A/N: I'm going to try and bang out another chapter as I have exams next week, ambitious of me; yes, I know with my track record of posting chapters, but I feel it's only fair. Thanks for the reviews they do keep me going and brighten my day a little every time I see them so please keep on doing them. You can essentially treat the next few chapters as 'volume 2' of the story as they are going to be very different from the previous lot. Before we saw superficial threats to the two except for ethel that to be honest I got bored of writing after a few chapters but this time round it is going to be a lot darker and more 'mature' than the fluff that has been the last few chapters. I really want to develop on why Agnarr has gone from the loving teenage boy to the Agnarr we see in the original movie and how he treats Elsa later. If you want a soundtrack to the next few chapters listen to the war and peace album by martin Phipps – it's very atmospheric.
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The reflection stared back at him in the mirror. The reflection's body was encased in a dark green tunic, gold buttons and ribbons framed the structure with an air of confidence cancelling out the look of fear and dread on the reflection's face. Silver and gold Epaulettes graced the reflection's shoulders, the red tinted crown sparkling brightly against the golden background of the stiff fabric. Swallowing, the reflection shakily drew out his sabre and admired it, the glinting steel ringing out in the suffocating silent room. He admired its graceful curves and pressed the cool metal to his forehead, sighing gently with apprehension; a silent prayer gracing his lips.
"Your majesty" followed a knock on the door. "It's time" the warm voice disappeared with a trail of footsteps behind the solid oak door. Sheathing the sabre, he took a final breath and glanced around the room, absorbing its warmth and peace for a final time. He moved out of the room slowly, the metal scabbard clanking softly against the leather belt strangling his waste. He finally came to the entrance gate of the castle, Iduna stood there wearing her trademark lilac dress with her hair in a long braid trailing down to her waist. He stopped, the silence dragging behind them. Suddenly, she flung herself at him and wrapped him in a spine crushing bear hug.
"Promise me you'll come back" she pleaded quietly.
"I promise" he fiddled around in his pocket and pulled out an iron ring, diamond patterns cut elegantly into its brow. "Wear this for me" he gave it to her.
"What is it?" she asked, marvelling at the iron circle.
"It's a promise ring; when I come back, I promise to you I'll marry you and we will never have to part ways again" she religiously placed the ring on her left hand and stroked it softly, feeling the cool reassurance weigh softly down on her skin. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss, savouring the moment.
"Promise me you'll stay safe" she whispered breathily, throat stiff with emotion.
"I promise. I've got to go" he looked at the horse waiting for him. He pressed his forehead to hers and breathed her in, pressing one final kiss to her temple before he left, jumping on the horse and racing to the docks.
XXX
"Your majesty, may I present to you King Agnarr of Arendelle" a burly lieutenant announced in the tent, pulling aside the worn fabric to reveal the younger man. Agnarr stepped in, his dark green uniform pristine and glowing in the candlelight. King Frederick opened his arms to the man, bringing him into a warm embrace.
"Agnarr! It's been too long!" the young man shouted, clasping his friend strongly on the back. "The last time I saw you was when you were still at the academy!" he shook Agnarr's hands strongly.
"You too Frederick, it's good to see you" he returned the embrace warmly, turning his attention towards a map. "Where are the gallic forces?" he asked, scanning the map intently. Frederick pointed to a ridge on the far side.
"They've dug into the ridge with trenches and fortifications. It's going to be hard going getting them off but with the help of Albion we may just do it. They have been pounding them for the past week with cannon fire and assaults but none have been successful yet, they've called for us to support them in a big push upwards to overwhelm their defences."
"What have the casualties been?" Agnarr asked, tracing the contours of the map with his fingers.
"50,000 dead, 120000 wounded so far" the air was sucked out the room, Agnarr looking up from the map in shock.
"50... thousand?" he asked perplexed. Frederick nodded solemnly. "We barely have 10,000 men in our ranks and yet Albion is asking us to throw our men at a bloodied peak which has already claimed fifty regiments of men!" the worry in his voice grew to a crescendo.
"Yes, but remember we still have forces from Albion, Bavaria and Corona. We can beat them in a single concentrated assault." Frederick said, determination clear in his voice.
"At what cost, your forces may be able to sustain these casualties but Frederick, our entire army is here. We will be left defenceless if we are defeated"
"That will not happen Agnarr, we are smarter than that. Our spies have told us that the garrison is low on supplies and weak from the heavy bombardment. Albion is grinding them down bit by bit and together our forces can overwhelm them." Frederick smoothed over his black hair. "For now, though, the tactics have been decided and there is much to catch up on. Let us not worry about war; tell me how is that little kingdom of yours?" Agnarr let out a discontent sigh, rubbing a tense spot underneath his golden epaulette.
"It's doing fine, the council are the same as always, but trade is improving" he slumped down onto a bench in the tent. "How is Ariana?" he asked, the tension settling a little.
"She's good, we're good. Our marriage is in December if you want to come"
"It would be an honour" Agnarr said genuinely
"What about you? Have you found someone special yet?" Frederick nudged Agnarr with his shoulder, the younger man swaying gently. Agnarr smiled to himself, thoughts of Iduna filling his mind. "So, you have found someone. What's her name?"
"Iduna"
"Hmm, interesting" Frederick amused. "What does she look like?"
"She has warm chocolate hair and the deepest sapphire eyes you can imagine. Her skin is like a light tan colour and her nose comes to a soft little button at its peak..." Agnarr trailed off as he felt Frederick's gaze on him.
"Wow, you really do have it bad" Frederick chuckled to himself.
"Your majesties!" a voice shouted from outside the tent. A guard dressed in a light blue tunic stepped in and saluted both royals. "A woman outside has asked for you directly. She says she has some important information"
"Bring her in, of course" Agnarr said, beckoning the man. He wheeled out and opened the tent for the woman to step in. An elderly woman hunched over and scrunched up limped through the gate. Dirty white hair streaked her balding forehead and growths of skin and muscle protruded from her face, darkened occasionally by the odd mole. She limped to the centre of the tent and put a hessian sack onto the chair facing the two men.
"My name..." she coughed chestly into her hand "Is lady Montmartre. I am here to give you a message" she reached into the bag on the chair and pulled out some crumpled parchment. "King Frederick of Corona, you are destined to lose a daughter not once, not twice but three times. The magic that you will try and conceal will bite back like a rabid wolf and will consume your heart." she gave the parchment to the king who opened it up. Inside was a drawing of a black wolf in charcoal, dried blood dotted seven times around the image in the shape of a star, mangled words and letters dotting the page in regular patterns. She coughed once again, a hoarse and ragged cough shaking her whole body before clearing her throat and turning to Agnarr. "You your majesty, Agnarr of Arendelle, have come from a long line of spilt blood. You will marry the girl you love and will have children yes. But you will grow to fear, resent and hate the seed that you have grown; in turn nurturing that fear until it consumes both of your daughters. Their blood will be spilt on the icy fjord because of you. Their hearts will grow cold and their minds resentful of you. You will live on, but as a memory of fear and of terror. Not as one of love" she turned to the guard and spoke clear and loud. "Your army's blood will be spilt on my ground, on my earth shall you butcher your sons and bury what's left. On this soil here shall you bone be turned to ash and your flesh ripped away. On this earth shall you bury your sons and lament your friends. This army is cursed" she turned to the royals, faces now pale with fear and screamed in a hoarse menacing shrill. "By my blood watering this ground, may this curse forever be bound" In the blink of an eye she pulled out a steel dagger from underneath her cloak and slammed it into her chest, ripping it out in an instant. Crimson droplets fell from her chest onto the muddied grass, their paths weaving in between footprints as she stared at the spreading stain. With a laugh she leant backwards, the stain now being spread, the laugh turned into hysteria as she glared into the royals' eyes, her shrieking laughter paralysing the men as she slumped down to the ground, crumpling in on herself. The laughter died down and became a horse wheeze coming from the grey slump as the crimson flood spread out around her, the stain slowed to a halt and with a croaky sigh the laughter stopped.
Agnarr stood in shock, the crimson barely lapping at his boots on the ground. He looked at Frederick, whose pale face mirrored his own, and went up to the woman. Turning her over he found the gaping wound in her heart, making an ugly squelching noise as her body writhed and contorted itself. He looked up at the guard, face pale with fear. "Get the medics to bury her" he ordered, the guard nodded and ran off from the tent, leaving the two men alone.
"Agnarr what just happened?" Frederick asked, blinking quickly to absorb the shock.
"She was a witch, I think" Agnarr said "I'm going to go to the chapel" he left the tent, shell-shocked, stepping gingerly over the cooling body in the wet mud. The camp was busy outside, wounded men being wheeled in from the frontlines and taken into the camp's field hospital; their moans and screams filling the air with an unholy din. A stretcher bearer team walked past, saluting him before heading into the tent with Frederick in. Turning away he beelined for the chapel, a rickety wooden structure in the centre of the bedlam. Stepping into its musty insides he edged his way onto a pew, and knelt, staring at the crude wooden cross gracing the altar. The side door to the chapel swung open and an elderly man walked into the chapel, taking a seat next to the king.
"God truly is the best armour" he commented "In wartime god is our sword and is our protection" he extended his hand to the king. "I am Reverend Harald your majesty" Agnarr returned the shake.
"In truth I wasn't here to pray about the war. We just had a very disturbing encounter" he admitted.
"Do tell"
"A witch just cursed me, my friend and my army" the statement leaked out of his mouth, its simplicity betraying it.
"Witchcraft is a powerful ordeal; but god is stronger. Remember it is God who cast Lucifer from heaven, not the other way around." the old priest's wisdom warmed Agnarr slightly. "You can beat witchcraft by reading the bible, praying every day and following the law. That works just as well for any king as it does for a commoner like me" the man smiled and pulled a bible from underneath the bench and handed it to the young king. "For the future" he shook Agnarr's shoulder and disappeared off into the vestry. Agnarr stayed for a while, the stars slowly rising and filling the windows of the chapel. He walked to the altar and gazed out the central window, marvelling at the millions of lights dotting the sky. Returning to his lodgings he pulled out his quill and parchment.
Dear Iduna
We are moving up to the front tomorrow and I cannot say I am in the best of spirits. There are weird happenings around the camp and I would be lying if I didn't say I was comfortable with everything being as it is. Nonetheless I am confident of victory, so you really do not need to worry for me. I was looking at the stars tonight and they reminded me of you. i miss you greatly and always look forward to when we are reunited.
Yours Forever
Agnarr
He sealed the letter up with his ring and handed it to the messenger.
XXX
Smog hung over the field like a choking noose, its grey heaviness smothering the greens and browns of the earth turning them into an unsightly dreariness. The choking smog smelt of gunpowder and blood, the latter trickling down the muddy ditches and trenches that had turned into quagmires with the relentless rain of the night. Agnarr huddled down in the trench, its ragged sides crumbling away from the bombardment of fiery lead unleashed on it. On top of the ridge crashes and booms of cannon fire rumbled away, piercing through the fog with a deadly ease. Occasionally the smack of shrapnel careering overhead pierced the thinly held veil between them and the sky.
"Your majesty, King Edward and Willhelm would like your vote on whether we should attack at 0700" Agnarr nodded in agreement "Then the attack will be in 15 minutes" the messenger added, running off down the trench. Agnarr beckoned his general; the elder man hugging tight to the crumbling bank of the position.
"Tell the officers we attack at 7 on the dot, get the troops to load their muskets and fix bayonets" The general nodded and passed the message on to several others. Agnarr looked at his pocket watch with anxious anticipation, feeling his heartbeat fiercely in the nook of his chest he counted down the seconds. When he heard the officers give the command to fix bayonets, he drew his sabre and pistol, cocking the flint back. He counted some more, watching the golden hand edge closer to the 12 on the dial, as it won its race, he blew the whistle and all the men in the army poured over the edge of the crumbling trenches.
At first Silence
Then the air lit up around him, cracks and booms of musket fire piercing the veil of fog as he blindly charged forward. Screams of men falling behind him drowned out his thoughts as he charged forward. Soon the men behind him began to overtake him. A man next to him stood still and returned fire, the musket giving a sharp pang as the lead was sent hurtling towards the ridge. The next instant the man was lying on the floor, a light red spray slowly settling in the sky from where his neck would have been. Through the quagmire of mud Agnarr trudged forward, the grey mist blinding him completely to the impervious soldiers above. More cracks and more fire came as the lead smacked the belly out of the air, its hot passions ripping apart the men behind him. Agnarr dove down into a shell hole as the familiar whistle of an incoming cannon ball filled his ears, its unearthly dirge illuminating the sky. A thud behind him following by screams and moans. Seeing the men left out on the ground being picked of mercilessly by the concentrated gunfire he ran backwards and dragged a few to a nearby shell hole. He went out once again and picked up another man by the arm.
But when he got into the cover, he discovered that was all that was left. Throwing the mangled limb to the side he pushed on once again, the streams of green clad men surging up the slope. Whizzes and cracks filled the air now, saturating the field with its orchestra of death. Men left and right fell, some now cowering in the shell holes only to be vaporised by a cold cannon ball flying overhead. Agnarr found his metal and gathered up a few men sheltering in a hole.
"For god and for Arendelle!" he screamed hoarsely and went over the top once again, brandishing his muddy sabre in the still fog. The men followed and to his amazement they made it to the dug outs of the forts. Jumping into the trenches he fired his pistol at the man, sending his body crumpling to the muddy floor. Swinging his sabre at another the bloody gash left across his chest sent him screaming, the sharp jab that followed silencing him forever. Agnarr picked up a musket and carried on through the fortifications, followed by men of his own regiment. A soldier dressed in navy blue ran out from a tunnel in the side of the trenches and fired at agnarr, the ball zipping over his shoulder and into the head of the man behind him, causing it to whip round in an unnatural fashion, the force contorting his neck backwards. Without thinking Agnarr thrust his musket forward, the Bayonet piercing the man just below his lungs. He screamed in pain as Agnarr forced him to the ground, not realising he too was screaming. The man tried and squirmed desperately to remove the barb; but it wouldn't budge under Agnarr's arms. Soon his attempts weakened, and his body fell limp. Agnarr removed the steel from the man; his deep brown eyes now staring lifelessly into the shrouding mist. The field fell quiet once again.
The men worked their way through the trenches in silence, save for the squelch and moan of a dying man in the mud. They checked shelters, cookers and tents as they worked their way through the defences of the ridge. Violently a foreign whistle followed by a humongous roar pierced the veil. The sky lit up again and in the narrow passageways led perforated the air, finding rest in mud and flesh. The man in front of Agnarr fell instantly, stomach blown out by a careering ball of lead hitting him, spraying the young king with blood and gore. More shots rang out, the intense fire now becoming a continuous stream of led and smoke. In the distance cannon fire started and soon the tell-tale screams of falling shells added to the cacophony of hell. More men fell to the unseen killers and their subtle knives; the only giveaway in the dense smog being a bright flash from the end of a musket barrel or the outline of a man in the fire. Soon the green soldiers found their backs to the parapets they first stormed. Seeing where they were Agnarr ordered the retreat as men fled the ridge, running past the dead friends and brothers, ignoring the sweet smell of death lingering like a ghost in the shroud of mist. Lungs burned, chest hot and heavy with the leaden sweat dripping down them, burning muscles roared like naked flames against a night sky as they sprinted down the muddy slope, each step bringing them closer to their disintegrating forts. Another volley of fire came down from the slope, men screaming out as the bullets collided with them, sending them crashing into the sticky mud. Agnarr hopped over the barricade and jumped into the trench, taking in the mangled sight before him. Men piled into the trench, the occasional shot ringing out from the top of the hill, as the lead followed them hot on their heels. Each man came into the trench with the same, haunted look. A snapped look with the very light from their eyes drowned out and replaced with their own mist, a mist that would linger for years. Agnarr found a general in one of the shelters and slammed him against the side of the bunker with all his might.
"You said there would be no reinforcements! You said they didn't have the men and ammunition!" he screamed in the generals face as the older man stared resolutely at the king.
"Your majesty our information was wro..." he was cut off by Agnarr screaming at him.
"Damn your information there are hundreds of men lying dead and maimed out there because of your mistake!"
"Thousands your majesty" another voice butted in.
"What was that?" he released the general, emerald eyes wide and nostrils flaring.
"We have taken account of the men. We have an estimated two thousand dead and three thousand injured. There are still another hundred or so missing" the voice, now a figure with bright sandy hair, said.
"Who are you?"
"Colonel Jutland Sir"
"Thank you, colonel, make sure the wounded are evacuated before the bombardment begins."
A rumble cut him short, the whole ground trembling with the force of the explosion.
"On second thoughts, get them into a shelter and wait the shelling out" the colonel nodded and saluted the king who half-heartedly returned the gesture. He glared at the general once more and followed the colonel out into the battlements. Within the muddy trenches lay the wounded; men with limbs blown off, men with limbs in places they shouldn't be and men with holes in them lined the narrow passageway. Their chorus of moans and screams filled with air, the warm humid air carrying the stench of the wounds through the myriad of networks; the moisture seeping the smell into every inch of exposed fabric. Agnarr gazed at the men in shock; their blue and green eyes often glared at him angrily; eyeing the patches on his shoulders. In the corner a man held a limp body. A teenager dressed in an oversized green tunic lay limp in an older man's arms, head rolled back and eyes unflinching as the man grasped him tightly to his chest. Agnarr went up to the man and knelt next to him. Gently he shut the boy's eyes and the father's soft sobs turned into a hoarse, animalistic crow. Agnarr looked around, spotting a solitary daisy perched on the rim of the trench. He reached up and picked it squatting down next to the boy's body, he felt for the boy's tunic and tried to press the flower into the chest pocket button, but instead of finding solid fabric his fingers fell through the coat and into a gaping hole in the boy's chest. Agnarr gasped suddenly, the unusually cold wetness taking him by surprise. He quickly got up once again, forgetting about the daisy entirely and ran away; leaving its blood-stained petals hanging limply from the boy's chest. As he rounded the corner, he emptied his stomach into the mud, the horror and trauma threatening to overwhelm him. The rumbling of the artillery grew louder and louder, until one shell burst directly overhead. He cowered against the mud screaming in fear as the shrapnel rained down. The deafening noise subsided, and he opened his eyes shakily. In front of him was a metal can that had been used to carry bandages, now mangled steel spread against the other side of the trench wall. He shook himself and filed into a shelter, finding a company of men and wounded huddling in the darkness.
"It's the king" he heard someone whisper, snaking his way into the dugout as swords and muskets were moved aside to make a space for him. He sat down on the creaky wooden bench in front of some candles on the floor; wounded on stretchers laid down in the dim light. Croaks and coughs filled the room, piercing the deathly silence here and there as a stretcher was nudge slightly by a foot brushing against it in the cramped darkness. Agnarr took out the bible that had been given to him, the black book now stained with mud and blood in his pocket. A loud rumble above them made him look up. The wooden beams keeping the ground above them from falling on their heads shook precariously as another shell burst on them. Another boom and Agnarr started again, then another and another. The relentless thunder above them made Agnarrs pulse soar and ears roar in the dim candlelight. Without knowing it he started praying; praying for safety and respite against the furious onslaught that had mangled so many men outside and now threatened to drag him with it. His fear and panic grew in him like a cancer as the roar continued, the moans of the men on the stretchers growing with each passing minute; their wounds festering in the dank sweaty warmth permeating the bunker. Clasping onto his bible tightly Agnarr rocked back and forth in time with the thudding of the shells above him.
And suddenly, he fell asleep.
XXX
A/N: Graphic? Yes. Enjoyable to write? Yes. Am I writing Agnarr like this to promote Christianity? NO! That will become very apparent in later chapters. Please R&R!