July 30th, 1840

Royal Palace, Arendal

Elsa sat at her desk, staring blankly at the parchment before her. On it was a long list of orders and commands, all involving turning Arendal into a police state.

A temporary police state, Elsa reminded herself mentally.

It wasn't a terribly bad bill, in all honesty. It effectively put Widstrom in charge of a large paramilitary force involving the Police, Auxiliaries, and some other small armed groups, mostly mercenaries. And with this small Army, Arendal would be garrisoned and locked down as searches would comb the city for those who would side with the Crusaders or other groups. The Army and the Royal Guard would still be completely hers, as would the final say on any judgement of any cases of treason or similar activities.

Elsa knew better than to trust Widstrom, so she didn't. But she had no other choice, and this act gave the over-zealous attack dog little power over her. After all, the Royal Guard was more than a match for the police, and the thought of Widstrom's 'personal' thugs standing against the elite of Arendal's Army was laughable. Didn't make the situation feel any better.

But she had no real alternative. Arendal was facing crisis, and she didn't need the city erupting into chaos with the enemy at the gates. This had to be done.

"Now, while I understand we are facing crisis, Minister, it is imperative we do not become tyrants."

"Of course your Majesty." While the police official stood in a respectful manner, Elsa could see the gleam in his eyes that were the same as a dog eager to be unleashed on wild game.

"If I hear of one case of undue brutality, It'll be you before the courts. Am I understood?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

Elsa sighed, signing the parchment, before passing it off to Widstrom with a hint of disgust. He bowed upon receiving the signed orders, before turning to leave and exiting the small office. Elsa, her anxiety knowing at her, could only pray she had not blundered.

Dear god, I hope I didn't miss anything.

…

Wilderness, 20 miles north of Arendal

Frikron sat uneasily upon his horse, surveying the aftermath of the battle that had begun the night before, ending just a few hours after dawn when the last holdout of Royalist forces was overrun. The end result of the battle laid before the rebel lieutenant, as the bodies of both rebel and loyalist forces lay in the snow, scattered as far as the eye could see. Due to the light snowfall that had begun during the night, however, Frikron figured before long the dead would be covered in a sheet of snow, as if Elsa herself was burying her fallen soldiers.

To Frikron, the only victory that could be claimed in that the road to Arendal was now open. Despite the ambush, the rebel soldiers with their ranks swollen with fresh and unready recruits suffered heavy casualties securing the field of battle. While they had the numbers to replace them, morale had taken a serious blow as many realized that god was not simply going to hand them victory without price.

Perhaps god denies us aid because we don't actually fight for his angel, or his chosen one.

A moment passed in the heavy silence of winter, before a familiar presence approached on horseback. The monster had come to view her handiwork.

Frikron turned to glance at the undead thing, clad in her mask and hood as always, except now that Frikron had seen what was beneath, that's all he could ever see.

"What's the matter, Frikron? Your glorious soldiers of God have won the day. Arendal is yours for the taking. Your crusade is about to triumph, why so gloom?" Her voice was heavy with sarcasm, to the point of smugness.

"But are we? I doubt you truly wish this army to succeed."

"And why do you think that, Frikron?"

"Because you're a Draugr."

"And? My status as an undead monster doesn't change my faith, or influence my motivations, Frikron."

"If you were a good Christian, when you passed your soul would have gone to Jesus. Only the wicked return as undead." Even Frikron found the words coming out of his mouth hollow. But it was all he had ever known.

"Wrong!" Ásta began in an exaggerated, playful manner. "A Draugr is created when someone with a strong enough will is slain in a high magic infused area while they have unfinished business to attend to. And that's exactly what I have to do to return to death. To people not native of Scandinavia, they are called revenant. The Draugr's religion has nothing to do with it."

"Alright, what's you 'unfinished business' then?"

The Draugr gave Frikron a glare. "That's for me to know, and you to find out." She paused, thinking for a moment before continuing. "But to answer your question, no I am not a Christian."

"Then why do all of this? Why raise a crusade?"

Ásta paused, gathering her words, before speaking. "Do you see all of those men, the ones in the white coats lying dead all up and down this road?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"What makes them special?"

"They're dead?"

"No shit. So are the Royalist soldiers. But what makes the crusaders special?"

"I don't know."

"Every one of those men in a white coat, living or dead, was and are willing to die for their belief in Christianity. It may not be their primary reason, but every one of them was willing to fight in a crusade. Now, if one were to wish to return Arendal to its native religion, who do you think would have risen up and stopped them?"

"My god, you're leading them to slaughter! But why, you're unkillable!"

"It's not only about that. In order for people to return to the religion of their ancestors, they first must reject Christ. And when the people of Arendal see how 'our' soldiers show the Sami and Pagan peoples 'God's love', I feel that Christianity will suddenly be a whole lot less popular."

"What is fucking wrong with you? You're brainwashing Christians to kill your own people just to get more converts?"

Ásta's voice became sharp and severe, laced with anger. "I can't brainwash someone! If I could, you'd think I'd do this? I'd simply convert you all! Every evil committed by this army came from this army, not from me. I may have loosened inhibitions, thrown around an illusion or two, but no more. This darkness was already in their hearts. It's always been there. You ask what is wrong with me? A few mind games is all it took for you to tear each other apart. What is wrong with you!?" She returned to a calm state, continuing to explain herself, though her voice was filled with disgust.

"I remember when they first came. I remember how our Kings sold their souls to Christ, and then ordered their soldiers to convert the masses at sword point. I remember when the German mercenaries came when some dared to fight back. I've seen the true heart of Christianity. It's a religion for sheep, for slaves. A thousand years of it is long enough."

Frikron sat quietly, a little shamed because he knew she was right. Most of his colleagues had always grumbled about the religious minorities, perhaps this was what really lie in their hearts. After a minute, he softly asked "Is this the rabbit hole you promised?"

Ásta smiled wickedly. "My dear Frikron, we have but merely begun."

…

Rønne, Principality of Bornholm

Mister Adkins groaned softly as he was led into the throne room, irritated that his mission had led him to this obscure corner of Scandinavia. A few days before he had been given a surprise assignment, one that was effectively undoing the work he and his colleague Mister Thomas had carried out. Simply put, he was to take a quick tour of the Scandinavian-Baltic Region and try to raise support for the besieged Queen Elsa.

So far, little was being promised. Norway, despite having an independent military, fell back on the excuse that 'foreign policy matters' were in the hands of the Swedes. However, the diplomat's spies told him that Norwegian volunteers were being armed and sent across the border in an attempt to see to it that Norwegian lands lost to Arendal in the Napoleonic Wars were returned. This which would of course occur once the "illegality" of the Crusader regime could be used as justification. All in all, Oslo was a dead end.

Then came Denmark and the Southern Isles. Adkins knew that Denmark would be a waste of time, though he still had to go. Between the pre-emptive sinking of the whole Danish fleet and the turnover of much of its lands to England's and Prussia's allies in the region, Denmark had little love for John Bull. So it was no surprise that the Danes outright refused him.

The Southern Isles was next, and things went well, at least if you were supportive of Arendal. King Frederick wasted no time giving the orders to mobilize the Army and Navy for a relief campaign. This was all well and good, but the resurgent winter in Arendal had made the Seas uneasy, and Frederick did warn the ambassador that it would at least be a week before the first Regiment was ready to go overseas.

So at least in his head, while this whole trip was little success, he was quite pleased. Denmark and Norway were unwilling and the Southern Isles would likely send too little, too late. After this stop was Corona, which would have to ask the Prussians for permission and thus delay them and Sweden, which was not going to send troops to save the first real threat to Sweden's hegemony of Scandinavia.

But he was still here in Bornholm, which was tedious to the Diplomat. As no matter which outcome one wished for the mission, Bornholm was a waste of time.

Bornholm was a small Island to the south of Sweden and west of Denmark which only retained its independence to provide a demilitarized zone between Denmark and Sweden. It was simpler to give it independence than it was to mediate negotiations between the two nations. What this meant was that both of the two nations with claim to the island exerted pressure on the island to ensure that the island stayed neutral and weak so any "reoccupation" would be quick and bloodless. The new Royalty of the island took the situation and ran with it, their official policy being collaboration with whatever side took the island. So they didn't need a large army.

In fact, the only military force available to the Bornholm royal family was the Prince's Household Guard, nothing more. That is, if didn't one count the constables who policed the island, armed mostly with clubs. Hence why Bornholm was a waste of a stop. But Adkins still had to go through the motions.

"Your Highness, I humbled by your gracious decision to see me right away. I come with urgent business."

Now whereas Adkins was irritated by all of this, Prince Ludwig was enjoying this immensely. The young, handsome ruler of the sleepy Principality had been raised to the throne at a very young age. Only 17 when his father died, any hope for a bachelor lifestyle ended then and there. Now 19, he looked forward to any excitement to spice up his daily routine.

So it was without question that the phrase 'Urgent business' piqued the curiosity of the young man even more than the request of audience of an envoy of the British Empire. "Please, Ambassador Adkins, do continue."

"Very well, your highness. As we speak an army of anti-royalists assails your Northern neighbor Arendal. Queen Victoria naturally sees any regicidal force as an aberration, especially this close to Britain. As such it would please her greatly if you could offer any aid to Arendal."

The envoy was so used to going through the paces he didn't see Ludwigs' blond eyebrows raise and his mouth grin in excitement, before speaking. "Of course, Ambassador Adkins. I and my Royal Guard will depart at once."

Adkins, expecting the answer to be no was quite puzzled by the response. "Come again, your highness?"

"Queen Victoria wants troops to fight in Arendal, and troops she shall have. I have no army to send but my guard and myself. So I will go."

Adkins was tempted to try to talk the young man down, before stopping. After all, who was he to care if the young Prince had a death wish? "Very well, your Highness. Best of luck in Arendal."

…

Royal Palace, Arendal

With the death of so many civil servants it was unconceivable that the Queen and the Crown Princess would not pay their respects, especially since a number of the dead were heads of ministries and senior officers. So both Elsa and Anna spent most of the day attending back-to-back memorial services within the castle gates (for security reasons, of course), only when night fell did they get a chance to attend the pressing business they were desperate to carry out.

The day prior they had uncovered a possible name of the Draugr and had wished to ask Grandpabbie about it. Then the bombing occurred, casting everything into chaos. Chaos still reigned, but the security crisis had been addressed. And while it wasn't official, to Elsa and Anna the Draugr was a greater threat. So now they finally visited Grandpabbie.

"Your Majesty, it is good to see you again. How can I help you?"

"Grandpabbie, we need your knowledge. Have you heard of a Queen Ásta?"

Grandpabbie paused, a shiver overcoming the elderly rock troll. Anna nudged Elsa, before whispering. "That's not a good sign…" Elsa shushed her.

Grandpabbie struggled to find the proper words, before explaining. "You Majesty, that is not a name I have heard in a long time. Not since I was a youngling, learning the history of our land."

A little blush from embarrassment, Anna asked the question she knew Elsa was too polite to ask. "You weren't alive back then? I'm sorry but I don't know anything about Troll lifespans."

Grandpabbie chuckled, as if he were explaining to a child common knowledge. "No, your highness, that was over a thousand years ago. We live long lives, but not that long. Even the oldest rock trolls alive when I was a child were not born when Ásta reigned, nor did any troll they knew."

"Well," Anna interjected "What do you know?"

"When I was a child, even before it was decided I was to learn the shaman path, I was told the long history of our land. Nothing too deep, and certainly nothing involving the memory crystals, but an overview. Part of that history was the Christianization of Arendal." He sighed, recalling a bitter history. "This was important as when Arendal converted, we as a people had to hide. But during that time, two reigns in particular stood out: that of Queen Ásta, and her usurper Queen Frida."

"How did it stand out?"

"Well, it stood out because there was a great terrible winter that lasted years, along with nearly constant fighting between the Christians and traditionalists, led by Ásta. Eventually, the followers of the old ways were driven to the mountains, where they made a last stand. After a battle that lasted days and killed almost all the nobility on both sides, Queen Ásta was killed by unknown shield maiden named Frida. With Queen Ásta dead and both sides devastated, the heathen army surrendered and the shield maiden was crowned and baptized as Queen Frida the Spring-giver, which as you both may know, was the first of your dynasty. Shortly after, the long winter ended and peace returned to Arendal."

Elsa's eye's gleamed as she recalled the story of the founding of Arendal. "Yes, and because the Heathen army never was beaten, Queen Frida created a law ensuring that Arendal would always grant freedom of religion, which lasts until this very day." Even in these dark times, Elsa did love history.

"Wait, then how come we never heard about Ásta before, if she was a major player in Arendal's founding?"

"I don't know, Anna." Elsa shrugged, before expanding on her thought. "In the books given to me, there was never mention of powers like mine, and the Heathen Army was almost always referred to as a single entity, with little regards to its leadership. It's possible she was in the books, but I glossed over it as it was a name of little note."

"In any case your Majesty, it is possible that she was a sorceress, like you."

"It's possible?"

Grandpabbie sighed. "If I had a memory crystal from that time, I could literally have shown you her past and the truth of the matter. But she destroyed it all, which tells me she was quite familiar with us and our powers. Which leads me to believe that she knew of magic. This, and the fact that the Great Winter overlapped her rule leads me to believe she was a Snow Queen."

"Then why hasn't she done more Snow Queen stuff now that she's back?"

Grandpabbie frowned and shook his head. "Magic is not truly a skill as it's a part of you, as your sister the Queen can attest to. Simply put, when Ásta died, all of that magic would have left her and dissipated. Likely eventually finding its way into Elsa."

Elsa grew pale. "I don't like the sound of that."

"You shouldn't. It is possible that the reason Ásta desires to kill Elsa is that if she did, Elsa's magic would almost certainly flow in Ásta, as that power would not have forgotten her. In short, with both the powers of the Draugr as well as that of a Snow Queen, Ásta would be unstoppable."

…

Royal Hospital, Arendal

For over twenty-four hours General Wilhelmsen laid unconscious, taking the shallow breaths of sleep. Heavily burned and battered, the Doctors were worried of course, but privately agreed it may be best this way, as he was not suffering and his chances of survival were not high. Not low, but not high either. As the two sisters retired for the day with the knowledge that their foe may have been a sorceress, that all changed.

Wilhelmsen awoke with a gasp, as his instinctual first deep breath upon waking encountered the severely bruised and fractured ribs, courtesy of being slammed into a wall from the explosion. The extent of his wounds quickly horrified the old soldier, as he was knocked out instantly by the blast the previous day, but he fought through the shock, as he dared not go unconscious again.

"Nurse!" He struggled to get out, gritting his teeth.

Within a minute, an older woman approached his bedside, a seasoned nurse of many winters. "Yes General?"

"Get Queen Elsa here now. The fate of the country depends on it!"

…

Bit of Notes

Long time no see. I do apologize, but when Hearts of Iron 4 came out it pretty much ended any progress I had going for about a month straight. After that it was Annual Training and the birth of my niece, so I neglected fanfiction.

In any case, I hope you all enjoy my much belated chapter.

The hammer is about to drop.

O7,

Dragunov