The Guardian

by Concolor44

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I don't make a habit of this, as you know, since I feel it tends to break up the flow of the story, but this is a good spot for it, so I thought I'd take an opportunity to answer a few reviewers publicly. They have brought up some interesting questions over the last few chapters.

Ice Wraith …
- Why aren't the enemy infiltrators being detected? A few reasons, one of which has already been mentioned: Arendelle's northern and eastern frontiers are extremely rugged, and Doran had drawn them maps of the best ways to get inside.
- Elsa may or may not have the ability to construct a surveillance net in the form of ice-birds that would act as her eyes. She hasn't even considered that as a possibility. This story is not connected in any way to "Meltdown" or "My Glove" or "Served Cold", and Elsa here, while an effective Queen, has been a good bit more hesitant about flinging her powers around willy-nilly than she might have been, as Pabbie explained in the Room of Remembrance. But she's getting better at it, as you will see below.
- The driving force behind Weselton's actions will be made clear before too long. Also, Hans doesn't show up in this story except as a reference.

Shadowfax321 …
- It isn't that the possession is wearing off, exactly, nor is it that the Commander General is being possessed, "too". I can't really explain it without giving too much away. Sorry!

Nitebreaker …
- "going down in flames". Apt, that, more than you know.
- Elsa didn't get on the ship, as you have seen. She knows she has a job to do, and now she isn't going to let her advisers' worries about her safety keep her from doing it. There are several ways to go about that. We'll see if her decisions are wise.

Frenzy5150 …
- Weselton's motivation will come to light after … well, things happen. Can't really go into it here. Elsa's Council was convinced that conquest was his goal, until that courier returned. Now they aren't positive. But you are correct in saying that he has the means and the power to target Elsa directly, if he wants her dead. … If.

CrunchDeNumbers …
- Being the Left Hand of Fate is not necessarily a comfortable position.
- Indeed, your analogy of living in a world with shapeshifters is quite a good one, as we shall see.

ScarletAvenger …
- Kristoff's new powers (and more so, his responsibilities) are going to have some pretty profound effects on him. Pabbie let him see that Erik the Bold, King of Nordheim, had been given fire crystals. Kristoff did not, however, see what eventually became of him.

Grrlgeek72 …
- You know it, girl!

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Chapter 11: Best Laid Plans

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North-eastern Arendelle, near the border with Bergen, 21 June 1841, early afternoon

Commander General Franklin Stokes of Weselton glared sourly down at the Lieutenant standing stiffly in front of his horse. "This cannot be the best you can do."

"But … sir … this is the ford they normally use around here. We got that from the last …"

"No."

The Lieutenant swallowed. "We, ah, will have to, ah, head upstream quite a ways to find a shallower ford."

"Are your scouts already on the move, looking for one?"

"… Um, not yet?"

"Why not?"

"Yes, sir! It shall be done!" He bowed himself out.

Stokes sagged a little and dismounted. Leading his horse, he walked over to a tall tree and relaxed in its shade. It wasn't that the direct sun bothered him (it didn't … he actually preferred that) but he needed some distance from the rest of his men. Keeping the glow out of his eyes grew more difficult the more active he became, and it wouldn't do to give away his true nature at this point in the game. The other side effects were even more accelerated. Already his back was one huge rash. And this ford was out of the question; the Fourth Elemental Compact made that much quite plain. Maintaining his secret wouldn't be possible if he actually touched running water, even in a borrowed body. Memories of the two-day ocean passage intruded; he shuddered and savagely repressed them.

It would all be worth it soon. He told himself that; he had to believe it. Soon, he would be able to restore his lost honor. Soon, he would hold a major position in the Hierarchy, his just reward for delivering the Winter Witch to the Elders. He cupped his hands together, hiding his magic from the others as he conjured a small image of flame, and stared at it.

Soon, she would be his. Alliarra would be his.

His just reward.

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Eastern Arendelle, near the border with Norway, 23 June 1841, shortly after sunrise

"I wanna turn!"

"Me next, me next!"

"I ain't got a turn yet! You already went twice!"

"Did not!"

"Children?"

They all stopped at the calm, commanding tone, and gave their respect to the Queen.

"If your intention is simply to fight over it, I'll have the Sentinel ignore you and you can go back to jumping rope in your spare time."

Suddenly docile, they formed a neat line (a short, neat line, as there were only six children under twelve in the small village, and everyone older was in the fields). There were a few muttered notes of "Sorry" and "Yes, Mum" and "Okay, Yer Majesty".

Fighting back a grin, Elsa nodded at her creation. Long flexible limbs swooped down and scooped up giggling children, depositing them high on the sloping back, where they pushed off and took a long slide back to the ground. She could tell that the Sentinel was nearly as thrilled with this operation as the kids were. Satisfied that tempers wouldn't get out of hand again, she turned back to the village Elders. "Well?"

Two of them were whispering to each other. The Chief watched the playing children for a quarter minute, then gave his attention to Elsa. "And this, ah, creation of yours will also offer protection?"

"It will."

"An' it won't, um … melt?"

"It's magical ice. No, it won't melt. But it will provide a bit of relief from the heat."

That was certainly true. A light, cool breeze flowed down the sides of the huge thing and spread out through the village. That was certainly a plus given that the season was a mere two days past the Summer Solstice and blazing hot (by Arendelle standards … it was just shy of thirty degrees, and cloudless). He chewed on the inside of his jaw for a bit, then shrugged. "If it can keep us safe from the brigands, that sounds like a good thing, ya?"

"That would be the goal, Elder Karl."

"What about when the little uns need t' do their chores?" He waved at the huge ice-being. "I know if I'd had aught like that t' play with, I would'n a-done nothin' else."

"It is sentient. It knows you're the Chief. Simply go up to it and let it know that playtime is over. It will stop."

Giving her an incredulous sidelong glance, he shrugged again and walked up to the Sentinel. "Oy, there!" He turned back to Elsa. "It got a name?"

"Þurs."

He chuckled. "Of course it is." Looking up (way up) at the being's 'head', he said, "Þurs!"

Elder Karl couldn't tell what the thing was using for eyes, but he could tell that he got its attention. It answered, in a surprisingly low, even voice, "Yes, Sir Chief?"

"Our good Lady Queen says you're here to protect us."

"That is true. I exist for that reason. She has left in me her love for the people of Arendelle in all its aspects, both gentle and fierce."

"Well and good. We welcome you to our village."

"Thank you, Sir Chief."

"Them kids, though, need t' get on home an' start their chores."

"As you wish." Its arms retracted. As soon as the last child had slid down its long back, it tucked its legs up under itself, assumed a relatively conical shape and went silent.

One of the kids toed at the ground. "Awww!"

"Shush, Jan. Don't ya got chickens t' feed?"

"Aye, Sir." The children dispersed.

Standing at attention before his Queen, Elder Karl Ossmann gave her a deep bow and asked, "Would you take breakfast with us, Yer Majesty?"

"I think that would be very pleasant." She ignored Anna's giggle as the Princess and her Consort Apparent urged their horses forward at a walk. The remainder of their rather large company had halted west of the village for their own morning meal.

Arendelle hadn't had a standing army in three generations, largely due to the diplomatic efforts of Elsa's father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. They had a Navy, though, because no sea-faring nation, dependent on trade for its lifeblood, can get along without one, pirates being a fact of life. And the fighting force of the Navy, the men who engaged in combat, were the Royal Marines.

Though relatively few in number (not quite a thousand, all told) they were disciplined, well-trained fighters who could manage to hold their own in everything from a full-blown pitched battle to small-scale infiltrations. In order to qualify to even take Marine training, the successful candidate had to demonstrate a basic level of expertise with firearms, crossbow, knife and sword, and unarmed combat. Suffice to say that no one who knew much about them would want to cross them.

Admiral Naismith had insisted that a full platoon of them, eighty strong, accompany Elsa on her journey. She thought he was being silly. He thought she was taking insanity-level chances with her life.

The system of roads in Arendelle was fairly well-maintained (the Royal Highways, at any rate), and the recent pleasant weather meant they were dry and firm. The company made good time, even given that the Captain of the Guard had half a dozen scouts riding ahead and reporting back at regular intervals. At every hamlet they would halt while Elsa spoke with the people there, explaining what was happening and assuring them of her concern and determination to keep them safe. Then she would create a Sentinel.

These golems of ice stood some seven meters tall, with six stout legs and six long arms, each one something like the trunk of an immense elephant, and each tipped with wickedly sharp (retractable) claws. She would introduce the ice-being to the inhabitants of the village, charging it with the protection of the citizens. Typically, after they got over the shock of seeing her make the Sentinel, the people would be fascinated by the idea of having their very own Protector. Sometimes they would want it to stay out of sight, being a bit afraid of it themselves (though no one had flat turned down the Queen's offer yet), but much more often they decided to park it in the middle of the village, where it could quickly respond to an attack. And, as has been noted, it was typically a favorite of the children.

This latest village, a nameless collection of small houses surrounded by small pastures in a small upland valley, was the fourteenth she'd visited since leaving Arendelle Castle. The party was perhaps four-fifths of the way to Kalaad (what was left of it) and Elsa was anxious to put her plan into action. Each of the passes marked as entry points would receive a phalanx of Sentinels. If Weselton's thugs tried to sneak in, the Sentinels would stop them … with extreme prejudice. If the Sentinels were (somehow) destroyed, Elsa would know. She would know when and where, and Arendelle's military could be directed accordingly. It was a sound plan, and covered all their bases.

Plans, though, have an annoying habit of being circumvented.

After breakfast with the Elders (only the Queen, Princess, and Kristoff, as the Marines carried their own food supply) they all grouped up around the royals and headed out. Three more villages received Sentinels before nightfall. The cohort found a good place to camp near a rushing stream, and the cooks got supper underway.

Since an army (even a small one) travels on its stomach, there was a train of half a dozen large wagons bringing up the rear, each loaded with foodstuffs. The cooks were not actual Marines but were instead temporary hires, just for this expedition, from the town of Arendelle. They had their own wagon as well. Three of them (yes, three) were named Ole, so they got called by their last names. There was also a Lydvald and a Sigurd. Sigurd's primary responsibility was washing pots, pans, and dishes. He didn't like the job, and couldn't really recall why he'd applied in the first place, but frankly, it was about all he could handle. He wasn't terribly bright, was prone to sloth, and his sullen attitude quickly made sure the others didn't speak to him if it wasn't necessary. Consequently, unless there was work to be done, he could usually be found napping in one of the wagons.

After this morning's breakfast, as Sigurd began cleaning up, he reached into his vest, pulled out a small vial, and poured its contents into the wash-water, which briefly took on a faint, red tinge before fading back to a normal appearance. He was unaware of having done so as soon as he was done, nor would he remember scuffing a shallow hole into the dirt, dropping the vial in, and covering it with a careful foot.

He recalled none of it … just as he knew nothing of having done the same thing the previous two days … just as he recalled none of the meeting he'd had with a shady character the night before the expedition departed. He couldn't remember their conversation, or the silver that exchanged hands, or the envelope the man had given him.

Less than half a league after leaving the tiny village, Sigurd took violently ill. Muttering at their ill luck, the other cooks bundled him up and reported to the Marine Quartermaster. That man, sighing, designated one spare horse to hold him and one Marine to lead him, and sent them back toward Arendelle.

However, before night had fallen, Sigurd fell into convulsions and retched so hard it tore his stomach. After eight more minutes of vomiting blood, he was dead. The Marine charged with his care, alarmed at his sudden demise, urged his horse into a gallop to get back to his unit. With all the evil magic focused on Arendelle of late, he couldn't afford to just let this pass. It might be significant.

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