Chapter Seven: An Unexpected Truce

Mjosyndi, a small Arendellian village

April 21, 1813

The girl huddled by the side of the old stone house with her back pressed against the cold wall. She pulled her tattered coat closer against her skin. It had been growing warmer each day as spring was set to give way to summer. However, the girl was still feeling unusually chilly of late. She had been coughing almost constantly at night and it would probably be worse if there had been no hot soups to warm her. The glogg had been most helpful but that was long gone three days ago, given to her sister and her poor worn out old mama who were now both too ill to leave their beds. Their last bits of food would only last them one more meal tonight. If she didn't get more money soon, little Kaitlyn and Mama would have to make do with just hot water and salt at breakfast.

This was why the girl had come here again. She needed this job so badly. She heard that the press within the building had been silent for almost a month now and the men—the ones they called Brothers of the Purification League—haven't been seen lately. They were the ones who operated the press that made the pamphlets and paid those willing to distribute them. They paid two skillings for every stack of 100 copies distributed. It wasn't much but it was enough to get food on the table for another day. The pamphlets they print were terrible to look at. The girl couldn't read but the pictures were gruesome enough. They also told such horrible stories that even the girl found them unbelievable at times.

Can an evil snow queen really be ruling our land? Was this Kristoff really as awful as they say?

There was a time when the girl had dreamed of meeting the famed Ice Queen. People from the villages near Arendelle Castle had told stories about how beautiful she was. True, for two nights, the wind blew cold in the middle of July for some unexplained reason on those days when they said the new Queen accidentally unleashed an ice storm on Arendelle. However, it brought little damage to their village near these misty mountains where snow and winter was a way of life for most of the year. In fact, nothing much really changed in this village at all for decades. And even after Queen Elsa was crowned, life continued on pretty much the same. No one really saw the royals in the flesh. All they heard were stories from traders and the governor who visited Arendelle castle every quarter of the year. To the girl, the news about a Queen with magical ice powers or the fairy-tale like wedding of the Princess Anna to a commoner was no different from the fantastical bedtime tales she heard people told by the fire. It was only the war that changed things so drastically and it brought with it these stories of the awful rulers of Arendelle. The girl always had nagging doubts about these stories and she felt rather guilty for being among those spreading these messages. However, there was one aspect about the Queen she cannot ignore:

Queen Elsa sent our men into this war. She let my Papa die in some far-flung place and that's why we are suffering now. Why shouldn't everyone else know that?

The girl heard a scuffle of feet and she looked up and saw a man. She recognized him as one of the Brothers of the Purification League. He walked towards the house. She wasted no time and moved towards him.

"Good day brother," she greeted him warmly.

He stared back at her, recognition immediately lighting up as he took in her threadbare clothes.

"I have nothing for you sister. You must be away now."

"Please sir, perhaps you have stack for me, even just one. I'd be willing to walk to the next village to distribute it."

The man however shook his head. "There will be no more pamphlets. No more. We're closing the presses."

"But Sir, what about the mission? You said it was our duty to spread the word about the evils of the Queen?"

The man just snorted. "Mission? Well you're as gullible as the rest, are you? Wake up girl. Mission's over. Money for it won't be coming in anymore."

The girl shrank back, startled by the man's outburst. So it was all just about money? He was sending us to malign the Queen because he was being paid for it?

"Now be gone with you and remember you know nothing about this. You know what happens to children who the Queen's men find out you've been spreading this."

He said it so dismissively, the girl didn't dare utter another word for a minute. However her own desperation pushed her to call out to him again.

"Sir please, if there is any job you can have me do, I'll do it. My Ma and sister are sick. We won't have any food tomorrow."

The man just looked even more annoyed at her. "Bah! Go away! There's no money do you hear? If you need money, you best take a trade somewhere else." He looked at her closely and leered at her from head to foot. "You're not bad looking. I'm sure the madam down the old tavern at the end of the road might have a place for you."

The girl felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Everyone knew the old tavern at the far edge of the village was the place men engaged with women of ill repute. Her Mama had warned her never to go near that place. She shuddered to think this man—this so-called Brother who once preached about the wickedness of their queen and the importance of remaining pure was now telling her to be a whore.

"I don't mind taking you myself," the man went on. "But as I said, there's not going to be any more money. I can't have you taking what I've got left. Of course, if you're really desperate we can arrange something..."

The girl didn't stay to hear what he had to say. She fled as fast as she could, her heart pounding in fear, anger and disgust.

I never should have believed him. He's nothing but a fraud!

She kept on running and didn't stop until she was in the center of the village. It was already late afternoon and the few men who had been ice harvesting were already gathering towards the local pub. She eyed them with envy as they left their ice picks and a cart full of blocks of ice outside the establishment.

I wish I had been a boy. They would have taken me in. With so few men left in the village to do the ice harvesting they would have needed the extra hand.

An idea suddenly sparked her mind.

Maybe they wouldn't mind even if I was a girl. They are so shorthanded by now maybe they would accept even a girl into their guild. I just need to prove to them I can be just as good and strong.

She glanced around. There was no one left on the street and the ice picks and tongs were just propped outside the tavern with no one guarding them. She cautiously approached the metal objects and grasped one. The weight was indeed heavier than she expected but she could still pick it up it. She lifted it up several times until she acclimatized to the weight and the feel of cold steel on her hands.

Now time to try lifting an ice block.

She gabbed each handle of a tong and allowed the tongs to clip one of the blocks and attempted to pull. However the tong slipped, the force of the weight sending her careening forward towards the blade of the tong.

She cried out, expecting to be cut, but her movement was suddenly halted as someone grasped her and the tongs were wrenched from her hands as a voice called out:

"What do you think you're doing?"

She turned around to see it was a boy about her age, perhaps older. She was basing it with his looks which were youthful but he had the height of a full grown man, towering at her at a little more than six feet. He appeared strong too for he held the tong with just one hand.

"I... was trying to see if I can lift the ice..." she replied rather pathetically.

"You were holding it wrong," he said rather harshly. "You would have sliced your foot off if I hadn't intervened." He stared at her rather suspiciously. "Why exactly were you trying to lift that ice?"

She stared back at him and realized he wasn't dressed as an ice harvester. His coat looked far too new and mended but it was his boots that clued her on who he was. Those boots were the same style issued to her father when he was recruited to go to war. This boy was a soldier and he was probably thinking she was trying to steal the ice block.

"I just wanted to see if I could lift it," she explained.

"These tools are not toys," he admonished. "They're dangerous if you don't know how to handle them properly."

He certainly knew how to handle them. He set aside the tongs carefully to one side.

"You know how to harvest ice?" She asked for lack of a better thing to say.

"My father was an ice harvester and I was an apprentice for a few years," he said.

"But now you're a soldier," she said.

He looked at her with wide eyed alarm. "What makes you think..." he began.

"Shoes," she said as she pointed at his feet. "Same as my father's. I used to polish them before he went to join the army. He's... he's gone now."

The boy looked sympathetic. "What was his name?"

"Skule Erlingson," she replied. "He was assigned to the..."

"Twenty-fourth infantry," the boy finished. "Same as I did."

"You knew him?" she asked astonished.

He nodded. "He was kind to me. Those first few days on the ship to Poland when I was homesick and didn't have friends, he took me under his wing. He introduced me to other soldiers he knew. I cried for days after I watched him die of pneumonia in the camp."

"I... I'm glad he passed in the presence of a friend," she replied.

"Come," said the boy as he pointed to the pub. "It's so much more comfortable inside. We can get some hot glogg."

The girl hesitated. "I haven't any money."

"It's my treat," he assured her. "We'll toast your father's memory. There's something I need to give to you too."

The girl still hesitated. He may sound nice but she wasn't one to go drinking in pubs with strangers.

"I'm Private Thomas Thomson," he said as if he sensed her reluctance. "All my friends call me Tommy. So did your father. I came here to see my cousins, the Stiegsons. They lost their Papa too."

The girl and Marie and Stefan Stiegson but were not intimate with them. Marie was a seamstress who owned her own dress shop while Stefan was an ice harvester. They were the few people in her village who still maintained a stable income even though their father died in the war. The girl wondered if perhaps this boy could at least give her an introduction to Stefan so she could apply as an ice harvesting apprentice. She was useless sewing but she knew she could eventually be strong enough to harvest ice if she was taught properly.

"Alright," she agreed.

They went inside and sat on an empty table where a young girl served them with hot glogg. The aroma of the beverage was so intoxicatingly good she had to remind herself to sip it carefully and not chugg it down.

"I told you my name. I haven't heard yours," Tommy hinted after they had a few sips in silence.

"Margaret," she replied. "But friends call me Mags."

"Pleased to meet you, Mags," Tommy gallantly said as he offered her hand to shake. Mags couldn't help but flush with warmth when his hand made contact with hers. She was beginning to realize how handsome he was with his bright young face and his full head of golden hair that shone in the light of the pub's lamps.

"I've been meaning to find families of the soldiers who passed away in the war in this village. I guess you've saved me the trouble of finding your father's." He reached into his pocket and procured a small drawstring bag. He drew something from it carefully wrapped in brown paper and handed it to her."

"What's this?" she asked.

"Something to honor your Papa," he replied.

She unwrapped the object and saw there was a small medallion plated in gold. It wasn't much but she could tell it could possibly be worth something to stave off starvation if she sold it.

"Queen Elsa awarded those medals to all those who perished in the war," explained Tommy.

Mags immediately dropped the object at hearing the word "queen." Despite what she just realized from the unsavory Brother of the Purification League she encountered, she could not completely dispel her doubts about the queen.

"What's wrong?" Tommy asked.

"What does she want?" Mags asked suspiciously.

Tommy looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"This thing she's giving us. Is this some form of her sorcery?"

"Sorcery?" Tommy asked as he picked up the medallion. "There's no sorcery in this. It's just a token of honor for the sacrifices made by our men. Look, I don't know what you've heard, but Queen Elsa is no witch. She's may have powers but she's human. She's kind and generous just like her sister, Princess Anna."

Mags scoffed at him. "Generous? And when have we even felt their generosity? Queen Elsa sent our men to some stupid war then when they died, she couldn't even be bothered to think of those families she left orphaned. Couldn't even extend a helping hand when we were starving."

"She did extend help," argued Tommy. "Queen Elsa decreed an additional stipend be given for a year aside from the regular pension for the families of the deceased."

Mags eyes widened with confusion. "Stipend? Regular pension? You mean, we're supposed to be getting money?"

Tommy nodded. "Queen Elsa set up a fund for the widows and orphans of the soldiers that fought in the war. It's supposed to be given each month. Haven't you received anything?"

Mags shook her head. "The governor said Papa's pension ended when he died. We haven't received anything since we got the notice of his death in July."

"That's not right," Tommy frowned. "You should be receiving that regularly. All my friends in my village who had family members that perished in the war have been receiving it. My family would too if I had died."

"As I said, we haven't received anything. No one in this village has."

Mags related to him how unkindly the governor turned her and her mother away a month after her Papa's notice of death. They were not the only family who was sent away that day. Shortly after, the governor sent a general notice that all pensions for dead soldiers would immediately cease. That same afternoon the Brothers of the Purification League made their appearance and started recruiting people with stacks of pamphlets and stories about the evil queen that ruled them. They had no problem getting the angry and desperate crowds of bereaving family members to join in.

As she related to him the tale, she began to realize that the sudden appearance of the Purification League when people were upset over the lack of financial support could not possibly be a coincidence. But can I trust what this boy is saying too?

"So in this entire village no one who has lost a family member from the war has received any pension whatsoever. That's rather… odd."

"What's it up to you?" she challenged.

He was silent for a while as if he was thinking hard, before he eyed her carefully. "I'm a soldier of the Crown. I'm going to help you make this right. "I think we should speak to the governor," Tommy said as he moved to get up. "Somebody needs to make this right."

Mags felt suddenly alarmed. She remembered seeing the governor meet with the members of the Purification League before. It wasn't often and not out in public but she had seen it a few times when she came to pick up her stacks of pamphlets. If there really is a pension that was supposed to be given to us and the governor had lied to us about it, it could be that he was keeping the money. He wouldn't want anyone else blowing the whistle on him. If this boy barges in, he might end up in danger. That's not going to help me or anyone else in this village.

"I have a better idea," Mags told him. "I think we need to gather information first, and I know a lot of families who can give you exactly that."

Somewhere in the North Sea

April 21, 1813

Hans found the man shivering in the brig among a dozen other inmates. The poor fool had lost his glasses and Hans could tell he could barely see without them. The blue fabric of his formal dress uniform was stained, wrinkled and lacked the medals that previously adorned them. His once tailored mustache had overgrown into a full length beard that covered his chin. It was unkempt and probably filled with lice by now. There was no danger of his head being riddled with such vermin for the top of his held was now completely bald with the absence of the hairpiece he wore the last time they met. His pitiful appearance reminded Hans of his previous self when he was also tossed into a prison for almost a year. Yet, just like him, this older man still appeared sharp and alert even after being subjected what he knew would be an undignified accommodations for quite some time.

"Who's there? What do you want?"

He's still rather acerbic. Hans concluded. That may serve me well. He may have lost but he's not defeated. I'd say given the right motivation, he's still willing to fight.

A younger muscular man Hans immediately recognized as that one that once tried to kill Queen Elsa with a crossbow, leaned over and whispered something in the elderly man's ear. The little man immediately stiffened and stood up to face him.

"So the former Prince Hans comes. I've heard of your little exploits in the French army since our time together in Arendelle. Have you come to finally execute me as Napoleon's dog?"

"No, Duke," replied Hans. "I'm no more a French puppet than you are. And if the spy network you've been running has been as efficient as your reputation says it is, you would know which side I have been these last few months."

The Duke squinted at him in an effort to peer at his face. "Of course you would turn traitor to the French, just when it's convenient now to ally with the Sixth Coalition."

"As you did as well, Duke," Hans pointed.

"Everything I did then and now was for the preservation of Weselton and the protection of my people. Unlike you who only had personal gain at the back of his mind!" spat the Duke.

"Oh and I suppose ordering the murder of the Queen of Arendelle had something to do with the protection of the Weseltonians?" Hans couldn't help but bite back in response.

"She represented a monstrous evil in the world. She's dangerous. With those powers, what's stopping her from freezing Weselton after she's done with Arendelle?"

"And yet she did nothing of that sort," Hans argued. "When her country was being blockaded by the English to the point of starvation, she did not attack. When France was forcing her to submit to an alliance, she took the diplomatic way. There were a dozen threats to her country and her people from various factions through the years, not once did she lift a finger to use her powers to retaliate. I ask you again, do you think she's still a monster you accused her on her coronation day?"

The man did not respond immediately. His beady eyes just glared at Hans. Hans retaliated with a steady expectant look until the man finally blinked. He seemed to realize what Hans was waiting for. "I suppose in hindsight... I might have misjudged her. In retrospect, she had been willing to share information from the frontlines regarding the fate of many Weseltonian soldiers sent to Moscow. I admit, in the spirit of cooperation, she can be a valuable asset in these times..." He paused and gave a defeated sigh. "I suppose from where I am now, I can see there are worse monsters in the world than a woman with ice powers."

That was all Hans needed to hear. He held up a set of keys and unchained the duke's hands from their bonds. He passed the keys to his lieutenant and ordered the rest of the Weseltonian prisoners to be set free.

He led the Duke out of his cabin cell and into the deck of the half-burning French sloop littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers. The Duke squinted at the harsh light but gradually acclimated his sight. Hans handed him the pair of spectacles one of his men had recovered from the former captain's office. The Duke took his time wiping the lenses and putting them back on. Once he did, he gave a rather satisfied grin at seeing damage on the ship that had held him prisoner.

"May I invite you Duke, to my ship to discuss further the spirit of cooperation?" Hans asked.

"I don't seem to have a choice, do I? It seems you're likely to let me go to my death sentence in Paris for treason if I said no. I take it this benevolent rescue of yours comes with payment you wish to extract."

"Nothing in this world is free my dear Duke," Hans remarked. "But you of all people know that. I seem to remember you did not take too well my giving away precious tradable goods."

"Fine, lead the way then," he said almost irritably.

Hans gestured him to move forward and the man grumblingly did so, his dirty boots stomping on the wood of the deck and the gangplank that connected the fallen sloop to Hans' ship.

"Clean up and tow her. Report to me when you're done," Hans ordered his lieutenant before following after the Duke of Weselton.

Hans couldn't help but feel good once his feet were back into the familiar planks of the Swedish ship. This was the finest vessel he had ever had the fortune to take command. He felt that for once, fate had finally dealt him an opportunity to rise and be useful in this world without anything holding him back.

Well there's one thing more holding me. But I'm about to take care of that.

He reached the cabin of his office where the Duke was already waiting impatiently for him by his desk. Hans took his time in walking over behind his desk and sitting down. The gesture made it clear to the Duke who was in charge here.

"Well?" the Duke demanded when he let the prolonged silence become unbearable. "What do you want?"

"You mean what do we want Duke?" Hans replied casually. "I want exactly what you want. The freedom of Weselton from French control so you can resume normal trade."

"How do you propose we do that? Bloody Napoleon sanctioned Weselton from trading with any nation that declared for the Coalition even when half of my people are already starving. I tried to save it by trading anyway."

"And when you were caught, your own king and brother sacrificed you to be arrested and beheaded for treason rather than lose the alliance with France," Hans finished for him. "But before that he already earned your ire when he sent almost two thousand Weseltonians to their deaths as soldiers who marched with the Continental Army in Moscow."

"My son was among them," he sputtered angrily. "He never came home. I don't even have his body to bury properly. Just a final letter."

Hans raised an eyebrow at that information but decided not to say anything. Not yet.

The Duke's expression hardened. "I can accept losing my life, but not that of my son. So tell me, General, what exactly is your plan?"

"The elimination of French control on Weselton of course is the eventual end. If you're willing to side with the Coalition, I am prepared to back you with the Swedish army. You can lead a rebellion from within. I'm sure you will have no problem recruiting people to join you given so many Weselton soldiers were lost to the last campaign. You may even be seen as a hero in your country should you choose to take action against the French to liberate it."

"And then what?" the Duke raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me to depose my brother?"

"No, merely convince him to change sides to the Coalition. However, if your brother is too stubborn to see the advantages of leaving France then I leave you to decide on the best course of action to usher Weselton towards allying with the Coalition."

There was a gleam in the little man's eyes that told Hans what that action would be. Hans could hardly blame him. The Duke was also part Westergaard, another cousin from a secret Westergaard illicit liaison for power. He had the same streak of vengefulness and competitively turbulent home life that Hans experienced in his own family.

"And what price do you expect me to pay for your generous aid in supporting me to liberate France from Weselton?" the Duke asked.

"A simple matter," Hans replied. "I need information."

The Duke wrinkled his nose condescendingly. "What kind of information?"

"I want the location of 18 Arendellian soldiers kept by France. I know your spy network would know where they are being held."

"Arendellians?" He narrowed his eyes at him. "Yes I do know where they are. But what are they to you? I thought you were done with that nation?"

"Nothing of course," Hans drawled lazily. "But they are essential in gaining the compliance of their Queen to our side."

"So you're taking them as hostages to use against Queen Elsa. I hate to point out a rather large flaw in your plan, but 18 soldiers would hardly matter in the Queen's decision when she and the rest of her country are already prisoners of France."

"She won't be a prisoner for long," Hans replied. "Tomorrow, she is taking a ship out of Arendelle on the way to Paris where Emperor Bonaparte has summoned her. We have the opportunity to liberate her from her captors."

"And you need my knowledge on the arms of the French warships, the capabilities of their crew and their sea routes in order to launch an attack to kidnap her?" the Duke finished for him.

Hans rolled his eyes. "Please, my dear Duke, let's keep it pleasant. It's a rescue attempt of a potential ally. Once in our custody, she is free to choose to join us. And she will join us because we will offer to liberate the rest of her nation."

"We?" the Duke asked condescendingly. "I may agree to help you obtain her, but my generosity only goes so far. Don't think that I have easily forgotten how she humiliated me and cut off valuable trade."

So he's still playing hardball, thought Hans. Time to hit him in a vulnerable spot.

"You mentioned before she had been generous with information about the Weseltonians in the front."

The Duke scoffed at him. "A pittance of information she shared is not worth risking my resources to save her little kingdom. I will need everything I have left to liberate Weselton in the coming days ahead. She's not one to fight wars using her powers. She never used them for her own kingdom's gain, much less for another. And if you think to dangle with me the idea of her resuming trade with Weselton, then you are wasting your breath. Trade relations cannot normalize while that mad Napoleon continues to rule and threaten us. Queen Elsa can offer me nothing of value to change my mind."

"I suppose you are right," Hans sighed. "There is nothing Queen Elsa can offer you. But something in Arendelle may have something of value for you."

"Phssh!" the Duke scoffed again. "Arendelle is nothing now that the Northern Isles is no longer joined to them."

"I am not talking of wealth or power or tradable goods, Duke. I am talking of information."

The Duke rolled his eyes and made to stand up but Hans stopped him midstride with three words:

"About your son."

The little man sat back down again, his mouth dropped open to speak but he promptly closed it again as he looked undecided for a moment what to say. Finally, he muttered: "What do you know about my son?"

"Only that he died in a hospital in Warsaw. His body was never brought home because they didn't have the resources to bring the dead back. You were sent his medal and a final letter."

"How do you know this? About him dying in Warsaw?" the Duke demanded apprehensively. Gone was the haughty man. In his place, Hans could see this was a father who had dealt with an unbearable loss. He felt a tiny flicker of pity for the man and what he needed to do to take advantage of this situation.

"I was admitted to the same hospital," Hans explained.

The Duke bolted from his chair, his arms stretched out into the desk, leaning on them as he tried to peer at his face. "Then you saw him? You spoke to him?" the Duke was almost pleading.

Hans shook his head. "We never met. He was already dead and buried more than a month before I was brought in."

"Then how…?" the Duke gasped.

Hans was tempted to just say it outright, but he knew he needed to show proof of what he knew to convince the Duke. "You said you received a letter from your son. Do you have it with you?"

"I always have it with me," the Duke declared. "It was the one thing those French bastards let me keep when they took everything." He drew a leather booklet from his coat pocket and opened it to reveal a piece of paper, frayed at the edges but lovingly handled. "Here it is. He had someone write it for him because he was too weak to hold a pen by then."

Hans stared at the letter and knew from the script he had what he needed. He drew from his own pocket his own letter pouch and showed the Duke a shorter note. It was a gift card that once accompanied a terribly knitted pair of socks that he still wore today. The card had only three lines which he showed the Duke:

To Hans,

Merry Christmas!

from Anna

"It's written in the same hand!" the Duke exclaimed before he looked back at Hans, his eyes lighting up in a way that Hans had never seen before. It was brimming with hope and anticipation of one who had just discovered the most precious treasure in the world at his fingertips. "The nurse! It's a nurse who wrote this for my son. She would have spent his last days with him! You know who she is! Tell me who is she?"

"You know who she is Duke," Hans said calmly. "And she's in Arendelle."

The Duke appeared confused for a moment then his eyes gazed back at the note. "Anna?" he muttered almost inaudibly before realization dawned in his eyes. "No… it can't be… Princess Anna?"

Hans merely nodded.

"But…but…" he sputtered. "She's royalty… why would she be in a hospital… just behind the frontlines of all places…?"

"She served as a volunteer nurse months ago. You can check with your own sources from the French records if you don't believe me. She also took care of me when I was there. She mentioned taking care of your son, writing a last letter for his father and watching him die. Of course, Princess Anna had no idea he was your son. She's not exactly good at remembering names of the aristocracy and I decided not to enlighten her at that time."

"It doesn't matter. She spoke to my son. That is enough. I need to speak to her! I need to know about his last days. It's the only thing I have left of him!" he said desperately.

"There's only one way you can speak to her, Duke," Hans hinted.

The elderly man glared at him but finally nodded in defeat. "Fine, you're right. We will need to liberate her and the rest of Arendelle."