Chapter Text
Foreign
Anna had tried not to cry. She had held the tears when she said her farewells. She held the tears at bay even when her mother could not. Their embrace had been fierce - and Anna swore she would never forget that moment. The homely smell of her mother’s knitted clothes, the way the fabric itched against her skin. The sound of her voice as she whispered, the feeling of her thumb caressing her cheek. It nearly broke her heart when she noticed how old she looked. Anna knew she would never see her again.
She did not cry even when she saw her father’s resigned gaze as he stood there, away, looking down in shame. She did not blame him for his choice.
Her people had gathered around the pier, throwing winter lilacs as she made her way to the war galley waiting for her. She had smiled for them, even waving the small crowd goodbye. The royal band played her favorite song - a dancing song, for the height of summer.
It only came when she could not see home anymore, when the tip of the towers and the fjord’s walls were too small, too distant. Her tears ran warm against her chilled skin as she stood in the ship’s stern. How bitter her dreams had turned. How long had she wished to sail away, to ride across the plains, in search of adventure? The irony was foul-tasting. She stood there, alone, until the coastline became the muted, calm northern sea.
“Princess,” a strong voice called behind her, rising over the murmuring waves and the snap of the sails, “the Captain wishes you to know that your quarters are ready. By his measure, if the winds and currents remain favorable, we will arrive in two weeks time. A good omen from their Gods, he mentioned.”
“It’s Princess-consort now, Mattias.” Anna corrected him in a flat tone. She wiped her eyes with the back of her palm before turning. Her guardian stood proud in his gray uniform, in stark contrast to the pale red and brown worn by every other man on the ship’s deck. He nodded in understanding and waited for her.
Anna of Arendelle took a deep breath, closing her eyes, taking in the cold, salty breeze.
Heart of winter, favor your daughter with strength, she prayed, hoping her own Gods would heed her call so far from home.
-ooo-
I
In the years to come, the finer details of her arrival would fade from her memory. Two impressions would always remain, however - the heat and the noise.
It startled her, the first time she heard it. Dozens of armsmen lined up a grandiose thoroughfare. Their backs were bare, and their skin shone as if covered in oils, with curved scabbards hanging from their hips. In a three-stroke rhythm, they beat the drums they carried, leaving intervals of silence before repeating the same beat. A curious crowd had gathered behind the soldier’s line, far more than Anna had anticipated. There was no cheering, nor chanting. She couldn’t help but feel like an exotic animal about to be paraded. Perhaps she was.
Before descending the ship’s gangplank, Mattias handed her a small handkerchief, engraved with her House’s emblem, the royal crocus. Anna smiled her thanks, wiping away the sweat from her forehead and the back of her ears while trying not to undo the intricate braids of her hairdo. Even if she had wanted to, her mouth felt too dry to smile and wave at these strange people. She had shed her traditional, heavier garments in favor of a simple, elegant dress of amber silk, leather sandals and a red shawl of smooth silk. ‘A small token of Her Highness' favor,’ the Captain had said when he provided her with a small chest full of fine clothes.
‘So fine a gift, but not the common sense to give me a hat.’ Anna thought in annoyance.
An honor guard awaited for her, fully armored soldiers bearing long, tasseled spears. The plum of their helms was gold, and unlike the Arendellian army, instead of steel they wore thick leather armor. Given the weather, it made perfect sense, she realized. Anna’s brow furrowed when she noticed the palanquin and its bearers in wait, and she turned to Mattias, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. His gaze - kind but somber - warned her. They were not in Arendelle anymore.
Helped by her guardian, she climbed onto the litter. She was begrudgingly thankful for the accommodations, dreading the thought of being paraded out of the bustling port and into Caumen City by foot. A part of her would not put something like it past the infamous Alvar Queen of the Uruman Empire.
Her soon-to-be-wife. Even after the weeks faring past the northern seas and into the calm straits west of the continental coast, she still couldn’t wrap her head about being bound to the Tyrant for life. Her heart found it confusing, to despise someone she hadn’t even met.
After leaving the pungent, fishy smell of the port, a new array of aromas assaulted Anna’s senses. As their entourage moved past busy markets, the smell of spices clung to her nose. She recognized only a few - cinnamon, saffron - but she also smelled countless varieties of incense and minty herbs. Beggars and child-bearing women tried to approach her litter, but the honor guards would not allow it. Anna’s heart ached that she could not toss them at least a few coins - for she had none. The thought struck her as odd: she owned nothing, not even the clothes she wore.
The city’s walls and the columns all had a sandy tone to them, with pale blue ribbons and the royal symbol carved into stone and dyed onto hanging banners. The same symbol crowned the massive archway that marked the entrance to the Arathi Fortress. It stood proud alongside a menagerie of minutely sculpted reptiles and tusked mammals - many of which Anna had only seen in children’s books. It was the Rising Star, Mattias had explained to her the first time she saw it, as black sails entered Arendelle’s fjord past the wreckage and smoke of her father’s ships.
The harbingers of the Tyrant Queen, the Alvar Queen, Elsa of the Uruman Dynasty.
-ooo-
Aided by a warm breeze, the murmur of Caumen City just barely reached Anna’s ears. She sat still in front of the vanity mirror, under the keen eye of her lady-in-waiting, as servants tended to her hair and her hands. Her own blue eyes returned her gaze, seeking, yet unable to settle on themselves for long. A delicate lariat necklace rested on her collarbone, complemented by a pair of small earrings, the gold catching the last of the dusk’s light. Her skin shone with oils, and the air was thick with the smell of sandalwood and clove.
An older woman stood behind her, her lips pursed as she examined her. Anna had met her when her escort delivered her to her quarters. ‘Queen Elsa sends her regards,’ she had said, bowing instead of curtsying in the manner of her kingdom, linking her hands over her belly. Her hair was mostly gray, and the lines of her thin face severe. ‘I’m Madame Sanrisha, and I shall tend to your needs, by the Queen’s will.’ She spoke Anna’s tongue with the stiffness of someone who had learned the language but had had few opportunities to practice it.
After an hour of picking and changing jewelry, Madame Sanrisha finally deemed a combination agreeable with her outfit. Anna endured it with a blank expression. She thought of Gerda back home - she thought of her friend and helper, of her kind voice. While her eyes wandered around the grand but sparse room given to her, Anna wondered what would happen to her old room. Would her parents keep it as she had left it? Keep her clothes and dresses under key? Would they keep her riding breeches and hair ties where she left them, in the dark of the drawers, never to be used again? Or would they take it all out, to be gifted to someone else, to find them a new purpose. She hoped for the latter.
As night’s mantle began to settle around them, candles were lit around the room. Gloomy shadows danced in the ochre walls.
“It is time.” Madame Sanrisha declared, waving her aides away as they finished applying oil to Anna’s hands and shins.
Anna rose. She couldn’t deny her ceremonial dress was comfortable, as were her sandals. Even after the sun had finally set, the heat had only dimmed. Her lady-in-waiting circled her, staring her down one last time for good measure.
“Before the banquet and the ceremony, there will be a dance. An old tradition.” Madame Sanrisha warned her. “I trust you will perform adequately. We don’t want… bad omen.”
Anna nodded, lifting her chin. She chose not to dally and ponder about the warning too much. Whatever comes, so be it, she thought in defiance. As she turned to face the room’s doors, from the corner of her eyes she caught a strange flicker on Sanrisha’s thin face - the pity of watching someone be swept away by fate’s tide. Without looking back, she stepped outside. The four guards stationed outside straightened, the brass ornamentations over their tunics clinking. Wordlessly, they guided her. The hallways in that wing of the fortress were richly decorated, with banners hung every few paces from the high ceiling. Unlike Arendelle’s castle, instead of paintings, the walls presented tapestries of intricate design in burnt red tones. In between, exotic-looking weapons were proudly displayed.
Anna walked past entire generations of the Uruman dynasty woven in thread, following the steps of her guards. Wardens, she corrected herself. She would not be fooled by the commodities bestowed upon her. She was a prisoner. A trophy, a deal struck to avoid further bloodshed. Inside her head, she began to map out their route, not in the hopes of escaping, but to not be lost should she be able to roam. After the next turn, windows lined one side of the hallway. Lit by the moonlight, she saw the shadowed foliage of the gardens that surrounded this side of the fortress. She could only hope to explore her prison at her leisure at some point in the future.
The brightly lit hallways led them to a foyer, filled with empty chairs. Relief eased the tightness in her chest when she saw Mattias waiting for her, still clad in his Arendellian uniform. She appreciated that he was allowed at least that. When he saw her, he smiled and bowed his head. Her escort allowed them some privacy, taking positions on both sides of the doors. He had shaved the peppered stubble from his jaw, his profile sharp and demure, as befitting a royal guard. Anna knew he could trust him with her life.
“You look radiant, Princess.”
Anna’s smile was tight, but grateful. Even from outside, she could hear the lilt of conversation and laughter of the guests.
“How many?” She asked, stilling her hands to not grab and pull at her dress.
“Hundreds, at least. The Great Hall is full, so quite the crowd. The city’s nobility is present, alongside the servants and the musicians. At least petitioners were not allowed. The Queen is certainly not sparing any expense.”
So it seems, Anna thought, letting a bit of the bitterness rise to the forefront of her mind. She did not care about the Queen’s attentions - she hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her, much less a single exchange of words. She was sure the Tyrant did not even know her language. This whole affair was for the Queen’s own benefit, not hers. Bolstered by the prickle of resentment, she took hold of Mattias’ offered elbow and moved towards the entrance.
Two of the soldiers pushed open the heavy ornamented doors. As she stepped through, a wave of hot air wafted against her, carrying the strong smell of meat and incense. Anna’s eyes immediately drew towards the dais. A small crowd of local nobles and military leaders stood there around a stone table, wearing ceremonial turbans, bird-shaped insignias and golden scabbards. The tall, wooden seat at its center, its arms covered in furs, was empty.
Hundreds turned to stare - it was the nobility’s first chance to look at their Queen’s newest bride. Anna exhaled a shaky breath but held her head high. Mattias gave her a supportive squeeze through their locked elbows. Under the curious scrutiny of the crowd, they made their way towards a seat next to the stone table.
Having grown as royalty, Anna was no stranger to great receptions and lavish halls. She had never, however, stood under such a colossal structure. It had an octagonal shape, its ochre color warm as the summer night. Enormous pillars on all sides held the dome above their heads, the hall lit by the braziers hanging from the building’s tambour. Her gaze followed the hall’s architecture upwards. To her shock, she noticed she could see the night’s sky through the glass of the dome’s oculus. Tables and chairs held the space between the columns, where most attendants ate and drank. A dozen steps on all sides of the hall led down an open square where a few more guests mingled. The terracota tiles in the middle, beautifully arranged, formed the Rising Star.
The vastness and grandiosity of the columns, the great ceiling, the gilded dresses and flowing wine, it all spoke of the immense wealth of the Uruman Capital. Riches born from blood, Anna reminded herself, her expression hardening. Mattias led her to her offered seat, but Anna gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. She could not bear to sit, not at such a time.
She tried her best, but the relentless rush of unfamiliar faces that paraded before her was simply too much. Mattias did his best to translate, struggling to find the right words for the titles and names that did not exist in her mother language. She nodded and smiled, her head already hazy because of the heat and the tangy aroma of the ladies’ perfumes as they sought to greet her.
It was the music that gave her a breather. As the nobility turned to watch, so did Anna. A few couples had taken the floor, aided by the neat musical notes coming from one of the hall’s corners - amidst the sounds, she recognized the beat and bell of tambourines and leather drums. Perhaps for the first time, she felt a small sense of familiarity: even a continent away, the rituals of the highborn were the same. The colorful dresses, the earrings, necklaces and brooches, they all twinkled as the courtiers spun around. The steps and movements were different from what she knew, with less twirls and more swaying, but soon she recognized the basic patterns.
After a while, a stocky man in a white uniform moved from his place at the other end of the daïs and stood in front of the table, facing the crowd. At some unseen signal, the music dwindled and died, and the guests cleared the floor. An expectant silence followed.
“It is time.” Mattias whispered in her ear. “He’s the Queen’s herald.”
Anna nodded, taking a deep breath. The man announced something, his deep voice carrying through the Great Hall. She did not need to know Uruman to know what he said. Drums beat as the great doors behind the daïs opened, and Anna finally set eyes upon her captor.
She was tall. Her figure was slim, but there was strength and determination in the gravitas of her steps.
Even if tanned at the shoulders and arms, most of her skin remained pale, marked by scars and nicks. Her bright golden hair lay arranged in a loose braid, with stray locks framing her delicate face. The Queen wore no crown. The only jewelry Anna could see were the many silver bracelets, plain and thin, that adorned her exposed arms. A scabbard clung to her slender hips, and Anna noticed the way her dress – a shade darker than hers – was arranged at the bottom. It was knotted in a way that pulled the fabric upwards, creating a side cleft, allowing her to move without hindrance while revealing the leather straps wrapped around her shins and calves.
Most striking of all were her eyes, the shade of crystalline waters. The Queen’s expression was solemn, perhaps a tad severe. She approached the herald and stood to attention in front of the dais with her hands behind her back, as if she were overlooking a parade or tribute.
“Let’s go.” Mattias muttered. They moved and stood to the herald’s other side. Anna remained still, recalling the many times she had held court back home. Except, this was not her family’s ancient seat. The crowd stared as the herald spoke. She heard him mention Arendelle, followed by her name. With his arm, he presented her.
Anna took a step forward and bowed, and the room filled with the sound of demure, courteous claps.
The Queen’s herald spoke again. The man gestured to the middle of the hall, empty, and to the crystal ceiling.
“As per the traditions of our fathers and our forefathers,” Mattias translated, “the Queen and her… bride… shall now dance under the sky mantle, to honor their… budding joining and bind their… marriage… before the Gods.”
Her guardian was clearly having some trouble making an exact translation, but it was clear enough for her stomach to twist.
She understood now the earlier performance was not just for entertaining. It was a demonstration.
The Queen began to descend towards the hall’s center.
In her mind, Anna had expected the ceremony to last much longer, but the sudden prospect of what was about to happen turned her jitters into something almost tangible, like a foul taste stuck at the back of her throat.
Under the scrutiny of every soul, Anna descended the steps. Her heart thumped against her chest, and she tried to take a shaky breath. Once she made it to the center of the dance floor, she steeled her resolve. A small spark of defiance gave her courage. She was not defenseless. She was no spoiled prize. If anything, she could at least handle a dance.
Once Anna stood in front of her, the Queen offered her right hand. The expression on the monarch’s face was hardened, inscrutable. A new song began. It was slow, rhythmic, the almost military cadence of the drums harmonizing with the sitars’ notes.
Without hesitation, the Alvar Queen rested her left hand on Anna’s hip, her right reaching and grabbing her elbow. Away from the crowd and the humid scent of perfume and spiced meats, Anna suddenly caught a scent of oud. Up close, she noticed a nick on the Queen’s lower lip, close to the corner of her mouth. In that firm grip, Anna began to follow her lead.
Her gaze locked on the crowd visible above the Queen’s shoulder, choosing to avoid staring directly into the neutral expression the woman wore. For a moment, she felt a powerful pang, a deeply buried refusal struggling to break free, twisting in her guts. She was not supposed to be here. So far from home. No matter the splendor of her cage, she was at the mercy of this relentless tyrant. It sickened her, to sustain the falsehood, to follow these wicked games of pretense.
She stepped wrong, and her body moved off rhythm, but instead of tripping or worse, the Queen tightened her grip and held her, slowing her next steps so Anna could fall back into step.
For the first time, Queen Elsa looked at her.
Anna only managed a half-hearted smile, hoping to show a morsel of gratitude past her anguish. The Queen nodded almost imperceptibly, undeterred, and continued their slow dance, her piercing blue eyes turning distant again.
Turning away from her inner turmoil, Anna chose to focus on the other’s countenance.
It was then she noticed something, underneath the veneer of strength. A certain stiffness, not shown in her steps, but in the feel of her touch, the tension she saw in her shoulders and her neck. For a brief instant, Anna felt she was looking at a mirror. The Queen’s blank expression was but a mask. The Alvar Queen wished not to be here.
It struck her as odd, even in the hours that followed once their dance finished. The feeling remained every time she stole glances at the Queen as she sat at the head of the stone table, surrounded by nobles twice her age. The weight of their new arrangement felt heavier as the night progressed, and once the Hall’s atmosphere began to shift from formal to a proper feast, she asked Mattias for their leave.
Anna saw him approach the Queen’s herald, who in turn spoke to his monarch. Without looking at her, Queen Elsa nodded and waved Mattias away.
It was better that way - she hoped. Better to remain unseen, better for her heart to ignore the strain of the unknown days to come.