Report Classification: NSA-TOPSECRET/SCI
Plains of Hell
Background
Plains of Hell is an 1813 Narrative poem written by Bjorn Hansen about the ill-fated charge of the Arendelle Royal Cavalry Guard during the Battle of Leipzig as part of the wider Napoleonic War of the Sixth Coalition.
Author
Hansen had served as a Lieutenant in the Arendelle Royal Cavalry Guard. Despite being one of the few survivors of the Charge, he was grieviously wounded and later died in a Prussian hospital. Hansen was decorated thrice for bravery during the conflict and post-humously awarded Order of St. Olav, Arendelle's highest military decoration.
Initial Publication
While receiving treatment for his wounds, Hansen had written and given the poem to a British War Correspondent present at a Prussian field hospital. It was later passed onto the Arendelle Chronicle and published within the Capital City of Arendelle. Due to the obligatory mourning period for Queen Elsa's death, the poem saw limited circulation and was immediately removed from publication by the Arendellian Press Corps. The only six (6) existing, accounted-for copies of the poem in original newsprint are held at the following locations:
Archivum Apostolicum Vaticanum, Cortile del Belvedere, Vatican City
Das Bundesarchiv, Berlin-Lichtenberg, Germany
Österreichisches Staatsarchiv, Vienna, Austria
Archives Nationales, Pierrefitte-sur-Seine, Paris, France
National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, Maryland, United States of America
National Security Agency, Fort Meade, Maryland, United States of America
Censorship
The official reason given by the Arendelle Government for censorship of the poem pertained to disrespectful language towards Arendelle Royalty and Queen Elsa in one of the paragraphs: "In a Palace she could've sat/until she grew old and fat". The Arendelle Foreign Service had further requested that Hansen edit or amend several lines containing such language, but due to Hansen's subsequent death from sepsis, the changes were never made.
While it has been a subject of debate, further speculation regarding the poem's censorship lies within the imagery of winter-like elements (snow and ice). Folklore in the early 19th century had commonly depicted the young Queen Elsa as a sorceress or wielder of magic following the out-of-season winter after her coronation. The Arendelle government has, with varying success, attempted to suppress such rumours within the country and elsewhere.
Account
The following is Bjorn Hansen's account of the battle, noted by British War Correspondent Richard Miles:
"...by midday on the second morning a dense smog had settled upon the plains. My ears rang from the relentless barrage of French artillery. A scout returned from the Prussian lines and I saw Queen Elsa astride her mount, studying one of General Larsen's maps. I could not hear my own mare, let alone the conversation that transpired between them. But it was clear from Her Majesty's expression that the fate of our battle lay on a knife edge.
Suddenly, the smog parted and she leapt erect in her saddle. "Follow me!" she cried out. All the household Cavalry mounted and followed, myself included. We knew not where we were going, or which enemy we were to fight. Though the silence that fell upon us as we formed ranks was plain to hear as it was to see in our faces. We were going to die. I could see it too on our Queen's face, as beautiful she was in peace as in war. She had already gone into the fray several times wearing a royal gown instead of a Cuirassier's breastplate.
General Larsen rode alongside her. He must've asked where she meant to attack, because the Queen extended the glimmering point of her ice-tipped lance at some far off swathe in the haze. I still see it in my feverish dreams, a bright star that pierced through the fog of war. Like madmen we followed her star into the chaos. I hardly knew what happened next, most men who have fought in such pointless conflicts will tell you the same. Soil and splinter, shot and shell. All around us the screams of dying men and horses. The only thing I knew for certain was that it was cold for October. The last I saw after I got flung from my horse was an avalanche that swept through the French lines. A hailstorm that pounded their cannons to pieces. Ice and snow everywhere, crunching beneath those horses unlucky enough to be alive.
She saved us that day. I only wish now that she would've thought to save herself first…"
Poem
Shot and shell pounded
Death's knell sounded
Through the plains of hell
Rode her Majesty's hundred
In a palace she could've sat
Until she grew old and fat
Instead atop a mare she said
Forward! Press the attack!
Silver and Ivory, Silken beds
Forsaken with her cry of dread
Give me Napoleon or Give me Death!
Into the plains of hell she went
Cannonball and grapeshot splintered
Her Ice Lance never quivered
Winter's wrath at beck and call
Upon their ranks, a blizzard falls
Sabers rang, muskets flared
Still the Queen rode, still she dared
Ashen face, gown stained crimson
Will anyone remember? Will history listen?
How the Chasseurs fled, their colours shed
Prussians advanced, ranks green and red
Unseen, unheard - the Queen bled
One with the snow, her heart bared
How many Kings fulfil their oaths?
Riches loved, Death loathed
Men sent to fight their wars
Petty rivalries, old scores
Her debt to country, paid with blood
Ice and snow, a frozen flood
Selfless Bravery that never floundered
Buried with her Majesty's hundred