and I'd assume they'll send their reply back the same way."

"Corona. Of course," she chastised herself. "How could I have forgotten about them?"

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, you have a lot on your mind."

She shook her head, then took a few deep breaths. "Sorry. Back to my other point: How do we know the Duke hasn't done something similar to others in Arendelle?"

The Spymaster was the only man in the room not troubled by that question. He raised his hand. "Actually, we can be fairly certain that there are at least two others. That was hinted at strongly in the letters."

"Who?"

"By your leave, I've already sent four of my top men to investigate. One possible victim – actually I'm pretty sure of him – is the Harbor Master."

"No!"

"We will know before the sun sets today. The other is probably one of the Guild Masters."

The Minister of Tradesmen was suddenly on his feet. "Who!?"

"Again, if my men do their jobs – and I've no doubt they shall – we will have that answer later today."

No one said anything for the space of a few breaths. Then Elsa said, "Assuming that sorts itself out as our estimable Spymaster has planned … what should be our response to Weselton's blatant acts of espionage and piracy?"

They bandied various opinions back and forth for the next hour and a half until Elsa called a break for lunch.

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Weselton, Ducal Manor, 04 June 1841, 8:45pm

The Duke – or what had at one time been the Duke – stood naked in front of a full length mirror in his dressing room, examining his skin. He'd managed to channel the excess heat away from his hands and face, but angry rashes and blisters covered the rest of him, and he'd been unable to hold down any food for three days now. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't uncomfortable. And no word back from that wretched Witch. This is intolerable. Does nothing provoke her?

Carefully he dressed, then strode to the enormous window in his enormous bedroom to take in the enormous view of Weselton Harbor. Nature had truly been kind, providing this lagoon with nearly a league of thoroughly protected shoreline, and allowing Weselton to become the ship-building and goods-trading empire that it was. He had nearly a hundred and fifty top-notch warships, and twice that in the merchant marine. Or, technically, the Duke had.

The sight of all that water threatened to make him ill.

Pulling back the cuff of his right sleeve, he examined a particularly nasty blister, and sighed. Time was no longer his friend. If he couldn't make the Winter Witch come to him …

Moving to a bell-pull, he was shortly answered by a page. "Go and find the Commander General of the Navy. I would speak to him. If he is not in my office in two hours, it will be fifty lashes for you."

The page, understanding from personal experience that the Duke no longer made idle threats – nor ever forgot he'd made one – sprinted from the room.

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End Note:
So, what do you think they should do about Weselton that they haven't already done? Will this knowledge alter Elsa's thinking vis-a-vis taking a personal hand in the fighting? And what's the 'Duke' up to now?

All Comments Welcome!