Frozen Hearts: A CK2 AAR Themed Around Disney's Frozen

[CapAntillies]

FROZEN HEARTS, BOOK ONE: PROLOGUE
And a brief history of Europe & the Kingdom of Arendelle

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A Note from the Author:

This is a project I’ve had in mind for a long time. I actually began this save file sometime last December in honor of Frozen II’s release, never really intending to make much of it, but the story simply became too compelling for me to not share it any way I could. As I was in college at the time, I really didn’t have the time to dedicate the effort I thought making an AAR on the level I wanted required, so I left the save file untouched for quite awhile until I’d have time to do it justice. The past few weeks, with the last of my finals being over and being stuck inside anyway, I finally had some time to work on the beginning of what I think is a story with a massive amount of potential.

Before we dive into it, a few disclaimers. First, yes some cheats were involved to make this happen, but you’d be surprised how much of it happened completely naturally. (For example, yea I was responsible for the Child of Destiny, but Spawn of Satan was all up to RNGesus (and no this isn’t spoilers it’s shown at the beginning of the first chapter lol)).A few more things, obviously I don’t own Disney, the Frozen franchise, or most of the images used in this AAR, or the music that I may or may not attach to each chapter as recommended listening. Everything related to this AAR is purely for entertainment purposes, and I do not (nor would I want) to make any money of of it. With all that out of the way…

Enjoy!

-CapAntillies

TABLE OF CONTENTS:
[PLACEHOLDER]​

 

[CapAntillies]

12th Century Europe; The Gotteskrieg

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Europe, 1191 AD, is but a faint shadow of its former glory. Sixty-four years ago, the landing of the Blutdämonen[1], as the red-skinned heathens from across the Atlantic are known by their German adversaries, heralded the beginning of another Dark Age in Europe. It is an age that has been defined by war on a colossal scale, fielding the forces of all of Christendom in a mortal struggle for survival. Beginning with the Scouring of Brittany in 1127, the Blutdämonen menace quickly swept across Western Europe, consuming all of France, Scotland, and driving far into a once proud German fatherland. Finding the Kaiser’s Reich to be a surmountable, but ultimately unprofitable obstacle, the Huetlatoani[2] elected to instead pivot northward, scalding the declining Nordic kingdoms of Norge, Svea Rike, and Danmark. This allowed the Blutdämonen to circumvent the Kaiser almost entirely and plunge deep into the already fractured kingdoms of Poland and Hungary.

However, decades-long imperial campaigns in lands an ocean away from their beloved Aztlán[3] at long last took its toll, leaving the Huetlatoani’s Imperial expedition weak and depleted, and although their conquests were numerous, the exceptionally cruel nature of the Blutdämonen invasion left these acquisitions in a state of utter devastation, drained by total war and useless to their occupiers in the present moment. With the once-venerable Eastern Roman Empire now shattered by Latin “Crusaders,” more concerned with gold than the defense of Christendom, and the heirs of William the Conqueror fighting over scraps in the Isles, hope for the deliverance of the Christian world from certain annihilation lay squarely at the feet of Ludolf von der Lippe, Kaiser of the Holy Roman Empire. Seeking to meet the task he was met with, Ludolf, in conjunction with Pope Innocentius II, declared the creed of Gotteskrieg[4], stating his intention to oppose Blutdämonen expansion wherever possible and, ultimately, liberate Europe. The culmination of these efforts came in 1172 AD when, together with the tattered remains of Christendom, the Kaiser led the charge in the renowned Crusade to Liberate France, achieving, for the first time since their landfall, a decisive victory over the Blutdämonen enemy.

Now, nearly 20 years following that fateful conflict, the battered remnants of the Blutdämonen imperial expedition retain only a fragile hold over its conquests. However, Ludolf’s sucessor, Emperor Vittore, affectionately known as the “Son of Satan” by his subjects, refuses to take up the mantle of the Gotteskrieg lain upon him by his predecessor. With the eyes of a destitute and desperate Christendom now looking to the horrifically disfigured Queen Beatrice ‘The Butcher’ of France for a renewal of leadership, few pay any mind to the fledgling Kingdom of Arendelle, secluded in the remote northern frontiers of the Christian world, and the dark, frigid secrets it holds….

Spoiler: Footnotes

[1] Blutdämonen translates to “Blood demons” from German (according to google translate)
[2] Huetlatoani is the Aztec Blutdämonen word for emperor
[3] Aztlán is native name for the Blutdämonen homeland
[4] Gotteskrieg literally translates to “Gods’ war,” but I like to think of it more as “War of the Gods”

 

[CapAntillies]

The Kingdom of Arendelle: A Brief History

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The young, beleaguered Kingdom of Arendelle has had a violent history. The modern realm can trace its origins back to the enigmatic Duke Aren “The Fowler” of Arendelle, progenitor of the Helmehytte dynasty, Duke of Nidaros, and sworn liegeman to King Harald Hardrada of Norge. Inheriting the title from a distant relative in his mother’s lineage, the change in bloodline seemed to foretell a drastic change in the methodology behind the Duchy’s administration. Almost immediately upon his ascension to the title, Aren ordered the transfer of the Duchy’s traditional seat of power in Naumadal, to a small holdfast to the far north that Aren renamed Arenslott[1]. Upon arriving at Arenslott, the Duke implemented a massive construction program that would transform the holdfast into the citadel it is today and issued a charter for the City of Arendelle, which would come to form the backbone of the Kingdom that is its namesake.

Existing on the northernmost frontier of Norsk civilization, the Duchy of Nidaros had a longstanding tradition of peaceful coexistence with its Sami neighbors to the south. For reasons that remain unknown, Duke Aren reversed this longstanding policy of toleration with a series of vicious military expeditions against the neighboring Sami chiefdoms that would mark the beginning of over a century of constant conflict between the Sami and Arndalr[2] peoples.

As the borders of the budding Helmehytte realm grew, so did its animosity towards its overlord, the King of Norge. Even as the conflict between Arendelle and the Sami chiefs continued to intensify, The King refused to aid in the defense of Arendelle from increasingly barbaric Sami raids, and attempted to halt Arndalr expansionism by brokering a peace between the two groups, all the while sending thousands of Arndalr men to their deaths in failed military expeditions overseas. These grievances soon became too much to bear, provoking Duchess Elsa (Aren’s successor) to declare Arendelle’s independence.

The war that followed was brief, but brutal. Thanks in equal parts to favorable terrain, talented leadership, and the aid of several bands of mercenaries, the Arndalr army was able to repel the much larger Norsk host in the mountain passes outside Arenslott, in what came to be known as the climactic “Battle of Arendelle.” By 1095, Queen Ragnhild of Norge came to recognize what had already become a fact, and the Kingdom of Arendelle was born. While its newfound independence left Arendelle to fend for itself, it also spared the Kingdom the horrors of the Blutdämonen occupation that befell the Kingdom of Norge in 1131.

Now, in 1191 AD, Arendelle stands as the last bastion of Christ in Northern Europe, besieged on all sides by heathens and infidels. On its throne sits the pious King Agnarr “The Missionary” Helemehytte, renowned across Christendom for his heroics at the Battle of Mortain during the Crusade for France, and lauded as a model of Christian charity for sponsoring several successful missions throughout the Baltic and Finnic chiefdoms to his south. So well-loved is King Agnarr that Pope Eugenius III himself saw fit to risk life & limb to travel to the northern realm for the honor of baptizing Agnarr’s firstborn daughter, Princess Elsa[3]. To the world, King Agnarr is a model of Christian benevolence & virtue. Appearances have been kept well. But, all is not quite as it seems…

Spoiler: Footnotes

[1] Aresnslott is an artificial contraction of “Arens Slott” and should translate roughly to “Castle of Aren” (again, google translate)

[2] The Arndalr is the name that the people of Arendelle began to use to call themselves in this universe, beginning shortly after the founding of Arendelle city, and becoming widespread once Arendelle gained independence. This does not directly translate into anything.

[3] Not to be confused with Duchess Elsa, who won Arendelle’s war of independence, and is the Princesses’ great great grandmother & namesake.

 

[CapAntillies]

Chapter One: Premonitions
Agnarr​

There is something wrong with Princess Elsa…

Agnarr knew it, Biella knew it, half the kingdom suspected it, but even with the eyes of the entire realm trained on the young toddler since birth, none have been yet been able to discern the exact nature of what ails Agnarr’s heir apparent.

Nevertheless, something was wrong.

​

Agnarr had spent many a late night in his study, thinking back to the first time he laid eyes on the young Princess. Even then, the whispered apprehensions of the ancient prophecy abounded in his mind, a prophecy handed down through generations of Helmehytte rulers…

Is it her?

No. He was tired. It was late again. He had spent far too long staring at this blasted map.

“Darling, it’s late, again” called Biella, Queen of Arendelle and Agnarr’s wife, as she stepped softly into the King’s war room.

“Yes, Iduna[1],” a loving nickname Agnarr had reserved for Biella since their youths, “I am aware. The levies have been raised and we march at sunrise, so I’d best know where we’re headed.” As Iduna softly pecked his cheek.

“Surely this is not a matter that requires your presence, send Thorbor-”

“Thorborg is 57 years old.” Agnarr snapped, “Besides, the Blutdämonen haven’t set foot on Arndalr soil in nearly a decade and last time I didn’t go, the people need to see that their king still has the will to defend them.”

“You’re in no condition to go.” Anger flashed through Biella’s eyes. “Besides, they’re raiders, looking for gold not conquest, and even now Throborg is twice the fighter you are.” Seeing Agnarr’s gaze unbroken, Iduna relents. “Nevertheless, even kings need sleep, especially the ones leading armies. Come soon.” After pecking his cheek once more, Biella glides through the door as softly as she entered. Recognizing his wife’s wisdom, Agnarr soon follows.

Yet, even in bed, sleep eludes him.

Perhaps I am to blame? Agnarr’s thoughts tormented him. Afterall, was he not committing one of the most grievous of sins? Perhaps the same God he turned his back to now saw fit to punish him by cursing his closest of kin, his own daughter. His father would be ashamed.

“Agnarr you must rest,” Iduna softly caressed her husband’s arm. “and you must stay safe. Your children need you, both of them.” She gently pulled his hand to her belly to feel the babe she claimed to be growing inside of her.

“How could you possibly kno-“

“I just do.”

“But Elsa- “

“Your own Chaplin said she will be fine, have some faith darling.”

It was true, Chaplin Tryggve had given Agnarr his every reassurance that Elsa was a peculiar, but ultimately natural toddler. Even with that conceded, Agnarr knew there was something amiss with the young Princess, and deep down, he knew Biella could see it as well. Throughout his empty consoles, Tryggve did not once attempt to explain Biella’s vision. Nor did he provide an explanation for the snake, nor the poison, nor the animals. Not to mention that incident with the cook…

“Agnarr, please rest…”

“How can I?” Agnarr smirked, oddly amused by the strange and terrifying turn the fate of his family seemed to be taking, and turned to his side to witness the brilliant lights dancing through the sky outside his window. “The sky’s awake.”

Spoiler: Footnotes

[1] Iduna is derived the name of the goddess “Idun” in Norse mythology, who is the goddess of spring, rejuvenation, and guardian of the apples of immortality.

 

[CapAntillies]

Hey there! For anyone that is following this AAR, I meant to have the next chapter up today but the 4th kinda took the weekend away from me I'll definetly be able to post it sometime tmrw though!

 

[CapAntillies]

Chapter 2
Biella

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It had been nearly a decade since Biella had last watched an army march through the gates of Arenslott, yet the scene before her now bore an eerie resemblance to that day.

Just as Agnarr promised, the army was ready by dawn, leaving the regal couple precious little time for respite before the low rumbling of war horns called her husband to battle. The next hour or so was a blur as a storm of attendants, magistrates, and soldiers flurried about Queen Biella until she found herself aloft in the same balcony that she had occupied all those years ago, looking out across dense columns of heavily armed men assembled in the castle’s courtyard.

It seemed as though Biella had fallen through time. The King’s hird[1] was arranged in the same formation they had occupied a decade ago. Their helmets, axes, swords, and shields emanated the same glistening glow in the dawn light dew as the one that had already so deeply etched itself into Biella’s memory. Once again, Thorborg, Agnarr’s comrade from the Crusade in France and captain of the King’s hird, sat serenely atop her warhorse looking on as her dutiful hirdmen[2] advanced past the Castle portcullis, only to be enveloped in the mists beyond. Although the aged warrior remained as graceful as ever, no one could deny that Thorborg’s now fully greyed hair and waning build did much to diminish the grandeur of the otherwise awesome spectacle.


But there was something else that set this moment apart from its predecessor a decade ago, something that mattered far more to Iduna than Thorborg’s aging disposition. Ten years ago, Agnarr was by her side, safe, with his arms wrapped securely around her. Now, he sat beside Thorborg astride a steed of his own, his scarred visage seeming just as pitiful as Thorborg’s hair in Biella’s eyes, though she could she how others would characterize it as fearsome. Instead of being cloaked in the security of her husband’s arms, she found herself attempting to provide that same comfort to the young toddler she carried in her arms, though Princess Elsa’s stoic gaze implied she was not entirely in want of it.

“When will father return?” inquired the young princess, with a level of articulation most would consider unnatural for a child of two years.

“Soon, dear.” Iduna gave her daughter a smile that was strained, but warm. “You know you’re father could never bear to be away from you for long.”

Elsa responded to this merely with silence, her gaze still fixated on her father’s vast force.

Biella allowed her smile to fade as she examined her daughter’s expression with curiosity. There were many among the townsfolk and even the castle’s own staff that found Elsa’s disposition to be, well, unnerving. She was markedly quiet for her age, but when she did speak, it was nothing at all like the semi-coherent babble that one would expect from a child so young. Instead her speech came out in direct phrases that communicated complete ideas that, although brief, still retained a sort of elegance. This pattern was extremely off-putting to several of the castle’s resident wet nurses, but Biella admired it.

Without consciously meaning too, Biella’s gaze wandered into Elsa’s piercingly ice-blue eyes, and she lost herself in them. Glorious images of her daughter’s fantastic future returned to her, fragments of the vision she had shortly after Elsa’s birth two years ago, images of her daughter leading vast armies, taming magnificent creatures, raising keeps with her bare hands, and donning a bizzare crown composed entirely of twigs before a spectacularly grand hall that was made of….. ice?

“A fitting send off for our gallant legions, wouldn’t you say Biella?”

Biella jolted with surprise at the familiarly harsh sound of her native Sami tongue. In her youth, the sámegiella language of her people flowed through Biella’s lips like the soft trickle of a stream over stones. However, her extended stay under Arndalr… ahh… ‘protection’ lead to her gradual adoption of the area’s vernacular. Although the change initially came out of the necessity of some way of conversing with her captors, it was a decision that Biella seldom found herself remorseful of, as it was what made it possible for her to grow so close to Agnarr in the first place, not to mention that fluency in the particular Arndalr variant of the Norsk tongue allowed Biella to escape the withering stares of contempt & suspicion the local populace reserved for those of her heiritage.

Neither of these were concerns that Biella’s cousin, the Duchess Suoinna of Kola, particularly cared about.

“Suoinna, please, not here. We’ve spoken about this- “


“Bah, it’s your language as much as mine Biella, remember that” came Suoinna’s response, though Biella was satisfied that Suoinna had reverted back to her intelligible, if occasionally broken up Norsk.

​

“The rest of the kingdom is not as sympathetic to the plight of our people as my husband is, We would both do well to remember that.”

“True, but thankfully your husband happens to be the one who’s opinion matters” the Duchess’ complimented her candid statement with a smile, slight & sly. “His opinion matters especially to me. Speaking of which, what did his majesty think of the proposal we spoke of?”

Biella had to strangle her scoff into a somewhat resigned sigh. Although Suoinna’s position as Chancellor on Agnarr’s council implied it was her duty to represent the diplomatic interests of the King to nobles of the realm, as well as the world at large, in reality she expended a far greater amount of time & effort seeking to realize her own revanchist ambitions, occasionally going as far as to confront King Agnarr about the restoration of her titles himself, but usually by simply pestering Biella to put pressure on the king for her.

“I haven’t spoken to him on the subject yet. Waiting until after his victory over the Blutdämonen seemed to be the wiser choice.”

“Well,” Suoinna’s sigh gave off similar airs of annoyance as Biella’s own, “at least you are confident in victory. I am sure the Blutdämonen hordes will tremble with fear before our gallant legions led by the decrepit & crippled.”

Biella’s eyes burned with anger at the Duchess’ quip, it took all the will she had left to avoid lashing out at her presumptuous cousin then & there. But a passionate confrontation was hardly the sight she wanted to leave her husband with on the eve of battle. Instead, she conjured up yet another strained smile for her dutiful king as, as he paid her a sorrowful smile of his own before following Thorborg & the last of his men into the mists.

Spoiler: Footnotes

[1] Essentially, a Norwegian retinue, or royal guard.

[2] A soldier in the King’s hird, an elite warrior.

 

[CapAntillies]

Hey everybody, quick update. I know it's been awhile since I've been able to update this, but I am still working on it. The main reason for the delays is that I usually write first in Microsoft Word & then post the product here, but apparently my copy of microsoft is outdated & they're forcing me to pay $150 to replace it. I intend on doing this (even though this is kind of a ton of money for me) but it's been taking awhile get the cash together to do it. Nonetheless, I hope to have atleast one more chapter done by the end of the week.

ALSO: Any feedback on the writing is appreciated

 

[CapAntillies]

Chapter 3: Justice
Elsa

The chef is a bad man.

The fact that such a beast, such a monstrosity, was allowed to roam the castle freely, slaughtering the innocent at will, and leaving a trail of bloody carnage in his wake, was a reality that the young princess’ mind struggled to comprehend. Yet, Elsa has witnessed the man’s ruthless bloodlust with her own eyes.

For two weeks, she had meticulously observed the suspect. Although her parents were careful to never let her too far out of sight, and not within as much as a hundred yards of the castle gate, Elsa was relatively free to roam the castle as she pleased, provided she was somewhere within Iduna’s ever watchful line of sight. Nevertheless, the child was rarely questioned specifically on her activities, allowing her the freedom necessary to carry out the operation unimpeded. Her findings were deeply unnerving.

Elsa’s suspicions around the cook had first been aroused by the dreadful smell that emanated from his workplace, the castle’s kitchens. Despite her youth, and inexperience in such things, somehow Elsa knew that it was the stench of death. It was then that the princess commenced her investigation, observing the chef’s comings and goings, as well as his activities throughout Arenslott.

It was not long before Elsa found the apparent source of the putrid odor. Every sunrise, the cook would leave the fortifications of Arenslott for the bustling streets of Arendelle. Everyday, around noon, the cook would return, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by one of the castle’s small army of servants & retainers, but always with arms or a wagon full of fresh produce & provisions from the city market. Regularly, 2 to 3 times a week, a large sack swarmed by flies would complement the chef’s usual haul. This sack appeared to be the source of the stench that so disturbed Elsa’s senses, yet up to this point its contents remained a mystery that required further investigation.

Elsa’s opportunity to resolve that question came one chilly evening in April, as her parents busied themselves entertaining the nobility of the realm through feasting in the Great Hall. The bindings of parental observation being temporarily suspended, Elsa exploited the occasion to find out for herself what secrets the pest-ridden sacks held, creeping slyly to the doorway of the castle kitchens (an area usually off-limits to her exploration), and, discreetly,

Apprehensively,

Knowingly,

Peered inside
[1]

Nothing could have prepared the princess for the bloody scene of carnage she encountered. Before her, bathed in a sea of it’s own blood and encompassed by a thick shroud of flying insects, lay the mutilated corpse of a massive, fresh sow, surely the crowning gem of the chef’s haul earlier that morning. Looming over the raw kill stood the chef, lathered in swinely gore, at work fiercely gutting the once-glorious creature with a massive cleaver, dispassionately oblivious to the young princesses’ presence.

Instantaneously, Elsa was swept by a wave of terror and unmitigated rage. What sins could such a beautiful animal have committed to be deserving of such a fate? How long had this been going on, and how many victims had the cook claimed? Is THIS where bacon came from??

Regardless of the innumerable consequences & questions raised by Elsa’s discovery, one thing was absolutely certain.

The chef is an unredeemable monster.

As this wave of thoughts and passions flurried in Elsa’s head, she almost failed to notice that which the chef was utterly unconscious of. The subtle drop in the room’s temperature, the increasing difficulty with which the cook’s cleaver was confronted upon attempting to pierce the sow’s cool skin, the light blue tinge which began to characterize the swine’s formerly pink flesh.

Upon noticing these peculiar occurrences, the young princess simultaneously identified a peculiar sensation deep inside of her, and embraced it.

The chef once more brought his morbid instrument to bear on the poor animal, but now, instead of carving away ever larger segments of the sow’s flesh, the butcher’s knife clanged loudly against a glistening surface, sliding right over the animals skin and directly through the chef’s thumb.

The bloodied scene only became more so, but now, even amidst panicked screams and hurried footsteps, Princess Elsa was capable of nothing else but observing the scene unfold with a satisfied smirk.

Justice, she thought.

Spoiler: Footnotes

[1] Cited from an Arndalr manual on butchering a pig, translated.