The Guardian
by Concolor44
. . .
. . .
. . .
Author's Note: This piece will form the final chapter of THIS part of the story. As you will easily be able to tell, my Muse was not content to leave it at this. We shall see if anything comes of that. I have So Very Many other stories already screaming at me to be written, and so little time to write them.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Chapter 21: Loose Ends – Part III
. . .
. . .
. . .
Arendelle Castle, 17 July 1841, 2:05pm
Frances, the considerably elder of Teresa's ladies-in-waiting, bustled into the Duchess's suite of rooms, somewhat encumbered by a small trunk. She set it beside the wardrobe and turned quickly upon hearing a muffled sob. Trotting over to the bed, she knelt beside her mistress and asked, "What is it, Y'Grace? Can I get you anything?"
"Oh, Fran! I am so very, very doomed."
"… Beggin' grace?"
"She is amazing. Incredible. Gracious and forgiving and fair and open and loving … and so eternally, achingly beautiful I could barely gather breath to speak."
"Oh. You'd be meanin' the Queen."
"YES!" she wailed. "I'm positive I behaved like a complete idiot. I can't remember half of what I said, and she would just gloss over it, and she spoke in such a friendly manner … but it was only friendly. She doesn't … I mean, really, why would she? I'm too plain."
"If it's not bound to happen, ye shouldn't dwell on it." She paused and leaned over. "And you're not plain!"
"I'm skinny. She looks like a woman!"
"You're slender. And you for sure look like a woman."
Teresa didn't seem to hear her. "And those eyes! Great God above, those eyes! I could swim in them for days! That's what blue eyes are supposed to look like!" She choked back another sob. "That's what any eyes are supposed to look like. And mine look like mud."
"Oh, for Goodness sake! Ye have pretty eyes! Big and wide and dark, and they sparkle when ye laugh."
Teresa sniffed and pulled out a lacy handkerchief to wipe at her nose. "Oh, Fran … ever since the coronation ball, she's been in every other thought, nearly every dream. And that was seeing her from a distance. Up close? I was useless. She is just overwhelmingly … so totally … you know what I mean? Right?"
"Yes, dear. I know what ye mean. But did ye feel a spark? Any interest at all? You'd know, I'll wager."
Burying her face in the pillow, Teresa whimpered, "No. Nothing. She was correct and proper and just … perfect … and gave no evidence of anything, not even a little curiosity. None. Zilch."
Frances rubbed her back. "It will get better, if it's meant to be."
"I am so doomed." She turned over onto her back. "Completely doomed."
"Meaning?"
"She wants me there at dinner. And we have to work together to hammer out the trade agreements. And I'll be here, and be around her, for the better part of a week. And I'm supposed to just act normal? Seriously?"
"Mayhap she'll have a Minister of Trade ye can work with instead?"
"… But … but then I wouldn't get to see her."
"Tsk! You're bein' that hard to please, I'll say that for ye."
Teresa pulled the pillow over onto her face. Frances heard a barely audible, "Doomed."
. . .
. . .
. . .
Arendelle Castle Courtyard, 01 August 1841, 5:10pm
One of the guard had spotted Kristoff on Sven when they were still half a league off. That gave Anna plenty of time to set up a welcome. In typical Anna fashion, it was pretty straightforward: she glomped him before he had both feet on the ground.
A rather enjoyable forty or fifty seconds later, they paused for breath. She spoke first. "So I guess you got your fears all laid to rest, nice and neat?"
"Some of them. At least I'm not afraid I'll break your bones with this thing anymore." He smoothed her hair back with his stony fingers.
"Your letters were cryptic. And short. Much too short, as I believe I mentioned, oh, twenty-five or thirty times."
He didn't offer any excuse for why they were cryptic. He did not yet want to tell her what Pabbie had told him: that his partial transformation into a troll might have affected his ability to father children. The old shaman wasn't sure either way, but he put the possibility out there. Kristoff would have time to discuss it with Anna before their eventual wedding … but today was not that day. He wanted to see her happy, and that would just give her one more thing to worry over. "There wasn't much to write about. It was the same sorts of exercises every day. And I didn't get out much, either." (Neither had he gone into specifics about Grandpabbie's cave.)
She'd yet to remove her arms from his neck. "You're out now."
"True enough." He kissed her again. And again. Once more. "What would you like to do to celebrate?"
"Go back to the Nissefoss?"
"… Are you … you are serious! Thor's Beard, why? We got ambushed there!"
"And we never got to finish our picnic. And now it's safe. There are no brigands. I'll get Elsa to make me a couple of small Sentinels to … hey, for that matter, we could ride 'em. Yeah, that'll work!"
Kristoff reflected on that. "It would be more comfortable than the carriage, for sure. And, yeah, with the Sentinels around, we'd be pretty safe." He nodded. "Okay. Sounds good."
"The Sentinels … and you." She snuggled against his chest. "I feel safest when I'm with you."
The feeling is mutual, ran his thoughts.
. . .
. . .
. . .
The Pope's Chambers, The Vatican, 05 August 1841, 10:45pm
You'd think that, with all the money God's given him, His Holiness could afford some more comfortable chairs. Paulo perched stoically on the hard seat as he waited for the old man to make an appearance. Of course he knew why the chairs were hard and angular, and it wasn't solely due to the fact that Gregory XVI had been a monk (though that doubtless factored in). This small side-chamber was rarely used – never for important visitors – and frequently dusty. But the job he'd been assigned was sensitive enough that such clandestine meeting arrangements were necessary.
He looked up when the door opened, then stood and bowed.
The Pope, though nearly seventy-six years old, was still active and fairly robust … and he busied himself every waking minute with consolidating the power of the Church and the supremacy of the Papacy. When he first heard of the Snow Queen, he dismissed the stories as flights of fancy. But as more and more confirmations came in, he decided to investigate the situation himself. That's when he tapped Cardinal Isperizza to head up an Inquisitorial Delegation to Arendelle.
But the Cardinal was not his only – or even primary – source of information. Paulo had been spying for the old fellow since he attained the See a decade earlier, and Gregory made sure he had a position in Isperizza's group.
Pope Gregory strode over and took his (much better) seat behind the desk, giving Paulo an expectant look. "Well. I've got Isperizza's recommendation."
"He wants you to pronounce her anathema."
"Of course. She's Lutheran, in addition to her … unusual abilities. Were it up to him, we'd be hosting an auto-da-fé. He despises Lutherans on principle, and is one of the most superstitious men I've ever known."
Grinning, Paulo quipped, "So a perfect Grand Inquisitor."
"Yes."
"But now you want the rest of the story."
He cocked an eyebrow, "If it's not too much trouble." Waving at a sideboard, he added, "There is mulled wine in there if you're thirsty."
"Thank you." He rose and fetched himself a glass, taking his seat again. "It's something of a hodgepodge, as with most stories. To start with, her abilities are innate. She was, by all accounts, born with the power to create ice. Per information from the old servant who has known her all her life, she was regularly frosting her crib before attaining six months of age."
"And her parents allowed her to live. Remarkable."
"Ah, well. You know there is only one perfect baby in the world, and every mother has it."
The Pope allowed himself a subdued chuckle. "Indeed. So. She is not a sorceress."
"Or a witch."
"Or a witch. Fortunate for her, I suppose. Tell me about her rule."
"She's just, fair, and merciful, by turns. Justice would decree that the disgraced Prince who tried to kill her be hanged. Instead, she banished him. I would not have done so."
"Neither would I. What led her to exhibit such mercy? Did he pay her off?"
"No. I would attribute it to her youth, and the fact that she had been a recluse for thirteen years."
Pope Gregory rubbed his chin, frowning. "What was that? Recluse, you say? Why?"
"The story – and I got it from the Captain of the Guard – is that when she was eight years old, she and her younger sister were playing in the snow."
"A common activity that far north, I'd assume."
"It was summer-time. They were playing in the ballroom, in snow Elsa created."
Slowly crossing his arms, the Pope said, "… I see."
"Somehow, she managed to injure her sister with her magic. No one seems privy to the details, but the old King and Queen managed to save the girl's life. After that, the sisters were kept apart. Elsa stayed in her room most of the time, consumed by guilt for the injury and fear that the next time she would kill her sister." He tapped the desktop absently. "They love each other dearly. It really is quite too sweet."
"And she stayed sequestered for thirteen years?"
"The general assumption given by those I spoke with is that the King felt she could learn to repress her power that way."
"From the fact that she laid a few ells of snow over her entire kingdom in high summer, I deduce that was less than successful."
"Correct."
"But she has control now. Isperizza was quite detailed in the descriptions of the things that she made for him." He shook his head in wonder. "A psaltery? A perfect crucifix? An illuminated Decalogue? A useable copy of the Gospel of St. Matthew? It beggars imagination."
"True. She has practically littered the town with ice sculptures. I sketched a few of them, the more impressive ones. She has a scale model of the castle that really must be seen to be believed."
"… You sound as if you admire her."
"I do."
The Pope leaned back, cracked a few knuckles, and stared out the window for a moment. The stars hung brilliant against the darkness. I used to have time to appreciate the night sky. "Do you think she could be converted?"
"I have no idea. But I will tell you this: If I could be half the Christian she is, I'd not fear spending one moment in Purgatory."
Gregory stared at him for two breaths. "… You realize that statement is skirting dangerously close to heresy."
"Per Church doctrine, yes. However, if she were Catholic, her body wouldn't even be cold before she was elevated to Sainthood."
"… Explain yourself."
"Do you know what happened to her sister during the Great Freeze?"
"Her sister? No, I'd not heard. Isperizza mentioned nothing about her sister, other than that she had one."
"The Queen ran away from the coronation ball. She climbed a tall mountain in a matter of a couple of hours, a mountain that it took a mounted troop most of a day to climb. Once there, she erected a palace of ice."
The Pope held up a hand. "Stop. A palace?"
"I got descriptions from a few of the soldiers, and part of a description from the Princess."
"The Princess?"
"She'd chased after the Queen when she fled."
"Hmm. So. How big is this 'palace'?"
"Some two hundred and fifty ells tall, and covering at least two acres."
"Impossible."
"Yet there it stands."
"And she built it … in one night?"
"In considerably less than one hour. The castle was complete by dawn, and the nights there only last four or five hours at that time of year."
"Astounding." He fiddled with his Papal ring for a bit. "It would certainly be worth our effort to try to convert her."
"I won't disagree. In any case, when her sister found her, the Queen struck her with her ice magic once more. Again, by all accounts, it was an accident, as the Queen did not yet have full control."
"And obviously not fatal. I assume they used the same method to save her as before?"
"No. For reasons I could not tease out, whatever was done to her as a child was … either ineffective or not available."
"Then how is it that she didn't die?"
"Oh, but she did die."
"… . . . … . . . … What?"
"It was gradual, but she froze solid. It happened out on the fjord, in front of many witnesses. That disgraced Prince was in the act of striking at the Queen with his sword when the Princess intervened. As he was swinging, she froze to solid ice. His sword broke on the Princess's hand."
"… Broke."
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Again, many witnesses."
"Then how is she alive?"
"Popular opinion is that Love saved her."
"How?"
"When the Queen saw that her sister had frozen, she threw herself on the girl and wept bitterly. In a few moments, the Princess thawed out. Very shortly after that, the Queen thawed the rest of the land. There was no damage to speak of, no crops lost." He bit at a fingernail. "It is widely accepted that the Queen's tears saved her, and the Queen's love, discovered and bolstered by her sister, saved the country. The power of Pure Love restored her to life."
The Pope stared at him in disbelief for most of a minute. "You are talking about a string of certifiable miracles."
"Refer to my earlier comment about Sainthood."
This news troubled the Pope. If it became widely known that miracles could occur outside the aegis of the Church …
Paulo cleared his throat and took a sip of wine. "There's another thing you need to know."
"Am I going to like it any better than these?"
"Hardly. You know of Weselton's animosity, yes?"
"Of course. The little irritant would hardly shut up about her. That's why I sent Isperizza. But the Duke never said anything about miracles!"
"Well, he wouldn't. He felt slighted."
"She cut off trade with them. I'd feel slighted, too."
"Ha. As to that, after she fled, he had his men track her to her ice palace and try to kill her. She would have been within her rights to execute them for that. Yet she simply tossed them out of Arendelle and cut off trade."
A long-suffering sigh preceded, "More of that 'Mercy' you touched on earlier?"
"Yes. But Weselton went much further than merely lodging complaints. When the Inquisitor left, I stayed behind, as you had desired. It is well that I did."
"You learned something even more astounding than her miracle?"
"I did. As it happens, Weselton attempted a covert invasion."
"From the tone of his letters, that doesn't surprise me."
"They made a few incursions. Burned one village and slew everyone. When the Queen heard about it, she was … most exercised. She set out to stop it."
"Set out? You mean personally?"
"Yes. She and a corps of Marines. But the soldiers were there, as I learned, solely to protect the Queen, not to fight the invaders. Well, not specifically."
"… I'm not following you."
Paulo leaned his elbows on the desk, rested his chin on his fists. "What Queen Elsa did was stop in every village and hamlet from the capitol to the border and leave a creation behind."
"Creation? What do you mean?"
"I mean, Your Holiness, that she can create life."
Gregory stared at him. The silence stretched out long enough that Paulo simply picked up his narrative. "I followed their company, close enough to keep track, but far enough to escape notice. In the first tiny village, they paused long enough for Queen Elsa to meet with the elders, then she crafted a great Beast." When the Pope still didn't say anything, he continued, "It looks like a snow-hill, at least twelve ells tall and maybe half again that wide. It has a long neck, six very long arms, and six thick legs. She leaves them there to guard the villages."
"… When you say 'guard' …"
"These creatures are intelligent."
The Pope whispered something and rubbed his hands across his pate, staring at the desktop. Finally, "You are sure of this? Dead sure?"
"When the Queen's party moved on, I rode into the village. It was playing with the children."
"… What?" Gregory felt that he'd been using that word entirely too often in this meeting.
"It would pick them up and place them on its back, and they would slide down. They seemed delighted."
The old man turned and stared out the window, drumming his fingers on the desk. "… Playing."
"Yes."
"With the children."
"Correct."
"… How do you know it was intelligent?"
"I held a conversation with it."
Mouth open. Mouth closed. Mouth open.
"It was very polite. Also, it was fluent in Italian."
Gregory knocked his head against the back of his chair, then stood and began pacing.
"My assumption is that it can speak all the languages Queen Elsa can speak. She knows several."
The Pope rubbed at his face and blew a long breath. "You did say I wouldn't like this."
"I did."
"Why did Isperizza not report any of this?"
"Apart from his closed-carriage trip to and from his ship, he never stepped out of the castle. They have an excellent chef in their kitchen, and as you know, Isperizza-"
"Yes, yes, Isperizza, above all else, loves his fine food. Thus his unwieldy figure. It's a poor example for a Cardinal to set."
"Exactly."
Another pause. "So … how many?"
"Beasts?"
"Yes."
"I don't know. How many villages does Arendelle boast?"
"And … made of snow?"
"Snow and ice. It had three things like fingers on the ends of its arms, but hidden inside the end of the arm was what looked like a curved blade made of ice. I didn't ask what it was for, but the intent was obvious. The creature – it said its name was Þurs – was adamant that its primary purpose was the protection of the village."
Frowning at the unfamiliar name, Gregory gestured for further explanation.
"It's from the old Norse. It means 'giant'. Or possibly 'monster'. I'm not sure which."
The old man ambled back to his seat, eased himself down, and stared into the middle distance. After a time, he asked, "Is there any more?"
Giving his head a decisive shake, Paulo answered, "Not at this time. Though I would like to return to Arendelle, by your leave."
Absently, Gregory nodded. "Fine. Yes, that's … fine." Turning to the other man, he said, "She can create life? She brought her sister back from the dead? She commands the forces of winter? And Weselton is complaining about trade? Is the man barking mad?"
"Not far from it, Holiness."
Another minute passed in silence. "Yes. Return to Arendelle. I would like for you to feel her out. See if you can establish her exact stance on doctrine. If the Church could at least gain a foothold …"
"The Church has a foothold, Holiness."
"What? How?"
"There is a small Catholic community there. In fact, Queen Elsa created a meeting house for them."
"… A meeting house."
"Yes."
"… Of ice?"
"Yes. And before you ask, no, it doesn't melt. It's magical ice."
"Of course it is." His voice was strained. "So … she is at least favorably disposed toward the Church?"
"Sort of." He repositioned himself, took a long swallow of wine. Another. "Arendelle is an odd place. It is small and remote and sparsely populated, and the terrain is difficult. Historically, it's been left alone, and they like it that way. As such, they have plowed their own path, philosophically. They don't have a state church. A simple majority of them are Lutheran, but there is that Catholic group I mentioned, and a small Jewish synagogue. The old native religion of the Sami is also practiced by a few. And there are some that eschew religion entirely."
"How can that be?"
"They take 'live and let live' to its ludicrous extreme, that's how. Proselytizing is not exactly discouraged, but … hmm … if you stop the average man on the street and engage him in a conversation about his soul, usually he'll listen politely, then give you his version, wish you a good day, and go on about his business."
"That doesn't seem like a workable model for a society."
"If it were much bigger, it might not be. But they aren't. They're small, and insular, and they cling fiercely to this concept of freedom of conscience."
That really went against the grain, as far as Gregory was concerned. He wanted the Church to be acknowledged as the only source of truth, wanted it to direct the affairs of government by holding sway over monarchs. That was the natural order of things.
This news from Arendelle shook him to his core.
"Well. Very interesting." He was playing with his ring again. "Yes. Go back to Arendelle."
"Is it your intention, Holiness, to declare her anathema?"
A few slow shakes of his head prefaced, "That would be neither productive nor politic. We need to take a different road. Direct confrontation sounds as if it would be a very bad idea."
"I'd agree with that, Holiness."
Nodding decisively, he added, "We need to bring her around to our way of thinking. But it must be done slowly. Carefully. She needs to see the advantages of the Church."
"That won't be easy. Isperizza left a bad taste in her mouth, I can guarantee you that."
"Hmm. That's unfortunate." The ceiling got the benefit of his gaze for a few breaths. "How about this: you identify a few that you trust, who you think can fit in with that society, and take them with you. Join the local Church. Find out everything you can. Then come back to me in the spring, and we'll see what may be done."
"As you command, Holiness."
. . .
. . .
. . .
Thus ends "The Guardian".
That being said, as you can see from recent installments, this thing is just BEGGING me for a sequel or two. Drama, drama, drama.
How-some-ever you take it, leave a review and let me know what you think, and whether you'd like to see a sequel, and what that sequel should cover.
Cheers!
Con
