July 31st, 1840

The Dungeons, Royal Palace

"Good morning, your Majesty."

Elsa sat on the stone bench, aware of her predicament but too muddled to truly take in her situation. She knew that she was betrayed, but after the initial shock of the nightmare and awakening in a dark unfamiliar place had faded, Elsa was overcome with severe drowsiness as well as queasiness in her stomach. As such, Elsa found it difficult to concentrate and could barely sit up straight before getting hit by a wave of nausea.

Even so, Elsa was furious.

"Widstrom, what is the meaning of-" Elsa stopped midsentence as wave of sickness hit her, before she coughed up and spit out some bile.

Widstrom meanwhile sat in the glow of the lantern, basking in the moment. Up to this point the 'young' minister had played his role very well, that of the young, fanatic attack dog, only to be paid for it in dividends. Now that his plot was revealed, he appeared as his true self. Gone was the good school boy look, now in his place was a cruel and self-centered young man, eager to cause pain with a deranged look in his eye.

Elsa slumped against the wall, attempting to stabilize herself to combat her vertigo, before lashing out. "What did you do to me, Widstrom?!"

"What's the matter, your Majesty? You don't appreciate the medicine I gave to help you sleep through your coming troubles?" He quipped, feeling clever. "I apparently didn't give you enough."

Elsa sat, taking the news in and attempting to process her situation, made ever so difficult by the drugs flowing through her blood. All she could see was Widstrom acting like a jackass, Sergeant Hvitstrom standing quietly behind him, in the stone room was the lantern in the corner that illuminated everything else.

Refocusing onto the unknown, Elsa asked "Sergeant Hvitstrom, why?"

The Sergeant simply returned a pained but resolute stare, as if she was a beloved family dog one had to put down. His gaze lingered for a few seconds, before he turned and left the room without a word.

"I guess he doesn't want to talk to you, Elsa." Widstrom's face turned to one of mocking taboo, his mouth open while holding a hand in front as if he was trying to block an obscenity, before grinning. "Ooh, that's right, I had thought had blundered, but there's no point to calling you by your title anymore, isn't there?"

Elsa responded with but a glare, her chains shifting being the only thing breaking the cold silence.

"I see, your polite enough to not devolve to snide remarks or pettiness. Now while many would find that remarkable, I don't. It only means you are trying to retain your precious high ground. It's always been about your chivalry and honor, as you tried to fool the world to regard you as something better than you are."

Widstrom shook his head, before coldly commenting. "You stupid inbred bitch, the only reason you're a Queen is because your ancestor had a good sword arm, and his children were good at backstabbing each other. Nothing more."

The traitor abruptly switched from the cold bitter tone he listed his grievances with to an upbeat, happy mood once again. "So, it's quite simple. I'm going to destroy this castle, hang every noble, then sell this place to the highest bidder. It'll be good fun."

Elsa scoffed. "So you're a revolutionary."

Widstrom laughed, slapping his thigh as his laughing died down and replied. "A revolutionary? God no! They are even bigger hypocrites than your lot is! I know that the strong will always prey on the weak. I just hate hypocritical cunts."

Elsa winced at the final foul word, it being far too vulgar for her taste. While Elsa had learned to tolerate words like bitch and bastard as it was inevitable for those words to slip out of a guardsmen's (or her sister's) mouth, this was a taboo even the saltiest of Guardsmen did not cross. Unfortunately, Widstrom took notice.

"Oh, you didn't like that did you- cunt?"

Elsa replied with a blank face, trying to keep composure. But needless to say, dealing with the uncertainty of a madman was not relaxing, especially with anxiety issues.

"Oh, I'm sorry. But I don't want this to be unfair Elsa. Go ahead call me a cunt. You'll feel better."

Elsa began to shake slightly, her logical mind debating whether or not to say the curse word, but every fiber of her being ingrained against it, she found it impossible even if she decided it wasn't a trap.

Widstrom smiled as his right hand began to hover over his belt, moving first to a knife. He slowly began to draw it watching Elsa's eyes widen with terror. Then suddenly he dropped the knife back into it's sheave, moving over to a Billy club he carried around as a call back to his youth on the police force.

"I'd hate to ruin that dress with cuts, after all. And besides, I'm confident in the staff's abilities to get stains out. Gerda did insist that you'd be dressed and I'd hate to step on her toes."

Elsa began to whimper, powerless. Whatever foulness that Widstrom gave her, it seemed to drain her of her powers as well as clouding her brain. Even still, she had difficulty thinking about anything other than the monster before her.

Taking the club to hand, Widstrom continued. "And there we go, your first steps to joining the rest of us from that mighty ice castle- showing weakness to a man you hold contempt for. But sadly, it's not what I asked for."

And with a blink of the eye, Widstrom swung his baton, striking her below the hip on the meaty part of her thigh. Elsa cried out, tears falling from her eyes openly now.

"Please, stop!"

"Not what I want. Mommy's charm classes won't help you now. Say it."

Again Widstrom struck, this time on Elsa's left thigh. Elsa rolled over, trying desperately to raise her hands as a make shift guard, but unlike her first visit, the chain was much shorter and the best she could manage was a few inches her lap.

Widstrom's mood had worsened, no longer calm but angry. "SAY IT! SAY THE FUCKING WORD!"

As he lifted his baton for a third blow, Elsa winced, her flight or fight instinct taking over as she whimpered. "Cunt."

Baton still raised, Widstrom threatened. "I didn't hear you, Elsa."

"Cunt!" Elsa blurted, before sobbing from the pain of her two heavily bruised thighs.

Widstrom lowered his baton, fixing it back onto his belt before straightening his posture and tugging his uniform jacket to a proper appearance. Once again jovial, he chirped once again. "See? That wasn't too difficult. The next won't be too difficult, I don't think. Men?"

A few mercenaries entered, one carrying a wooden bucket, the others escorting Gerda and another one of her bodyguards. Unlike the others, this one was shackled like a prisoner and disheveled like Gerda. Both Gerda and the guardsman were gagged, their muffling apparent as they were thrown to the floor.

"Careful with the Guardsman. I made a deal that he and the others wouldn't be harmed. And we still need to find Anna." Widstrom paused, before turning to Elsa. "Sorry about that, Elsa. Your next lesson will be much simpler. Thanks to the medicine I gave you, you will soon need to purge waste from your body. And you will do so in the bucket provided. After all, plenty a street rat doesn't have the luxury of a privy. See you later."

Widstrom signaled to his mercenaries, who nodded before shackling Gerda and the loyalist guardsman to the opposite wall, ungagging both before leaving the room. Widstrom smiled before placing the bucket just barely within the reach of her encased hands.

"Oh, and have fun figuring out how to use the privy without using your hands. And before you think of getting cute with your magic… Nils!"

A Mercenary outside the cell stepped in and replied "Yes Sir?"

"If you see as much of a coat of frost appearing to freeze her shackles, shoot her dead. Understood?"

The mercenary smiled. "Yes sir."

"Have fun, Elsa."

And then Widstrom was gone.

A few seconds of silence occurred, as Elsa still tearing up from her beating looked for something to do. This and curiosity forced her to study the Guardsman before her, before long recognizing him.

"You're the new recruit, the one I decorated two weeks ago, aren't you?"

The Guardsman looked up, his eyes wrought with worry and fatigue. "Y-yes, your Majesty."

Elsa relaxed a little, "Dieter, was it?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Corporal Dieter Eriksen."

Elsa thought for a moment, before continuing. "I'm guessing you're in here because you didn't play along with the others' treason, then?"

"Yes, your Majesty. Myself along with Sergeant Hans and Lance Corporal Bjorn woke up in a cell together. The last thing I remember was going to wake you with Sergeant Hvitstrom. I guess he cold-cocked me from behind…"

Elsa nodded. "Thank you, Dieter. And please, call me Elsa. If you're willing to lay down your life for me, you deserve to address me as a regular woman."

Dieter looked at his charge oddly, as for months he'd had it drilled into him that anyone above him was to be referred to with a title. "I'll try… Elsa." It felt wrong the second it came out of his mouth.

Elsa sat, raising her shackled hands gently in an attempt to wiped her tear streamed face, before letting them drop in futility. "There's no hope, is there?"

Dieter begun to shake as he bowed his head, his hands grasping his hair in anxiety. He knew that the Queen's Own was never questioned with regards to the security of the Royal Family, and it was an established protocol to lock down the dungeon after moving the Royalty there. This combined with the sound muffling properties meant that it'd be hours if not days before they were discovered. Even then, all of the hostages would likely die before any rescuers could arrive.

They were as good as dead.

His failure as a guardsman crushed him, causing the young man to begin softly sobbing. Overviewing the situation was the Senior maid, Gerda. Ironically, at least as professions were concerned, she was the calmest person in the room. Watching the young queen she helped raised and the soldier sworn to protect them both despair, Gerda's faced twisted to one of mild disapproval. She had work to do.

"Hush now children. I am sure that everything will turn out fine. Stay calm, and we'll make it through."

Elsa looked at her with disbelief. "How can you know?"

Gerda smiled. "I've been through worse."

Dieter looked her skeptically. "What could be worse than this?" He scoffed.

Gerda's smiled was replaced with a scowl. "More than you could know, dear. You wouldn't believe me, anyways."

Elsa, having heard a number of rumors about the old maid over the year, wanted clarification. "Try us."

Gerda slumped back against the cool cell wall. "When I was but a young girl, my childhood friend was taken from me. I travelled hundreds of miles, through a terrible winter to get him back. I faced the Snow Queen, dear. And I survived. All of this before I became a woman."

"That's quite impressive, Gerda. But you've told me reassuring stories before" Elsa retorted.

Gerda slyly grinned. "Just ask Kai. He should know, I rescued him."

The two looked at Gerda a little appreciative of the unassuming elderly woman with a little bit more appreciative, though unsure of whether it was for her poker face or her toughness. Either way, the room was filled with silence once more.

…

The Royal Family's suite, Royal Palace

Anna carefully shifted her body as she lay up by the rafters, a few feet above her bedroom. The spot was an old favorite 'escape' route for the young princess, except now it was being used to actually save her life instead of merely facilitate her 'adventures.' The first moments she crawled up there were wonderfully exciting, which soon faded to monotonous boredom as Anna waited for hours to see if anything happens.

She had a good view of the room, which was perfect, as she wanted to know what was going on. Before long, the latch of her room opened, as a mixed group of guardsmen and Widstrom's mercenaries entered. A Guardsman wearing Corporal insignia began to order the others about.

"Search every crevice! I want this room upside down!"

The others tore her room apart, looking for any possible spot she could have been hiding in, before long beginning to prod her ceiling with rods. Going between the rafters, they moved down in her direction, causing Anna to quietly prop herself onto a single rafter in a silent balancing act. After thirty seconds of adrenaline pumping terror the rods reached her, their rasps on the ceiling no different than the ones before.

"All clear, Corporal."

"Damn it! Where the fuck is she!"

One of the soldiers answered. "It's the Princess, Corporal. She's not one to be confined."

The Corporal sighed. "Yeah, you're right about that. My daughter likes to do the same thing. God, I hope nothing bad happens to her before we can get her safely to the Queen's Own."

"I'm sure when she hears about the situation she'll follow her sister's orders and go to the dungeon so they're safe together. Or find a nice hidey hole till this all blows over."

A murmuring of men led credence the last statement, before the Corporal cut them off. "That's enough lads. Oleg and Ivar, I want both of you here in case Princess Anna comes back. Inform her of the situation, and get her to safety. The rest of us are going to search the area."

"Yes Corporal."

And with that, the bulk of the men left her bedroom, leaving the two Guardsmen behind. A few seconds passed before the two Guardsmen turned and looked at each other. "What do you think we should do while we wait?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Maybe we should try to tidy up this place. Less of a shock for the Princess if she comes back, eh?"

"Yeah, that sounds right."

As the two Guardsmen began to organize and declutter the torn apart room, Anna took a moment to gather her thoughts.

So, Frida was right- there is something going on. But what was she referring to? I mean, like, it could have been in reference to an assassination plot or something.

But her stomach told her something was wrong. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, as the guardsmen were sincere as far as she could tell. Yes, there was some of those new paramilitary guys that Anna didn't take a liking to, but there was Guardsmen too- Guardsmen she had known for years. But something was up.

I better get out of here, and talk to Kristoff. If something's up, I'll be able to see it better from a distance.

…

Crusader Camp, 18 Miles North of Arendal

Frikron stood and watched silently, as another fresh company of recruits made its way into the camp, even more pitiful than the last.

After all the first generation of crusader soldiers were blessed to have had access to plenty of captured stocks of both Winter Parkas and white summer drill tunics, the latter of which were useful when a larger size was worn over existing jacket. Unfortunately, those stocks had recently dried up.

Now, new recruits were being wrapped up in a motley assortment of "uniforms" as presented by the sorry lads before him. Many appeared to be wearing a thin off-white linen outer-coat likely quickly sewn by a seamstress and thrown over an existing jacket, but there was plenty of other styles. Oversized nightshirts made an appearance, as did simply sewn tunics of flax, wool, and cotton, ranging from tan and yellowed from exposure to off-white and light grey. A fortunate few already had "properly" colored jackets and parkas, while a few were unable to even get the white outercoats, wearing either white or golden armbands.

And if their uniform troubles were not enough, Frikron could already see trouble ahead. The press gangs had been particularly merciless, as both middle-aged men and teenagers were amongst the fresh recruits, as were a number of men with either physical or mental disabilities, though minor. And while Frikron was somewhat relieved to see that they had been at least issued muskets up north to train with, a closer inspection revealed many to be either hunting shotguns or foreign smoothbores gifted from their bandit "allies."

Escorting the recruits were a number of old hand soldiers and sergeants, having been charged to both pick up the recruits as well as train them during rests along the way to get as much drill in as possible before they were to be committed to combat. But as the company marched past, the NCOs acknowledged his presence as an officer with a look, a look that said but one thing.

They're not ready, sir.

More heartbreaking to him was that he caught the look of a young teenaged boy, wearing an oversized jacket and outer white coat held down by belts and ruck straps. A floppy Krätzchen style cap sat atop his wiry reddish brown hair, accenting his boyish smile flanked by light freckles. A young man playing at war, completely unaware of the slaughter waiting for him.

…

Kristoff entered the stables for the first time that morning to prepare his new sled for his daily ice pick-up only to be surprised by a soft thud and a yelp, one he recognized quite well.

Turning about, he asked before he even saw the addressee. "Anna?"

"Shh!" Anna whispered, before rubbing the sore bottom she had landed on due to her clumsy collapse.

Playing along, Kristoff harshly whispered. "Anna, what the hell! The Guard has been looking all over for you!"

"That's the thing Kristoff, I can't be caught by the Guard."

Exasperated, Kristoff replied. "Why!?"

"I can't explain it, but somethings wrong."

"Anna…" Kristoff replied.

"Fine, it… it came to me in a vision. I'd ignore it but, I just have a bad feeling."

Kristoff paused, almost dismissing it all as part of Anna's historical quirkiness, but she was right about the vibe of the castle. The Guards and Security Troops all seemed sincere in their duties and searches, but Kristoff did get a bad feeling regarding the situation. He'd trust Anna, within reason.

"Fine, what do you need, Anna?"

"I want to escape the castle, at least until I can get to the bottom of everything."

"Well, I might be able to help you…"

…

Lance Corporal Nordfjell stood at the gate, a little irritated at his current predicament. He was awaiting orders to be cut regarding his assignment to sick leave for his broken foot when the full mobilization alarm was given, requiring him to be put on duty as his foot was now set in a cast. So now he sat on duty, trying to avoid messing with his cast.

He had just been placed on guard, when the relief for his counterpart, a security contractor, arrived. Tall like him, the mad strode up in his blue uniform, nodding to him with a bushy, gray beard.

"Bures."

Nordfjell looked at the mercenary oddly. "You're a Sami?"

"Jua."

"No shit." Nordfjell paused. "So, what makes a fellow Sami go mercenary?"

He shrugged. "What makes a Sami join the Royal Guard."

Nordfjell gave a laugh. "Well King Agdar, of course. My family would have starved if not for him. What about you?"

"Same general reason. Winter came bad that year, and there was too many herders and not enough reindeer. So some of us had to find work. I joined the Norwegian Army, did my time, and found myself liking the work. I'd stay in, but I'd make twice the money going mercenary. I had no great love of Norway as a Arendaler, so I went merc."

"What's it like?"

"Pretty much the same as all this shit. You'll likely travel more, that's true. I've been all over Europe, and I've seen a bit of Africa and India. But when you get there, it's all the same. Inspections, guard duty, marching everywhere and occasionally, a bit of action. But it pays well, and honestly, I couldn't stand going back to herding reindeer."

Nordfjell pondered for a moment if he could himself go back to the herd when his term of service was up. He'd only been in for little over a few months now, including his basic training. But in that time he'd seen a good deal of Arendal, a lot more than he had following the reindeer and harvesting ice. Either way, it was a bit of a waste to ponder now. After all, he was either going to die in Arendal during the siege, or get to go home when this was all over to compare.

Perhaps sensing the inner debate of his fellow guard, the mercenary carried on. "Any way, coming home isn't too bad. It was this or fighting for Tommy in China so they could push Opium. This was better."

Nordfjell paused, remembering the ongoing war waging on the other side of the world, before deciding to change the subject. "I never got your name, by the way."

The mercenary's nodded his head. "Corporal Filpa Magga, from the North Mountain area."

Nordfjell smiled. "Lance Corporal Rolfo Nordfjell, also from the North Mountain, obviously."

The two Sami chuckled, before being interrupted by a sled came from the inside of the castle, slowing to a stop. Nordfjell recognized him at once as the Royal Ice Master and Deliverer, Kristoff Bjorgman. Magga, however, did not.

"What is this, a Sami convention? Who's this one now?"

Nordfjell grinned. "It's the Crown Princess' pet Sami, Kristoff. She gave him a ceremonial post for helping her in her quest to recover the Queen."

"A local boy doing well, I can dig that." Magga turned to Kristoff. "Guktie veasoeh?"

Kristoff paused, before answering back awkwardly. "Mannine hijven"

Nordfjell and Magga exchanged puzzled looks. The language was correct, but the accent was… off. They couldn't place it, but it wasn't their version of Sami, that was certain. To be fair, he might not be a local.

"So, Master Bjorgman, what village do you hail from?"

Kristoff grew increasingly nervous, further arousing the suspicion of the guards. He was not a people person in the best of circumstances, now he was even worse. "The North Mountain originally. But I keep to myself mostly over by the Valley of the Living Rock."

Magga turned to Nordfjell, asking in a quieter tone. "I haven't been home home in years. You know this guy, like know him?"

"I've seen him here and there, but he was always a stranger. We didn't think too much of it then, but now that I think of it he seems awfully aloof for a kinsman…"

"Could he be a spy?"

Nordfjell stopped to think for a second, before answering. "I… I don't know. I know there was a Kristoff Bjorgman born to our village, around when I was born. But his folks died and the boy himself disappeared when he a little thing, no older than 8. We didn't see this one until right before the Great Freeze to be honest."

Magga looked over at Kristoff, failing miserably at the act of being inconspicuous. "Alright, he's hiding something." He turned to Kristoff, his hand hovering above his holster. "Master Bjorgman, please dismount from the sleigh!"

Kristoff froze, muttering something to some third party as Magga closed in, his tone becoming harsher. "Get off the sleigh, NOW!"

Just as the Mercenary was liable to draw his revolver on Kristoff, a tarp flew up in the back of the sleigh, stunning both Magga and Nordfjell.

It was the Crown Princess Anna.

She leapt from the sleigh, shouting. "Kristoff, RUN!"

Obeying, Kristoff regained his senses. "Sven, go!"

The loyal reindeer grunted, trying to rush through the gate, only to be intercepted by Nordfjell leaping to his feet, who knew how to stop a charging Reindeer.

"Mannem åånedem, Sven!" He cried, as he cold cocked the bull reindeer with one of his large fists, causing Sven to go down almost at once. Kristoff shouted in a mixture of surprise and worry, as Nordfjell drew his revolver on him. "Stand down, Master Bjorgman. I just want some questions answered."

As for Anna, she was quickly surrounded by Castle Guardsmen and Mercenaries, firmly and gently took her to perceived safety- her sister's location.

…

Bit of Notes-

Sorry for the delay in putting this chapter out, but school kept me busier than expected. The next two chapters should be fairly short, so hopefully I can get them out quickly.

Also, I used a bit of Southern Sami to recreate the language of the Sami characters, which is a bit up in the air as far as accuracy. As the "Southern" Sami people still live hundreds of miles north of where Arendal is, it's rather unlikely they would naturally settle there. Instead, I figure that Arendal represented a small refuge of tolerance in the rather Anti-Sami Norway, and as such a number of Sami tribes settled in the area, domesticating their reindeer and leaving behind their migratory life style but not their culture. Apologies if I butchered the language, I did the best I could short of actually learning Southern Sami.

O7, Dragunov

Glossary:

Bures- Southern Sami for "Hello."

Jua- Southern Sami for "Yes."

Guktie veasoeh?- Southern Sami for "How are you doing?"

Mannine hijven. Sami reply to "How are you doing?"

Mannem åånedem. Sami for "Sorry."