Canary Chapter 10: The Parade, a frozen fanfic

Summary: After years of solitude, Elsa now seeks to be the queen Arendelle deserves. But when Arendelle is invaded by a Southern King who is intent on deposing Elsa and claiming Arendelle, Elsa must muster all her courage to protect her country, and herself.

Chapter Ten

- The Parade -

Queen Emilia Du Von was a beautiful woman. Aedan had been entranced by her ever since her father had brought her to the Peak when she was fourteen years old. Her eyes reminded him of the ocean he had only seen once before. They were bright with curiosity and were always ready for a laugh and a joke. Back then, she had spared him a look and a smile but that was it. He was only a dirty-faced squire with straw in his hair, after all.

She stayed in the castle with her father and brother for a fortnight. In all that time, Aedan had never been able to muster the courage to approach her.

But he remembered her, although he doubted that she remembered him from that time.

Queen Emilia's gilded carriage passed through the city gates and into the fields where Maximilian's army waited. When the carriage pulled to a stop and Emilia emerged from within, Aedan almost felt like the grubby squire he had been a decade ago. The queen's face was fuller now than it had been then. Indeed, it was fuller than it had been when they had set sail to Arendelle. Her cheeks were flushed and shone with a healthy glow, and Aedan didn't fail to notice how the queen's hand drifted towards her stomach when idle. When her sea-sparkling eyes fell on Aedan, her mouth broke in a bright smile.

"My Queen," Aedan said and lowered himself to one knee before her.

"Greetings, Aedan," Queen Emilia said warmly. "Rise, rise, let me look at you! I've never seen you in that armour before. You look the very vision of Ovelia's perfect knight!"

Aedan rose as commanded and returned Emilia's smile. He wore a set of white ceremonial armour that morning, adorned with golden trim and polished to perfection. "It's good to see you."

"And you," said Emilia. "Max told me about your adventures in his last letter. The bards and playwrights have already taken a liking to your duel with Arendelle's champion and your storm-lit ride to recapture Elsa." Emilia's eyes glinted with amusement. "Is it true you overcame a frost giant at the city gates?"

"Is that what they're saying?" Aedan asked, taken aback.

"That was from one of the more romantic retellings."

"Are the others full of fantasies too?"

"Some," said Emilia. "You'll have to tell me what really happened during the feast tonight."

"It would be an honour, my lady," said Aedan with a sweeping bow.

Emilia laughed delightedly and held out her hand for him to kiss. "Such courtesy! We shall make a nobleman of you yet, Ser Aedan."

Aedan offered Queen Emilia his arm, which she shook appreciatively. "Max asked me to escort you through the camp. He wished to meet you himself but. . ."

Emilia waved the words away. "I'm sure he has half-a-hundred things to take care of before the parade, I quite understand. And this gives you and I a chance to converse properly. I feel like it's been so much longer than just two months."

"Would you like to use your carriage?"

The queen shook her head. "The fresh air will do me some good."

"You may reconsider that soon. A strange smell has buzzed around the oxen since yesterday afternoon."

"I have every confidence you will lead me on a path away from the oxen. Now quickly, Aedan. I am anxious to see my husband."

"As you command."

Emilia's escort fell into step behind them, hands on swords, scanning every nook and cranny of the bustling camp for potential danger. They needn't have bothered. The camp was probably the safest place in the entire kingdom at that moment, with thousands of armed soldiers bustling around in preparation for the parade. Aedan paid the escort little attention, instead, his eyes drifted to Emilia's stomach, which was fuller than it had been the last time he saw her too.

"Max tells me that congratulations are in order," he said.

Emilia dazzled him with a white-toothed smile. She touched her belly with her free hand. "Thank you."

"Is everything well?"

"As well as anyone could hope," said Emilia. "The physician has me drinking all sorts of tonics to combat the morning sickness, but they do little to help. I'm sick every morning and almost every evening too. And sometimes I get such a burning in my chest and throat all I can do is sip cool milk or tea with honey until the sensation fades. And other times, I get shooting pains down my legs so badly I can barely walk. . ." She sighed and smiled. "It is all a part of the journey, I'm afraid. Don't look so frightened, Aedan, I will be fine. I am fine."

"If you're sure," Aedan said doubtfully. "We can still return to your carriage."

Emilia swatted him away. "That will not be necessary." Then, she said, "I hear congratulation are in order for you too."

"Really, what for? I don't recall getting anyone pregnant."

"You earned your father's name, dolt!" Emilia said in the same tone that would have accompanied a sharp rap on the head when they were younger.

"Ah, so I did."

"Your humility convinces no one, Ser. I'm sure your valour will be celebrated in due time."

"There will be much to celebrate over the coming weeks."

"Indeed." Emilia nodded. "Though be assured, the weight of your deeds has not been lightened by the presence of other successes. You should feel proud, as should your father and brothers."

Aedan could have laughed at that if it wouldn't have been in such poor taste. "I could deliver the Coronan royal family to Maximilian and Matrim would still find something to criticise. And my father-"

Emilia pulled at his arm. "I will not have you think so poorly of your father," she said. "He is proud of you, even if he does not have the words to say it."

"I suppose he must be proud," admitted Aedan. "He would not have granted me his name if he was not."

"I'm glad you can see that. Try not to let your bitterness towards your family fester. You have everything you have ever wanted in the palm of your hand now – and you do deserve it too."

"I wonder. . ."

"Hold a moment, Aedan," Emilia said. She tugged him around to face her and examined him with her hands on her hips. Her slender eyebrows rose. "Do you disagree?"

"I didn't say that."

"Your tone implies an awful lot." Emilia almost looked angry. "You won a war with your sword. You prevented the deaths of thousands of soldiers, and you stopped the sorceress from escaping."

"You forgot about the part where I slew the frost giant."

"Oh, yes. Right. How silly of me." Emilia's lips quirked, and she resumed their walk. "Tales of frost giants a bedding sorceress queens aside, I wanted you to know that Garlen is proud of you, even if Matrim cares not."

"Bedding sorceress queens?" That one did surprise Aedan.

"Another popular version. It's interesting how a tale can change in the retellings, no?"

"The once about the frost giant has more truth to it." Aedan scratched his chin. "Garlen is proud?"

"Of course – you are his brother."

"I'm Matrim's brother too."

"Well, Matrim is often consumed by the giant stick up his arse."

Aedan couldn't help but laugh, with Emilia matched with a pleasant one of her own. Then, while still smiling, she added. "I understand that we may be siblings soon."

"Max told you?" Aedan said, surprised.

"His last letter was rather long and covered a range of topics. We've yet to tell Rosalind but I cannot imagine she'll protest the match. I think it's a rather fitting betrothal, don't you? And I'm glad it's you. Father has had to field some undesirable propositions for her hand lately."

"Oh?"

Emilia leaned close. "Between you and me – and swear you won't mention this to anyone, Aedan – but Lord Flavian spoke to father about marrying Rosalind. Father declined, of course, but there was a lot of pressure on him to accept."

"Flavian?" Aedan repeated, shocked. "There must be twenty years between him and Rosalind!"

"Closer to thirty, I think. Rosalind may only have herself to blame for that one. She had adapted rather well to court life – too well if you ask me. Max may have mentioned to you that there have been three duels fought over her hand – one of them to the death too!"

"Max only mentioned two," Aedan said, eyebrows high. Dueling was a popular sport in the kingdom, but it wasn't often that someone was killed. "Who was it?"

"You may not know him; he was only young and new to court this year. The young Lord Osmund Treant?" Aedan shook his head. "He was the middle child of one of Bastille's bannermen. I'll tell you; we would have had a new feud break out if I hadn't stepped in when I did. Lord Gunter, the victor's father, has agreed to pay reparations and put the matter to bed, but I fear there will always be a firm grudge between the two families now, and my sister is firmly in the middle of it."

A scowl had pulled over Emilia's face now. "I'll not repeat to you the salacious rumours regarding my sister and those two young fools but let me say that the sooner this betrothal is announced, and you and Rosalind are wed, the better."

Aedan chewed on this thought as Emilia continued to update him on the court news he had missed. Soon Maximilian's pavilion was in front of them. The soldiers on duty fell to one knee before Emilia and remained there until she offered a kind word and invited them to stand. Emilia released his arm and then spoke to two gold-clad knights who waited on either side of the pavilion's entrance.

Both knights fell to one knee at the sight of their queen and only rose at her persistent urgings. She busied herself for a moment or two, inquiring after both knights' health and how they fared while away in Arendelle. Emilia would speak to a goose if it deigned to approach her – but that was one of the qualities that had made her an excellent queen. Aedan listened with half-an-ear, while also noting the voices coming from inside Maximilian's pavilion.

"The dais was finished yesterday evening," Aedan heard his father's voice rasp from inside. "Lord Flavian is busy marshalling the Watch and the sixth legion to keep the peace during the parade."

"That's three-thousand men," Maximilian replied. "That seems like too many."

"Too few in my opinion," Lord Beoulve said. "It's a long way from the gates to the palace, sire. Emotions often run high during events like these."

"Surely you do not expect a riot?" Maximilian said.

"I don't," admitted Lord Beoulve, "but I shall still prepare for one."

There was a pause, and Aedan imagined he could hear Maximiian's heavy sigh. "Very well, do what you believe prudent."

Emilia turned to him and touched his shoulder. "Apologies, Ser Aedan," she said with a smile. "I am ready now."

"There's no need to apologise," replied Aedan. He pushed aside the pavilion's entrance flap so that the queen did not have to duck her head, and then followed her inside.

At the sight of them – or of Emilia more likely – Maximilian sprung up from his chair and cried. "Emilia!"

"My King." Emilia picked up her skirts and curtsied.

In a moment, Maximilian had crossed the pavilion and swept his wife up in his arms. "Are you well?" he demanded as he set her down. "How are you? How is the baby?"

"I am well," Emilia said breathlessly. "We are well. And all the better now that you have returned."

Maximilian bent his neck and crashed his lips against his wife's. Emilia wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with equal passion.

Suddenly feeling like he was intruding on a personal moment, Aedan pushed aside the pavilion flap and slipped away.

The cage was only made of bronze, and not solid gold, at least according to the Ovelian soldier who had brought her to the monstrosity.

"Me and some of the other lads carried it to the platform yesterday," the soldier confided. He was young – younger than Elsa and likely younger than Anna too. His polished armour almost seemed to wear him, rather than the other way around. "It took eight of us to carry it and another four to hoist it up."

"Is that so?" Else murmured. The cage glittered in the mid-morning sun. Although it can hardly be called a cage, Elsa thought. The encircling bars were wide enough for someone to pass through without much effort and a thick pole rose through the middle, stretching from the polished base to the gilded tip where each of the bars met and entwined.

"What's the point of all this?" she asked, without really expecting an answer.

"I suppose King Maximilian wants to show you off to the city," the soldier said.

"Show me off?" Elsa repeated resentfully. "Like I'm one of his prized horses?"

"Well, most of us ain't ever seen a sorceress before," the soldier said uncomfortably. "Witches are old and ugly in the stories, with big, crooked noses and dressed in rags. . . You don't look much like a witch to me if you don't mind me saying.

Elsa couldn't help but laugh. She gestured at her grey dress, which was covered in grime and in desperate need of repair. "I am dressed in rags."

"But you ain't ugly," the Ovelian said eagerly. "I've never seen a woman as pretty as you before – not even the queen is as pretty as you are. . ." He cut off, jaw clamping tightly and cheeks turning red.

"That's very kind of you to say," Elsa said graciously.

The soldier nodded but did not dare open his mouth to say another word. He gestured for Elsa to climb into the cage and was almost gentle when he guided her back toward the central pole. He tied ropes around her waist, ankles, and wrists, and when he was finished, he walked back around so Elsa could see him. He chewed on his bottom lip and looked her up and down as though desperately trying to commit her image to memory.

Then a bugle boomed over the camp, and everything seemed to become doubly as loud as the army rushed to their positions.

"I have to go now," the soldier said. He went to climb out of the cage but paused before he squeezed through the bars. "I was at Arendelle, you know. You could have killed us all on that first day, but you didn't. This might not mean much, but I don't think you deserve what's been done to you, and . . . I'm sorry for my part in it." It came out all in a breathless rush.

"What's your name?" Elsa asked him.

"Me? My name is Hamil, my Lady."

"I forgive you, Hamil," Elsa said. "I wish you peace, for all the days of your life." And she meant it too.

Hamil stared at her with wide eyes. Then he did something very odd and saluted her like he would his commander. A second bugle rang out over the procession, and he slipped through the cage bars and out of Elsa's sight.

The stablehands had adorned Aedan's horse in a white and silver tabard that morning. It had taken some coaxing for the ill-tempered beast to accept the new, heavier gear, but he hadn't chomped at any of the grooms, so Aedan assumed it couldn't have been too bad. Aedan patted Roach's nose before he swung into the saddle. He was pleased to note that it was far easier to do that now than it had been when he was freshly wounded in Arendelle.

"Your spear, Ser." Little Isaac Ashaela appeared at Aedan's side, struggling to balance a nine-foot-long lance in his arms. "The king wishes you to hold it in your right hand with the tip pointed at the sky."

Aedan took the lance and raised it high. Ornsten, who was mounted on his horse on the other side of Maximilian's monstrously large chariot, carried his in his left hand. "How symmetrical," he commented.

"Yes." Isaac Ashaela nodded solemnly before he dashed away.

A glint of gold in the sunlight caught his eye, and Maximilian appeared, arm-in-arm with Amelia with a small army of attendants and soldiers in tow. He wore Ovelia's ceremonial crown high on his forehead – the one which sparkled with emeralds on each prong. Emilia wore her crown too; hers was silver, studded with sapphires to bring out the blue in her ocean eyes. Aside from the crowns, the king and queen were dressed to match – both wearing the gold and red of the Du Von royal house.

Maximilian guided his queen up the chariot's steps, before climbing up himself and standing beside her. There were eight white and grey horses chosen to pull the chariot. They wickered with anticipation and stamped their hooves against the ground.

Beneath him, Aedan felt Roach do the same.

Maximilian raised his hand and signaled the horn blower at the front of the procession.

The boom of the bugle echoed, followed by the steady beat of the drums. The white-stoned gates of the city split open to the sound of cheers and laughter and excited shouts. The hornblower marched through the gates first, followed by a line of trumpeters. The drummers went next, closely followed by the surviving soldiers of Maximilian's first legion, who marched in time to the drumbeats.

Here we go, Aedan thought as he shifted in his saddle.

The man driving the royal chariot flicked his reins and the team of horses stamped forward. Aedan pressed his heels into Roach's side and matched the chariot's pace. When they passed beneath the white arch, Aedan could not hold the wide smile that broke across his face. Townspeople waved and cheered – waved at Maximilian and his queen, waved at him and Ornsten as they rode passed. Flowers were tossed onto the road before them, and maidens wearing flowered circlets waved and blew kisses. Aedan waved back, raising two fingers from the spear to acknowledge the cheering crowd. Children hung from rooftops, scrambling across the tiles, and leaping small gaps to keep pace with Maximilian's chariot.

It was a slow march through the city, but the crowd's enthusiasm only seemed to grow the closer the procession came to the palace.

The great road passed under another large gate – this one separating the old city from the new. The buildings became grander, and every lane was lined with trees and flowerbeds. The crowds here were no less enthusiastic though.

Eventually, the main road widened into a cobble-stoned square. An immense fountain, with statues that spat water dominated the area. Behind that, on the border of the white walls leading into the palace grounds was an enormous platform. A man could stand from the top of that and see over the old wall and into the city below.

Aedan spun Roach around at the foot of the platform, acting as a sentinel alongside Ornsten and the knights of Maximilian's royal guard. Arm still linked with Emilia's, Maximilian ascended the wooden steps and delivered one final wave to the crowd before sitting on the cushioned chair at the highest point of the platform. The lords who accompanied him in Arendelle sat on either side.

Now to wait.

Everything had gone so well – better than he had imagined.

Then why do you feel so uneasy?

"What are you waiting for?" the carriage driver bellowed at the platoon captain ahead.

"Some fools have toppled a cart in the middle of the street," the platoon captain shouted back. "The watch is moving it now."

"I hope they are being whipped through the streets!"

"They didn't catch them – it all happened so fast!"

"How could they not see? The entire garrison is on duty!"

The platoon captain gave an exaggerated shrug and returned to his men. Elsa bit her bottom lip and strained her neck to try and see further up the procession. From her elevated place in the cage, she could see all the way to the city gates, where Maximilian's parade had stalled.

Long minutes stretched on without any movement before the platoon captain raised his arm and signaled for the march to continue.

"Finally," the carriage driver exclaimed to a pair of boys who walked beside the oxen. "Go on, give the ropes a pull!"

It felt like insects crawled inside Elsa's stomach and she had to fight the urge to retch as the carriage lurched forward again. The white stone gates of Ovelia passed overhead, and Elsa emerged into the roar of the crowds. Red-cloaked soldiers stood shoulder-to-shoulder on either side of the paved street. Each held a large shield forward and wielded a spear that pointed to the sky. Behind the red wall were thousands of people. They jostled shoulder-to-shoulder, climbed on walls, and scurried over roofs – all to catch a glimpse of her.

There was a roar from the crowd, and a skinny man wound back his arm and threw a stone at her. Elsa saw it coming and tried to move out of the way – momentarily forgetting about the ropes and shackles binding her to the pole. The stone thudded against her thigh and bounced away.

The floodgates opened. More stones were thrown at her, and other things too. A rotted tomato crunched against her cheek, and worse things splattered over her and squelched against her dress. They shouted at her too – horrible things. Elsa's cheeks burned, but she kept looking forward. They would not have the satisfaction of seeing her cry!

All the while the drums beat steadily, and trumpets hooted over everyone.

"Does she look like a sorceress to you? Look at her – she's just a girl!"

The cry cut through the noise and Elsa shifted her head to look for the source of the shout. Instead, she caught the eyes of a man whose hand was curled around a stone. His eyes widened, and the stone he had been about to hurl at her dropped from limp fingers.

"She is only a child," another voice called out. "Leave her be!"

"She has done nothing to you!"

"Leave her be!"

Elsa held her head high. She ignored the people and their shouts and did her best not to flinch when someone threw something at her. But the stones and filth were thrown far less often now, and by the time Elsa's cage passed under a second wall no one dared to throw anything – or shout obscenities at her either.

The road opened into a large courtyard, and the procession slowed to a halt. A platform had been erected, where Maximilian and his queen waited. Maximilian's palace guards were out in force here, dressed in gold-filigree breastplates and white cloaks. A pair of twin soldiers awaited on horseback too, both wielding silver lances pointed toward the sky. Elsa only spared them a glance, before fixing her eyes upon Maximilian. She could only just make out his face, but his eagerness was unmistakable.

Elsa's carriage stopped in front of Maximilian's platform, and a sigh descended over the courtyard, as though every townsperson simultaneously held their breath.

Then, much to everyone's horrified shock, Maximilian raised his arm, and the thump of footsteps shook the cage. Maximilian's executioner gnashed his yellowed teeth as he leered down at her. He did not carry his axe this time, instead, a length of stained leather strapping dangled from his fist.

"You are mine, now, Changeling," he said to her. His voice rolled like gravel on glass. "Your body is mine. Your corpse is mine."

Maximilian's platform had exploded with activity. Several of his noble lords were on their feet, pointing at Elsa. Their protests floated feebly over the courtyard's deathly silence. Even Maximilian's queen seemed distressed; she clutched her husband's arm and leaned close as she spoke in his ear.

Elsa forced herself to meet Maximilian's eyes. He would not see her cry. He would not see her bed for her life. She would rather die.

Deep in her heart-of-hearts, she knew this was what was waiting for her in Ovelia. This was the fate that awaited all witches and sorceresses in this world.

"Mercy!" The shout echoed over the courtyard.

Mercy? Elsa thought dully. If the Almighty was real, like she had been raised to believe, then only he was going to save her now. And he had watched her kingdom fall; he had watched her be chained and abused by her captors. Why would he intervene now?

The executioner came behind her and looped his leather strap under her chin.

Is this how Kai felt, before the end? The old chancellor had not seemed afraid.

"Show her mercy!" another cry rang out. This time it was picked up by another, and then another.

"Spare her!"

"Mercy, my Lord!"

"Mercy!"

The soldiers who lined the courtyard stirred in discomfort, as a ripple surged through the crowds.

Maximilian stood, shrugging away his wife and advisors. His face was cruelly distorted; his handsomeness vanished. He pointed at Elsa, and the executioner behind her, and brought his hand down.

The strap tightened around Elsa's throat.

The pain washed through her first, then the panic as her mouth gaped open in its search for air. Red and black spots danced over her vision, and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Tears came unbidden and dripped down her cheeks. In her panic, she reached for her magic, which pulsed just out of her reach. The wall rose before her, and she bashed against it as her arms burned with the memory of fire and heat.

The crowds' cries became a chant: "Mercy; mercy; mercy!"

The Ovelian queen had risen to join her husband. She held Maximilian's head in both hands, speaking desperately.

The crowd roared; their voices joined as one as they chanted:

"MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY!"

Elsa felt her knees buckle. Only the ropes tying her to the pole and the pressure around her neck kept her upright.

Beat.

"MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY!"

Beat.

Her heart raced. Pounded! Pulsed!

Beat.

"MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY; MERCY!"

Elsa felt her eyes roll into the back of her head. She was so dizzy; she could hardly think anymore. The pain washed over her; it was unlike anything she had felt before or would wish on anyone else.

Beat.

. . .

Beat.

. . .

Beat.

. . .

Anna . . . forgive me.

"STOP!"

Maximilian's voice boomed across the courtyard. It overpowered the chanting and forced everyone into silence with the strength of the command. The executioner's hold on the strap loosened reluctantly, and Elsa sucked air into her lungs. The soft, abused flesh around her throat ached with every breath. She opened her eyes, but everything was a blur of black and red spots.

Maximilian's gaze seem to take in everyone at once, then without another word, he turned his back on them and stormed down the platform and through the palace gates. His queen lingered a moment, long enough to point at Elsa and give orders to the two knights on horseback. Both took off in a gallop toward Elsa.

A roaring cheer erupted from the crowds. They were smiling at her, calling for her, cheering her name now.

A vicious snarl erupted from the executioner, then a roar of fury, and the strap tightened around Elsa's neck again. The pressure this time somehow felt even greater than before; the strap sawed against her flesh as though the executioner sought to use it to sheer her head from her shoulders.

The cries of the crowd became horrified screams, and the people surged against the lines of Ovelian soldiers.

"I will have you, Changeling!" screamed the executioner. "You will not escape me!"

Elsa reached for her magic and bashed against the block once more. A simple spell, the witch Alexia had said – her words flooded into Elsa's mind. She scrapped against the wall – tore against it, but still, her magic lay just out of reach. A simple spell; a simple spell!

Then the pressure was gone from Elsa's neck once more. She slumped forward, gasping and rasping; she would have fallen if not for the ropes binding her to the pole.

"Elsa!" A knight dressed in silver armour clutched her head in his hands. "Stay with me, please!"

The crowd still screamed. And over them, the clash of steel against steel could be heard.

"Enough, Rathmore!" another voice shouted nearby. "Take hold of your senses, or I will cut you down!"

The silver knight cut her ropes, and Elsa fell into his arms. The sudden movement made her head swim, and her eyes drifted in and out of focus. She was vaguely aware of being carried out of the cage – the sounds of chaos still booming all around her – before her eyes closed and did not reopen.

Authors Note: I'm excited to be up to this part of the story. The scene of Elsa's 'execution' and parade through the city was the spark that invented this story. I read a history book about Julius Caesar whilst in college (back in 2013!), and learned about Cleopatra's half-sister, Arsinoe IV, who fought against Cleopatra and the Romans during the Egyptian Civil War. When she was captured and brought to Rome, she was paraded through the streets and was supposed to be executed. However, the Roman people begged for her to be spared, and Caesar was forced to let her live, or else risk losing the crowd's favour. She ended up exiled to the Temple of Artemis before being assassinated by Mark Antony.