A Curse of Destiny
A Trials of Light and Darkness Story
Prelude
The story I am about to tell you is the story of a curse. Not just any curse, mind you, but your curse. This, Elsa, is the story of how you came to be born a witch.
Arno Belgold Montaigne
Sadden's manor
Arendelle
May 16th, 1843
The late Namar Sadden's manor was quiet as church bells tolled two in the morning on the sixteenth of May. The revelers from the night before had finally cleared out at half past one, the official celebrations having ended at least an hour before. Though the many hidden servants of the manor would toil into the wee hours of the morning, setting away glasses and gathering endless reams of tablecloths for the wash, scrubbing unsavory stains out of expensive carpets and gathering hundreds of ashtrays littered with blunted cigars, the rooms occupied by nobility, domestic and abroad, had grown still.
The newlywed couple had retired to a private chamber, laden with the well-wishes of a seemingly never-ending stream of men and women wearing very expensive clothes. A well-dressed old man with the austere wisdom and shaven head of a monk could have been seen making his way from the manor a bit before the festivities ended (though it seemed, actually, that no one was there to observe as much). Wulfric Shaw slipped away with as little fanfare as he had arrived.
All the windows were darkened with drawn curtains and doused candles, and in these witching hours it seemed that most had taken to bed. As a matter of fact, only one room in the living quarters of the opulent mansion was still lit; inside a conversation of momentous importance was taking place. Let us return to it.
"Your father never told you this story, correct, miss?" Montaigne studied her with keen eyes.
"No," Elsa said, surprised that the uncertainty of the present would bring her back to the past. "Father was always very tight-lipped about what had happened to curse our family. He said it was his greatest shame."
Montaigne sighed. "You must not look back too unkindly on your father for saying as much, Elsa. It may seem to you a great flaw in his character that he was so hateful and superstitious of magic, to the point that it seemed he feared even you. Of course, you would be right; your father was certainly a flawed man. The events that we will investigate together might give you a better appreciation of your father's oft-misplaced distrust."
"I've come to terms with my powers, and my father," Elsa said slowly. "No matter how I received them, they've saved my life and the lives of many others, so I'm grateful to be what I am."
The master servant inclined his head. "Good. Good. Before we begin our journey into the past, I would provide you with a bit of background to the circumstances.
"As you will remember hearing tell of, your father spent some years of his youth serving as a captain in Arendelle's army. His father Agundar would have made him a general, of course, but your father was headstrong, and he wanted what he called a 'working man's' position."
"I've heard some stories about his army days, yes." Elsa crossed one leg over the other and laid her hands upon her knee.
"Then you will remember that Agnarr was not so lucky as to serve his military years during a time of peace. He served his captaincy during the Napoleonic Wars, and the events that I am about to recount to you occurred during Admiral Wellington's 1813 campaign in the French countryside.
"Of course, Agnarr had many daring and legendary exploits during the war, but you are well-acquainted with those by now. We will instead focus our attention on a particular span of little more than a week in November of 1813, starting with the Battle of Nivelleā¦"
