A/N: I'm uploading my story to AO3 as well as here so if you see it on there it is me who is uploading it. Thank you for the continued support it's been tough at school but I'm getting through it. Agnarr will look like a complete fool in the next few chapters but there will be a redemption arc don't worry.
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The rain fell, its dull sheets of water swept across the sweeping hills and rolling fields of the land. The ridge still stood, unmoved by the onslaught of water washing down from the heavens and the fort on top remained stoic as ever. Agnarr peered over the hem of the ditches, his army now reinforced by men in red and black coats speaking in foreign tongues, at the ridge. Still the odd crack of musket fire would rain down on them rarely finding its mark, almost as though they were just making them painfully aware that they were still perched on top of the ridge. There hadn't been a bombardment in some weeks, the Albion soldiers returning from the front looked tired, but their teeth didn't shake in their skulls the same way the Arendelle forces did. Agnarr's generals had taken a toll as well, half of his army now lay on ships bound for home or lay in the wed mud covering them. Out of five generals that had come, only two remained. The forces of Corona continued to fight up the hill, but with no progress. Assault after assault ground them down until they too had to be bolstered by foreign troops. The repeating fashion of attack and retreat wore the soldier's nerves thin, fraying them at the end into a melancholy madness. The final date of attack had been set, 5AM tomorrow morning. Agnarr's chest seized with the idea of charging blindly at the hill once again, the sheets and rivets of rain driving hard into his skin like bullets. Cracks of bullets echoed out once more, the gallic forces sending blind volleys soaring over the heads of the men ducked down into the defensive ditches. Soon the dull grey of the sky gave way to a murky blackness, the rain still bleeding heavily from the sky above them. Agnarr ducked down into the ditch, Amundsen sat by him and together they waited for the morning.
"What are you going to do when you get back?" Amundsen asked, warming his hands by the tiny fire in a tin on the ground.
"Probably hug Iduna, then sleep" he laughed gently to himself, rubbing the dark bags under his eyes from the hours of vigilance in the fort.
"I'm just going to thank god that we made it out of this alive" Amundsen lit up his pipe on the feeble flame, taking a long drag.
"I am going to pull out of as many military agreements as possible. This isn't even our fight" Agnarr ran a hand through his ginger-blond hair and sighed in exasperation.
"That's a lie, without the agreement in the first place we would still be eating pickled fish and rotten cabbages back home" Amundsen tipped his pipe towards the king.
"Whilst that is true, I'm not sure it's worth the casualties we have taken"
"You're the king. At least you have the balls to fight with us unlike those Albion generals and royals that sit in their tents all day" Amundsen spat on the ground, a brown-black sludge from the smoke coming out.
"I don't think that's right. You can also make better tactical decisions based on what's going on the ground if you're actually there" Agnarr checked over his musket once again, feeling the mechanism click gently.
A rustle from the muddy battlefield sent both men to their feet.
"Please tell me I'm imagining that" Amundsen said, cocking the flint backwards.
"Unfortunately, no" Agnarr placed a whistle in between his teeth ready to sound the alarm in the event of an attack as he pointed the musket over the top, scanning faintly moonlit landscape, pitted with holes and scars. The rustle came again and both men pointed their guns towards its sound. To their relief and horror, it wasn't a gallic counterattack, but rather some rats feasting on a half-decomposed body laying slumped up against the wall of a shell hole, not recovered from the incessant firing going on from above. Both men sighed and sat back down, relief making them feel slightly queasy.
"Have you written to Iduna recently?" Amundsen asked, holding his knee still top stop its jittering. The silence from Agnarr and his furtive look away made the man confused.
"What do you mean you haven't written to her?" Amundsen asked in shock.
"I don't know what to say"
"fucking bollocks" Amundsen took another long drag from his pipe tutting loudly at the younger man.
"Right I'm frightened that what I do say or tell her will scare her" Agnarr admitted.
"And not writing her, making her think that you're possibly wounded, or dead won't?" in the incredulous look he gave the king made Agnarr shrink inside.
"I'm not the man she fell in love with anymore" Agnarr said, a barren look streaked across his face. Suddenly the flickering tin fire seemed fascinating to him.
"If she does love you, she will love you no matter what. After the northern campaign, when your father died my wife told me I was different. But despite that she helped me get over the fact that I had lost friends and family in that war, and she still loves me now. If Iduna is worthy of you your majesty, then she will help you when you get back." the words of wisdom sunk into Agnarr, staring at the fire thoughtfully.
"What do you think about Northuldran people staying in Arendelle?" he blurted out, trying to hide the true meaning behind his message.
"I would kill them" Amundsen replied darkly, hands tightening around his musket. "They attacked us that night, they butchered my brother and killed my only son. They aren't human; they're animals" Amundsen went bac and joined Agnarr in staring at the fire, his eyes taking a demented look at them. Agnarr only nodded in response, fearful thoughts about Iduna being dragged out and shot by a mob filling his mind.
Another Rustle from the field made Agnarr jump up.
"Calm down lad, it's only the rats" Agnarr sighed and slumped back down again.
"Right I'm going to get some kip" Agnarr announced as he walked over to the other side of the destroyed trench and pulled a waxy raincoat over him. Amundsen nodded solemnly and poured a cup of water on the fire, choking its flames instantly.
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The moonlight had broken through the thick clouds that smothered the landscape, its pristine blue glow casting cold shadows on the scarred ground. Men had fallen asleep, only the occasional guard wandered the deadly silent fortifications, peering apprehensively at the barren quagmire stretched before them. The howling of the humid breeze had ceased, revealing an eerily silent graveyard stretching for miles up the impervious ridge.
Another rustle woke Agnarr, the same metallic jingling as before rousing him from his fitful slumber. Shaking it off and putting it down to the rats he tried to sleep once again. Yet again the jingling sound echoed across the field. Agnarr edged over but noticed a murky movement in the corner of his eye. He rubbed them in the half light and turned over, grabbing his musket out of habit.
Standing on the edge of the trench was a gallic soldier, eyes wild and mad in the half light. For a second Agnarr and him stared at each other, the silence of the field drowning them in the moonlight. Agnarr stared at his wild eyes, bloodshot from the smoke still hanging around the field like a bad smell. The creases in his face were laden with sooty dirt, the folds standing out like battle lines drawn out on a contorted map. Suddenly the soldier screamed and pointed his bayonet at agnarr who laid there frozen in horror as the man fell towards him. In a blink, Amundsen jumped up and knocked the man sideways; sending him sprawling out on the floor. Amundsen drew his bayonet from its holder and plunged it into the man's chest, turning his Navy blue uniform into a deep black as blood soaked it. Still frozen Agnarr was yanked up by Amundsen, shaking him out of his revelry. he blew the whistle with all his lungs had and ran to the front of the trench. Through the field ranks of shivering grey filtered through the scarred moonscape. Faceless demons weaved through ditches and graves as they charged mercilessly toward them. Agnarr aimed his musket and took a blind shot, a man fell to the ground although whether it was coincidence or not he couldn't tell. Men filtered into the trenches and joined them, taking shots at the advancing beast of a thousand men coming towards them. Yet more fell, the screams echoing out across the still silent moonscape, the footfalls of the dogged men coming towards them creating a low rumble that shook the very ground.
"Folley Ranks!" Agnarr shouted in his native tongue and the men lined up in rows of three. "Fire" he shouted, raising his sabre; glinting in the stony moonlight. A ringing of shots lashed out across the landscape, causing many of the men to fall into the mud before them. The second row lined up and fired, yet another volley lashed out, causing navy blue clad men to crash about in the mud, some still writhing with the pain of an unclean shot. To Agnarr the landscape seemed distant, the rhythmic fire and crash of men in the mud distanced him from the gore and the brutality of it all. Despite the never-ending shots fired from their troops the beast of a thousand faces edged closer. It's endless supply of warm blood spilling out on the cold ground.
They were on them.
A man, about the age of Amundsen, jumped over the parapet and screamed with his lungs at the ranks of the Arendellian soldiers who quickly cut him down with a hard thrust of their bayonets. Yet more came, then they stopped. The steady trickle of men jumping over the wooden skewers designed to impale horses ceased and the ground fell silent. What remained of the men stood cautiously glaring into the ragged moonscape, a light smog from the musket fire looming over the bog like a ghost. A sharp whistle broke the stillness, and a multitude of men, their blue coats turned grey in the silver moonlight, swarmed over a nearby set of shell holes, eyes white and red in the half-light; frenzied by their bloodlust. The ranks collided with the soldiers and hellfire broke loose. Agnarr saw a man lunge at him with a bayonet but he returned his attack by shooting him at short range with a pistol, the heavy lead ball ripping through his coat and spinning him to the ground. Agnarr drew his sabre once again and slashed it into another attacker, screaming in pain. He raised the sword once ore and finished him off. Looking at where his forces once where he saw nothing but a writing mass of flesh in the mud. Men struggling to overcome the other, the occasional shot or scream ringing out in the deathly quiet landscape. Seeing Amundsen pinned to the ground, his eyes closed in acceptance, Agnarr charged at the officer with a sword hanging over his head. Crashing with the man both collapsed to the ground. Agnarr quickly got on top and punched the man with all his force. His knuckle collided with the bony flesh of the man's face and ignoring the pain he kept on hitting the officer. The man struggled to get up, clawing at Agnarr's tunic as he fought for release from the flurry of fists. Th man managed to grasp Agnarr's throat, squeezing desperately and choking the young king. Reflexively Agnarr grasped his thumbs into the man's eyeball and pushed desperately. The man let out a broken howl and released Agnarr who quickly grabbed his throat as he flailed in the wet mud. Agnarr screamed at the man, his throat hoarse with the bitter fury aimed at the ma. The look in the man's eyes went from a white-hot fury to a resigned desperation and then eventually to a faded look of fear. Agnarr clung onto the man's neck, slowly going cold as the life slipped away from him, the look of fear stayed plastered on the man's face as Agnarr let go of his grasp, his had slumping down to an uneven angle around his shoulder. Agnarr turned back to the men on the field. Firing a shot at a man screaming towards him he sent him crumbling to the ground, his moans and cries of pain echoing for a second before they turned into a gurgled silence. Agnarr saw the men retreating, cheering madly as he fired shot after shot at their backs, sending one after the other crumbling to the ground in a wet heap. Holding his musket above his head he screamed in victory at their little triumph, the blood lust rushing to his head and a wave of pure anger pouring over him, the drive to chase the fleeing prey overwhelming him. He looked to his men and was about to order an attack.
But was greeted by an empty trench.
Lifeless bodies lay clinging to the wet mud, their pale bloodless skin contorted in bloody grimaces and looks of horror. Agnarr walked up the trench amidst the carnage and looked for signs of life. Forever-staring eyes greeted him, their glassy orbs writhed in the same look of desperate fear the gallic man had when Agnarr's hands wrapped around them. The multitudes of bodies lay about him, the deathly silence drowning out any gunfire from above. Blood rushed through his ears as he wondered if he too was dead, ghost condemned to wander the scarred mud for eternity. He checked the faces, crying out the names of men and officers, once good men and friends, now reduced to mere piles of cold flesh in the over-glorified ditch. Agnarr searched the twisted faces in the mud, some covered with gashes down their side from razor steel slashing them open. He kay his eyes on his old friend, deathly still with his eyes closed. Amundsen's face was covered in a sticky dark residue, Agnarr froze at the sight of his silent friend. Th an on the ground coughed and spluttered up blood, Agnarr rushing towards him. Shifting a cooling body to the side he revealed Amundsen's chest with a gaping ugly whole in it. Agnarr took out some of his wadding and stuffed the wound with it, turning a deep crimson as it touched his blood. Amundsen grimaced silently as the King stuffed the rags into his open chest. Without thinking Agnarr then threw the man over his shoulder and ran for the escape route.
XXX
Amundsen was slumped onto the blood-soaked surgeons table and immediately people came over with saws and knives. A bottle was held to his lips as an amber liquid was forced into his throat, making him splutter, but then fall into oblivion. Numbly, a corporal escorted Agnarr away from the brutal scene unfolding in the operating theatre tent. Agnarr stormed to the Albion King's tent and let himself in. The guards on the inside rushed him, nearly throwing him to the ground.
"Who the hell are you?" the King of Albion asked, his immaculate red coat gleaming in the candle light.
"King Agnarr of Arendelle" he gasped in between burning breaths, shaking the burly men off of him. The Albion King looked him up and down with disgust at his blood and dirt-soaked uniform and turned back to his desk.
"What do you want?" the king asked dismissively.
"I withdraw my forces from this bloodbath. We have lost too many men for your country" Agnar spat out, glaring at the king with haunted eyes.
"Is that so? Okay" The king shrugged and returned to his papers on the desk.
"Is that it? You're not even going to protest us leaving this hell?" Agnarr felt a surge of fury at the man as he stepped closer, the guards eyeing him nervously.
"You have done your bit in this, you may go" the king didn't even look up from his desk.
"Go to hell you coward" Agnarr spat at the man and left, a tired general waiting outside.
"Load up the men we are having no more part in this murder" Agnarr said passing the man, who nodded with relief strewn across his face. Agnarr made a beeline to the field hospital and found Amundsen lying dazed in a bed, he took his bloodied tunic off and placed it on the foot of his bed as he took a seat. Amundsen groaned slightly from the shift in weight but looked at Agnarr perched on his bed and smiled.
"Are we dead?" he asked, smiling through the pain.
"Not yet old friend, not yet" Agnarr replied. "We're going home" Amundsen sighed in relief, closing his eyes with a look of final peace on his face.
"Then you'd better get writing to that young girl of yours"
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A/N: Three chapters in three days? I'm spoiling you. Next chapter will be the reunion and the fallout from the war, more things will unfold in the following chapters that will add to the level of drama going on so stay tuned for that! Also, R&R!