"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. So is a lot."
― Alexander Pope

August 2nd, 1840

Crusader Camp, Arendal

Frikron had just finished his final duty for the night and made it back to his tent, exhausted but still on edge. After all, Ásta still had to appear and if Frikron had learned anything, is that when Ásta declared something, she made it happen. Letting off an exhausted exhale, he checked his personal timepiece. It was after midnight.

"I guess it's the 2nd now." Frikron declared to no one in particular. All about him among the pitched tents and shelters of their army was a handful of men who for one reason or another were still awake at this hour. Some were on guard, others on details. And quite a few were simply too worked up to sleep, writing letters or socializing with their comrades. Frikron smiled for a moment, before remembering what was to happen to these men should Ásta succeed.

Trying to shake himself of that thought, Frikron entered his tent while he attempted to will the thought away, his eyes winched shut.

"Oh don't be like that, Frikron."

A shiver ran down Frikron's spine as he heard the Draugr's voice, opening his eyes to find her waiting on his cot, legs crossed and hands in her lap, only her head turned to face him. But as always, her glowing blue eyes didn't fail to haunt him.

"That's another problem with you Christians, is you act like death is so final."

"What are you talking about."

"Your thoughts, Frikron, I read them." Ásta paused for a moment, adopting a puzzled expression of her own. "I did tell you I could do that before, right?"

"Yes, yes you did."

"Of course. Anyways, you felt pity for the men outside, most of whom will be dead in little over a week. And I was saying that's a problem with you Christians, is everything is an ultimatum to you Christians."

"How so?"

Ásta laughed, before continuing. "Isn't it obvious? Heaven or Hell. Everlasting Salvation for the truly Christian, eternal suffering and torture for everyone else. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Frikron sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose not."

"Exactly. And as such, because you have a mindset that black and white, you feel that my mindset is to murder every one of those men and send them to damnation. But that's not true."

Frikron gave a curious look. "It isn't?"

"Of course not Frikron! Only a depraved and vile man would wish eternal torture on their enemies because they just believe different from them! No, my gods aren't as vain as your 'one true god' is. Those in your crusade army who die bravely and are worthy will still feel the embrace of the Valkyries, and go to Valhalla or Folkvangr and dine with the gods. Some others, the truly gifted of their crafts, will also be invited to join the Gods, and share their gifts with them."

"But what about the rest?" Frikron asked wide-eyed, eagerly absorbing all of this ancient knowledge. It seemed small, but these moments were the reason he still cooperated with the Draugr, so intoxicating was this forbidden knowledge, at least forbidden to one who grew up smothered in Christianity.

"The rest go to Hel, goddess of the inglorious dead. But unlike the Hell you know, the goddess of death is just and fair. To those who died of old age, of sickness, of accident, or simply didn't measure up to the standards of Odin or Freya, there is no suffering in Hel's hall. Instead you join your ancestors in Helgafjell, or you slumber in Hel's hall until Ragnarok. Only the truly wicked and depraved are punished, and are sent to Niflheim. So you must not fear for the souls of those men outside, for they will reap the just reward of their lives, one way or another."

Ásta paused, waiting for Frikron to respond. However, the young officer was silent, most likely wishing for the lesson to continue. But that's not what Ásta came here to do.

"You seem to value knowledge, Frikron. But secrets come with a price, at least secrets worth knowing."

His vapid face shifting to a concerned one, Frikron asked "What do you mean?"

"Knowledge is power Frikron. The All-father understood this quite well, and made great sacrifices to attain all the knowledge he could. On one occasion, he hanged himself for nine days and nights from the world tree Yggdrasil to learn it's secrets. On another, he willingly gave up one of his eyes to learn the secrets of the cosmos, drinking from Mimir's well. For great knowledge, sacrifices must be made. The question is, Frikron, how much are you willing to sacrifice to attain the hidden secrets of the universe?"

"I… I don't know. I have yet to encounter something I've been unwilling to do, but I don't know quite what my limit is."

"Spoken like a wise man, Frikron." Ásta spoke solemnly, before retrieving an ancient box of carved wood, covered with runes. Opening it before the lieutenant, it revealed a wooden bowl, likewise rimmed with runes. "According to legend, this is a bowl carved from Yggdrasil that a Volva used to drink from the Well of Urd, the same well that Odin himself drank from. And while it may not give the same understanding of the cosmos that Odin has, drinking water from this bowl will unlock many of the secrets of this world. Or at least according to legend, I think."

"Wait, you haven't tried it?"

Ásta shook her head. "No Frikron, this was never meant for me. This was for me to take to Folkvangr, so in my new lands, I may appoint a Seer, and they would drink from this. And I think, that might be you."

Frikron hesitated, before reaching a hand towards the bowl, only to have Ásta snap it shut before his fingers could even get close. Confused, Frikron gave a puzzled look to the Draugr. "But-"

"There is one final challenge, Frikron. One final sacrifice. One final test of wisdom and wit."

"What would you have me do?"

Ásta smiled behind her mask, before producing a parchment and handing it to Frikron. Opening it revealed a list of villages, most of which had either pagan or Sami styled names. A chill ran down his spine, as the implications overtook him.

"These are-"

"Villages to be destroyed yes. Your mission will not be easy, but for the sake of Arendal itself, you must carry out my orders."

"You wish me to-" Ásta cut him off, grabbing his arm, before glaring into his eyes with those haunting blue eyes. And much like when the Draugr had spoken into his mind, the details of the mission were given to him without a word uttered. Uneasiness shook Frikron, leading to brace against a field table, the Draugr releasing her grip as he fumbled. He now fully understood what darkness lay ahead now for him, should he wish to drink from the bowl.

"You know what has to be done, and what sacrifices must be made, Frikron. It's not an easy decision, so I shall return in the morning to receive you answer. Goodnight."

And with that, the Draugr left, leaving a disturbed Frikron clutching a map of doomed villages. He had finally reached a point of no return.

…

Dunbroch Embassy, Arendal

Captain Eadan Mackenzie stared out the window of his office, marveling at the craziness that winters in Arendal seemed to bring. The summer snow had of course been occurring for days now, but only recently had the odd winter begun to affect the harbor. The previous day the ship from Bornholm had to be careful when offloading its passengers, and now only the smaller and more maneuverable vessels dared to come in and out now, as some ice floes had begun to show themselves.

However, marine trade was the lifeblood of Arendal, and they were not unfamiliar with winter. As such, the longshoremen did what they had done for generations and adapted. Now smaller craft simply rowed and sailed out to meet the smaller vessels, taking advantage long summer days to move cargo. To the Highlander, it was amazing. But to the sailors and dock men of Arendal, it was simply an early winter.

As such, the Captain was surprised when a knock was heard, leading the kilted Scotsman to turn about and answer. "Come in."

An orderly opened the door, letter in hand. "Sir, the ships have brought in our dispatches and letters, including one for you sir."

"Who's it from?"

"Queen Elinor herself sir."

Mildly surprised, as a letter from either of King or Queen was a rare occasion indeed, Mackenzie's eyes lit up. "Let me see that."

Taking the letter from the orderly's outreached hand, Mackenzie wasted no time in opening it up and beginning to read the letter, dismissing the orderly as he did. Alone, he delved into the letter's contents.

Captain Eadan Mackenzie,

I write to you as you are the senior military commander of our embassy in Arendal. As such, I am informing you that based on the information we have received regarding the revolt in Arendal, as well as our diplomatic ties with the Arendaler people and royalty, as well as the strategic importance of Queen Elsa av Arendal's powers, that myself and King Fergus have decided to declare war on these so called crusaders and sail to Arendal's aid.

While we are mobilizing battalions of both the 5th Dingwall Fusiliers and the 22nd MacGuffin Grenadiers, we understand that the city of Arendal itself is under siege. As such, if possible evacuate civilian staff, or at make efforts to improve safety. In addition, as we are no longer neutral to this conflict, we expect the soldiers of all the clans of Dunbroch to fight to defend the city of Arendal. Lord Macintosh agrees with this, and as clan Mackenzie is a cadet clan of clan Macintosh, expects you to do your duty.

Take care and good luck,

Queen Elinor of Dunbroch.

The captain folded up the parchment, taking a deep breath before talking to himself. "Well, I guess I'm fighting for the Snow Queen now."

…

"Are you ready to meet them, your Highness?"

Anna slowly blinked at the officer who had asked her the question, having zoned out in the brief period of time she had been sitting in the warm palace room. As requested, she had arrived at the local garrison shortly after 8 AM in the morning, which might have been the middle of the night as far as Anna was concerned. As such, Anna had forgotten the significance of her meeting this morning. However, unlike her usual drone behavior behind closed doors in the morning, she was trying to seem capable.

"Meeting… yes of course. I am ready to meet the, uh…"

The young staff officer, quite unfamiliar with the Crown Princess, faltered, before confusingly spoon feeding the Royal. "Irish Representative, your Highness?"

"Yes! The Irish representative, of course." Anna paused, recollecting what she had been told the day before. "They are upset, I hear, about being part of the defense." Not seeing looks of disagreement convinced Anna she was on the right track. Switching to a bit of bravado to cover up her awkward gaffe, Anna casually continued, nodding her head. "I'm on top of it, Lieutenant."

"Of course, your Highness. Do you wish to see them now?"

Anna had kept nodding, before hearing the question. A little off balance, Anna responded in a fumbling manner. "Oh, right. Of course. Please lead the way."

Anna was lead into a small drafty room, possessing a wood stove that was unlit to conserve firewood, the crisp atmosphere shocking Anna fully awake as soon as it collided with her face. Now alert, Anna took in the room, noticing the man before her. He stood about above average height and bearing short, straight black hair, which matched his facial hair consisting of sideburns and scraggly stubble: not quite a beard but not a five o'clock shadow either. His brown eyes peered with clear disdain at Anna, reinforced by think dark eyebrows and a long nose that soured his disposition. His ragged expression was complemented by his outfit, consisting of a long-faded green woolen uniform jacket, and tan breeches and black boots.

Anna took in the appearance of the man, before attempting to speak, only to be cut off by one of the officers, trying to be cordial and introducing her in English. "Your Highness, this is Patrick Donohue, representative of the mutineers."

Before Anna could respond in kind, the Irishman responded in a thick accent, his words dripping with anger. "Mutiny? Me and mine ne'er signed your damned enlistment papers, you daft bastard! And we won't either- we didn't leave English ruled Ireland simply to be cannon fodder for some fookin Queen!"

Anna was a little taken aback at the ferocity of the statement, especially how he somehow turned the word "English" into a curse word. But she wasn't one to be talked over in any capacity. Or let someone bad mouth her sister. More the later, actually.

"Excuse me, but that 'fookin Queen!' is my sister!" Anna said, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, sure to include an exaggerated Irish accent and air quotes when quoting his words. The Irishman turned an irritated eye towards Anna before putting two and two together, realizing that Republican talk might not be the best tactic here.

"Sorry miss, I didn't mean any personal disrespect to your sister the Queen. But I was elected by the lads to speak for their interests, and that includes not getting butchered in some wretched civil war!"

"Mister Donohue, we don't need cannon fodder for some expedition to quell a rebellion. What we need is men willing to defend this city!"

"Aye, that's how it always starts. Then if we win the battle, then what? We find ourselves marching north to die in a far-off land for some Queen who's ne'er even seen Ireland. We signed up to be laborers, not soldiers. And we certainly didn't sign up to go to a warzone."

"Well, you're here now. So…"

"So we want a damn boat back to Ireland. Plain and simple."

Knowing full well that no ship for Ireland was coming, nor anywhere nearby, Anna chuckled awkwardly. "So, yeah, that's not happening. Like, even if we wanted to do. Which we do. More or less."

"Look, were not picky. Any ship out of here will do."

"You're not listening. We're barely moving small cargo in and out of here on the longshore boats, let alone people. Those people we can get out are certainly not going to be military aged males, that's for certain."

The hopelessness of his plan dawning upon the Irishman, his eyes widened and he began to panic. "It can't be so! There's gotta be a way out!"

"Well, you could make a run for Grimstad and take your chances with the sons of Muspell. You know, the murderous outlaws Surtrsen has tearing up the countryside. But that's on you…"

"You don't understand, many of us brought our families. We got to get out!"

Anna sighed, before explain. "Look. We're trying to get women and children out. But if the fjord keeps freezing at its current pace, we won't be able to get everyone out. But when that water freezes, whoever's left, is left. And as a former military man, you can tell me what happens to a besieged town that's overrun."

Donohue sighed, before replying solemnly. "No quarter."

"Exactly. That's why we need your men, Mister Donohue. If we can hold them back, help will come. Our allies are coming. We just need to hold."

Donohue cast his eyes down, thinking a moment. "What do you need the Irish to do?"

"Sign 30 day contracts. If you do so, you'll be treated and paid the same as any other defending soldier, and permitted to stay in the same battalion. If the siege is broken, you'll be relegated to rearguard action, not sent up north."

"And if we don't"

"We'll find noncombatant work for you. Sapper and firefighting, if you cooperate. Anyone who doesn't cooperate with civil defense will be jailed, Irish or not."

"And our families?"

"Irish noncombatants will be given the same evacuation priority as anyone else, whether or not you sign contracts. However, the families of fighting men will be given better rations than those who don't."

"Very well. May I return to the lads and tell them of your offer?"

"Yes. You are dismissed."

The black-haired Irishman departed the room, leaving Anna to slump against a wall and exhale loudly as so as he was out of earshot. Alone as the officer present left with Mister Donohue, Anna remarked on a few things to herself.

"I think I just used blackmail to get people to join the army. Actually, yeah, I'm pretty positive I just did."

She shook her head, before looking at a print of Elsa on the wall, awaiting an upgrade to a painted copy. Smiling and shaking her head at the monochrome image, Anna spoke with a hint of remorse. "Oh Elsa, had I know this was your lot, I would have been far more understanding. If I- we get through this, I'll learn to not take you for granted."

And with that, Anna excited the room to her guard detail, ready to move onto the next aspect of the defense of Arendal that was hers to oversee.

…

Arendal Outskirts

A cold wind blew as the sunset in the woods surrounding the ancient port city of Arendal, but Muspell was quite warm. Even if almost all the buildings in the clearing weren't ablaze, the Draugr blood flowing in his veins always kept him warm, as well as angry. Both snow and ash fell from the sky as his irregulars milled about, carrying about with the process of looting everything of value that could be carried and destroying everything else.

Only one building left unmolested, being the main building and by the look of all of the items being carried out, a general trade store. As he surveyed the carnage, one of his trustees approached with a sign consisting of two wooden carvings connected by chain. Having dispatched the man a few moments ago, Muspell turned and begun to speak.

"Was I correct, Mikkel?"

"Aye, you were." The dismounted raider handed Muspell the sign, which he read at once.

"Wandering Oaken's Trading Post."

"And Sauna. Speaking of which, should we keep this one standing? I don't know how long this siege is supposed to last, but having a sauna would allow us to delouse our clothes, as well as improve troop morale."

Muspell considered it for a moment, before falling back on his instinct. "No. It burns with everything else. A good bandit never gets tied down in any one place, and this place would be a slaughterhouse if any enemy showed up. Besides, we all know that our holier than thou friends would have ejected us as soon as they arrived."

"Very well." Mikkel trudged over to the carved wooden pillars of the front entrance, taking a moment to appreciate them. A former wood worker before his conviction, Mikkel did have a soft spot for good woodworking. He even saved a handful of wooden figures and stashed them away, saving them from the bonfire. "Perhaps it was for the best Oaken and his family was long gone by the time we got here. I'd hate to see such talent pointlessly killed. Oh well."

He took a torch from a passing raider, before tossing it inside onto a spilled can of paint thinner, the fluids igniting at once. Mikkel stepped well back, making sure the empty trading post was well ablaze, before turning and reaching his horse.

As the Danish outlaw mounted his horse, Muspell turned about on his mount, taking a gander down the valley. Way down below lay Arendal, and more importantly, Princess Anna. He clutched his dagger, feeling it pulse as he did.

One more day, and I'm free…

…

Bit of Notes-

Merry belated Christmas everyone, and Happy Holidays. This chapter was unfortunately done before Christmas, but I was too busy on Christmas to edit, and then I was too sick. So it was a little later than I'd like.

On another note, 2016 just will not leave us alone, will it? Rest in Peace Carrie Fisher, Star Wars and life in general will be a little sadder without you.