August 6th, 1840

Lantern light flickered in and out in the cold stone room of the castle as Colonel Grimstad stood over his desk, struggling to keep track of his notes as his subordinates discussed their findings to him. He struggled to keep alert, as the exhaustion of the siege wore on him along with the fact he started today over an hour earlier, at 5 AM. Still, he was attentive to his men, which now was his Chief of Interrogation.

"… and thusly, despite the increasing number of defectors we have received, we still haven't gotten any good intel out of interrogation. They clearly fail to tell their enlisted men any details regarding future operations, and the only officer to defect recently has clearly lost his mind. The poor bastard won't shut up about a masked woman that's a-" the officer flipped open his own notes, before continuing "-a dragon or something? Either way-"

Grimstad's ears perked up as soon as he heard 'masked woman', and was convinced when he heard the word for dragon- drage. It was a typo, sure, but Draugr and Drage being similar and the description of a masked woman was too much of a coincidence. He had to meet this officer, and get whatever he knew out of him. It was their only lead on the Draugr.

"Captain, arrange a meeting between me and this mad officer as soon as possible, along with a prepared dossier containing everything we know about him."

The younger officer gave a puzzled look, before regaining his composure. "Of course sir. May I ask why?"

Without missing a beat, Grimstad responded. "It's vital I find out what this man knows, as he may not be as crazy as he seems."

Artillery began to thunder in the distance, underlining the severity of the situation. Grimstad smiled, before quipping to his staff "Well gentlemen, I think we found out when their offensive is taking place."

…

While Loyalist troops rushed to their defensive positions and staging areas, Ásta stood on the bank of the entrenchment, taking in the sight of modern warfare. While she had seen a number of sieges and assaults in her day, the advent of gunpowder made battle a whole new experience for her. Each time a cannon fired the Draugr felt the air itself rush over her as it accompanied each report, even behind her steel mask. Of course, many rebel troops attempted to wave or shout her down, trying to get her into the safety of the trenches. But all of their efforts were in vain, as Ásta feared neither cannon or sniper, though the former did land a little close at times.

No, her main focus was what these new canons did to the ancient city of Arendal. After all, when she first saw the city weeks ago, she was amazed at the fortifications she saw in both the outer walls and the Palace itself. When she was alive, the idea of using stone to reinforce a hillfort was revolutionary, with wood and earth being the primary materials of fortifications. Entire fortifications of masonry, structured stone was centuries ahead of her time.

And yet, the cannons tore apart the 'futuristic' fortifications with ease. Already the left battery had all but reduced its target wall to a pile of rubble, and the right battery had already knocked off the top half of the wall on its side. Taking notice, Ásta refocused on the target site, and watched and waited for the rest of it to come down.

And waited.

And waited some more.

But whereas the left battery was already widening their breach, the right had made little to no progress in creating a breach. Before long, with a bit of study, Ásta figured out what was going wrong. It turned out, that right before that section of the wall, the ground dipped down slightly, only notable to one with extremely good vision and heavy study. It was likely due to the wall rising to remain a uniform height that lead the siege engineers to make the mistake they did.

Around the time Ásta made her observation, the siege engineers must have realized as well. Before long men wearing different uniforms than the white standard of the crusaders arrived and made their inspections, before loudly arguing among themselves in their native tongue. Strangely familiar yet foreign, it made her blood boil as words washed over her ears, even as artillery sounded. Then it hit her that this was some sort of more fluid Frankish, similar to how modern Norwegian was to the tongue she spoke. The thought made her laugh.

Apparently, the Franks failed to learn from us the last time we came to visit their beloved Paris.

Before long, the error made its way up the chain of command, and Surtrsen himself arrived on the scene to inspect the foul up. Finally closing in to get a close, firsthand look at the conversation, she arrived just in time for the neo-Franks to get to the meat of the problem.

"So as you can see monsieur, the battery is unable to fully clear the target area to the effect you wanted due to the terrain. However, I am confident that before night fall, we should be able to dig new positions, redeploy, and take down the wall."

Ásta slightly frowned. These new cannons were far too effective for her taste, and she wanted to see how these soldiers from the future stormed castles. But before she could push Surtrsen, he himself answered in a satisfying way.

"Shift fire if you can from here, but the assault continues as planned."

Without another word, Surtrsen left the exasperated artillerymen behind, focused only on his goal: burning that city to the ground. Ásta wished she could say she was happy, but this was hardly good news. Seeing inside his mind, the Draugr could tell that the zealot's mind had finally broke, having devolved to single minded purpose as a result of far too much tampering by Ásta. He would make a good rapid dog, but Ásta no longer had the ability to make her dog heel.

She sighed, knowing that it was now a matter of time before she had to do the now inevitable. "After all," she whispered under her breath. "There's only one cure for a rabid dog."

…

Anna glided down the stairs in her black hussar's uniform, orders in hand and a smile on her face. This morning she had been notified that her actions the day before yesterday had been noticed by Colonel Marcks and thusly had been mobilized, provided she get her sister's consent. Which she was trying to get at this moment.

Before long she slid into the dining room where Elsa sat waiting as expected. What wasn't expected was the presence of the other guest, at least not this early. Besides Elsa stood an ancient women clad in furs and linens befit of a shaman, and the white hair and wrinkled, wizened face to match. The two were having a low key conversation when Anna arrived, which ceased as such.

"Good morning, Anna," Elsa began. "You're earlier than I expected."

Anna stammered, a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry Elsa, I wasn't given an exact time, and I thought-"

"No, no, I'm not upset Anna." Elsa interjected, her being the embarrassed one now. "You're my sister, and my first priority. I was just speaking with my new spiritual advisor."

Anna sighed a breath of relief before approaching Elsa and the spiritual woman, eventually following up. "So, you're the woman suggested by Grandpabbie?"

The old woman smiled a nearly toothless grin, before bowing and introducing herself. "My apologies, your highness. I should introduce myself. I am Elva, from the North Mountain."

Anna perked up, quickly responding. "The North Mountain? Elsa built her ice castle there, maybe you saw it?"

"Of course your Highness. It was the sight of it that drew me to Arendal in the first place. I ran into a little bit of trouble with the rebellion and all though…"

A moment of silence passed, before Elva spoke up again, sensing the tension in the room. "I should leave; I wouldn't want to interrupt any plans between you. Your Majesty, I'll be in my room if you need me." With that, Elva bowed and turned to leave, hobbling toward the door.

A moment passed before Elva left, after which Anna reinitiated the conversation. "Thank goodness for that. The sooner you get your powers back, the sooner things can return to normal. Then we just need to deal with these rebels, huh?"

Elsa gave a polite laugh in response to Anna's humor, before responding seriously. "I'm glad you approve, Anna. Grandpabbie was right about Elva, I feel better already with just her around. Not to mention her advice. But that's not the reason you woke up early. Or why you are in that uniform."

Anna chuckled insecurely. "No, I guess it isn't."

"Anna, I don't approve of you fighting in this war. Not only are you my only heir, but because I love you, dearly. If anything happened to you…" Elsa began to choke up, leaving that tangent unspecified.

Anna could only cast her head down, unable to think of a good counterpoint. She hated sitting around while men died for her a mere mile away, which based on the distant gunfire was happening right now as they spoke, but Elsa had her point. Which made Elsa's next words surprising.

"But despite that, Colonel Marcks has convinced me of your value to the army. As such, I will release you to his command."

Anna smiled with glee, despite some lingering guilt. "Thank you, Elsa, I promise-"

"But, there are conditions, Anna." Elsa began. "Firstly, you are going to not wearing that into battle again. The whole rebel army knows about that stunt you pulled, and will be looking for you. Secondly, you can't keep playing hero, Anna. Use your head, and be cautious. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Upon hearing Elsa's sobering words, Anna nodded. "Yes, Elsa. I understand. I'll be careful."

Immediately afterwards, Elsa surprised Anna with a clasping hug, with was a little out of character. But Anna couldn't find it in herself to complain. Still a little choked up, Elsa responded. "You be safe Anna, or I swear I will find you in the afterlife and make you regret it."

Fighting back her own tears now, Anna chuckled. "I wouldn't expect anything else, Elsa."

Elsa sniffed, and wiped away a few budding tears. "Now, let's get you out of that uniform, and into the one I made for you."

…

After twenty minutes of fierce fighting, the loyalist forces were repelled from the left breach, beginning a second breakout battle in the city streets, similar to the attempt of the day before. Heading over it was Colonel von Söldnerstadt, standing at the mouth of the breach, directing his battalion commanders with some degree of satisfaction. As strange as it sounded, this was the culmination of a long career as a mercenary career. He had after all, lost a great deal to Arendal and Prussia, and while he couldn't destroy Prussia, he could destroy the House of Agnarr. And the way this battle was going so far and the way his hardened mercenaries were performing, this could be the day.

It was during this moment of anticipation, a number of riders approached, one of them being a familiar face, Major Stepford. Despite, the Major's ragged appearance, The Former Baron did do his best to greet his "co-worker" cordially.

"Ah, Major Stepford, a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

The Englishman shook his head, before speaking. "Not a damn thing unfortunately. That fucking barrage didn't do a damn thing towards clearing that breach. As such my men and the local troops were butchered trying to get through it. Colonel Heinrich is dead, as are a good number of other officers. I'm sorry sir, you'll have to precede without my support."

Von Söldnerstadt swore quietly in German, before responding. "I understand, Major. I don't think any Brigade here could get through that quagmire of a breach. Look to your men, we may need you tomorrow."

The Major saluted, before he and his men rode back towards the other breach. Even from here, The Baron could see the broken remnants of the rebel brigade streaming towards their entrenchments. To know one in particular, von Söldnerstadt cursed. "Damn that Surtrsen, that attack should have never fucking happened!"

"Sir?" It was his aide and middle son, Henry. With his youthful face and his slightly oversized shako, he couldn't help but be reminded of himself during his early career.

"Nothing, son. Just releasing some pent up anger. It helps towards keeping a calm head, as you'll see."

The Colonel coolly sighed, before taking in the tactical situation. After a moment, he began to give orders to his staff.

"Send the reserve Battalions of the brigade to relieve my Battalion, and reform our boys near the breach entrance. Also, send in those free-booting cavalry shits in to try exploit a breach. Dangle some loot in front of those criminal vermin and they'd go through a hole a rat couldn't pass. And Henry, get Surtrsen to commit his battle reserves here. Tell him we're about to breakthrough, I can feel it."

Henry nodded obediently. "Of course father. But what will you do?"

"Simple, son. I'm going take my boys and we're going to win this battle."

…

Mikael stood in the slightly disorganized formation, trying to ignore the cold as his 'battalion' was standing by in reserve. For over a week now, he had been drilling with the 2nd Landwehr Battalion, only to have them culled to act as replacements for the Battalions that had engaged in combat the last several days.

This left only a small force left in the Battalion, of less than one hundred men. And while they did receive reinforcements, instead of trained soldiers they had instead received the Liberal schoolboys, the Pan-Scandinavians. There was naturally little love between the two, considering they stood in direct opposition to each other in politics. But all but the most stubborn on both sides knew the simple reality of the situation. They needed each other.

Mikael knew that the Royalist forces needed manpower badly, especially in the nearly dismantled battalion, and the Nationalists knew that they weren't soldiers and they needed someone to show them how. And you didn't get much better instructed than the Queen's Own Grenadiers.

As such, Mikael tried to avoid openly disdaining the college students all around him in the formation, uneasy but readied. Besides he had little to worry about. Every soldier in the battalion noticed that the Crown Princess Anna had been placed in command of the battalion earlier today, which all but confirmed that their battalion going to remain a replacement battalion, only committed to combat under the direst of circumstances. Apart from the cold, there was little to fear. But if Mikael was happy to stay in the rear, Anna was not.

Saddled on a warhorse less than a hundred feet away, Anna current bore a sour expression, chaffing at the perceived insult.

"You have value to the army, Anna." She said under her voice, while still using a mocking tone. "You'll be put under Marcks' command, Anna."

She scoffed, before fighting another shiver. As always the cold was worse today than the day before, which did leave Anna curious as to why the rebel forces choose to attack, despite the cold. Still, she recognized she had it better than most. At first she was a little sore that she was 'robbed' of the black Hussar's uniform, and given a standard officer's winter uniform in the drab, dark green worn by the rest of the army. But that was only till she found herself outside for more than a moment. Only now did she feel the cold creeping in past the fleece, furs, and wool, and she had been out for hours.

"Besides," she mumbled to herself "I can't blame Elsa for trying to keep me from being an obvious target."

Indeed, as compared to the 'ghost of Agnarr' that likely every crusader soldier had likely heard about, Anna now looked like any other boy officer in the Royal Army, especially with the thick fur coat that concealed her figure. But even then, she didn't see why the disguise was necessary if she was going to be kept out of combat anyways. Or why Elsa even got her hopes up. She could've taken a hard no from Elsa; in fact, she expected it. But to give her a line battalion and then relegate her to freezing her ass off in the open while the battle raged a mile away seemed coy. Maybe that was the point.

But if Elsa thought that a day of sitting out in the cold was going to break her spirit, she had another thing coming.

That thought was broken up by a particularly nasty burst of cold winter wind, one that went right through even the thickest fur in her uniform. Wincing her eyes, she turned away from the blast, only to gaze on the men under her command.

While the Grenadiers and most of the Landwehr were properly equipped for the weather, she felt a twinge of pity for the Nationalists, who found themselves mobilized at the end of the Army's stocks. For many, their only uniform was a great coat over clothes more fit in a lecture hall than a battlefield. For added measure, purple arm bands were worn to identify themselves as loyalist troops, which Anna found to be quite ironic.

With the wind dying down, Anna turned to face forward again, surprised a little to see a rider approaching her. Wearing an Officer's uniform, the rider bore the crocus and crown on his uniform, marking him as an ally. Closing in, the blond pale rider delivered a crisp salute, before producing a set of orders.

"Colonel Marcks' compliments, your Highness."

Anna flipped open the papers, struggling to keep the papers straight in the windy conditions. Even so, the orders were clear: advance to the front and check the enemy assault.

A little jittery due to pre-combat adrenaline, Anna stuffed the orders into her tunic and looked the rider in the eye. "Dismissed Lieutenant."

As the horseman began to trot away, Anna at once disregarded him and began to shout orders to her Company Commanders to prepare to move out. As such, the rider was able to slink behind a nearby corner without much notice, where he stopped. Taking off his cap, the man looked into the thick of the storm and smiled with eyes filling with tears.

With a happy yet trembling voice, the man spoke. "Mother, I am ready to return to your sweet embrace…"

And with a smile the man disintegrated into snow, with another strong cold gale dispersing the powder, leaving not a trace.

…

Bit of Notes-

Merry Christmas!

I know it's been about a thousand years since I updated, but I figured I couldn't let the holidays come and go without an update. The good news is that the next chapter is almost finished, and I hope to update within a few days, so there's that.

Also, I'm well on my way to publishing another story, inspired by Olaf's Frozen Adventure. Trying to keep it a little under wraps, but I can tell you it's a "sequel" to OFA… set in 1919.