Chapter Text

 

Of there being fates worse than death, Egon was certain. Some time ago, he had been ordered to keep a certain prisoner alive, which involved little more than delivering meager and spoiled food, dumping a pissbucket out a barred window at the end of a hall above, and when the situation called for it, roughly patching the man up. No one would recognize him, Egon was certain, were they to see him. His hair fell in straggles below his shoulders and was so dirty Egon wasn’t sure what color it was. The man had once been well groomed, he decided, though he could not explain what gave him that impression. They never spoke and Egon had never been told who he was, just that he would be paid two gold pieces for every week the man lived. As a veteran in his forties, with a wife and a shack to keep afloat, Egon didn’t question it, much.

            A summer morning had just begun when he checked on the prisoner. A small set of fresh and bleeding scratches scored a small section of the prisoner’s left flank. Egon stood by the pissbucket for a full minute, pity and dread growing in him as he looked at the man with his back turned to him. Spurred into movement by a sound in the prison, Egon took the pissbucket and its slops and left to go to the end of the hall above and dump it out the window, where it fed into the sea. Upon his return, the prisoner had assumed a tired and defeated position on the bed. As was usual, Egon rapped his wedding ring against a bar on the door to alert the prisoner of his presence and his intent to check on the fresh wounds.

            He sat down on the bed and pulled out a handkerchief to dab at the scratches. Egon’s charge flinched somewhat at the first touch but made no movements or sound. This was by no means the worst he had seen the man endure. Somehow, he always endured. Putting the handkerchief between his hand and the naked flesh of the man’s unwashed shoulder, Egon tried to coax him into rolling onto his back. He met resistance at first, but succeeded in rolling him back and jumped back at the sight of his face. His face was bruised under the beard, one green eye swollen shut. He still had his teeth, but there was a slight crook to his nose that had not been there perhaps the day before. Egon muttered an oath under his breath, then set down again, knowing that his handkerchief would do nothing for the bruises and swelling.

            “Whatever you been doing to provoke them, maybe you should think about stopping it,” Egon said, aggravation at the ill-treatment mixing with a severe dislike for the situation. That sentence was the longest he had ever spoken to his charge. To his surprise, the man grinned, revealing still-white teeth, though his mouth reeked. “My crime is long past… they do this for fun.”

            Egon’s stomach turned, and he cursed aloud, “Sadistic bastards, then.”

            “They are my brothers,” the prisoner said, his un-swollen eye closing and the grin dispersing. Egon was shocked, and somewhat confused. His own brother might have given him hell when they were youths, but never would he have done… this. “Who are they?” Egon asked, a question he had been plagued with from the beginning of his work, “Who are you?”

            The prisoner didn’t answer. For several moments, Egon set on the bed and wondered if the man would, but came to the conclusion that he had slipped off into an uneasy sleep. Egon stood, knowing he would be back later with a “meal” for his charge and hoping for answers then. He had just shut the door and began to bolt the lock back in place with the keys when he heard an answer to one of his questions:

            “Hans.”

   

---

 

It was several days before they spoke again, and in that time, Egon had time to put a few things together. His wife, the loveable but overbearing harlot he pulled from the gutter, was a quick woman, and—he was loathe to admit—had helped him in piecing together the puzzle. The man was sitting with his head against the stone wall of his prison, using, Egon guessed, its coolness to soothe the spot on his face most aching. He dumped the piss-bucket, unable to abide the smell, though his nose was little good after his career as a soldier, and returned to find the man in the same position.

            “So, your name is Hans?” Egon began. It took the man a moment to turn around, and Egon was actually relieved to see the swelling had gone down, but was replaced with bruising. He nodded, as though he were unable to talk past a parched throat. “And your brothers have enough pull to lock you down here… the way they have… to order done to you what’s been done. Those are truths, aye?”

            The man only answered with a slight nod, surely knowing what Egon was going to say next.

            “So, I figure your brothers be the Princes, and you, Prince Hans,” reasoned the veteran, who leaned against the inner wall of the door, “But that’d be impossible, since you were hanged to death six months ago in front of the royal court.”

            Guards and maids and servants had all gossiped about how horrible the youngest prince’s death was, made to stand before his brothers and swing for trying to seize the throne of Arendelle from Queen Elsa, and failing. The prince had said to have been wearing a black hood over his head, though, when he faced the noose. At the time of his death, and was no longer a prince, having been disowned by his brothers and stripped of land and wealth before the execution. Little of that passed through Egon’s mind at that second, his eyes on Hans, but it had the night before, as he pieced it together with his wife. The ex-prince looked at Egon, an emotion playing on his face that was a cross between bemusement and fear. “My brothers would never have simply let me hang… they haven’t.”

            Egon looked at his hands, thinking briefly of the meaning of those words. “No…” Eyes coming up, he backtracked gruffly, “Name’s Egon.”

            “I liked it better when we didn’t talk, Egon,” Hans said, turning away and facing the wall again. The veteran made a face, then stood up and went out the door, shutting it. He muttered, “Suit yourself,” as he went down the stone hall.

 

---

 

Egon came back every day, but he and Hans talked no more, and the veteran did little more than was required to keep the prisoner alive. When the man would return to his little hovel, he would tell his wife about the day as she sat on his knee, then she would tell him about hers, and when there was little else to say, he would voice the nagging feelings he had for the ex-prince. “They’re cruel to him,” he would say, and his wife would touch at his beard, “I’ve seen nothing good happen to that boy, and it only gets worse.”

            “So… set him free, Egon,” his wife would say, though the first time, he had been floored by such a statement. He’d explained every obstacle, yet would imagine a way around them while he talked, and his wife would pat his chest, get up, and go back to whatever she was doing until they slipped off to bed. She would always say it gently, and he would laugh as if it were a joke, to set Hans free. Egon would always finish off his thoughts with, “Besides, if I did, they’d know it was me, and I’d get a necklace at the gallows and you’d be on your own.”

 

---

 

The day came, however, when Egon had seen enough. The prince had suffered, and suffered, but the last punishment of the twelfth prince was more than Egon could bear to see one brother do to the other.

            Egon’s normal walk down the hall was so quiet, half the time he thought that Hans might be gone, dead, something. On the day Egon had enough, Hans was whimpering. It wasn’t something Egon had heard the prince do before, and he was alerted before the clotted blood on the stones became visible. The veteran rushed through opening the door, eyes on Hans’ blanketed figure. Though Egon was loud enough for three floors above and below to have heard him, Hans didn’t stop whimpering, didn’t turn, and jumped when Egon gripped his frame with a strong hand. The blanket—more of a sheep’s skin with little give—fell to the floor, and horrified, Egon paused, the bloody body before him a testament to the cruelty those with power could treat even family. “Oh, son… what have they done to you?” he asked, pulling the prince into an awkward hold. Feverishly, Hans continued to made pained noises and shivered.

            Egon decided then that Hans’ punishments were enough. He would get Hans out of the prison and away from his brothers, or he would hang for trying.

            During the middle of the day, Egon went home and talked to his wife. The only thing he hadn’t thought of a way around was what to do after freeing the prisoner. His wife was confused as to what had happened to spur Egon into action. The words were hard to get out, his adrenaline running out and his stomach going cold. “They cut him,” Egon forced out. His wife didn’t understand at first, so he repeated, adding in a gesture to the offended area. She put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in horror. For a minute, they were quiet and still, until she broke the silence, “We take him to Arendelle. Maybe the Queen would show him mercy or kill him—either one’s better than staying here. She might let us stay there, too, safe from the King’s men.” Making a face, Egon was going to dismiss the idea at first, but let it settle. “We’ll try that,” he told her, always surprised at how quick his wife, an ex-trollop, was.

            Night fell, and Egon had his wife pack up their scarce belongings and sell the house—it was a hovel, but they took a low offer from an even more impoverished family of three just to be rid of it—using the money to buy a horse and cart. She sat a street away from the prison, and Egon returned as if he were put out that his charge, Hans, was such a hassle. The guards didn’t bat an eye.

            In the cell, Hans had managed an uneasy sleep. “Wake up,” he said quickly, urgently, “Wake up. I’m getting you out of here.” The prince opened his eyes, but Egon could tell he was still in too much pain to comprehend. There would be no way he could walk out on his own. Egon had carried in an extra cloak, hidden as if it were his gut, and wrapped the prince in it before carefully putting Hans over his shoulder. Egon was not terribly burdened; Hans had dropped weight since his life in the palace, and had little muscle mass left, more or less just skin and bones. The old veteran had planned his escape to avoid guards and keep to the shadows, his old skills from soldiering days put to good use.

            It took him a good hour to escape the jail, having to use a labyrinth of doors and passages, having to wait at times until the guards moved far enough away that nothing would alert them. When he was at last to the street, and to his wife, they made for the docks, where a friend and old veteran could get the three onto a ship bound for Arendelle. It would not leave until the morning, but they had time, Egon thought.

            Below deck, in a storeroom, his wife tended to Hans with tears in her eyes. She bound his fingers and toes in makeshift gauze, then used a rag to wash away the blood and filth from his body, dismay growing with every pass she made across the skin. Egon watched her do all this, then helped her dress him in clothes too loose for him, but probably the first that Hans had been able to wear to Egon’s knowledge in six months. When that was done, they took up a watch on him in the chair beside the storeroom’s boarded bed, each getting sleep for a few hours before switching up. When dawn broke and the ship weighed anchor, Egon went above and thanked the captain, talking with him for some time about his son, below deck, sick with something that he hoped could be cured in Arendelle. It was a four-day journey from the Southern Isles to Queen Elsa’s domain, which Egon could only hope would pass quickly and without incident. Naturally, that sort of hope was only good for fools.

Chapter Text

Egon, veteran of the Southern Isles was a wanted man. He was seen to have entered the prison of the sixth Prince, Prince Adelbert, but not leave. A prisoner of high value was taken, and it was believed that Egon had helped him escape, if not stole him away. The princes of the Southern Isles from six to twelve were in a state of frenzy, something the eldest prince could not understand. Still, he sent bounty hunters out into the prison’s city, on request, to recover Egon and anyone in his company. The eldest brother was not aware that his youngest brother still lived, being among those who thought he had died on the gallows, punishment from princes five through twelve. Though he had voted to disown and imprison Hans for the rest of his life, the eldest brother bore the youngest no ill will, and would not have allowed the death sentence had there not been a majority after it—the majority that would still be around to cause him problems when he became King. It had been Hans’ defense of his actions that brokered no leniency on his part.

            A year before, Hans returned from Arendelle in chains, having tried to kill the young Queen and succeeding only in straining relationships between the two kingdoms. The King of the Southern Isles had passed off punishment to his sons, unwilling to pass judgment on his youngest son and believing that his brothers would deal with him justly. If the twelve would have stopped with the eldest prince’s punishment, it would have been. Before passing collective judgment on his brother with the rest of the princes, the eldest prince visited Hans in the cushy “cell” he had been given to await a sentence—a courtiers room—to speak.

            Suspicion had been the first thing to cross Hans’ youthful face. They were fifteen years apart, the eldest, Dorian, and the youngest, Hans. They had never been close, but despite the age difference and their distance, the elder considered it the right thing to do to see what his youngest brother had to say for himself.

            “Why, Hans?” Dorian asked after closing the door after him, disappointed, “What in Creation possessed you to try and wile and kill your way onto the throne of Arendelle?”

            A nameless spasm of emotion crossed Hans’ face, and he turned away for a moment, as if to collect himself. When he turned back, he looked nothing like the young prince Dorian had thought he knew, but vindictive and smug, “You ask me this? You, who are heir to the Throne? I shouldn’t even try to explain it to you.” Hans said, a cold, yet superior glare trained on his elder brother. Dorian did not look away, fingers of one hand going to the other to fondle the Signet Ring of the Crown Prince, his station. “You should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of women. Our Mother would be disappointed,” the elder brother chided

            Hans vaulted over the lounge chair between them and stopped short of tackling the heir. His hands made fists, opening again, as if he would strangle his brother. “Do not speak of her… please. I’ll explain it to you, Dorian, but do not speak of her,” Hans negotiated, straightening and putting distance between them again. The smug façade had cracked when Dorian had mentioned the dead Queen Mother—salt in an old wound. The heir knew just why Hans was so touchy about their mother: the woman had never seemed particularly interested in the last sons, having long before given up on the notion of a daughter, and managed to tell Hans at five years old that he was a mistake. When reproached for it, the Queen argued that he was a child, and couldn’t understand, much less remember it later, so it didn’t matter. That had been the basis of their relationship until her death when Hans was ten.

            Dorian took a seat on the chair Hans had jumped over, while Hans set on the bed and tapped his foot. He got up again to pace, then came to a stop at the window, composure taking him over again at last. Facing Dorian again, he had the cold, superior look restored, “How easy it must have been for you, to know your purpose all your life, to have been taught and groomed to be Heir. I’m certain it has been easy for Henrik as well, being your spare, though I imagine his life is like waiting for a lightning strike to touch down at his feet, a second shoe to drop.” Dorian’s brows drew, thinking about his next-down brother, the second-in-line. Dorian was married, though he and his wife had no children yet. “Vilppu has ever been the general at heart, though most of our brothers are warriors in their own rights, excepting the poets like Iefan and Aleksander. They’ve all found something to do with their lives. From between the time that Mother… passed… and when you married, I never felt as though I were fulfilling my purpose. I tried a little of everything, I think you know. But the only things I excelled at were things as useless to me as I was to anything else.” Hans paused, composure holding, to let it sink in.

            Dorian took the time to think of what it was that Hans spoke of, “Leadership…?”

            Hans’ face cracked for a smile, unsettling in its bitterness, “Yes. I manage well, but not as a Bookkeeper or Captain. I’ve got the same blood in me that you do—I was born able to lead the people. At first, the idea brought me nothing more than depression, considering what my situation was… We’ve heard tales of other Kingdom’s whose power has been usurped by murdering siblings, but even as the thought came to me, I knew I could do it…”

            Dorian had been allowed enough time to be horrified at the idea of murder to climb to the throne, but Hans’s words hadn't brought as much relief as they had an uncomfortable squirm in his stomach . “You couldn’t murder us,” Dorian stated, disbelief in this being false, “We’re your brothers.”

            “That wasn’t the problem,” Hans said, callously, shocking Dorian, “You all could rot in the depths of Hell, as far as I care. It’s that it would have been insane to try and kill you all.”

            The heir’s eyes stared in wide horror at his youngest brother, and Hans laughed, “You should see your face: so much surprise at the idea that I resent you all so much. Well, where was your love and concern when I was young and had no champions? Where were you, the greatest of my brothers, when I was ignored and belittled? No… I care nothing for you twelve, my tormentors. I simply found it impossible to assassinate each one of you before someone took notice and stopped me.

            “I decided, instead, to find a Kingdom to marry into. I tried here and there, but all the princesses were long-missing, lowly in the ranks, or already married. Arendelle was preferable, but all suitors to Queen Elsa had been turned away. My intention was to woo the second daughter, Princess Anna, make her my wife and arrange for Elsa an accident. I would be the steady hand on Anna’s as we ascended the throne.

            “Then, Elsa showed herself to be cursed or… whatever it is that she is… bewitching… and turned Arendelle to winter. Anna left me in charge, and I felt like I was truly doing what it was that I was made to do, leading the fretful people in their time of need, and doing a good job of it. Anna did not return, though her horse did, and this led to that until I was leading men up the North Mountain to save her from her sister. I saved Elsa’s life; did you know that?”

            Dorian had been listening for long enough that he was fumbling for an answer to a question he did not expect, “N-No… I did not.” Hans nodded, making a face as though he were tasting the answer, mulling over a quick reply.

            “I expected that that was forgotten," Hans finally said, "Considering that I tried to take her life. Wiselton’s men would have killed her, though she did well protecting herself until I stopped her.” Hans’ eyes swept out of the present, and he paused before continuing, “‘Do not be the monster they fear you are,’ I said to her, and she stopped, though it nearly cost her a bolt to the heart. The arrow meant to take her life damaged a piece in her ice castle,—though I suppose everyone thinks I aimed the arrow now—which nearly crushed her. She hit her head, and remembered nothing of me bringing her back to Arendelle. I was gentle, though… Dorian, you’ve never seen a more beautiful, fair maiden in all your life. Hair like the winter sun… eyes like ice, delicate. Had she not been as frigid as her ice to the charms of men, I would have chosen her over her sister, since the marriage would only have been for power, though Anna made a prettier bride than I hoped for. I deviate.

            “I was a perfect gentleman with the Queen, from the moment I lifted her onto my saddle, to the time I tucked her into a cot in the dungeons of her own castle. No one suspected. All Anna had to do was return in one piece, and we could continue as I had planned, Elsa either imprisoned all her life or executed for cursing her Kingdom, either way losing her crown. But Anna came back wounded, desperate for true love’s kiss to save her from freezing. I knew my kiss would not save her, and as we were alone, I knew my cover would be broken. I told her everything, starting with how I didn’t love her. My plans… ruined. I was cruel to her. I would have to make all new plans, and I was thinking on my feet, thinking that if I let her die, and if Elsa were to die as well, blamed for Anna’s death, I would become the new monarch, free of having to truly marry anyone for it, though I told the others that she and I had said our wedding vows before she died.”

            Hans slapped his hand down on the seal of the window, making his brother jump, “But she didn’t die. Anna escaped onto the ice where I chased Elsa, freezing quickly in the blowing snow. Elsa was devastated when she thought she had killed her sister… I think she would not have fought me before I killed her, her grief overtaking her good sense. She would have died quickly, though I’m not sure where I aimed. As I brought my sword down, Anna was there, standing between us, freezing solid as my sword hit her. I was blown back, knocked out, and when I woke up, she was alive, and fine, and the winter was gone. I was returned here just after that.” The younger prince reached the end of his tale, and he seemed to have no remorse, no shame, and no qualms. The elder didn't recognize the stranger standing at the window.

            Dorian thought of how he had left without a word, his mind made up that Hans deserved the punishment that would come to him from the princes. The eldest thought it would be one punishment, agreed upon by all his brothers except Hans. He had been prepared to hand him over. The day that he passed judgment, he disowned Hans, ordered him imprisoned for all the rest of his days. Then Henrik had spoken up, taking all Hans' wealth to divvy up amongst the others, with Vilppu ordered him whipped, and the rest claiming that they would punish him as well. It was frightening, and ever since, Dorian had not wished to earn the ire of his brothers. So he sent the bounty hunters, three. Their names mattered not, but, if they had to have names, Dorian might would have called those he sent after the prisoner—and the veteran Egon— Flaxen, Bent, and Dodgy. Not a one of them looked like reputable characters, each like wayward thieves, each built thickly in their own way. Flaxen thick in muscle, Bent thick in fat, and Dodgy thick in hair, which was greasy and black, making him the dodgiest of the three. It was their reputations as dogged bounty hunters that lent the prince confidence in them.

            He was bothered by the Princes’ agitation, deciding that no expense from their pockets was too great to pay for what they demanded of him. Dorian had a suspicion that the prisoner was not just some thief or transgressor, but perhaps, someone he thought dead. Someone who might have been spared the death he was sentenced to for a worse fate… Hans.

 

---

 

Flaxen was the first to find a lead on Egon. He’d already been by the house—if one could call it that—where the veteran had lived with his wife, and found nothing, so, went back to the area around the prison, following a fading cart trail, running in the direction of the docks. He found a man who might know a man who was friends with Egon, quickly paying him for the name, then finding said friend, who he muscled into talking. Surely, Bent and Dodgy would not be long behind. The veteran was bound for Arendelle with the prisoner. All that was left was to charter a boat to catch up with the one already on the way.

 

---

 

Dorian decided to have the bounty hunters followed by a quintet of his father’s finest guards, more loyal than even his brothers. They were given orders to, if the bounty hunters found Egon and the prisoner, pay them off and allow the pair of hunted to stay where they were, but to send word to himself, so he might see the prisoner for his own eyes. If it was Hans, Dorian needed to know.

 

---

 

Hans came out of his fever in his sleep, and when he awoke, he awoke in the company of strangers, a man with short grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard, and a thin, weepy woman, both dressed as he would expect the working-class poor to. Confusedly, Hans scrambled back to the corner of the bed to take in his surroundings. Wooden interior, a store room, perhaps, and everything in the place made a noise like it leaned and groaned; Hans was on a ship. It had only taken his first movement in throwing the blankets back to feel the pain his whole body was in, but he didn’t remember what could have caused it until he realized that both the grey man and the crying woman were staring at him as if expecting something more from him.

            His brother, Gustav, the twelfth prince, had ordered him cut, and they had done it. Not these people, but a brutish man who might have made it his life’s work to torture other men. Hans had to look, digging past layers of clothes with mangled fingers, horror gripping him when he had confirmed, indeed, that he had been cut. For a moment, he was frozen with horror and then he was gripped with grief, crushing him into putting his head in his hands and sobbing. A hand touched his foot, reminding him that he was not alone, and he jerked his bearded face up, seeing both the woman and man leaning towards him. “Leave me be!” Hans growled, rashly kicking his foot out to knock the hand away, body screaming at him in protest to stop, lancing pain up into his brain. His addled eyes found the door and he awkwardly bolted for it, new lances tearing into him as he loped out on wrecked feet, a wounded animal escaping by the only open opportunity. He was up on the deck, stars dancing in his eyes, not sure how he found his way out, but blinded momentarily by the afternoon sun on the ocean. The edge of the boat was but a couple of strides away, and it looked like the friendliest death he would be granted.

            Hans wanted to die, after all he’d been through. He wanted to jump into the water and breathe deep until he drowned. If his brothers caught him—and he suspected, rightly, that there were already men after him—they would stop at nothing until he was little more than a slab of meat, wishing for the death they would never grant. As Hans crossed the deck, one stride from the edge, he was tackled down. The man who held him fast was the same man with short grey hair and his neat beard from below.

            “Don’t you dare, son,” he said, exerting a physical power that belied his age, “I know you’re hurt, and I know you’re scared, but don’t you dare.” Familiarity shot through Hans, and he remembered, not a tormentor, but his caretaker from the prison, Egon. The ex-prince’s face convulsed, flashing through emotions as they ran through him; frustration, fear, anger, and sadness, cycling through until he came to pleading. “They’ll come for me. As fast as they can, they’ll send their dogs after me. And they’ll catch me. And nothing you can do will save me from them. Just let me die, please… while I still can?”

            “No,” Egon said, using his weight to keep Hans down until he had his feet under him and was able to lift him from the deck and wrap a vice-like grip around his shoulder, “Don’t give up hope just yet, son. We’re on our way to Arendelle. If anyone can put an end to all of this, it would be Queen Elsa. Come back below deck. We’ll keep you safe; we've got to, or nowhere's safe for us, either.”

            Like a child, Egon led Hans back down to the storeroom, only a few of the crew having paid any attention to his break for the ledge, and none thinking more of it than need be. The ex-prince needed time to process what had happened to him, but once put back into bed was overcome by exhaustion and pain, sleeping as though he were already dead.

Chapter Text

Princess Anna’s life in the last year had become fuller than she would have ever imagined; years of hearing little more than her own feet in the empty halls, her own voice supplying the voices of dolls or paintings, and the sound of silence when outside of her sister’s blue door. The attaining of lofty goals from having a relationship with her sister again, to having found romantic love, and even to having left the gates open, was like living in a dream world come true.

            Only three months before, during a ball for the coming of spring, Kristoff had proposed. Olaf and Sven cried for thirty minutes together as soon Anna had accepted. It was much different from the proposal she had received and accepted before; if what she had felt for the prince of the Southern Isles had been as fast as lightning, bright and dazzling, what Anna felt for Kristoff was more like the Northern Lights: it lasted much longer, was much more wondrous, and never heralded destruction or storms. She had a ring this time as well, presented at the time of his asking: a beautiful, delicate golden hoop with an intricate flowering setting for the stones, six triangular jade stones surrounding a diamond. Her surprise at such a beautiful, valuable ring was nothing she hid, and when Kristoff had the chance, he explained that the Queen had only helped to commission the ring. He had worked selling ice in the outer towns to buy the ring himself. With a small portion of comedy, she realized that she didn’t really need to know. Just that she loved it and him and was ready to start their married life together.

            Particularly, she wanted Kristoff beside her when she slept. Although she was ever yet the maiden, and was partially naïve to what a wedding night really meant, the idea of having a sleeping Kristoff to ward off the nightmare was calming. Of the nightmare, Anna tried not to dwell. She didn’t talk about it with Elsa or run to her sister’s—at long last—comforting embrace. She wouldn’t, because it was about the freezing. After love had thawed her out, Anna barely gave the minute she spent as solid ice a second thought, until the dream began. Sometimes it varied.

            Sometimes, Anna was running towards Elsa and Hans, but she was freezing too fast, and never made it in time to save her sister. She would watch as Hans graphically hacked into Elsa, one blow to render her immobile, one to savage the ice with blood, and one last stab to pierce Elsa’s heart. Sometimes, the nightmare was about shattering as she tried to stop Hans’ blade. Sometimes, it was that Anna had frozen, and Elsa, instead of being heartbroken, was impassive, killing Hans and going back to her ice castle to keep Arendelle in an endless winter. Anna would wake holding in a scream. One nightmare, and she couldn’t go back to sleep at all. She would spend the rest of the night or early morning waiting for the sun to melt off the chill she acquired from the lurid dream.

            Anna and Kristoff’s wedding would happen the day after the Summer Solstice, the first night available to them in summer. That was a good two weeks away, but Anna didn’t feel as though she were rushing it. Rushing had only caused problems for her before.

            As she left her room, closing the door, she realized that a great many normal things were already buzzing in the castle. Just in her hallway, two maids walked past with fresh linens and brisk purpose. They smiled at her, but left her un-accosted. Hoping that the Queen would already be awake, Anna went to her sister’s study.

            No luck. If the Queen was up, she was elsewhere.

            Anna’s next target was her fiancé. Checking the rooms he was given to stay in until they were married, she found those were empty. Unable to help the servants much in their daily tasks, she elected to go and look for Kristoff in the town.

 

---

 

Egon wasn’t sure how to go about acquiring an audience with Queen Elsa. The ship would dock before sundown in Arendelle, and he and his wife, Linnéa, and their charge would need to be on the list to see the Queen, at least. Somehow, Hans’ fear of being followed had infected the old veteran. Fear wasn’t the word; paranoia was a better fit. In his mind, he could see a force of men storming onto a ship, and through sheer force of will, making it catch their ship. Linnéa had developed the same sense of foreboding.

            The sun was tilting down when the shore came into view, the port of the castle-town glittering in the summer sun. Egon stood on the deck, his wife below with Hans, getting him ready, as best she could, for an audience with the Queen. She dressed him in her husband’s best clothes, which fit him loosely, but came down too short on his legs and arms. Egon’s wife aimed to take scissors to his auburn hair, grown down to touch the plates of his shoulders—which she had cleaned vigorously with salty sea water—and cut it into the style worn by most noblemen, but Hans waved her off and refused her. She did pleat it and let it rest against the back of his neck. Linnéa, who Hans had come to learn was an ex-whore, made enough faces at his beard that he relented when she asked, for the umpteenth time, to neaten it up. The ex-prince told her that he had worn muttonchops, but that he wanted to simply shave it all off.

            She was smarter than to let him use the blade on his own, leaving small sideburns, but otherwise taking his beard down to the skin from ear to ear. It was startling the effect that being clean shaven had on Hans. He acted less like a haggard and dejected prisoner, and more like man who would face his possible death with dignity. No trace of a smile touched his young face. His eyes were melancholy. She was struck by just how… noble he looked, even thin and underfed.

            Egon came down when they were to dock, and scrutinized the man he had rescued with unconcealed bemusement. As though he didn’t understand what he saw. The three of them left the ship without much ado, wheeling the cart they had packed onto the ship down a plank onto the streets. Egon spoke quietly with his wife, his hands on the reigns, both of them riding on the little bench at the front, Hans in amongst their belongings wrapped in a blanket. He told her that he thought they should find someplace to stay the night, leave their things there and take Hans to the castle when the sun went down. She had nothing to add to his plan, which surprised him. They found an Inn at the edge of the castle-town, paid a stable boy to keep their cart packed, and waited for the last light of the day before setting out toward the castle.

 

---

 

To Hans, they seemed to have walked the length and breadth of the earth before the lights of the castle of Arendelle came into view. Both Egon and his wife had taken to supporting the ex-prince as he walked along—not without protests at first—but let go when he murmured something about not looking like an invalid before his executor. His weakness came from his injuries. Walking had made it feel as though a Hellish chafing ran from his toes to his navel. He might as well have been wearing pants woven with glass, as irritated as his skin was.

             In the marketplace before the castle, Hans, Egon, and Linnéa encountered a crowd—the festivities of the first day of summer were to begin soon, and trading had already picked up. Hans wasn’t a crowd sort of man, not only preferring to be at the front of it, but not liking the proximity of so many bodies. Compounded by the paranoia of being chased, Hans felt a current of anxiety begin in him; the bounty hunters could be any one of these unfamiliar faces. His hands shook, naked feeling without gloves, until they found fistfuls of his shirt to hold onto.

            Linnéa noticed first, and being a woman of astute intuition, said candidly to Hans, “Don’t think about them being here, being anybody. Think about how hard you’ll be to find in this mess, about being anybody.” It wasn’t bad advice, and it was calming to imagine himself being another face in the crowd, but nothing short of a full pardon or death would really calm his nerves. Chattering voices made it hard to keep an ear out for shadowing footsteps, the brush of another person as they passed too close made him think of the poisons that could drop him in a moment, wherein the bounty hunters could scoop him up and take him back to his brothers. Back to the men who he should never have had to fear, but who had tortured him, all of them choosing their own form. It seemed like all thought paths went back to that. He took the woman’s advice and pictured himself different from what the supposed bounty hunters were looking for; Hans imagined that he was thin man, tall but having a frame meant for more weight, that he would have hair much longer than anyone in Arendelle had ever seen on him, that the face that was handsome once would be much thinner and more feral, his chin elongated by the lack of sideburns, and his eyes sunken in with a pervading tiredness to them. He would look different than even the last prince to see him had seen him. He would look different than Princess Anna or Queen Elsa had seen him. And that was a comfort. In the crowd, Hans was simply a gaunt, tall man in slightly billowy, slightly short clothes.

            They were weaving their way through the marketplace, making good time, when his borrowed boot, a size tighter than he wore, caught a table leg and he and all the merchandise went cluttering to the cobblestones. He hit awkwardly, and the pain was immediate, from the assaulted toes to the injured fingers and now bleeding palms, his whole front hitting before his face could. It was so stunning that all he heard for the next fifteen seconds or so was the sound of his heartbeat hammering in his ears. The merchant, he heard as his hearing returned and the roar of his blood died down, was squawking already about his broken things. Egon was apologizing in a gush, he and Linnéa lifting the table first, Egon setting the textiles, the baskets, the wooden figurines back up while his wife lifted Hans to his feet, where he wobbled with half a mind to vomit all over the table and the merchandise. The retching urge was one of the things he had learned to control in the last year, however, keeping him from adding insult to injury.

            Egon was trying to give him what money he could spare to cover the broken things, but the merchant would have nothing but exactly what they cost—likely grossly overestimated—and he would come after Hans to get it. Tense words were flying very quickly until the merchant pushed at Egon to get to Hans, the veteran pushing back. They were shoving, Linnéa almost dropping her support of Hans as she shouted vulgarities at the pair of them for fighting. Didn’t they know that the guards would be coming?

            Someone else beat the guards to it, crashing through the throng of spectators to break Egon away from the merchant and put two strong hands out on either’s chest to keep them apart. Blonde hair lay on his forehead, a strong frame with no sign of malnourishment or underuse, about the size of Egon, and a familiarity to him in conjunction to Princess Anna. His name escaped Hans until the clatter of hooves and the appearance of a reindeer heralded the arrival of someone who said the name; “Kristoff?”

            Princess Anna slid off the back of the great huffing beast just as more soldiers skidded to a halt behind the reindeer. She was the thing that let the air out of the merchant and the situation. Kristoff was able to drop his hands as the merchant backed up and Egon, scrappy old veteran that he was, backed up as well, realizing who she was, though he was a stranger to the kingdom.

            “What’s going on here?” she asked, voice like a clarion. All he could do was stare at her, Linnéa blocking half of him where she had unconsciously put herself between Hans and Egon. The merchant started babbling right away, saying how nice it was to see the Princess, and that he was so sorry that she and Kristoff had had to bother with breaking up a misunderstanding. “…That man there knocked down my whole display,” the merchant said, pointing at Hans, who quickly dropped his eyes and bowed his head somewhat, “I cannot sell broken things, and I need the money to live on until harvest. This man says he is the other’s father and offered me only a pittance to cover the broken things. Look at them! They look nothing alike, and that woman isn’t old enough to be the man’s mother. He’s got his own money, certainly. I just need the money to pay for what I cannot sell.”

            On and on the merchant went, and Kristoff joined in saying that Hans and Egon should buy the things broken in Hans’ fall, but no word had come from Anna. Hans had a sick feeling in his stomach that Anna was looking at him too closely. Footsteps on the cobbles, and Linnéa moving aside like someone was getting closer, until Hans saw a dress hem and toes of shining feminine boots.

            “Look at me,” she said in a small voice, ignoring the confused tone of Kristoff’s voice calling her name. Hans felt his stomach drop, but the small ounce of pride in him wouldn’t face any of this as a coward. Hans looked up, shoulders squaring in a royal way, green eyes locking on the pair of blue, which widened at the sight of him. Princess Anna’s brows drew together, but her eyes were just as wide and staring as before, almost horrified. She might have started to say something, but her mouth pressed into a firm line.

            Hans was expecting it before it came, but Anna’s punch still hurt. The slight crunch of his nose sounded like it had been re-broken—a small part of his mind thought about hoping it was straight again—and a burst of blue dots blinded him, painful but not as bad as the pain throughout his whole body. Certainly not the most painful thing he had gone through in the last year, and not the strongest punch. His hand went up to his face as he staggered back, a fount of blood trying to pass through his fingers. Linnéa was back between him and her, shouting and keeping the Princess at arm’s length until Kristoff had seized her, Egon and his wife caught up by the troop of soldiers.

            “Bring them to the castle and put them in the dungeon,” Anna ordered, angry and rightfully so, Hans supposed. Before she was out of earshot, however, Hans heard her say to Kristoff, “It’s Hans.” Incredulous, Kristoff looked back, partly scowling and partly bewildered. The rough hands of the guards seized hold of Hans, and he, Egon, and Linnéa were pushed along behind the Princess, a reindeer, and Kristoff.

 

---

 

Sven’s muscles underneath Anna’s legs seemed like stone wrapped in fur, and he clopped along at a sober pace, picking up on the mood of the pair. Kristoff let his arms rest around Anna’s waist, but neither of them had spoken since Kristoff had asked if it really was Hans, and Anna had answered yes. There was a lot to process for both of them, but more for Anna.

            Firstly, Hans looked horrible. Haggard and frail were good adjectives for his pale, drawn visage, once so full of life and blushing with health. The last year had not been easy on him, she guessed. It wasn’t in her nature to hold a grudge, but the moment she saw Hans, all Anna could think about was how he left her to freeze to death, how he told her that she would die before she had a chance to save Elsa, how she had had to choose between her own life and her sister’s, how he looked as he got closer to Elsa and raised the sword… how it felt to freeze solid. All of these things came from the Hans of a year ago, and it was that Hans that Anna was sure still lived in the shell he was now. So, no matter how bad he looked now, no matter how bad the last year had been for him, Anna had it in her mind that she would trust nothing that he said.

            As the guards branched off with the three prisoners, Anna and Kristoff continued through the castle, her quick stride forcing him to keep up the pace or get left behind. Sven followed, but he seemed to be giving up the idea and dropping back. Finally, Kristoff caught Anna’s hand, halting their movement.

            “Where are we going?” Kristoff asked. Anna’s mouth pressed into a line as she looked from him to a door down the hallway. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to go tell Elsa.”

            “But why are you going to tell Elsa? What do you want her to do about him?”

            Anna frowned, realizing that she had no real plan other than burst into the Queen’s rooms and tell her that the man who tried to kill her—who they had received word had been executed for his crimes by his brothers’ demands—was in their dungeon. Her fight drained out of her, eyes finding Kristoff’s face and getting moist. “I don’t know… I just can’t stand that he’s back.”

            Kristoff pulled her into a hug, her head against his chest, one of the only places where she felt totally safe. “Maybe we do tell her that Hans is here and locked away,” Kristoff offered, “but we suggest that she hold an audience tomorrow to find out why he’s here. In public, maybe it won’t be so easy for him to manipulate anyone.” The “anyone” in that statement really meaning the pair of sisters.

            “Okay,” Anna finally said, taking his hand and walking steadily down the hall to Elsa’s rooms.

  

---

         

Queen Elsa still suffered, somewhat, from her social anxiety and former isolation. Anna’s unshaking faith in her helped, always, but the moment her sister was out of sight, the worms of doubt and fear wiggled through the cracks in her mind. She was a very good leader, having been tutored by her parents before and up to their deaths four years ago, but she was still impressionable. Love had thawed the more obvious frozen places in her heart and mind, the places connected to the familial love between her and her sister, the ability to converse with others, and the need for her gloves, but there were still places locked in ice within her. She saw Anna’s happiness with Kristoff, was glad for them, and was wistful of a love like that for her own, but Elsa didn’t believe herself capable of navigating romantic love. Too long had she been a prisoner to the fear of touch, of being so close to someone that it would hurt if she ever disappointed them, hurt them, or lost them. These things she had been able to determine when suitor offers trickled back in, brave kingdoms wanting to marry their princes to the Ice Queen, none of them appealing to her.

            She would rather live and die alone than live with someone who she couldn’t love, found herself fearing, and would ultimately drive away with her aloofness. Thoughts like these had been ever-present the closer Anna’s wedding got.

            There was a knock at her sitting room door, and Elsa left her place on the settee to answer it herself. Anna’s face alarmed her when she saw it, pale eyes going from sister to future brother-in-law, seeing nearly the same expression on both. She stood aside, let the pair enter and sit on the blue-cushioned love seat before shutting the door and sitting across from them. Trying not to think the worst, she put on a weak smile and asked, “Having trouble with the guest list?”

            Briefly, both Anna and Kristoff looked confused. Anna shook her head, “No… Um…” Kristoff held her hand like he was Anna’s only anchor to the world. Elsa felt her brows constrict.

            “Hans,” Anna began again, the name like a curse among the pair of them, “… he’s in our dungeons.” Something like a slight wave of relief let the air out of Elsa. That was the least of the horrors she had imagined. But right after, confusion took over. “But isn’t he—,” Elsa started.

            “Dead? I thought so, too,” Anna said, frowning, “But it’s the truth. He’s alive, and he’s in our dungeons. Tell her, Kristoff.” Elsa looked to him, and he nodded, adding, “I didn’t get as good of a look as Anna, but I saw him.”

            Elsa stood, turning away from them, needing a minute to process without them seeing her reaction. At first, she was blank aside from a gnawing remembrance of thinking Anna was frozen solid forever. Next, a part of her felt a guilty twinge of relief. Elsa had sent Hans back to the Southern Isles to face his brothers’ judgment, not thinking that they would execute him. She hadn’t wanted him dead, even if he had wanted her dead. Having the power to kill others on her own had made her the least bloodthirsty monarch in Arendelle’s history. Life was something she had the power to give—Olaf and Marshmallow—or take—the Duke of Wiseltown’s men. Knowing that Hans had not actually died as his brothers’ announcement said took away some of the troubling weight of believing she had sent him to his death that had been on her since.

            “Well,” she said, turning back around, “I gather you have a plan.”

 

---

 

Another night in a dungeon.

            What he wouldn’t have given to go back to sleeping in feather mattresses with pillows and blankets of rich softness; Hans thought about what he had done to get there, and knew he would have given up his ploy to rule Arendelle all on his own. It would stand to reason that sleeping on stone was familiar enough by now that Hans could have done it anywhere, but he found that he could do little else than stand with his back to a corner and his eyes facing the bars. When his legs started to shake and he needed to sit, he did so by making himself as small a target as he could, even if it made him uncomfortable to sit as such. Memories of nights spent in terror and dread came back to him. His eyes began getting heavy in the wee hours of the morning, until sleep, and a nightmare, stole over him.

            He was in a courtyard, square and beautiful except for the large post that had been erected in the center of a square, stone platform. Above him was a balcony, set up like a gallery for onlookers, including his brothers, Vilppu to Gustav, and several eager looking courtiers. Hans was being taken to the post, which had an ominous ring at the top. His manacles were tied to the ring using rope, though the girth was big enough that he couldn’t have reached around it and touched his fingers together. He had been stripped to the waist before they had secured him with his face to the gallery.

            From the balcony, Vilppu’s voice boomed over the courtyard, the dream distorting all but a few words: “thirty lashes.” He was turned to face the well-used pillory, the rope twisting close to the ring. His eyes caught that detail, his nose caught the scent of blood, sweat, and something else. The courtyard became so quiet that a bug on a blade of grass would have sounded like a monster crashing through trees. When the whip was uncoiled, and when its length dropped heavily to the stone cobbles, it sounded like thunder.

            The first lash stole his breath and felt like it had cleaved meat from bone. The second was far enough apart for Hans to feel sweat trickle into the fresh wound. Bile rose from his stomach at the third strike, and his heartbeat pounded his ears like a company of drummers. He was conscious for each lash, though his field of vision had gone red and black somewhere around fifteen. In his head, he counted along, and when thirty was up, he expected to be left alone to die of the pain. A thirty-first lash cracked across him, no voice telling the wielder to halt. Four more followed slowly before a voice did call out that it was enough.

            The dream, or memory, as it had turned out to be, was vivid enough that Hans awoke in a sweat, the scars running across his back throbbing with such ferocity that he could have given a detailed description of where each ugly weal was on his back. He stumbled over to the waist bucket and wretched up everything in his stomach, which wasn’t much. Breathless, Hans sat against the wall and let the coolness of the stone calm his feverish heat.

---

           

Elsa usually dressed quietly without the help of her maids. She had become so unaccustomed to wearing the cloth creations of thread and needle that all the dresses in her possession stayed in their closet. She would stand before her mirror and fashion her own gown of ice, ice so finely woven that it acted as cloth did. It was usually thin on her arms and shoulders, allowing for movement. She usually had a train of gossamer-like ice crystals, and aside from those staples, she tended to look different every day. A maid would come in to pleat her hair however she asked, if she did, sometimes foregoing the simple signature braid for a series of complex ones wound about her head—those were usually left to the maid. She liked to keep it simple, however, and the braid seemed most common, dropped over one shoulder the way she liked it. Elsa never wore her hair plainly down—it didn’t befit a queen—though it was thick and slightly wavy, and fell to the small of her back, and would have looked gorgeous down.

            The morning of the audience with Hans found Elsa already awake and dressed, her face turned to the tardy sun and arms crossed. Kristoff’s suggestion that Hans be dealt with publicly caused Elsa to sleep uneasily with nervousness fluttering about her stomach like a swarm of bugs. She had awoken to find a thin layer of frost patterned across her bed and on the ceiling. She began trying to tell herself it was silly to be nervous about talking to a supposedly dead man who had tired and almost succeeded in killing her and taking her kingdom.

            Perhaps it wasn’t that silly. Then again, Anna had tried to stress that the Hans she had imprisoned was a sorry shadow of the man he used to be, by the looks of him, likely maltreated over the last five or six months. Who knew? It had been a year. How long ago had that missive arrived?

            A knock at her door let in the maid who re-brushed the Queen’s hair and wound it up like Elsa asked. The maid left in time for breakfast to be served and Anna and Kristoff to arrive. Elsa was glad to see both looking stately, like the three of them would be a united front before the former Prince. Anna had also coiled her hair up, rather than her pigtails, looking older and perhaps a little haggard, like she hadn’t slept well. Kristoff was well-dressed, blonde hair combed and not smelling strongly of his reindeer.

            “How soon can we get this over with?” Anna asked fairly quickly, having only just sat down to be served a cup of tea and a biscuit. Kristoff looked at her with what Elsa could only term as sympathy.

            “Just before noon,” Elsa answered, having thought about it already. Anna let out a breath, drinking tea and managing not to look too miserable. Elsa wondered at her sister’s strong reaction, attributing it to the old sentiment “Hell hath no fury…” After all, Anna had been the one to think a night’s infatuation was true love, had accepted a marriage proposal, and had been betrayed all of that, left to die, and then sacrificed her life to save Elsa from Hans. Thinking about all those things again made her feel like screaming at their prisoner, perhaps getting her own punch in. She wasn’t angry enough to want him dead, however, and the thought never actually crossed her mind. Kristoff and Elsa made small talk, Anna uncharacteristically introverted, all three passing through breakfast absentmindedly. Surely, they had the same thing keeping their thoughts occupied: Hans.

 

---

 

The palace guards what came to collect Egon, Linnéa, and Hans, seemed as quiet and reposed as if they were to march prisoners marked for death. It boded ill. The veteran had had an easier time sleeping than did his charge, and his wife never complained one way or the other for herself, even if she looked slightly stricken that Hans was put in a separate cell.

            Egon marched after Hans, his wife following him, and they were led up through the castle’s bowels to what he saw as lavish suites and rooms. Having lived most his life on campaign or poor, Egon had to hold in a whistle. The floors were polished so that one might actually see themselves mirrored beneath them. The woodwork around the doorframes and banisters were also polished—not so much that one could not take in the detailed work of knots, figures, and patterns for the luster. Where the wood became covered in paint, or in cloth—Egon couldn’t be sure without touching it, such was its effect—it was just as beautiful.

            They were brought into a large room with a vaulted ceiling, and to either side of an isle stood grim-faced people. Egon was surprised. Was this a public hearing? Why?

            At the end of the room was a dais which raised a throne of somewhat understated authority up by only two steps. He was impressed not by the throne, or the people, but by the Queen who sat upon it, alone on the dais. She was beautiful, Egon thought, and regal. Shades of white and blue seemed to constitute every aspect of her appearance; hair so pale blonde it could have been the color of dawn on snow, skin a shade darker than ivory, a gown that looked crafted from a winter’s wind. Linnéa, he heard, sucked in an appreciative breath. In front of him, he heard nothing from Hans except the tall man’s boots hitting the floor.

            Egon finally pulled his eyes from Queen Elsa long enough to look at the couple who stood to the right side of the monarch, the woman as beautiful but perhaps not as regally dignified. Remembering that Queen Elsa’s sister, Anna, was the one Hans had supposedly deceived, Egon understood that the look on her face was from grievances past, not present, and was not aimed at him.

            They were made to stand shoulder to shoulder, lined up before the Queen. Egon let his eyes slide to see how Hans was doing, but the ex-prince’s face was schooled in calm, resigned dignity. He looked to his wife, who looked awed but nervous. Finally, he looked to the Queen and Princess.

         

---

  

From upon the throne, Queen Elsa looked at the three prisoners brought before her, at first searching for a forth to be brought in, unable to recognize the ex-prince Hans in any of them. With well-disguised horror, she realized that the tallest man—his longer auburn hair and shortened sideburns not the most significant change—was Hans. He was too thin, wore clothes too short and too wide for him, and, despite his dignity, was haggard and haunted looking. She had the urge to stand up, to get closer; to see for herself what hollowness now ruled his green eyes, all because she had no idea who this man was—he wasn’t the same one she sent on a ship back to his kingdom.

            Elsa didn’t move one inch off her throne, however. Her eyes went to Anna, who seemed ready to trundle him back off to the kingdom that had supposedly hung him, her fists balled tightly and slightly hidden in her skirt. Kristoff had set his jaw, but had, perhaps, a sliver pity for the ex-fiancé of his soon-to-be-bride. With a deliberate release of her breath, she looked to the other two accompanying Hans.

            “Well,” Elsa began, her voice ringing in the silence of the room, clear as a bell, “Have you anything to say for yourself?” No charges had been read, no repeat of Hans’ crimes. It was not him who spoke first, though his face had gone seemingly blank; it was the other man, shorter, with grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard, body obviously well-maintained so that the clothes Hans wore would have fit him perfectly.

            “Pardon me, your Grace,” he said, though the words came out of his mouth like roughly chewed food, “But I can explain better than he can, I believe. If I may…?” Elsa wondered at his words, but consented with a slow nod of her head, keeping her eyes on the more valuable prisoner.

            “See—I mean—It was that I had been employed by a man in a fancy suit one day, about five months ago. He’d be the type to be employed by someone just under you, your Grace, like a Prince. He tells me there’s someone his boss wants kept alive. All I had to do was feed him, empty his p—chamber pot,” the older man had amended his speech in the presence of a Queen, Elsa supposed. “Patch him up from time to time…”

            Hans’ face dropped for the first time, and the Queen felt a small pang of mortification. How often was from “time to time” and what did it entail? The speaker continued, “Anyway, a few days ago, I realized who he was. His brothers had been keeping him secret, dealing out punishments they saw fit, and when… well, I had had enough, and so had he. I packed up my house, put my wife on the cart, and drove it to the prison, then jimmied Hans out and onto a ship.

            “We came here to you because… well, you seem kinder than the Princes, and I was hoping you might protect me and my wife for bringing him here. Sure, he did you wrong, but I can say—honest truth, in my opinion— that he’s more than paid for that.”

            Nothing came to mind aside from confusion. She had thought death was too harsh a punishment, but the idea that he had been tortured, as the man’s brief story suggested. A response leapt off her tongue unbidden, words that she supposed were directed at Hans: “Is this true? Do you believe the punishment fit the crime?” His eyes raised, dignity composing him again, “No.”

            Murmurs went through the crowd. The surprise she felt played on her face. Off to the side, Anna made an undignified sound and started forward. Kristoff took hold of her arm, face grim. “No?” Elsa asked.

            “No, Queen Elsa, the punishment did not fit the crime,” Hans repeated, his voice quietly held in check, loud enough only to be heard, not to rail against the injustices done him. “I request that you—and you alone—pass judgment on me. I tried to take your life, not my brothers’; they had their fun. If you want the punishment to fit the crime, I suggest a swift death; that is what I had aimed to deal you.”

            Again, muttering in the crowd, only now hissing with anger and indignation. Elsa couldn’t look away from Hans. There was a calmness to him—a stillness in his body—but in his eyes there seemed to be a fire, desperate, pleading, slightly mad. She didn’t know what to make of it; didn’t know how to handle being asked to end his life. His fellow prisoner turned to him, eyes wide, saying, “You don’t mean that, son! Surely there are better things—,” Hans cut him off, though it was harder to hear as the muttering began to louden, “Better than what? Rotting away in a cage? No,” Hans returned his gaze to the Queen, “Kill me. Do not send me back to my people. Do not let the men they have surely sent after me haul more than a corpse back to the Southern Isles.”

            From the corner, Anna’s voice rose up, which was startling in its confidence, “Why shouldn’t we hand you back?” The room quieted in light of the Princess’ voice, “Elsa doesn’t owe you anything. I don’t. We were just fine and dandy thinking… thinking you were dead.” Elsa heard the confidence leaking out of Anna, her anger fading in the spotlight, though what made her sister’s irritation so strong, Elsa didn’t know. Hans didn’t seem to expect this from Anna, either. His response was still dignified, however.

            “You’re right to hate me, Anna,” he said, though it was followed by so many howls from the crowd that he had to pause, “I cannot even apologize without it sounding like ambitious groveling,… so, I say, the decision does not rest in your hands. It is your Queen’s right to decide.” The room again grew loud, and Elsa became so frustrated with the crowd and with Hans that she found herself on her feet.

            “We will discuss this matter in private. Please, return to your homes and your jobs,” the crowd again muttered, but it was not the rebellious muttering of a mob. Just of wagging, gossiping tongues. She looked to the guards who flanked the three prisoners, and commanded, “Bring those three up to my sitting room.”

            Turning on one ice-hewn heel, her train coiling about her, she walked to the door off to the side of the dais, gesturing for Anna and Kristoff to go through first. They waited on the other side and fell into step behind her. Neither said a word until Elsa wheeled on Anna, starting the conversation she’d meant to have with her sister since the night before, when Anna seemed too unsettled by Hans’ arrival. “What is wrong, Anna?” she asked, not without force, but mostly pleading, “You worried me to death last night, and you’ve been so unlike yourself. So tell me why, please? What is it about Hans that has you so worked up?”

            It must not have been a good time, because though Anna was momentarily surprised, she seemed to become angry again, lips pressed into a firm line, brows furrowing. She almost said something, but, seeing that she wouldn’t get an answer in the present, Elsa turned away, walking quickly down the short hall and up a flight of stairs. Kristoff brought Anna along without a word, though the pair had to be held bodily together because Anna would have walked in a direction opposite to the Queen’s apartments.

            Having her sister angry with her was disturbing. If Elsa had one thing to count on, it was that Anna loved her and had faith in her always. She’d proven that when she sacrificed herself, freezing solid rather than letting Hans kill her. There shouldn’t be any doubt that Elsa loved her sister, either. When Hans told the Queen that Anna had succumbed to the frozen heart, Elsa had hit her knees. In that moment, no one needed a blade to kill her. All the isolation, all the fear, all the attempts at control had been because she was afraid of hurting her sister again. From that moment that she saw Anna’s small body flying through the air, with nothing to catch her, and being too slow to keep her safe, Elsa’s life had been about keeping those she could hurt at a safe distance. Anna wouldn’t push her away over Hans, Elsa resolved.

            On the last step to her suite’s landing, Elsa paused, looking down at Kristoff and Anna following her. She set her shoulders, cleared her mind of the past, and went into her rooms.

Chapter Text

Hans slept deeply, dreamlessly, his body finally so exhausted that it relented and let the restful kind of sleep steal back over him. It helped that he was given a bed, cotton sheets and a wool-padded quilt, that his room had a door instead of cell bars. He had space enough to light a lamp on a bedside table, hang clothes—if he acquired more—and walk one way to another. There was no window in the room, a suggestion of Egon’s, and nothing more dangerous than the matches he could use to light the lamp, which he left burning all night. He felt clean, as well, having scrubbed himself vigorously for a good half an hour after their meeting with the Queen. The only person he allowed into the bath room was Linnéa; she’d already seen the damage done his body and was particularly gentle with him.

            The meeting had been the last conscious thought he had as he had fallen asleep.

            Queen Elsa swept into her sitting room in a natural, regal manner, pausing to look at the three manacled prisoners before passing them all for the shuttered balcony on the far side of the room. Anna and Kristoff followed her, though neither moved farther than shutting the door behind them. Without turning around, the Queen said to her audience, “Sit.”

            Egon, Linnéa, and Hans sat down on the same couch, and how he ended up in the middle was muddled in his brain, but it felt safer than being close to either Anna and Kristoff or Elsa alone. Again, Anna and Kristoff didn’t move, though Hans thought the latter only did so out of support for his fiancé. When Elsa had to look over her shoulder, at her sister, Anna finally condescended to sit, though she dragged her feet and chose the furthest chair possible, Kristoff remaining standing, with one hand on a thin shoulder.

            “I will not put you to death,” Elsa began, back still turned, but words aimed at the only one who was actively seeking his own demise. She let that blunt statement sink in, and Hans was the alone in not being relieved that the option was off the table, feeling a bubble of hysteria try to sneak up into his throat. His brothers would have already sent men after him. If Elsa decided to send him back to the Southern Isles, he would take a flying leap off that balcony in a heartbeat.

            The Queen had turned around, her blue eyes sliding over them. “You or your companions will tell me all the ‘punishments’ you suffered at the hands of your brothers. I will not make you speak of them in front of… anyone else, but I will not be asked to shelter you without full disclosure.” A sick knot squished the hysteria back down. Elsa moved away from the balcony, stride carrying her to the back of the settee across from Hans, Egon, and Egon’s wife. Feeling his lips tingle with numbness, he realized he had pressed them together tightly in an effort to hold back the sick and the hysteria.

            “When that is done, you’ll either find yourselves on a boat, or in sanctuary.” The Queen, face set in a dignified mask, wasn’t bluffing. She again gave pause let the statement sink in, quietly analyzing their faces before asking of Egon and his wife, “Now, who are the two of you?”

            In the dim light of his lamp, Hans found himself staring at the wall opposite, body nearly paralyzed by the lethargy of good sleep. Unable to remember when he had opened his eyes, awareness was something that had only recently come back to him. Nothing much was really on his mind, aside from the off-hand thought that sleeping in a bed was a luxury he’d never take for granted again. His eyes shifted to the small flame in the lamp, following the shadows cast by flickers of the light. What was truly peaceful about the bed and the blankets and the actual door was the safety of it—the civility. This room was not a room that some stranger would enter in the dark hours of the night, not the kind of walls that would catch blood beat out of wounds, hold handprints that were bloody from having the fingernails removed. This was a room that was meant to be restful. Hans didn’t even notice falling back to sleep, entranced by the shadows on the walls.

            “Anna, Kristoff, if you would be so kind as to escort Linnéa to the Servants’ wing? See to it that she is fed, given a chance to bathe, and a change of clothes,” Elsa said, having been introduced to the veteran and his wife. To the woman, she added kindly, “Your husband won’t be too long. You’ll be asked to wait for him there.” Linnéa nodded, sent one last look at her husband and the invalid she’d nursed on the boat, then followed Anna and Kristoff as they left. The Queen’s gaze followed them out, but returned to the two men after a moment. She looked somewhat pensive, and moved to sit on the settee, settling down properly, similar to how she had sat on the throne.

            Hans knew what was expected of him in the conversation, but he was no more ready to talk about the evils done him in the dungeon by his brothers’ command than he was to look up from his folded, nail-less hands in his lap. Egon looked only slightly more ready to talk about it. “Will you start, Hans?” asked a gentle voice, coaxing his eyes to meet the source’s eyes. Hans frowned, face creasing in the over-used places, having lines of suffering that belied his youthful age. No sound came from his throat, even if his lips parted to speak.

            “Your Majesty—beggin’ your pardon, of course—but I don’t believe this be the type of things one ever tells. The things… they’re things you take to the grave,” Egon said, trying for mercy, Hans reasoned.

            The Queen’s eyes didn’t leave Hans’ face, “I used to think covering up a problem and burying feelings was the best way to make it go away, to control it. I’m certain you remember how that turned out for me, Hans. Negotiating with me will not be possible unless I know everything; I will not harbor you otherwise.” The impasse again; Queen Elsa did not intend to run blindly into the crosshairs of a bolt aimed at Hans’ heart. If she was standing up against the Princes of the Southern Isles, she would know why.

            Egon opened his mouth to speak, but Hans’ voice rushed out and gave the three pause, unprepared for him to begin, “They started with disowning me and locking me away.” Hans was as surprised that he had said it as Elsa and Egon were, but he knew the stakes. He had one chance to find refuge. In a way, his mouth took over, his mind checking out while he enumerated the “grievances” that Elsa needed to hear, the verbal torrent coming easier, like it was his innards being pulled out through his mouth at a fast pace.

            “That would have been enough for my eldest brother, but the next spoke up, and on and on. All twelve wanted their own revenge, I suppose. The second eldest wanted to make me a pauper in jail, so he did. The third wanted me flogged, so I was.” Hans stood, needing, though his mind was checked out, to release some nervous tension in a short pace. The manacles were still on, which made the attempt at pulling his shirt up his back difficult, but he had to. This was the truth, ugly as it was, and having been pushed into a corner to get it out of him brought the hysteria back. “I counted thirty-five, though it was only to have been thirty in the beginning. I’ve never had a chance to look at them,” a laugh escaped him as the shirt finally was pulled off his back, over his head, and rested on his arms, pale and malnourished. His eyes found Elsa’s, and without the full participation of his mind, he was unable to process the look in them. “The fourth, Jerrik, had me in the stocks for three days, in the fall. It got so cold at night that I was sure I had frostbite. And the people; how a mob can turn on you… Rotten food, mud, excrement, all hurled at me daily, clogging up the marks on my back. The fifth punishment, from my brother Aleksander, was conspired with the others to fake my death so I could be moved somewhere they controlled. They said a hanging would do. I was dressed up around a harness, led out to the gallows, and was hung by the neck until I fainted from lack of air.” Pausing to indicate the fainter, lighter scar across his neck, Hans stopped long enough to feel a spasm of pain pass down him, lingering from six months of maltreatment. Egon stood, coming at the ex-prince in two hesitant steps as if he were going to try and soothe the madness out of his ward.

            “No,” Hans said, eyes going to Elsa again, “She said full disclosure if I want to stay here. So here it is, my Queen—I was tortured. They put hot brands against my skin, here and here. They took my fingernails and toenails, but not before sticking knives under them. I was beat, starved, humiliated, and nearly drowned. I was made to sit in a hot cell with my own filth choking my nose and my mouth. And as if those things weren’t enough—,” Hans gripped the button of his trousers as best he could with his mangled fingers, about to reveal the last horror they were able to inflict.

            Egon’s fist banged into the side of Hans’ temple, and for a time, he knew nothing.

            Here in the dark, Hans could be glad that the veteran had knocked him unconscious before he could hastily alienate the Queen and humiliate himself more. When he had come to, Egon had replaced the clothes he had tried to discard and was conversing quietly with Queen Elsa. She told him that for the time being, he would be granted a room, clothes, and shelter until those men arrived who were supposed to take him back to the Southern Isles. Hans had stumbled out of the room with Egon’s support. The married couple was given a single room, both cleaning up nicely, neither looking much like the veteran and ex-whore they were. Linnéa had helped Hans bathe, the only one to do so, and Hans settled in to sleep in his Spartan room.

      

---

     

Anna had spent most of the day trying to avoid thinking about sleep. She spent most of the night trying to avoid it as well, but eventually succumbed. She dreamed more vividly of the freezing than she had the night before, or any night before.

            Her fingers as she had turned to ice had hurt as if they had been cut off, but still, she had raised her hand to the sword that was descending on Elsa. She froze solid just as the blade came down between two of her fingers, shattering it and throwing Hans back. Love will thaw. Love will thaw. Love will thaw. The dream deviated from memory just at the moment she was supposed to come back to life. Instead, a hand touched Elsa’s shoulder as she sobbed against Anna, and Elsa turned to him. Hans, though not as he was then, but as he was now, thin, disheveled, unkempt. His eyes held true sadness, and to Anna’s horror, he pulled Elsa close to him. The ice beneath her—her alone—cracked, and she began to sink to the depths of the fjord, but not before seeing the emotion leave Hans’ eyes for a cruel smile on his lips, a dagger poised at Elsa’s back.

            Anna sprang out of her bed, shaking, crying. Her sister’s voice from that afternoon—asking her what was wrong—came to her mind, and she was overcome with the urge to finally give the answer. The Princess ran from her room without quite meaning to, being drawn to comfort at last, like a child running to their mother in the night, afraid of what was under their bed. Her hand closed around the knob of Elsa’s door, found it locked. Fingernails scraping the wood, she jiggled the knob, knocked, and wept all at once. It took her sister barely a minute to answer the door, but when Elsa did, Anna flung herself inside, arms going to Elsa’s neck, tears welling up and breaking over in a virtual flood.

            “Wha—what’s wrong?!” Elsa asked, holding her sister, but alarmed and bewildered.

            “The dream…!” Anna managed past a sob, “Horrible! I was frozen again, but you and Hans were there! When I was supposed to unfreeze, I didn’t! I went through the ice, and when I did, I saw him holding you, holding a knife to your back!” Not noticing that Elsa had no idea what she was talking about, Anna continued: “We can’t let him stay here! He’s a snake, Elsa. He’ll worm his way into whatever he wants!”

            Elsa held Anna at arm’s length, Anna’s resolve to send Hans away having momentarily cut off her tears. The Queen made a face similar to Hans’ when he had reached for Elsa. Sad. Anna felt horrified. “No. Don’t look at me like that. This is what you wanted me to tell you. This is why I’ve been unlike myself; I keep dreaming of being frozen. I keep seeing you either leave, or get killed, or go insane. He’ll use you, Elsa, and throw you away when he’s done. That’s who he is. Please, please, just send him away…?”

            Again, sadness in Elsa’s eyes, “Anna,” she said, leading the two of them to the settee, “I haven’t forgotten what he did to you and tried to do to me. That’s not why I gave him a room to sleep in. I know it’s no comfort to you that I can forgive him, but it comforts me. I can’t explain it properly. I wish you had told me about the dreams when they first started. Maybe we could have talked about them, and it would have eased your mind somewhat. We can still do that. But don’t take it out on Prince Hans. He’s no more dangerous to me now than Sven or Olaf are. And as for him using me… I doubt that’s within him now. He’s changed—not for good or entirely, but definitely changed.”

            Confused and somewhat deflated, Anna asked, “How can you know that?” The sadness deepened on Elsa’s face until Anna was frowning, sadness creeping into her as well.

            “I can know that because of what his jailer told me… because his brothers castrated him…”

 

---

 

Egon was the first and only to knock on Hans’ door in the morning. The veteran was met a moment later by the ex-Prince, who looked relatively… better. The clothes given him by the Queen’s servants fit him well in length —perhaps slightly baggy—though they weren’t fine or princely. He had a pair of boots that fit his feet as well, allowing room for his still-healing toes, and Egon could almost justify a smile at the younger man. Something about the indifferent expression on Hans’ slightly refreshed face gave Egon pause in smiling. In fact, he simply stared at Hans until the latter, eyebrows rising, asked, “What?”

            Egon couldn’t just say what was on his mind: would the prison ever fade away in Hans’ mind, perhaps for something joyous; what did the ex-Prince have left to take pleasure in? However, Egon was fairly skilled at talking while preoccupied, and said, “Nothing. We’ve been asked to breakfast.” Hans nodded and continued out of his room, closing the door behind him. Egon’s eye caught that Hans had tied his hair smoothly at the nape of his neck, having let it part like he must have always done, and the tail end of it laid between his shoulders. Hans again caught Egon looking at him, and while he didn’t ask again, his expression did. “Nothing,” was Egon’s reply, followed by, “Just surprised you didn’t let Linnéa shear you. She does pretty good work.” Egon indicated his own hair with a wave and a smile, though by Hans’ unimpressed look, Egon decided he might not be the most prime of examples.

            “Who were we ‘asked’ to breakfast by?” Hans questioned, changing the subject. Egon let his eyes cut to the side before saying, “The Queen and Princess. One of the butlers already escorted my wife.”

            Egon followed after Hans, who had not looked pleased but walked along the hall with a returning, or never-lost grace, quiet in his own thoughts. Egon took the lead, knowing which dining room they were headed to, letting his mind wander over the woodwork of the castle again.

 

---

 

Anna was the first to the table, coppery hair pleated neatly and simply, resting down her front. She wore a simple, breathable summer dress in shades of green. The morning held some residual coolness from the night, so Anna’s shoulders were covered with a shawl of brown yarn, the muted colors fitting her mood well.

            Elsa entered the room and took her place at the head of the table, having had her maid gather all of her pale hair into a series of braids that kept all of the hair back and off of her neck; this, Anna guessed, being the reason the Queen was not the first to the table. Elsa’s blue ice dress was similar to the one she had fashioned first a year ago, though the skirt was heavier and had fullness at the hips that the other lacked. It never escaped Anna that Elsa had a fantastic creativity wherein even the minutest detail was given thought to. Perhaps all that time alone had allowed for an embellishing imagination.

            At any rate, Kristoff was next, escorting the wife of Hans’ former-jailer and now-savior, who to Anna had been introduced as Egon and Linnéa. The wife was dressed plainly but very cleanly. She’d applied a tasteful amount of gifted kohl to her eyes and rouge to her lips and cheeks, and the woman’s hair cinched in a chignon, cleaned to have a light luster, brown and slightly wavy. Anna might have said something about how well the woman looked, well-rested, but Kristoff, groomed and dressed as comfortably as Anna, set down next to her and kissed her cheek, hand on hers, familiar fresh smell of reindeer washing over her. A weight that she had held on her own in the night lifted, and she smiled happily at her fiancé. Kristoff returned the smile, bemused by the release of the tension in her, but glad, Anna supposed, to have her back to normal. And she was, almost. As promised, Elsa and Anna had spent time talking about the nightmares the night before, and just saying them out loud helped, Elsa listening with empathy.

            The four of them were seated and just beginning a small conversation on the weather when Egon and Hans arrived, former sitting by his wife and latter hovering at the end of the table. She looked at Hans in a different light, knowing now that he had, perhaps, bigger issues to overcome than one concerning duping Elsa and stealing away Arendelle. To be gelded by his brothers, betrayed by his family in such a way—Anna could pity him, feel sorry for him, but she wouldn’t weep for what had been done to him, nor had she forgiven him, but she could bear his presence. She could almost see a change in his temperament, like he was drawn in on himself. Without the auburn sideburns and a healthy weight, Hans was long-faced, with a jawline that cut sharp angles at the corners, and a frame that was meant for larger muscles. Green eyes cast down and off to the side, Hans folded himself into the seat at the end of the table.

            “Were the three of you comfortable in your rooms?” Elsa asked, softly breaking the silence. Anna let one of her hands squeeze Kristoff’s, liking the tangible tether to the present, but not necessarily needing it. Linnéa was the first to speak, red lips curving into a gracious smile, “We were, Queen Elsa,” she said, answering for her husband as well. Elsa’s eyes went from the married couple to the lone occupant of the end of the table. Hans cleared his throat and answered, “Yes, thank you.” Even his voice was altered, Anna thought, not in timbre but in mood. It held no more of the fake wonderment, held no smugness or lofty ambition it had when he had left her in that room, but was over and under different by being subdued.

            A regiment of servants filtered in the dining room just before more small talk could be made, and set platters down, most opening without steam or ado. The table was made for more than their sextet, so a butler remained behind after all the rest had filtered back out to move dishes from one end of the table to the other. Anna chose slices of skinke, egg, and susild, adding bread in where her plate was still bare. Everyone was served coffee, none refusing the hot drink, though Elsa and Egon chose to not to sweeten it at all with sugar or cream. Linnéa, however, made up for her husband in an almost comical fashion. She seemed to have the biggest stomach for breakfast, digging in with gusto that Anna didn’t understand; it was the rapid and indiscriminate pace one would set if they didn’t know when or where their next meal would come from. She also didn’t seem partial to speaking. After a few bites, Elsa began the conversation again.

            “Prince Hans—”

            “—Hans, your Grace. I was stripped of my title and disowned… If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d prefer just Hans,” the man at the far end interrupted. Elsa quirked a surprised eyebrow at him, nodded once, and amended, “I’ve decided to shelter Hans and his caretakers. I’ve sent guards to browse the arriving ships for those who might have come from the Southern Isles. If they find your bounty hunters, Hans, they’ve been instructed to put them back on an out-bound ship with a letter of entreaty from me and direction to give it to your eldest brother. If he responds well, I will grant the three of you asylum in Arendelle.”

            Anna saw the shadow of relief cross Hans’ face. Kristoff squeezed Anna’s hand this time, and she looked up into his warm brown eyes to find that they questioned her reaction. Anna nodded once to let him know that she approved. The bemused smile returned, but it was unstressed.

            “Egon, you and your wife may stay here in the palace, or, if you would like, we can settle you somewhere in the city. It was a worthwhile risk to free Hans, one that Anna and I feel you deserve to be rewarded for.” Linnéa had paused her rapid pace while the Queen had been speaking, her mouth free to smile, to say, “Can you imagine; a house, here?”

            Anna paid attention to the veteran’s reaction, seeing that while excitement touched his eyes, his wizened mind ruled, and the man asked, “Where will Hans be staying?”

            Elsa shifted, not for comfort, but to command more authority as she said, “I believe, with the uncertainty of his amnesty, that it is better if he remain here, in the castle.” Though it was logical, Anna hadn’t been as prepared for that as she might have hoped. The idea that Hans would be there daily was unsettling. Her hand must have gripped unconsciously, because Kristoff recognized her distress immediately, and asked without hesitation, “Is that wise? Should he be let loose to wander, or were you planning on keeping him guarded?” They were questions based on the worst-case scenarios, but Anna felt comforted to know that both her mind and Kristoff’s were in the same cautionary mindset.

            “I’ll stay, then,” Egon said quickly, which surprised Anna in a way, and surprised Hans even more. The ex-prince looked at his unlikely volunteer with an odd astonishment. Linnéa hid her disappointment under cheerful airs, “That would be lovely, your Grace.” The veteran smoothed a hand over his beard, saying, “Could I, Queen Elsa, be under your employ to keep an eye on Hans? I soldiered most my life, and I’ve still got the skill with the sword and the eye for trouble. My wife, I’m sure, would make a good maid here, if you’d allow it. We’d be honored for the chance.”

            Anna, though mostly quiet the whole meal, spoke up, saying with a smile, “You’re hired,” just before taking a bite of skinke and bread. The married couple seemed honest enough, and considering what trouble they faced if Elsa sent them back to the Southern Isles, Anna believed that neither would break trust. Elsa must have agreed, because she said nothing to the contrary. That—discussing the issue of room and boarding—done, the group finished breakfast in an uneventful manner.

 

---

 

Flaxen arrived on the same morning as Elsa held her public audience. He was even allowed into the castle to see it, though he paid as little attention to the words exchanged as the guards did to him. Four days relaxing on a boat agreed with him, and he looked no different from Arendelle’s working-class male population standing amongst the people as his targets past him going up their aisle. He took note of what they looked like, how the skinny fellow was tall and had reddish brown hair; how the other man wasn’t nearly as tall, but was built for strength, with grey hair and a grey beard, and the last was a woman who seemed awed by the entirety of the situation. When the Snow Queen ended the audience abruptly, Flaxen was one of the first to be ushered out. He spent the remainder of the day looking for ways into Arendelle’s castle, watching guard movements, and creating a map in his mind of the best route in and out. He had to continue his watch into the night, and rested up the following day, finding room for himself in a well-hidden brothel on the outskirts of the castle-town, having a good amount of money to pay a cheap whore for her bed and services throughout the day.

            Night fell on Arendelle—the same night Hans slept in an actual bed—and when the shadows were the longest and darkest, Flaxen was sneaking his bulk into the castle via a balcony and a grappling hook. Half-heartedly, the bounty-hunter hoped to find his primary target—the tall, skinny man—by simply poking his head around on the top floor, but gave up that notion quickly as he crept around the dark and quiet rooms and halls. He was steady on his feet, and the castle was in good repair. Soon, Flaxen was in the bowels of the castle, settling into a closet for the remainder of the night, planning how to capture the prisoner and escape Arendelle until he fell into a light sleep.

            Morning again, with the hustle and bustle about the castle, the same morning breakfast was served. Flaxen caught a rather large guard unawares and knocked him out, taking his clothes and leaving him in the closet. The bounty hunter fell into step easily, a chameleon of sorts, though he was at least doubly muscular over any other soldier. It took him perhaps an hour to discover that his target was in the dining room with the Queen and Princess, and another hour to see the thin man, bearded veteran, and the ex-whore of a wife leave the dining room. He followed them at a sedate pace, eyes sharp under his hat, brokering no suspicion. Flaxen followed them all the way to where the single man left the couple, apparently going to his own room. Well, he wouldn’t be there for long.

 

---

 

There wasn’t much to do, but he’d gotten used to that, rotting in a jail cell, over the past year. Hans pulled his perfectly fine bed apart, then set about to remake it, a task he could do without much of a mind, even if the bending and the tucking hurt his body and his hands. He had just returned the sheet to the mattress when there was a soft click of the handle unlocking, which caught his attention instantly. He didn’t have any time, however, between the first click and the second, wherein a big man wearing an Arendelle uniform had a crossbow strung, loaded, and aimed at the shocked ex-prince. The big man shut the door behind him, crossbow still trained on its target, and commanded Hans to, “Just keep yer mouth shut.”

            Panic forced Hans to comply, wide eyes not leaving the crossbow.

            “Yer the prisoner that dog Egon sprung from jail, aye? The one the Princes want back,” the big man asked, pale eyes narrowing, strong jaw setting, looking entirely menacing. Hans felt his heart slamming against its cage like a trapped bird, eager to escape certain death. His mouth couldn’t work past his tongue, which had seemed to sponge up the strangled scream of horror at having been found by one of their men. Though his mind was a storm of thoughts, he could do little more than stare at the bounty hunter in terror, leading the big man to chuckle at him darkly.

            “What they want you fer? Why, yer look like could be one of ‘ems buggering boys. Is that why they want you back? Got tired of them fancy lady wives an’ wanted a little piece of ass to play with? Well, whatever they want, they’re paying big fer bringing ya back to ‘em. Yer gonna be a good boy, aren’t ya, and come with me without a fight?” he asked, taunting Hans while being utterly condescending.

            The words cracked down into the fear like a bolt of lightning, igniting the urge to flee from this bounty hunter like dried grass in a forgotten field. Despite being weak and hurt beyond all undoing, Hans found the strength to fight again—a fight that he hadn’t lost, even as hands tried to beat it out of him. He would fight to run away, even if the only place he could run to was off the castle from a high ledge. The decision was made in a split second, and only the changing set of his eyes warned the bounty hunter. Without time to react other than pull the trigger, Hans rushed the big man, knocking the crossbow’s aim off, though the bolt lodged in his thigh, both falling into the door. Hans used the leg not pierced with the bolt to knee the man in the face, scrambling to get out into the hallway.

 

---

 

Egon and his wife returned to their room, speaking quietly about the new roles they would be assuming in the castle. She was surprisingly excited about being a maid, though when the veteran asked her about it, she came back with the startlingly frank, “Scrubbing pots and pans and sheets and dresses—easy work compared to selling your body.” He didn’t dare laugh until she did, though his was more out of surprise than out of a dismissal. The former trollop smiled, pressed her curves against him and tugged lightly on his beard. “I’m just happy to be by your side. You made an honest woman out of me. I just like the idea of honest work.”

            Their subsequent kissing had just reached the breathless level where both were hooking fingers around each other’s clothes when the very obvious sound of a man yelling for help reached their ears. Egon and his rather fearless wife rushed out of the room, into the hall, down a short flight of steps, both thinking the same thing: that the scream had come from Hans. A couple of soldiers were running from the opposite direction as Egon and Linnéa skidded to a halt.

            A man every bit as tall as Hans had a knife to the invalid’s throat, a wild glint in his eyes as he saw what ran towards him. The sight of the bounty hunter using Hans as a body shield set Egon’s blood to boiling, but he lacked a weapon, and the ex-prince was too firmly held in his grip, already wounded by an arrow to the leg and probably unable to fight back.

            “Back up! All of ya! Or I’ll slice him a pretty red necklace!” boomed out the voice. Hans had the look of a man who wanted to live as he held still, careful of the knife. Linnéa was quick to hurl insults and vulgarities like knives of her own, but was otherwise as impotent as Hans and Egon were. The soldiers were stopped as well, not willing to risk the prisoner’s life for a chance at the crook that held him.

            “You four stay right here, dammit! I’m going, and I’m taking him with me. Don’t make a move!” Edging back, the bounty hunter was forced to back down the hall with no idea where he was going. Egon waited until the pair had disappeared around the corner, and then ran after them, Linnéa and two soldiers hot on his heels. They didn’t catch up until all six were in one of the main halls.

            However, they need not pursue the bounty hunter and ex-prince any further.

            Queen Elsa of Arendelle had already separated prisoner from captor and had the big man pinned to the floor with ice encasing all four limbs, which despite vein-bulging struggles held better than the strongest steel. She stood apart from the sprawled Hans, looking somewhat alarmed. Aside from her ice gown, this was the first display of her magic that Egon had seen. As he helped Hans to his feet, he watched her disappear up the stairs with a slightly unsettled feeling chilling his old bones, knowing if he didn’t keep his word, there was little he could do to avoid being encased in ice and sent on his way. Whatever the soldiers planned to do to remove the bounty hunter, Egon and his wife didn’t stick around to see, taking Hans back to his room wordlessly.

Chapter Text

Olaf and Sven were never far apart. The closer the date of Anna and Kristoff’s wedding came, the more they seemed to be on their own. Not that Olaf couldn’t—or didn’t—have free range of the castle of Arendelle; he could go to see Anna or Elsa whenever he wanted, and roamed where he pleased. The issue with that, with Anna’s wedding one week away, was that they seemed so busy. Olaf would turn up, his personal snow flurry hanging over his head, and be good-naturedly bustled around. It didn’t hurt his feelings—a royal wedding that included trolls must be a nightmare to plan, logistically. So he would find a place to sit out of the way and enjoy the show.

            Most surprising to him was the arrival of Hans for the wedding. Given the way Anna’s last meeting with him ended, Olaf hadn’t thought he would be on the guest list. No one had explained anything, however, and Olaf had only seen Hans briefly, sitting in a bed with two strangers beside him in chairs—one had introduced himself as Egon later—and wondered how he was going to attend the wedding in a bed, since he never left it. But, alas, Olaf moved on to find something more entertaining.

            That afternoon, “more entertaining” was watching Kristoff having his wedding suit tailored. He was poked and measured and re-measured, and had to stand and model as the tailor made alterations.

            “So that’s what you’re wearing to your wedding?” Olaf finally asked, having a captive audience.

            “Um… yeah,” Kristoff answered, looking over his shoulder at the animate snowman. “It’s supposed to be ‘traditional,’ for the groom.”

            “I think you looked better when the trolls dressed you,” Olaf said, “Less like a white peacock.” 

---

Hans convalesced in bed, Linnéa being the most common fixture in his small room. A doctor had dressed his wound and showed the gentle woman how to do it as well, giving them a salve that was supposed to help keep it clean and close the wound. He slept most of the first day, part of the second, then sat in his bed uncomfortably through the third. The third day was also when Egon caught the ex-prince up on what had happened to the bounty hunter.

            The same day that the altercation happened, four guards from the Southern Isles were escorted from the docks to the castle. They had, they said, been sent by the Crown Prince to, if the bounty hunters found their target—a nameless prisoner who had been freed by a veteran named Egon—pay the men off and send word to Prince Dorian, permitting the prisoner to stay where he was. Queen Elsa received the communiqué they from the Elder Prince and, as Egon reported, was somewhat irked. She said that a letter was on its way back to Prince Dorian via the first two bounty hunters intercepted. “She’s letting two of the guards stay in Arendelle, but only so long as they stay in an Inn and be watched by her own people. The other two are taking Lumpy back to the Southern Isles. Your brother will probably get her letter before the guards make it back home.” Egon and his wife had taken to calling the bounty hunter “Lumpy” for no apparent reason—when asked, Egon said the man was just… lumpy. Hans was just happy that the big man was leaving, probably not to be let back into Arendelle, ever.

            After that update, Hans asked if anything else was happening in the castle. Egon was reluctant in saying, “Princess Anna’s wedding is in a week.” The veteran’s brown eyes hovered on Hans, trying to gauge his reaction. Hans wondered vaguely if it betrayed anything that he didn’t know he felt—any jealousy, any remorse, or any aggravation—because he was feeling particularly… numb. “Oh,” was his response.

            “She and you were engaged once, aye?” Egon asked. Hans looked at his…—well, Egon was perhaps the closest thing he had to a friend—before saying, “We were, though I was simply trying to marry into the Throne. Our engagement was a sham. I took advantage of how lonely Princess Anna was, and when I thought she was going to die, I left her to her fate. Then I tried to kill Queen Elsa. It would have all worked out for me if Anna had died—I would have had the kingdom all to myself—but she did not, and I did not kill Elsa. They sent me back to the Southern Isles, and… well, you know the rest.”

            Steadily, Hans met Egon’s saddened gaze, until the veteran looked away. “I do know the rest. And I knew all that, too, son.”

            “You hadn’t heard it from me, though,” Hans countered, having the veteran look at him again. Egon nodded, quiet for a moment before saying, “No. I hadn’t… Do you regret it?”

            Again, Hans was numb. His answer was the finale of the conversation, Egon leaving shortly after, subdued and seemingly unhappy;

            “Does it matter now?” 

---

After his fitting, Kristoff went down to the stables to see Sven, finding Anna there as well, though she didn’t notice him right away, too busy tickling Sven’s chin. Kristoff enjoyed the uninterrupted view, and when her back was turned to him, snuck in to surprise her and steal a kiss. Barely a squeak escaped her before their lips met, and even surprised, Anna kissed back with a breathtaking passion. In fact, both were somewhat panting when they finally pulled apart. It was an unspoken thought between the two: Not yet. One more week.

            The closer their wedding came, the more the pair seemed to have to tell themselves “not yet.”

            “How’s the dress fitting going?” Kristoff asked after a few exchanges of small talk, and some exchanges with Sven, including a carrot, that helped get their minds off kissing. Anna made a face, “You’d think that all the time I’ve spent having dresses fitted would’ve prepared me for this one, but it’s so different than anything I’ve ever worn before. Not to say it isn’t pretty. It is. But I’m starting to feel glad that I only have to wear it once… What about you? How’s the fitting going?”

            “Well, I guess. I’ve never had to deal that much with being poked and prodded. Olaf said I looked like a white peacock,” Kristoff laughed at the end of his sentence, though after said comment, Olaf had had to go and find something else to do. “He said I had looked better when the trolls had dressed me.”

            Anna’s turn to laugh; Kristoff had a harder time keeping his lips to himself when she laughed. She smiled and said, “That was so much easier than having it at the castle. No dignitaries to invite, troll or otherwise, and they did all of the work.”

            “We could go right now and probably be married before the sun sets,” Kristoff said, half-joking. Anna laughed again, but shook her head, copper hair catching the light of the lantern and the natural window lights. “Probably, but… Elsa wouldn’t be there. Besides, the guests are already on their way; it’d be rude to elope before they got here.”

            Kristoff had to agree that Anna was right, reminding himself that it was just one more week. He let Sven out of the stall and suggested the three of them go for a walk, out into the town or through the gardens. Between Anna and Sven, the gardens were chosen, and so off the trio went, Sven firmly keeping a bodily barrier between the two, perhaps playfully prudish. Kristoff wondered if it wasn’t his four-legged friend’s turn to find a member of the opposite sex. Maybe sometime after the wedding, Sven and he would go into the mountains again to see if any herds of reindeer roamed the great expanses. Anna and Kristoff had chatted easily about menial things throughout the walk, both having chances to make the other laugh, fingers sliding together in Sven’s fur as though by accident.

            Just one more week…

---

The following day—six days to the wedding—the first of the wedding guests arrived, a rather wealthy lordling and his widowed mother, who were welcome to either stay on their ship or take their pick of the suites of rooms in the Queen’s castle. Naturally, the pair found the castle a much more hospitable place. Their early arrival—considering that the lordship was only a day’s journey by boat—was due to a mistaken date on the invitation. The former lord had died in the same shipwreck that had killed Anna and Elsa’s parents, his life swallowed up in the waves with King Agnarr and Queen Iduna, so, naturally, the widow and son were invited to Anna’s wedding.

            Elsa entertained them briefly until Anna and Kristoff could receive them, and having nothing on her itinerary for the next few hours, found herself seeking less-traversed paths in the castle, the direction being towards the servants' quarters, being towards the place where Hans was convalescing. At first, she didn’t realize that she was doing it on purpose, just going there out of some unintelligible feeling; Elsa quickly recognized, however, that she really was going to see Hans, but couldn’t quite pick out what she was going to say.

            The day was bleak with a monotonous rain, subduing most everyone in the castle, including the Queen. That morning she’d dressed in a toned-down light-blue ice gown, feet clad in flat ice slippers rather than her normal heels, her hair pleated in the normal way. Summer needed the rain, she knew—rain grew the crops, crops fed the people, she led the people—but it was not nearly as comforting to her as snow. The gloomy, muddy mess that rain created seemed to only deepen the subdued feeling in the castle. Perhaps having rain so close to Anna and Kristoff’s wedding would ward off showers or storms on the wedding day.

            Halting her impromptu walk, Elsa stood at the corner between the main hallway and the one that led to Hans’ room, eyeing the corridor as though it might contain some harmful entity. It could, couldn’t it? She could continue down the hall and be back in her suite, stand in the doorway to her balcony and watch the rain fall for a while before her next scheduled item. It would be a soggy view, and the humidity would likely cling to her as tightly as a bodice, but it would less mentally taxing than what she entertained doing. Plucking up her resolve like it was a dropped glove, Elsa went down the hallway and knocked on Hans’ door, three beats, all firm.

            Linnéa answered the door, eyes widening at the sight of the Queen in the doorway. At such a close distance, Elsa discerned that the woman had brown eyes, lighter than Kristoff’s by several shades, and that while few lines marred the adult face, there were pronounced feet at the corners of her eyes, and the beginning of a line near her brow. Elsa guessed that she was in her early to mid-thirties, though Linnéa’s husband was a man of at least forty, if not mid-forties. It crossed Elsa’s mind to ask this woman about her life, but right then was not the time.

            “Hullo,” Elsa said, not yet granted access into the room. Linnéa had frozen in the doorway, unmoving. The woman answered with a very similar tone, saying, “Hullo,” as if she were shocked.

            “I was hoping to speak to Hans, Mrs.… Linnéa, and I was hoping I could do so alone. Would you be so kind as to allow us some privacy?”

            Linnéa moved quite quickly as she sidestepped the doorway, saying, “Pardon me, Your Grace. Of course you may.”

            When Elsa had entered past her, Linnéa made her exit, shutting the door behind her. Elsa’s eyes went to Hans, who sat propped up against pillows, legs under the covers, a plain shirt covering his upper half. The auburn hair that had been tied back from his face each time she’d seen him was now lose and fell in thick waves behind and around his shoulders. He was looking back at her with a passive askance, expectant, perhaps. Elsa went to the set by his bed, where Linnéa had left some sort of mending or embroidering, which the Queen moved, and composed herself in the chair. Though she meant to speak first, no words came to mind, and she stared in silence at the patterns in her skirt.

            “Why did you stop that man, Queen Elsa?” Hans asked in a quiet voice, prompting the monarch to look up and into green eyes. She couldn’t answer right away, and when the stare-down reached an intolerable length, Hans was the first to look away. Finally, she found words that were not charged with her own emotions. “I said I would shelter you until your elder brother arrives. That man meant to either do you harm or make off with you, back to your other brothers. It would reflect poorly on me if I did not keep my word.”

            Hans was again meeting the Queen’s gaze, steadily, and held for a moment after she stopped her explanation, face almost unreadable, before simply nodding. They went another long moment without speaking. Elsa ventured a question of her own: “How’s your leg?” Though both were tucked under the blankets, she could see that one was raised up, perhaps on a pillow. He answered without looking at it, without looking away from her, “It will be fine. My threshold for pain has gotten higher in the last year.” Green eyes still on her, expecting something: a reaction from her.

            Elsa didn’t look away for a moment, and her face stayed quite expressionless for that time. Her mind was trying to conjure up some image of the torment faced by this man, his words about being beaten, whipped, drowned, having his fingernails and toenails removed, being hung, repeating in her head. She looked down all of a sudden, unwilling to show that she pitied him. That she was somewhat guilty at having been the one to send Hans back home. How could she have known that his brothers were such vicious beings? Well, she’d had one example, but to think that a family existed where thoughts twisted to violence and misplaced vengeance—even to one of their own—was incomprehensible.

            “Egon told, didn’t he?” Hans asked Elsa. She pretended to be confused when she looked up, but when she caught sight of his serious expression, she let that drop. Elsa answered with a nod.

            Tension visibly drained from the ex-prince, though Elsa wondered if it wasn’t defeat that hunched his wide shoulders. “He told just after he knocked you out. He also told me what else happened to you, and while I won’t ask you about it, I wanted you to know… that I know.”

            “And you? Did you tell anyone else? Anna? Kristoff?”

            “Anna. I had to, though I didn’t reveal everything.”

            Elsa had looked at the lamp when she lost the nerve to look at Hans. The steady illumination was easy on her eyes, and the flame in the globe flickered slowly. The quiet between them signaled the end, Elsa thought, to their talk, and she made the move to get up off the chair and leave. His voice reached out to grab her as surely as a hand would have.

            “You could have let him take me,” he said, “No one would have blamed you.”

            The words hit her with the immediate effect of making her quietly, coldly angry. Her eyes narrowed as she turned, and though she was completely in control, the temperature in the room dropped so that both hers and Hans’ breath hung in the air. “If I wanted you dead, it would be well within my power to do so. If I wanted you tortured, I’m sure I could come up with something on my own. You said it yourself that the punishment was mine alone to deal out. I’ve already decided not to punish you, but you can call it a debt to me that keeps you safe under my domain.”

            With that, Elsa left Hans, quick stride making for a fast track back to her rooms. In a fit of rather explosive anger, she slammed the door shut behind her, icy touch making a sheet of ice blossom up and down the woodwork like climbing vines. It only served to make her more irritated. She wanted to be on the North Mountain again, able to let her powers fly and spare Arendelle. As it was, she could only walk through her sitting room into her bedroom, grab one of the pillows and scream into it until she was almost blue in the face. The exercise didn’t release all of her tension, but it left her rather breathless as she flopped back on the bed, un-lady-like.

            “‘You could have let him take me,’ he says,” Elsa mocked, trying to release the last of her aggravation, “‘No one would have blamed you.’ So, why not? Why not let some ruffian thief steal you back to your brothers? They surely wouldn’t have stuck you in a nice room with a bed, given you clothes, fed you…! I would have blamed me!” It surprised her to hear it come out of her mouth, so much so that while her brain continued on, her mouth did not.

            It would have weighed on her mind that she had let someone go back to that kind of maltreatment. Even if that someone was an enemy once, she… she didn’t wish that on him. She hadn’t wished it when she had sent Hans back to his brothers. There had been a corner of her mind where the guilt had lived that believed she had had a hand in his “death.” And to think, no one would have blamed her if she sent him back? Were there so few caring individuals in her kingdom? It hadn’t seemed like it when she made an ice-rink out of the courtyard, but, then again, wasn’t it the mob’s prerogative to be influenced into revolting madness by pretty words? If she asked each person, “Would you send him back so that his brothers could torture him daily until he died; until he was used and spent and broken? Would you do the same to me if I ever made a terrible mistake again?” she wondered that she would get “no” across the board, but if she were to ask these questions of a crowd, wouldn’t all those no’s become yeses?

            Perhaps Prince Dorian would take Hans off her hands, and she would be able to go on thinking that she had no further role in any mistreatment. That would be the optimal situation; right up until someone delivered another note telling of his death…perhaps with a head for good measure. Worst-case scenario, she told herself, but, then again, hadn’t the worst-case happened to Hans already. Death had not stopped his living hell.

            How complicated, all of it.

            Throwing herself into a wedding preparation seemed the safer and easier choice. Elsa left her bedroom, shutting the door as resolutely as she shut off the thoughts pertaining to her prisoner and his future. She thawed her other door easily, picturing Anna, as she always did, just after love had thawed her out. The words were there in her heart, an anchor for when her emotions overwhelmed her: “You sacrificed yourself, for me?” to which her brave little sister replied, “I love you.” 

---

Five days before the wedding, a rather ugly incident occurred, involving Linnéa and another maid as they were working on the laundry. The head-butler was the first to brave the flying fists and raging tempers, pulling the women apart as a schoolmaster might, disapproving robustly and making a good barricade of himself. Since he could get neither a coherent answer nor a non-obscene one from either woman, he sent them off to their corners of the castle and said that should either be caught fighting again, they could both find some other place to work.

            Fuming, Linnéa sought refuge in the quiet room where Hans made a few passes at walking on his injured leg. When she barged in, he seemed rather shocked. For the most part, Hans had never seen Linnéa angry, and it did not escape him that she was capable of being entirely frightening. Though, after a good couple of seconds of having had the door closed, the woman burst into tears. Totally bewildered, Hans could only stand and watch as the woman cried herself out. When she was little more than sniffles and shaky attempts at deep breaths, Linnéa took a few steps to sit on Hans’s bed. Hans took the chair after a minute of indecision.

            “What is it?” he asked, confusion still working his brain. In a weak voice, Linnéa tried, “M’not welcome here.” Her head snapped up, brown eyes almost green with how red they’d become, and she tried to clarify, adding, “Not that that’s what got me upset.”

            “What did cause you to be so upset?”

            Linnéa let out a breath, the shake having gone out of her, “I used to make money lying down—whoring, you know. I was a girl when my ma died of consumption, and the only lady what would take me in and feed me was a Madam for a brothel. I did what I had to. I survived. I’m not ashamed of that.” She took a minute to decide where she was going with the story, it seemed. Hans’ thoughts turned to the few whores he’d lain with before his brothers made him a half-man, and he felt a disturbing connection to them. If they did what they did to survive, he knew how it felt. Linnéa continued, “I was washing clothes, minding my own, and I feel something stuck to my back…” Twisting where she sat, the ex-whore showed Hans a red W dead center on her back, tacked with tar, then returned to how she had been. “It wasn’t what got my goat, so to speak. I can handle the snickers and the disapproval. Wearing what I was isn’t something I won’t do proudly. The bitch—the maid, I mean, didn’t get her rise like she was hoping for, so she started talking down to me—like that hasn’t been tried. I didn’t hit her until she called Egon a sorry-boy-buggering-get and you a sniveling, conniving coward.”

            Hans could feel his face responding to the words, the pull of his eyebrows together and up, the widening of his eyes, and the press of his lips together. She smiled a little, saying, “I know what you did, but I like you all the same. Not everyone gets a second chance. Anyhow, I popped her in the mouth for saying those things about you and Egon because neither of you deserves that. I still wasn’t very upset because I’ve fought plenty of angry women, and a few men, too, and came out alright. Sure, I was calling her every name I could think of, but I was only angry, not upset. The butler, now he’s the one who got me; said that if we got in another fight, we’d be finding another place to work. What a trap. I’ll fight anyone who calls my husband names.”

            Linnéa paused to reach out and take one of Hans’ hands, stubs of fingernails the only evidence that he had them at all. She pet the top with such affection that Hans almost pulled it back from her out of embarrassment. “I’d fight them for saying things about you, too. I know I’m not quite old enough, but I suppose you’ve become the son me and Egon never could have.”

            Hans did pull his hand back with those words, feeling the urge to run from Linnéa, but knowing he’d only collapse in the room and have to have her help him up. “But… you’ve known me barely two weeks. I am a man, not a boy, and you might be… ten years older than I am?”

            This wasn’t the reaction she was hoping for, evidently, though one she might have expected, “You’re right, Hans. I only meant that you’re dear to both me and my husband. Like family.”

            “Get out,” Hans said, calm on the outside, “Get out, now, please.”

            Linnéa stared at the ex-prince in a stricken way, but finally did move toward the door, looking back to him just before slipping out. When she was gone, Hans felt as chilled as he had when Elsa left, the day before. His eyes were on the wall opposite, back rigid in the chair.

            “Like family.” What did he want with family? He never asked for Egon’s help, nor for Linnéa’s, but help from them flowed forth in leaps and bounds. They’d broke him out of prison, ended the cycle of cruelty at his brothers’ hands, and brought him to the one place that he might actually get fair treatment. He didn’t want their charity. He didn’t want Egon’s protection. He didn’t want Linnéa’s pity. He didn’t want to be in debt to them, too.

            Denied death, denied freedom, Hans wondered if anyone would deny him strong mead. He’d never been a particularly heavy drinker, but so few releases were available to him now. Impotently, he sat on the chair and wallowed in misery and self-pity.

---

Two days left before the wedding, and a ship sailed into the Arendelle’s harbor, its flag the distinctly recognizable colors of the Southern Isles. It caused quite a stir docking so boldly at the port. Gossip was that one of the princes had come to seek Elsa’s hand and attend the wedding. They didn’t realize that Prince Dorian was already married, nor did they know that he was there only because Bent and Dodgy had returned with letters from Elsa about holding Hans until he came himself, the other brothers to be left at home.

            The Heir-apparent and a set of similarly loyal guards rode off the planks on horseback. Dorian’s steed was the very same that Hans had lost when he was returned to the Southern Isles in disgrace. Though the horse moved when driven forward, turned when prompted by the bit, the elder prince could tell that it disliked him. It had a restive step when given the chance, and Heaven forbid it ever got its head. They met two of the guards he had sent after Flaxen and the others near the market.

            When asked, they said they had been instructed to stay while the other two escorted a bounty hunter back to the Southern Isles, as directed by Queen Elsa of Arendelle, per the similar direction from himself. Dorian let it hit him again that his youngest brother was alive, there, in that castle.

            An octet, seven guards and himself, Dorian and his men, rode to the outer gates of the castle of Arendelle. They were asked to state their business, Dorian answering that he had come for an audience with the Queen. As expected, someone ran off inside, leaving the octet under the watchful eye of perhaps a dozen of Arendelle’s finest. It took perhaps ten minutes for the call to be made to open the gates to Prince Dorian of the Southern Isles.

---

Anna and Kristoff stationed themselves in the stables, emissaries to meet the eldest prince. They would allow the men to stable their steeds, straighten themselves up, and then the pair would lead the octet to where Elsa waited in the same hall that she had received Prince Dorian’s brother.

            The first thing Anna put to words in her mind about the Heir was that he looked just like Hans. Older, yes, with flecks of gray standing out in his otherwise auburn temples and mustache, the vigor of youth not as strong as in his younger brother, but looking very similar indeed. He rode the same horse Hans had almost knocked her into the port-waters with, and when he brought it to a stop, the animal shied and danced a little, tossing its head as Dorian made haste to dismount. When the prince was on the ground, he led the horse into a stall and closed the door, shaking his head at the antics of the animal.

            “Prince Dorian,” Anna said, calling his attention to her, “I am Princess Anna, and this is my fiancé, Kristoff Bjorgman. The Queen will see you in the audience hall.” The prince left the stall and stood a few feet from her, then bowed, and when he looked up, she saw that his eyes were more brown than his brother’s, but still somewhat green. “Thank you, Princess Anna and Kristoff Bjorgman.”

            Disquieted by how gentlemanly the eldest brother was, Anna and Kristoff led him out of the stables and up into the castle with very few words. When they arrived in the audience hall, the couple went past the guards meant to keep the Prince and his men back from the dais where Elsa was sitting. Anna saw the hint of a smile on Elsa’s face as the couple passed her to stand on the right side of the throne. She returned it and faced the elder prince again. He looked at the audience hall somewhat awed, which almost made Anna laugh. The audience hall was already mostly decorated for Anna and Kristoff’s wedding, its gables dressed up with flowering vines and streamers of the kingdom’s colors. It made the hall seem monstrously big and lively, soft drafts from high up making the streamers and vines dance.

            “Good afternoon, Prince Dorian,” Elsa said, capturing the heir’s attention, until it seemed Dorian would never look away from the Queen. He had the same awed expression looking from the ceiling to Anna’s sister. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Queen Elsa,” he finally responded, bowing again.

            “I assume that you received my letter,” Elsa stated. She’d fashioned quite the dress for this meeting, the neckline of the dress encrusted with jewel-like ice crystals, with a high collar that was only possible because she had pulled her hair all up off her neck. The dress swept down, gossamer in shades of blue, showing only her toes at the bottom, a train pooling to one side of her feet. It was stately and impressive.

            “I did, indeed, Your Majesty, four days ago, almost to the hour. You said my youngest brother Hans is alive, and that you were providing shelter for him?” It sounded as though, to Anna, that Prince Dorian was truly excited by the prospect. He had had nothing to do with Hans’ torture, then? He was one of the many who had been duped by the fake hanging into believing that his brother was dead? Wouldn’t it be a shock, then, to see just how terrible Hans appeared now?

            “Egon,” Elsa called, “You can come out now.”

            The door opened on the left side of the dais, and the gray veteran walked out rather slowly, pausing a few paces away, hands crossing behind his back. Hans moved slowly, Egon’s wife right behind him as he walked on a cane forward, into view. Anna didn’t miss the look of sheer horror as it built on Dorian’s face. She tried to imagine how Hans must look to his brother: thin, weak, strange without his long sideburns. In all honesty, Hans looked better now than he had when he had first arrived. The color had returned to his face, and the shallow, desperate look to his eyes had been replaced with simple tiredness. He’d gained weight, but not so much that he really looked healthy. He just didn’t look as emaciated. But this was the worst that Dorian had seen, and it terrified him, Anna thought.

            “Wh—what have they done to you?!” the elder brother cried out. Anna and Elsa both knew that he wasn’t talking about them; the “they” was Hans and Dorian’s brothers. As horrified and distressed as the older brother seemed, the younger brother gave little indication that he was moved by the display, standing in place with Egon on one side and Linnéa on the other, all three the picture of understated misery. “Hans?” Dorian asked, his frown deepening.

            “Your Grace,” Hans began, turning to Elsa, “Could my brother and myself be excused to speak in private?” It was a polite request, but Anna could hear that Hans’ voice was calculatedly bridled, as though he really meant to shout at any moment. She looked to Elsa, who had heard the same thing.

            “You may. There is a room on the other side of the door, to the right, I believe, that should work well. We will leave you to it.” Elsa stood, and the audience was over. Dorian’s guards would be left waiting elsewhere, and the rest of the group would likely adjourn to one of the dining rooms. Anna, though curious about what the exchange would be like, left quickly with Kristoff, Elsa, Egon, and Linnéa. 

---

Dorian went through the door first, his escort sent to a wing of halls close to the room the pair of brothers went through, and Hans followed him. He went into the room on the right, thoughts half on Queen Elsa and half on his brother. For starters, the Queen was every bit as beautiful as Hans had described, a year earlier. She had been as impressive as her colloquial title: “the Snow Queen,” but certainly a fairer maiden he had never beheld in his life. Were he not a happily married man, and were he a few years younger, he would have fallen to one knee and begged her to be his wife. Thank his lucky stars that he was not prone to such humiliating gestures. Secondly, and the larger part of his mind was preoccupied with it, Hans was a shadow of a man he had known. It seemed Death had him in His skeletal hand, and had sucked the life out of him. In his mind, Dorian couldn’t equate such a change with the punishments handed out by his younger brothers.

            Dorian ignored most things about the room—what its purpose was, what sort of furniture it held, what the light looked like coming through the drapes—and focused again upon his brother. Such a slight figure in comparison to a year ago, and so gaunt without the facial hair Dorian was used to, and so tired were his brother’s eyes, why, he walked on a cane. Why?

            On impulse, the Heir closed the space between himself and his brother and wrapped him in a warm hug. Hans stiffened immediately, but did not lift a finger or an arm to either push him away or hug Dorian back. Surprised, he drew back, face overflowing with the stung emotion, then with confusion.

            “Do not touch me,” Hans said, an answer for the surprise and confusion, “Do not—ever. Move away from me, now. Go stand by the windows.” If Hans had been speaking in a haughty way, Dorian would never have complied, but the only variations in his brother’s voice sizzled with anger. Unsettled, Dorian moved away on his own, standing by the windows. Hans took a seat in the chair closest to the door, moving slowly on an injured leg.

            “What have they done to you, Hans?” Dorian asked again, less horrified and more mortified. He would have liked to been locked in a room with the old, brattish Hans than this version. The younger of the two looked away from his brother for a moment, no emotion crossing his face. When he looked up again, and when he spoke, he looked and sounded on the verge of shouting, “Why didn’t you stop them hanging me?”

            “Are you blaming me for this?” Dorian asked, shocked. Hans jerked his head once in a nod, adding, “Yes! You had it in your power to revoke their judgment. You could have had Father do it—”

            “Do you think I knew they planned to fake your death? I griev—”

            “I don’t care what you thought might happen to me! They were going to KILL me, Dorian! You let them KILL me, and did nothing about it! And do not act as if you didn’t have the power to stop them. We both know that to be horseshit.”

            Dorian grimaced, anger and indignation pulling up from his toes. He pressed his lips together tightly, almost too angry for words, almost. “What makes you think at that point I wanted to stop your execution?”

            Such a response surprised Hans, apparently, because he finally looked somewhat hurt. It quickly simmered down into a rage in his eyes. Dorian continued, “I went to talk to you that day to decide if you were worth sparing. All I heard were the words of a man with no soul. You seemed wicked, devious, and incapable of emotions that could redeem you. I may not have wanted you dead, Hans, but I didn’t oppose it because you were lost to me.”

            Though Hans’ mouth worked, for a minute, there was quiet between them. Anger brought something of the old Hans to life again. To know he was angry was a relief to Dorian, who thought that perhaps Hans was homicidal. Finally, aforementioned murderous brother opened his mouth and spoke, “Do you know what it’s like to be hung by a noose?”

            Hans touched his neck for a moment, not looking at Dorian, who had no answer for him, “Despite their mechanizations to keep my neck from being broken, our brothers left it perfectly possible to feel strangled. I was marched up on top of the gallows—a walk that no man should survive—and then made to stand gagged as the crowd looked up at me being fitted with the noose. The executioner had been paid off and taught how to properly align the noose and the harness I was fitted with, and did so. The floor was dropped out, and what I felt wasn’t my neck breaking, but the burn of the rope on my skin, and the helplessness of being choked slowly. I blacked out after about ten minutes, all of which I had been barely able to take a breath. When I came to, I had been put in a prison cell. That’s where they exacted the rest of their punishments. I would have preferred to die on the gallows, looking back on it now.”

            The silence again reigned unchecked in the room. Dorian didn’t know what to do to respond. His mind wheeled around the words that still hung in the air. Hans had wanted to die? Hans had lived through “punishments” that their brothers had devised? The feeling came over him that he wanted to walk over to where Hans sat and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. He wouldn’t dare now, though.

            “I’m…” Dorian began, “If I knew that they would have faked your death to torture you, I would have stopped it all, Hans. I’m sorry, really and truly. Even though it’s very little and very late, I’m sorry I let them hang you. I’m sorry I didn’t see what they were capable of. I can’t ask for your forgiveness—I don’t think I deserve it…”

            The elder prince did move across the room, but it was to drop to eyelevel with his brother in the chair, a couple of feet away from him. “It’ll get out that you’re still alive. I can revoke my own punishment, and ban any further actions by the princes, but I doubt that you’ll ever be able to return to the Southern Isles without one of our brothers attacking you again. Stay here in Arendelle as long as you can. I will send a ship with the possessions, or their equivalent, that we took from you. You’ll have your title back, if you want it. Let me do this for you, Hans,” Dorian said, “Reparations.”

            “Do what you please,” Hans said, stabbing the cane onto the floor and standing in a less-than fluid motion. He went to the door as Dorian stood straight, then looked back at his brother, “Princess Anna’s wedding is two days away. You should stay for the sakes of my hosts. Perhaps pay for my room and board with that ship full of possessions.”

            Dorian watched as Hans’ form escaped the room in a shuffling amble. When he was gone, the Heir put his hand to his face and tried not to be overcome with sadness. 

---

It was the evening before the wedding, and the castle was conspicuously quiet. Kristoff was down in the stables, having a last minute spell of giddy nervousness. He’d never had so many things be so right for him, and the fact that he was getting married the next day, to Anna… it was stupid to be nervous, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t name what he was nervous about, either. He knew Anna loved him. He knew that he loved her and wanted the marriage, but… but. Nothing. Kristoff had the jitters, was all. Sven watched this in his usual manner, and when Kristoff provided him a voice, Sven made the appropriate facial gestures. All in all, it was helping exponentially.

            Until someone threw a bag over his head and dragged him off. 

---

In another part of the castle, Anna was having her own pre-marital jitters. The wedding she wasn’t so much worried about. It was the wedding night that had her pacing the floor, holding her stomach, and making faces. Olaf was her only audience, and the snowman sat on the floor like a child, large eyes blinking as he followed her progress.

            Anna guessed that he didn’t understand. A wedding night to a snowman was probably like any other night. Olaf hadn’t been born of a snowwoman—Elsa had created him. Some of her anxiety came from her naivety, because the explanations of Part A fitting into Part B hadn’t been illustrated. In fact, one of her governesses, when she was young and… flowering… had scared her about how it would hurt, and it wasn’t really for her, but for him, and… Olaf continued to watch her pace and make faces as she let her worries and her happiness duel in her head. Marrying Kristoff would be a-dream-come-true, but what would happen when they shared a bed that first night?

            Anna was so preoccupied that she was caught totally unawares by the bag also being dropped on her head.

---

When the stuffy, dark sack was pulled from Kristoff’s head, he was somewhere dark. There was no light to see by at first, which made the quick movements of someone backing away from him feel ominous and ghostly. There was a sound like someone catching their foot and stubbing their toes, then the sound of them swearing quietly, and more whispers as whoever else was in the darkness shushed the noisy party.

            “What is this?!” Kristoff yelled, “What’s going on?!!”

            A light on a torch suddenly appeared, far down the hall, and as it bobbed steadily closer, Kristoff felt the already-flayed nerves tighten in tune to horror. The thing carrying the torch looked like a figure made entirely of fur. It came closer, ragged breathing echoing in its maw and in the room. Kristoff decided this was it. He was going to die. 

---

Anna’s bag was not removed as she was secured to a chair. She had been gagged over the bag, as her propensity for fighting and screaming had nearly sounded the alarm in the castle. The bag was too dark to see more than hasty silhouettes dancing back and forth in her vision, lighted by a vaguely green lantern light. Beneath the bag, she started a fast verbal assault of questions.

            “Who are you? What do you want from me? Do you know who I am? Do you know who my sister is? You picked the wrong Princess to mess with, buddy! You should send me back to Arendelle right now. Otherwise, she’s gonna bring an eternal winter—” The bag was quickly snagged from Anna’s head, and her words teetered out of her mouth, “down… on…” 

---

Kristoff was blinded as the one torch suddenly sprang into a dozen more, with the lights of the room he was in being lit up brilliantly and simultaneously. Roaring laughter disoriented him more, to the point that when he opened his eyes, he still didn’t know what was going on.

            “Surprise!” yelled a chorus of male voices. His genius reply was, “What?”

            “It’s your Stag Party!” yelled a rather rowdy British wedding guest. The first face he recognized was the face of Egon, who seemed to have been the man in the fur. “Come on, Bjorgman! It’s your last night of freedom, aye?! We’ve got to make sure you know what you’re missing!” 

---

“Down… on…” Anna blinked, and blinked, and almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Women, most of whom she didn’t know, and a few she did, were costumed most ridiculously, all looking at her with big smiles.           “Bring an eternal winter down, huh? Elsa asked, her costume mostly ridiculous because it was a passable imitation of a red monkey. “Would you settle for liquor and a few games, Anna?”

            “What is this?” Anna asked, blown-away but already having a good time. She was answered not by Elsa, but by Linnéa, who had already gotten into the liquor: “This is a Hen’s Night, Highness! Your sister and your wedding guests thought to celebrate your last night as a maiden and give you a proper send off!” 

---

The sunrise of the morning of the wedding found both bride and bridegroom deliciously and regretfully hung-over. In one room, Kristoff rolled out of bed, literally, and felt perfectly green, remembering bits and pieces of the night before as if they were pages of a picture-book flipped too fast. In another, Anna held the chamber-pot against her stomach, feeling dry from head to toe, but particularly like the room rotated around the porcelain epicenter. It took the servants several tries to pry both from where they felt the safest. In both cases, they told themselves that the lessened inhibitions weren’t worth the trouble; they’d never dabble in alcohol again.

            The servants dressed the couple in their separate rooms, knowing that the wedding march would begin at noon, and plied the pair with all manner of cures, time-proven-remedies, and a few superstitious chants over water. In the end, it was Pabbie and Bulda who came to the rescue. What else could magically fix the dehydration of alcohol but trolls?

            As noon approached, the wedding guests gathered in the chapel and in the audience hall. Not a one of the guests could suppress their awe for long. As hot as the summer day was already outside, it was pleasantly cool in the castle; Queen Elsa had worked a little ice magic in the night, adding wondrous ice sculptures to the gables where the vines and streamers had been hung. Perfect snowflakes and abstract designs gave the impression that the summer and the winter met not in spring and autumn, but as old friends, able to co-exist in a tangled, loving manner.

            The guests were all seated, and at the precise moment that the music started up, the doors were opened by Olaf and Sven. The snowman and reindeer were greeted with laughter and a round of applause as they—for lack of a better word—frolicked down the aisle, sprinkling flower petals in whatever fashion they could. The music played them up to the front where both took to standing off to one side and the other. Next, the first of the groomsmen and bridesmaids, Egon and Linnéa, walked together to the end of the chapel, standing on the floor like bookends. The next pair was also a married couple, who had been to Elsa’s coronation and had just missed the eternal winter episode last year. The woman, about Elsa’s age, was their cousin on their father’s side, King Agdar’s sister’s daughter, and had a story all on her own. The man, whom Kristoff had met only the night before, had been very much a part of his wife’s story, and it was to their wedding that the Arendelle royals had shipwrecked four years ago. Both the man and the woman were fast friends of the present couple, and took their places on the first step of the altar, bookends as well. Lastly came the Queen, escorted by Grand Pabbie himself, dressed in a fine gown that matched the other two bridesmaids, which was of the cloth variety. It was a tasteful sacrifice so as not to outshine Anna’s, and though Elsa didn’t look horrible, the dress did its best to make her plainer. Pabbie and Elsa stood on the same step as the second married couple, not really bookends in any sense.

            Kristoff was the second to last to appear. He did not look as much like a white peacock as Olaf had suggested, but was far more regal than he had ever appeared. His blonde hair was combed neatly; face shaved clean, brown eyes alight with excitement. As the music hit a particular note and Kristoff was positioned on his mark, the whole crowd held their breath and turned to look at the doors.

            Anna floated into view, happiness unable to be held by gravity. She was a vision in the purest white, the gown made in a halter-style, the collar of which clasped around Anna’s throat, becoming a fine webbing of lace on her arms. Though it chilled her somewhat, the dress was encrusted with tiny ice crystals, which shimmered with every step she took towards Kristoff. Her skirt was folds and folds of lace, and here and there, a green light peeked out, gems from the trolls. She could have been wearing the trolls’ wedding gown as much as it mattered to her, though. What mattered was the man standing at the end of the chapel, beaming at her. How silly it was to walk and not run.

            She reached the end, and what began with “Dearly Beloved,” blurred into happy, happy moments. Somewhere in the middle, she started crying happy tears. Kristoff’s eyes watered nearly constantly. The rest of the crowd seemed moved, too, and here and there came a sniffle. Naturally, Sven and Olaf were the loudest about their proud weeping. It took nothing away from the ceremony, and when that was done, the crowd carried the newlyweds into the audience hall to break ceramic plates, a tradition to banish evil or jealous spirits, which no Arendelle wedding would feel complete without.

            The couple had a few hours to mill about in the audience hall, take congratulations, and accept wedding gifts. Dancing and music took over the occasion over and over again, until just before a usual dinner might be served, the crowd put Kristoff and Anna onto Sven and paraded them out of the castle and down to the docks, where their own vessel awaited to take husband and wife on their honeymoon.

            Tears and laughter were shed and shared, and when it came time to leave, Anna held Elsa the longest, then got on the boat with a cheerful wave. Elsa and most of the guests waited on the docks until Anna and Kristoff were too small to see well anymore before turning back and walking up to the castle. Bells rang as the party returned to the courtyard, where the trolls thanked Queen Elsa for hosting them and took their leave.

            Several other guests disembarked, including Crown Prince Dorian of the Southern Isles. He took Queen Elsa aside to tell her what he had decided for Hans, offering her quite a few incentives for hosting the soon-to-be-reinstated prince until Dorian could deal with their brothers accordingly. She began to argue that Dorian could just take his brother back with him, but the Crown Prince would hear none of it, finally saying that he didn’t think Hans would ever be safe in the Southern Isles, nor would he ever enjoy his homeland again. “Too much has happened to him there,” Dorian said, “Please, Queen Elsa, host him a while longer, and when he is safe to leave, send him somewhere nice.”

            She thought about her words, several days ago, about how Hans owed her a debt, and gave her answer: “I will host your brother… for now. I expect the things you’ve offered for his keeping within this season and the next.”

            “Thank you, Your Grace,” Dorian said, with a sad but relieved smile, “One more thing—,” he removed an envelope from his jacket and held it out to the Queen, “—Would you make sure Hans gets this? I don’t think he’ll want to say goodbye to me. No fond hugs, I’m afraid.”

            Dorian left quickly after that, taking his men with him and leaving one restive dun-colored horse in the stables and hoping that his brother would read his letter. 

---

Hans had been at the back of the chapel briefly during the wedding, not sure why he had done so, other than having a sort of closure. Despite his schemes and meddling, and despite his incursion into their lives, it seemed to him that Princess Anna and Queen Elsa lived and thrived as though he hadn’t at all. The idea that his best attempt at obtaining a throne had amounted to being tortured for a year and castrated, only to be seemingly forgotten as though he never existed, left a bitter taste in his mouth. Was it that he wanted to have touched their lives in some lingering way? From his vantage point, which was terribly narrow and selfish, nothing he had done in his life had had an impact. He had returned to his room before the vows were completed, and drank two appropriated bottles of cold glogg before passing out on his bed. He felt as empty as he ever had, only now, he had no idea how to fill the void.

Chapter Text

            At a purposed-but-not-brisk walk, a maid wound her way up through the bowels of Arendelle’s castle. She passed through doors with a shove of her hip or shoulder, her basket of linens on an important journey from the washroom where it had dried, to a bedroom in the upper regions of the palatial residence. It occurred to her to be thankful she was fit, because tackling flights of stairs with a basket of what could only be described as dense cloth would be impossible with any extra girth. She did this nearly every day, and at the rate it was going, it would be every day quite soon. It wasn’t something she begrudged doing. Any extra weight she had had hidden around seemed to have melted off, and her husband had noticed. If it weren’t for her being barren, the maid would likely be in a similar predicament to the woman which she carried the linens. The maid finally found herself on the wing she had been climbing to and moved down the hall as though she had not just carried the equivalent weight of a large dog up from the servant’s wing.

            She stopped outside of the door and knocked. It was not answered, so the maid balanced the linens on one knee and twisted the handle, entering the room with calm and practiced ease. She should have knocked louder.

            The bed, a huge mattress atop an ornate and highly polished frame, was visible in its own room through a large folding-door partition, and the occupants were not prepared for the unexpected company. In fact, they seemed to be in the middle—or end—of the most intimate of acts. The sound of the door closing caught their attention, and man and wife did a little shriek of embarrassment. Scrambling took place, the woman pulling herself off the top and hiding under the covers while her husband pulled his side of the covers up to his chin. The air settled for a second before both lovers realized that the maid was simply standing at the door with the basket in her hands, looking perhaps shocked but not in the least embarrassed.

            “Look away, Linnéa!” came from the woman, and from the man, “Turn around!”

            The maid dropped the basket at her feet—avoiding her toes—and crossed her arms. She even went so far as to look annoyed. “Now, just because I walked in on you two bumping uglies doesn’t give you the right to throw out your manners. I’m not your slave. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t seen that before, or anyone’s private parts. I used to fornicate for money, remember?”

            “Please?!” the wife said, having to put a hand on her husband’s arm to keep him from climbing out of the bed naked and throttling the maid, who was never shy to remind anyone that she used to be a whore. With a huff, Linnéa turned around and faced the door, giving the couple ample time to put on house coats or whatever else they wanted to throw on in a hurry. She almost laughed aloud at the mental image of the pair trying to modest themselves up. “Why were you still in bed at this hour anyway? Don’t you know it’s almost noon?” the maid asked, speaking up to be heard in the other room.

            “We had a late night,” came the reply from the wife.

            “It was too cold to get up,” answered the husband.

            In a good-natured but haughty manner, the maid turned back around, not wanting to waste any more time with her nose to the door. The married pair were hasty in closing their garments, again looking embarrassed but with a touch of harassed fury overlying it. “Get over yourselves,” was all the maid said in reply, lifting her basket, “We’re all born naked.” She walked past them into the room with the bed, and started the arduous task of stripping the sheets and replacing them. Sheepishly, the woman went to stand against her husband, head leaning on his shoulder. They watched the maid without the slightest intention to help. That was the way Linnéa liked it, and neither liked risking slight slaps to “helping” hands.

            None of the other maids would dare act so familiar or brashly with the couple, being that the woman was the Princess of Arendelle. If it weren’t for Anna’s appreciation of the “normal” treatment, Kristoff would already have put an end to Linnéa’s easy attitude—or tried, at least. It just wasn’t in Linnéa to bow and scrape. She had a habit of treating her friends like everyone else, and she included the royal couple in that lot now.

            It took a good five minutes to redo the bedding, which was stripped unceremoniously, dropped to the side, and replaced by the clean linens confidently and quickly. The maid set the bedspread like she knew Anna liked it, placed the rolled sheets into the basket and weaved her way out of the bedroom towards the door. “Your presence was missed at breakfast, dearies. Go and get something to eat, for the sake of that baby,” she said, teasingly authoritative, before exiting.

            Having snuck one last peak as she left, Linnéa smiled as she headed back down to the laundry, the image of the couple, Anna and Kristoff, both lovingly touching the growing bulge of her stomach. Bouncing, almost, down the stairs, Linnéa imagined how wonderfully noisy the castle was going to get in another three months. She passed Yule decorations on her way down as though they were not a reminder that it was close to the longest night of the year, happily expecting a spring baby for the Princess and husband.

 

---

 

            Six months prior, Queen Elsa had just seen her baby sister off at the docks, who—despite her own isolation and insecurities—had never been the type to have social anxiety, and, of course, was the first to get married and was going on her honeymoon, leaving the Queen with a decidedly bad feeling pressing on her shoulders. It wasn’t like Anna wasn’t an adult, or that she had married the wrong man, or that where she and he were going was dangerous—actually, they were going to the southern sea, which was supposedly warm, crystalline, and beautiful year-round—, so, the monarch couldn’t wrap her brain around what the issue was with Anna’s marriage. Whatever it was, Elsa unconsciously tried to push it aside, and when she remembered Prince Dorian’s letter to his brother, she decided to concern herself with delivering it as a distraction.

            That led to the discovery of the soggy, sauced puddle of a half-man who had tried to drink himself into oblivion with two bottles of alcohol. He’d done well in his goal, so deliriously drunk that he was barely responsive to the sound of her voice or the impatient touch of her hand in anger. Oh, and how angry she had become! How dare he drink her glögg, in her castle, under her sanctuary?! Hans could drink himself into a stupor in the gutter, Elsa thought, and the idea of actually putting him out on the street was so, so very tempting as she left his room to find Egon and Linnéa. That pair was found in the castle and brought to Hans’ room by the two maids she had found first. Waiting in his doorway, Elsa didn’t miss the shiver of the married couple as they entered Hans’ bedroom. Clucking and fussing about him, their breath visible in the cold air. She had left after flinging Prince Dorian’s letter on Hans’ small nightstand, completely irritated.

            Elsa’s day was unusually repugnant from there on; she had returned to her bedroom fuming over being left with such an insolent house guest—too good a title for him, but without the profanity that found its way into her head—and again she wished that she was on the North Mountain in her ice palace. The Queen had too much time alone to fume, which quickly decorated her room with a thin layer of frost. In the heat of the afternoon, without continuous cold intent being pushed onto the frost, it started to melt, leaving every surface in her room covered in tiny water droplets. As annoying as that was, she didn’t want to call up some maid or butler to wipe everything in her room off. She tried freezing the droplets only, which naturally went awry in her emotional upheaval, and was stuck in a room of powdered snow. To take a few calming breaths and remember that “love will thaw” seemed overwhelmingly impossible. She sat in the snow on her bed and enumerated all the reasons why this day hadn’t gone at all like she wanted it to, wedding aside.

            First, Prince Dorian and Hans were complications she did not need. They were aggravating reminders that being head of state, no matter how enticing it was to others, was mostly only frustrating. She didn’t mind being the Queen of Arendelle, but being a political chess player was something she could have done without. It was one of the things that “came with the territory,” however. Secondly, Hans himself was a problem. When he was revealed to be alive to the Southern Isles, surely at least one of his other brothers would attempt to reclaim him as their prisoner. Not only that, but until such a time as he could leave the castle, would Elsa really have to put up with him drinking or otherwise trying to drown himself in something other than misery? No, Elsa answered firmly in her own mind. No, she wouldn’t, because she would give him an ultimatum—that was her right, since he was imposing on her hospitality. He could either be put out in the street, free to drink himself to death, or, he could remain in the castle, where it was safe, sober. No in-between. She would not have a lush depleting her stores of valuable alcohol, period. It didn’t matter that he was a eunuch, seeking political asylum in her country, hunted by his own brothers. No, it didn’t matter.

            Lastly,—and this was the thing that gave Elsa the most trouble—she was not reacting well to Anna’s wedding and far-off honeymoon. A part of her felt guilty that she wasn’t over-the-moon ecstatic about the nuptials, gaining a brother, and maybe having nieces and-or nephews in the near-to-distant future. That wasn’t normal, Elsa thought, brining on its cacophony of emotions about how unequipped she was to deal with normal things. In a corner in her mind, she had jealousy, too, but this she kept glossing over, refusing to acknowledge it for what it was. If she had, Elsa would know that her jealousy stemmed from a) being the older, unmarried sister to the bride, b) wanting to have her own love, someone who could accept the fact that she was a person with an incredible supernatural power, and also accept that she would never be “good” at relationships, especially her own, and c) that Elsa seriously doubted that she would ever find someone who could meet those requirements and still love her. A part of her brain recognized all that and kept quiet, perhaps sad that even after a good year with love and acceptance in her life, she was no closer to erasing the self-doubt than she had ever been.

            So, even later in that evening, eating dinner with the remainder of the wedding party, Elsa’s mood had not lifted nor improved. She went to bed and couldn’t sleep, waking from a doze with a start each time she got close, feeling the dregs of unease tug her back up, out of peaceful oblivion. Sometime in the darkness, Elsa did fall asleep.

 

---

 

            That next day, six months ago, Hans had been set in a chair in the library where he had left Anna to freeze to death, and told to wait for the Queen. The hangover resulting from the two bottles of ill-thought-out glögg was horrendous, and he spent most of the morning retching up his guts, and most of the time he sat in the chair sitting forward to rest his arms on the table and his forehead on those. Queen Elsa was quick about meeting him, however, so he wasn’t there for a long time. She wasn’t particularly quiet when she came through the doors, and definitely wasn’t quiet when she started talking.

            Between the headache and hangover, Hans only got the gist of what she was lecturing him about. The alcohol. The disrespect of trying to develop a habit while under her protection. The ultimatum. The anger in her voice. Hans supposed that Queen Elsa didn’t like alcohol for her own uses, at all. For a moment, he could understand why. If she ever got drunk enough to lose control, she could probably freeze not only her own kingdom, but the neighboring ones as well. And, while he was thinking about it, she’d probably freeze Anna, Kristoff, and the rest of anyone she cared about. That was her problem, though, and Hans wasn’t feeling particularly charitable.

            “So?” Elsa had asked, “What will it be? The gutter and glögg, or, the castle and your safety?”

            How sorely tempted he was to spite her in that moment. He was like a wounded animal, wanting to lick his wounds and be left alone in peace. That would be suicide, wouldn’t it, living in the streets of Arendelle? And hadn’t he realized that he didn’t actually want to die, but had been afraid of more torture?

            “I am sorry for actions, Queen Elsa,” Hans said, meeting her gaze steadily—not an easy task when the room spun—adding, “It won’t happen again. Please, allow me to stay, though I don’t deserve it.” Self-deprecation usually helped to convince someone of his apology, though he didn’t know if it would convince the Queen.

            “You may stay, so long as you assure me that you will not touch my stocks of wine, liquor, mead, and glögg again so long as you are being harbored in my kingdom,” Elsa laid out plainly. Hans wasn’t particularly surprised by her response, stipulations such as these being a no-brainer for anyone who wanted to put an end to his drinking. The Queen didn’t realize how little desire Hans had to ever consume copious amounts again. “You have my assurance. I will not seek out alcohol again, from anyone.”

            Their meeting at an end, Hans and Elsa had gone separate ways. He returned to his room with the aid of his cane, unwilling to face any more Queens, veterans, ex-whores, or brothers, and shut himself in without the will to come back out until he had decided what else he could occupy his time with. Alcohol was out, but what other mind-numbing substances he could get his hands on. His promise had extended only to alcohol for that reason. If he had to sit alone in his room, the wallpaper his only entertainment, surely Hans would go mad, and he had nothing else to fill his time.

            He’d heard—never mind that it came from one of his brothers, the one that traveled, Stanley—that in the far East that there were certain types of system opiates that would make his head spin and send him into a fit of laughter. Knowing his luck, Hans could imagine among his reactions: reliving his worst moments in the jail in horrible detail, death by overdose, paralysis caused by the same thing, and a more fanciful imagining of being incapacitated long enough to be recaptured by Lumpy and be taken back to his brothers. There’d be no drug to release him there, either.

            Back to the beginning of not having anything to do, Hans looked over at the piece of paper the Queen had mentioned at some point during her lecture, which she said was a letter from Dorian. Not having anything better to do, Hans opened the letter, recognizing his eldest brother’s flowing script instantly. He read it once, paused, and read it again. He read it out loud to make sure he wasn’t mistranslating things in his brain.

 

Brother,

 

            You cannot imagine what a relief it is to know you are alive. I’ll spare you my feelings, however, because you surely just scoffed at what I call “alive.” When I return to the Southern Isles, you will be reinstated as a Prince. I will send the promised boat to Arendelle as soon as I can gather your things together. I have to be brief because I will be leaving shortly, knowing that you will not likely miss me.

            There is a particular horse in the stables. Consider him the first thing returned to you.

 

Dorian

 

            Hans let the letter drop from numb fingers, drawn to his feet by some force he didn’t understand but couldn’t fight any more than he could fight the need to breathe. He teetered where he stood and had to find his cane with the same numb digits, leaning on it heavily. Who could he find to lead him to the stables? Wait, he knew the way, didn’t he? He had been there with Anna a year ago on the night of Elsa’s coronation. He could find it himself, again, Hans thought, and that was one of the few things he could think of outside of: Can I truly hope for this?

            Several turns and a trip outside led him right where he wanted to be, and he hobbled as fast as his leg could manage, coming to a stop just inside the stable and allowing himself a moment so his eyes would adjust. Where was he? Hans’ mind frantically asked, finally starting the sweep of horses in the stables. Tipping forward almost to the point of falling, the invalid almost landed face first in used hay, only saving himself with an outstretched hand. The overwhelming emotions were making his head spin, and all he wanted to do was lay eyes upon the horse mentioned in Dorian’s letter. So, Hans moved down the stalls, looking over each occupant closely, and startling more than a few with what he could only assume was the blazing, intense stare of a madman.

            There he was, Hans realized, the strength in his leg giving out right then, crushed down by the sight of the horse; tall for a fjord hose, dark dun in color, and looking at him with two large brown eyes. Hans had to drag himself along the stable’s dirt floor and use the hook of his cane to pull himself upright.

            “Sitron,” croaked the human, sounding nothing like the man he used to be. The horse’s ears pricked forward in a semblance of alarm as the unknown—or at least unrecognizable—visitor reached out to lay a straining hand on whatever part of him the man could touch. Hans repeated the name, sounding a little more like himself, and the horse paused in surprise.  Without a hint of trepidation, the soon-to-be-reinstated prince reached out and touched a hand to Sitron’s muzzle, breaking down when the horse recognized him.

 

---

 

            One month, almost to the day, after Kristoff and Anna’s wedding, they returned to Arendelle and a crowd of well-wishers. Anna came off the boat on the arm of her husband, happy to be home at last, and able to smile and say hello genuinely, but felt nauseous in a way that wasn’t caused by the sea. She moved down the plank practically hanging onto the ice-harvester for steadiness. Once her feet were on steady ground, the first person who found her to hug her tightly was Elsa. Her sister was also the first—and only—to recognize that her sister was under the weather. The Princess waved the Queen’s worries away with a pass of her hand when she saw the question in her blue eyes.

            The Queen looked quite fabulous, even for her usual self. That day, Elsa had fashioned a… more risqué dress than normal, the blue—light and dark—ice crystals of her bodice were split down her middle almost to her navel, only covered with a mesh-like overlay that was only meant for keeping the dress together. Her shoulders were covered with a heavier blue cape instead of her normal train. Anna fixed the image of her sister in her mind consciously, the blues of Elsa’s dress against the gray dock-stone, the late-summer breeze playing with the light in Elsa’s pale hair, and the sparkling happiness that seemed to touch everything. Then again, maybe the sparkling had more to do with Anna’s nausea.

            As wonderful as their honeymoon had been, Anna was happy just to be home.

            They had left the docks to go to the castle in a party much the same as they’d left the castle in a party to see the couple off at the docks after the wedding. The staff of the Arendelle monarchy spared no effort in welcoming home the royals—Kristoff was technically Prince Kristoff Bjorgman of Arendelle, with a Duke’s title in there as well, elevated by Queen Elsa, but he expressly forbid them holding a ceremony for his promotion—having been party to the party at the docks, and had still more waiting in the castle’s courtyard for their arrival. Olaf had gotten the warmest hug Anna had thought he could stand, and promptly rushed to Sven’s side, hugging the reindeer’s nose with his stick arms.

            Sven had done well in the heat of the southern sea. He acted as though he were hot only a few times, mostly taking running leaps off the boat whenever Kristoff and Anna were also in the water when the tundra-made animal overheated. Hindsight, maybe Sven should have remained at home, where the summer heat never reached that stifling level. Not that Anna planned to leave again, but if they did, and went somewhere tropical, Sven would have to stay home, no matter how Kristoff protested. It wasn’t good for the reindeer.

            Anna and Kristoff went through round and round of people welcoming them back. Somewhere between the gates and the ornate front door, Egon and Linnéa welcomed them back warmly. Kristoff shook hands with the Southern Isles veteran, and Anna hugged the maid. In one month, they had seemed to have integrated into the staff seamlessly, which made the Princess happy, if for no other reason than that there wouldn’t be any more fights in the laundry room.

            Some hours after their arrival, Anna, Kristoff, and Elsa sat down to a light lunch, electing to eat on one of the castle’s balconies and enjoy one of the few warm days left of summer. Anna wasn’t surprised when Elsa coated her chair in ice, half-tempted to have Elsa do the same to her chair. The southern sea’s weather had been hot, but there hadn’t been quite as much humidity to the air there as there was in Arendelle on the truly hot days. She wasn’t surprised when later in the evening a thunderstorm rolled through, all crashing thunder, dazzling lightning, and violent rain.

            When Kristoff and Anna retired to their bedroom as the sun set—after an uneventful dinner alone with Elsa—neither one of them could hardly make it behind closed doors without immediately savaging the other with kisses. Anna’s fears about her wedding night had been unfounded as it turned out, because the pair had apparently been made to fit together, which she had discovered that first night on the ship. Kristoff had been gentle with her, but only to the point of making her comfortable. When her shyness had worn off, Anna had… held her own.

            That first night back in the castle, with a month of practice—give or take a few exhausted nights —Anna and Kristoff “christened” the bed, the lounge seat by the coffee table, and the door that they had closed behind them. It awakened a whole new side of Anna to be enjoying the intimate marital life, wherein the middle of the day found her pining for her husband’s touch, and the evenings wouldn’t allow her to be without him for very long. It gave her insight, as well, into the minds of those who knew what it was to biblically “know” another. In some small way, Anna grew up; gone was the innocence, so to speak. For all that she knew about what men and women did, now, the Princess wondered about her sister. Something in Anna couldn’t imagine Elsa having the calm it would take to not freeze her first lover, much less open up to a stranger enough to want to marry them. It wasn’t about courage—Anna knew that Elsa was a brave woman—but about being able to calm a frantic heart, talk past a suddenly awkward tongue, and speak from her heart without worrying what her companion thought of her. Ice powers would certainly prove to be a difficult point of contention between Elsa and her suitors.

            Anna had settled closely against Kristoff, despite the heat, and nodded off with thoughts about other royalty in the world with magical powers, wondering if any were eligible princes or kings. Her last conscious thought was that anyone would do, royal or not, so-long-as they were as magical as the Queen.

 

---

 

            In the days that followed their return to Arendelle, Kristoff hardly left Anna, aside from going to the stables to see Sven. The morning after their arrival, however, the reindeer-man made a curious discovery: Hans, practically living in the hayloft. Kristoff would have missed seeing the ex-prince if not for the latter’s movements as he dressed. All Kristoff could do on the ground below was look up and wonder why in the world the bastard—yes, he still had hard feelings for the man who would have let Anna die—was without clothes in the stables. Hans noticed Kristoff quickly, it seemed, because at first he tried to duck out of sight, shirt half-pulled over his head. When he realized he couldn’t hide, the man from the Southern Isles straightened his spine and climbed down from the loft.

            Surprise marked Kristoff’s face momentarily when he realized that Hans looked much more like himself than he had just a month-or-so before. The man’s hair was still long, clasped at the nape of his neck with a leather thong, and he still had no sideburns, but otherwise, Hans was healthier looking. There wasn’t any spare weight on him, and Hans wasn’t back to his previous physique, but Kristoff could see only the ghost of torture on the man.

            “What are you doing here?” Kristoff asked, the once-over appraisal having only taken a fraction of a second. Hans’ eyebrows twitched down quickly, only to return to their raised-to-the-point-of-facial-openness position in the time it took to blink. He didn’t answer with words, but moved cautiously over to one of the stalls where an unfamiliar horse was penned. With a confident hand, Hans summoned the horse from the further wall to put his nose against the human flesh.

            “My horse.”

            “That doesn’t explain why you were in the loft,” Kristoff parried the answer, finding it lacking. Hans let his hand drop and kept up the cautious act. “Queen Elsa allowed me the space for the warmer months. I’ve been sleeping up there instead of in the castle.”

            “Oh,” Kristoff said, suddenly running out of fuel for the badgering questions. He had one left, “Even if your horse is here, why are you not sleeping in the castle?” He’d never seen the castle of Hans’ native land, but as far as castles went, Kristoff was pretty impressed with Arendelle’s, so he didn’t imagine Hans thought it was bad in any way. Besides, the man had plotted to take the Kingdom for his own, so he must have liked it to some degree. If that wasn’t it, Kristoff couldn’t quite imagine what the reason could be.

            It took a moment for Hans to prepare an answer, it seemed. He had to cross his arms and then uncross them, looking at his horse and finally back at Kristoff. “I might be the most ungrateful refugee in Arendelle’s history, but… living in the castle was driving me mad.” Hans explained nothing further, looking his horse in the eye before patting the creature and taking his own leave, heading for the very structure he had just claimed to be unable to inhabit. Getting food or using the privy couldn’t quite be considered “inhabiting” a building, Kristoff thought in reply to himself, watching the one-time prisoner cross the courtyard.

            Sven and Kristoff shared a look, neither buying into whatever Hans wanted them to believe. “‘I don’t trust him,’” Kristoff voiced for Sven, replying, “I don’t, either. And I don’t like him living in the loft. I’ll see what Anna thinks, and maybe talk to Elsa. He’s not a guest. He’s a refugee, like he said.”

            “‘That’s great,’” Sven plowed on, “‘Did you bring me my carrots?’”

            With a long-suffering sigh, followed by a smirk, Kristoff produced the orange vegetable like a carnival magician. The reindeer pranced in his stall as only he could, tongue rolling almost like a dog. The whole thing disappeared before Kristoff had a chance to tell Sven to share. Shaking his head, Kristoff rolled his eyes and dug out another carrot.

            Hours later, when Anna and her sister could both be found in the library with the portrait of their father, Kristoff asked about the use of the hay loft as a bedroom by Hans. It was news to Anna, who hadn’t had the benefit of being told first, like Kristoff had planned. Elsa didn’t look so much as surprised to hear her brother-in-law asking about it. If he had to guess, she probably wondered what had taken him so long to ask. Placidly, she gave an answer, “Prince Dorian has offered to not collect taxes on exports to Arendelle, which will likely encourage trade between our two countries and keep the price of meats, furs, and other materials down, all in exchange for harboring Prince Hans until it is safe for him to live elsewhere. Arendelle can harbor him whether he lives in the castle or in the hay loft in the stables.”

            The answer had been satisfactory enough, all things considered, but Kristoff just didn’t like it. Being in the castle where they could keep an eye on him was one thing, but being in the stable, practically free to do as he pleased, that seemed a little too lenient for Hans. For all his protests, Kristoff wondered for a second if the real reason that he didn’t want Hans living in the stable was because of Sven. Sure, Sven had survived the night, and Hans couldn’t be all that bad if he had a horse’s trust, but Sven was his best friend. If anything happened to the reindeer, Kristoff had already decided that it would be on Hans’ head. That night and in the following weeks, that was all he heard on the matter.

 

---

 

            Another month passed before it was made communal knowledge that Princess Anna was with child. They did not spread the news outside the castle—even if rumors and gossips were positively twittering with excitement—because as exciting as it was, it was still very early, and truth be told, no one knew how the pregnancy would go. It seemed like no one in the castle could find the nerve to get their hopes up. Anna was the most optimistic, of course.

            Elsa was the first person she told aside from Kristoff. The Queen’s reaction was mostly joyous surprise, and partially some sort of sadness. Anna understood it before she asked her sister what was wrong, but she thought it might have been the first time that Elsa admitted it to herself. “It’s not that I’m not happy for you, Anna, because I am. I’m so happy for you, because you deserve all the happiness you can accumulate… I think… I’m jealous, and that makes me sad; makes me mad at myself. I can live without romance… I could probably live without having children—I worry about them being born like me—but I haven’t lost hope that maybe one day I can have those things. Seeing you have them already, it makes me sort of jealous.” Understandably, the sisters spent the rest of that day in each other’s company.

            Anna, at first, wanted to ban everyone and anyone from breathing a word of her pregnancy to Linnéa, Egon, or Hans. It was not feasible, however, and when she had brought it up with Kristoff, it had led to their first tiff as a married couple. He took her not wanting to tell everyone as embarrassment, that she was perhaps ashamed to be having his baby. She tried to assure him that his idea was the furthest from the truth. It went back and forth until Anna resolved to tell Hans, Egon, and Linnéa at dinner that very night. She did feel bad that Kristoff hadn’t been as far off the mark as she first thought—announcing to the maid, veteran, and her ex-fiancé that she was pregnant seemed awkward in her imagination.

            It was funny how that dinner had actually gone. Egon and his wife had not been a normal part of their dinner party since Anna and Kristoff’s wedding, though not of Elsa, Anna, or Kristoff’s choosing. The pair didn’t seem comfortable being waited on by their co-workers, and opted out most of the time. They didn’t have a choice, however, since telling Hans alone was completely not within Anna’s comfort-zone. Elsa and Hans had not dinned together while the Princess and her husband were on their honeymoon. Aside from Hans asking to be allowed to live above his horse, he hadn’t spoken much with Elsa at all, or so Anna found out from her sister. Elsa wasn’t sure what Hans would have said anyway.

            During the dinner, directly after the main course, Anna finally worked up the nerve to spill the beans, metaphorically. All eyes were on her as she grabbed their attention with a well-placed and loud clearing of her throat. “Um… I—” Anna quickly amended her speech, “—We, that is… Well,…” She stammered when she realized she had everyone’s undivided attention, including the butler pouring the watered wine into Kristoff’s cup. “Kristoff and I are pregnant.”

            She couldn’t help searching the faces of the people gathered around her. The butler managed to pour some of the light-colored wine outside of his target and was nearly frenzied in his dabbing. Elsa and Kristoff were also looking at the other three, and Egon and Linnéa seemed to have frozen except for a duplicate look on their faces: what was Hans’ reaction? It took only the spans of a baited breath, but the reaction was delivered too quickly not to be sincere.

            “Congratulations!” Hans exclaimed, face breaking into a wide smile. Anna wasn’t sure why such a smile, seemingly sincere, without a shred of malice, also seemed so deceptive. It might have been the “once-burned” example of a lack of trust, but it seemed too genuinely happy. Linnéa was fast at adding her own congratulations, a beaming beacon of sweetness, while her husband only added gruff-but-warm-seeming felicitations. She could almost imagine what the man was thinking, because it likely mirrored her own thinking; why did Hans seem happy to hear that she was having a baby?

            “Why are you so happy to hear that I’m having a baby?” came tumbling out of Anna’s mouth before her mind had a chance to stop it. Truth be told, she’d never had much of a filter. Hans looked affronted for a second, thin, hairless face finally looking something like it had when he had shown his true colors in the library—a face she could understand and read—before answering with the smoothed out unreadable face, “I thought it was only polite to congratulate an expecting couple. I didn’t think you would want to hear anything else from me.”

            “Anna, it’s fine,” Kristoff said in an undertone at the end of Hans’ sentence. Elsa had set down her drink and was looking at her with knitted brows. Why was it her fault that Hans wasn’t acting like she expected him to? It was like they thought she was being rude. “So, you didn’t mean what you said?”

            “No,” Hans said, clamping his mouth down, “No. You’ve got it wrong, Princess Anna. I did mean it when I said congratulations.”

            “Why?” Anna could suddenly hear how it might be coming off as rude, but couldn’t back-wheel fast enough out of the mindset and tone of voice, “It might have been a ploy to marry into the throne, but you were my fiancé once. I don’t want to go back to that, but—,”

            “—But you were hoping I’d be jealous?” Hans asked, cutting her off. Anna had kept her eyes firmly on the green pair staring back at her unflinchingly, “Maybe that I would be mad, or sulk off like I was truly hurt that you had moved on?” Hans laughed, not scoffed, and not a mean sort of laugh, either. He sounded almost disappointed. “Oh, Anna,” he said, those two words making her flinch, “You found the perfect person for you, and you’re married to him, and you’re carrying his child. Despite me, and all I did to you, you’re doing fine. What isn’t there to congratulate?”

            That was not the answer she was expecting. In fact, it caught her mostly by surprise. Anna frowned, then watched as Hans stood from his chair, bowed to Elsa, bowed to her and Kristoff, and smiled at Egon and Linnéa. “If you’ll all excuse me, I believe I’ll return to the stables for the evening. Good-night.”

            As he disappeared, Anna felt a compilation of guilt, aggravation, and confusion as to why she had dogged such a confession from Hans. It crossed her mind as they finished their dinner in relative silence that Hans would be having no children, with anyone, ever, and how her announcement might have pricked that tender nerve—if he had one about it. She was still bothered by the genuine-feel of his well-wishes, but quickly forgot most of her worries behind her and Kristoff’s closed door.

 

---

 

Late autumn, with all its colorful leaves and harvests, arrived at the same time as the promised ship from the Southern Isles. Hans was not yet cold enough overnight to move back into the castle, but he didn’t think there would be much more time for his sleeping in the loft. Anna was obviously pregnant, and prone to mood-swings that left everyone but Kristoff with the urge to avoid another thrashing. Even Queen Elsa seemed not to enjoy being around her sister, though Anna could never be so much as negative with her sister. Linnéa seemed to have some insight as to why the normally kind princess was a nightmare, not from personal experience, but as an outside party.

            “Girls,” she said to Elsa while Hans was within ear-shot one day, “They’d get themselves in a state, and they’d be happy one minute, and then crying another, or mad enough to throw things. I’m not proud to say I wasn’t the type to be too forgiving until one day, a doc was checking up on one of them. She was one of the Madam’s girls, and pretty young, like Princess Anna. She’d been like that. Anyway, I hear him telling our boss that when a girl is in a state like that, it’s because of the baby. The baby can’t tell her how it feels, but it does have a way of tampering with how she feels. Quick, fast changes.”

            It sounded like hocus pocus to Hans, but if Linnéa thought it was true, who was he to disagree? He’d never be a father. It wouldn’t, or shouldn’t concern him.

            Hans had his work cut out for him when the ship arrived. Not only was it something of a colossal goat-buggering quality to get it all at once, but Hans wasn’t even sure what to do with half, if not all of it. His room in the castle was big enough only for his bed, a chair, the bedside table, and his few sets of clothes. All his belongings in the Southern Isles would fill not only his room, but probably come spewing out of his door like too much dung. He committed himself to first emptying the ship and sending a letter of thanks back to Dorian, and sorting out his things to keep later. Egon, Linnéa, and two of the crew helped Hans load the belongings onto three carts, each piled high. The head butler caught them before they could leave the town for the castle, offering to guide them to a place Queen Elsa urged the re-instated prince to store his things. It was the very same house she had offered to Linnéa and Egon in the beginning, which was so close to both its neighbors that one side was only inches from the next wall and the other side only gave room enough for a wide-shouldered man to squeeze through. The maid lit up at the sight of the tall house, walking through from front to back and then from bottom to top with a slack-jawed wide-eyed gaze. Hans asked the two crewman of the ship, at the risk of dumping valuables and breakables alike in the street, to help unload all his belongings into the house. The task was complete just before sunset, a pile of un-placed objects sitting in the parlor, but many more having found homes in the three bedrooms, kitchen, and attic.

            Tired, the crewmen parted for their ship, and Hans for the stable. Egon and Linnéa elected to stay the night in their new house and return to the castle in the morning. A kind of relief crossed Hans’ mind to feel—he could leave Arendelle now, and he could travel far from it, his homeland and brothers, and anyone who had ever heard of Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. He’d be out of their reach, and really and truly be free. Hans imagined himself exploring the world—maybe he’d even go across the ocean. Either by reading or by word of mouth, he had heard that in the West, vast expanses of grasslands fed whole herds of wild horses and bison. They were free to roam as they pleased.

            The cage was open, and he was free to go.

            As Hans rounded the end of the street, he was unaware of the shadow that detached itself from the nearest wall until its owner violently twisted one of his arms behind his back and wrapped a strong arm under his chin. Taken entirely by surprise and slightly exhausted by the day’s toils, Hans was incapable of fighting off the impending attack, and the arm at his neck cut off the air he needed to call out for help. The assailant pulled Hans into the shadows beside a building, easily driving Hans’ face against the wall—the only reason such a move missed breaking his nose was because Hans managed to twist his face enough that his cheek absorbed the brunt of the attack. What felt like a layer of skin was scraped from the surface, an immediate pain lancing in. The wall was made of a rough wooden siding; the wood had let loose a swatch of splinters into the skin. As slow as it all seemed, the capture had taken only a moment.

            “I have a message for you from your brothers,” said the captor, hot breath hissing into Hans’ ear and making him flinch, “‘Don’t try and leave Arendelle. Let the Icy Bitch keep you as a toy in her castle a little longer.’” The arm was twisted further, until Hans thought it might rip off. The arm on his neck also tightened, to the point that Hans gasped for breath and none was allowed. “They said, too, ‘If you do try, our men’—and they have quite a few under their pay—‘will drag you back to the Southern Isles and do to you all the things we never got to do.’”

            All the pressure was suddenly lifted, and Hans dropped to the ground, catching a booted kick to his gut where he lay. The attacker had one last thing to say before he disappeared: “If you go to the docks, you’re ours. If you try to leave over the mountains, you’re ours. Don’t get too comfortable in your stable, either. All we need is the opportunity. I’ll see you around, ‘Prince’ Hans.”

            The cage was shut, and it seemed he had narrowly missed being crushed between the bars.

 

---

 

Egon, who had lived his entire life in the Southern Isles or on campaigns to winterless places far South, was absolutely unprepared for the winter of Arendelle. The first snow blanketed the kingdom with a snow as deep as his hand; it was also almost a month before the Southern Isles even thought about snow. The temperature also dropped, as if no sane sunbeam would venture this far north to give warmth to weary souls. Egon was not the only one to notice the harshness of the early winter.

            Every day, Elsa was petitioned to use her powers to lift the snow off of the castle-town by at least three-to-five of its occupants. A farmer would appear every few days to ask her to thaw the snow on his farm. Anyone could stand in for these meetings, and Egon often did, for nothing more than a little entertainment. The Queen had to change how she answered petitions; she would wait until every issue had been heard—usually they were the same issue, sometimes worded different, sometimes no attempt to the effect was made—and answer them all exactly the same: “I will not tamper with Arendelle’s weather again. We are experiencing a naturally harsh winter. I expect you all to deal with it the same way you had.” Egon never heard more than a grumble out of the townsfolk, likely disappointed that Elsa wouldn’t fix their problems like some ice-toting Fairy-Godmother. She would leave the audience chamber, and all the other occupants would filter out or mill around bemoaning how the snow was piling up and the Queen wouldn’t even try to move it off the roads. Egon couldn’t blame the monarch, however. Just because she had powers over ice and snow didn’t mean she was at the beck and call of her people to sweep streets and clear roofs.

            A rather wet snow had fallen overnight, perhaps a month before the Yule celebrations were to begin, and Egon was on his way to see Prince Hans. The enigmatic man had returned to his room in the castle rather suddenly one night, found there after not having been seen in the stables for two days. A physician had been called, not only for the numerous splinters needing to be removed from his cheek, but because he was so lethargic that there was no difference between the young man being asleep or awake. He barely got up to use the chamber-pot, and ate little to nothing. That was just the first week. Hans seemed to snap out of it all of a sudden, returning to how he had been—almost. The prince spoke to no one. He moved about a normal routine, smiled at people, went to see Sitron, bathed, shaved, ate, but all wordlessly. Whatever had changed, Egon was certain that it was not a change for the better.

            Egon found Hans in his room, reading a volume of Arendelle’s history with what passed as bored fancy. The veteran entered the room with the occupant’s permission, all obtained in gestures. He sat down on the bed, feeling the mattress grunt out air beneath him. What Linnéa had lost from traversing the stairs for Anna and Kristoff, Egon had gained, apparently. Hans put the book away lazily and aimed a disarming smile at his former-jailer-turned-rescuer. Having not heard Hans’ voice for the majority of at least three weeks, Egon was starting to forget what it was like to talk to the man. Green eyes, white smiles, glove-free hands… these were the things that came with conversing with Hans.

            For a long moment, Egon and the prince just looked at each other, the latter holding eye-contact because the former was boring twin holes in his head with his eyes. Finally, when Egon thought he’d lose the staring contest because he couldn’t stand to look any deeper into Hans’ eyes, he said, “What is this all about, Hans? Why aren’t you talking to anyone?”

            The smile dropped off Hans’ face, being replaced with what seemed like disappointment and weariness. He reached out for the book he had put away, as if he would return to reading instead of answering Egon. It was the proverbial “last straw.” The veteran jumped to his feet and hauled Hans up by his shirt. Despite their height-difference, Egon loomed over Hans. He growled out, “Answer me. Quit playing games. You’re not a child and you’re not a mute. Tell me why you won’t talk!”

            A flash like anger briefly flickered in Hans’ eyes before dulling into a bland cowed look. He was so infuriating in that moment that Egon forcibly pushed him away, and left the room, jerking the door shut behind him.

 

---

 

            Just a couple of days later, Hans received another visitor: Queen Elsa—though she was actually of the unexpected-coincidental variety. It just happened that Elsa had had enough of the castle and that Hans was down for his daily appointment with Sitron, and suddenly, the Queen was staring at a very startled former occupant of the loft. He was not expecting to be caught, it seemed.

            “Oh,” had been the first thing out of her mouth, quickly followed by: “Pardon me.”

            It only dawned on her after a moment’s breath that she really had nothing to apologize for, considering that these were her stables, and he was here only by her permission. She didn’t voice these things, even though she could have, and left it as a courtesy. Her “Queen” beat his “Prince” at every turn, any way one sliced it. But it wasn’t in her nature to lord her title over much of anyone. The thoughts passed through her mind quickly and were gone almost as fast. Still, there was a hanging awkward silence between them, and it only seemed to be growing.

            “How are you today, Prince Hans?” the Queen ventured. She had avoided him, mostly, for the last few months, and when it was deemed necessary, she and he had made only polite small-talk. He’d been entirely absent from her for almost a month. In the scheme of things, with all her duties, Elsa didn’t pay much attention.

            He gave no audible reply, and since she had turned to scratch Sven’s chin—he was the only stable occupant that didn’t seem in the slightest shy around her—Elsa had to turn back and questioningly quirk an eyebrow at him. Clearing his throat, Hans answered, “Very well, thank you, Your Majesty.”

            Elsa was entirely unaware of how profound it was for the Prince to have said anything. Conversely, Hans would have drawn more attention to the fact that he wasn’t speaking by not speaking, especially to her. Elsa went on rubbing Sven’s muzzle and was oblivious to this.

            “How is your horse?” Elsa followed up, turning her attention slightly to the Fjord horse and its owner. The gender wasn’t obvious on the animal, likely either female or gelded male. “He’s well, also. Thank you for asking, Queen Elsa,” Hans said, not quite stiffly, but not perhaps as easily as before.

            “What is his name?” Elsa asked, not sure that she’d caught it before. Sven blew air into her hair to try and attract her attention again. She missed Hans’ quick flare of slight panic before he deadpanned and answered, “Sitron, Your Highness.”

            “‘Lemon’?” she echoed, a genuine smile curving her lips. Still panicked inside, Hans didn’t catch the amused humor in her voice. He nodded tightly and swept his eyes down to the hay scattered on the floor. “Yes. He was a gift when I turned eighteen. He was so yellow as a foal—,”

            Hans stopped short rather suddenly, eyes finding that the Queen had been listening with a slight smile, but as she caught sight of his acting uncomfortable, the smile faded. “…So yellow as a foal that I thought he looked like a lemon…” he finished, eyes going back to the subject of the moment. Sitron looked at Hans with his large brown eyes, and Elsa could almost imagine that their bond was as strong as Kristoff to Sven. “Are you feeling all-right Prince Hans?”

            The question made him flinch, and he turned his face from Elsa’s view. The action was something outside of her ability to react to normally. More-over, the way he was acting was so unlike the calm-collected version of himself that he had presented, that Elsa was realizing that she might be ill-equipped to deal with him in this state at all. She was about to back away, tell him she would go and find Egon or Linnéa, when he looked at her from the corner of his eye, looking over his shoulder, only turning himself slightly back to ask, “Why am I still here, Queen Elsa?”

            Confused, she thought his question out and came up with only one answer, or more of a response-question, “Winter travel is unusual?”

            A rather bark-like hollow laugh came from the man, and he sagged against the stall door, hands gripping the top tightly, head drooping between the two. He was quiet for a very uncomfortable moment in which Elsa still debated leaving. Finally, his voice, almost ragged, sounded out, “No… I want to know for what purpose. Why have you allowed me to stay for so long? Why haven’t they made good on their threat? If they’re going to take me back, why won’t they do it already?... I don’t want to live like this, waiting for the moment it happens. I can’t trust anyone.”

            “Wait, what?” Elsa asked, hearing the same question in her sister’s voice for some reason, “Who do you mean ‘they’? Your brothers? What threat? ‘Take you back’? What is that supposed to mean?” Elsa found that she had taken a step closer—just one step, but a step all the same—and froze, not intending to get closer for any reason. She took a deep breath, garnering a correction of posture from Prince Hans, and started over again, “Are your brothers going to attack Arendelle?”

            “No,” Prince Hans said, seemingly surprised by that assumption, “No. Only Dorian could persuade the King to… But no. He wouldn’t, and my other brothers don’t have armies at their disposal.”

            “Good. How did they threaten to take you back?” Elsa asked, not feeling very empathetic as Hans appeared to collapse again, sliding his back down the stall door to sit in the straw. “The day I moved my things into the house for Egon and Linnéa, I was attacked. The splinters that were in my face didn’t come from taking a fall in the loft like the physician assumed; they were from the side of a building. He said that I was being watched—my attacker. That I couldn’t leave without them knowing. My brothers have spies and men on the docks, or maybe in the castle, since they knew I was sleeping in here. I keep looking over my shoulder and expecting a hood to come down on my face. ‘It could be anyone,’ I keep thinking. I haven’t talked to anyone in three weeks… Well, now you, but…”

            Trying to absorb all of that as Hans talked was hard. Everything brought up more questions. “Did you see his face? The man who attacked you?”

            “No… He came at me from behind, kept a tight grip on me,” Hans said, rubbing a hand over his previously wounded cheek. “And the men he said were on the docks, did he point any out as being your brothers’ men?” Elsa doubted that, since he had gone through great pains to hide himself from Hans. “No. I didn’t see anyone else.”

            “Is it possible that this is an empty threat? That your brothers only had the one man, and hoped to break you in just the way they have?”

            “No,” Hans said, almost seeming angry for a moment, “No… they’re not that smart.”

            “They faked your death in front of your court,” Elsa suggested. She watched Hans draw his knees up to his chest and hid his face with his arms. He was quiet for a moment, long enough for Elsa to shift her feet and pat a curious Sven. Sitron had his yellow head—complete with the mane of hair Hans was letting grow to match his own—hanging over the stall door, breath blowing in Hans’ hair, curious, but subdued. “How did they know I was in the loft, then?” Hans asked, stretching to not believe that all his fear had been part of the plan.

            “Perhaps a member of the staff is the spy. If so, I will have Kai and Gerda ferret them out,” Elsa said, then added, “I can trust them, and if I ask them to, you can trust them, too.”

            The Queen watched Hans’ eyes rise from below his arms. “You already know that you can trust me, or I wouldn’t have been the first person you talked to about this.”

            “I don’t deserve… well, any of this, Your Grace,” Hans said, sounding more like himself. She looked up to the roof out, slightly, frustrated that it seemed she was repeating herself again, “No, you don’t… But you didn’t deserve the things your brothers did to you, nor what they’re trying to do now.”

            Elsa stood looking at Hans for another minute, then turned to leave, stopping at the stable’s threshold. Hans was still sitting on the floor, but had watched her, apparently. “Come inside with me, Prince Hans. I would prefer you not to be alone until I can discover the spy.”

 

---

 

            Yule was only a week away when a roof collapsed in the town, sending the castle into panic. The weight of the snow had proven to be too much on the older timbers of the framework. It might not have caused so much of a fuss if it hadn’t been for the family now without a home. The Queen had moved the family into the castle until a replacement house could be found or theirs’ could be repaired. A few whispers in the castle suggested that she felt partially at fault for not having done anything about the snow.

            Kristoff had been the one to suggest that they go and see the house, he and Elsa—naturally, Anna would either know and stubbornly refuse to be left behind, or no one would, particularly Kristoff, would make a big deal about leaving the castle for a few hours—go with a small group of soldiers to see what could be done about the roof. The plan worked well as far as Anna was concerned, but both Egon and Hans—who seemed to be as distant now as Hans was with Kristoff—caught wind of the plan and joined. The ice-harvester wasn’t sure at all why they had any interest.

            Nonetheless, at noon on that day, the entourage of Queen Elsa—Kristoff, Hans, Egon, and two soldiers—left the castle. Kristoff drove the sled Anna had given him, Elsa next to him. She’d dressed herself with her ice powers: a long overcoat of powder-ish blue ice crystals made to allow her arms to move, the length of which would touch and drag the ground if she walked, and would have hidden the fact that she wore trousers—again made of her ice-cloth-material—and long military-style boots, if not for having to climb into the sled beside him. Egon, Hans, and the two soldiers rode their horses behind the sleigh, only the soldiers bringing up the rear making conversation.

            “So, when we get to the house, what do you plan to do?” Kristoff asked, pulling one reign to signal Sven into a turn. The Queen, his sister-in-law, thought for a moment and then smiled a tiny bit while saying, “It’s a surprise.” This prompted a playful dialog about how surprises in their family usually went either really bad or ran them into cast-iron poles.

            “Come on. Tell me. You know you want to,” Kristoff was saying right as the house came into view. Elsa’s smile faded as she saw the hole in the tall townhouse. The roof, which was visible from the side since the house was on the end, had fallen in, taking the upper section of the room’s wall with it. Below, Kristoff helped Elsa out of the sled and the other four dismounted their horses. Six sets of eyes were glued to the side that showed the collapse. For a few moments, no one said anything.

            Elsa was the first to move, shooing the men to the side. Planting her feet in the snow only a few feet from the house, the Queen pulled her arms up to her sides, fists balled—Kristoff watched, sucking in an anticipatory breath and holding it, not having gotten many opportunities to see the Snow Queen work her magic—and pushed out, icy magic creating a structure that was beginning to coil up from the ground and into the air. With one step, Elsa gave the structure her finishing touch, the ice becoming as flawless as that first staircase. Kristoff, not for the first time, was torn between crying at the perfect ice and squealing like a little girl at how awesome it was to see anyone make anything so incredible; the latter would never actually happen out loud.

            The soldiers and Egon didn’t seem as impressed. In fact, the three of them looked so unsure about the spiral staircase that Kristoff couldn’t imagine any of them walking up that way. Hans, however, looked as interested as Kristoff believed his face could portray. When the Prince wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone, it seemed his face was allowed only a teaspoon of expressions. To Kristoff’s surprise, Hans made to follow after Elsa without batting an eye. Being closer, Kristoff was able to squeeze in between the two on the way up.

            The men had to wait on the staircase as Elsa built a balcony, reinforced by a long framework of icy scaffolding. She even made a railing, and it was just as perfect as the rest. Both Kristoff and Hans made cautious ventures out onto the balcony, looking over the railing with a mirrored apprehension.

            “There’s still snow down in the room,” the Queen explained while standing at the edge of her balcony. “I’m going to remove that and try to stabilize the roof. When I do, one of you two inform the three on the ground that it’ll be safe to go inside and clear the debris.” Elsa edged her foot onto the wooden gable; Kristoff noticed that she was more surefooted on ice than on the wooden roof. She turned back to add, “Oh, and that we’ll need a carpenter to fix the roof.”

            Hours later, said carpenter was already beginning his work. He’d only have a little daylight left before the dusk fell and it became too cold to work in the dark, regardless of lantern light. It was at this point that Kristoff suggested that the party return to the castle. Elsa had spent most of her free time after her task going house to house and seeing how the inhabitants were and how they thought their houses were doing under the weight of the snow. From the very first house, she allowed Hans to follow like a bad shadow. He would be a reasonable amount of feet away, boots covered in the snow, but there anyhow. It irked Kristoff enough that he joined Elsa from the second house on. Nearly all the occupants reacted the same way, flabbergasted at first that the Queen of Arendelle was on their porch, asking how they were, then asking her to come in and have some hot glögg or hot this or hot that—to which she always politely declined,—and each time saying that either their house was fine or that the roof groaned every now and again. They would congratulate Kristoff, too, on both his nuptials and impending fatherhood, which made him as flattered as it did uncomfortable; he didn’t know practically anyone personally, but they treated him as if he was a lifelong-dear-dear-friend. How the royals dealt with it on a daily basis all their lives and stayed sane, he’d never understand, even if he had joined their ranks.

 

---

 

            Yule came rather suddenly for all involved.

            The staff of the castle realized two days before the holiday that no evergreen tree could be found inside the castle. This was quickly rectified, however; a massive spruce had been hand-picked by Kai and hauled to the castle by a group of ice-harvesters. It was decorated quickly and expertly by Gerda’s command and instructions through the rest of that day and into the night. When everyone retired to bed, late that night, it seemed the fun was just beginning.

            Anna, mildly stable—most talk of her emotions were only teasing and overstatements, most—was among the first up on the Eve of the Yuletide. She had been doing her best to gather presents for those she felt comfortable giving to, and felt confident that the packages she placed on the tree would bring smiles to their recipients.

            Elsa, an early riser, too, startled the pregnant princess when she arrived to the tree with her own bag of presents. They laughed it off and chatted back and forth until all of the presents were set, then left for breakfast together.

            “…and then she just stood there!” Anna laughed, having Elsa in stitches before the food had even been served. The Queen had to hold onto her sides trying to keep her ribs from hurting. A surprising hiccup escaped her, making both Anna and Elsa laugh, though the latter was groaning through part of it. “You,” hiccup, “You mean she walked in on the two of you,” hiccup, “And just stood there?”

            “Yep,” Anna said, making a face, “She just stood there and looked at us. Guess what she said?”

            Hiccup, “I bet I know.”

            “‘I used to lay on my back for a living,’” the two sisters imitated the whore-turned-maid in unison, dissolving into giggles afterwards. They laughed themselves out for a time, conversation staying light and bouncing from subject to subject until Anna sucked in a breath and press a hand to her stomach.

            “What happened?” Elsa asked quickly, somewhat panicked that her sister seemed to be in pain, “Is it the baby?” The younger of the two shook her hair, coppery braids waggling and much longer than they were before her marriage. Pregnancy had sped up her hair growth enough that she had nearly another inch for each month. “No,” Anna answered, “Yes. I mean, its fine and I’m fine. I just got a rough kick to the ribs is all. Here, the baby’s still kicking. Give me your hand and feel it.” Anna made to take Elsa’s hand and put it on her bulging baby, but Elsa retreated from her touch.

            “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to touch you,” she reasoned. Anna shook her head and reached again saying, “It’ll be fine. I trust you, Elsa.”

            The Queen stood from her chair, almost upsetting it in her haste. Elsa made her hands into fists, crossing her arms behind her back, “I…” she began, “I… It’s not that I doubt you, Anna, but what happens if I curse the baby somehow? Or if I get worked up and freeze it? I just… I don’t think I want to take the chance.”

            Anna’s hand stayed on her stomach, over where her child grew at a seemingly exponential rate, and for just a moment her maternal instincts tried to win out over her unconditional love for her sister, losing to the stronger emotion. But for just that moment, she could see why Elsa was hesitant, could see from her perspective, could imagine the danger her unborn child could be in were she to force Elsa. But it was in Anna’s nature to blow off the instincts and put her total faith in her sister. “I don’t think you could hurt the baby, Elsa.”

            “But I could, Anna.”

            “You wouldn’t hurt it.”

            “Anna, I nearly froze you for all eternity. And I ‘wouldn’t’ hurt you, either. I just don’t have that much control where emotions are involved.”

            Anna might have said something more, but they were interrupted by breakfast and the arrival of Kristoff, Hans, and several of their Yuletide guests.

 

---

 

            The moment arrived when presents were to be given out, and Elsa, being the Queen of the castle, was the first to touch the glittering packages on the tree. Her first gift was to Anna, of course, who took it and opened the lid off the box, and almost instantly started to cry. Elsa had found their mother’s birthing gowns and had altered them herself to have more green in them—twenty-one years of ice powers didn’t mean the Queen had never been given lessons in embroidery.

            Her next gift was to Kristoff. The ice-harvester was much too brawny for their lean father’s clothes, alterations or not. His present was more ornamental than practical, being an icepick that had a clear Quartz handle, inlayed with blue semi-precious stones. He was enamored with it, and Elsa was happy that she had done that instead of gotten him new boots.

            To Linnéa went a rather beautiful shawl that Elsa couldn’t imagine herself wearing anymore, and to Egon went a nicer pair of boots that had extra wool sewn into the lining to keep him warm—he almost blushed to have something so nice. Kai and Gerda and most of the staff received a “free-day” waiver that most itched to use. She got to the last of her presents on the tree and felt the sting of awkwardness try to color her cheeks. The present in her hands, she turned to seek out Prince Hans; he was seemingly looking right at her, a box wrapped neatly in blue cloth and tied with a blue ribbon in his hands. Sarcastically, she wondered who it could be for, imagining that she was the clear target for such a present. Laughable, though, in a way, that she so quickly accepted the idea that he had bought a present for her.

            “Your Majesty,” Hans started, voice mechanical and nervous, “I hope you’ll accept this gift and consider it no part of what I owe to you.”

            Elsa took the gift, offering the present she had in return, to which Hans seemed surprised to be receiving. “This is for you,” she explained. Both took the proffered gifts and held them as if neither knew what to do with them. It was the Queen who managed to have the presence of mind to say, “You go first.”

            Hans untied the ribbon that held his box closed, taking the lid off and unfolding the cloth wrapping that hid and protected the gift. A slow smile creased his face, gentle and sort-of touched looking. He held up the top of a tooled leather bridle for his horse, dark in color with a golden trim, patterned carefully and expertly with curls. Elsa was surprised that she felt relieved that he appeared to like it, relieved and nervous. “There’s… well, the matching saddle is in the stables, Prince Hans. I hope you can make use of them with Sitron.” She didn’t tell him that the saddle and bridle had belonged to her father. It felt strange.

            “Thank you, Your Grace,” he replied, sounding so sincere to Elsa that she smiled and replied, “You’re welcome.”

            A moment passed before she started to untie the ribbons of her gift. Had Anna not appeared and put a gift into her hands, she would have opened it right away. The younger of the two started in on how her sister just had to open her present first, because she was her sister and she just had to. Elsa looked down at the present long enough to unwrap it, and looked up to see Hans’ sympathetic face. He waved her off and turned, disappearing in the gift-giving throng.

            Elsa unwrapped Anna’s gift, the box giving way to a surprise—a doll that was the spitting image of herself, but sewn into its arms was a green swaddled baby figure, obviously meant to diffuse the issue between them. Elsa’s eyes welled up, a lump developing in her throat, “But… we only… this morning…”

            “I know. I had something else, and you’ll get that, too, but…” Anna reached out and put one hand on Elsa’s holding the doll, “You don’t have to be afraid. This baby—my child—is going to be my life soon, and I can’t wait, but… I don’t ever want distance between us, Elsa. Put your faith in me to know what you can handle, and we won’t let each other down.”

            At some point Elsa had gone from tearing up to actually crying, which made Anna start to cry, too, and despite her concerns about Anna’s pregnancy and her proximity, the Queen hugged her sister, the presents in her hand less important than maintaining their bond and all but forgotten. If she had time to pick apart her emotions, Elsa would be happy to be loved so much, but unhappy with herself for letting fear interfere with her life again. The gift exchange wasn’t over, however, and she received and opened presents from everyone present. Hans’ present set with Anna’s, unopened for the time being. A feast was served, the leftovers of which were left out for whatever unexpected visitors might pop in overnight—traditionally for… trolls. Kristoff laughed at first, the humor wearing off when he realized he’d never seen a troll leave for “late night snacks” on the Yuletide Eve.

            The party seemed to last well into the night, but eventually everyone retired to their beds, likely to sleep in the next morning. Elsa left Anna and Kristoff at their room and continued on to hers’ finding that all her presents had been delivered to her room before Kai or Gerda went to bed. She looked over the clothes that she would probably never wear, smiled at the doll Anna had given her, and then saw the corner of the blue box that held Hans’ gift. Appraisingly, she picked up the box. It was weighty, and something shifted inside as she rattled it slightly. Curiosity piqued again, Elsa sat down and untied the ribbon as the box sat on her lap, setting the lid aside and finding a set of combs inside. They were mostly silver, some with handles inlayed with white porcelain, lapis lazuli, aquamarine, and a couple with dark sapphires winking in the light of her candle. The beauty of the hair combs caught her breath for the moment. Though beautiful, Elsa could see too that they were not new, and as she picked the combs out and set them down on her lap, she came to a note at the bottom. It read very simply, “These belonged to my mother and her mother.”

            The next morning, Yuletide, Elsa sat at her vanity table coiling her hair with the aid of the silver combs, their usefulness undeniable. As a last touch, she secured a small silver comb, one with a sapphire between two aquamarines ornamenting it, in her braided chignon. Before leaving her table, she almost took it out, feeling as though if she wore the comb she would show some sort of favoritism—a favoritism that she felt for the comb—that would be hard to explain. Her eyes went to the piles of presents she had left on the sofa and wondered if she could handle wearing “normal” clothing again, even if it was only for a day. It would be rude not to, wouldn’t it, she asked herself.

            When Queen Elsa left her room, she was dressed entirely in cloth made of material and not her ice cloth, wearing leather boots and a blue cape similar to the one she had let go of on the North Mountain. Had it not been for the cape, she might have escaped notice, mistaken for a lovely new maid or foreign dignitary. As it was, three of her staff did double-takes and then raved about how different it was to see her in plain clothes again—all nice things—just on the way to the library office.

            Inside the office, she prepared to face a good day in good humor, imagining that few could find things to complain about on Yule. She was partly correct, in that what complaints came across her desk had nothing to do with the holiday. They were, in fact, thinly veiled angry letters from various countries whom sons’, princes’, and kings’ hands she had turned down in the last four years since her parents’ deaths. The general consensus of each was that further refusals to take a husband would be considered as insults, heinous enough to warrant war.

Chapter Text

 

Late on the morning of Yule, Kristoff woke to find that Anna, despite having stayed up late in the night, was already bustling about their room, busy and determined. Groggy still from sleep, he scrubbed his hand across his face and asked in a humored tone, “What are you doing, Feisty-pants?”

            Bad idea.

            Anna stopped, and in her hands were rags. Her copper hair had been piled on top of her head haphazardly. But the thing that let Kristoff really know he shouldn’t have asked that question was the look in her blue eyes; they were half-crazed, stranger’s eyes in his wife’s face, bright but wild with a strange gleam. “Cleaning,” was the short reply.

            In true Anna fashion, the explanation was much longer and more convoluted. It started, “I woke up this morning and I just had this feeling… I remember my mother having a lot of maids, not because she needed them to attend to her, but because she had a habit of making messes—,” and ended several minutes later with: “… And all the dust, Kristoff! This place was closed off for almost fifteen years! I started with the furniture—which, just let me tell you is filthy —and I sent the drapes off to be cleaned except for the ones in our room, and I just keep thinking that the walls—the walls , Kristoff—they haven’t been cleaned— ever ! So, we have to clean them, wash them. Please, get out of bed and help me wash the walls.”

            Kristoff had never, ever been so happy to be summoned for a service in the chapel as he was an hour later. Anna seemed hell-bent on scrubbing every nook and cranny in their room, which would take much longer than they had been allowed to get dressed and presentable for the service. A couple of maids worked on Anna’s hair, though she was entirely focused on how the walls would have to be finished when the service was over—“Really? Can’t we skip this one? I know it's Yule, but… this can’t wait,”—while they did their job and dressed her to look normal. It took coaxing to get her out of the room and away from the mess—truthfully, the walls were pretty dirty—and down to the chapel, yet somehow, Kristoff and Anna were in the front pew on time just as the service started.

            His wife in no mood to be much company, Kristoff took stock of who else was around him. Elsa was on the other side of Anna, wearing real cloth clothes—the kind that people made with thread and needle, not fashioned for themselves from ice—which was astounding in itself, but paid no attention to his play to capture hers. He didn’t even bother looking at Kai and Gerda, who made up the rest of their pew, and saw many familiar faces from the castle amongst the people he assumed were their families. He turned his head as far as his neck allowed and tried to find anyone else. Egon and Linnéa were in the next pew behind them, seemingly cuddled, her head on his shoulder. At first, Kristoff assumed that Hans was beside them, just further out of view, but after turning and looking from the other side, he saw no sign of the prince. Really? Hans got out of the service? What did he do, and could Kristoff do it too?

            Facing the front again, Kristoff tried not to look as bored as he felt. The Trolls weren’t exactly Christian—one of the reasons that he hadn’t had a real Yule until last year—and so most of the stuff that the man in the robes said went in one ear and out of the other. He had participated in the marriage ceremony, but it had seemed so generic that the Fjordsman thought nothing of it besides what he vowed to do for Anna. He didn’t have much of an opinion on the whole religion-thing, aside from what did it matter for him right now? He’d figure it out when he was old and about to die.

            When the whole thing was over, Kristoff quickly told Anna that he was going to see Sven and that he’d be back up to clean later. He didn’t stick around to find out what her response was to that. In his haste to be the first out the door he ran into Hans. At least he knew that the Prince hadn’t escaped the torture either. A quick glance at his still thin face, and the memory of the lack of fingernails, and Kristoff left before he could think anything else that would make him feel bad for the man.

---

 

            Obvious agitation is hard to ignore, except when worrying over threats of war. Queen Elsa hadn’t paid attention to Anna until after Kristoff had left, when her sister poked a boney finger into her upper arm, pushing with just enough pressure to feel like the finger pushed muscle in between the bones. “Ouch,” the Queen said, grabbing her arm and looking at Anna in injured indignance.

            “If you’d have listened to me, I wouldn’t have had to do that,” Anna said, crossing her arms over the bump in her stomach, “I said: ‘I like your clothes,’ and then I said, ‘Are you listening to me?’ and when you hadn’t heard either one, I asked if the sky was a pretty shade of green today, or if the moon was getting close to noon or not.”

            “Oh,” Elsa said, rubbing her arm, “Sorry. I have something on my mind.”

            “So do I, but you don’t see me spacing out when somebody talks to me,” Anna said with a smile—Elsa was starting to realize that her sister was acting weird—and plowed on into how the walls in the entire castle needed to be scrubbed before she gave birth—actually, they better do it now, because even though the midwife said she was still three months away from having the baby, she just couldn’t imagine her stomach getting much bigger, and that seemed like something that was wrong, but to get back to her point, she just really thought that the walls were too dirty and dusty and filthy to have a baby live encased in, and she should know—she had spent all the time Elsa had been in her room roaming the castle—she had been through every door there was to the place, which brought her to the doors and how some of them closed too roughly and some of them didn’t close at all and that some of them had better be sanded down, and…, and…

            Elsa couldn’t handle it. She got up, telling Anna that maybe she’d better talk to Kai and Gerda—both of whom had hoped to escape notice—about the cleaning, and that she had more pressing matters to attend to. Anna called after her, “More pressing than the general filthiness of the castle, in which we all wallow like pigs?”

            Just as soon as that baby was born, Elsa was hoping that Anna would go back to being normal. Or that this too would pass. Soon.

            Elsa didn’t want to go back to the letters, so instead of that, she went for a walk to inspect all the “filthiness” of the castle. She didn’t see what Anna saw, but she imagined that Anna saw everything, and to her eye, everything was wrong. Invariably, she was driven to thinking about how, if she did as the letters bid and chose a husband, she would perhaps be pregnant, too, and maybe just as crazy as her sister. But then again, if she chose a husband, there was no telling if he would survive the first kiss, much less conception. Kissing had all the appeal of putting her lips to a viper’s fangs. She didn’t think anyone would survive it—a true kiss of death, and then where would she be? Then again, maybe she should just agree to marry someone, and when they died of frostbite or something else ice-related, maybe then all of the letters would stop. Who would want to send their sons off to die?

            Maybe it was filthy in the castle, because suddenly, Elsa couldn’t breathe inside; the air was too stuffy and raked her throat and nose as she took the stale air into her lungs and pushed it back out. She found the first door with a balcony and nearly froze the door trying to get it open. That was one of those reasons why she didn’t think a physical relationship was possible with a man and her. Just a little thing like not being able to breathe and she’d freeze important parts of him, like his heart, or lungs. Overcome with the fear of hurting someone and the helplessness she’d always felt in conjunction with fear, and the general aggravation of being threatened for not wanting to get married, Elsa put her hands on the railing of the balcony and froze the entirety of the platform on which she was standing. It was a sharp, clear freeze, like the ice she had accidentally barricaded herself behind when Anna had taken her glove on the night of her coronation. It grew up the side of the castle and made a little prison for her to stand in, the spikes joining at the ninety-degree where they met in startlingly regular patterns. For just a minute, she couldn’t think about the lack of control she had on her powers but reveled in their release, which she so often checked with her willpower.

            It felt good—felt as good as building the castle had felt; felt as good as wearing her signature dress—so much better than wearing stuffy cloth clothes. It felt like catching the light in a crystal—like she was the crystal and she was throwing the light. It didn’t tingle with heat but with energy, and she let it out of her body and onto surfaces where it grew its own crystals and threw its own light.

             In her brief revelry, Elsa didn't give pause to look around and make sure no one saw her lapse. Had she looked into the door, she might have seen the figure that obtusely lurked in the shadows and would have been prepared for the startling arrival of the owner of the shadow.

            "Oh, Elsa!" Olaf cooed, his snowy feet rubbing across the wooden floor of the balcony, "It's so beautiful. Like a really bright room made out of windows! We could bring some chairs out here and sit and just relax, because it's so cool, but also in the sun. I like it." Elsa had put a hand to her breast, so surprised she was, and only then caught up to what the snowman was saying.  

             "I didn't mean to do this," she said, not apologizing, but as though she didn't understand why he thought it was something special. "I just wanted fresh air," the Queen tried to explain, but not wanting to own up to losing control. Olaf took it to mean something different. "Some fresh air in a nice cool area; I understand. I like it. Hey! I have an idea! Why don't you make rooms to live in out of ice for the summer? You could have a little castle attached to this one, just like the one on the mountain?"

             She started to wave the idea off, an old knee-jerk reaction, born from the mantra "Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show," that her father had instilled in her, but as she opened her mouth to dismiss it, she thought it through. If she did raise her own castle in the bay, adjacent and connected to her family castle, she would, perhaps, finally have an outlet for her powers. She would have to work on it every day—the coming heat would certainly melt a few layers off of the ice, and if she put support for it in the water, the water would melt it almost as fast—so she could consider it dangerous for anyone to enter besides herself and warn others accordingly. It would provide a place for her to be alone with her thoughts, maybe a place to hide from Anna’s new intensity. She paused, mouth open and index finger raised, and then rerouted: “I think I would like that, Olaf.”  

             “Well, it was your idea, so I’m glad,” Olaf said, giggling, then looking at the ice on the balcony one more time before taking his personal flurry and himself back inside. He looked out at Elsa and said, “You look nice today, but I like your dresses better.” His snowy little feet shuffled off down the hall, no doubt on his way to see Sven. Elsa stayed on the balcony until she had calmed down as much as she could, squared her shoulders, and left it to convene a council to decide what to do about the suitors.

---

             Arendelle, as a modern nation, could not boast of a large military. Their navy was only of the average size, and only capable of above average maritime offence. They had the royal guard, and a small army, but overall, a wartime nation they were not. The public found it more lucrative to be in the trade game, sailors making more on a cargo ship than they would in the service of the crown, and of-age men making a greater living as shop owners or farmers or scholars. These things were glaringly obvious to everyone in Arendelle when it leaked from the castle that the Queen was to choose a husband or face war.

             The public had two minds about that. One, more than half, expected their Queen to start looking for a husband among those sent by their own nations, and assumed that within the year, they would have a king. Two, less than half, assumed that Queen Elsa could refuse the suitors altogether and simply fight a war all on her own. Arendelle would be safe from all assaults with a monarch able to harness the harshness of winter, having lived through her unintentional summertime blizzard almost two years before.

             Egon was part of those that thought Elsa would fight—and win—all on her own. That was, until she made her decision, five days after Yule. Linnéa had been cleaning non-stop at the behest of Anna, as had the rest of the staff since the holiday, and had only just dropped down beside him on their bed before being disturbed by another maid passing by. That maid had knocked and proclaimed through the door, “The Queen’s made her decision! She’s going to announce it in the throne room!”

             The veteran looked at his wife, who made a face like a child against the mattress, fists curling tightly. He rubbed at her back for a moment before getting off the bed and waiting for her. Still pouting, she rolled to her feet again and let him tuck her under his arm, no words needed. They left the room, steadily making their way up to where a crowd had already gathered. Egon led them through the throng to stand beside Kristoff and Anna in the front. He looked around out of habit for Hans, didn’t see him, and picked up on the conversation already going on between Kristoff and Linnéa: “—do you think she’ll actually go with suitors?”

             “Maybe,” Kristoff said, and to Egon’s ears it sounded like he thought it would be more likely for the moon to turn face—turn face to an actual face—and laugh at them, “She doesn’t have to accept threats. I’ve lived through one of her storms, just barely. No way that anyone could survive one if she meant to attack them.” Egon blinked, staying quiet and keeping his thoughts to himself—Kristoff may have trusted his sister-in-law implicitly, but the veteran couldn’t help the chill that stole over him at the thought that there was no guarantee that the Queen wouldn’t snap and attack Arendelle. Kristoff said it himself: no survivors.

             Linnéa twisted her lips saying, “Could she just put up a big wall out in the ocean? A blockade would keep them out indefinitely, and maybe if they saw it, they’d be so afraid of her powers that no one would want a war against her.” Kristoff paused to give it some thought, and Egon took the opportunity to jump in. “A blockade would keep them out, aye. But it would also keep Arendelle in. Arendelle may have food and resources to stay alive for years, but its economy would die, its people would be out of work, and most importantly, those conditions would drive its people to unrest. A blockade would be a temporary answer to a problem that is more long-standing.”

             Kristoff, Anna, and Linnéa all looked to the veteran like his response was a surprise. Gruff and slightly affronted by their surprise, Egon asked, “I used to be a soldier, or had you forgotten? Any nincompoop could guess the same, anyway, once they thought it through. I doubt the Queen will choose a blockade, is all I was meaning.” They slowly looked away, Anna beginning to whisper something to Kristoff, who took on a look of a man wishing he were somewhere else. Linnéa held onto Egon’s arm like it was the only thing supporting her, her head resting on his shoulder. He thought more about blockades, storms, and ice-powers while he stood still, waiting for the Queen to make her announcement.

---

             Upon hearing the rumors of war, the anxiety and paranoia plaguing Hans doubled and tripled. He locked the door of his room and refused to come out for anything short of needing to relieve himself. He lost his appetite, sat on his bed in his room with his lamp burning, and was generally unmotivated to leave his room at all. It only lasted a few days, but it had been a few days of immobile torment.

             His logic? His reasoning that took him down the intrusive rabbit hole? Queen Elsa would choose war over having to take suitors, thereby making him exponentially more likely to be kidnapped by his brothers. War made for chaos, at least where there was no blockade and little security at the docks. It would be easy for one of his brother’s men to waylay him, disguise him—even a poor disguise would do—, and stuff him on a ship back to the Southern Isles. He would be stolen back before the first shots of war were ever fired. If he granted no one entry to his room and only made trips out to the privy, Hans could cut down on the number of people with access to his person to just his person.

             The maid, announcing that Queen Elsa would declare her decision in the throne room, loudly speaking through Egon and Linnéa’s door, was the end of Hans’ hiding in his room. He was out of his door before Egon and Linnéa had made it off of their bed, and speeding along the halls with only one purpose: talk to the Queen. He jumped over a bunch in the carpet, rather than trip on it, and wove past another maid, and another, until he was skidding into the throne room, eyes scanning for the Queen, not finding her, and continuing, having not disturbed even one of the arriving audience. He didn’t have to think about where he was going. Taking the stairs two at a time, he arrived in the hall that branched off into the way to the Queen’s apartments. From there, he couldn’t seem to get to the double doors at end fast enough, barely noticing that there were guards standing on either side. When he showed no signs of slowing down, they crossed their spears before the door, both commanding him to stop. Hans slammed into the spears, his momentum knocking them into the doors, which opened, and knocked them apart, depositing him to the ground inside of Elsa’s office. It also knocked the breath from his lungs, and he lay panting on the floor while the guards rushed in, bent on removing him.

             The Queen stopped them, Hans looking up in time to see her quit her bedroom. She was confused, but it barely registered in his panicked mind. He jerked at the guards’ hold on his arms, surprising them into release with his vigor. Still desperate, Hans circled around the furniture to reach out for Elsa. She drew back too quickly, and it took a full second for him to understand why—were he to seize her, he needn’t fear the guards; Elsa could freeze him if she was not in control of herself. Without someone to cling to, however, whatever force had driven him to the Queen’s rooms put him on his knees. A day or so without food, plus the run, made him light-headed. It was hard to start speaking for a moment, but once he did begin, it was hard to stop.  

             “Queen Elsa, please,” Hans gulped, “Please, do not go to war—,”

             She waved the guards to turn around and go stand outside, which took them a moment to comply with, all the while Hans still speaking in frenzied, halting tones. “Do not go to war. Please. My brothers. They will use it. They’d use any excuse. But war: they’ll have me before the first body goes cold. I’ll be back on a ship. They’ll have me in prison again. Please, please, please don’t go to war—,” He would have continued, but when the doors were closed, the Queen, to his surprise, put a hand on his shoulder and gripped it hard. That contact only lasted a second, making him flinch, and stop speaking.

             Her blue eyes were on him, fair, feathery brows pulling down with emotion that Hans couldn’t name in that moment. She put a hand out to him, to lift him from the floor, which he took, and another offering him a chair, which he also took. His heart kept hammering in his chest, and words died unsaid at the back of his throat. The Queen sat across from him, composing herself calmly and regally. His mouth opened and closed, breath trying to move as it should and getting caught somewhere between his nose and windpipe.

             “I have no plans to go to war, Prince Hans,” she said, calmly. He blinked, surprised, and then he was overcome with relief so pure and potent that the heat in his face leaked out as tears. It was shameful to be weeping so completely, in anyone’s company, but doubly so in front of the Queen, so his hands found their way to his face, fisted knuckles pressed to his forehead, and palms pressed against his eyes. He bent at his middle, feeling like a child, but continued his sobs uninterrupted for a moment longer, or a few moments longer. He wasn’t sure when she put her hand on his knee, but when he realized it was there, Hans leaned back, weeping stopping for a full moment while he took stock of Elsa’s state. She was exactly as she had been, her expression the same as it had been, except that her hand was on his knee. The Queen took his cessation of weeping as an opportunity to continue.

             “You should know that it wasn’t your pleading with me that keeps Arendelle from war. I would try to keep you safe, as per my agreement with Prince Dorian, but I would not make decisions about my country just to keep you from your other brothers.” Hans swallowed hard, and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, nodding at her words. They were understandable, but they didn’t give him as much relief as her first few did. The Queen continued, “I am going to accept suitors. They come from all over, and my letters to them have already been sent out. I did receive a letter from one of your brothers, Dagny, but I forwarded it to Dorian with my own letter that I would not take a suitor from the Southern Isles under any circumstances.”

             Dagny. His ninth brother, chronologically. Thoughts of him were unremittingly associated to cramped places, hot without respite, maddeningly unable to sit or lay down. Hans almost missed the Queen’s question: “Do you want something to drink?” It was his surprise, he thought, or a lingering sense of it, that muddled his brain to the point of asking, “What?”

             “You sound like you haven’t had anything to drink for hours. You look like you haven’t bathed—you smell like it as well—for days. You look horrible,” the last bit was asked with a twinge of humor, and he tried straightening himself subtly, unaware of her slight goading, “I’m sure my guards couldn’t recognize you, so out of sorts… Honestly, Prince Hans, tell me: is all of this because you were worried that I would choose war over an uncomfortable marriage?” He didn’t have an answer, and Elsa sighed, shaking her head, “You could have asked me when you heard. Anyone could have asked me. Instead, I have to go and tell my people that, yes, I will try to marry, and, no, I wouldn’t send their husbands, fathers, and sons to die rather than the other… It would have saved you some grief, I imagine. You should take care of yourself, Hans. It’s a way to beat your brothers.”

             The Queen stood, the place where her hand had been on his knee oddly cold—unlike what he would expect from someone else’s hand—and made her way over to her doors. She paused, looked back at him, her blue dress catching some of the strengthening winter sun rays, glittering brilliantly, and said, “I’ll leave those guards outside if you’d like to use my washroom. I can send Linnéa to help and a meal up if you’d like. Oh, and there’s a pitcher of water on the desk.” He didn’t realize that she was really waiting for an answer until she had stood at the door for more than a minute. “Yes,” he replied, voice still rusty, “Please, Your Grace.”

             She nodded, and then she was gone.

---

 

             Linnéa, by virtue of having had multiple sexual partners in her thirty-odd years, knew the difference between a big prick and a little one. The first of the year was well on its way of becoming the end of January, and several of Queen Elsa’s suitors had arrived in Arendelle as early as the fifteenth of the month. The staff of the castle had never been so busy, even with Anna and Kristoff’s wedding, and even with Anna’s newfound love of a sterile environment.  Sometimes, she hid in any closet she could find, just for a quarter-hour alone, resting. Having to clean after, feed, launder clothes, and run messages of four princes, two dukes, and a rather large foreign dignitary was like cleaning after nine pompous pigs.  

             So, she made up her own little game about them, letting in two other maids, who let in two more, until the whole staff was in on the joke. She’d wager the size of their… bits. Half of it was attitude—every prince, duke, dignitary, and man, in general, seemed to have an attitude that corresponded to their manliness—and the other half was intense staring. Her game had made for quite the betting pool among maids and butlers. The fun only ended when they reached the end of the suitors. But another had arrived over the weekend, and the betting had reached a ridiculousness that surprised even Linnéa.

             He, Sokollu, was a fine young man, older than the Queen by five years, well in his prime. He came from the east, over the mountains, from a place where dark tales were told and the history was as meshed with legend as it was —Linnéa couldn’t make out the rest, but she was sure it was “interesting.” He was not a prince, but a governor from Bosnia, expected to become a Grand Vizier sometime in the future—this was all well and good, but Linnéa barely understood any of it—and sent on behalf of the Ottoman Empire. They had high hopes for Sokollu, she assumed, and little hopes for themselves, she gathered by the whispers of the other gentiles. Oh, and was he handsome! Queen Elsa couldn’t find a better man, so far, in terms of looks. He had dark brown hair thick and glossy that fell smartly on his ears in loose waves; he wore no beard, just a thin, trimmed mustache. His voice was deep, with an accented cadence that sounded musical. Sokollu’s most attractive feature, she had noticed, were his eyes, hazel with thick, dark eyelashes, set well in an open face. He wore strange clothes, their drawback being either a skirt of a coat or loose pants. She couldn’t make a good bet on how big his goods were, based on that alone.

             So, Linnéa had to take other factors into consideration. The governor was not as tall as Hans, and not as wide across the shoulders as Kristoff, and not as barrel-chested as her husband. He had hands that were proportionate, and feet that were respectably big. His demeanor was subdued, but he seemed charismatic enough when the time called for it. He wasn’t as flirtatious with the maids as some of the other suitors. Then again, even being handsome, some of the maids thumbed their figurative noses at him on grounds that he wasn’t Christian. Linnéa had no such disillusions, and she didn’t particularly care for those maids either. At any rate, the last point didn’t really affect the size of his privates.

             Coming to a conclusion, at last, she spread it around that the governor Sokollu was an average man, not too big, not too small. The betting began immediately, and every attempt was made to “chance” upon what it really was. The largest bet was an entire week’s pay that Linnéa was under-guessing by a couple of inches. Her own bet was on that she was right, right down to the size. And if she wasn’t right, it wasn’t the biggest bet ever made. On the governor’s third day there, one of the involved butlers passed it along that Egon’s wife was right on all accounts. She gave part of the week’s pay back to the gambler, feeling bad that they’d lost so much. Other than that, Linnéa was quite happy with her game.  

             It distracted them all from the guests they housed.  

             She had been so busy that she hardly looked for Hans, hardly had any energy at night except to crawl into bed with Egon, and hardly saw the Queen or the Princess or Kristoff. Elsa had her own issues keeping her busy, and Anna had enough issues to keep everyone busy. Egon stayed busy keeping an eye on the suitors, and, he told her, Elsa had asked him to keep a close but invisible watch on Prince Hans.

             The day the Queen had sent Linnéa up to her rooms to help Hans bathe in her washroom was the last day she had had any sort of conversation with him. She had no idea what to expect when the Queen sent her up, aside from that Hans would be up there.

             He stood beside the large cast-iron tub when she peeked her head into the washroom. It was hard to tell the expression on his face, where his back was to the window. She greeted him quietly, and he responded on the same level, turning away from her completely. She’d drawn the water and heated it, then helped him undress—he wasn’t exactly steady on his feet and smelt terrible—all without another exchange of words. Using Elsa’s soaps and oils, she cleaned Hans’ hair, which had grown further down his back in the six months in Arendelle. Linnéa offered to trim it and pleat it, but the Prince declined both.

             It had been in her mind to respect his privacy, so she tried very hard not to look at him while he washed, or when he stepped out, draining the tub of water. Once in a dressing gown, he let her shave his stubbly cheeks, reminding her rather painfully of the trip to Arendelle on the ship and the time when she felt comfortable weeping for him. Now, they barely had five words for each other. So, when the need hit her to ask what was on her mind, it slipped out unfettered.

             “Can’t it be like it was before, Hans?”

             He was surprised, slightly, by the question, taking a moment before asking, “’Like it was before’ when, Linnéa?”

             “’Before’ I opened my mouth that one time. We don’t have to be family. I’d settle for a regular conversation. I… I don’t want you to be alone. It wears on you,” Linnéa answered. He didn’t look at her while she was speaking, and she thought he might have shut her out entirely, but he finally spoke, just as she had thought to get up and finish straightening up the room. “Thank you…” he said, in a calm, quiet voice, “For caring.”

             From him, it had seemed like a yes, but, as the weeks wore on, Linnéa realized they were no closer than before the bath.

---

             Who knew that foreign dignitaries and governors and princes could bring so much filth with them? The castle was in a constant state of cleaning, and there always seemed to be more dirt, in places high and low. Everywhere. On everything. She’d lay awake at night, and Kristoff would be sleeping like his troll family—rocks, all of them—and she’d be thinking about the baby yet to be born, and how the baby couldn’t live in the toxicity that those suitors were leaving everywhere, and about the blankets that could smother it or keep it warm, and the tiny little draft she felt coming through a window in their room, and how her husband would probably sleep through everything from a crying baby to a giant whale swallowing the whole of the kingdom.

             It was maddening inside of her brain. On the one hand, she’d never been so aware of how much she talked, or how much she asked of people, or that she was so big now, and on the other hand, she’d never been more happy, more connected with people, or more ready for the next part of her life. Her hands would rove over her stomach, particularly when the occupant inside was moving around, and she would envision holding the child. What would it be? A little boy? Her father would have loved a grandson. She knew that he had loved his daughters, but there was a part of her that always recognized that he wished Elsa were a boy. Or that she was. What about a little girl? Would Kristoff even know what to do with a little girl? Of course. He’d probably take her mountain climbing and put her on Sven and parade her around like the princess of the Trolls—she’d be their Queen, Anna just knew it—and she’d love ice just as much as her father. Either would be okay. Anna thought she’d love it even if it had two heads and a body like Olaf. Well, maybe she’d wonder who she’d mortally offended to have a child born like that. If it was healthy, that was the best thing she could ask for.

             She rose from the bed at the crack of dawn and was dressed while the sun was still lazily climbing the horizon. The baby was awake, moving around. What must it be like, living in water? Growing, hearing—she assumed that the baby could hear—and not having to take a breath. She sat in a chair in the view of the bay and the rising sun and wished that her mother were still alive. Was it any different to carry Elsa than Anna? Had her mother been abnormally cold? When had Elsa’s powers first appeared? Was she a little baby, freezing her toys and rattles or did it start when she could walk? How did they keep her powers from the nannies? Or the maids? Anyone who was around when Elsa’s powers manifested when she was a child?

             Anna put her hand to her chest, and the other to her stomach. Would being frozen—and it was on her mind from the start—affect the child growing within her? Would they be like Elsa? Their mother hadn’t—to either of their knowledge—been frozen, before or after Elsa was born. Perhaps it was time to go to Pabbie, because perhaps now the old troll would know whether or not the baby was destined to have that magic that had been born to her sister.  

             Kristoff, dressed in his nightshirt, set a warm hand on her shoulder. He could tell that she was pensive, thinking things over, things other than cleaning.

             “We’re going somewhere today, aren’t we?” he asked.

             She nodded, the hand on her chest rising up to lay on his. “I want to go see your family. I want to know if they know anything.”

             Hours later, after the sun had risen into a blue sky, Kristoff and Anna left the castle, both in the sled she had given to Kristoff after his was broken. The snow on their path had yet to melt completely, so as Sven pulled the couple along at a decent pace, there was still a sense of winter clinging to the trees and ground. Kristoff kept the reins in one hand, the other arm keeping his wife close to him. Having a blue sky against the melting snow made the pines stand out sharply, and the moving air made her nose start to run. Just one sniffle caught Kristoff’s attention, and he acted like she had caught the plague. “I’m fine,” she assured him but took the scarf he insisted on offering, covering the lower half of her face.  

             Around noon, Kristoff stopped the sled and unharnessed Sven, and the three of them walked the last rocky path to the troll’s village within the valley. As usual, Kristoff’s adopted family was over the moon to see him and Anna and Sven. Bulda immediately asked Anna all sorts of questions about her pregnancy, to the point that Kristoff had to remind his adoptive mother that there were others present. Pabbie, after his family nearly broke into another musical number, got down to business.

             “What brought you to us today?” They had all sat down, the humans and reindeer surrounded by the trolls. Pabbie had both of Anna’s hands in his, soft despite being made of stone. He was always perceptive.

             “We want to know about the baby,” Anna responded, followed by Kristoff, who added, “If it’s going to be like Elsa. Because of Anna being frozen.”

             Pabbie drew a deep breath, his features drawing together over his large nose. “The child is not yet born… their life is too tied to Anna’s to tell.” He said it hesitantly, and it seemed to be enough explanation for her husband, but Anna felt like Pabbie was holding back.

             “Then look at my future. Will I be dealing with a baby that has ice powers? If we’re that linked, it must be obvious what will happen when I have the baby. Please, Pabbie. I want—no, I need to know.”

             He was quiet for a long moment, and Anna could feel the questions piling up at the back of her throat, held in by sheer willpower alone. Because the baby could be like Elsa, and while that might be kind of exciting to have a baby who was like her sister, she could see herself having just as many problems as her parents did with her sister—though her sister would know how to reach the child and teach it, unlike her parents, who had no earthly idea and no one to ask—and Kristoff being both in awe of their child’s abilities and maybe too careless with them which could spell disaster and—

             “This child will not be like Elsa,” Pabbie said, and Anna heard Kristoff breathe a sigh of relief, though the shaman troll continued, “But you have the potential to have one like her, Anna. Just like Elsa has the potential to have perfectly normal children. The possibility is there, but it is not overwhelmingly likely.”

             There was little else to be said on the matter, though both Anna and Kristoff asked if the child would be healthy. With a confirmation and some more family time, they left on the sled and returned to the castle before the sun was fully set.

             Naturally, the sled had to be cleaned to perfection and they had to change clothes in the first hallway in the castle and then that whole hallway had to be changed and Kristoff had to bathe because really there was no way she was getting into bed with him if he didn’t since he was in the stables talking to Sven for what felt like an hour and all that time she was just up in their room on their and she hoped that he didn’t do that when the baby was here because it needed its father just as much as its mother and … and…

---

             The best defense is a good offense.

             Though it was not combat that she was undertaking, Queen Elsa felt as though she were living under that adage on the daily. She dined, chatted, and maneuvered that way. It was what she had expected when she decided to accept the suitors to her court. And she had perfectly good reason; she had to determine, quickly, if there were any suitors not solely interested in conquering Arendelle with a political marriage. Arendelle had to remain its own sovereign nation.  

             Some suitors were so annoyingly transparent that they left after only a brief audience with the Queen of Arendelle. Weeding those out had been easy, but then she was left with the more dubiously natured men, who all knew just enough to seem like the affairs of Arendelle were more than pointless trivialities to them. Of those less transparent suitors, Elsa found that she could separate them between those who treated her with polite courtesy and those who treated her like someone with a brain between her ears. Those suitors in the second group were infinitely more welcome than the first, but at the same time, those second groupers were frustratingly less easy to read. Elsa kept the first group in Arendelle for an extra week, feeling like they were the last barrier between her and a nest of vipers.  

             As the last of the second group of suitors were packed away on their ships, distance making them small dots that had rounded the harbor and were disappearing off into the horizon, Elsa was preparing a dinner with her few remaining suitors. In the early afternoon, she was beset in her office with letters that had been delivered to her from her people, all seemingly with opinions on who they thought she should choose. Of course, the servants would have spoken to their families on their opinions of her suitors. The first few letters that the Queen opened were a surprise to read over; her subjects had opinions on men they had never met before? The castle was overrun with opinions, it seemed. As humorous as the letters appeared at times, the more she read them, the more she felt a sort of strangling pressure build in her chest. This was absolutely inescapable. One of these suitors would be her husband, and gain a hand in all the matters of Arendelle as a state. A dark cloud at the back of her mind cast a shadow on them all—not one of the suitors cared anything for her beautiful country, or her kind-hearted people, or least of all her. They saw Arendelle as a venue for economics, a military foothold, or a land of natural resources they could exploit.

             Elsa tossed the letters on her desk, unwilling to read another line from anyone on who she should marry. The room was cold; she could see her breath in the air. Would she ever get a handle on her powers and emotions and the connection between the two? Love will thaw, she reminded herself, and tried to concentrate on the love in her life, but even that was tainted in some anxiety with the coming delivery of her sister’s child. The Queen decided a walk might better serve her, and left her rooms in a rustling of gauze-like blue skirts.  

             Sometime later, as she looked over the gardens from a balcony, the Queen was startled out of an absent-minded silence by a tap against the glass of the open door behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see one of her suitors.  

             “Governor Sokollu,” Elsa greeted him, turning back to face the gardens and to hide her expression. She could have guessed that with the herd thinning, the suitors would become bolder, but when she had set out for her walk, she hadn’t considered that she would run into one of them.  

             “May I join you, your Majesty?” asked the governor, accent making the words seem more musical than she was used to. She stayed silent for a moment before turning to face him, bare hands coming to rest together behind her back, fingers interlaced and alternatively squeezing the other fingers nervously. Eying the governor’s clothes—thick for the still-cold air—the Queen responded, “If you don’t mind, I would prefer to walk. I stood still for a moment too long, I think.”

             He acquiesced with a nod of his head, allowing her space to pass him in the doorway and falling into step with her as she went. “I was under the impression that your Majesty was immune to the cold. I see I shouldn’t have assumed anyone was immune to this climate,” Sokollu said, deep voice soft to keep from echoing in the halls. The cold, he thought, was why she wanted to move? It almost made her laugh, but she managed to smile demurely and preserve her aloofness. Appearances and counter-movements; this was politics as an unmarried queen could play them.  

             Elsa parried his move, “I was under the impression that Bosnia was similarly cold; I would have thought you were used to this weather.”

             “Your Majesty is not wrong,” he said, a slow, gentle smile revealing even white teeth and lightening his eyes, “However, most of us in Bosnia would not brave the cold without a thick coat.”

             She followed the brief flickering of his eyes to her person and felt the need to follow. While not having taken to wearing anything risqué, Elsa wasn’t truly dressed for the lingering winter. She had taken inspiration from the shirts sailors wore—high, wide, and plain-necked—and let the rest fall in crisscrossing gossamer shifts. She had no sleeves. “I’ve never been bothered by the cold,” the Queen replied, chin held up. So he wanted to know about her powers? Was that why he sought her out?

             “I had wondered how that would work, considering the rumors of your ice castle in the mountains,” the governor said, somehow not losing the gentle look in his eyes, “Ice is dangerous, but you were unharmed when you were returned here. One had to wonder.”

             “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about, Governor?”  

             “In a way, it is, your Majesty. I realize being courted by many men with obvious political agendas could be a stress to you. I will not say that politics did not bring me here or that it does not carry weight in how I conduct myself,” Sokollu responded, stopping their walk by overtaking her pace and standing before her, gentle eyes projecting only trustworthiness, “But I will say that since my arrival, I’ve become enamored with your kingdom, of which the only rival it has in beauty is its monarch.”  

             Elsa’s pale eyebrows lifted marginally. The flattery seemed genuine. Was it a cheap ploy to warm her to the governor? Was he attempting to be transparent in the hopes of gaining her trust? Whatever his angle, Sokollu was the hardest to read amongst her remaining suitors; he played the most subtle game.  

             Some part of her wanted to believe in him. He was handsome in a way that might creep into her fractionally remembered dreams. The idea of a small version of a mix between them both was not without its charms: a blonde son with hazel eyes, a daughter with dark curls and blue eyes, or any variation therein between. But there came again the dark cloud, warning her not to imagine anything with a man that had been sent by an empire, swallowing up the images of children in its darkness.  

             The governor went on, “I hope that you allow me to stay longer, if not to learn who you are and what makes this kingdom great under your guidance, to perhaps observe the bountiful beauty a while more.”

             The dark cloud halted its advance for a moment, and Elsa felt a small ember of hope flare within her. Learn who she was? Could he care about Arendelle and its people? The cloud advanced, but where shadow covered the little—minuscule, really—flame, it’s light did not die. “May I?” he asked, bowing and extending his hand for hers. She had laid her chilly hand in the warm palm of his before she had time to think about the consequences, and he lowered his lips so close to her skin that she could feel the heat of his breath. They hovered there, never connecting before he pulled away and released her hand. He turned to leave, slowly, fanning the flame with a gentle gaze.

             “Until dinner, your Majesty,” Sokollu murmured in the hall, deep voice only for her ears. He left her standing where she was, fingers tensing and feet unmoving, and she watched his broad back disappear around a corner before she could breathe again. Moments passed and she remained until she had finally realized that she was holding her hand up and examining it as though the almost kiss on her skin should have left a mark.  

             Elsa shivered, the tight feeling creeping back in. Even if Sokollu was in earnest, and even if they had a fairytale romance and everything was well and good and right, there was still the very real possibility that she could kill him. The thought made the little flame waver, and sputter, but as Elsa finally resumed her walking, it did not blink out.

---

             A wet, melting snow fell from the skies in a dusting manner, just heavy enough to make the world seem muted in gray tones. As Kristoff drove his sled across the lingering snow, he was increasingly agitated to have been sent out into the weather to show some of Arendelle’s finer points to the governor from Bosnia. Anna had listened to too much gossip concerning the dignitary and her sister. A week ago, someone spread a rumor that they had been kissing in a hallway, and while Anna had asked if it was true and gotten a negative answer, she seemed to be very interested in having her sister pick the suitor who was now seated beside him.  

             So this trip was Anna’s idea, a way of having Kristoff get a feel for who the man was.  

             “How’d a guy your age get to be a governor?” asked the tactless driver. He didn’t know what else Anna had expected. At least the passenger seemed to take his bluntness in stride; he wore a small smile as he looked out at the passing scenery. “There was no one else who was able to; they were all too old or too moronic,” he answered, smile taking on a slight edge, “Men who were concerned with filling their coffers were disqualified, as were those whose agendas conflicted with the Empire. Of those left, I was simply the best candidate.”

             Kristoff supposed he could respect that answer, but he’d really only asked to see if the governor would reply, or, to hear if the man had obtained rank nefariously. He was surprised when the governor had a question of his own to ask, and by the question itself, “And you? How did you come to be the Prince of Arendelle? How did you woo Princess Anna?”

             Generally, romance was a little less dire than how he and Anna had gotten together. “Uh,” Kristoff started uncertainly, “I met her almost two years ago… When the Queen had her coronation and then Anna accidently agitated her into revealing her ice powers, Anna rode after… Anyhow, she needed a guide up the North Mountain, and I was losing money to the blizzard in summer, so we went to see if Anna couldn’t talk Elsa into coming home.” He stopped, uncertain as to whether or not any of this would make sense to the man next to him. And also because remembering just how his life had changed in only a day and a half made his tongue feel heavy in his mouth. For a moment, Kristoff let his thoughts subside in favor of watching how Sven was doing, pulling the sled. The reindeer didn’t get nearly enough exercise anymore. Kristoff tried to keep Sven busy, but… Anna was so close to having the baby and they still had a few suitors running around, and… When had he started rambling when he thought? Anna was rubbing off on him.

             The governor cleared his throat, reminding Kristoff that he had been talking, “Oh, right. Well, after the Queen thawed out Arendelle, Anna and I got to know each other better. We were married last summer.”

             Apparently, it was a lackluster story to the governor, who lapsed into silence. For an hour and a half, the pair rode through Arendelle, Kristoff pointing at things and explaining their importance and the dignitary nodding and asking sparse questions. When they approached the gate of the castle, the governor spoke again.  

             “I understand that the Queen and her sister are very close,” the man said, and Kristoff was shaken a little at the intensity of his gaze, “Please give your wife a glowing recommendation, and let her know that I only have praise for her kingdom.”

             Kristoff blinked, stuttering a bit to say, “W-what do you mean? Anna d-didn’t—,”

             “She did. I know this wasn’t your idea; I can tell you’re not the type to plot and scheme. I’m under the impression that you don’t remember my name,” the governor said; he was right. Kristoff thought it was something like Skull, but he couldn’t recall. The man continued, “Honest men like you do not fall into situations like these often, but it’s all the better that you are Prince of Arendelle. A lesser would scheme to take the throne while the Queen’s line is not secure. Trust me, Prince Kristoff. I have seen enough political intrigue in my time as governor to know when the game is afoot. Protect your family. I will watch the men still scheming for her Majesty’s hand.”  

             They passed through the gates before Kristoff could do more than sit in uncomfortable silence. Kristoff numbly pulled on the reins to halt their movement and the governor climbed out, turned back to say, “Cao, and good luck,” before marching back towards the castle.

             Taking to unharnessing Sven, Kristoff tried to work through his thoughts as he had, giving voice to his oldest friend. “ So he’s evil, right? ” Kristoff asked, seeing the worry on Sven’s face.  

             “I don’t know. I can’t tell. He was right, though. Hans did just what the governor said someone else would have done, and maybe he heard about it, already. There are an awful lot of gossips in the castle.”

             “ If he’s not like the other guys, does that mean he’s a good guy? ”

             “Not necessarily. He may just be better at hiding his intentions than they are. And they’re all very good at it. Elsa isn’t going to have an easy time with any of this. I don’t envy her. There’s no way I’d stick my nose in this.”

             “ But what if she picks that guy and he’s bad? What if it’s not safe for Anna and the baby? ”

             “What if he’s fine and everyone lives happily ever after?” Kristoff asked, feeling deluded even as the words came out of his mouth. Sven schooled his features into a doubtful reproach. “Fine. I’ll keep an eye out for any shenanigans. Happy?”

             “ No. ”

             “Why not?”

             “ There’s usually a carrot at the end of one of these discussions, remember? ”

             When Kristoff produced a bundle of carrots from the sleigh, he couldn’t help but laugh at Sven’s enthusiasm. Turning towards the castle himself, Kristoff tried and failed to decide on what his appraisal of the governor to his wife was going to be. Eventually, he knew he’d have to tell her all of it.

---

 

             There was an art to avoiding the prying eyes of the Queen’s guests. It had a lot to do with blending into the staff when necessary and staying in places the suitors were unlikely to go. The first group to leave made it easier to hide, but the second group to leave left Hans very open to scrutiny. More than once, he pulled a hat on his head and snuck to the stables to see Sitron for the entirety of the daylight hours.

             There was a man amongst the final group that made Hans the wariest above the others. At a distance, more than once, Hans caught the man looking at him. He was in the stables the morning that Hans ran into him. Worse than that, the man was interested only in Sitron, it seemed. That was until he spoke to Hans without turning to face him, “Horses here are strange to me. I have several in my stable in Bosnia, but none such as this… or that have such strangely colored manes. What breed is this?”

             The man did not touch Hans’ horse, and Sitron wasn’t shying away from the man, but Hans was so uneasy that his voice broke when he answered, “He’s… a Fjord horse.”

             “Ah. I have an Arabian—a gift from one of the emissaries from the Empire. Very tall, handsome; he’s a spirited stallion and sires a foal every year. It’s a good life for a horse, isn’t it?” The man turned to face Hans, and the light touched his face enough to see a pair of hazel eyes that seemed to bore into him. A thought that maybe the man wasn’t talking about horses, not really, occurred to the prince.

             “F-for a horse, yes…?”

             “What is your purpose here, Prince Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles?”

             A sound like a dull pounding filled the stable suddenly—or filled his ears, either way, he couldn’t tell the difference. Hans swallowed what tasted like bile back down. In the space of a few heartbeats, the man moved three steps forward, until he was much too close for Hans’ comfort. Sitron watched from his stall attentively. “You… you know who I am?”

             “I know who you are. I know what your brothers had done to you up to the point of your ‘death,’” the man said, moving a pace closer, and Hans could no more back away than he could blink; the man continued, “I know that was unlikely to be the worst you suffered. What I do not know is why you were allowed sanctuary in the country whose monarch you tried to kill and whose throne you tried to steal.”

             The man advanced again, and although Hans was the taller of the two, the suitor seemed to loom over him. Why did it feel like if Hans ran, this man would catch him? His expression suggested Hans had better start explaining.

             “I’m under political asylum,” Hans answered, voice gravelly, “My older brothers—well, at least ten of them—would like nothing more than to capture me… and resume what they were doing to me—,”

             The man interrupted, “I gathered as much, Prince Hans. Skip to the part where you start living in Arendelle’s castle.”

             “In the summer of last year, a man freed me from my prison, and h-he and his wife smuggled me here. The Princess wasn’t pleased to see me, but the Queen… took mercy on me. She hadn’t sent me to my brothers to be treated the way I had been, she said, to paraphrase. So I was allocated a room, and her Majesty sent word to my eldest brother that I was alive and here. Bounty-hunters had been sent after me. One made it all the way to my room, and had the Queen not intervened, he would have taken me back to my other brothers. After that, she made sure that I was safe until my eldest brother, Prince Dorian, arrived. He and the Queen made some sort of deal; she would give me shelter for a time and Dorian would compensate her, and when he deemed it safe, I would leave. But my brothers snuck a man into Arendelle, who made it very clear that the only place they wouldn’t be able to get to me is here. The Queen has allowed me to remain here.”

             “That explains how you came to be here. I’ll ask again, and be a touch more pointed. What is your purpose here? Are you and the Queen in some sort of tryst?”

            Despite being thoroughly threatened by this man, a small pocket of laughter dislodged within him, and although he tried to hold it back, it burst forth. It was very obviously a surprise to the Queen’s suitor, who blinked like he had been pinched on the arm, or had his ears boxed. Hans covered his mouth with his bare, cold hand. The sensation seemed to ground him long enough to say past his fingers, “You mean, you don’t know?”

            “’Don’t know,’ what?” the man asked, clearly somewhat confused. Hans tried not to sound like he had any humor in him when he dodged, “I would have thought, since you’re so clearly observant, that you would have noticed…” He couldn’t quite finish explaining. It wasn’t funny, but for some reason, Hans thought that his interrogator missing this key factor was somehow… silly.

            “I don’t understand,” the man said, an edge of irritation creeping in, “What should I have noticed?”

            So, uncomfortably, Hans made it clear that he was no stallion, and just saying it out loud was somewhere between embarrassing and humiliating. He wouldn’t have chosen to tell anyone, had that been possible. In their analogy, he was a gelding, but rather than being put to pasture, he had been stabled with a whole group of stallions after one mare. The look on the stallion’s—the man’s—face after Hans had told him was somewhere between pity and disgust.  

            “I owe you an apology, Prince Hans,” he said. Hans shook his head, saying, “I don’t want one. If you could just avoid spreading it around, I would appreciate it. It’s one thing to live with it privately. It’s another to be saddled with this stigma publically for the rest of my life.”

            The man nodded, and then decided to extend a gloved hand. “Governor Sokollu,” he said, an introduction, “I’m glad to know that the Queen is as virtuous as I perceived her to be. You perhaps can see my dilemma: an unmarried man of high rank living in the castle of an unmarried queen for many months with no explanation.”

            “Well, your worry was unfounded,” Hans said, self-deprecatingly adding, “Aside from Queen Elsa being immensely dutiful, I was never any competition.”

            The governor nodded his head and they made small talk for a short time after. Finally, Sokollu made and excuse and then made his exit. Hans went to Sitron immediately, needing to stroke the horse’s muzzle to bring himself back to any level of calm. Avoiding the governor seemed more pertinent now than ever. Either the man was the world’s most calculating and manipulative liar, or he was genuinely interested in Queen Elsa. Some part of him hoped it would be the former, because if the man’s manner was all pretense, that opened up the possibility of the man leaving. And it seemed important that a man like him not stay indefinitely.  

---

 

            The palace was unusually quiet. The staff had been let out of their duties for the day, and most had decided to go home rather than stay in what was effectively a mausoleum in the face of what had happened.

            It had been two days ago.

            It started in the dining hall. There were loud, angry shouts that reached out into the hall, and the sound of breaking porcelain. Egon had been placed on detail for the last fifteen minutes of a meal that until then had been quiet. Linnéa was inside, likely waiting to take plates as their diners finished with them, and so her husband didn’t hesitate to burst into the hall. He saw that his wife wasn’t cowering in a corner taking cover but wasn’t close enough to be hit by any of the shattering tableware. The two combatants were the Bosnian governor and a lord from somewhere south of Corona.

            “Take back those words, you lecherous rat,” Sokollu demanded, irate but not the one throwing plates. The lord sneered, trying to fake bravado, obviously unnerved by the anger of the other suitor. “Why? Does the truth hurt your precious ears, or are you just defending your slut?”

            Linnéa seemed to be a shade of red that promised violence. The other suitors had taken the side of the lord, their collective hissing blending together into insults to the governor. Egon watched Sokollu dive for the lord, and the pair fell to the floor in a heap of thrown fists and scrambling limbs. The veteran had enough at that point. He ran over and pulled the governor off the lord, not gentle in breaking up the fight. Forgetting himself for a moment, he was transported back to his days in the army, and the first words out of his mouth were words he would have said to dueling young soldiers. Their vulgarity happened to be something he wished he could forget. Still, he had the men’s attention.

            “What?” Egon asked, still having to hold the Bosnian man back. His wife answered, having been witness to the whole thing, apparently, “That rat bastard—“ there was an interrupting hiss from said bastard and his cohorts, “—he started in about the Queen. He was saying some awful things. All of them were lies, and the governor had enough—“

            She was cut off by Sokollu this time; “Vile scum,” he said, before spitting at the lord, which almost caused the start of another fight. Egon kept the men from each other, just barely.

            “I suggest you all go back to your rooms, gentlemen,” came a voice from the door, which every person in the hall looked at the source of, Princess Anna, heavily pregnant and radiating anger that brokered no argument. “Out,” she commanded.

            The room was left empty, and the princess had disappeared after watching the men file out, gone likely to speak to the Queen. Egon stayed to help in cleaning up, Linnéa telling him exactly what was said under her breath, and at the end of her story, the veteran was a little sorry he hadn’t let Sokollu whale on the lord longer.  

            Egon walked through the halls on the way to the Queen’s rooms, having been part of the guard that stayed as if it were a normal day. His footsteps on the carpet made as little sound as possible, but he felt like he made as much noise as a herd of cattle would. Linnéa, he knew, was with the group with Arendelle’s monarch inside her apartment. He stopped at the doors, turned, and began his watch.

---

            They were in Elsa’s bedroom, sitting on the floor alone, with several people in the next room. Anna was wrapped in a blanket and was closest to the lit fireplace, the blaze obviously a seldom occurrence. She would hold her sister’s hand if she could, but Elsa was still too upset, still not in control.

            The shouting and the sounds of breaking tableware had drawn her from her place in the portrait hall, where she had been reading to her baby—it was oddly calming for her—and into the doorway to watch the altercation therein. When she had spoken up, it was because she had seen enough, and also because there were enough broken things on the floor. She had been so mad at the moment that she couldn’t quite catalog it in her brain that a rowdy group of strangers paid her enough attention to leave the room when she told them to. Maybe it was her current state of pregnancy, but not a one of them shot her a mean glance as they left.

            Anna left a moment after the last one had filed out, aiming to go and let Elsa know what had happened. She found her sister in the library, pouring over some series of lists or reports with an advisor. The look on her was enough to have the Queen dismiss the man and listen to Anna’s recounting of the incident. At the end, Elsa had a look on her face that was hard to read—it was somewhere between angry and touched—and finally told her sister, “We’ll get to the bottom of it in the morning.”

            Anna had gone to bed worried and woken worried. Before breakfast was to be served, the Queen had called a meeting in the audience hall and had sent a servant to request Anna and Kristoff’s presence.

            The suitors loitered in the hall, and aside from Sokollu, seemed to generally be acting like they were about to be told to leave. Hans, standing off to one side with Egon, surprised Anna. She couldn’t actually remember the last time she had seen him. Tugging on Kristoff’s sleeve, they made a detour before stopping in front of the veteran and Prince.

            She couldn’t help herself when she asked, honestly confused, “What are you doing here? Did Elsa ask for you?”

            The prince cut his eyes downward, and the veteran started to answer when the other man stayed quiet, “No. I told him what happened last night and he followed me down here.”  

            Anna’s silence eventually pulled the Hans’ attention up to her. He would have to answer for himself. “I assume Elsa is going to dismiss the suitors except for the Bosnian governor,” he said, and when that didn’t satisfy Anna enough to break her concentration, Hans continued, “I don’t…trust that man. He’s too hard to read. I just wanted to know what was going to happen.”

            The Princess would have asked something more, but about the time she opened her mouth, Elsa was heralded into the room. The group of four moved away from the wall, watching the suitors gravitate slowly towards the dais and Queen.

            Elsa started out by asking for an account of what happened, and Linnéa was produced to relate what she had seen. It was a colorful description that got quieter every time she had to use one of the insults that had been lobbed back and forth the night previous. When she was done, Sokollu had been painted as the one in the right.

            The same lord who had the altercation with the man from Bosnia seemed elected to speak next. And speak he did. The windbag. Anna hadn't heard such pompous rhetoric since... well, it was pompous all the same. And it seemed he knew that he was losing the Queen, both in the subject and in being her possible suitor. When he realized, however, that the battle was lost, he seemed to take a change, rather like a cornered animal becoming more vicious.

            "I can see I was a fool to ever go against this man, Your Majesty. He has you wrapped around his finger more perfectly than any of us could ever dream of. I imagine that you know about the little rumor? The one that says you're riding his cock?" Outraged gasps filled the room, but which the Queen quieted with a commanding hand. The lord went on, "I've worked it out; he started those rumors, Queen Elsa. This is all of his design. The crown will be his by default. You'll kick us all out except your benevolent white knight, and perhaps he will be a good husband, perhaps he will be a good king, but it will be all for the sake of adding Arendelle to his masters' Empire. You'll be saddled with bearing his children and playing entertainment for his sultans. But, by all rights, Queen Elsa, the choice is yours."

            Although half of the people in attendance wanted nothing more than to drag the man out by his ears, he was permitted to leave of his own volition, once he had gathered his things. He left the audience hall with his nose so far in the air it was a wonder he could see where he was going. Still, the suitors' dismissals did not end there. Elsa sent each man packing individually, one after another. She said it was for the benefit of their respective countries.

            Soon, the Queen was left with just two suitors, the Governor, and another.

            "You," Elsa said to the suitor whose name Anna had never cared to learn, "May leave. Tell your kinsmen that of my suitors you were the one I disliked least." The man bowed his head in acceptance but marched out with the firm shoulders and straight back of a man who had been insulted. The crowd was down to so few. Anna, Kristoff, Linnéa, Egon, Hans, Sokollu, and the few royal guards and staff who had not been sent off with the suitors to watch that they hadn't taken anything or done the castle a disservice.

            "Governor... may I speak to you privately?" Elsa asked. Anna shook her head, silently pleading that her sister would not go and be alone with the man. But Sokollu agreed, and they went to speak in the Queen's hall. Anna looked at her husband, who pulled her into a hug that she didn't realize she needed so much until she was in his arms. He said kind words just loud enough for her alone to hear. She didn't know how long she had stayed like that because she could live her life in the strong arms around her, but eventually, the voice of her sister screamed out "HELP!!!" from behind the door.

---

            They entered the hallway, and Elsa was again affronted by how little emotion she could read from the man in front of her. But the suitor Sokollu fought with had already done his damage.

            "You will be returning home," she told him blankly, unfeelingly. He recoiled slightly, the most telling of reactions so far. "But, your Majesty... I... I thought we were..."

            "You thought wrong," Elsa stated, blunt, and continued, "You're either lying to me or you have a genuine interest in me, but I can't tell the difference. You're too hard for me to read."

            "I have a genuine interest in you, Elsa," Sokollu replied, half a plea in his voice. He reached for one of her hands.

            Already she was barely controlling her emotions, so she put her hand behind her back, out of his reach, afraid of his touch in the back of her mind. His face spasmed, not understanding, perhaps believing she wanted to deny him out of some sort of spite. "My Queen," he said, meeting her eyes with those gentle hazel orbs, beseeching her, "Please, what can I say to make you believe me?"

            "Nothing," Elsa said, control slipping for a moment so that her voice broke, "That man's speech worked as intended. You were too hard to trust before, but I'll never know if you're here for me or here for your Empire. I can't imagine a life married to a man I can never give my full trust."

            "But he was wrong," Sokollu said, hands raised as if to put them on her thin shoulders. Elsa took a step back, weary to be touched in a moment where she was fighting to keep her power in check. “He was wrong, I’m telling you,” he took a step forward, catching her in his arms. In the next second, he was pressing his lips to hers.

            She was surprised.

            He was trying to convey so much with his embrace and with that kiss.

            Fear would be her enemy, always.

            Sokollu landed heavily against the door that led back to the audience hall, pushed away with a combination of concussive cold air and the heavy frost that radiated with Elsa and filled almost every part of the hall.

            The governor looked fearful, covered in frost. Elsa stepped forward, wishing she could take it back. "Y-you shocked me," she said, feeling tears prick her eyes, "I was trying not to—"

            Sokollu pulled his limbs closer to his body, fear turning into a sort of pain. Had she frozen him? Was he going to turn to ice like Anna? She couldn't let that happen. She didn't want that to happen.

            "HELP!!!" she cried, not daring to get too near. It wasn't three seconds later that the door burst in as much as it could, Egon and other guards trying to force their way in.

            "He's pressed against it," she warned them, and though they were more gentle, Sokollu was still in the way of opening the door.

            Their gaze, each and every guard, went from the Queen to the suitor in the floor, taking in every inch of the frost-covered hall. Sokollu was lifted between two guards and taken away quickly, an attempt to help him to a fire at her behest. At the first opportunity, the Queen fled the hall for her apartments.

            In the silence of her room, Elsa replayed the moments over and over, remembering the moment her power was no longer bottled up. Frustrated, she pulled her legs to her chest and set her chin on her knees. Anna watched her, bundled against the cold as if she were some sort of turtle, sympathy written in the pull of her brows.

            "Tell me what you're thinking," Anna pled.

            Elsa tucked her chin to her chest, her lips against the ice fabric of her trousers. "I... I'm thinking about how I put him on a ship back to Bosnia because I couldn't undo what I had done. I'm thinking about how if he wasn't a Governor and I wasn't a Queen, and we had come across each other by chance, things might have been different... And I keep thinking about how pointless it is to think about any of it. I hurt him... it may not have been like how I hurt you, but it was bad enough. If the warm to the south doesn't help him; if he dies, I'll be... They'll label me a monster. Our people will fear me again..." Overcome by her thoughts, Elsa hid her face behind her knees and started to cry again. The frustration of the whole experience weighed heavily, and she couldn't help but voice, miserably, "And I couldn't pick a suitor. The countries may want to send more. They'll want to try again. I'll have to do it all over again and I just can't."

            "You won't have to do anything you don't want to," Anna said, keeping her distance despite visibly looking like she wanted to touch her sister, "We can tell those countries to find some other queen to bother; you gave it a shot. It's not your fault they didn't work."

            Elsa squeezed her legs tighter against her chest in place of hugging her sister, Anna's words only barely making her feel less frustrated. "It's a nice thought, but all I can think of is how I said we wouldn't go to war. And that may not be true once all the suitors return to their homes."

            Anna didn't have words, it seemed. She knew that war would do to Arendelle what a fire does to wood. Their kingdom would be overrun quickly, and in the end, there would be nothing left of life before.

            "Should we... Should the people come to court?" Anna asked. Elsa heaved a heavy sigh, better than sobbing, and nodded. "Yes," she bade, "If for nothing else than to explain what might happen."

            Anna was slow to get to her feet, obviously struggling with her large belly. The Queen thought to offer her sister help, and the words died in her throat as she hesitated. Could she help without hurting Anna? She doubted herself, but in the same moment reached forward anyway, securing Anna's back as she stood and letting go once she was sure Anna had her balance. A smile spread Anna's lips, happy and proud, but Elsa couldn't return it with the same strength, her smile more of a grimace than a grin. Being able to help Anna up once was no more a breakthrough than being able to keep her from freezing in the cold of Elsa's room.

            Out in the study, waiting was a rag-tag council who all turned their attentions to Elsa. Anna went to stand with Kristoff, Olaf waddling over to the expecting pair to take Anna's hand in between the branches of his. Egon and Linnéa, Hans, Gerda, and Kai completed the group, and Elsa wondered if they were all that were left inside of the castle.

            "I... I don't know what to say," Elsa began, folding her hands together in front of her, eyes on her fingernails. Kai spoke first, "Your Grace, you needn't say anything. We all understand."

            "Whatever happened behind that door, the Governor had a hand in it, we know," Linnéa tacked on. Her husband nodded resolutely beside her.

            "...Thank you... all... but I...," Elsa trailed, thoughts tumbling over one another, like that she only felt guilty, and that she didn't feel like she deserved their understanding, that she had been too weak to maintain control. Rather than say anything more on that line of thought, she lifted her head and said, "We should prepare ourselves, and our people, for the possibility of war. I have no other ideas. If anyone else does, feel free to speak."

            Everyone was quiet, each eyeballing the group collectively as though waiting for someone else to speak.

            Olaf, out of the whole group, was the first to speak. "War? I've never been to war, but the way you said it, it sounds like something really bad."

            "It is," Egon confirmed, the veteran resolute in his statement, "Men, gone before their time; their families bereft without them, the country that loses conquered or worse, and poor as dirt. War is not something one goes into lightly."

            "Especially not against a greater force," Kristoff added, to which Olaf nodded. The snowman set his chin on one wooden fist, thinking. It seemed that the silence stretched on so long that the group had moved past explaining war to Olaf. Right about the time Elsa noticed Anna open her mouth, Olaf broke his silence again.

            "War is bad, and we're too small to really win war, so we would need to be bigger, and Elsa isn't going to fight because her powers are really unstable and also because she doesn't want to. The other countries might call for war because Elsa didn't marry the people they sent to her, but all they sent were bad choices so it's really not her fault. But if Elsa has to do that again it might make her crazy."

            The Queen couldn't tear her eyes away from Olaf, who had caught on to so much more than she had expected him to. It made her surprisingly emotional. He continued, again putting his branchy fist to his face, "How could you win war? If only... if only there was someone who owed you a lot and who had a way to get an army and who wouldn't expect anything from you and that wouldn't mind not being king and..."

            Elsa and six other pairs of eyes turned to look at one person, who's sudden turn as the center of attention made visibly uncomfortable. Olaf was quiet and confused, "Wait, why are you all looking at Hans?"

---

             The Queen had asked Hans to take a walk with her, perhaps noting his discomfort. They were several halls away from her apartment when he finally broke his silence, "Ask anything of me, your Majesty."

            He caught her slight flinch, but other than that, couldn't discern what was on her mind. Her soft footfalls slowed and stopped, Hans turning to face her. "The thing that Olaf... if I... how... how," her voice was quiet, but not soft, and when she finally met his gaze, Hans was aware of the hardness in her crystalline eyes, "How can I ask the man who at one time would have murdered me and left my sister to die to marry me?"

            It was deserved. Other than his first thought, Hans had no answer for the Queen, and so it tripped out of his mouth with halting speech and a wince, "That's a... a good question." Fair brows lowered over blue eyes, not softening their pointed, cold look. "That's not helpful, Prince Hans," Elsa stated.

            "What would you have me say, Queen Elsa? I don't know what to say... I'm not the same as I was then," I'm not even a man anymore , Hans added internally. The Queen looked away after a long moment. She spoke quietly and Hans wasn't sure, but it sounded like her voice had softened, "You're not. I know. But would anyone else be able to look past it?" She shook her head, and the movement made her dress catch the light, but the gown was lackluster compared to others she had created.

            "Dorian—Dorian is the heir, and... maybe he feels guilty that he didn't expect our brothers to be as... to do to me what they did..." Hans felt like he was grasping at the correct phrasing, mind passing over all the horrors he endured, "But if an alliance were made between Arendelle and the Southern Isles, Dorian would not leave Arendelle to its fate. Naysayers may look past it while my brother’s army protected them."

            "And you would be King of Arendelle?" Elsa asked, voice regaining an edge to it. Hans came back to the thought that had made his stomach turn since the room of people had looked at him with such intention. It made him almost physically sick, the thought that what he had schemed for, what he had been broken for wanting, was being offered to him.

            "I couldn't be king of anything, Queen Elsa," Hans replied rather hoarsely, "I certainly know that I'm not worthy to be."

            Elsa let out something like a scoff, and when their silence had lasted a moment, she started to walk.

            "You’re telling me no, then," she said, "I couldn't ask anything of you after all."

            "Your Majesty, I—,"

            Elsa spun on him, visibly irritated. "You come to my kingdom and try and steal it. I send you home to brothers who were only supposed to give you a fitting punishment, and someone drags you back a year later, tortured and castrated. And I feel sorry for you, and I let you live here, but it's been almost a year since and I haven't got a good reason for why you're still here. Protection, I know, but not one that benefits me. And the one thing that you could do to help me, you don't seem to be open to." Elsa had taken a step closer, fists clenched at her sides, looking up at him and somehow looming over him too.

            He looked down at his feet, unable to withstand the scrutiny. He could imagine his brothers and their reactions to the news. Dorian would be pleased with the alliance, pleased Arendelle would be tied to the Southern Isles. Henrik,Vilppu, and Jerrik, the other three not a part of the events after his “hanging” would perhaps be indifferent, but all the rest—Aleksander, Adelbert, Iefan, Stanley, Dagny, Owain, Cynebald, and Gustav—they might would throw caution to the wind and come to Arendelle themselves.

            “Your kingdom will need an heir,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

            “Anna’s child or children,” she replied with little hesitation. Hans looked up to see the Queen wearing a calm expression. He couldn’t imagine what she must be thinking, wondering if marriage to him for an army would ever be worth as much as a child of her own. The Queen was willing to sacrifice that future for Arendelle. He owed so much to her, and if a political match for political reasons was the least she could ask of him, he couldn’t refuse.

            Hans lowered himself to one knee, less than graceful, and repeated, “Ask anything of me, your Majesty.”

Chapter Text

The impromptu council watched the Queen and Hans re-enter her office with expectant expressions.

          “Hans,” Anna said, noting the pallor of the prince and the hard line of her sister’s mouth, “Elsa?” Kristoff’s hand on her shoulder kept the princess from going to the pair of them. They stood side-by-side, but the gulf between them was palpable.

          “Why do they look so unhappy?” Olaf asked in a whisper that did nothing to keep anyone from overhearing it. Hans took the slight turn of Elsa’s head towards him to mean she’d let him answer—let him say it out loud.

          “For the safety of Arendelle and all who live here, and for its prosperity, her Majesty and I will marry. We’ll make the announcement tomorrow to the public and send letters of invitation out as well. The ceremony will be before the birth of your child, Princess Anna. Or, it should be, so long as the baby is born in March.”

          Silence reigned for a full minute as he closed his mouth. Surprisingly, Egon found his tongue first, and shockingly, he was angry. Angry at the Queen: “What are you doing? Both of you? You can’t force Hans to marry you!” the veteran barked, ignoring Linnéa’s tightened hold of his arm, “He’s had enough of people toying with his life, don’t you think?—”

          “I’m choosing this, Egon. Remember yourself,” Hans said, voice louder than whatever Egon was going to follow his comment with. The prince’s rescuer-and-apparent-advocate was shocked by the strength with which Hans defended the Queen. “The marriage will be a contract, a lifelong agreement to offer the only thing I can—the support of the Southern Isles. The line of succession will remain as it is, starting with Anna and passing to her children. I agree to all of it, knowing what it means, and I’ve agreed that I will have no claim to the affairs of this kingdom. Mine will be the title of king in name only.” Anna saw the hard line of Elsa’s mouth soften and it occurred to the younger sister that whatever sort of conversation the pair had in all the time they were gone, it included this.

          “It’s complicated,” Elsa said, her voice lower than Hans’ had been, “But this is the best option. I… I know it’s not ideal. You can still say no, even now, Prince Hans; you understand that… that you didn’t have to agree?” Her gaze pulled from the other faces in the room to look up toward the man she had spent several minutes convincing to do just that. She wasn’t truly looking at him, he noticed, and he imagined that her thoughts were on their conversation and how his autonomy had been challenged by everything she had said. Softly, because speaking louder seemed like it would shatter the question inside the question, Hans answered, “I know you wouldn’t force this.”

          Her eyes moved to look at him then, and there was more sadness in her gaze than he thought he could bear to see, but also small thanks. The Queen knew that Hans was aware that the pressure had been on him to say yes because that was how fiercely she protected her people. But she also knew that he was accepting a loveless life knowing full and well that it was for the same people. The Queen could have what life he had left if it was of any use to her.

          “Elsa,” Anna said again, and the Queen’s gaze was gone. Hans caught the look on Anna’s face—somewhere between pity and sympathy hid behind the facade of a question. Everyone was aware of what Elsa would be giving up and it hung heavy in the air: children, don’t you want children, are you sure you want to give up that chance? Hans could almost read the questions hanging in the air in the absence of anyone voicing of them. “It’s already decided, Anna,” the Queen said, adding with a stony expression and a voice that matched, “I’d like to be alone, now.”

          No one dared disobey.

---

Linnéa heard the rest of Egon’s objection to the decision. She sat on their bed and listened until the storm in her husband had blown itself out and he sat, morose, at the end of the mattress. He had talked about how the situation was another punishment for Hans. She didn’t bother pointing out that Hans would be married to a very nice woman and not just be marrying a queen. Whether or not he got a fancy title, Queen Elsa didn’t deserve to be treated like a villain.

          “They’ll never be in love,” Egon had said as he dropped back, his head resting in her lap.

          “Don’t decide that for them,” Linnéa countered, and the edge her voice took had his eyes flicking up to look at hers. She continued, “They respect one another. I saw what you saw, but they both know exactly what they’re doing. I want him to be happy just like you, but you can’t say they’ll never be in love. It might not be the kind of passion that threw us together, but people can grow together if they give it a chance.”

          His expression softened and one calloused hand reached up to stroke her cheek. She leaned down and kissed her husband. Time would tell.

---

Dorian was shocked by the letter he received—or two if one counted the smaller paper folded inside of the invitation. Queen Elsa was announcing her intention to marry Hans in the first, obviously a form letter sent out to more than just the heir of the Southern Isles. In the second, addressed to him alone, Hans explained that the marriage was political in nature. He had not won Elsa’s heart, but an alliance between the two crowns would help both kingdoms prosper. The only thing she required was Dorian’s word that the nation to the south would come when called upon.

          His father would be dubious of the union. The King had his own opinions on who his army would be deployed for, and the son he had thought was dead did not rank high. Dorian spoke in private with his father, as the two men had kept council for a great amount of the heir’s life.

          “Hans… he won’t ever supply a blood heir to Arendelle,” the Crown Prince said, having had to pry that admission loose from his own mind. The King ran his hand over his beard, and Dorian wondered when had it gotten to be so white? Age was wearing on his father, a realization that dropped hard into the pit of Dorian’s stomach. Would he be King of the Southern Isles before it mattered what his father thought?

          The old man said, “And she wouldn’t take one of your other brothers instead? Someone with which she could have a real marriage?”

          “Absolutely not,” Dorian said, remembering his time in the northern kingdom. The Queen of Arendelle was a great beauty and a woman of her word. “But, I assume the kingdom will go to Anna in the event of Elsa’s premature death. Then, to her children after. My wife is pregnant at long last. Perhaps my child and the unborn child of the Princess could be betrothed? The crowns would have a union eventually unless the children are all male or female. In that unlucky event, I believe God would be the intervening hand, but we could always foster a daughter or they could one of ours.”

          His father’s eyes settled unfocused on the melting snow of a far-off landscape, “Draft the letter, then, my son. I will attend the wedding and settle that matter of betrothal myself.”

          “It will be done, father.”

          As Dorian walked the route to his study, he questioned whether his father was of the right health to go north in early spring, knowing that voicing such concerns to the man would only invite indignant anger. To point out the King’s age to him was a well-known taboo.

---

Snow feet make a ton of noise going across stone floors, Olaf puzzled out, eventually. He never was good at sneaking up on people on the feet Elsa had given him. S’not a problem, like not having a skull wasn’t a problem. Why did he need to sneak around in the castle anyway? He had the privilege of being one of Elsa’s living creations and everyone in Arendelle was familiar with him. The people from Arendelle, really, and just like when Anna got married, there were more people in the castle than just the usual faces. Some he knew, some he did not.

          Rapunzel and Eugene were back. The Irishman and the Italian and a few more that were there for Elsa’s July snow. As nice as it was to have them around, none of them seemed to be of particularly good cheer.

          “Why isn’t the castle decorated? I thought this was supposed to be the wedding of a Queen,” someone said.

          It was true that there weren’t streamers or icicle adornments and no big banners with the Queen’s colors or her and Hans’ profiles. He’d never been to a funeral, but someone said it seemed more like that than a celebration. Olaf just didn’t understand what was going on. Didn’t those grumps know Elsa was marrying Hans because his brother would send his army to help if Arendelle needed it? They didn’t kiss like Anna and Kristoff and they didn’t walk close like Rapunzel and Eugene and they didn’t wrestle in the hallway like Egon and Linnéa—why the last two always looked guilty, he definitely didn’t understand. Hans was doing what Elsa needed him to.

          They weren’t in love.

          Those people that didn’t get it shouldn’t act like Hans and Elsa should act like the other couples.

---

Hans and a retinue of Arendelle’s palace guards waited at the docks as the ship flying the colors of the Southern Isles sailed into the harbor. Terror struck him as he remembered the last trip to the docks, pushing his stomach somewhere around his throat. His father was on that ship, and Dorian. If any of his other brothers had traveled with them, it was against the expressed insistence that they not be there. Elsa forbade any of the brothers who had had a hand in his torture from setting foot or sail on Arendelle lands or waters. The Queen waited in the castle, and the tension there made it hard to breathe.

          As little time as Elsa and Hans had spent alone since deciding to marry, the tension wasn’t between them.

          Anna… the last month was gearing up to be the worst, between the fits of crying and breathless monologues about the guests—sometimes while they stood right by her. No one could avoid the waves of stress that flowed in all directions from her epicenter. The best thing for the princess was to not be around her sister, however much they both lamented that—best for both their relationship and the current weather patterns.

          A longboat detached from the ship and rowed for the banners of the crown. The figures were too small, but Hans thought he saw a flash of gold as though from a crown. Nightmarish imagined visions flashed through his unsettled mind—Dorian wearing the crown and saying that their father was dead or dying on the ship and asked to see him one last time. They would row back out, his guards and his brother’s, and he would climb aboard to the waiting horde of his remaining family members snaring him in a trap. He comforted himself with the idea that dead or dying, his father was unlikely to care to see his youngest son.

          The King was a man Hans no longer recognized. Where was the fading auburn hair? The man who wore the crown was white-headed, and the beard that hung from his chin was as snowy as old man time. Dorian was stern-faced beside the old man, and Hans got the impression that he was close in the event that a wave jostled the boat and tossed the King down. It was like he was a shadow of the man he used to be. Hans was all too familiar with that feeling.

          One guard tossed the rope to a man on the dock, and several hands pulled the boat flush with the dock. At least the shadow had the grace to step unaided from the seat on the boat to the steady planks. His cloak hid a frame that had thinned in muscle and gained in girth through the middle, but the illusion was broken as he lifted away the fur to step out.

          “Your Grace,” Hans greeted, “Prince Dorian—thank you for journeying north this time of year. I hope—”

          The King waved his hand and grimaced, obviously dismissing the pleasantries and formalities, and said, “You look better than Dorian led me to believe you would. That ponytail belongs on a horse, not on a prince.”

          A sense of the familiar washed over Hans and he checked a smile. Insults shouldn’t make a man grin, but it was comforting that his father's gruff countenance remained no matter what else was fading. That, at least, was grounding.

          “As you say, Father,” Hans conceded, calm, if not a little fond. The old man met his eyes and for a moment, Hans thought perhaps his father would say something uncharacteristically sentimental or reach to embrace him. The opportunity passed and neither prince nor king acted on whatever passed between them. 

          “Lead the way, Prince Hans,” Dorian supplied into the silence, “Unless we came all the way just to see the docks?”

          “Not a chance,” was the king’s fast reply, followed by: “Neither of you happen to be pretty enough to ride four days across choppy waters to stare at. I'd like to meet this Queen you're marrying.”

---

It was clear to Elsa after only a short time that all of Dorian and Hans’ father's effort in raising a decent man had gone into his heir, and that it must have taken quite an effort for him.

          The men arrived with the appropriate fanfare owed to a visiting monarch, heralded by Kai’s strong voice announcing, “King Wolter Westergaard of the Southern Isles and Prince Dorian of the Southern Isles.” Hans passed the entourage of his father and brother’s men to stop at her side—a predetermined move—as he had been sheltered in her nation for nearly a year. Elsa’s slight case of nerves cast her gaze quickly to the man beside her, attempting to gauge his mood and failing, before settling on the King who had insisted on meeting her. It was a quick sizing up; he broke the silence before she had time to form the thought: ‘he looks ill.’ The voice that came from his aged person was stronger than she had thought he might have, like the howl of a wolf sounding out of a lame old dog; “Let us not stand on ceremony, Queen Elsa. I'm too old and you are far too powerful to pretend we are not here, right this very moment, to negotiate.”

          Ah, so this was the King. “So we are. Well, King Wolter, permit me to suggest we speak in the castle’s library. My family and yours.” The Queen cut her eyes to Hans, feeling that his place was somewhere in the middle, not so much the king’s son any more or queen’s husband yet. He wore a mostly blank expression—odd, considering how often he emoted—which seemed to suggest his unease more than if he had blanched and began to shake. After a nod from the King, she led the way into the castle’s library. 

          Before being offered a chair, the elder monarch dropped into the nearest one he found suitable. More than that, he wasted no time in getting right to the matter at hand. 

          “You, Queen Elsa, could do better than an exiled eunuch. Why choose the most broken of my sons when you could have a real marriage with one of the others?” he asked, and the hard gleam to his eyes seemed partially a test and partially malice for the son he had just so thoroughly insulted. The prince, for all his control thus far, flinched.

             Elsa was not unprepared for the question. “King Wolter, I have not chosen the most broken of your sons; those kinfolk that would devise torture as a contest for their ilk are far more ‘broken’ than their victim could ever be. I would not marry any of them and give them the opportunity to treat me as their toy.”

          “And you believe that Hans has changed—truly changed—and that his intentions are not to ‘toy’ with you?” The old man’s thin lips curled as he asked his question. Prince Dorian’s gloved hands seemed to creak as they tightened behind his back, and out of her sight, Anna breathed a slow breath as though to calm herself. It wasn't without merit, for a person who had not seen Hans as he had been and Hans as he was now. She returned a version of his smile, less derisive and more knowing as she answered, “I am certain of nothing, King Wolter. There is a part of me that may always suspect a man who once tried to kill me… and yet, that man is so obviously not this man.”

          Her gaze met with a pair of green eyes that held emotion as tightly as their owner seemed to hold his breath. She couldn't name it, but she felt like, if this library was the sea, turbulent and hostile, he was looking at her like the only thing that might keep his head above water; the thought caused a sudden tightness in her chest. “It's a strange thing… trust.”

          Wolter seemed to let the moment progress until he perhaps couldn't stand the silence that followed. Elsa wondered, however, if there was some discomfort in the room at large, for the second she broke eye-contact with Hans, she found no one else willing to meet her gaze. The king cleared his throat, sat forward in his chair and cloak, and spoke: “So be it. You've set your mind to this union despite what I consider to be obvious reasons it suits no one well. I've heard from Dorian your sister is to be your heir, and her children after her—as she is already married,” Wolter looked to Anna’s undeniably large midsection, something of a statement in itself, “Preventing the usual politics from running their course.”

          “I realize that—”

          He stopped her from completing her planned assurances, apparently not at his own conclusion yet. “Dorian too is expecting his first child. These two future heirs could be wed when they come of age, which, generations aside, will be preferable to no standing relations at all.”

          “I can't promise you that without speaking to Princess Anna.”

          “Certainly not. Talk it over,” he leaned back into his chair, one hand sliding into his cloak as if to rest on his stomach, and she didn't imagine the spasm of pain that darkened his brow.

          Elsa might have paid it more attention if she had had any inkling of what was to come.

---

Anna waited an appropriate amount of time after leaving the library with Kristoff before starting in on worrying—which was to say, they had stepped over the threshold with Elsa leading the way, just those three. Before the door had even closed behind them, with one hand over her unborn child, Anna let everyone inside and outside the room know: “I’m worried.”

          “Anna—”

          “Let’s talk somewhere—” Kristoff started to suggest, she knew, that they go somewhere with more privacy before she really lost it and some part of Anna knew that was for the best but the other part of her brain was all bells tolling in alarm and she didn’t like any of this.

          “Let them hear. I haven’t even held my baby yet and they’re about to be betrothed to the first baby a stranger has with a not-so-strange stranger and that man in there is just so rude and—and—” she put her hand on her side and took a deep breath… and then a not so deep breath and Kristoff had her wrapped in his arms, soothing with a shhh… 

          So what if she was freaking out; the hallway was cooling by the second, and the look on Elsa’s face seemed to match Anna’s anxiety. Extricating herself from her husband’s calming embrace, she was careful how she took her sister’s hand. “I’m sorry. I should have waited, Elsa. You’ve got so much to worry about right now. We could go outside and talk in the gardens if you want…?”

          Between her two favorite people in the world, Anna wasn’t sure who looked more surprised to see her go from mania to reasonable. Elsa let her lead, still hand in hand, Kristoff bringing up the rear. Their silence let Anna think a little more clearly, and by the time they were in the gardens—not yet in the full splendor of their summertime potential—Anna was sorta-kinda-certain that the next thing out of her mouth would not be a run-on sentence. “Please have a seat,” she asked her audience—yes! she knew she could do it—waiting as they both settled on the stone bench in front of her. “I need some room to pace or I would sit down, too. My feet feel awful,” Anna said, her humor in her complaint wasted on her husband, who seemed ready to trade places with her, and dare she hope, rub the offending appendages. He was so good to her… agh, she was getting side-tracked.

          “So, I see both sides of this. On the one hand, if this is the only way Arendelle will have the support of the Southern Isles as allies, then I should be willing as the princess to make at least as much effort for it as you have, Elsa. I mean… marrying Hans and making this baby heir is just like—” the humor died in her manufactured laugh, “—wow… so I know it’s important. On the other hand, my mind is racing because what if Dorian isn’t capable of raising a well-adjusted child? What if his heir is like their uncles? If they’re like Hans was before he was tortured, back when he was all… murder-plotty? I just don’t want our baby to have to marry a lunatic in twenty—no, thirty years.” She didn’t realize she had gripped handfuls of her skirt in her pacing until she came to a stop.

          “Anna,” Elsa said, patient and understanding and so-not-as-worried, “Anyone’s child can end up marrying a lunatic,—” that wasn’t as reassuring as it was meant, Anna thought, “—not everyone shows their insecurities right away. We can hope for the best and plan for the worst in the future, but we can’t control it.”

          “Besides, what lunatic would hurt our baby knowing that their aunt could freeze their toes to the ceiling and their nose to the ground?” Kristoff tried. Anna looked at Elsa, who seemed willing enough to play along for Anna’s sake. The image was enough to release some of her tension in a chuckle. All they needed was for Dorian’s heir to believe Elsa would rescue her niece or nephew from them in such a way, and she’d feel better.

           Still…

          “What if they fall in love with someone besides each other?” Anna asked, “Would that start a war if they wanted out of the betrothal? Because… I mean, it’s possible to fall in love with someone other than who you’re engaged to…”

          Kristoff beamed at her, his smile the one that made her heart do a little flip in her chest.

          “We can include a provision for that in our agreement,” Elsa said, “That if they reach the age of marriage and find one another unsuitable or generally don’t want to marry, they may declare it… hopefully, Dorian and I won’t have such a poor relationship that war is unavoidable. If we don’t, or we aren’t making the decisions, maybe those who are will consider all other options first.”

          Anna took a deep breath, put her hands on the small of her back, and looked at Kristoff again. “And you’re alright with this plan?”

          “Generally,” he said, “I’ve been leaving the more… ‘royal’ decisions to you two. I never thought I’d get married, and I never thought I’d marry a princess. Betrothals and political marriages are pretty well beyond me. All I want is our baby to be happy, healthy, and loved. I can let you two decide the rest.” 

          It was pressing, at that moment, that she be kissing her husband for saying something so sweet. Kristoff so often seemed unreachable when she wanted to snag a kiss, so she took advantage. Only when Elsa stood up to leave did Anna realize she went a little overboard. “Sorry, Elsa,” was all she managed before her sister waved them off.

          “Enjoy the day. I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, before sweeping away and leaving Anna and Kristoff alone in the gardens.

---

Hans had not enjoyed hearing the king’s summation of him—it wasn’t unfamiliar, truly, given that his brothers seemed to have learned their dispassion for him from the most obvious source. In King Wolter’s eyes, even before his castration, Hans was never a man. Old frustrations played in his head—as loud as cannons—until Queen Elsa made her counter-statements.

          There had been a time during his months trapped in the hell of his brothers’ design when Hans had not felt like a man—or even particularly human.

          Queen Elsa not only saw his humanity, but she also called him a man, and when he met her gaze, she implied that she trusted him. How had that happened? Had his agreement to the political marriage of the strictest definition been a tally in his favor? Was it his simple need of her to survive after being rescued? Some wild thought dashed through his brain: Elsa trusted him because he had entrusted his life to her? Any version of that would be acceptable, so long as he never abused her trust in him.

          They seemed to have stared at one another so long that the rest of the room took notice. When Elsa looked away and at their audience, Hans closed his eyes against the scene—he had yet to wonder what his life would be like when Elsa married him; now, he imagined they might be friends eventually. His father’s voice broke the moment of silence and Hans watched him as he made his stipulation to the marriage. King Wolter was known to drive a hard bargain, and Hans was used to the interruptions and the overshadowing that went hand in hand with that, but Queen Elsa was his royal peer, and Hans felt it underhanded how his father overran her. As much momentary indignation as he felt for his father's rudeness, he could no more say something to the man than he could relax around him.

          The exiled prince felt oddly proud that the queen stood from her chair wordlessly and beckoned her sister and Kristoff to follow similarly; it seemed a response on her own not to excuse herself in her own castle. Warmth died in his chest the moment that Anna made it across the threshold to the hall. Her unfiltered way of doing everything during her pregnancy was something he and those around the castle had gotten used to, but his brother and the king were total strangers to it—he dreaded meeting their eyes after the door closed and the voices had gone. Truly, Hans dreaded being left in that room, with that man, especially in that mood. It didn't take very long for Wolter to zero in on his youngest son again. 

          “I would have thought that your ego would have kicked in by now,” he said, shrewd gaze and tone toward Hans all he needed to feel the threat of a biting lecture, “The kind of ego that got you into this mess in the first place. When did you lose it, I wonder? When they cut off—”

          “Enough, father,” interrupted his brother, more stern than he had heard the man be in twenty years. Between Hans and Wolter, it was hard to tell who was more surprised, an advantage that Dorian pressed. “You've embarrassed me. You've embarrassed yourself. We did not come here to bully Arendelle, its royalty, or Hans. If you had been treated in as abhorrent a manner as your son by your brothers, you’d have changed too—and not for the better. I won't go back to holding my tongue while our family exchanges blows—that's what started this mess, not Hans’ ego.” 

          Dorian’s statement lasted all of ten seconds before Wolter’s silence wore off and venom returned to the set of his mouth. “Not so keen on your family anymore? Perhaps Arendelle has room for another prince in hiding?”

          “Arguing with you is not a crime, father. I was the one who came in your stead, months ago when everything that our family had done to him was still fresh. I saw how thin he was, how his body was healing. I told you, when I came home, how I wanted nothing more to do with any who had a hand in it—something that I've stayed true to—unless you’ve forgotten. Do not bully him. I was negligent when he was a child, but I won't stand for it now,” Dorian said, brokering no argument. It was a valiant effort, and if it had been any other man, it would have quieted them, but this was their father, the King of the Southern Isles and he was not to be cowed. Hans watched the blood rise to his father’s face all through the Crown Prince’s speech, and his sense of dread grew all the while.

          “You forget yourself, Dorian,” he said, voice choked with anger, “I can name any heir; Henrik never presumed—presu—” Wolter seemed to lose his breath, falter, and lose color all at once. Even in his chair, he shifted as though pinched. “There's twelve more,” Wolter struggled, and neither brother needed to hear the rest of the threat to know it had everything to do with the plethora of other sons he could name his successor. The majority of their attention was on his obvious pain and possible collapse. Hans, all the same, couldn't deny that some part of him mentally corrected his father: eleven, not twelve. That same shameful part seemed to freeze as the king erupted into a fit of coughing.

          “Get some help, Hans!” Dorian said, kneeling by Wolter’s chair, one hand on their father's shoulder and the other on his knee. The king had one hand on his gut and the other over his mouth. Blood pressed on the seams between his fingers, the sight making the younger prince’s stomach drop and veins run cold. He had coughed up blood before, more than once. The memory sprung out of the depths of his mind as if his mouth was permeated with the metallic, putrid, odious taste. He gagged without any possibility of controlling it and ran to the door of the library, wrenching it open to yell into the hallway: “Get the doctor! Help us!” 

          Egon was the unlucky runner as Kai rushed into the library past Hans and produced a handkerchief for the king. The butler was always prepared, it seemed. Hans, rooted to the floor at the door watched the bustle around his father without a clue what he should be doing. Dorian finally looked up for his brother again, meeting the petrified gaze that had been locked on his two kinsmen. His face was pale, surely matching the color of Hans’ own, though Dorian had a handle on his emotions that Hans was certain he didn’t mirror. In fact, it felt like he was on some shrinking island of butter atop a boiling stew of emotions, and every second melted away the little barrier between a false calm and outright hysteria. 

          “Please find the Queen, Hans,” Dorian said haltingly. Giving one jerking nod, Hans turned out of the room and stumbled along several feet before breaking into a trot. Where would he find the queen? Would she be concerned that his father might be dying in her library? Of course, she would—a foreign ruler dying suddenly on the day of his arrival after a private meeting with herself? She would have to be ignorant and daft not to worry over appearances. Not to mention, she might control ice and snow, but of the two of them, only Hans had ever cold-heartedly left someone to die.

          On the next turn in the halls, he nearly collided with Egon, the doctor, and Elsa.

          “Hans!—” Egon said, side-stepping the prince’s toes. The group of four stopped, rooted by the disruption to their purposes, but the doctor—perhaps showcasing his good sense—only faltered for a moment before he continued on his way. Egon looked between Hans and Elsa a beat and then chose to follow the doctor. Elsa looked at him, opened her mouth, closed it, and said nothing; somewhere in the middle of that, Hans’ tiny boat melted. Like the rain that can only be outrun so long, panic caught—seized—him. “Hans?” Elsa asked, concerned.

          He couldn’t slow his pulse. He couldn’t get enough air. His hands were shaking.

         Without a clear recollection of how she did it, rather suddenly, he was outside of the castle bent double over the balustrade, retching up the last thing he didn’t remember eating. A pair of blissfully cold hands were on the back of his neck while the heartbeat that pounded in his ears slowly faded back into normalcy. 

          “What happened?” Elsa asked, shock outweighing her discomfort with touch. Slowly, he raised himself back up, reluctant to be upright but unwilling to be bent across the balcony any longer. She had her hands behind her back as he braced himself on the railing.

          “I—… I panicked…?” he answered, unsure of what to say. Elsa’s brows drew together, “Is that all?”

          “Maybe?” he tried, as unconvinced as she looked. “Dorian sent me to find you. We should go to the library.”

         Shaking in every muscle, he stepped beyond the queen back into the hallway. “Hans,” she said, following, “I know that what’s happening with your father is urgent, but shouldn’t we talk about that?”

          “ ‘That’ what?” he deflected, trying to swallow down the taste of bile leftover in his mouth. She stopped walking, a very obvious lack of cool air filling the space where she had been. He stopped and turned slowly, surprised that she only looked more concerned. “‘Panic’ doesn’t cover what just happened to you. Panic is Anna finding a dirty wall or staircase. You were frozen to the floor and you didn’t hear me call your name. I thought you were going to faint or start screaming or vomit all at once.”

          She closed some of the space between them, gently. Hans closed his eyes, pressing a palm to one temple. The queen shouldn’t be troubled by his problems, he told himself, but she didn’t take the out he offered. Time slipped away every second he held onto his few insights—time in which the king might be dying. “Father… I remembered why I spent so little time with him. He and Dorian were arguing after you left, back and forth until he started coughing. He coughed up blood and I just…” he let his hand drop, making a fist that he found easier to look at than the queen’s crystalline gaze, “I coughed up blood more than once while my brothers were torturing me. It was all too familiar.”

          Pity hadn’t been his goal when sharing what he thought was the reason for his distress, but Elsa exuded it all the same, mixed with horror. He let out a long breath and started to turn away, only to have the queen halt him again; “I’m so sorry I sent you home to them, Hans. I can’t tell you how sorry I truly am.”

          With only a minor pause, Hans replied, “I might have done the same if I were you, or ordered my death. For all the bad, I’d much rather be alive.”

          Elsa nodded, and they continued back to the library.

---

They arrived at a scene much less chaotic than the one Egon had described when Elsa had intercepted the veteran and the doctor on the way in from the gardens. Had Egon been accurate, King Wolter would have turned completely inside out from the force of his coughing while the rest of the room ran amuck with utterly useless fear. Instead, the doctor had eased the old man toward the now-open window and eased his coughing with some sort of candied honey and clove. Wolter breathed through his nose, obviously exhausted and ashen, sitting back in the chair moved for him—assumedly by Kai or Dorian. The latter stood with one hand resting on his father’s shoulder.

          “King Wolter,” Elsa said gently, rousing a lazy eyelid up over one green eye, “May I offer you a bedroom to rest in?” Weakened, the old man closed the eye and nodded his graying head in one drooping movement. Elsa looked to Kai, knowing a look would do in place of instructions and confirmed when he made short work of organizing with Dorian and the elected guards from the Southern Isles. He would have, easily, one of the nicest suites in the castle aside from her own and Anna’s with Kristoff. The steward was invaluable, appreciated even in the littlest ways he made Elsa’s reign run as smooth as possible—greatly appreciated in the larger work as well.

          The whole retinue moved with King Wolter down the turns of halls, with Elsa, Dorian, and Hans at the end. The brothers were reluctant to break the silence between the pair of them; the queen was no more ready to do it for them. When the King reached his appointed room, Dorian and the doctor were all that strayed beyond the doors. Hans, Elsa, Kai, and every guard that had followed his father all did their best to maintain a respectable silence—it was broken by the crown prince before the man shut them out: “Two guards stay for two hours, replaced by a new pair every two hours. Do not disturb the King. The rest of you will follow Queen Elsa’s instructions on where you are to stay.” More than one set of eyes exchanged glances before eventually turning to question Elsa and Hans; what now? Elsa nearly asks the same back of them—had they known their king was in such fragile health? What was she to do now? Too many guests had received and replied to the wedding invitation to put the ceremony on hold for more than a few days. Too much of Arendelle’s future seemed to be resting on her marrying—not even specifically Hans, just marrying.

          “Set your first watch and the rest of you may follow myself and Kai,” Hans said, authoritative tone masking a sort of urgency that Elsa only understood when she realized she could see his breath hanging in the air; he would provide her with space to sort out her own version of panic by leading the soldiers off. The steward nodded and set the pace, Southern Isles guards following with no small measure of relief. Hans, last to leave, told Elsa, “We’ll all figure this out. Maybe it won’t be as bad as it seems.” Even he didn’t sound so convinced, she thought, watching his back numbly until he turned a corner and was gone. This turbulent day with no end had dealt everyone she knew their own chance to worry—here was her own and she was hesitant because it might mean having to thaw a room later? No, she refused. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show had ruled her life overlong. She started walking, lips set in a hard line, mind on all of the ramifications of Wolter’s possible demise in her kingdom.

          Kristoff was shocked when he overheard the staff speaking of King Wolter’s fit and the guards posted outside of his room. He didn’t like the man, but he didn’t wish him dead—the way the maids talked, he had one foot in his grave. When he told Anna, she sought Elsa out immediately, throwing her arms around her sister as though his news had been a crushing blow to the pair of them personally; this was part of the royal experience that he would never fully understand. It took Anna's explanation later, in the comfort of their room to get a sense of what his wife seemed to inherently know;

          “This is bad… like bad, bad. If Wolter thinks we did something to him—or if Dorian does or if the other princes get wind of it and they do—we don’t have the international relationships to dispute it. Politically, it’s not a good thing for the King to be so sick… here.” She made a face at the end and he had a feeling she’d need a backrub when anxiousness let her sit down. Anna was the calmest around him, and Kristoff knew that the more she unpacked the day, the faster she would settle into his arms and rest.

          Changing into his nightshirt, he felt he needed to say something… anything that might help: “It’ll be alright, Anna… whatever happens, it will all be alright.”

          “You think so?” she asked. Kristoff nodded, glad to see the ghost of a smile on her face; the whole day had been trying beyond belief. First, betrothing their unborn child to a stranger, to further strengthen the ties of marriage between Arendelle and the Southern Isles, which was then followed by the alarming incident in the library. That Anna could smile at all was a testament to her disposition—always the optimist—and he loved her for it.

          When they settled down under the covers, his wife, her pregnancy-induced neurosis not to be forgotten, said, “We have to scrub the library down before the baby comes.”

          He smiled against her neck.

---

Nothing at all could have made Elsa anymore ready for the week of her wedding. Wolter’s health was not greatly improved, and aside from meals she made sure she ate with the visiting monarch, was rarely seen outside of his room. Guests arrived, filling the castle with who she hoped would be witnesses to her kindness to her future father-in-law. The old man was a taciturn shadow to most meals and guests, at best. At worst, Wolter insulted the cooking and his peers equally, excusing himself to his room with one of his sons in tow.

          Hans was so quiet that Elsa had actually jumped when he said something quietly at her right during one of the uncomfortable meals. She couldn’t remember what he said, exactly, thinking about it as she brushed her hair out with Hans’ Yule gifts, but a near-silent rebuttal of an off-the-cuff comment by his father seemed the most likely. Being engaged had changed little, but in just one week she thought that Hans had taken one step back from her and everyone else. Dorian attempted to befriend Kristoff—common ground being expectant fathers both—and was able to, to a degree. Her brother-in-law did his best to side-step the Southern Isles heir-apparent, and to say that she had seen him dive into bushes was not much of an exaggeration. Sven had exited the castle at no less than a full-gallop three times. To his credit, the heir-apparent had a good sense of humor about it all, saying, “He’s not much for conversation, is he?” to Elsa before Kristoff’s fast exit had let the dust settle. At least it was one thing he could laugh about in light of his father’s poor health; he was quick to say that he didn’t believe Arendelle or its inhabitants were the cause of Wolter’s illness. 

          Setting the brush on her vanity, Elsa realized that she wouldn’t be able to rest until she had had a conversation with her fiancé. Hans’ gift glinted in the candlelight as she stood, taking the lamp on her desk with her, though she thought she could navigate the halls without it. A trip like this—night, attempting to keep her footsteps silent so as not to wake anyone—reminded her of the few times she left her solitude unbidden by her parents. She would take the most direct route to the courtyard or the fjord, avoiding the sleepy patrol one turn at a time, all so she could see the stars or watch the tide roll in. Those lonely, confined days were now, thankfully, only bleak memories overshadowed by two years in the sun with her sister.

          Tapping her knuckles on the door of Hans’ room gently, Elsa waited what she thought was an appropriate amount of time for him to respond or open the door before she cracked it open herself, peering within. She had just enough time to realize the room was empty before a very hesitant voice asked, “Queen Elsa?” startling her. Reflex had her ice at her fingertips, pointed straight at Hans in the dimming light of her failing lamp. He was wincing in expectation of pain, and only relaxed when Elsa lowered her hand, answering in a question: “What are you doing out in the hall?”

          “I couldn’t sleep so I went to look at the sky,” he said, dropping his gaze to the floor. He didn’t let the silence hang, realizing he could ask the same question of her. “Was there something you needed?”

          “What? Oh,” she paused, gathering her thoughts, “I wanted to talk to you about your father.”

          “Ah,” was Hans’ short reply. She heaved a sigh, certain she knew the feeling, “...Would you mind if we go watch the sky while we talk?” He gestured for her to lead the way, and she would have barreled headlong out to the windows if not for a fleeting idea—to take his arm. Elsa heard his breath catch as she slid her fingers gently around his elbow, so lightly that she wasn’t sure he could feel it at all. He stayed so still that she used the lamp to look more directly at his face in the dark. His eyes were closed tight, but otherwise, his expression was blank. “I—,” she started, dropping her hand back to her side, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

          Hans regained whatever part of his mind he had momentarily vacated, stopping her apology with, “It’s nothing… I’ve… had a lot on my mind since this afternoon… unfortunately, it’s all been things better left in the past.”

          Elsa read between the lines, regretting immediately her part in reminding Hans of his torture. Taking a deep breath, her fiancé said, “We could try again…?”

          “Only if you would like to; I thought that now might be a good time to practice… for the wedding,” explained Elsa. They both seemed to have an embarrassed moment of anxiety at the mention of the word. “May I?” she asked, breaking the tension. He nodded, offering his elbow—mechanically, but Elsa was able to take it without causing an adverse reaction to either of them.

          When they reached the windows and balconies overlooking the courtyard, she opened the nearest set of doors and stepped out, glad to see the stars in the clear sky. He followed her out, leaning on the railing, appearing comfortable in the quiet. Too bad she had to break the silence.

          “Are your brothers as likely to claim we caused King Wolter’s illness as I think they are?”

---

Hans squeezed the elbow Elsa had been holding discreetly, feeling, to his surprise, no ice had formed on his sleeve in their walk to the balcony. Perhaps the icy end to his life he felt inevitable and likely on his wedding day would not come. He had heard her question, but it bounced around in his head like a cork ricocheting against narrow walls. She watched his face, waiting for his response, lamp illuminating her face in a collection of pale and shadows and two blue eyes in the corner of his vision. There was dizziness in his head—present almost constantly after Wolter’s episode—that tightened his chest and stung his eyes and felt like something desperate to break out of his skin. From a distance far off, he caught himself chuckling.

          “They probably poisoned him themselves, just to send him to Arendelle and reap the rewards of the scandal. He might have even planned it himself, just for one last spiteful laugh,” his words were hollow in his ears—Elsa’s brows were drawn, a certain amount of horror evident on her face. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

          Hans could feel his knees giving out on him as the panic again took him—he was sitting down without remembering how he got there. Elsa was crouched beside him, hands on either cheek and while he couldn’t see her lips moving, her voice calling his name was able to reach his ears. He blinked several times quickly, and the connection between his sight and hearing returned. Relieved, she dropped her hands, one resting on his shoulder. “Thank goodness. I thought I might have to get some help—”

          Grabbing her was not his intention—he was aware of how her boundaries if breached, were guarded well with ice and snow—but it happened, much like everything this evening had, out of his control. He buried his face against her shoulder and held her close, unaware that he was sobbing like a child until he shook with the strength of them. She had yet to freeze him solid. After that observation, he gave himself over to the bitter tide of emotion that had utterly washed away his good sense for a time.

          When Elsa cleared her throat, he took her gentle hint and let his arms drop, drained and unwilling to meet her gaze. The two sat in silence for several moments, a profound and fragile thing dangling on some unseen thread between them. He broke it, because, at last, he had the control to do so.

          “I’m sorry—”

          “You don’t have to apologize, Hans.”

          “I do… if for nothing else, for soiling your robe.”

          Elsa smiled, giving her shoulder a glance and shrugging. He almost smiled, but it seemed to get confused somewhere and turn into more tears—surely, he’d be done by now, he thought—and he covered his eyes with his hand. A light touch pulled down on his fingers, dropping their hands to his knee, where she let it rest, “You don’t have to hide.”

          “That’s not how I was raised,” he said, voice miserable in his effort to keep something, anything, inside.

          “It’s not how I was, either,” Elsa responded. Hans lifted his gaze to her face. “My father gave me the gloves I wore always; he said ‘conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show.’ He was trying to help in the only way he knew how,” she said, and there was overwhelming sadness in her, “But they were a crutch, and if I hadn’t been so afraid of what I might do to those I loved, I could have found that that love was strength, not a liability. It’s not exactly the same, but… hiding how you feel until you it overwhelms you isn’t any better than freezing July after losing a glove.”

          “I didn’t know,” Hans said. She shrugged, “I’ve told Anna…”

          She meant she had told the person who mattered most.

          Regret and loneliness clawed their way out of the emotional stew brewing in his gut and he didn’t bother to stem the fresh flow of tears. “I wish I hadn’t pushed Dorian away,” he croaked, “I wish I was as close to one—just one—out of twelve brothers as you are to Anna. I know I annoyed them as a kid, but why didn’t any of them give me a chance?” He couldn’t make sense of it all. “Why didn’t one of them—any of them—stop what was happening to me?”

          She had no answers—he wasn’t sure there were any—but she did her best to comfort him, voluntarily sliding his arm over her shoulder and hugging him across the chest. Hans gave into the embrace, gave in to the emotions, gave into the pity he had for the person he had been and the idea that that person was gone, however horrible he had been. Elsa seemed to find some words, charged in the moment by his own grief. “You didn’t deserve it,” she said against his chest, “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

          He held her tighter, briefly, and then at long last, the moment was over. 

The queen slipped back out of his arms and stood, wobbling slightly. “My feet fell asleep,” she groaned, and they both smiled in spite of themselves. Exhaustion hit Hans like a ton of bricks as he stood, forcing him to steady himself on the railing. When they had both hobbled into the castle and closed the balcony doors, Elsa said quietly, “We should talk again tomorrow… maybe not like that, but about the future…”

          “Whenever and wherever you decide,” he responded. She nodded, withdrawing only when they had bid one another goodnight.

---

Wolter got worse.

          Elsa started to wonder if some higher power was punishing her for some perceived misdeed or if her luck could really be that terrible. The visiting monarch had stepped off the boat and put one foot solidly in a grave. His downturn took Dorian by surprise and the crown prince barely left Wolter’s side—at least there would be a voice Southern Islanders might listen to that could vouch for the care he received in Arendelle. The physician said Wolter complained the most of stomach pain, and that, given the muscle loss evident in his limbs and the weight gain in his abdomen, he believed it was cancer in that region.

          With Dorian, Hans, and several members of the Southern Isle guard, Elsa listened to the diagnosis when delivered to Wolter. There was a definite silence, where everyone watched the king’s reaction—he was stone-faced when he asked, “Is there anything to be done?”

          “There is nothing save a miracle for you now.”

          “How much time have I got?”

          “I would not expect you to last past the end of the season.”

          “Thank you. If you’d all permit, I’d like time to discuss this with my sons… alone.”

          All but Hans and Dorian exited the suite.

          Elsa followed, hesitating at the door when Wolter called her given name: “Stay. I know you’ll hear what I say from one of these clucking hens sooner rather than later. I would have you hear it from me.” The king gestured welcomingly to his bedside, and with a nod of acquiescence, Elsa took her place.

          Wolter took stock of himself, then began; “I have no intention of slipping quietly into the afterlife. Death will have to fight me first; that is how I’ve lived thus far, that is how I will die. Given that, I doubt greatly that it will be a long fight.

          “Dorian, you are Crown Prince and my heir. Nothing changes now. The throne of the Southern Isles is yours. I will authorize the letter declaring it today and have it sent home tomorrow—if all goes according to plan, you will not face opposition. Your brothers may accept that, they may not. Either way, it will be your first test as a king to handle. I would have liked to meet your child. Tell them I was a strong king—spare them nothing about my reign, and don’t be afraid to call me a cranky bastard… it’s only the truth.

          “Elsa… this marriage to Hans is perhaps the most astounding piece of political gameplay I have ever seen made by someone as young as you are. I will not stand in your way any longer but remember that familial ties make the best alliances where monarchies are involved. Marry your niece or nephew to my grandchild—make it official, that is my advice. You may be stuck with me until I die, and for that, I am sorry; if I had it my way, I would have gone before all this, with a sword in my hand.” 

          His eyes settled on Hans, and he stayed quiet a few beats longer than was comfortable. Elsa felt Hans bracing for a blow from five feet away. Wolter’s voice was low as he addressed his youngest son, low but not unkind. “You remind me of your mother… She hated me sometimes, loved me at others, and feared me almost always. I knew I could hurt her with words; I didn’t fight the urge to often enough. When she died, she told me the other boys would be the hardest on you—I thought it might make you tougher. The plot you hatched to steal the throne of Arendelle was proof that it did; disappointment for me was really only in your failure and discovery. I apologize, Queen Elsa, for that, but you were a stranger and that was the most ruthless he had ever been. Delegating your punishment to the princes seemed right, at first. When they ordered your death, I knew I had made a mistake. Had I stopped it… we’ll never know what might have happened.” As he stopped, Elsa thought he did so because he was choking a cough back, but she was surprised to see unshed tears gather in Wolter’s eyes.

          “I failed to make your brothers men who would never harm their own blood. I’m sorry it hurt you most. I’m sorry for what I’ve said since arriving here. I needed you to hear that from me before I die. Be a better husband than I was. You’ll make a decent king.”

          Without realizing, Elsa held her breath from the moment Wolter stopped speaking until Hans broke the heavy silence. He sounded almost hoarse as he said, “Thank you, father.” Then, with little hesitation, he sat on the bed and hugged his father, lingering just a second and then retreating. Hans looked at his toes as he stood, reminding Elsa of a child expecting a reprimand; she felt the same pull at her heart that she had on the balcony. Some part of her questioned her sympathy, and another part of her understood that she saw some of herself in him. He was only now opening up to deeper connections in the same way she had done two years ago. 

          “Go, please…” Wolter sighed, settling into the bed, “All of you. I need some rest.” Dorian looked ready to argue, but for the beyond-reproach glare that Wolter leveled at him. Elsa would have laughed if it didn’t seem so inappropriate. The three of them filed out of the room and shut the door behind them.

---

Linnéa fussed at his suit’s lines and his pleat for the fourth time as he stood attempting to calm the jitters in his arms and legs. Hans tried again to not think of the wedding, but his thoughts would circle around again and again. A kiss with a woman he tried to kill, whose ice powers were connected to emotions she didn’t necessarily have control of. A room that was full of people who knew of him only as the wretch who tried to steal the kingdom, all watching him make vows to their Queen. All of that and the ever-present fear that his brothers would find a way to take him home and torture him again, spinning like tops in his mind.

          “Nerves are contagious,” his company said, her lips pulling like she might smile but not quite completing the act. Hans let out a breath and shook his hands out, “I’ve been through worse… I’ve been through worse—Ow!”

          Linnéa leveled him with a withering look, having pinched his arm, “Don’t think about that now; a wedding is supposed to be a happy thing.”

          “A political marriage does not need to be happy and the wedding only has to be public enough to be witnessed,” he retorted, earning him another pinch to the arm. Linnéa pressed her point as he protested— “You are likely to never marry again and spoiling this for you or the Queen is only going to kick it off to a poor start, right?”

          “I think trying to kill her two years ago was a poor enough start—”

          “—She forgave you for that. Besides, from what you told Egon about the night on the balcony, you and she have buried the hatchet—”

          “—Egon told you what I said?”

          “He’s my husband. Of course, he told me what you said. He was very happy that you and Elsa aren’t going into this on bad terms,” Linnéa said, taking one of Hans’ hands. When he hadn’t said anything in a moment, Linnéa gave the hand a squeeze and added, “It’ll be alright… you’ll see. Make your vows, kiss your bride, and eat some cake.”

          There was a knock at the door. Egon and Kai had been sent to collect Hans and escort him to the chapel. He felt his stomach somersault, but he reminded himself that he had, indeed, been through much, much worse than marrying a beautiful queen. He had agreed to do this and he had to do this. They left the room—his two rescuers and the senior butler. Down they went, away from the more lavish rooms he had been forced to take when the engagement had been announced, back down to the main level and the noise of a gathering. Where Anna’s wedding had bedecked the halls with decorations and finery expected from a celebration, the halls were unadorned for the Queen’s wedding. Hans knew the plans and the reasons behind them, but he wondered if Elsa would regret the bare halls.

          When they stopped before the chapel doors, Hans had just a moment to steady himself. It’ll be alright, he echoed Linnéa mentally, Make your vows. Kiss your bride. Eat some cake.

          The doors opened… and he stifled a laugh. 

---

Elsa realized only retroactively that inviting her heavily pregnant sister to be her matron-of-honor was a problem—it was obvious once they began that day, however.

          “I look like a whale,” Anna lamented, tears rolling down her cheeks as she pulled at the fabric stretched across her stomach. Elsa couldn’t say for certain, but she thought Anna looked ready to burst. It would be hard for her to get much bigger… maybe. “No, you don’t, Anna. You look very pregnant,” Elsa tried, but Anna was having none of it. She frowned and wiped her face with her sleeve, plucking at her stomach again.

          “Can’t you wait to marry Hans until after I have my baby? I can. Why did I pick this dress?”

          “Because you liked it two weeks ago, Anna. It won’t be as bad as you think—no one will even notice your dress. They’ll be too busy running away when I accidentally freeze Hans.”

          “You’re not going to freeze Hans,” Anna said, momentarily distracted. She set a hand on Elsa’s shoulder, adding, “I doubt anyone will be able to look away once they see you. This dress… you really look beautiful.”

          “Thank you,” Elsa said, smiling. At least no one expected her to wear a cloth dress, not when her wardrobe since her false-winter had been primarily her own ice-creations. That much expression of herself was welcome at a political wedding, no matter how rushed. “I can fix your dress, Anna. Just hold still.”

          “No!” Anna said, throwing her hands out as if the action could stop Elsa’s magic. “I mean… It’s not so bad when I look at it from the side. I think we’ll be fine—I mean, thank you for the offer.” Though she tried to cover it, Anna’s use of ‘we’ll’ told Elsa that she didn’t trust that the baby would be safe. Elsa turned her face from her sister, trying to avoid letting her know how disheartening the exchange was; she didn’t. Looping her arms as much as she could around Elsa’s waist, Anna said, “I’m sorry… I’m just so ready to meet this baby and stop putting my foot in my mouth. You’re going to be fine—I mean, even if you’re not, you will be.”

          “Thanks,” she said in a small voice.

          It was Kristoff, Gerda, and Olaf who came to get Elsa and Anna. The snowman gasped when he saw Elsa, saying, “It’s like you’re the prettiest winter ever. I didn’t even know ice could do that. How did you get it all to do that?” His wonder gave her a chance to giggle, and both Kristoff and Gerda to agree that her dress was, indeed, dazzling. “I’ll tell you on the way to the chapel, Olaf,” Elsa promised.

          The bridal party started down from the Queen’s rooms. She heard their guests before she saw them, and anyone left out in the halls paused to stare at her dress almost long enough to embarrass her. Before that day, she had never imagined a wedding. She still couldn’t see it all—Hans was just some figure at the end of the chapel in his suit. The chapel and the throne room were filled with people facing away, both as simple as they had always been.

          “We’re ready to start,” Gerda said, focusing Elsa back on the present. They were outside of the chapel, and all eyes were on her. “Yes. You can open the doors.”

          Her heart was in her throat for some reason, and the doors swung open on well-oiled hinges to reveal a chapel bedecked with all manner of blue streamers and white ribbons and children’s hand-made snowflakes. It was as shocking as it was haphazard, which only served to pull a giggle up from her toes. “Who did this?” she asked of her bridal party—they all looked complicit. “Boulda said the little ones wouldn’t stop asking if they could decorate for you. Then there were the children in town,” Kristoff said.

          “I helped, too. I hope you like it, Elsa,” Olaf added, taking one twiggy handful of her dress to hug. “I love it,” she said, apparently just loud enough that a waiting child squealed with glee around the corner. The choir had already begun to sing, and her guests stood to see her enter. Her gaze tracked forward, up the aisle, until she caught sight of Hans with the most curious expression on his face. She smiled and he did too.

          Representatives from many kingdoms lined the pews, witnesses to rushed nuptials—they seemed to pass by her, not her by them. Her hands were heavy with their burden—a ceremonial sword made for her wedding by the best blacksmith in Arendelle—and a bouquet of early spring wildflowers. It was reassuring, once she climbed the steps to the chancel, that Hans’ expression hadn’t changed, and up-close, Elsa knew he was barely hiding awe. She blushed, bashful in the face of admiration.

          The choir stopped singing, and the ceremony began.

---

Trepidation slipped away the instant Hans saw her in the doorway. She held a bouquet and a sword in a sheath but she might as well have been holding nothing; like the dawn on freshly fallen snow, she glittered. Like a thousand, thousand jewels, Elsa shone in the light. The choir sang, her eyes caught him, and the laugh she had caught in her smile was just as dazzling as the dress she wore. He forgot to be afraid. He forgot that the strongest emotion he had felt for her so far was gratitude. There was a queen in all her glory gliding past a room full of people with a smile just for him; why should anything else take precedence in his mind?

          His heart did a flip when she stopped before him—was she blushing?

          “Esteemed guests and beloved citizens of Arendelle,” the priest began, “We are gathered here in this holy place today to bear witness to this union.”

          The priest did not offer the room a chance to object—blessed mercy—because someone would find a way to ruin the nicest moment of his life so far. Instead, the old man made a sweeping gesture between Elsa and Hans. She handed the bouquet to Anna, who must have followed her down the aisle, then presented to him the sword in her hand. “Use this to protect my kingdom, as my father did and his fathers did,” she said, very obviously a prerequisite that he had no idea would be happening. Maybe it was a tradition in Arendelle. He was expected to take it either way; when he wasn’t sure what to do with it, she tried to subtly indicate the belt… which made perfect sense. Still, the entire chapel caught it, and the laughter was appropriately tame. Hans buckled the sword on and offered his hands out for Elsa to take. She had said it would be safe… after all, she hadn’t frozen him on the balcony. 

          Her bare hands were soft as they slid into his; she was nervous, or at least they had broken out in a cold sweat. It would be fine, he told himself. The ceremony began in earnest then, and while her thing with the sword had been unfamiliar, everything else went by the book. They listened as the priest defined marriage, repeated after him when he led them through their vows, and when he announced them married, they knew exactly what came next. 

          The kiss.

          Hans hoped if the worst came to pass, it would be over quickly. “You may kiss the bride,” had never before seemed so intimidating. Elsa braced herself.

          He leaned in.

          It was chaste and only lasted long enough to be counted as a kiss. The clapping started with Kristoff, of all people. Hans noticed that Anna barely participated in the tame congratulations—he understood that some wounds never healed completely. Dorian, Egon, and Linnéa were perhaps the most enthusiastic guests in attendance. Elsa squeezed his hand and looked out into the chapel.

          “The coronation,” she reminded the guests, “of Prince Hans.”

          He’d nearly forgotten that bit.

---

Elsa did not expect Hans’ kiss to be much more than tolerable, but if someone pressed her for another adjective, she might even go so far as to say it was pleasant. He was very gentle, though she knew he had kissed her. Only having Sokollu’s kiss to compare it to was obviously a narrowing of the field. Elsa knew she was placing a lot of importance on one moment, but she doubted their capacity to accomplish that feat again; those might be her only two kisses.

          There would be one last thing before the reception— Hans’ coronation.

          Some part of her was unwilling to name him King of Arendelle, and another part hoped that being vague wouldn’t be an obvious dodge. That was the point of marrying Hans at all… right? To not have to have a king? There was no better title that would calm the angered suitors who had not been chosen. A queen of her own right would never satisfy them. If only knocking them off their high horses wouldn’t start the wars she was trying to avoid, Elsa might have tried.

          The priest led the proceedings as he had done for her—they were to be equals before God, the old man said—and after setting the crown of her father on his head, declared him King Hans of Arendelle. That's surreal, she thought; Elsa married the man who tried to kill her for her crown. A wild flash of her vivid imagination—a version of Hans laughing maniacally as the skies darkened, the earth split, and her fate was sealed to spend eternity in Hell—melted away like late spring snow, leaving only her apprehensive, by-convenience-only husband in its wake. He was not the man he had been, she reminded herself, and she was not the woman she had been.

          Elsa took his hand when he stood and offered it, both leaving the chapel first to lead the procession to the throne room. When she was sure he would be the only one to hear, she said to him, “We made it through the hardest part. Now, we can just eat and accept congratulations.”

          Hans smiled, and some of the tension fell away from his shoulders. “It’ll be like a stroll in the gardens, comparatively.” She nodded and smiled.

        Being announced as “King Hans and Queen Elsa” as they stepped across the threshold into the large hall felt like a jolt—it was done. To the world he was her chosen partner, though, in truth, she wouldn’t have married at all if not for the threats of war. A king would be thought of first, despite Elsa’s refusal to relinquish her power over her kingdom. Hans knew those were the terms of his ascension, and she had all the power to make sure he never forgot, but would her title ever command the same respect as his? The pall of her thoughts over her must have been obvious to Hans, who squeezed her hand gently. The world could go on misunderstanding their arraignment, she decided, because they understood what it was they had done.

          An hour and a half later, once her subjects had been served dinner and sweets, Elsa decided that she and Hans would share one dance before her good mood was spoiled by more pertinent issues. She stood, opened her mouth, and heard the unmistakable voice of her little sister drop a very unladylike swear on every ear at the high table. Shocked, Elsa looked over to Anna. The princess had grabbed her husband’s arm like a vice, her face red in embarrassment, and looked to her sister. “The baby,” she mouthed, using her free hand to bunch her skirt. Anna couldn’t mean the baby was coming, Elsa thought, totally unable to process reality. Kristoff and Hans both stood, Kristoff calling for Gerda and her husband calling for the maid Linnéa. It really is coming, she realized.

---

Who in their right mind had more than one child in their life? Anna growled through her clenched teeth every single swear she could think of and a few more she thought she might have made up. Kristoff wasn’t in the room and she thought it might have been for the best. If she had seen his face in that moment, he’d be getting the brunt of the vulgarity she was spewing out. Elsa sat furthest away, looking pale. Linnéa wiped at her face again with a wet cloth and agreed with every word that she said—she would have to thank her for that later—while Gerda tried to coach her through pushing.

          “Your mother did this twice without using that sort of language, Anna,” Gerda said, hoping to shame Anna into something less scandalous. Anna knew no shame, only pain, and anger. She pushed until tears mixed with the sweat dripping into her eyes and said another fifty or so filthy things. It was worse. Surely that meant she was close to done, right?

          Just when she thought that Gerda urged her to push harder. The rest of several minutes passed with just the pain in her mind.

          It was over.

          Her baby cried out, and she wiped her blurry eyes to catch sight of her newborn.

          “A baby boy,” Gerda wept, absolutely no pretense to her joy. Anna held out her hands and cradled her son against her when he was set against her chest. Elsa was no longer far away, looking at her nephew with perhaps the weepiest smile she had ever worn.

          An hour or two later, Anna was clean and so was her son, and Kristoff sat on the bed beside her and Elsa sat on the opposite side. News had been shared of the birth and the health of both herself and her boy. Holding him and looking at his face, she was sure she had never loved anything more. “What are we going to name him?” Kristoff asked—not for the first time, but for the first time that she was willing to discuss it.

          “I’d like to honor our father,” she said, looking first to Elsa and then to Kristoff. Both looked like they expected that answer, but Anna could see the emotion welling in Elsa. “I’d like to name him Agnar.”

          “It’s good to meet you, Agnar,” Kristoff said touching his son’s little fist. The three of them basked in their uninterrupted joy for a while longer, until Elsa got up to leave. “I should see to our guests. Who would have expected a baby when they came for this wedding?”

          Anna laughed a little, adding, “Leave it to me to surprise everyone.”

          There was a knock at their door, and when Elsa laughingly commanded the person to enter, Hans stepped in through from the hall. He was pale, and despite Anna having just labored and birthed a baby, she thought he looked worse than she possibly could.

          “What is it?” Elsa asked, also aware that something must be wrong. Dread hit her before he could say it as if she knew already what it was—

          “My father died.”

          Anna couldn’t help the swear that tore out of her mouth; if it wasn’t one thing, it was always another.

Chapter Text

Wolter’s death did not shock the other monarch as much as it confirmed a worse-case-scenario that danced at the edge of her anxiety. Elsa had hoped that Wolter would return to the Southern Isles before he did anything as regrettable as die in her kingdom. More than that, she had wanted to escape the mourning she was sure even Hans would do for his father.

            Elsa had not experienced the pain of losing a parent or her parents around anyone else. The isolation she had kept herself in for the three years between the King and Queen’s demise and her coronation was presumably meant to keep her powers hidden and the kingdom safe; in truth, Elsa had simply maintained the distance her childhood had enforced. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show —they had been rules for more than just controlling her powers. She made no public appearances. She barely saw Anna. When her room had finally thawed out, she emerged more shuttered than she had been before Agnarr and Iduna left Arendelle.

            And so, it certainly wasn’t Wolter’s death that truly saddened her. When she reached out and took Hans’ clammy hand, she was feeling the block she still had damming up her parents’ deaths sliding out of place.

            “I’m so sorry,” Elsa murmured; for his part, Hans looked like he wasn’t even one shovel-full into digging to the bottom of his feelings. It was a familiar look and bitingly distressing. Anna spoke softly from her bed: “Is there anything we can do for you or Dorian tonight?” It wasn't pointed, but her question had the misfortune of being posed by a very tired, very blunt new mother.

            “I…" Hans faltered, then asked after a moment, "What’s the child’s name?” He seemed to have recognized that she couldn't help her exhaustion.

            “Agnar,” Kristoff answered, “For his grandfather.”

            Hans nodded, taking his time to find his words. “A good name," he said, looking at the little bundle in Anna's arms from the doorway. “Excuse me,” he said haltingly and turned around to leave the way he had come in.

            “Wait,” Elsa bade, stopping her husband, “I’ll go with you. I just want to say goodnight.” He looked over his shoulder and nodded, then she crossed the room to kiss her sister on the forehead. “Goodnight Anna, Kristoff, and Agnar. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The beleaguered princess agreed with a sound and Kristoff couldn’t help his grin when Elsa rubbed a finger at Agnar’s swaddled chest. “I love you all,” she added, unable to leave the room without declaring it. She still wished she had told her parents before they had left on the ship.

            “Love you, too,” Anna said.

            Elsa followed Hans into the hall and shut the door on that untouchable happiness.

---

Reigning in his desire to escape a happy family moment had boiled down to physically locking his fingers around the doorknob in his fist. Running had been his plan until Elsa asked him to wait, and for some reason, he did as she wanted. Hans finally let the knob go when she walked back to him and moved woodenly out into the hall. All that was in his mind was that he couldn’t believe what had happened in one long day; a wedding, a death, and a birth. Only Wolter would dare die on such a happy day.

            Only he would begrudge his sick father his own death.

            Elsa touched his arm, face showing concern in the dim light: “Come with me?”

            He let her lead the way with his hand in hers, hardly registering where they were until she was closing her own suite’s door while he stood in her office, absently. “I had Egon bring your bedclothes. They’re in there on the bed.”

            “Why?” he demanded, and she looked surprised. “Why am I changing into my bedclothes in your rooms? I’m a eunuch and I thought this was a sham marriage; what good does it do to have me in here? And when did Egon move them?”

            “I planned to have you moved after our talk on the balcony. I think you might be the only person I could share my rooms with. Whether our guests are spies or not, I thought it might be less likely to cause a stir if it appears that we are in an actual marriage… which means, you spend the night in here.”

            Like a lead brick, anxiety dropped heavily into Hans’ stomach. His reaction was a burst of anger that he felt helpless to stop, “So you didn’t bother to ask me first?!”

            Elsa’s hands flexed at his raised voice, but he continued, almost unable to stem the words; “My father died tonight. Even if the whole kingdom doesn’t know that I’m useless , who would expect me to be a proper husband? But sure, after every other thing I’ve lost control of, why would where I sleep be any different?!”

            The room was markedly cooler than it had been the moment before he said anything, and yet, Elsa’s expression was not without sympathy. Hans still felt anxious and angry, but his hasty words had covered plenty of emotional ground for him in just a few sentences. She took a deep breath and responded. “I’m sorry about Wolter. I’m sorry about not asking you to move. I’m sorry that everything that’s happened has robbed you of your agency, amongst other things.” She meant every word, but the feeling that he had didn’t go away just because she knew what she should say. Hans was bone-tired and emotionally exhausted; the sun was on the rise and he couldn’t even go sleep in his own bed. Logically, he knew that sleeping in her suite at this point would be the best option for appearances, but he had a wild notion that he wouldn’t even be on one of the office couches—she’d hand him a blanket and a pillow and he’d be sleeping on the floor.

            Like a child, he pressed his palm to his temple, momentarily overcome with the urge to drop to the floor in a fit. Elsa reached out and gently took his hand from his face; he was fragile, and when he broke, she knew how to avoid his edges. Her arms wrapped around his middle, letting her head rest against his chest. The day caught up with him, standing in the comforting embrace of his wife-of-convenience, and he let go.

---

The sun spilled across the room onto the bed, over Hans’ back, and onto her toes. Elsa hung her legs over the chair she had drug over to the bed when Hans had finally fallen into a fitful sleep. His expression smoothed out when his breathing deepened and the sound was enough to lull her eyelids into drooping. It had been a long day, and she knew she should sleep, but she needed to sort out what emotion was most prevalent after Hans’ outburst.

            Was he grieving? Was it really about what he could control in his own life? Was it a long history of repressing emotion until he burst from the stress? Was he just cranky without sleep? The last one only accounted for the look of frustration he had had when she apologized and he went mute. Being that he started out angry, Elsa decided that Hans had been feeling a mix of many different stressors. So what did that mean for her, besides holding him until he was all cried out and then tucking him into her own bed? Rolling her ankle and flexing her toes, she got the distinct impression that Hans’ outburst had upset her for him. Elsa felt more than sympathy and wished she could take back her part in his subduing; he wasn’t actually mad about the room change, he said when he was consolable, but he did wish she had asked.

            “There’s nothing I won’t do for you,” he had said, hand in hers, “You can ask anything of me…”

            “I think you should get some rest,” she replied.

            When she fell asleep at last, she didn’t dream of anything. When she fell off the chair, her shriek of surprise was obviously jarring for both Hans and Elsa. He was bolt upright and she was rubbing her hip.

            “Are you alright?” he asked, reaching a hand out to help her up. She stood and rubbed her eyes, still tired and still at a loss for what to do next. “I’m too tired to decide anything right now…” Elsa said after a moment. He scooted over on the bed and patted the duvet before dropping back and lacing his fingers together on his stomach, set to fall asleep again. Elsa was unsure until her knees wobbled; she settled onto the bed next to her husband, closed her eyes and knew nothing more for a time.

            “...I think we should let her sleep,” a soft voice whispered in her office, while a deeper voice whispered back, “But it’s been nearly all day and… well, what will we do with his body? If she freezes him, it won’t matter how long it takes to return him to the Southern Isles.” Blinking against the weight of sleep, Elsa stiffened when she heard Hans’ voice amongst the other two, slightly above a whisper.

            “Please… don’t talk about freezing my father right now. The Queen will have plenty to deal with when she wakes. For now, let her rest.” Hans was sending them away? Sleeping a few hours more would have made dealing with Wolter’s death on the day of their wedding easier, surely, but could she justify it as a ruling monarch? Her head was all questions when Hans cracked the door open. She debated feigning sleep until the door nearly shut again.

            “Hans,” Elsa said, prompting him to look in again. He looked haggard like sleep had not helped him all that much. “...Elsa?”

            “Will you come back to bed?”

            “...Yes.”

            When he closed the door behind him, Elsa caught a blush on his cheeks that didn’t make sense until she thought through what she had said. Even after that, she drew a blank as to why he’d be nervous— useless was the word he had used. Maybe it was a drowsy reaction to a very silly sentiment. He settled on the bed on his back as he had before and she studied his profile with one eye. In one year, he had looked like a completely different man than had left Arendelle. He looked more like Dorian than before, aged beyond his years, but there were hints of his face as it had been—a fullness to his cheeks and temples.

            “Are you regretting marrying me?” she inquired, half-certain that wasn’t meant to be spoken. Hans turned his head to look at her, obviously caught off-guard by the question. Elsa clarified, “ Agreeing to marry me, I should say. You’re free to say yes. I would be—regretting it. There’s so much wrong with my rule in two years that kingdoms as far away as Asia threatened war unless I accepted their suitors. Not to mention the magic… All I mean is—I wouldn’t blame you.”

            His jaw worked, starting and stopping a response when she finished. His eyes looked so dark. “Your people are happy to have you, magic included. I’ve been in the stables and the servant halls and no one has said one word ill of you; the only man who dared to say something crude about you was thrown out so fast by your sister his head spun. The nations who threatened you only want to exploit Arendelle for trade and natural resources. You were right to turn them down and negotiate a better deal with a kingdom where you keep your autonomy. For all that, and for every kind word and gesture you’ve ever shown me, I’m glad to marry someone I respect and admire.”

            Hans didn’t keep eye-contact with her the whole time he spoke, but the look he gave her at the word respect was sincere.

            Now, who was blushing?

            Turning on her side, she reached out for his hands and took one to hold, fingers entwining and rubbing across the ruined skin on every finger. “That means a great deal to me,” Elsa murmured, feeling too tired to fight sleep anymore.

---

When Hans and Elsa finally started their day, what followed was a marathon of questions and actions that were answered and dispatched. Though morbid, the conversation with Dorian concerning freezing Wolter’s remains was had. Hans felt it was an unfair situation for Elsa to be put in—she would have to see the sunken-in face of his dead father and have that image in her mind forever, just like he did. He didn’t know if she had ever seen death before. It was unfortunate that it had to be Wolter.

            Dorian agreed that for the sake of a journey back south, the body would keep better if it were frozen. Elsa waved her hands over his father and aside from the unsettling sound and the pattern of snowflakes across his skin, Hans could hardly tell that he was frozen. “A block of ice large enough to keep his body would be impossible to move,” Elsa explained, “I figured out a permanent frost for Olaf about a week ago… I thought this would be best for his last voyage.”

            When that conversation was over, Elsa pulled Hans along the halls with her to visit Anna, Kristoff, and Agnar. He was hesitant to follow her inside when she called out that Anna was decent, but he followed all the same. The baby was nestled into the crook of his wife’s elbow. Hours after his birth, he had gained some color—all pink, it seemed—and against the color, he could tell that Agnar had the blonde hair of his father. “Come closer,” Elsa beckoned, “He smells so new.”

            Hans toed his way over to the pair of Arendelle royals and bent to verify Elsa’s claim—she was right. The baby did smell new, for lack of a better word. “He’s handsome,” Hans said, though, in truth, he thought the babe looked just the same as any other newborn he had seen. Elsa nodded, smiling and smitten. She needed time with him to decompress, he thought. It was indescribable, what a joy a baby was in the face of death. Agnar began to whimper after a few more minutes and Elsa seemed more than happy to hand him off before there was a full-on crying episode. Anna set about to feed him and Hans decided to step into the hall, almost right into Linnéa.

            “Pardon me,” she said, turning the basket of laundry so it didn’t run into him. “Hans! Oh, I mean, King Hans.”

            The words put next to each other felt all wrong, and he found himself saying, “Just ‘Hans’… please.”

            “Alright,” Linnéa agreed, switching her weight from one foot to the other. She didn’t seem like she wanted to talk, which after her help before the wedding was a shock to him. “Linnéa,” he started, interrupted when she gestured with the basket and said, “Princess Anna will be expecting me, now. Excuse me.”

            Hans moved, blinked, and was confused all at once. Was she upset with him? Nothing had happened since the wedding between himself, Egon, or Egon’s wife; Wolter had died and he hadn’t left Dorian until his brother told him to go tell Elsa and Anna. Baffled, he paid no attention to Elsa’s departure from Anna’s rooms until she asked him, “What’s wrong?”

            “Linnéa was acting strange,” he told her.

            “How so?” she inquired, a slight frown matching her question. He hadn’t intended to talk about it any further, but he felt like he could… like he should keep sharing with her. Once he had explained what happened, Elsa suggested that they wait until Linnéa came back out of the room and see if something was amiss.

            They didn’t wait long. She came out, seemed unhappy to be stopped and plenty interested in anything but Elsa and Hans. Elsa did the talking.

            “Is there something bothering you, Linnéa?”

          “No ma’am—your Majesty…-ies. Nothing at all,” the maid said to her toes. When she looked up, Elsa gave her a doubtful look with one eyebrow raised and Linnéa seemed to unravel. He’d have to remember that was all it took.

            “There’s a rumor in the castle that you had something to do with Wolter’s death, Hans. I know you… or at least I feel like I do, and you’d never… never be a part of that… right?”

            It was like a blow to his gut; mortification overruled his shock to the point that his eyes felt near to popping out of his head. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t—”

            “Who started the rumor?” Elsa asked, calmer by far than he was. Linnéa shrugged a shoulder, adjusted her empty basket, and set her free hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to be short with you before,” she explained, “I was trying to avoid this exact thing. Telling you at all felt like I was saying I believed them, and I don’t… I’m so sorry anyone’s said anything.” Her face fell when her hand did. Hans rubbed a hand over his eyes, thinking that the rumor could be more damaging in the Southern Isles than just in the kitchens of Arendelle’s castle.

            “Hopefully, the rumor stays off the first boat back to the Southern Isles,” Elsa mused, “That would be the last thing we need.”

            Hans had a sinking feeling that any ship would most definitely carry the vicious rumor home.

---

Night came again after another long day.

            Elsa changed into her nightgown in the privacy of her washroom and knowing that Hans was doing the same in the bedroom, she took her time. Finally, she heard his voice call out, “I’m done.” Hans was under the covers on what she guessed was now his side of the bed. They’d talked about going to separate rooms, but a whole host of issues still stood from the night before. He offered to sleep anywhere but the bed but Elsa told him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t allow it.

            Walking over to the vanity and taking a seat, she untied her hair and brushed it out before re-braiding the length. She felt Hans’ eyes on her, catching his expression through the mirror and fighting a small smile at it. “Would you like me to braid yours, too?” she asked.

            Looking somewhat embarrassed, Hans touched at his hair where it was bunched into a ponytail at the nape of his neck and didn’t answer immediately. She took the little nod he might have made consciously as a yes and carried the brush he had given her for Yuletide to bed with her. In those years between her parents’ deaths and her own coronation, she never would have imagined that there would one day be a man in her bed who’s hair she would willingly braid. Marrying him still didn’t feel entirely real, either. A question in her mind slipped out when he began to turn on the bed; “Why haven’t you cut your hair?”

            Hans stopped, absolutely halted by what hadn’t felt like a heavy question when she thought it. She waited for some response, and he finally finished turning before he found something. “I liked that it was something different from before that I was—am in control of. I have plenty of new scars, but I didn’t give them to myself… I couldn’t cut my hair and I decided I wanted to keep it.” She watched his hand travel down his sleeve and knew that the scars beneath were just a few of the many he had accumulated. The more that Hans let her in—the more context she had for his torture—the more she regretted sending him home. He flinched when Elsa set her hand on his shoulder blade; touching wasn’t her go-to comfort, but she couldn’t help herself.

            “When I ran away, I started using my power in a way I hadn’t for many, many years. Coming back, I might not have had the same freedom as I had on the North Mountain, but I could still dress how I wanted. I know it’s not the same, but I think I understand how having something you can decide is important.”

            “…I feel like you’re the only person who can understand…” he replied in such a small voice she almost missed it. She rubbed her hand back and forth over the spot it rested on for a second and then untied the cloth keeping his hair back. As the brush smoothed over the length of his hair as gently as she could manage, Elsa considered what more she could say.

            Rather suddenly, Hans twisted back around, face and eyes red.

            “I’m sorry I tried to kill you—!” he blurted, voice breaking and breath rapid.

            She was stunned.

            “I don’t remember trying to apologize, specifically, for that in all this time. I don’t know if I knew how much I should be sorry until the moment you hugged me on the balcony. Begging for your forgiveness now seems incredibly late, but I will—”

            “No, you won’t,” she interrupted him, hands on either of his shoulders, “I would never have married a man I found unforgivable, no matter how badly I needed the political products. You earned your forgiveness when you made it back to Arendelle alive, changed for the better. You’ve been a comfort to me the last few weeks—a friend—and I can’t thank you enough.”

            Elsa leaned up and kissed his forehead, then, feeling compelled again by empathy and something unnamed within, she kissed him on the lips. He was still for two long beats of her heart, then he tentatively reciprocated. It wasn’t like the kiss they shared at their wedding; it felt deeper. A small measure of panic set in as she felt… different.

            In the same moment that she felt his tongue slide into her mouth, the bedroom temperature dropped, the fire in the grate sputtered to a flicker, and she pulled back. “What was that?” she asked, hand on her lips. Hans was obviously alarmed by the quick change. Elsa tried to walk back what her surprise had done: “I mean… that was your tongue… I just wasn’t expecting it to be in my mouth.”

            “I’m sorry,” he said. If she had been mad at him, his apology was sincere enough to dispel it. Elsa replied, “I didn’t know what that would be like. It was kind of… strange. I would say we could try again, but I don’t think the fire would survive…” 

            Her eyes followed his gaze to the fireplace. With as awkward as she was feeling, leaving the bed was a welcome reprieve. She stoked the flames, encouraging them to reignite into something that would put out heat. On her own, she could sleep without it even in the worst of winters, but Hans would freeze to death overnight. She watched the flames dance higher again.

            “I can sleep in the office,” he tried once more, to which she shook her head.

         “You need to be near the fire. If anyone should sleep in the office, it should be me. I think finishing your braid and trying to get some sleep would be best,” Elsa suggested, returning to the bed. Hans looked down at his hands linked together on his lap and said one more time, “I’m sorry,” while she finished his pleat. Unable to bear the defeat in his voice, she turned his face to hers again and slowly pressed her lips to his. He didn’t move a muscle. Pulling back, Elsa told him: “I’m not.”

            His expression was equal parts dumbfounded and relieved.

            Settling down beneath the blankets, she said, “Goodnight, Hans.”

---

“Hans,” was the last and first word he heard Elsa say when he fell asleep and when he awoke.

            He was having a dream that something cold was stuck to him until he realized that it wasn’t a dream. That she wasn’t stuck to him so much as he had his arms around her. Jumping away wasn’t quite possible in their position, but Hans did his best to scoot back and give her space. An apology was on the tip of his tongue when Elsa sat up and stopped him with a hand. Of course, she would, he thought miserably.

            “That was bound to happen,” she excused him, despite his own doubts in its inevitability, “I didn’t mind until I woke up. You were… warm. Let’s just move on. We’ve got another big day ahead of us.”

            He couldn’t argue with that, so he started in on his morning routine. Elsa’s pleat in his hair was too bedraggled to leave alone, but he found he couldn’t do it the same way. Raking a comb through it, he nearly laughed when the waves fluffed out. How would he calm that down without another pleat? Maybe Elsa wouldn’t mind…

            Hans did all he could otherwise before stepping out of the washroom to see his wife just tying the end of her hair off. She caught sight of him and didn’t hold back her giggle, even if she hid it behind her hand. Without a word, she stood and offered him her seat at her vanity. He took it gladly. “Thank you,” Hans added, fiddling his thumbs over each other.

            “You’re welcome. My mother taught me how to… I didn’t get a chance to do Anna’s hair while we were growing up. When my parents reduced the staff, any hope of a handmaid for either of us was gone, so we got ready on our own. I know I thought I would never be able to touch anyone ever again, let alone braid their hair, but here I am. It’s nice,” she said, and when she was done speaking, she was done with his hair. In the mirror, Elsa met his gaze, smiling slightly. She patted his shoulder and moved to the door.

            Hans followed her into her office, “My mother tried to teach any of my brothers to braid when they let their hair grow. She wanted a daughter, but all she had were sons. Wolter used to say that if we let her, she’d put us in dresses and have us recite poetry and pick flowers; we all knew he’d disown us if we did.”

            “That’s a harsh way of dealing with children,” she replied, looking up from a stack of papers on her desk. She pulled the one she must have wanted from the pile and looked at him again, “You’ve never spoken about your mother to me before. What was she like?”

            Hans looked down at his toes, uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t explain. He opened his mouth and shut it again, unsure of whether he could even start. The depth of whatever internal well was that held memories of the Queen of the Southern Isles within him was a mystery, even to himself. Knowing he couldn’t stare at his toes forever, Hans looked to Elsa, brows drawn.

            “Would you rather we not talk about her right now?” she asked gently. She was consistently gentle with him. He nodded, though he followed it with a little shake as well. “Maybe later?”

            “Maybe,” Hans agreed. If he collected his thoughts, he hoped he would keep from crying on her for the third night in a row. Asking Dorian to explain their mother to Elsa didn’t seem to be a reasonable alternative. Later, he hoped it would be better.

            “Would you mind if I went to the stables for a while? I haven’t seen Sitron since before the wedding,” he asked.

            “Would you mind if I went with you? I don’t really want to jump into the itinerary yet, either.”

            “I’d be honored, then,” he said. 

            Twenty minutes later, Elsa sat on Sitron’s saddle while Hans walked beside his horse along the courtyard path to the gates. They hadn’t intended to go for a ride, but Hans’ horse insisted; Elsa had pretended Sitron was speaking to her, as Kristoff did with Sven, turning what he thought would be a quick visit into a full-on excursion. At least it would still be early when they returned. 

            The Queen sat astride his fjord-horse with all the regal grace expected of her title until they cleared Arendelle’s streets. Like a flag losing the wind, she drooped into a slouch and rubbed her hips. “How can anyone stand to ride a horse for hours and hours? I want to get down and walk around. Would you mind?”

            Hans shook his head and held out his arms for Elsa to drop into when she couldn’t swing her leg over Sitron’s back to get down. She needed a second with him holding her up to get her feet back under herself. Climbing up when he was sure Elsa was fine, Hans had Sitron walking paces in the same area she was.

            “I thought about asking to join the stable master’s staff when I was living in the hayloft,” Hans told Elsa as Sitron passed her. She looked up at him, mildly surprised. He nodded, adding, “I’ve always liked horses. Sitron was the only nice thing my family ever gave me. I don’t mind the work involved in keeping them; I tried not to show it too much at home, sure that my brothers would find some way of ruining it for me.”

            He said the last with a smile, which was meant to lighten the subject, not make her frown.

            “They never were very nice to you,” Elsa said.

            “No,” Hans agreed, “Until I met you and Anna, I thought that was normal.”

            She smiled, but it was colored with sadness. “I lost so much time with her. I didn’t know that embracing love would protect her or my parents, so I lived in fear of hurting them.”

            “You had no way of knowing any difference. You said your father told you to ‘conceal, don’t feel’. It took Anna’s apparent death to break down the walls you had up to protect her. I need to thank her for stopping me... though if she hadn’t already been frozen solid…” I’d have mutilated her arm, he finished mentally. It sent a shiver down the length of his spine.

            Elsa looked at him, but Hans couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

           Sitron pawed at the dirt, and the silence stretched until the Queen broke it: “It was horrible, what you did… but it brought Anna and me back together again. That doesn’t excuse it, but I don’t know if Anna would have gotten through to me otherwise. I don’t know where I would be right now if I hadn’t frozen the summer. Probably miserable.”

            “Maybe something else would have started the change. Anna wouldn’t have given up on you—I could tell that much when she rode off after you in your storm. She was so concerned,” he said, remembering the night somewhat painfully, “She left your kingdom’s well-being to someone she had only met that day.”

            Elsa was pensive as she walked over to Sitron. Hans watched with a small amount of apprehension.

            All she replied with was: “Maybe we should return to the castle…”

            “Alright,” Hans said, helping her back onto Sitron behind him.

---

Dorian made clear at lunch that he planned to sail back to the Southern Isles the next day. Elsa agreed that it would be best to go back sooner rather than later. They would sail together, one ship returning to the Southern Isles and one ship from Arendelle that would return home with her on it. While the conversation was had at lunch, in full participation with Dorian, Anna, Kristoff, and Hans, it wasn’t until later that evening that Hans expressed his opinion.

            “I really don’t think you should go anywhere near that place,” he told her frankly while she wrote out a missive for Anna’s proxy rule. She could see the same fear that had plagued him months ago settling onto his face.

            “If I send Dorian alone with Wolter, frozen, will I look innocent?”

            Hans’ lips twisted down deeply. Dropping into the chair across the desk and more fully into the orange light of the sunset, he thought about her question until he seemed to have arrived at the same answer she had; “You have to go.”

            Elsa nodded, setting her pen down to watch him. “Sending the physician won’t do any good to prove your innocence. My brothers are just as likely to claim him biased as they are to keep him jailed for abetting any perceived ‘lie’.”

            “Yes. So, better I go and tell them myself that while I’m very sorry for Wolter’s untimely demise, I had no hand in it.”

            “That’s horrifying,” he said back.

            She watched him steadily as their silence stretched; Hans obviously wrestled with something, and Elsa thought she was just familiar enough with him to guess what it was. He squirmed slightly before he forced out, “I’m going with you.”

            “You want to go with me?”

            “Not even in the least, but I really don’t trust the eleven of them to allow you a safe passage.”

            “I can handle myself,” she said, not offended but not satisfied with his answer, “You don’t have to go.”

            “I know you can protect yourself, but I can’t sit in Arendelle not knowing what dangers you’re facing.”

            “Why not?” Elsa asked, somehow annoyed that he was insistent over arbitrary reasons, “Why put yourself through it?”

            Hans was speaking before Elsa had even finished her last word— “Because I love you—!”

            Stunned silence was an understatement for her shock. Was her mouth hanging open? 

            Did he say love ?

            “Because I promised to stand by you. Because you’ve been there for me in ways I can’t ever hope to repay. Because I know who my brothers are and how they hurt people, and I can’t let them hurt you, Elsa,” Hans explained. His chest was heaving, and she realized that he’d go with her whether she liked it or not. Elsa stood, and heartbeat in her ears, walked around her desk until she stood next to him. Carefully, she framed his face in her hands and bent to place a gentle kiss on his lips. It was slow and chaste, and when she rested her brow to his, Hans set one hand on her own.

            Her kiss was her rebuttal to his declaration because even if the peculiar feelings in her heart were love, she wasn’t ready to say it back. 

            “I promised to stand by you, too. If your brothers try to harm you, I have no problem freezing them until summer.”

            Hans let out a breath, relaxing into her hands. 

            Dinner, later, saw the same people gathered again. When the food had been served, Hans took a deep breath and said to Dorian, “I’ll be going with the Queen to the Southern Isles.”

            “You jest!” Egon shouted, surprising every person sitting at the dinner table from the doorway.

            “No. I don’t,” Hans replied after a pause. Just like Elsa, Egon seemed to know how bad an idea going back would be. He sputtered, looking at Elsa and Dorian before saying, “I’m going back with you, then.”

            Needing a deep breath beforehand, Elsa sighed and nodded once; “I thought you might say that.”

            “Elsa,” Anna said in a tone that cut back the noise between her sister and herself, “Come back home, no matter what. Agnar can’t grow up not knowing his aunt.”

            Goosebumps raised on Elsa’s arms at the unhappy thought.

---

Dorian’s face wrinkled just slightly at her statement—Hans was probably the only person to catch the expression—and he politely interrupted the conversation, “May I remind everyone that I’m the heir to the kingdom we’ll be sailing to? I get the feeling, instead, that I’m the only one expecting something tame or at least only tense.”

            “After the hell they put me through, I don’t expect our brothers to make anything easy, even if you exiled them,” Hans replied, not expecting his voice to ring so loudly in the dining room. No one said anything more for a few long moments, his words hanging in the air like a reminder— don’t underestimate them . The first to speak again was Anna, who repeated herself, “Just come home. All of you.”

            “We’ll come home,” Elsa promised. On that, no challenge was made.

            Once dinner was over, and after the attendees bade each other goodnight, Elsa asked Hans to go for a walk in the gardens. It was no July night, but a simple coat kept him warm enough as they made their way down the main pathway—Elsa’s bare arms were proof enough of her immunity to the chill. They’d prattled on about the dinner and the clear night sky above them until it appeared that Elsa had reached her desired location; she turned to him resolutely, then spoke.

            “You said you love me.”

            Hans remembered her kiss after—tender and kind. “You don’t have to say it back. It’s the only explanation I have—”

            “I know,” she interrupted, “I know… I just… wanted to—to,” she blew out a breath and mustered, “I had this all planned out on the way over here and now I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s maddening, like Anna before she had the baby, and it’s kind of dumb—”

            Nervous, he thought, smiling in spite of himself, she’s a nervous rambler.

            “—Why are you smiling?” Elsa asked, smiling a little herself.

            “Why are we out here?” Hans rebuffed.

            “I… I hoped that out here would feel… romantic?”

            “Romantic…?”

            “Will you try kissing me again? I wanted to see if I could without losing control of my powers again.”

            Suddenly he was nervous too. The night hadn’t really lent itself to a calming or romantic mood, but more than that, he was concerned that another overzealous move would have him frozen in a heartbeat. Still, he nodded, eager to not disappoint.

            She reached for him, and he cupped her cheek with one cold palm. His anticipation as he leaned in slowed everything down—leaning, leaning, not really being able to see her face, but knowing where her lips were all the same—until he was pressing a slow kiss to the seam of her mouth. Elsa responded with slow movements, letting him lead until he felt her tongue press into his lips. Despite his surprise, he didn’t hesitate to let her in, suppressing a shake when she traced the inner rim of his bottom lip. Elsa’s hands were resting on his chest, and as she pressed her mouth more firmly to his, they slid around to his sides—that was, every motion and action was slowed down, even as it happened in the spaces between heartbeats. Wrapping his mind around the speed of everything as it happened had become a very real problem.

            He had gotten married to the Queen of Arendelle and his father had died on the very same day. The next heir to the throne was barely a week old, just like his marriage-of-convenience, and he’d told his wife he loved her. Inserting himself into the mission to take his father’s body back to the kingdom he’d barely escaped alive and likely face the band of malevolent sacks of slimy, scummy, scrotum-chinned brothers was insane , now that he was focusing on the insane in his life. Was he insane? Had he finally had it? Why did he say he was going with his wife, whose tongue was sweet but very strange in his mouth? What did he know about love, to use it to justify going too?

            Hans pulled back from Elsa with an obvious jerk, thoughts spiraling out of control to very bad places. He couldn’t breathe even in the chill of the night air, sucking in air like a landed fish. Elsa was saying his name, trying to catch his focus but all he could think of was a metal box his brothers had locked him in and how the heat inside had stolen his breath in just the same way. Every touch against the tight confines of the box had felt like touching an iron; they’d touched enough hot irons to his skin already. He had been weak, though, and staying away from the walls had been a battle he lost over and over. Out in the garden, Hans could fall over. Out in the night, there was no sun to bake him in an oven. Out here with Elsa, things were different—cold but comforting. Slowly, he realized she was helping him with both hands holding his.

            “Hold your breath,” his wife coached, “Let it out slowly.”

            He was sitting on the ground, blinking away spots in his vision, panic ebbing away like the tide going back out.

            “I’m sorry,” he said when he was sure he could speak again, “I can’t—I don’t know what just happened.”

            “You were saying it was hot,” Elsa offered, adding, “I think you were remembering more… you scared me.”

            Cold registered in his palms as Elsa’s emotions touched her powers. “I’m sorry,” he said again, standing and pulling her forward to wrap his arms around her, “I’m sorry I scared you... and ruined the ‘romance’.”

            She huffed a breath against his chest in protest to his teasing, but let him hold her until they both agreed that they’d better go back inside the castle.

---

Elsa had never been on a ship out to sea but within half a day, she was sure she didn’t like it. The pitching as the bow cut through the choppy ocean was like nothing she’d ever experienced before; she stayed by the taffrail, leaning out when she thought she might be sick. Sailing as an idea was much less tumultuous than the reality, and with every pitch and yaw, Elsa imagined a dark maelstrom swallowing the ship whole.

            Maybe the rolling was more within her body than the sea.

            Hans was usually above deck as well, looking very much at home. He told her once, as she leaned out again, that being a prince of the Southern Isles meant sailing often—mostly to visit the smaller islands. She watched as the wind blew his hair and clothes around and knew she didn’t appear half as good as he did; “green around the gills” being the optimal euphemism.

            At night, when she finally left her post at the taffrail, Elsa met Hans in their cabin. Over four nights, until the pair of them couldn’t keep their eyes open and finally blew out the lantern, Hans and Elsa spoke of the customs of the Southern Isles. There were many things just the same in Arendelle as his home, but plenty of differences that surprised the queen. Traditions that must have branched long ago, when their Norse ancestors had settled or withdrew their campaigns of conquest. Just how long ago had that been, she wondered. Given her power, Elsa had poured over all the books she could that might explain the magic in her blood, and many held tales of pagan gods. Most had been translations of ancient texts with all the modern skepticism of devout Christians. She had wondered about Skaði, who had powers most like her own. In any of the Nine Realms, was she not an oddity, but just another woman? If she could leave Miðgarðr, would she find magical kin?

            Hans talked about each brother. Dorian, she knew, but next was Henrik, who had been raised to be Dorian’s replacement if needed—he had a love of dance, Hans said, particularly ballet. Vilppu had been the brother to give him Sitron. Hans sighed heavily after telling her that, and they had talked about how difficult it was to be close to someone and then not. A great many things had gone wrong since those better times when Samson and Sitron ferried them around the main island. Vilppu could ride at full gallop like the very best tourney knights, having practiced with lance and sword, and Elsa thought Hans was both envious and proud of his brother.

            Jerrik was the sailor of the bunch, so much so that Hans said he had seen him only fifteen times. His tone changed when he spoke of the rest of Wolter’s sons. Aleksander and Adelbert had been the twins responsible for engineering his “hanging” and disposing of him away to the prison where he was tortured. Iefan styled himself a poet, but there had been nothing poetic in the nightmare he designed for his youngest brother. Stanley and Dagny had been as opposite in their punishments as they were in looks and personality. Owain couldn’t bear to watch the man work who carried out his own sentence—Hans wiggled his fingers and Elsa felt her stomach roll again at the thought of how one went about damaging fingernails in such a way as that they hadn’t all grown back.

            Cynebald and Gustav were the two who had liked him the least his whole life. Hans didn’t look Elsa in the eyes when he told her they had been the pair that hurt him the most. “They were the ones who pretended I didn’t exist for a year,” Hans had said, “And since they were the last to pick out tortures, they wanted theirs to be the worst. They sent a man in… he… I told myself I would live through what he did to me. I’ve never felt more helpless… then, I was castrated the next day.”

            Hans was so quiet when he told Elsa that she could barely hear him even lying next to him. She touched his face as lightly as she could, then kissed his brow and cheeks and lips—all just as lightly. As though she could hear his thoughts, she knew that was when they really broke him. He eventually reached shaking hands out to her, pulling her closer to hold in silence.

---

As the Southern Isles drew nearer, Egon had the feeling that Wolter’s body would last longer than any of them. He watched Queen Elsa and Hans—King Hans—stick together on deck with a bit of wistfulness. Whenever Elsa cracked a smile despite her seasickness, Egon knew their relationship was deepening; he missed his wife in those moments.

            On the morning of their arrival, Egon dressed in the uniform he had received in the Queen’s service and felt oddly out-of-sorts. He had served with pride for twenty years in the army of the King he was returning home to lay to rest. When he had lied his way into the ranks at fifteen, he didn’t know if he would live to see sixteen. To think about how life had turned out… that fifteen-year-old would never have imagined where forty-two years would land him. 

            The Svalbard weighed anchor in the harbor when Dorian’s ship docked, and Egon joined the longboat that ferried the Queen. Hans carried his sword like every other man protecting Queen Elsa, but only he was dressed in finery as her counterpart. On closer inspection, Egon noticed that his former charge was as white as a sheet. His own nerves were stretched tight as they neared what was obviously a royal procession waiting for them. Would the wrong brothers be waiting for them?

---

The last letter Dorian had received from Henrik was the day before their ships had sailed. He’d played close to the chest what he knew about the political climate of the Southern Isles.

            In truth, Dorian knew that Henrik had been preparing to flee. The eight brothers who had been disavowed were unfortunately rich in ties and friendship in the aristocracy and were all very convincing. Word had spread before Wolter had died that Dorian, Henrik, and Vilppu were attempting to take power for themselves. Any news of the king’s death would only predate them by a few days, but the crown prince was sure they would be walking into danger.

            Still, they had to go. He couldn’t stay in Arendelle, not when his Magda was at their mercy, unprotected and left alone by the brothers he thought he could trust. Perhaps Elsa could be convinced to attack the usurping band if she felt she had no other safe way home. If he had winter’s queen on his side, surely he could reclaim his kingdom.

            He said little on the journey home, worrying all the while that his brothers were torturing his pregnant wife; he prayed that she was safe since that was all he could do. When he was sick, it was with worry. When he couldn’t sleep, he was worrying. Magdalena didn’t deserve to suffer—his imagination offered up every horror Hans endured and more—and he couldn’t leave her in their clutches. Their baby would be born in a few months, and while he had hoped desperately to meet that child, he worried that they would be the first casualty of what might be a terrible civil war.

            Finally, the ship entered the harbor and moored at the docks. Elsa’s ship weighed anchor and several longboats followed in the Eversten’s lead to disembark. Dorian oversaw the moving of Wolter’s casket onto the deck, eyeing carefully the attache who greeted them; a familiar man, surrounded by castle servants. Unease wormed its way under his skin with every wooden groan of the planks beneath his feet.

            Should I follow them to the castle? he wondered. Could he trust that he would be unharmed? No, but would he rather Magda face their brutality alone? No. So, he had to go.

            When the longboats were tied to the jetties, and Queen Elsa had safely climbed the ladder onto the dock, Dorian guided Wolter’s body down the gangplank. Hans was as pale as a ghost, all of the Arendelle honor-guard as nervous as cats. They were right to be fearful. Dorian considered warning them, but if Elsa returned to her ship, he had no chance to escape.

            “Where is Henrik?” Hans asked though Dorian suspected that his youngest brother already knew. “Ask the steward,” Dorian replied, waving for the cart awaiting the body. He listened closely to the man’s reply.

            “Your brother is at the castle preparing a funeral for your father. We assumed his body would need to be laid to rest quickly.”

            “There’s no need to rush,” Dorian said, opening the lid on the casket, showing Wolter’s perfectly preserved body to anyone who could see. Elsa’s magic had held soundly and might go on holding forever. The steward was obviously shocked into silence. He dropped the lid back into place and tried to seem calm.

            “Lead the way,” he implored.

---

The light rain started as they made their way to the castle, which did nothing to relieve the tension pushing against Elsa’s eyes. When it became apparent that the weather was not on their side, she did her best to provide them all with cover. The steward looked back at her from the coachman’s bench with shock after eyeing the hood now extending over the cart, the driver, and himself. She tried to reassure him with a half-smile, but even her honor-guard had been startled by their sudden fine-knit ice cloaks. Hans caught her fingers carefully, face pale but attempting to show solidarity, she guessed.

            Dorian was nervous, she thought, under all his positive posturing. What did he have to be nervous about? Taking the throne? She looked east to the castle when it appeared past the city. In her mind, it was a jagged thing, all dark stone rising out of a seaside cliff constantly battered by the ocean and rain. It would be moody and dark there, always. Instead, the home of the King of the Southern Isles looked rather idyllic. A vast lawn was manicured neatly with new flowers growing low to the earth, while paths of white gravel led to the castle. It was protected by a moat with a drawbridge, seeming to rise out of the water with smooth pale stone neatly lifting towers into the sky. A white castle, stark in the overcast day, slightly grey with rain—nothing at all like she had imagined. Hope threatened to appear in her heart; maybe other things would be nothing at all like she thought.

            Once the cart had passed over the drawbridge, the steward had them unload Wolter’s casket and led the way through a large door. Dorian’s men carefully maneuvered the casket through the hall and into a chamber that Elsa assumed was meant for his funeral, settling it on the bier the steward indicated. Aside from Dorian and Hans, no sons of Wolter awaited his body. Elsa was sure that more of the Westergaards should have been in that room.

            The steward’s voice made her jump when he broke the silence; “I will announce your arrival.”

            “Shouldn’t they have seen us?” Dorian asked when he had gone. 

            Hans looked at his brother suspiciously, asking: “Who are you expecting?”

            “What?”

            “Who’s ‘they’?” Hans pressed. Elsa tensed.

            “Why, it’s us, of course,” a voice said from the doorway. A man stepped out who looked somewhere between Dorian and Hans’ age, but he had a short, full beard that she had never seen on either of the familiar brothers. His eyes were bluish and darker than her husband’s. Judging by his smirk, she didn’t need to be told that he was dangerous.

            “Aleksander,” Dorian said, “where’s Magda?” He was pleading, she realized. Bringing Wolter’s body to the castle was a trap, and Dorian had known it. Her heart skipped a beat.

            “Don’t worry, Dory,” the man said, patronizing Dorian, “You’ll see her soon. We’ve taken very good care of your wife since Henrik left her behind.” Dorian’s expression turned to horror.

            “Henrik’s gone?” Hans questioned. He was trembling. Aleksander smiled, reminding Elsa of a snake, but he did not answer. The answer came from a brother much closer in age who stepped through another doorway, one who had almost pale auburn hair and hazel eyes. He said, “You brought us back our favorite toy, Dory. Maybe we’ll let our new one go. I’ve never liked the sound of a woman’s screams. Speaking of… could this be Queen Elsa?”

            “I think you’re right, Cynebald. A pleasure to meet you,” said another brother, a twin of the first one, minus the beard. “My name is Adelbert.” He offered a bow with a smirk that matched his twin’s.

            “Come out, brothers,” Aleksander called, conjuring five more shadows that stepped into the light at his command. “Don’t be rude to Queen Elsa; introduce yourselves.”

            “I’m Iefan,” said a tall, thin man with very red hair. He sounded bored.

            “Stanley,” said a much shorter man with stocky limbs and a mustache. The man beside him looked more like the rest of the brothers—tall and lean, but his eyes were brown. He introduced himself as “Dagny”.

            “Why are we introducing ourselves, Owain?” one of the last two asked. His voice was enough to chill her to the bone, and she watched as Hans froze even his trembling. “Why does she need to know that my name is Gustav to pay for our father’s death?” Elsa looked him over, shocked to see Hans all over again—Hans as he was, but with a short beard on his chin. He was tall, auburn-haired, green-eyed, and completely wrong if she had just one word for him.

            “She killed our father and you want us to play nice, Aleksander? I’d rather—”

            “You accuse me of killing your father?” Elsa asked, taken aback. All ten Westergaards were staring at her in an instant. She wouldn’t be cowed. “I didn’t kill him. He was dying of cancer in his stomach when he arrived in Arendelle. Our physicians did their best to make him comfortable in his last days. I’m sorry for your loss, but I had nothing to do with it.”

            “Do you really think we care?” Adelbert asked, “About any of that, or any excuse you make?”

            “Wolter has been more of a thorn in our sides than anything else for several years now,” Iefan said, matter-of-factly.

            Elsa blinked in shock.

            “He made no marriages except for Dorian, and even that was to a small kingdom with few resources,” Owain explained, his voice much softer than anyone else’s. Dagny took over for him, saying, “The Southern Isles were strong just ten years ago, but he let us fall behind. He ruined relationships with trade partners and paid our navy so little they turned to piracy or mercantilism.”

            “He was our father, but he wasn’t a good king,” Stanley said.

            “But that’s really not even the point,” Gustav clarified, “We’re not worried about what you say happened. Truth hasn’t meant much to us since Dory had us all exiled. Hans was guilty, so we punished him. I had a lot of time to think about how unfair it all was in Lord Blomberg’s manor. Eight princes banished for doing their appointed duties by their king, while four remain home and one gelded lump of uselessness got saddled by an icy bitch without an ounce of shame in her!”

            “Horse shit!” echoed Egon’s voice in the very cool hall. The sound surprised everyone, particularly Egon, who continued while his face became more flushed. “Horse shit that you were just ‘doing your duty’! Your eldest brothers punished him, and you all agreed to kill Hans. But you didn’t! You lied and cheated your way into getting him all to yourselves so you could play out all the most despicable thoughts any human ever had. You tortured him within an inch of his sanity and paid me to keep him alive! You don’t get to insult Queen Elsa! You don’t get to insult your brother! You’re all filth for what you did and what you didn’t stop from happening! The shame is on you! Foul creatures!”

            Right after Egon finished his shouting, there was a beat of silence. It was followed by the laughter of no less than five of the offending brothers, Cynebald even holding his stomach as he bent over, laughing. They mocked him mercilessly, repeating phrases and wiping at their eyes. Elsa felt her stomach drop, realizing with horror that she would have to fight to get away from these absolute lunatics; they were terrifying and they believed wholeheartedly that they were in the right.

            “Dory, if you come with us without a fight, we’ll let you see Magda,” cajoled Dagny, gesturing off to a doorway out of the hall. Dorian, sweat glistening off his brow in the low light, took a step forward. “No!” Elsa and Hans and Egon all yelled.

            The heir spared them a quick glance and muttered, “Sorry,” before stepping into his brothers’ reach. In plain sight of every person in the room, Aleksander stepped behind Dorian, pulled a knife from his jacket, and plunged it into his brother.

            She hadn’t meant to shriek, but it burst out just as Dagny also stabbed Dorian. Four people converged on her, and four people were knocked away by her magic with only her own survival considered. Crossbow bolts began crossing the hall as an attack began from all angles. Men were hiding behind the walls, she thought, watching Dorian crumple, a bolt having found its home in his neck. Taking quick stock of where her allies were in the room, Elsa purposely froze a tunnel around each one leading to the door they came in from.

            “Run!” she screamed, hoping they would all hear her. The first man to the door was felled by another wall of soldiers armed with crossbows, sabers, and even some pistols. He was dead before he hit the floor. She flicked her wrist out and watched a jagged wall spike up and out in the courtyard, clearing the escape. Three more guards made it to the door before her, followed by herself, Egon, Hans, the last of her honor-guard, and Dorian’s men.

---

Hans ran with the horrifying image of Dorian’s dying face burning in his mind like a blinding flash that didn’t fade. Why he thought Dorian might have looked relieved before the bolt hit his neck mystified Hans. Why had Dorian believed Dagny? Magda was probably already dead, along with her child; no heir would compete with the children of the new heir for the throne. Hans just couldn’t understand why Dorian had believed them.

            He followed Elsa and Egon into the courtyard, dodging raining crossbow bolts that had been launched over his wife’s ice wall, then gladly watched as she blew apart the mechanism that held the drawbridge closed. It crashed to the ground on the other side just as the first man took a running leap off the end, rolling away from the splintered wood that exploded outward on impact. Hans did his best to keep up, driven on by the fear in his heart that he wouldn’t make it back to the ship.

            Rain fell heavily on them all and Elsa used it to their advantage, turning the paved streets into chutes back down to the harbor. Instead of running, they slid, mostly on their backs, behind the queen. The ship appeared on the horizon, and his heart gave a lurch in relief. Yet again, however, they met soldiers armed to the teeth. Elsa wasn’t quick enough to stop all the attackers, and several men around him cried out as they were harmed. Ice walls formed again, leading a path to the harbor.

            Egon grabbed two fistfuls of Hans’ finery and hauled him to his feet, growling, “You’re not dying here, son.”

            They ran on, defenseless aside from the walls Elsa had made, feet sliding on the wet cobblestones. Every muscle in his body was screaming in protest, but he, nor the other twenty or so men following the queen wanted to be left behind. Once they made it to the docks, Elsa stopped and flung her powers out across the water, freezing the harbor. Dorian’s ship groaned against the ice, fighting men slammed to the deck by the sudden toss. The Eversten is lost, Hans thought.

            Elsa froze a ramp down to the new ice, aware that a few boats were frozen on their way out to assail the Svalbard , men flooding the ice with plans to fight. Hans noticed that the ice didn’t capture Elsa’s ship, and he was thankful that she had been aware of what that might do to their escape. She stopped to raise more walls to barricade their path out, chest rising and falling quickly. Hans and Egon stopped at her side, the former saying, “Climb on my back,” to his wife. After watching her briefly weigh the options, she nodded. Elsa weighed little, but even that was a task to carry across the harbor after running so much. She reached out over his shoulders and froze them all a path to the ship, a shell that bumped against the rising and falling of the Svalbard .

            “Get on the ship!” a man at the front yelled, watching the man before him struggle to catch the ladder trailing over the ice. The men on board had seen them coming, but the rope ladder was the best they could do. Finally, men started up the side of the ship, swinging as the waves beneath shifted them around. Hans set Elsa down when they came to a stop, doubling over as the pain in his side caught up with him. She understood with his dismissive wave that he was just winded. Egon dropped against one of the ice walls, breathing hard and holding his arm. While the line of men went up the ladder, Hans checked to see if there was blood under the hand Egon had clasped tightly on himself—there wasn’t any.

            Hans met Egon’s eyes and watched as pain shut his friend’s jaw and crumpled his brow. He clawed at his chest, unable to do more than gulp for air. “No!” Hans screamed, watching and unable to help Egon, who had gone red trying to breathe. Elsa had her hands over her mouth, horrified. Egon went rigid in Hans’ grip, shuddered, and went limp. He wasn’t breathing.

            The crew of men on deck and the men still on the ice all looked on or tried to help. A pair of hands pulled Hans away, and Elsa pulled him into an embrace. They watched two men try all they knew, but Egon did not begin breathing again.

            He died.

            With the time they had left, someone on deck grabbed a rope, threw it down to the men who tied it around Egon’s middle under his arms, and the crew pulled him up onto the ship. Shaking, Hans followed Elsa up the rope ladder and dropped to his knees next to the old veteran’s body, wishing for a black-out that never came. Elsa put a hand on his shoulder and watched over him as he silently mourned both his brother and his friend. He hadn’t been able to save the man’s life who had saved his.

            The ship set sail, every wounded or dying man was tended to, and no one spoke a word to Hans.

---

Elsa waited for Hans to leave Egon’s side before she asked the crew to move Egon below, wherever seemed appropriate to them. When they left, she froze his body, as she had done for Wolter, then she cried. She cried for Egon and for Dorian and for the men she had saved, the men who died, and even for the enemies that she was certain she must have killed. She cried for herself and for Hans. She cried because she was sad and angry and afraid. The day news of her parents’ death had reached Arendelle, the day she had frozen her kingdom, the night she had hurt Anna, and this day all competed for the worst day she could remember.

            After this, there would be a war between Arendelle and the Southern Isles. She’d tried so hard not to go to war.

            Anna would be in danger, and Agnar and Kristoff and every other person under her rule.

            Elsa was sure there were no tears left when she joined the restless crew on the deck. Hans gazed out at the sea sitting on the stairs to the quarterdeck. Only the ghost of the sunset lingered on the horizon, deepening in blue as she watched with him. Eventually, when lanterns had been lit along the deck, she suggested quietly that they retire to the captain’s cabin. Hans nodded blankly, following her inside. They changed into their bedclothes with their backs to one another, then settled under the covers. Elsa pulled one of Hans’ arms around her, exhausted, and tried to sleep.

            Hans woke her the next morning when he moved to get out of bed. She touched his back, and in the dim light within, noticed the emotion he was trying to check as he looked back at her. “Oh, Hans,” she whispered—that was all it took to break the dam. They were both crying, unable to stop for so long that light streamed in the cabin when they finally could.

            Elsa took a few minutes to sort through her thoughts out loud, most of which were the things she had cried about the night before. Hans listened without comment, then did his best to calm her worries: “They can’t follow us out of that harbor for a few weeks, and it’s possible that they may not get word to their fleet or allies for that long. They said they didn’t have that many, and liars or not, the Southern Isles probably haven’t been that popular since I tried to kill you.”

            “I really hope you’re right,” she replied. Nausea was setting in again, seasickness returning when her other worries had simmered down to small fires. On the deck, the sailors performed their duties and mostly ignored the pair. With the action of the day before, sitting around was both relaxing and nerve-rending. There was the sense that there was more to do, but Elsa also felt the need to rest. There would be things to do once she was back in Arendelle, looming like a sword ready to swing down.

            Hans was mostly quiet, even as they sat down to eat. She tried to read his expressions but eventually decided to wait for his thoughts until they were back in the captain’s cabin.

            “I wish we had been able to stop Dorian,” Hans finally said. She had shut the door behind them just a moment before he spoke—she thought he must have wanted privacy. Elsa nodded, agreeing. His death had been a total shock, and she thought she might see him falling with the bolt in his neck every time she closed her eyes. “I wish I had told Egon to stay,” she said, “But I didn’t. I hope you don’t blame yourself, as I hope for myself eventually not to. Dorian knew what we were walking into—he knew they had taken over. He was thinking of his wife. If they still have her, I hope she passes quickly.”

            Hans nodded, paused, then added quietly, “I’m glad Dorian went quickly. I’m glad they didn’t get to make him suffer.”

            Elsa understood. It took being in mortal peril to understand, but now she understood.

---

Dreaming was only a little better than nightmares on the trip home. Hans woke several times a night, holding Elsa or being held, aware that whatever bizarre images he could remember were disjointed and indistinct. Elsa woke with him on the third night, finding his hand in the dark; “What is it?”

            “Uh… dreaming,” he replied groggily—he cleared his throat before continuing—, “Egon…”

            “What happened?” she whispered. He sighed slowly, unable to hold on to the dream. “I don’t remember,” he told her.

            At around noon that day, Hans was thinking of Linnéa when his mind strayed to Magda. He was foolish, he knew, but he hoped that she had gotten away like Henrik. Maybe she was back in her small kingdom, safely protected by people who loved her and would protect her child. Hoping was his only balm—the only way he could cope with having watched Dorian’s murder.

            Hans mused at the change in his heart towards his late brother, from an indifferent figure in his youth to the source of his jealousy, and finally to the only brother he trusted with his life. In mourning Wolter, more had joined the old man—how strange that change seemed now too, from the great and terrible king to the weak and human father—until Elsa, alone, counted as family. He looked over at her, overcome again at how something so beautiful and graceful was also powerful and dangerous and aware of his great fondness for her. She was aware, and maybe—just maybe—shared those feelings.

            Thinking about changes, he thought of his own. What he’d give to turn back the clock and change his own heart… If he could try again, knowing now what life could offer a man who had abandoned greed and personal ambition, perhaps many things would be different. He may have joined the clergy—when Egon had rescued him, Hans thanked God for answering every small prayer for deliverance he had made in that cell—and never left the Southern Isles. He may have sought out Arendelle’s monarch as an ambassador, only there for the things his kingdom could offer and trade. For all the things he wished out of that, he knew that it was hopeless. There was no going back—only forward. 

            At least he could do so at Elsa’s side.

            They docked, at last, in Arendelle, glum faces and lesser several fine soldiers. Dorian’s men who had joined them had good reason to suspect that they may never be able to return to their lives in the Southern Isles. A crowd gathered at the friendly harbor, happy faces draining away as the mood on the ship spread. Hans searched the faces of those present and hollowed internally when he met Linnéa’s gaze. She had been smiling, ever so slightly, but it fell away when Hans shook his head. 

            Linnéa was one of several new widows, but few bodies had made it to Arendelle. Only the five men who had died on the ship and Egon were carried down the gangplank. 

            Elsa gave a eulogy, eyes cast down at the covered bodies on stretchers lain out on the stones. There wasn’t much to say, but she thanked each man for their service and lamented the early deaths. The crown would pay the funeral expenses, she said. Hans thought nothing more could be asked of her.

---

After speaking before the people on the dock, Elsa yearned to see Anna. Some part of her just wanted to drop into her sister’s embrace and weep—Anna would let her, she knew. Mostly, she just wanted to be reassured by Anna’s unyielding optimism. A war would surely come to Arendelle, but maybe, on the other side of that, there would be happiness again. Slipping away with as much respect for the grieving as she could, Elsa hurried down the bridge to and through the castle gates. 

            Anna stood on the main threshold, Agnar nestled against her neck. When she saw them, Elsa broke into a run, crossing the courtyard with tears welling in her eyes. Hans had followed Elsa back to the castle, but he gave her space as Elsa hugged Anna, sobs wracking her frame.

            “Wh—” Anna began, holding Elsa with her free arm. Taking deep breaths to compose herself, Elsa calmed enough to relay what had happened on the brief trip to the Southern Isles. Anna was appropriately horrified, calming Agnar, who had started to cry when he woke. By the end, Elsa wanted to cry again. Agnar had taken over that duty, however, and was its obvious champion. “How terrible,” said the new mother, adjusting her wailing infant and moving to allow her sister through the doorway.

            Several hours later, when funeral plans had been made and the castle was full again, the kitchen served dinner. Anything important always seemed to happen during dinner.

            Kai announced visitors to the castle just as Elsa set down her fork. They would not give their names, but it was a man and a woman with a contingent of armed men, saying they came in peace. The steward cut a glance at Hans, and Elsa felt her stomach give a little flip—she wasn’t sure, but she stood and went with no more questions. Normally, a person or group requesting an audience with her would have to declare themselves; breaking protocol and scurrying to the main hall might have been a bad idea, but Elsa couldn’t help herself. She was guided by hope.

            The woman looked bone-tired, dark circles under dark eyes visible on her olive skin. She was beautiful, even if her dark hair was tangled and she was dirty from the road. The men around the pair wore no uniforms, but Elsa was sure they would fight to the death for their charges.

            Hans appeared behind Elsa, and his small gasp confirmed for Elsa what one look at the man had told her.

            “Henrik?”

            Just like Dorian, the man looked like every other Westergaard brother she had met, only older. Elsa’s husband started forward, reaching out one hand to shake his brother’s. Henrik took Hans’ hand and shook, looking relieved. Elsa couldn’t take her eyes off the woman, who hadn’t stopped looking at the door they had come through.

            “Are you Magdalena—Dorian’s wife?” Elsa asked. The woman nodded, releasing some coil of sorrow from Elsa’s heart. It was bittersweet because while Magdalena was safe and alive, her husband had died thinking she was not.

            “Where is Dorian?” Henrik asked. Elsa exchanged a look with Hans. He took a deep breath and answered sadly, “He was murdered in the Southern Isles by our brothers.”

            Magdalena dropped to the floor with a noise of anguish.

Chapter Text

Up to the moment she boarded a ship to the Southern Isles, the only things Magdalena had been parted with in her life were trivialities. Her mother and father were healthy, and her siblings had all lived to adulthood. Even leaving her home had been lessened by the presence of her dog.

       Dorian was a good man—he was kind, welcoming, and warm. When compared to his brothers and father, she thought he might even pass for a saint. The marriage was happy when it began in earnest; when the awkwardness and laughable self-doubt subsided, she discovered Dorian was hilarious, a romantic, and had an incredibly equal mind to hers. They could debate about the role of classical literature in the morning, tease each other over lunch, brief missives in the afternoon, and lounge in their passion for one another at night. Waking up next to him each morning had been a comfort she hadn’t expected.

       The Westergaard brothers had not been what she expected either. Around the younger tier of brothers, Magda had learned to keep her guard up. Little things about them were off-putting at first, but—and she saw it with the benefit of hindsight—each little thing filled in the puzzle of their personalities. Working backwards, the youngest was the type to want to prove himself; full of bravado but with little substance to balance it. Gustav was secretive, though if she knew where she stood with any of the princes, she knew he hated her. Cynebald made her skin crawl; something utterly depraved lived in the depths of his eyes, and if he turned his gaze towards her, she made every excuse to flee from it as she could. Owain played at being tough and dropped his façade whenever anything didn’t go his way. His penchant for being both petulant and sycophantic cemented her dislike for him early on. Dagny and Stanley…when she told Dorian that they were as disparate as she could imagine twins being, he laughed and told her the only thing they agreed on was how awful to be to everyone else. She often wondered how Dorian turned out so different from his brothers—when she asked him, his most succinct answer was that his mother had been well when he was born. Magda guessed that meant that the late Queen had been… less so as time went on and the family expanded. 

       The business with Hans had seemed to be over when he had been executed, as one might expect from an apparent death. She didn't mourn him and heard of no one who did; the hanging wasn't the first she had seen, and there was no funeral. The scandal was swept under the rug, forgotten like any good embarrassment.

       Life moved on at a glacial pace. She wished they could add a prince or princess into the mix so she had something to occupy the slow days. In her own family, she had two nieces and a nephew from her eldest brother. From the moment they could crawl, they had introduced levity to a droll palace.

       In the fall of that year, her beloved dog passed while hunting with Dorian. He cried more than she did, at first. When the days grew short and sunlight sparse, Magdalena found that it hurt terribly to be so far away without a reminder of home. She thought she couldn’t be more miserable. Like most things, misery loves company.

       Before she had even realized she was pregnant, she miscarried. Magda didn’t know how to feel, and the shock had her acting out of character. She buried the remains with her dog and steadily came to terms with losing something she wasn’t aware she had gained. Telling Dorian after the fact felt like a moot point, especially since she hadn’t told him right away. More than anything, she hated having a secret.

       Gradually, she felt comfortable being happy again. They celebrated Christmas and had all the brothers home but Jerrik, who sent them warm wishes, a case of limoncello, and blood oranges from Sicily. Dorian whispered in her ear that if she ever met the man, he'd be as tan as he was bawdy and as impertinent as a child. She smiled, imagining the seafaring prince as close to a privateer as one could allow royalty to be—their very own Sinbad. 

       The youngest tier of the Westergaard brothers seemed predisposed to some sort of mischief. They left after presents had been given out and carols sung, but never said where they were going. It was inconsequential, but even Wolter commented on how little limoncello they had partaken in and how unusual it was for the fun to end earlier than one or two in the morning. Theirs were holiday customs unlike her own, but which she found she enjoyed for their novelty; she prayed before bed and slept very well in Dorian's embrace.

       The answer of where the younger brothers had disappeared off to on Christmas came months later, and explained why it was difficult to get them all in one room together for any length of time. Hans was alive and had been their prisoner from the time of his hanging all the way until he escaped with the help of a jailer. Dorian had been contacted by Queen Elsa of Arendelle in the days that followed. She sent a letter back with the men he had dispatched, short and to the point. Hans was alive and in her castle, and he had made the worst accusations of maltreatment against the youngest Westergaard princes. She would not relinquish him, therefore, until Dorian fetched him himself with no company from any brothers or their agents.

       Magdalena didn't follow Dorian to Arendelle, nor did she associate much with anyone other than Wolter—who was not great company and complained of stomach troubles daily—and her handmaid. It was from her handmaid that she heard what talk the two bounty hunters had been spreading since their return: Hans the ex-prince was not only alive but safely ensconced in the castle and protection of the very same Queen he had one year before tried to kill. Her handmaid was tactfully asking Magda to confirm the news or elaborate, if she knew more. It was a shock to her she said, if that man was still alive when she had watched him hang. 

       "Ah, but there was no funeral, was there?" 

        “Well…”

     There wasn’t more talk of the matter that day in front of Magda, but she did notice the unusual absence of all of the younger princes, conspicuous in the unlikelihood that not even one was to be found beyond Henrik and Vilppu. Wolter was used to having each night’s dinner attended by half the roster of his sons. So empty was the dinner table that she suddenly found herself beckoned to move to the place at his side and pressed for information on every subject she could supply. Although rather crass and definitely used to having his way, she found that Wolter was both subtly insightful and moderately good-humored. In his youth, he might have been like Dorian, she thought. What had hardened his heart and given him such a gruff demeanor? Was he more prone to smiling before the death of his wife? Had whatever happened before marriage?

       Dorian might know, so she decided she would plumb him for answers on top of whatever had taken him to the kingdom of Arendelle. 

       On seeing the ship return, a messenger waiting at the docks ran back to the castle as requested, skidding into the parlor Magdalena occupied out of breath and wordless. Just his presence reported what she had wanted to know; Dorian was home and she would be ready to meet him at the gates. There was a difference of only a few moments, but she was able to stretch up onto her toes as her husband bent over his saddle and met him with a kiss on the gravel drive. Her mind was full of questions, but her heart was full of love. She let her heart lead. 

       After a groom led Dorian’s horse off toward the stables, he and Magda walked close together, her having taken his arm when offered. The glow of reuniting couldn’t last, however, and before they made it far away from the King, Dorian expressed the need to inform his father of all that had happened in the small northern kingdom.

       “It was Hans,” Dorian explained in a low voice, eyes cutting around to see if they were too close to unfriendly ears. She felt her mouth fall open in shock, then closed it with a snap as her husband pressed his free hand against hers caught on his elbow. “Worse than that,” he whispered, close to her ear, “it was our brothers, and they did terrible things to him. Terrible .”

       The ensuing tale retold to Wolter by Dorian left Magdalena both dizzy and nauseous. Brothers were not meant to harm one another so heinously. Animals , she thought, don’t even torture one another so . Suppressing shivers, the princess wanted to never see any Westergaard brothers involved again; knowing Gustav to openly hate her, and knowing that he had ordered Hans castrated, she hoped he would fall down some deep dark well. Perhaps he would keep going until he reached the right circle of Hell. 

       On Dorian’s insistence, Wolter disavowed the sons who had proved so black-hearted, and exiled them from the Southern Isles, though none were located beforehand. The old man had seemed reluctant to give his eldest son the security of so few brothers to compete against. Everyone knew Dorian was the heir, but Wolter often pretended that his birthright could be revoked. Dorian had long understood it to be an empty threat leveled at him. Wolter always wanted his way. At any rate, Magda saw the exiling of the princes as the best thing for everyone in the castle. She could content herself with the company of Dorian, Henrik, Vilppu and the occasional letter and gift from the sea-faring brother she had yet to meet.

       Life settled. Magdalena thought it was all over, like a storm that had blown itself out. Concentrating on growing their family, she and Dorian were almost never far apart. Her handmaid supplied all types of superstitions and guaranteed-to-work concoctions and every old wives’ tale. Some felt quite silly, some useless or nauseating, and some were so complicated that she lost her nerve half way through and stopped. It was almost Christmas, and she had nearly given up—if she stopped thinking about pregnancy, maybe it would happen—when she realized she was late in her courses. A week. Then two. She dared to hope. On the stroke of midnight of the new year, she kissed Dorian and shared her prediction.

       “In the fall, I think we’ll have a baby,” she said. He didn’t register what she had said until he had thought it through.

       “You mean…?!” he gaped, flabbergasted, “Really?!”

       She was showered in kisses, even as she advised him that they should manage their emotions. In a very small voice, she told him of the miscarriage she had kept all to herself for months. He listened, and she was unsure of what she would see in his eyes when she finally met his gaze, but she knew she had to. There was profound sadness in his eyes. “I didn’t...” she started, unsure of what she was trying to say. Dorian held her hand and said, “I wish you hadn’t gone through it alone, but I’m glad I know, now. I love you, Magdalena. I want to be there for you.”

       “You’ll be there for us,” she said.

       It was the best new start she had in memory, and everything she could hope for.

       Dorian didn’t want her to lift even a finger and busied himself like a man possessed to do it. He relented after Magda constructed a whole day of absolute nonsense to run him ragged and show him how silly it was to keep her from doing even the smallest things. The whole process had taken a week. From there on out, she was treated more like herself and less like an egg carrying something even more fragile. When she finally started to show a tiny little round low in her midsection, Dorian would speak to it, mere inches away, and tell it how he loved its mother and it. She was so happily content with the silly things he would say, the way he would kiss her, and the tenderness that had shielded them from everything but the brightest future.

       Eventually, the eight worst brothers found a way to darken it.

       Nobles from the furthest reaches of the Southern Isles answered no summons and sent letters back unopened. Those closer to the main island were taciturn when Dorian was around. The political climate made the halls feel as cold as the winter outside. Rumors were carried from ear to ear, eventually relaying to the heir that his little brothers were spreading lies involving plots, coup d'état, and generally garnering support from those who thought the King was not capable of leading well anymore.

       As for said curmudgeon, Wolter soured, worse than before—though his bad mood never singled anyone out. He didn’t eat as robustly, complaining that the food tasted like ash. He would spend days in bed, which Dorian remarked as a first. Magdalena sat with him when he requested, bringing books and reading aloud for hours while he seemed to think, gaze on the ceiling. He’d sleep too, and she would trail off when it was obvious she had no audience. He began talking in his sleep, particularly when he was close to waking, and she could tell through the mumbling and sometimes shouted words that they were not pleasant dreams. He dreams of war, she thought, or something like it. In the aftermath of a nightmare that scared Magdalena so much that she shook him awake, Wolter cried while holding her arm. It was shocking, to say the least.

       “I miss my Inga,” he said, overcome like a child, “I miss my wife.”

       Queen Ingrid, known to her family as Inga, had been dead for more than a decade, and in his ill-health Wolter craved her tenderness. He said as much when he calmed, talking about how beautiful she had been, how kind, and how he had killed all that was good in her. There was no explanation from the man as he lapsed into silence and eventually fell asleep. She took the first opportunity alone with Dorian to ask what he might have meant.

       “I wish he hadn’t said anything,” Dorian lamented, obviously uncomfortable. Magdalena might have left it alone if not for the code of silence that had made her all the more curious about the late Queen. With a sigh, her husband relented. “Wolter wasn’t kind to my mother. They had a disagreement when I was small, before Aleksander and Adelbert were born. She said it was the cause of the animosity, and that everything came from that.”

       “Do you know what the disagreement was about?”

       “I have my suspicions, but… no one ever said for certain.”

       “Dorian—”

       “I know… it’s just… I try not to think about it… I think… Wolter wanted more children and my mother didn’t. He was the king… and he got what he wanted…”

       “What?” Magda asked, clarification not really necessary when she thought it through, “You mean that Wolter forced your mother to have every child from Aleksander on?!” She was mortified.

       Dorian seemed ashamed, and she understood that he thought he should have done something about it when he was old enough to understand. “I remember how terrified she was when she was about to have Iefan… she said she wanted him to stay inside her so she couldn’t have any more children. I remember wanting to carve my father into ribbons—” his hands were curled into fists and she took hold of them. 

       “Dorian—”

       “Don’t say it… I was a man when Hans was born… I could have stopped Wolter… I finally did… sort of… I gave Wolter a black eye when I saw my mother with one. Hans wasn’t out of swaddling clothes. Wolter didn’t speak to me for a year, but I had helped my mother, just once. Six months after that, the doctor was summoned. He told my parents that thirteen might seem like an unlucky number, but that they would have to stop there. ‘A baker’s dozen’ he called us. Mother said she had lost the ability to bear children with Hans. As much as I blushed to hear it, I think she would have shouted it from the parapets if she had the chance. I know she tried to get back to the young woman who had laughed and smiled and charmed the whole court, but there was an edge to her… cruelness and malice… she told us how she hated Father, called him a drunken brute and a philanderer. I don't doubt the things she said… just that she wouldn’t have said them if her mind wasn’t stretched to a breaking point. Her mood was unpredictable, and the worst days saw her encouraging the animosity between the younger boys. I loved her, really, but there were times when I hated her… the things she said were exactly the things no children should hear from their mother. Then, she fell ill. It wasn’t a beautiful death, or peaceful. She complained of pain, and though the doctor saw her several times, he found nothing to remedy it. She was screaming for hours before… she cursed Wolter and us, then died…”

       “Why would she curse her children?” was all Magdalena could think to ask.

       “I would guess she was out of her mind… but maybe because we were part Wolter, part her. It was her last rejection of him.”

       “I’m sorry, my love,” Magda said, embracing him. He returned her affection, letting out a breath she thought he had been holding while keeping Inga’s sad story to himself. She didn’t ask him about it again, satisfied, but not necessarily happy, to know.

       Winter gave up its hold on the main island as spring threatened to creep in. Wolter seemed better with the change, though Magdalena had lost all tenderness toward him. She thought of how terrible it was to know that the woman the king longed for had been his victim for many years. If Inga was alive, she would have detested him.

       A letter arrived from Arendelle, announcing the wedding of Hans to Queen Elsa. Dorian told her that another letter from the prince implored his eldest brother and father to honor the wedding as an alliance and provide military support in the event of any declaration of war on Arendelle. Despite his ill-health, Wolter insisted on journeying to meet with the Queen himself. Dorian made it clear that he thought it was a bad idea, but they set off all the same.

       She didn’t know that her husband was concerned about the exiled brothers. She didn’t know that Henrik and Vilppu were making plans to leave the main island, until Henrik barged into the room she shared with Dorian and told her to pack whatever she didn’t want to lose forever. Her handmaid attempted to shame the prince into leaving—he had intruded after Magdalena had already changed into her dressing gown—but the prince was adamant. They needed to leave, now.

       “Why?” she asked. 

       “Because my brothers are coming, and they have no great love for me or you,” was his answer.

---

Blood pooled, congealed and cooler than the season allowed for, staining the wooden floor of the hall. Gustav considered the bodies he would have to dispose of—those of Arendelle soldiers, that of Dorian, that of Wolter, and most opportunistically, the bodies of five brothers he had directed to be dispatched in the mayhem. There was Aleksander, who had caught a crossbow bolt to one eye and who had always been too pretentious to survive. There were Stanley and Dagny, the twins, one with his throat slit and the other run-through. Iefan, who’s droning poetry Gustav had always loathed, killed while he fled when he realized he was marked for culling. Lastly, Owain, who was much too unconvinced of the need to seek a higher station than tenth prince. It was that coward that he had eviscerated with his own sword—who wailed like a woman as he died.

       Gustav could see the path forward now, unencumbered by so many brothers, and he plotted it out with glee. The brothers would all have been “killed by the wicked Queen Elsa”, especially dear Dorian—dead before they could lay their father to rest. She “planned to take the Southern Isles by treachery”, Gustav would say. Adelbert and Cynebald would be his witnesses, and they would mourn the seven dead members of their family together. How their grief would stir the soldiers in their armies and the allies they would call on…

       Henrik would be caught soon enough, and Gustav would see to it that Magdalena and her welp were just as dead as Dorian. Vilppu and Jerrik would join the last three Westergaards or die.

       Then, when he had severed the witch-queen’s head from her body and murdered the other Arendelle heirs, he’d lock Hans in prison and carve something inhuman out of him.

       Maybe, when all their blood was spent, the curse from his mother would be satisfied and he would at last rest deeply and peacefully.

---

Linnéa walked back to the castle alone once Egon’s funeral arrangements had been made. She didn’t care for company right then, not when her head and heart were so heavy.

       Life had been hard before Egon; she had had reason to turn to prostitution. Before him, she had never been in love. There’d been the sailor at fifteen, and the merchant’s son at seventeen, but they had been flirtations. She wasn’t proud of it, but a tenant farmer’s third daughter couldn’t rise higher without a little scheming. When she had to leave home, she couldn’t read, write, or sell anything else but herself. Sex was not love, and she didn’t mind the act. Eventually, it was clear that she wouldn’t rise above her station no matter what she did; there was no place in polite society for a whore.

       There were dark years in between then and Egon—years when she drank and forgot time, times when she tried whatever drug her next customer offered her and forgot herself. Egon hadn’t saved her from those days, not like he had saved Hans. He just showed up one day after she had spent all her coin on alcohol and was sober enough to remember him.

       “You smell like shit,” he told her with a smile. Linnéa had tried to act indignant, but she had been sitting in the gutter. Egon was never one to mince words. She countered with: "You look like shit. What a fine pair we make."

       “Aye," he had said with a laugh, "That we do. Why don't I buy you a drink?"

       "How about a bath? You can share it with me."

       "A bath I can manage. I think you might better do it without me, though."

       "Why's that?"

       “Because you smell like shit.”

       They had laughed about it, many times, sometimes while sharing a bath. She had told him, one night after they had married and they were nestled tightly together in their small bed, that people had passed her by with the attitude that she was garbage. She told him that he had made her feel like a person again after so long, simply for seeing her and offering a hand. After she took it, she felt like a lady. He had seemed like her very own knight, smelly and poor, but with a golden heart. He smiled, kissed her, then told her he had seen life in her yet—even in the gutter.

       Linnéa had never thought her knight would die so young. Surely, they were meant to have more years. No one else would have rescued her, dusted her off, and treated her like a rare treasure. How was she to go on without the one who loved her?

       She walked back into the castle, ready to drop into bed and never leave it. To her surprise, the entrance hall was full; men and one unknown woman, Elsa and Hans, Anna and Kristoff. They all stood looking at one another, and then the unknown woman collapsed. Mind full of a buzzing noise, she observed the scene, detached. A man who looked like Prince Dorian dropped to the floor to comfort the woman. Another new widow? Linnéa had had enough of comforting new widows; her strength was gone, even for other people. Unreachable, the maid took a direct path out of the entry hall.

       She just couldn’t do anything else; it was a task just to make it back to her room. Her weariness felt like an actual weight on her back. Before her door to the room she had shared with her husband for a year, Linnéa wavered, still being crushed by the invisible weight of her sadness. He wouldn’t be there, smiling at her knowingly, waiting with a kiss. Wrenching the door open she swept inside, cast her gaze around, and grabbed the bedding with a cry. Why? Tossing things around, she repeated the question in her head— why why why —, shouting and finally tripping on the heap of blankets she had tried to shred.

       “Why did you leave me here without you?!” Linnéa cried out, voice strangled with sobs she dissolved into.

---

Over the course of their flight from the Southern Isles, Henrik had thought he would be returning Magdalena to her husband. They had conversed with the ease of likeable in-laws in an otherwise tense series of events. She was worried about his brother, but he often assured her that there would be safety for them all with the Queen of Arendelle.

       Being wrong about that wasn’t conceivable until Magdalena went to her knees.

       He took several seconds to follow her to the floor and offer comfort, shocked and unable to process the sentence Hans had said. “What brothers? You mean the younger ones?” Henrik asked, knowing Vilppu had also fled and that Jerrik was unlikely to care either way. Over the gut-wrenching sobs of Magdalena, Hans answered, “The more murderous ones—the ones who tortured me.”

       “How did they manage it?” Henrik asked, trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

       “You promised he would be fine!” Magdalena shouted at him, pushing away when he had instinctively tried to embrace her. He stared at her agape. Her anger turned toward the woman standing with Hans, who flinched to be thusly called out: “Why didn’t you save him?!”

       The queen’s mouth worked, but it was Hans who managed an answer: “We were ambushed. They were saying they had you hostage… that if Dorian went with them, they wouldn’t hurt you anymore. He thought that he could save you.” Magdalena didn’t speak, wordlessly coming to terms with her husband’s brave but ultimately fatal fidelity to her and their child. She covered her face with her hands and wailed. Henrik wasn’t sure what to do, so he put his arm around her shoulders and waited, like the rest of the witnesses. Eventually, the other woman who was not the queen suggested that Magdalena have the privacy of a room to herself. His sister-in-law nodded, face twisting as she worked against the tears trying to overwhelm her again. Henrik scooped her up—she was very slight—and followed the Arendelle group to a guest room, where he set Magdalena on the edge of the bed and turned to leave. She held his sleeve and implored him with a look to stay.

       Henrik stayed all night, sleeping in a chair when she finally let him go and turned down the covers. He fell asleep knowing and dreading his ascension as the rightful heir of the Southern Isles.

---

Arendelle mourned the lives lost on the mission of the Svalbard when the bodies had been prepared and the families were ready. Egon and the other husbands, brothers, sons, and fathers were interred at the cemetery below King Agnarr and Queen Iduna’s hill and monuments. After the bishop had read a passage that Linnéa barely heard, Elsa took her turn to say:

       “These may not be the only funerals we face in the next year. These men may not be the only ones taken too soon from us by the usurpers of the Southern Isles. I will not let their sacrifice be in vain. I will find a way to protect Arendelle and restore King Henrik to his throne.”

       Revenge didn’t have the ring to it that Linnéa thought others might hear. Egon hadn’t died from a wound dealt by men loyal to Gustav and the other princes. To hear Hans tell it, her brave old veteran had run himself to death, dropping as his heart failed. Linnéa thought, even if it wasn’t there, he would have eventually died the same death. It set her apart from the widows of those gone before their time, a distinction she hated.

       Hans, hesitant and very dear, was her most constant companion. Egon had meant a great deal to him as well. He may not have accepted her motherly affection but he was a good friend. They’d sit in the gardens, walk the docks, and almost every day, he would help her onto Sitron’s back and they would take a ride to sit in the grass and watch the kingdom. It only took a week to decide that she didn’t want to stay in the castle without Egon. She didn’t mind the work of a maid, but she found their room sad and empty now that it was just her. Hans and Elsa were quick to offer her the house Hans had never used and enlist help to move her meager collection in, joining things the former prince hadn’t thought about in months. She remembered staying for one night with Egon and finding out about the attack on Hans after. There were two extra bedrooms that they said might make a decent profit for her if she rented them out. “Maybe later,” she told them, “I think I’d like to wait before doing that.”

       Her first night alone was the hardest. Linnéa cooked the only thing she knew how, changed into her nightgown, and cried herself to sleep. It was the last time she let herself do so.

---

Kristoff woke at dawn when Anna fed Agnar. So much was on his mind, and so much had happened since Elsa had returned home unharmed. He thought about Henrik, Magdalena, and the coming conflict with the Southern Isles that Elsa and Hans assured everyone was inevitable.

       “I want to go see Pabbie,” he said, eyes on his son in his wife’s arms. Watching him was one of his favorite pastimes, but he knew that Agnar’s future was uncertain at best and dangerous at worst. He needed the advice of the trolls—needed their stalwart and unflinching optimism to pretend like everything would be alright. “I want to go with you… but I don’t think I should this time. Agnar is feeding a lot,” Anna said, and they both knew that she wouldn’t leave him. Going with Agnar just didn’t seem like a good option. “Give them my love,” Anna added as he headed out.

        “I will,” he promised.

       Sven was ecstatic to be taking a trip. Just as Kristoff was heading out, Hans was coming in on Sitron with Linnéa. They exchanged pleasantries, and the maid dismounted, but Hans asked if he could tag along wherever Kristoff was going. He might have said no if Hans hadn’t looked like he would follow anyway. “Oh, alright. Just keep up.”

       The trip was absolutely quiet between the two men, and Kristoff preferred it that way. Sven took the familiar route like he was trying to set a new record. Hans was bent low in the saddle, and by the time that Sven slowed into a walk, both riders and mounts were breathless and reddened from the cold wind. Kristoff saw Hans crack a smile and couldn’t help one either. Who could pass up the fun of a full gallop? They walked a few minutes to cool down, then dismounted when Kristoff indicated. They were near the trolls’ grotto.

       “So… have you met my family?”

       “I’m not sure,” Hans said, following the winding path Kristoff blazed. “You’d know if you had,” was his reply.

       A chorus of “Kristoff’s home!” greeted the pair upon being sighted. The trolls rolled out, each one clamoring to hear news of baby Agnar and how Anna was doing. The little ones hung off his arms and climbed up his back, everyone talking over one another in their excitement. He was reminded of the first time Anna had met his family—they were very quickly very personal and absolutely ignored the interloper in their midst for the entirety of a minute.

       “The trolls are your family,” Hans said, and Kristoff laughed. So they had met. Bulda looked from Kristoff to Hans and back again. “Is that who I think it is?”

       “Everyone, I’d like you to formally meet Queen Elsa’s husband, Hans,” Kristoff said, not expecting his mom to ball up and roll over to the unprepared former antagonist and grab a fistful of his jacket where she could reach it. Wrenching it down until Hans’ face was level with her own, Bulda stared him down with all the intensity a three and a half foot troll could muster. His eyes were wide, hands hovering over her own, scared and uncertain of what was happening. The whole family was watching, breath held, waiting for her verdict. Rather suddenly, Bulda put her free hand on the corresponding cheek and said, “You’re not the same boy anymore, are you?”

       “Bulda—” Kristoff started, hearing Pabbie before he saw the chief. Hans looked shocked, but cast his eyes down. Kristoff didn’t know what the other man was thinking, but he did look like a child reprimanded. Pabbie touched his daughter’s shoulder and caught Hans’ gaze, saying: “Anyone can see that, Bulda.”

       “Welcome, Hans,” she said, a sentiment which the rest of the family echoed. Hans was speechless but didn’t balk at being paraded around and introduced to the tribe of trolls. There were jokes at his expense, but mainly about how awkward he was and how Bulda had had him going. Kristoff busied himself with catching up with and updating anyone who asked. They wanted to see Agnar the next time, they all said. He promised he would bring his son as fast as he could. Eventually, he managed to get Pabbie alone, and explained the situation—

       “Hans already told me what was happening; I’m sorry it hasn’t been peaceful since Agnar was born.”

       “You talked to Hans?” Kristoff asked, not sure when the man had had time.

        “Yes. While you were regaling the little ones with the story about how Agnar peed on you. He’s very polite now, isn’t he? Very shy, but much nicer after so much pain. Did you know that he’s already fallen in love with Elsa? She could do worse than a man who loves her,” Pabbie said, his authority as a love expert clear in his opinion freely given.

       “He told you that?—Wait, I mean, fine, but I wanted to know what you thought about what I should do with Anna and Agnar?”

        “Well, I think they’re safe and well cared for in Arendelle. I can’t imagine Elsa letting any harm come to them. It’s upsetting, to say the least. Hans’ brothers are very cruel, so I understand your trepidation. You have people you want to protect. Trust in your ability to do so, and in the love your family has for one another; it’s a powerful motivator. We will always be here if things get out of hand.” Pabbie caught his hand and gave it a squeeze.

       “Thanks… I needed to hear that,” Kristoff said. The men eventually made their way home after many well-wishes and goodbyes. They took it easy, and like before, they were quiet. Actually, looking at Hans, Kristoff got the feeling he was deep in thought.

       “Doing alright over there?” he asked hesitantly.

       “Hm?” Hans said, “Oh… yes… Just… plenty to think about.”

       “Yeah… Me too,” Kristoff said, satisfied that he wasn’t going to be inundated with questions about things he either wouldn’t know or didn’t care to know about. Silently, they continued to the stables.

       Just before they went their separate ways, Hans stopped Kristoff and said, “Thanks. For letting me go with you.”

---

Things had been very muddled since their return to Arendelle; Hans and Elsa were still spending the nights in the same bed, but for the most part, Elsa seemed to be retreating from him. She talked of missives and responsibilities and entreats. If she wasn’t pouring over statements and reports, she was writing to allies and awaiting a declaration of war. The advisors she talked to were never able to put her mind at ease, and he felt like a nuisance hovering over her like he had tried to do at first. He asked Anna, therefore, to try and pull Elsa from her desk with the lure of spending time with Agnar. It was an awkward conversation, and they bumbled through it, but eventually, the princess said she would do her best.

       Linnéa needed him, he thought. No one else had been as close to Egon nor as gutted by his death as they two. Hans regretted the harsh words he had said to the older man, wishing he had the ability to take them back. They sat in the gardens or walked the docks. Eventually, he took her on rides on Sitron, who had been itching to go on more frequent outings. Sitting in the grass and saying nothing seemed like what she wanted from him. Things had never been so quiet in Arendelle, Hans thought.

       Catching Kristoff on his way out somewhere one day, he asked if he could go as well. The prospect of returning to the quiet castle seemed more daunting than he thought he could handle. “Oh, alright. Just keep up,” his reluctant tour guide said. Hans did his best to adhere to the stipulation. By the time they slowed down, he was smiling at the pursuit. He hadn’t felt free of his burdens since the trip, but this… chasing the reindeer and rider took all his concentration. Maybe he could convince Elsa to go for a ride too. They walked on, dismounted, and finally arrived at Kristoff’s destination. He hinted at what Hans would see, but Hans didn’t make the connection until he saw the trolls.

       The shouting and joy was nearly deafening compared to the castle for the last few days. He was quiet for a few moments, watching the interactions with a mix of envy and wonder as the stone folk welcomed home their prodigal son. He hadn’t known that they were at the weddings for Kristoff. He had thought they were there for Elsa, as magical mentors or just in solidarity. “The trolls are your family,” he had said aloud, regretting the instant he called attention to himself.

       In rapid succession, the troll spoke, Kristoff spoke, then she rolled over and seized a fistful of his shirts. Hans wasn’t prepared for how strong she was, jerking him to be eye-to-eye. The next minute was silent, intense, and unnerving. He didn’t know what she was looking for, or what she would find. Then, she put her free hand on his cheek like a mother might: “You’re not the same boy anymore, are you?”

       Absorbing that was complicated. He was shocked by the insight, ashamed of the past, and nearly lachrymose from the sympathy with which she made her observation. He looked down, trying not to be overcome with guilt. He might never be free of that feeling, but if pain and suffering were a currency, his debt to those he harmed in his scheming had been repaid with interest. It wasn’t, but if it was…

       A second troll joined the first—the same one that had given Elsa away—put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Anyone can see that, Bulda.”

       “Welcome, Hans,” Bulda intoned, and he continued to not be able to speak past the lump in his throat. A blur of faces were soon introduced and there were smiles and laughter. It was difficult to know whether or not the variations on “How’s that leg? Pulled?”, “Bulda had you going,” “Loosen up,” and “We don’t bite,” were supposed to be taken seriously. Pabbie—he caught the name at last—stopped the carousel of introductions to ask how things were in Arendelle. Hans’ stomach did a flip as he realized he’d spent nearly an hour without worrying about it. Reading his expression, Pabbie pulled Hans aside to speak more candidly. “Are you all in danger?” was his first question.

       “Yes,” was the short answer. Pabbie required more of an explanation. “The brothers who tortured me ambushed us and killed Prince Dorian, attacking Elsa’s retinue as we were trying to escape. Arendelle will probably be at war as soon as the main fleet thaws from where Elsa froze the bay.”

       “Froze which bay?” Pabbie asked. It took several more minutes to apprise the chieftain of the situation the crown had found itself embroiled in. Hans had to explain how Wolter’s death had forced Elsa to go to the Southern Isles and how his brothers’ attack had forced her to defend the retinue. The optics of a foreign monarch with magical powers returning the frozen corpse of the king, then freezing the bay on her hurried way out were bad. Very bad. Add in the other dead bodies and it was safe to assume that Elsa’s reputation was ruined. Their allies would know her to be kind and gentle, but his brothers would work tirelessly to undermine all their foreign diplomacy. Pabbie listened, asked questions where he needed, and agreed that it was probable that war would be next.

       “I feel like I can’t help Elsa… like I’m the reason all of this is happening. If I had never come to Arendelle—”

       “We can’t unmake the past, Hans,” Pabbie counseled, “Whatever happened, happened.”

       Hans nodded. It was unhelpful to fixate on things he couldn’t change. “Is there anything I should be doing for the queen?”

       “Be there for her,” was the troll’s reply. He patted Hans’ arm and walked away. The conversation strengthened his resolve to do anything he could to help Elsa.

       Much later, when the two men were back at the castle, Hans realized he had been bolstered by the trip to see the trolls. They had been so removed from the troubles of the kingdom that they could make what seemed like the end of the world just another obstacle to a peace that would come. He headed toward Elsa’s rooms, hoping to share the burdens she faced and give her some of his borrowed hope.

---

I just want to scream.

       Things looked dark. They looked insurmountable. She couldn’t get ahead of the trouble, and she was under so much pressure. Most days, she had the kind of headache that made everyone seem like too much. Hans had taken the hint. She was miserable, and she didn’t want to be alone, but how was she supposed to figure out how she could furnish her army if Agnar was crying right across the desk? Could she be allowed a break from the pile of letters she needed to write to their allies when the soldiers would get no break in defending the kingdom? Why should she go to dinner when her people might soon go hungry if a blockade began? The terror of every waking moment was in how much her people would suffer because she was queen. Her choices had led to what they faced now.

       It neared sundown when Hans came back to her suite. She didn’t hear him enter, flinching when she heard him suck in a breath. She looked up to see him watching his breath float toward the ceiling. The office was covered in frost and she hadn’t even noticed. Elsa’s gaze met Hans’ and the silence stretched between them. Trepidation evident in his every move, he advanced toward the desk, finally speaking.

       “I went with Kristoff to see the trolls.”

       She looked down at her papers—thankfully not iced over—and didn’t know what to say back. He continued instead, “Pabbie helped… We spoke about the likelihood of war… how unchangeable the past is, and… what I could do to help you.”

       Elsa waited a beat for him to say what it was, then croaked out, “What did he say?”

       “Just to be here with you,” Hans replied, slowly walking around the desk. He offered out a hand, and she felt her heart take off in her chest. What did Pabbie know? She knew she shouldn’t be angry, but he was so unaware of the magnitude of the danger they were in. The troll didn’t have orders out to the smiths to make as many crossbows and swords and musket balls as possible. He didn’t have to try and find as much grain as might carry them through the next few seasons as possible. He wasn’t here, trying to decide whether it was more just to battle the army himself than send soldiers to their deaths in his place. He didn’t know how afraid she was. He couldn’t imagine the pressure on her.

       Fear would be her enemy, always.

       “I—,” Elsa tried, finding a lump in her throat, unable to take his hand, “I don’t know what to do!”

       She wanted to lay her head down on her desk and sob, but Hans gently gathered her to her feet and pulled her close. Burying her face against his chest, she let the overwhelming helplessness she had been keeping at bay consume her. Her emotions, a whirling maelstrom inside, became a snowstorm without; the office blew into total disarray as she broke down. Hans held her through it, soothing what she thought couldn’t be soothed. Slowly, like a fog clearing, Elsa calmed down. She felt weak—when did she last eat or sleep well?—and needed his support just to stay standing. Tears seemed poised to return with every other heart beat, but she blinked them back and took deeper breaths.

       “Are you alright?” Hans asked quietly. She looked up and realized that his face was pink from the cold and tiny cuts had appeared on his cheeks. “Nevermind me—I hurt you!”

       “What?” he asked, wincing when she put her fingers to the fresh wounds. “Oh.”

       “Come over to the fire—” she stopped when she realized that her storm had killed the flames and cooled the logs to the point of no quick return, “Maybe Anna’s got one burning.”

       She started to twist out of his arms and nearly crashed into her desk. “Elsa!” he exclaimed, alarmed. She pressed her eyes closed for a moment, trying to reassure them both that she was fine, but wobbled on the spot. Quickly, Hans scooped her into his arms and headed for the door. “I’m supposed to be helping you,” she said, hands covering her face as the tears started again. For his part, he just seemed concerned about her; “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

       “I think… I had… toast… this morning,” she said shakily. She hated how pathetic she sounded.

       “We’ll go to the kitchen and see what they can make for you.”

       “You still need to warm up. Sit by the fire when we get there… please,” she said, looking past her hands at Hans. He smiled, though it didn’t erase his worry. “As you wish.”

---

Two miserable weeks had passed in Arendelle’s castle since Magda had arrived with Henrik. It helped to stay detached, at first. For the first three days, she stayed in her room, weeping, sleeping, or blankly whiling away the hours. Then, she attended breakfast, willfully not meeting anyone’s eyes. Henrik spoke for her to Princess Anna, thanking the royals for their hospitality and inquiring after the queen. It took hours for her to realize that she hadn’t seen the regent since arriving. They took lunch in her room, Henrik mostly talking to fill the silence. She would make noncommittal noises to the things he asked, and he let her go on being quiet.

       The small hours of the morning found her being shaken awake as she swatted at the hands on her arms. Henrik’s face was illuminated by a candle, and he was trying to calm her with: “You’re alright,” and “You were only dreaming.” It had seemed so real—Dorian had been walking away from her, swallowed up by darkness and the sound of knives stabbing flesh—that she had been too disoriented to know what way was up, down, right or left.

       “Dorian!” she cried, balling fists in Henrik’s sleeves and calling for her husband over and over until she had disturbed others in the same hall. There was an attempt to shush her; that she would not suffer. If anything, Magdalena yelled louder for Dorian. Why wasn’t he here? Why wasn’t he answering her? She just had to call for him. Finally, Henrik grabbed her face and said loudly: “He’s gone. He’s not coming back. He won’t answer you.”

       Those words broke the spell that the dream had created for her in her grief. She slammed back to reality with a gasp and then began to weep again. Henrik seemed reluctant to pull her into a hug, so she flung her arms around his neck. “What am I going to do without him?” she cried. “How do I raise our child without him?”

       Henrik didn’t answer, and the silence spoke volumes.

---

Being the “spare to the heir” had never bothered Henrik. In fact, he thought he had had tremendous luck in being born second. Educated, respected, with all the clout and none of the trouble. It suited how unambitious he was. Dorian had been only a year older and was in near constant perfect health. Death moving Henrik up the line of succession was as likely as a cold day in Hell… and then it wasn’t. He still reeled at the thought. There were things he had planned to be doing instead—joining Jerrik on his ship for a year, traveling to far off places, seeing the world, generally living in the lap of luxury without a care in the world—all ash blowing away from him on the breeze. How could he be King?

       When Magdalena had been crying for Dorian, he felt like joining her. Maybe his spirit would provide some insight if they could just summon him. Yet, he knew, dead was dead. Hans said—when they had had a chance to speak alone—that Dorian had died in a pool of his own blood. He’d seen it. There would be no secret torture or miraculous survival. So he buckled down his own fear and told Dorian’s wife what he had been telling himself for days.

       She wanted answers that he didn’t have.

       With the man from whom Henrik usually sought advice dead, he found he was falling back on half-hearted lessons he had had with tutors as a youth for help. Regal bearing, decisiveness, tactics and war-planning. He would need those loyal to the crown to fight the usurpers. He had to inspire courage and fidelity— if only he hadn’t been so content with his life and reputation —and he had to do it quickly. Perhaps if he rode in the vanguard of the first battle? The thought made him ill. He would probably be killed. Then where would they be?

       What was he to do about Magdalena? She carried the sole heir to Dorian, the rightful and deceased king. Should she go home to that little backwater kingdom? Should she stay? Would her child inherit the throne? Would he have children? Would he live to have children? He’d never wanted them. He’d never thought he would have to marry except for an alliance, not to salvage the proper Westergaard line. He’d never worried so much in his life.

       There was only one person in all of Arendelle with any experience as a monarch, and she was harder to get in to see than the Pope. He tried, rebuffed, then rebuffed again.

       Perhaps he could run away. Vilppu could ride a horse every which way, but would he be an effective leader and a good king? Would he even want it? Where was he? What about Jerrik? Ha, Jerrik will only stay in one place when he’s dead , was Henrik’s honest opinion, bringing a rueful smile to his face. A nation shouldn’t be run from the deck of a ship, even if it were a nation of islands.

       Finally, he happened upon the queen and his brother under strange circumstances. Hans looked like he had been caught outside in a snowstorm—unlikely with the seasonable weather—with the queen gathered in his arms. She looked wan, clinging to his brother’s neck as they bumbled down the hall. Henrik hesitated, not sure of what was appropriate. He stepped aside when Hans was done waiting for him, pushing past. They were twenty feet away when his youngest brother said: “Are you coming or not?”

       He caught up.

       They went into the kitchen, finding preparations still underway for dinner. Queen Elsa settled on a chair, blue eyes on the ground as Hans asked one of the staff for anything they had ready. It was met immediately with a bowl of soup and a cup of tea. Hans stood by one of the ovens, rubbing his hands together. There was an obvious lack of answers to any of what was happening, and Henrik wasn’t sure how to coax them out in the silence. “So…,” was all he could try.

       “So… How is Princess Magdalena?” asked the queen. Hans added, “We heard about her calling for him.”

       Without needing a name, Henrik knew that Hans meant Dorian.

       “She’s going through what we’re all going through, plus being pregnant. I think I would be screaming all the time… it seems that she’s stronger than I would be. I’m not… Well, I never thought I would be in this position.”

       It was their turn to understand without further explanation. Henrik didn’t want to meet their gaze. Hans spoke first, “None of us thought we would be in these positions.”

       “I’m lost… I don’t know how to take Dorian’s place. He was the better man by far,” Henrik said, unsure of why he was voicing something so defeatist in the kitchen. He didn’t know the queen well enough for this level of sharing, but he couldn’t stop himself. Hans to Elsa in rapid succession, he searched for some guidance, some empathy, some revulsion. Anything. They both looked back blankly.

       Good God, he thought, they don’t know what to do either.

---

       To Elsa, having something as straightforward as finding a house for Linnéa to move into was a welcome task. There wasn’t much “finding” to be done; Egon and Linnéa had been offered the house twice already. Acting as storage for Hans’ belongings for months, it was overly large for one person. The maid just needed somewhere other than the castle. Elsa was hesitant to suggest a roommate or two, but did eventually out of sheer practicality. Linnéa said she’d rather be alone just then, and that was that.

       Since the incident in her office, Hans had rarely left her for more than a few hours. She wasn’t sure how to feel about his near-constant presence. The part of her that had been used to being alone was stifled and irritated, while the part of her that had broken down from the pressure she had put on herself panicked when he wasn’t around. There had been more temperature drops as her emotions fluctuated, but overall, she felt like her grip on her powers was stronger when she had him there. If she asked for food, he went and got it. If she asked for space, he gave it. If she bounced ideas off him, he usually returned insight. His upbringing had allowed him to dabble in a great many subjects. Though his older brothers had a strong hold on their chosen fields, Hans had a passing knowledge of things like the army, the navy, and the cavalry.

       “Vilppu didn’t mind me so much as a kid,” Hans said, adding a moment later, “I hope he’s alright.”

       Henrik had been a cause for worry as well; his insecurities felt contagious and he made no effort to hide them from Elsa and Hans. She had learned from her father how to govern her people, but theirs were different kingdoms and different peoples. Sure, she could advise him generally to do this and that but not that or this. Those answers satisfied him the least.

       Anna gave out the most generalized piece of advice Elsa had heard, yet it set Henrik afloat, his capsized boat in troubled waters finally upright again: “We have to do what’s right for our people, not what’s right for ourselves.”

       They had been at dinner, one of the first few Elsa and Hans had attended in the time they had been back. Henrik had chewed on the thought as the courses were served, oblivious to Magdalena’s growing agitation. That had not escaped Elsa. Rather suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, the princess sought Elsa’s gaze and said: “Could you kill them?”

       Them. There was no other them than the Westergaard usurpers possible. Magdalena had asked the question like it just became apparent to her that Elsa had ice magic. Still, as theoretical as the widow had made it sound, Elsa felt it like a slap to the face. Sound died in the dining room as those gathered waited for someone else to speak.

       “Elsa can’t kill anyone,” Anna said, dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter, “She’s too kind and too compassionate to be used like a weapon. Even though they killed Dorian, she isn’t the vengeful type. If you knew her better, you’d never ask her to do something like that.”

       “I… I’m sorry,” Magdalena mumbled, dark eyes filled with tears. Elsa saw the raw pain the woman experienced, shame loosening the tenuous hold she had been keeping on her emotions through dinner. It was too much to expect from the widow. “We can seek justice for the wrongs done, but no amount of violence will bring back the dead. The brothers who had a hand in Dorian’s death and Hans’ torture will not walk free when I find them,” Elsa promised. Magdalena stared at her with all the intent of someone receiving an oath.

       When dinner was done, the group tried to stay together. Anna, Henrik, Magdalena, and Kristoff played cards at a small table in the library as Elsa tried in vain to read a book and Hans might have been succeeding at the same. The fire crackled and the whole of the room could have been startled by a pin dropping. Magdalena’s sigh was about that loud, and Elsa watched her set her cards down and look over at the piano in the corner. No one had played it since her father had passed. “Do you play?” she asked the princess.

       “I haven’t for a long time, but I was just thinking that it was so quiet…”

       “If you’d like to use it, please do. We haven’t had anyone play in years.”

       Magdalena left her seat as if drawn to the bench at the piano, lifting the cover off the keys and settling down as though it were the most natural thing she knew. Elsa thought she looked graceful and elegant. She put her fingers to the keys and began a melody that was almost familiar, apparently from memory. The piano might need tuning, but even with that, the music seemed to create a spell over the library’s occupants. She played for several minutes, barely lifting her gaze from the keys. Elsa envied her passion for it, watching the widow’s troubles melt away, even briefly. Magdalena looked up and was surprised by Anna, Kristoff, and Elsa all clapping as she finished.

       “That was beautiful,” Hans said. Henrik was only able to nod. Magdalena treated them to a small smile, adding, “I know another one that’s a little more lively…”

       “Oh, please play it!” Anna entreated. With a nod, the player struck up what was indeed a lively tune.

       Kristoff hopped up and pulled Anna to her tapping feet and they bounded around in the library. They were followed by Elsa and Hans, who had taken one look at one another and decided to join. If Magdalena was free to dance, Henrik would have danced as well. For the time of the song everyone seemed to forget how terrible things were outside of the library. They were breathless when they sat back down.

       “Thank you,” Elsa said in earnest to Magdalena. “I’m glad I could make everyone smile,” she said.

       Later, owing to the good mood, Elsa snuggled closer to Hans in their bed. “I haven’t danced… I was a child the last time I danced like that,” she said. It was peaceful, laying in bed, Hans lazily rubbing one hand up and down her back. She closed her eyes and slept better than she had in weeks.

---

Sentries had been stationed at look-outs with a good vantage point of a few miles in and around the fjord once Elsa had the presence of mind to do so. They were to keep an eye out for ships approaching bearing no colors or Southern Isles flags. Spy glasses and horns were the best way to communicate with the castle. The town was instructed to take only the essentials and flee into the hills if ships were spotted with cannons out. There were farms and homes that agreed to have camping supplies hidden in caches on their land, and some of whom were more than willing to guide and care for displaced residents. Elsa’s incentives to them were no taxes for the year.

       The kingdom had its breath held.

       With the sound of a horn, peace was shattered.

       Three ships flying the colors of the Southern Isles grew on the horizon. It hadn’t yet been three weeks since the queen’s return. As calmly as possible, the people of the kingdom of Arendelle left their homes for their designated locations. They had prepared for this, and they knew where they were going. Eventually, one of the ships turned broadside and ran out their guns in the shadow of the mountains. Waiting to be fired upon, a lone figure stood on the battlements of her castle. She was barely visible to the sailors on the ship—a little fleck of light color along the light walls.

       They might have laughed, but they were aware that she had frozen the bay from which they had sailed four days earlier.

       Then came the order to fire all. Ten long barreled cannons rent the air with their volley.

       Colder than the deepest parts of winter, a blast of icy air slammed into the side of the ship, pitching it heavily to and fro on the instantly choppy fjord. Ice raced across the expanse, solid, unyielding. Just before it reached the ship, it grew skyward, up, up. It was as tall as the mast! Taller! The sailors cried out in shock and awe. Some called it the work of the devil. Some thought they had never seen anything as beautiful as that ice. It curved around the fjord, blocking out the sun and ensconcing Arendelle like a mother’s arms.

       What was supposed to be a punishing first battle or an invasion had been stopped almost a mile from the docks. It was over before it had even begun.

---

Anna, Kristoff, Agnar, Olaf, Sven, Magdalena, Henrik, Kai, Gerda, Linnéa—anyone who had been living or working in the castle—all had been ushered out to safety by the royal guards the moment the horn blew. They were out of the town by the time the ship turned in the fjord and fired. Try as she might, Elsa couldn’t convince Hans to leave with them. He promised to stay off the battlements, but he was just steps away when she began her counterattack.

       Having frozen the fjord by accident two years ago, she was confident she could do so on purpose, now that the situation called for it. Their own ships, including the Svalbard had been sailed several miles up the coast and hidden just for this outcome. It would take days longer to get provisions, but by using a harbor unknown to the enemy, they might stave off a blockade. Cannon fire was the bigger problem. She made the wall not just above the water but below as well, thickest where it met the seafloor. As it grew, the cannonballs struck random targets. A house collapsed in town. A smith lost their bellows. Most, however, hit the walls of the battlements below and along the castle. She felt the stones beneath her shift and dove for what seemed like a sturdier structure. Hans’ arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her with him down the stairs, two at a time. They reached the courtyard’s cobbled base and ran under the nearest awning available, panting for breath as the wall stopped shaking.

       “Thanks,” she huffed, hands on her knees. They both coughed as the dust settled from the breaking, then, knowing what was next, Elsa and Hans found their way out onto the new ice. The plan was to make several more walls as fail safes for the first. In the hotter days, she didn’t expect even a seventy foot ice wall to keep indefinitely. Hans carried two flasks and a waterskin full of drinking water, his sword on his hip for the off-chance that someone scaled the wall and meant to attack his wife. She made three walls in an hour, each as tall as the one she had first created, but each one took more time and drained her. Hans finally begged her to take a break, drink water, and sit in the shade. Arms and legs shaking, the queen settled heavily into a hastily made ice chair, shading them both under a sloping ice tent. Hans kneeled in front of her, offering a flask. She took it and drank, slowly lessening the bouncing of her legs by concentrating on his hands on her knees.

       “We would have enough time to go back and eat if that’s what you want to do,” he suggested, concerned. Elsa started to brush off that idea, then felt faint as the water hit her empty stomach. She nodded, dropping her head onto one hand. Normally, her power wasn’t a drain. Stress had done to her what it had done to Hans when he thought there would be war rather than suitors. He’s so calm now. She didn’t hear him calling her name past the ringing in her ears. “Sorry,” she mumbled, letting him pick her up like he had in the office and holding onto his neck as he carried her back to the castle and into the kitchen again.

       It was stone silent, eerie. Hans handed her a covered plate that one of the cooks must have left out for them. It was a sandwich, apple slices, and cheese. He poured them both a cup of cider, then sat down with her. They ate in silence, both aware of what they would be going back to do. Far off, they heard cannons trying to take on her wall. It was inevitable, but Elsa hoped that they would find her wall too thick to break down easily. Perhaps the ships had some of the Westergaard brothers aboard. If they were there, were they trying to get to Arendelle? To kill her? To kill Hans? To kill Magdalena and Henrik? Why? Why did they hate everyone else so completely?

       She ate mindlessly, wordlessly, until she was satiated. It was only about half the sandwich, the majority of the apple slices and cheese, chased by all of the cider in her cup. The shaking in her muscles had stopped, but her body was drained. It might take hours to feel well enough to continue building walls. She put her head in her hands, thinking of how she had built her castle on the North Mountain in minutes with unlimited energy. What was so different about this? She had not let loose with her powers, and had been happy to; she was having to use her powers for defense, having to create giant, heavy structures. There was no joy in her powers now, only responsibility and anxiety. She felt like crying again.

       “I think we should wait to go back outside,” Hans voiced. She nodded, aware that she needed more of a break. So this was it? War? She felt sick. Maybe the walls would keep the enemy at bay indefinitely. In the growing heat, she doubted it. The walls would melt, the cannon fire would weaken them, or they would find another way into the kingdom. Sick wasn’t even strong enough to describe how she felt. How Atlas never dropped the sky, Elsa couldn’t understand.

       “I could go get a bottle of mead,” Hans said, as if he could read her mind, “It might take the edge off.”

       “Normally, I would say no, but… just this once.”

       Hans left for only a few minutes and in that time, Elsa tried to eat a little more of the sandwich, apple slices and cheese, listened to the intermittent cannon fire, and thought it was for the best that they had planned to evacuate the town whenever the trouble started. She hoped the letters to their allies would yield results soon.

---

While he hadn’t been back in the cellar since the time Elsa admonished him for drinking the two bottles of glögg, Hans still had a good idea of where everything was. The mead he found was sealed with wax and a cork and labeled as having been bottled six years prior. Must have been the previous king and queen , Hans thought. He would have to ask Elsa more about them. Pulling the bottle down and turning around abruptly put him face-to-face with another man.

       Three things happened very quickly in the dimly lit cellar:

       One, Hans dodged the stabbing motion the man made with something sharp in his left hand.

       Two, he brought the bottle in his hand down on the man’s head, shattering the bottle and freeing his hand to reach for his sword.

       Three, Hans shoved the length of his gifted sword from Elsa into the stunned man still on his feet.

       The assailant groaned, feet slipping on glass until he fell into one of the shelves. Hans watched, horrified, as the face of the man became clear: Adelbert. The room tilted, backing Hans into the shelves he had just pulled from. Terror gripping him, Hans decided to run. Elsa was alone. If a brother had made it to Arendelle, into the castle, then another one could be bearing down on his wife.

       Back in the kitchen, with no clear idea how he got there, Hans stumbled toward Elsa. She looked stricken, her gaze zeroed in on his right arm. She was alone.

       Thank God, he thought, she’s alright. “Adelbert!” was all he could say out loud.

       “What happened to your arm?”

       He looked, saw blood, looked back at Elsa, and said again: “Adelbert!”

---

Adelbert was still alive when Hans and Elsa reached him. He hadn’t moved from where he fell, unable to sit up without moving the sword around. It had been a wound through a lower rib, they found later. He watched them with such contempt that neither Hans nor Elsa wanted to be closer to him than they had to be. A trickle of blood ran down his chin. Elsa was the first to speak.

       “Is there anyone else here? Any more of you?”

       The wounded man glared at them, giving no answer.

       What do we do? they both thought, looking at one another. Hans’ arm had been sliced when he tried to dodge the blade from Adelbert, but he had yet to be bothered by the pain. The man on the floor was their primary concern. Would he live long enough to see a doctor? More darkly, should they try to save his life when he tried to kill Hans, not to mention his part in the torture Hans had endured? Adelbert had taken part in the brutal beating Hans had received when he was moved into the prison Adelbert owned. He’d been present in the castle during the ambush, and he had helped kill Dorian. If he had died when Hans had run him through, they could have the peace of mind that it had been self-defense. Now, either they let him die slowly or treat him and throw him in prison.

       Elsa and Hans had the conversation behind their hands, close to him, just to see what would happen. Adelbert grimaced and hissed out, “If you were more of a man, you’d pull this sword out and plunge it into my heart. Oh… I remember, Gustav made you half a man; you can’t be more than a sniveling, cowering, buggering—”

       “That’s not going to work,” Elsa said, cutting him off. Taunts would do little more than lower the temperature in the cellar. “Are you alone, or are there more brothers somewhere?”

       Adelbert tried to spit at the pair but only managed to get blood down his front and a little on the floor. Hans tried: “Did you come here to assassinate Elsa or were you attempting to abduct someone from Arendelle?”

       Grimacing and glaring, Adelbert lapsed back into silence. Hans and Elsa went back to conferring. “We should get the guards back here and search the castle top to bottom. If there are any old passages, we should seal them. We’ll get the doctor to see what he can do about the wound and maybe hold him hostage. See what Aleksander will do to get him back.”

       Listening, Adelbert barked out a laugh—“Alek is dead. You were still in the castle when it happened.”

“What?”

       Back to silence. Getting the feeling that the Westergaard on the floor was unlikely to elaborate, Hans and Elsa set about doing what they had spoken about. On the nearest balcony, Elsa sent up several jets of ice magic to signal to the soldiers to return to the castle. There was a larger signal for a doctor that she sent even higher. It took an hour, but the people trickled into the town again.

       In the cellar, the doctor looked Adelbert over. He was moved very carefully into one of the prison cells, where the doctor took the sword out and did all he could to pack the wound. The prognosis was that neither outcome was more likely. He might live, he might die. Either way, he was kept well guarded.

       The search for Adelbert’s entry point uncovered a dingy that had been partially hidden near the docks. From there, he might have tried to cross the docks without being seen, or waded and swam around until he found a way in. They discovered a broken lock on a door that led to the cellar and a broken window he crawled through. From there, he likely bided his time. Those were the theories. The dingy suggested that he was alone or only had one other person with him. Adelbert refused to tell, not speaking when questioned by the doctor and the captain of the guard.

       Elsa waited a few hours more before returning to her work of creating more walls. There were seven in total, varying in size, though still impressive. The sun had begun to set when more cannon fire rent the air. It didn’t seem to be aimed at the wall, based on the sound. Instead, it sounded like the enemy ships might be being fired upon. She created a ladder up her most recent wall and a ramp up to the next, over and over until she could see what was happening in the fjord; a large ship—far larger than any other in the water—had opened fire on the ships. Shocked, Elsa saw a gigantic red flag with a golden trident flying proudly above the back end of the ship. Whoever they were, they had caused considerable harm to the Southern Isles ships; the enemy of her enemy was her friend. Satisfied that they were not in more danger, Elsa headed back to the castle. How they would communicate with this unknown ally, she wasn’t sure. Maybe someone would know who they were based on her description of the flag.

---

As residents of the town returned into it, none mistook the giant ice walls for what they were. It was dusk, but the almost crystalline structures were not only beautiful, they were the source of much awe. Elsa had protected the castle and the kingdom’s largest town from major damage on her own . No one doubted she was a force of nature, including Henrik and Magdalena.

       Henrik had decided that when they had marshalled enough allied forces, he would seek their help in returning him to the Southern Isles and his rightful place on its throne. Wolter, of all people, came to mind. Henrik could almost see him—as he was before falling ill—arms crossed over his chest, chastising him as a coward. “You never did like to share your toys; why would you let your brothers cheat you out of the throne?”

       He felt like hot iron being forged into steel. It was uncomfortable and brutal to be molded in such a way, but he might have all his weaknesses hammered out of him by the end of it.

       Magdalena thought of how happy they had all been in the library, dancing to her tune. All the merriment in the world couldn’t stop the onslaught of this war, but it had been a bright spot that might eventually be repeated. She could hope, for the sake of her child, that the war wouldn’t take more from them than it already had. Henrik rarely left her side, maybe in an effort to keep her sane or because was sympathetic to her plight. The patriarcal line of succession put him in power while it hung her out to dry; she had known that if Dorian died without a male heir, she would remain a princess in perpetuity. That was how her own kingdom dealt with succession as well. Arendelle’s previous king presumably had no brothers, and with only two daughters and no contestation from the aristocracy—if the small kingdom had that—Queen Elsa had come into her own power. It was obvious to Magda that she cared deeply for the wellbeing of everyone under her rule. That care hadn’t stopped others from using any means necessary to bring the queen under their thumb. Hans was King in name only, and she thought that suited him.

       A shock greeted them at the gates—Hans, arm bandaged, telling them to come with him. Magdalena and Henrik followed with no small amount of dread. She was worried that the battle had claimed lives, even if it were a brief one, and he was worried that they were still in danger. Both were relieved that they were wrong. “We had an intruder. We think he was working alone. He attacked me in the cellar and I… stabbed him,” he told them. Neither could fathom why he sounded ashamed; he defended himself. Anyone would do the same.

       “It was Adelbert,” Hans said. They both only knew one Adelbert.

       Hans led them into the library where Queen Elsa and her sister, nephew, and brother-in-law were in a huddle. The adults were animated, apparently hit by a second wind, speaking of some ship in the bay.

       “Is Adelbert dead?” Henrik asked, unable to think about ships when he had no answers.

       “No. The doctor said he might die, but not yet,” Hans said, something his wife nodded in agreement to.

       “What are you going to do with him?” Magdalena asked. Elsa looked hesitant to say.

       “He might be valuable as a hostage,” Hans started, “but…”

       “Adelbert told us that Aleksander is dead and has been since Dorian’s death…”

       Magda felt her heart kick into a gallop; “Was he one of the ones who killed Dorian?”

       “They were all part of it,” Elsa answered.

       “Where is he? In the dungeon?” Magda looked at all the faces in the room, hating the pity she saw on each one. “Tell me! Please!”

       “He’ll speak to us,” Henrik promised. Elsa and Hans still looked dubious, but Anna, holding her son, seemed to understand Magdalena more than anyone else. “I’ll show you where to go.”

---

They all moved as a group, no one wanting to be left out of either answers or drama, or both. Anna led the charge, stopping at the head of the last staircase to let Magdalena and Henrik go first. They were like moths being drawn to a flame. Each step was heavy, like they were on their way to see another execution, not the man who participated in a fake one. The guards to either side of the door were surprised to see the gaggle lumbering down the hall toward them. Elsa nodded to the captain. He unlocked the door, grabbed the lantern from its place on the wall, and entered first. Henrik followed, then Magdalena.

       Adelbert roused from an apparent doze to glare at the group. “So the bitch and her whelp survived, huh?”

       Like the crack of thunder, Magdalena landed a full-force slap across Adelbert’s face. Those from Arendelle held in gasps, but those from the Southern Isles didn’t even blink. They had seen such a slap from their mother to their father more than once. However, they didn’t expect her to follow the slap with anything else, much less the primal rage that turned a rather gentle princess into a hissing, clawing, screaming wildcat. Hans and Henrik both had to pull her off Adelbert. Hans backed toward the doorway restraining Magdalena while Henrik moved forward and checked the prisoner over.

       “Get that animal out of here,” Adelbert demanded, wiping blood from a cut on his lip. Henrik returned the remark with another slap, harder and more over Adelbert’s ear than Magdalena’s had been. She stopped struggling in Hans’ grip, utterly shocked. Like a boy, Adelbert yelped and held his ear.

       Venomous and brokering no reproach, Henrik told his brother: “Listen here, Berty. I’ll box your ears like when we were kids until you stop this foolishness. Apologize to Magdalena, you little wretch.”

       No one dared to even breathe while Adelbert weighed his options. Magdalena didn’t move a muscle. In an unsurprisingly bad decision, Adelbert attempted to spit on Henrik, like he had with Hans and Elsa. Tensed and coiled, Henrik’s strikes were swift and punishing, following through on his promise to box Adelbert’s ears. Anna and Elsa looked away. “How dare you! I said to apologize, dammit! You’ve had your way for far too long. Apologize, or I’ll do it again.”

       “This isn’t right—” Elsa started, Henrik putting a hand up to stop her. “With respect, your majesty, this is the only language this boy speaks. Our parents taught it to us all. I will hear him apologize to Magda or I will ring his bell until his ears bleed.”

       Elsa shook her head and stepped behind the other side of the doorframe, telling herself that Adelbert was a murderer and part of the torture of Hans, so she shouldn’t intercede. Anna held out her hand to her sister, who took it. Hans, noting that Magdalena had stopped struggling, loosened his grip. Henrik had shared too much… Hans recalled the times when misbehavior had led to corporal punishments. Once, in a memory both perfectly clear and entirely forgotten, he had been egged on by Owain or Cynebald or Gustav or all three, had run to his mother for reassurance and been told what he would later level Anna with; “Oh Hans, if only there was someone out there who loved you.” His mother had almost smiled as she said it, light touch gripping his chin before turning into a ringing slap. That had been the most hurtful thing he had heard as a child, and when he wanted to crush Anna’s spirit, it had tumbled, unbidden, from his mouth. A shiver racked him from head to toe, not caused by any sudden chill.

       Adelbert glared, holding on to see what Henrik did if he said nothing; the latter jerked as though he would strike again, forcing the former to clap his own hands on his ears. Adelbert relented, though the monotone and remorseless apology was spat out rather than meant: “I’m sorry, Magdalena.”

       “Good. Now, tell me about Aleksander. You told Queen Elsa and Hans that he was dead?”

       Grimacing like he had bit into something rotten, Adelbert seemed ready to insult the queen and his youngest brother but stopped when Henrik nonverbally dared him with an icy glare. His body language was poised toward violence, and he was in much better shape than Adelbert. Through clenched teeth, Adelbert began his tale.

       “We knew we could trick Dorian into anything if we told him we had his wife. You ran off with her, but he didn’t know that. The ambush should have killed everyone we wanted, but that one ,” he jabbed a finger at Hans, “And the witch-queen got away with that ice magic. Gustav pointed out all the times Aleksander had assumed he would be king by being the eldest left alive. He’d have been a terrible king. So Gustav, Cynebald, and I killed him, Dagny and Stanley, Owain, and Iefan.”

       Hanging in the air, the admission of such heinous deeds left the party reeling. Six princes, dead. Six out of thirteen. Henrik forced out a question despite his urge to vomit, “Do you three have Vilppu?”

       “No. He ran before we could catch him, too.”

       “Have you recruited Jerrik?” Henrik continued, monotone like Adelbert’s apology.

       “We sent a letter to the last port we knew him to have been at, but no reply as of yet.

       “What was the point of all of this? Why kill so many of our brothers? Who will accept any of you as king when they know what you’ve done?”

       “We blamed it on the witch-queen, obviously. She killed Wolter in her own kingdom, convinced Dorian she didn’t, infiltrated the castle and dispatched all six princes with the aid of her sniveling lump of a husband, froze our bay, and fled from a fair fight. All it took to convince the people were a few tears and their dead bodies.” Adelbert knew the retaliatory hit was coming, but he didn’t expect a punch and he didn’t expect it to come from said sniveling lump. Henrik hadn’t either. In fact, the only one with prior warning of Hans moving was Magdalena, but she was unable to do more than sway in place in his absence.

       “I think we’ve all heard enough for now,” Hans proclaimed, turning and ushering Magda out.

       In silent agreement, everyone left the cell and returned upstairs. Gathered in the hall, the first person to speak was Elsa. “I imagined they would blame me for Wolter’s death, but to kill their brothers…” Henrik’s hands were shaking, and he thought he might be sick. Hans was light-headed, but he wasn’t sure of the cause—he had punched Adelbert with his right fist, and his arm was throbbing, but just being in the same room with Adelbert made him remember too much of his time imprisoned. Kristoff had his arms around Anna and Agnar; Magdalena had her arms around herself.

       “Hold him for ransom if you have to, but never let him go,” came Magdalena’s unsteady voice, “Please. When this is over, you have to hang him.” Whether she was talking to Elsa or Henrik, neither knew.

---

When this is over…

       Everyone had their own ideas of what it would mean, what the end of this conflict would be like.

       For most of the town, they thought a return to normalcy would come at the end of the war. For people like the smith who lost their bellows and the family who lost their house, help would have to come faster than that.

       When this is over…

       Magdalena hadn’t asked for Adelbert’s death lightly or simply for revenge. His kind of malice surviving would endanger Dorian’s child forever. She thought of Henrik demanding an apology on her behalf and wondered at his intentions. Would she be welcomed back to the Southern Isles as a dowager queen if her child was a boy?

       Henrik bent low over the water basin in his room. He hadn’t stopped shaking yet, replaying over and over the shameful things he had done and said in the cell. Was he truly any better than their brothers were if he was capable of harming a shackled man? Even if Adelbert were the worst man in the world, did that give him a right to do what he did? He’d been so angry when Berty defied him. When this was over, would he take Berty home and string him up in front of the kingdom? Would that put anyone at ease?

       When this is over…

       Anna wanted Agnar to grow in love and safety. She wanted Elsa and Kristoff to never worry again. They would make it through this. They had to. She wouldn’t know what to do without either one of them. She wished that she had never been foolish enough to let Hans into her head two years ago, and thereby undo whatever happened after. Hans wasn’t the same now, she admitted, but she might never forgive him even if Elsa did.

       Kristoff imagined taking Agnar on sleigh rides in the winter. He expected the war to be over by then. Why would the people of the Southern Isles support corrupt leaders? Why would they fight for them? Barring that, why wouldn’t the allies Arendelle had cultivated over time come to help them in their time of need? He thought of Rapunzel and Eugene, the diplomats, anyone who had been at his and Anna’s wedding; they’d come.

       When this is over…

       Seeing past the war was like trying to see through a brick wall to Hans. His marrying Elsa had not helped her in the slightest politically. He loved her, and he was happy to be with her, but all that they had set out to accomplish with their union had blown up in their faces. Being reminded of his upbringing had put a knot in the center of his stomach. Come what may, he resolved to never treat Elsa poorly. He’d follow her anywhere if she’d have him.

       When this is over…

       Elsa didn’t have the luxury of looking far into the future for hope. She was operating as though the war would outlast her. Adelbert’s confession made her skin crawl. The people who had seen the trail of their escape from the castle in the Southern Isles and the frozen bay would believe all the worst about her. With seven dead Westergaard men they could blame her for, the two free duplicitous brothers left could garner support from any sympathetic ear. Still… she hadn’t forgotten the sight of the large ship utterly demolishing the smaller ships in the bay and the hope it lent her. Maybe the future wasn’t as bleak as she thought.

       Tomorrow , Elsa thought as they settled into bed, exhausted and mute, I’ll ask Henrik if he knows who sails under a red flag with a golden trident.

---

A new day dawned. The sun peeked over the horizon and onto the deck of the Sebastiaen . In the rosy light, the ice wall across the fjord glittered like a bejeweled curtain, ethereal and otherworldly. The captain, Jerrik Westergaard, had his wife tucked under one arm and his daughter under the other, all three wrapped under the same oversized cloak, colder near the wall than they would be out at sea. What was left of the three Southern Isles ships had sailed away from their doom the day before. They awaited some sign from behind the wall; any intent to communicate. As the sunlight spilled over the top of the wall, they got it.

       A figure, pale and shining, appeared at the apex. With a spyglass, Jerrik discerned a woman smiling down at his ship. Two more figures appeared, both male, tall, and familiar. Henrik, he knew right away, but the other man looked too different from how Hans had been when he had last seen him to know as fast. The woman waved her hand and the occupants of the ship watched in utter fascination as a staircase materialized in the ice. He saw it happen and still didn’t believe it. The trio made their way down slowly, eventually reaching the water, where the woman built more ice out from the wall as a dock. It took several minutes to get a rowboat in the water, but Jerrik, the wife and daughter that his brothers knew nothing about, and three men from his crew climbed down into it and rowed over to the dock.

       To say that they received a warm welcome was an understatement. Three pairs of hands reached down into the boat to steady those who climbed out. Henrik gripped Jerrik so hard in a hug that the air was squeezed out of him and his feet came off the dock. The woman—he suspected she was Queen Elsa of Arendelle—was shaking hands with his wife and daughter, welcoming them. Giving Hans a look once over, Jerrik thought that he had seen far worse off in his travels. Sticking his own hand out, Jerrik shook Hans’ hand.

       “It’s good to see we didn’t have to climb this wall just to let you know we were here,” he said, then bowing at the waist, he added, “I’m Jerrik, your majesty… or should I call you ‘sister’?”

        “Elsa, sister—just as long as I can call you a friend, not foe,” she answered, offering her own hand to shake Jerrik’s firmly. She had the regal bearing of her station, he thought.

       “That you can, my dear. I’ll ask your pardon if I’m too forward; I don’t like formality and don’t expect it for myself. Now, before we get too far into any conversation, I’d like to introduce everyone to my wife, Alda, and my daughter, Melpomeni.” He gestured to the red headed woman and the dark haired girl, respectively.

       “Just Mel,” his daughter added, playing as though she were shy. He knew her far too well. Henrik stared at them, slack-jawed. Hans was in a similar state. Elsa smiled and replied, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

       “When did you get married?” Henrik asked. “I mean,... she’s—she’s… how old are you?”

       “Thirteen,” Mel replied, smiling brightly. She had had her birthday a month before and relished the number as a true teenager.

       “Why don’t we get off this ice and I can regale you all with the details?” he suggested. They’d either go to the castle or to the Sebastiaen.

       “It’s quite the story,” Alda promised.

Chapter Text

“Alright everyone,” Elsa said, “Stay still where you are. We’re taking the easy way up.”

       Half to show off and half to avoid climbing seven flights of stairs, Elsa bolstered the ice beneath their feet until the whole group was level with the top of the barrier wall. She reveled in the feeling of being happy and using her powers; it took no effort at all. As they stepped off the platform onto the wall, she smiled at the appreciation shown by the newcomers, who had been summarily astounded by her display. Jerrik enlisted Henrik and Hans and lined up all three to measure it, shoulder to shoulder, across the width, and began to rattle off questions: “How is this possible? Is it thicker at the base? It goes all the way down to the seafloor? Are you the only one who built it or are there more of you with the same power?”

      “I’m the only one like me,” Elsa answered, seeing more of what Jerrik meant about being forward, “The wall does go to the bottom of the fjord, and is thicker there. I’d estimate that all of us here could stand with our arms out side by side and still not be as wide.”

       “She built it while being fired upon by the ships you chased out of port,” Hans added, impressing his brother further. Elsa had the urge to take his hand, but not the reach.

       “You can’t beat this view,” Mel said, tucked under her mother’s arm. They were looking at their ship, and further out into the harbor. Elsa gazed out at the morning light on what felt like the top of the world and agreed.

       They all moved slowly down the ramps Elsa had remade on their trip out that morning and eventually set foot on the solid, non-iced ground, where she unmade them with a gesture. The crewmen Jerrik had brought with him introduced themselves along the way; Louis, the ship’s cook, and Scuttle, the barrel man. 

       “Real name’s Joseph,” said Scuttle, “Got the nickname through an accident and haven’t been able to live it down.” 

       “That’s a fib if ever I heard one. He loves the name. Never introduces himself as anything else,” Louis told them in a mock whisper hidden behind his hand. Scuttle looked appropriately affronted then broke character to grin. The people from the Sebastiaen were like a breath of fresh air, reminding Elsa of dancing in the library. She felt comforted.

       “Old Grimsby is probably rowing back to the ship muttering under his breath about how he should have gotten to come instead of me,” Scuttle told Mel, who giggled and nodded. Alda, at Elsa’s side, explained, “Grimsby is the ship’s first mate. He failed miserably as an etiquette tutor for Jerrik when he first set sail. He’s stuffy and silly, but he means well and loves us.”

       “Grimsby is still around?” Henrik asked Jerrik. Even Hans seemed to think the name sounded familiar. Jerrik nodded, adding with a grin, “The old codger could still beat any one of us up the rigging. He’s a terrible tutor but a natural on a ship… though, he still goes green in rough seas.”

       The septet meandered into the courtyard and past the stables. Elsa was happy to catch Mel looking at the castle in open adoration. She was fond of it, too, but wondered how the girl might react to her ice castle on the North Mountain. Leading the way inside, Elsa found Kai waiting patiently with a letter in his hand. Her stomach did a little flip at the thought of what might be inside. Henrik gravitated closer as well, looking over her shoulder as she opened the seal.

       “It’s from the kingdom of Corona,” Elsa said, relief coursing through her as she began to read.

Dear cousin,

         I hope this letter finds you and King Henrik well and that its arrival before us will not cause worry. My mother and father needed time to gather our forces. We should arrive in the bay you indicated in a week. Hold out until we get there. 

Love,

Rapunzel and Eugene

       “Who delivered this?” Elsa asked, hoping it was a herald she could get answers from; she wanted to know if anyone else might answer her letters.

       Kai didn’t seem to be able to explain and instead led them out to the stables through the door they had just come through. He gestured at a white horse in the stall before them. “This is the messenger, Maximus.”

       “Maximus?” Elsa asked, surprised to see the horse nod his head.

       “What an exceptional creature,” Henrik said, to which Maximus struck a rather lofty pose. She couldn’t help but look over at Sven who quite literally rolled his eyes and shook his head. Seemed like all the animals she knew were exceptional. “I suppose Rapunzel sent you for a reason?” Elsa asked Maximus.

       The horse nodded again, then pawed at the stall gate. Hans opened it, stepping back as the white horse strode out, turned his head toward the saddlebag on his right, and waited. She rummaged through the bag until the horse blew a breath over her hands. “So this is it?”

       A loud neigh was her confirmation.

       “More letters?” Elsa asked. She handed several to Hans and Henrik, who opened their envelopes quickly. In her two letters, she received replies from the Italian dignitary and Governor Sokollu. Both pledged to send a ship each to help in the blockade spearheaded by Corona on the Southern Isles. Elsa teared up to see “Sincerely yours,” in a flourish from the Bosnian governor. So, she hadn’t done him irreparable harm, and he thought of her fondly. There was a relief in that that she couldn’t explain.

       “From the Irish diplomat— ‘We petitioned Her Majesty’s Royal Navy for a ship to add to the Coronian blockade and were granted two. She sends her regards to Queen Elsa and hopes they might meet one day.’” Hans read. He looked up to see Elsa grinning. Gustav and Cynebald might just be regretting the day they made her an enemy.

       “They’re all helping,” Henrik warbled. Elsa thought he looked misty-eyed and nearly overcome with joy.

      “You have a very loyal circle of friends,” Jerrik added, beaming.

---

To say they were out of the woods was a little premature.

       Gustav and Cynebald’s locations were not confirmed to be in the Southern Isles. A blockade would only be as effective as it was speedy in trapping the bad actors. Hans had his doubts that those two brothers weren’t slippery enough to leave undetected. If they made it to Arendelle, would they follow Adelbert’s lead and sneak in?

       Elsa said that she had to tell Anna right away about the blockade. The party all followed Kai as he led them to the dining hall where Anna, Kristoff, and Magdalena were taking breakfast. Hans watched as Elsa took her sister’s hands and relayed the news. Relief and joy mixed as the siblings embraced, Kristoff joined them. Magdalena watched, spoon poised over her cup mid-action as she processed the tidings. Henrik pulled Jerrik over to her side and grinned as he seconded the jubilation.

       The introductions were made while Hans stood back. Jerrik introduced himself and gathered Magdalena into a hug. Alda and Mel were next, followed by a repeat sans hug for Anna and Kristoff. Scuttle and Louis swept their caps off their heads and made little bows, and everyone was acquainted.

       “I hate to ruin the good mood,” Hans said when a lull in the conversation allowed. With everyone’s attention, he said, “We might need to talk about Adelbert, Cynebald, and Gustav.”

       Jerrik replied, “What about them?”

       “We have Adelbert in custody in the prison below the castle. He broke in and attacked Hans. Hans fought back and no one is sure if Adelbert will live or die. As for the other two, they’re the only ones left,” Henrik explained. There was a long pause where Jerrik looked at his wife and daughter and Hans, then back at Henrik.

       “But their letter… it was signed by all of them,” Jerrik said, confused. Alda and Mel gravitated towards him, sensing his discomfort.

        “It must have been sent before they died,” Hans theorized. 

       Jerrik was silent as he worked through whatever was on his mind; “Who would do such a thing?” he finally asked. Hans felt his stomach drop; he wondered how much he should say with Mel there. “They did.” Jerrik stared at Hans as though he wanted his brother to say he was lying. Hans continued: “They killed Dorian right in front of us. Adelbert said the rest died in the same ambush. Gustav and Cynebald… they’re depraved, and when they all had me imprisoned, I suffered the most from their punishments.”

       “I… I don’t want to believe it… but I do…” Jerrik’s mouth turned down. “Can I see Bert?”

       “I’ll go with you,” Henrik told him. Hans guessed that Henrik didn’t want Jerrik to speak to him alone.

       After assuring his wife and daughter that he’d be back, Jerrik and Henrik left with Kai, Louis, and a guard. Hans looked to Elsa, who had her focus on Alda and Mel. He noted that while Mel had the same dark hair and light blue eyes as Jerrik, she looked almost exactly like her mother. His striking sister-in-law had the brightest red hair Hans had ever seen, and eyes as blue as the ocean.

       “I’m sorry we haven’t met under nicer circumstances,” Elsa told the pair. Magdalena had yet to take her eyes off the girl, Hans noticed. His wife continued, “I’m not sure what the letter Jerrik received said, but I don’t mind answering your questions, if you have any.”

       “They said that they didn’t trust Dorian to be King and that if he had his doubts, Jerrik should join them too,” Alda said. Mel had taken to holding one of her mother’s hands, looking at the floor.

       “Did they explain why they didn’t trust Dorian?” Magdalena asked, hand on the bump that grew daily.

       Alda covered Mel’s hand on hers with the other, “No. We had a letter from Dorian just after Wolter passed where he expressed his concerns about the other princes. He asked us to come to Arendelle. When we got here, the ships firing on the walls fired on us, too. Jerrik might have sailed to the Southern Isles if he had known about the coup and the murders. We had hoped that Dorian would be here… I’m sorry he’s gone.” 

       “He… never said anything about you or your daughter to me,” Magdalena said, uncomfortable with the idea that her husband would keep his sister-in-law and niece a secret.

       With a small and regretful smile, Alda replied, “He didn’t know. When Jerrik and I married, we both agreed it would be better if the Westergaards weren’t aware of it. The secrecy has kept us safe until now. We aren’t always with Jerrik—sometimes we return to my kingdom for long stretches while he’s sailing dangerous places, or just to visit my family. I’m the seventh daughter of the King.”

       Hans might have been wrong, but guessing by the expressions in the room, they were just as surprised as he was to hear that Alda was a princess.

       “What kingdom are you from?” Anna asked.

       “Atlantica,” Mel answered, which cleared nothing up. Hans was sure there was no such kingdom.

       “Where is that?” Kristoff asked, adding as if to explain the question, “... I’m not well-versed.”

       “I’d be surprised if you knew it, considering how secretive my father’s been since my mother was killed,” Alda said, gesturing to a previously unseen necklace her daughter was already removing from around her neck, “You see, like Elsa, our people too are blessed with magic. We live under the sea, as we have for thousands of years.”

       To prove her statement, Alda opened the pendant on the necklace—a delicate golden clamshell—filling the room with the smell of the ocean breeze and a strange dancing light, like they were underwater. Over the pendant, starting small and growing to be at least the size of the dining table, an image of an underwater kingdom glowed and shone. Figures which were at first undeterminable became large enough to identify as merfolk, swimming with tails that glittered and shone. Hans stared slack-jawed at the beautiful scene, noticing a tinkling melody with no clear origin humming off the walls, ephemeral and enchanting.

       “No way…” Anna breathed, face alight with wonder, “You two are mermaids ?”

---

Adelbert was asleep when Henrik and Jerrik, Louis, and Kai arrived at his cell. The guards conversed quickly with the butler and then one opened the door. The brothers entered, waking the prisoner. Staring at them, Adelbert said, “I don’t feel like playing. Leave and let me go back to sleep.”

       “Did you not see who it is, Berty?” Henrik asked, motioning to the guards for their lantern. It illuminated the small space but cast shadows across every face. Adelbert tensed, momentarily seeing ghoulish apparitions in place of two familiar faces. Henrik hung the lantern on the wall and dispelled the vision. Holding his wound, gaze on Jerrik, Adelbert said with half a smile, “My God, you’re tan.”

       “You would be too if you had a sorry crew like me. Have to do everything myself,” Jerrik quipped. Louis snorted from the doorway. Jerrik continued, “Speaking of sorry, how did you end up like this, Bert?”

       “What do you care? I haven’t heard a word from or about you in six years.” Adelbert said after a quiet moment. “I told you both: I don’t feel like playing. Get back on your boat and go back to what you’ve been doing.”

       Henrik stepped forward and Jerrik held out his arm to keep his older brother back. He was calm as he said, “I meant in general. You weren’t capable of hurting Alek in the past and now I hear you helped kill him? You two were so close. Help me understand, Bert. I’ve missed a lot, but I’m here now.”

       “You’ve chosen your lot, Jerrik,” Adelbert growled, “A witch-queen and all her sycophantic followers.”

       “So have you, you ungrateful wretch,” Henrik spat back instead of smacking the loathing off Adelbert’s face like he wanted to. He could feel his pulse in his temples. 

       “If you survive this, it’ll have been us that put you on the throne—” Adelbert was cut short when Henrik barreled past Jerrik’s hand and gripped his collar.

       “I’ll see you swing for putting me on the throne—” Henrik was knocked back by a good shove from Jerrik. He was momentarily reminded of Elsa trying to stop him and was able to see past his fury. The guilt came rushing back and he turned away from his brothers. He was glad Jerrik had stopped him.

       “I’ve missed a few things over the years, but I’ve never missed the fighting. I can’t speak for Dorian—I knew who he was when we were young—” Jerrik was calm and almost quiet, “Bert… I just want to understand… why?”

       After several minutes of silence in which no one was sure of what would be said next, Adelbert explained very quietly, “It’s mother’s curse… Gustav told us we could break it if we kill the rest of you.”

       “What curse?” Henrik and Jerrik asked simultaneously. Adelbert looked at them like they were insane.

       “The one mother put on us when she died. That’s why we are the way we are. That’s why Father died of cancer. We haven’t had anything good happen to any one of us since she died,” he explained as though it were a matter of fact, sounding more mad with every word.

       Henrik and Jerrik looked at one another, troubled. “Is that really what you believe?” Jerrik asked. Henrik was surprised to hear so much compassion in his voice. Adelbert was also momentarily stayed by the tone.

       “I have a beautiful wife, Bert. She bore me a daughter thirteen years ago. We’ve been incredibly happy ever since. Mother was delirious, and I don’t believe she meant what she said. I haven’t lived my life like she did. I don’t think you should, either.”

       Adelbert looked for falsehood on Jerrik’s face but found none. Still, he accused, “You’re lying. You couldn’t have hidden it from all of us.” 

       Jerrik shook his head in disappointment. “When you meet them, I hope you see how wrong you’ve been… for all of it, Bert.”

---

Four hours after learning of the existence of mermaids ( actual mermaids), Anna and her family were sitting across a table with them, eating a meal. She couldn’t take her eyes off Alda, searching for some hint of the supernatural in her movements or words. The only thing she kept returning to was the peculiarly vibrant red of the woman’s—mermaid’s—hair and the ocean blue of her eyes. Beside her, Elsa touched her leg under the table and said out of the corner of her mouth: “It’s not polite to stare.”

       But what was she supposed to do? Trolls, magical sisters, and now, mermaids. Her inner five-year-old was giddy and thrilled and amazed and elated and all the adjectives for being so full of emotion she was about to burst. Were there more magical beings out there in the world? Would they show themselves if Elsa asked?

       “So, where did the name ‘Melpomeni’ come from?” Elsa asked when the conversation about Henrik and Jerrik’s visit to Adelbert reached its end.

       “I was born off the coast of Greece,” Mel said. Anna immediately wondered if mermaids had their children on land or in the water. Having been through it herself recently, she hoped Alda had been able to nearly crush Jerrik’s hand as she had done to Kristoff’s. That had been some small relief in the delivery.

       “So that’s why we got statues of Aphrodite out of the blue,” Henrik said. Anna almost snorted.

       “Yes. When Mel came, I was so excited that I had to do something, though Alda and I agreed that it was for the best that our marriage and child stay secret from the surface world. I thought the goddess of love was an appropriate announcement,” Jerrik said, following his last word with an enormous bite of food.

       “You said you have siblings?” Anna asked Alda.

       “Yes, all six older sisters. They’ve all moved out of home except the eldest, but I’m the only one married to a human,” the woman replied. Anna was biting her tongue to keep from asking about how their tails worked. 

       “A big family, like the Westergaards,” Elsa observed, to which Alda nodded. The conversation dropped off as everyone added a past tense to the large clan of Westergaard brood.

       “I could keep Bert in line,” Jerrik said after several minutes of the only sound being the cutlery hitting the plates. Anna sincerely doubted that, but she didn’t say a word. Hans took the chance to be the first to speak.

       “He’s caused a lot of damage already. He was one of the ones who st—,” he stopped and with a look around the dinner table at Magdalena’s pale face, redirected, “They were all part of Dorian’s death.”

       “Did you not attempt to murder two women in this room? Forgiveness and a second chance did you a world of good. I’m not saying you all have to forgive him, but if we kill him, aren’t we as bad as our other brothers?” The color drained out of Hans’ face as he looked at Jerrik then at Elsa, and at herself before falling to look at his plate.

       Anna couldn’t pretend like she didn’t understand both arguments. In her heart, like an ice shard that never melted, she didn’t forgive Hans. For his transgressions against her and for trying to kill Elsa, she wished he would have disappeared from her life forever. Still, she knew she was being unfair. He’d been beaten and starved, tortured and castrated all for those crimes—he’d suffered enough. The punishment was more brutal than she had wanted. If Jerrik could truly keep Adelbert from hurting anyone else, the man would be trapped on a boat out to sea. That’d be as good as being in prison forever, right?

       “I won’t feel safe until he’s dead,” Magdalena said, “Will you beg for the lives of Gustav and Cynebald, too?” Silence fell again; sharp stares leveled across the table at one another.

       “Can we not do this right now?” Anna asked. She felt the stares turn on her. “Sorry, but Adelbert might still die on his own. We might as well not worry about him until we have to. I’m so tired of how gloomy it’s been in this castle. You wouldn’t believe how happy I was before this whole debacle started. I want to go back to that. Right now, what we really have is pretty nice. Your crew in the harbor keeps any small ships too scared to try you. You’re all safe here with Elsa in charge. Your brother in the basement is being looked after by the best doctor in the kingdom. Everyone has a bed to sleep in and food to eat. So, can we not do the whole ‘what comes next?’ bit until we have to?”

       Kristoff had her back. He held her hand under the table.

       “Alright,” came from Jerrik after a moment.

       Magdalena gave one curt nod over the rim of the glass she cooly took a drink from.

       “Good,” Anna said, “Now, who’s up for a game of charades?”

---

The next day, Elsa went to the fjord to thaw the ice walls. Hans had suggested that they leave them up, but his reasoning was on the chance they were to be attacked from the harbor again. Not with a blockade happening around the Southern Isles, she had decided as they were getting dressed for the day.

       Anna had said what she thought over dinner and Elsa couldn’t disagree with her. Everything was developing day by day, so she was loath to make too many plans for a future that was changing by the second.

       With a thought of her family—Anna, Kristoff, Agnar, and Hans—she watched the walls burst into powder and float upon the breeze. The crew of the Sebastiaen was at the railing when she could see the ship, marveling, she hoped, at what was an impressive feat. That far out, its crew was just a collection of colorful dots. When she was done with the walls, she cleared a path large enough for the ship to sail in, one ship only, and a space for them at the docks through the ice covering the fjord. 

       She didn’t feel winded, tired, sapped, or out of control, which was such a relief that her smile stayed in place for hours. All she really needed was good news to get her joy in using her powers back.

       Hans met her in the courtyard when she came back; she threw her arms around his neck and surprised him with a kiss. It felt so good to be able to do that. He leaned into it, arms around her waist. Bliss, pure and simple, comfortable and warm, just like melting ice in his embrace. 

       She wasn’t sure how long it took, but someone cleared their throat after a while. Breaking apart but not separating, Elsa blushed to see Henrik, Jerrik, and Magdalena wearing varying expressions. Henrik was looking at his toes and was probably as red as she was, Jerrik was grinning ear to ear, and Magdalena looked wistful and perhaps even envious.

       “Ah, young lovers,” Jerrik proclaimed, “I remember the days when Alda and I were like that.”

       “I remember when the only one who busted anyone around here was Olaf,” Hans said sarcastically.

       “Who’s Olaf?” asked the three relative newcomers in unison.

       “You mean in all this time, you haven’t met Olaf?” Elsa asked. She’d seen him recently, right?

       Going to Anna first, she began a search for the snowman. Anna said she’d been paying more attention to Agnar than to anyone else and that she was sorry, but she didn’t know either. Kai and Gerda admitted that they’d been very busy and weren’t sure where he was last, but that he might have gone somewhere when the castle was cleared out. Kristoff said he definitely had seen him somewhere, sometime.

       Maybe he went to the castle on the North Mountain when it had started to get hot, Elsa thought. She could take the opportunity to check on Marshmallow and the Snowgies and the structural integrity—and show it off to the people who hadn’t seen it yet. They could make it in less than a day and it was still morning. They might even make it back before dark.

       After the Sebastiaen had docked, Elsa asked if anyone wanted to go see her other castle. Alda and Mel were the first to say yes, followed by Jerrik, Henrik, Magdalena, and Hans. A retinue of guards accompanied them, most everyone on horseback, with Elsa, Magdalena, Alda, and Mel in a wagon. Henrik had borrowed Maximus to get the stallion out and about. Hans and Sitron were like two peas in a pod—easy and enjoying the ride. Elsa made a large bridge across the gorge where Kristoff lost his original sled, and the group continued along without incident.

       Her castle shone brilliant blue and violet against the mountain in the sun, and even she marveled at how it seemed to fit perfectly there. Elsa was treated to appreciative sighs and similar compliments to what Kristoff had done before—they could keep them coming. She was at her leisure.

       When they reached the stairs across the second gorge, Elsa noted that they were in great shape. Just to be sure they weren’t one hot day away from destruction she had put the same permanent frost on them that Olaf had.

       Marshmallow greeted them at the door, wearing her coronation tiara and a smile.

       “Elsa,” his deep voice rumbled, drawing out her name the same as any word, “Long time, no see.”

       “I know. I’m sorry. How are you? And the snowgies?”

       “Good. We are good,” he said. Looking at the rest of the party, he added, “Friends?”

       “Yes. All friends. Say hello, Marshmallow,” Elsa said, waving them up from the top of the staircase. 

       Hans was stock-still, eyes wide. She couldn’t think of why, right away. Marshmallow waved, spurring Mel to start up the steps at a run.

       “I love him! Oh my goodness, I love you! What’s your name? I’m Mel!”

       Elsa couldn’t help her smile.

---

Hans remembered Marshmallow. He cut off his leg the last time he was here.

       Would the snowman guard remember that and rage at him? The memories of that day replayed in his mind, each beat like a drum in time to his speeding heartbeat. He wasn’t really scared of Marshmallow, but he thought if he went into the castle, he might be sick.

       The chandelier had fallen. Elsa had hit her head. He had carried her back to the other castle. They had spoken in the dungeon. Anna had found him and he had betrayed her trust and left her to die. He’d chased after Elsa and lied to her. She’d collapsed. He’d drawn his sword. He’d brought it down, hitting Anna just as she froze solid, and then he lost consciousness. God, I wish I could take it back, he thought, all of it.

       He was morose as he climbed the stairs. To have ever been forgiven for all of that, especially by Elsa made him feel very thankful but very unworthy.

       “What is it?” Elsa asked in a whisper by his ear as he reached her. 

       He was quiet when he replied, “I cut Marshmallow’s leg off down there almost two years ago. I’m… I’m ashamed of who I was. It just hit me again when I saw him.”

       “I guess it's a good thing he’s forgiving—like me,” she said, kissing his neck where she could reach it. Lightly, the ghost of her kiss seemed to tingle on his neck for several minutes. He followed her as she gave a tour to his family. Their family, he amended.

       “This place is incredible,” Jerrik said from the second-floor balcony. Hans agreed, but he didn’t feel objective enough to marvel at it for a display of Elsa’s ability and skill at design. He could almost hear the echo of the chandelier crashing down, realizing with a rueful smile that he was hearing the footsteps of the group ringing out.

       It felt like a sign to get out of his own head and quit dwelling on things he couldn’t change.

While they left no stone unturned and no room unexplored, Elsa and the others never saw Olaf. Asking Marshmallow was inconclusive. She tried to describe him by his carrot but her large guard picked up a snowgie instead. Where could he be? She was starting to worry about her snowman friend.

       “That was amazing, Aunt Elsa,” Mel said as they were leaving, walking backward to the wagon and waving at her lumbering friend who was seeing them off at the door. Elsa nearly missed the last step on the stairs and hoped she didn’t look as dumbfounded as she felt. Apparently not, hearing Jerrik chuckle and say, “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

       “I—” Elsa didn’t know what to say.

      “She wasn’t expecting you, either,” Alda said as she passed, joining her daughter on the wagon, “But we all like surprises.”

       Elsa never expected anyone but Agnar to call her aunt. Even when she married Hans, she never thought that she would accept any of his brothers as her family except for Dorian, yet here she was. It was surreal to think just two years ago, all she had left was Anna—and that she had done her best to keep her at arm's length since the death of their parents. Now she sort of had a thirteen-year-old niece, a niece or nephew on the way, and at least two nice brothers-in-law.

       As she settled in on the wagon beside Magdalena, Elsa felt odd but not unpleasant. She wondered what Anna would think when she told her about what Mel called her.

       And, she wondered where Olaf was.

---

Unbothered and cheerful, Olaf waddled around the house with a particular kind of interest.

       Hans had a lot of stuff he was keeping in Linnéa’s house. He’d decided to come and explore and visit after the evacuation and Elsa building her walls and going to visit Marshmallow. When he came back down from the North Mountain, he ran into Linnéa all by herself. She seemed very sad and very lonely, but she perked up when he shuffled over to her. That was when he decided that he wanted to hang around with her for a while.

       She was really fun, once he got her laughing. He hadn’t felt like anyone in the castle had wanted to have fun or be fun for weeks. The gloomy mood was bringing him down. Linnéa could joke like no one else, and she appreciated his company. She sang him songs that were full of puns. She played while she cooked dinner, fencing him with a wooden spoon. It was only a couple of days, but he was glad to be out of the castle.

       He greeted her when she got back home, surprised to see Elsa and Hans with her.

       “I’m so glad we found you,” Elsa said, kneeling to give him a hug. He happily returned it, nonplussed. “Have you been here since the evacuation?”

       “Yeah, why?” Olaf asked.

       “Well, I mean… I realized you were gone and didn’t know how long it had been since you were back.”

       “Linnéa said she didn’t mind, so I decided to stay for a little while. I thought you all had enough on your plate.”

       “There will always be a place with me for you, Olaf, no matter what is happening,” Elsa said, holding his twiggy hand. He patted hers with his other and nodded. He thought that was all she needed.

       “Are you two staying for dinner?” Olaf asked, “I haven’t had any, but I think Linnéa’s pretty good at cooking.”

       “Good enough for Egon, anyway,” Linnéa added.

       Hans and Elsa were quiet for a moment, then looked at each other and nodded.

       “Yay! Now I can ask you about all your stuff, Hans!” Olaf exclaimed.

---

After a long dinner which Olaf asked every question under the sun, Hans and Elsa returned to the castle together, content and… perhaps what counted as full. Linnéa and the snowman waved them off and they strolled up the empty streets back to the castle, arms entwined.

          "I'm waiting for something terrible to happen…" Elsa said after a protracted silence. Hans' gaze on her was long but not without understanding. "It's… it's been one terrible thing after another for so long now that I keep wanting to pinch myself awake."

          "I wasn't expecting to be alive if I got around three of my brothers in the same place," he said, prompting Elsa to hug his arm,  “One of them gave it a shot, but still, I’m here.” 

          “Yes, you are,” she said, pulling on his arm until he stopped walking and tiptoeing her face up to kiss him.

          By the time they made it back to the castle, they were both in a rush to get to Elsa’s rooms. Just as soon as the door closed to the bedroom, kisses deepened and hands explored. Hans had reservations, but his mind was quieted by the certainty of Elsa’s love. When they fell asleep, they were both spent from the day and the night.

          Morning came and went before the lovers left the solitude of their shared room. 

          Hans caught Elsa lost in thought more than once, touching her lips or smiling without noticing. He couldn’t hide how his wife’s distraction felt like a resounding success for what he could still give her. To say that he wasn’t thinking about how that evening could go the same way would be a lie. It was jarring for responsibility to remind them both it existed. 

          “Queen Elsa,” Kai said, startling everyone in the library, “The prisoner wishes to speak to you.”

---

Elsa didn’t think what she and Hans did the night before would have been possible for her. Her whole morning had been reveling in the comfort she took lying next to her husband, though, she felt shy looking at him in the sunlight. Images flashed in her mind of how Hans looked when he… she didn’t know what to call it, just that it had felt better than anything she had ever tried on her own. She wasn’t totally naive but she hadn’t exactly been expecting to be tasted, touched, and lavished with love.

          Like snapping out of a fog, Kai’s voice brought Elsa back to the present.

         Jerrik was first to his feet. It seemed to Elsa that everyone in the library wanted to follow Kai as well. “We should bring him here. Can Adelbert walk?”

          “No, your highness.”

          “Send a litter, then. We won’t all fit.”

          Within fifteen minutes, Kai was back with four guards, two of whom were carrying the litter with Adelbert perched atop. He was pale as he gripped the poles to keep himself as still as possible, and a sheen of sweat was visible in the bright light of the morning across his face. The guards helped him transfer to one of the couches that Alda and Mel had been occupying before. Mel looked horrified to see the uncle she had never met in such a state, and she stood behind her mother like a younger child hiding behind a skirt. Elsa was not pleased that Adelbert seemed worse, yet she had not been told. He was barely settled when he got right to the point, “Please. Just kill me.”

          “No,” she said, faster than anyone else could make a remark. They poured in just after, all echoing Elsa’s dissent. She was reminded of Hans asking her the same. Adelbert kept his composure with only a slight wince and replied, “You’re sentencing me to die slowly and painfully, then.”

          “The doctors haven’t said you were sure to die. You may live.”

          “I heard them talking this morning; they seemed pretty sure to me. I’ve been awake all night, feeling my guts go putrid. I’m asking for mercy, please .” Sounding less composed and more desperate, Adelbert went from looking at just Elsa to beseeching his brothers, too. “Why would you wait? I helped kill Dorian. Please, Henrik. Jerrik?”

          “No, Berty. You can’t ask us…” Jerrik responded, walking over, crouching and trying to take one of his brother’s hands. With jerk, he snatched his hand back and tried with his sister-in-law, “What about you, Magdalena? Don’t you want vengeance? I’ll tell you where Gustav put Dorian’s body.” 

          Henrik tried to hold Magda back as she moved with a speed that belied her condition. She yelled, “You’ll tell me anyway, you vile bastard! I’ll watch you rot from the inside out for what you did to my husband!” Adelbert recoiled from her outstretched hands, twisted like talons as Henrik struggled to keep her from pouncing on him. Jerrik rushed to help hold the woman back, she who had seemingly turned part wildcat. Magdalena’s ferocity alarmed the occupants of the library and brought the nearest guard rushing in, though he seemed as unsure of what to do as the rest. Finally, Henrik scooped up his brother’s widow bodily and carried her out into the hall, where the obscenities she had been hurling over his shoulder at Adelbert morphed into screams of rage and sorrow. Elsa hadn’t been watching her sister-in-law, or she may have seen the signs that foretold of her outburst.

          Mel had grabbed Alda’s arm, face paling with unease, and the movement caught Adelbert’s attention. He looked from Jerrik at the doorway to Mel and then to Alda, whose utter contempt was darkening her face. “You weren’t lyng,” he said to Jerrik, incredulous gaze back on Mel, “You had a child you kept from all of us…”

          “Perhaps we should have stayed a secret from you,” snarled Alda. Jerrik looked stricken, yet it was his younger brother who spoke next.

          “I’m sorry! I’ll tell you all where Dorian’s body is. I just want to know how you beat the curse—!”

          “What will it matter if you’re dead?” Hans asked, anger running under the quiet of the room. What would it matter indeed. Elsa felt him slip her hand into his, sweaty and shaking.

          “But—”

          “You were just begging to be executed.”

          “I—”

          “Were you just tourturing Magdalena with false promises—”

          “Hans—” Elsa tried cutting in.

          “No—”

          “Then why would you want to know how to ‘beat the curse’?”

           “Because I don’t really want to die!” Adelbert cried, holding his wound and starting to sob, “I just didn’t want to die in pain.” No one spoke. Adelbert wept, covering his eyes with his free hand, “Please… Please help me…”

          Kristoff made a noise like an averted word. Elsa wasn’t the only one to look at her brother-in-law. He cleared his throat and began again. “We could talk to the trolls.”          

---

The party that left for the haven of the trolls included just about everyone in the castle. The urge to meet Kristoff’s family again or for the first time drew many into a column marching their way into the mountains. He wasn’t sure how thrilled the trolls would be, but he planned to go into the grotto first and see what Pabbie and Bulda thought. Adelbert had been bundled up and lain in a cart that Hans’ horse and another pulled. The chaos in the library the day before had ended when he’d explained to several confused people that he was raised by trolls, and that some things were in their power to fix. Maybe Adelbert’s gut wound was one of those things. Privately, he told Anna that he wasn’t sure they had time left to mend the prince. A smell was present whenever Kristoff got close.

          Bulda would never forgive him for visiting without his son, so Agnar was neatly nestled in a sling that he had volunteered to wear. Anna was riding on Sven beside them, looking very glad not to be hiking. The procession took a few hours, more time than it would have taken just him in his sled. There was a part of him that had started to feel cooped up, so he was glad for the jaunt, even if it was at a snail’s pace. At the entrance to the grotto, he and Anna left the mass.

          “Kristoff’s home!” a chorus rang out, familiar in every way but that the trolls didn’t hang off him while he had Agnar. There were a dozen questions about the baby directed at both himself and Anna, which they tried to answer in rapid succession. All the excitement had Agnar wiggling in frustration, so Kristoff took him out of the sling and held him facing his family. The coos and compliments rained down on the trio.

          Pabbie and Bulda finally pushed their way through the throng and Kristoff knelt to get Agnar close to them.

          “He has your eyes,” Bulda gushed, speaking to Anna, “but look! His little face looks just like yours, Kristoff!”

          Agnar smiled a toothless grin at his troll grandmother. The entirety of the troll congregation was lost in joy for several moments. In all the celebrations, he had lost track of why they had really ventured up the mountain.

          “Pabbie,” Elsa called, interrupting only sheepishly. “May I speak with you?”

          The trolls paid her little mind other than the chieftain, who let the Queen pull him aside. Bulda caught the face he must have been making and asked, “Is something the matter, dear?”

          Kristoff took the time to explain nearly everything that had been happening in the castle lately. Anna chimed in when she thought something important had been left out. A troubled look grew on her stone face, but Bulda waited to speak until Kristoff was done.

          “War,” she said, “I worry about you all. If it gets dangerous again, leave and come here.”

          “We have guests, everyone!” Pabbie shouted to the trolls, who looked at the entrance with giant smiles. Hans led the castle occupants into the grotto, finding Elsa still near Pabbie and walking over. Kristoff wanted to know what he’d say about the other Westergaard men. Bulda and Anna followed him over.

          “—but that will have to wait for another time. I suppose I should follow you out to the carriage?”

          “Can you heal him?” Kristoff asked, settling Agnar back into the sling and holding his head while he bounced.

          “I’m not sure,” Pabbie replied, “I must see him first.”

---

The pain was unbearable. Adelbert wanted to thrash in the blankets they had tried to cushion him in, but every jostle of the ride had been like being stabbed again. He could tell he was dying. They stopped outside of the place Prince Kristoff had said the trolls lived, and even though they were standing still, he was glad he hadn’t eaten anything, lest he throw it up. Henrik had stayed with him, as had Jerrik, though his wife and daughter had followed the crowd into the grotto. Dorian’s widow was still at the castle. Hans, the Queen of Arendelle and her relatives, and a strange little statue walked into the slatted view he had out of the carriage.

          Words came out of the stone face, and Adelbert felt delirium couldn’t conjure up this strange vision. The creature waddled around the carriage and managed to climb up to be very close. Trepidation replaced pain at the forefront of his mind. “You’re a… troll?”

          “Yes, and you are a man… A very sick man,” replied the stoney figure.

          “Can you heal me?”

          “Perhaps. But first I must take a look.” He reached out a hand, but rather than moving the blankets to look at the wound on Adelbert’s torso, the troll placed it on his forehead. Memories played on command. All the bad things he had done—the death of Dorian and his widow’s vitriol, the agreement between himself, Cynabald and Gustav, the fighting, the imprisonment of Hans, the choices he wasn’t proud of, on and on. Under them, further back, the pain of a childhood he had been repressing. Great screaming matches overheard, a fist flying in the face of his mother. Her anger, her pain, and her cynicism. The curse, but before that other, much fouler things said in loathing. Sentences that hung in the air and crashed on him like waves—like open hands that stung his face and brought tears to his eyes.

          The troll recoiled, as if he had been hit, too.

          “You’ve been through much,” said the chieftain, dark eyes filled with pity, “There’s been enough hate to turn any man into a beast. If I heal you, you must leave the beast behind and learn to live as a man. Will you promise to try?”

          “I promise.”

          The hand that the troll reached out next did touch over the wound. For a moment, the world was a bright flash of light; it was enough to chase the shadow out of his heart, and all the pain flared, then it too was chased away. When the light died down, the troll was smiling. Adelbert rubbed a hand across his stomach several times, harder on each pass to be sure that the pain was gone. He was laughing, watching Jerrik laugh and jump, pulling on Henrik and sharing in his relief. Adelbert shook the hand of the troll, ready to jump out of the carriage. Guards that had been hanging back pointed crossbows straight for his heart, however, reminding him suddenly that he wasn’t free.

---

From Elsa’s side, Hans watched the troll chieftain heal the brother he had stabbed. Was it bitterness weighing on him? Did he want revenge? The guards who trained their bolts on Adelbert felt like they read his mind. He had arrived as a threat, and Hans still saw him as such. Jerrik celebrated until the laughter died on his lips. Turning to Elsa, the seafarer asked, “Is this truly necessary?”

          “We agreed to bring him here and see if the trolls could heal him. No one agreed to let him go,” Hans said. Adelbert sat back down heavily on the bench of the carriage.

          “Be that as it may,” the troll chieftain began, rocky head at the same height as Adelbert’s heart, “Perhaps the guards could lower their weapons. The healing I’ve done would only work on someone who was more good than bad.”

          Elsa nodded at the guards, who did as asked, though they watched the prisoner wearily. Hans couldn’t place the exact source, but there was an anger building that threatened to spill over. Walking away was the only thing that kept him from shouting. He went out of sight of anyone he could see and made fists until his knuckles hurt. With the toe of his boot, he dislodged a rock and launched it several feet away.

          “Hans?” Elsa’s voice broke his silence moments later. She looked at him with confusion. “Are you alright?”

          “Yes—” he hissed, then knowing if he was he wouldn’t be making her worry the way he was now, “No. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

          “Angry?” she guessed, venturing close enough to take his hand. If nothing else, he had her support, he knew.

          “He wasn’t the worst one, but to say he’s more good than bad seems like a load of horsesh—manure.”

          “I think Pabbie meant he wasn’t too far gone for a second chance,” Elsa tried.

          “It feels unfair,” he said, knowing that he was getting close to the point of shouting again, “Adelbert does far worse than I did, but he gets to be forgiven, given a second chance, and healed—”

          His breath caught in his throat. It clicked. “Do you think they could heal me?”

          “What?”

          “What Gustav had done. Do you think the trolls could heal me?”

          “I… I’m not sure.”

          “I’ve changed from who I was before. Maybe Pabbie—the little chief?—maybe he could give me back my—” He didn’t say, seeing Elsa’s face only look more troubled.

          “I think the trolls’ magic might not work like that,” Elsa admitted. 

          “Can we not ask?”

          “We can, but I… I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

          Hans nodded, but his hopes were already up. He had only bitterly accepted what had happened to him a year before. At no point had he thought that anyone might be capable of healing magic. That was his own oversight.

          Elsa found Pabbie in the grotto with Anna’s baby in his arms. She asked if there was somewhere they could speak alone. Pabbie handed Agnar off to another troll and took them to a one-room cave lit by glowing crystals. Hans and Elsa sat when bade upon a rock ledge. He had the air of a very wise being, like he had been chief for as long as the mountain had been there.

          “Is there something else I can do for you, Queen Elsa?”

          “I… uh… had a question for you, actually,” Hans said, when his wife cut a glance at him.

          “Oh. Well, then, ask away, King Hans.”

          The honorific felt so unfamiliar that he’d almost forgotten he carried it. “You were able to heal my brother…”

          “... Yes?” Pabbie prompted when the words had hung in the air for a moment.

          “Can you heal me too?”

          “Heal you?”

          “Yes… I was… I was made… lost…” Hans’ mouth had gone dry and his heartbeat was making his hands shake. “I was castrated.”

          “Oh,” Pabbie said, and the word was its own pronouncement. With a sympathetic expression, the chief dealt a blow to hope. “I can’t heal things without the… pieces… present.”

          Hans dropped his head in his hands, and Elsa reached over and put both hands on one of his arms. “I’m sorry, truly, to not be able to help you.”

          “I suppose there’s no magic that could heal me?”

          “That,” Pabbie said, “I’m not sure of. This world is full of surprises.”

---

Elsa didn’t know what to make of her emotions. Hans’ desire to be healed and made whole was what she should have expected, yet… was she afraid of what he would become after that, or was she afraid of what she might become? They had made love, but despite how much pleasure he seemed to experience, his member had not hardened. Her face blushed to remember how he had used his mouth, his fingers, and how it had all had brought in the waves of passion, crashing through her. There had been no danger of motherhood, and the uncomplicatedness had been free of remorse. To imagine him intact… even if she had imagined children with Sokollu… she wasn’t afraid, exactly… a sigh escaped her. They were getting ready to leave for the castle again, and she had been standing back next to Anna. Shifting Agnar in her arms, her sister looked at her astutely.

          “What’s wrong?” Anna probed, “And don’t say ‘nothing’. We both know I know you better than that.”

          To explain everything felt a little too candid. Instead, Elsa asked: “What’s it like to be pregnant?”

          “Well…” she began, almost smiling with a look at her son. “I mean, you were with me for most of it. You get sick, you can’t see your feet, there’s a lot of discomfort and, sometimes, someone is kicking your ribs from the inside. But, if you can get through the worst of it, you get the best gift imaginable…” Agnar cooed as though he agreed. Elsa smiled at him, but her stomach felt like it had moved to her throat.

          “Hans asked Pabbie…” Elsa said in a whisper, “If he could be healed.”

          Anna’s face might have made Elsa laugh if she hadn’t been so concerned. “Well? Did he?”

          “No—” Anna let out a breath and then covered her mouth out of embarassment. Elsa still didn’t feel like laughing. “But he didn’t say it was impossible… just that he couldn’t do it. I… I keep thinking that… that scares me?”

          “Oh…” A long silence, or one that felt incredibly stretched out followed. “Well… um… do you not want to…—?”

          Elsa felt her entire face blush. Anna caught on without having to have it said. She started to blush too. It was so awkward. “I thought you married him for politics,” Anna mused.

          “I did.” Elsa remembered very clearly how little she had enjoyed having to get married. The forced necessity had been so constricting that finding someone willing to be second fiddle even with the title of King felt impossible. Somehow, though, the pair of them had an understanding. What had been a convenient solution had morphed into where they were now. “But things happened and we… He is my husband. I didn’t think it was even possible to get this far. I didn’t think anyone would ever love me.”

          “I love you,” Anna said with earnestness. 

          “I love you, too,” Elsa responded, “But you know what I meant.”

          “I guess my question stands— do you not want to…?”

          “If we do, I might have a child, and then what happens to you and Agnar? You both are my heirs.”

          “We go back to being the Princess and her kid,” Anna said with a shrug. 

          “But I wanted to pass it down to you and him.”

          “We’ll both be very old when that happens, and we’ll all be here for you.”

          “What if I’m not a good mother? Hans told me about his parents. They’re all so damaged by what happened between their parents. I don’t think I could—”

          “Elsa,” Anna put a hand on her shoulder, “We’re all afraid of the future. Fear can’t rule your life anymore.”

           Fear will be your enemy. Pabbie himself had told her that. Some fear kept her alive, but to let it rule her life would be to not live life at all. Yet… what if that child had her powers? If she had it to do over again, Elsa would have told her father that they overcorrected. She had a gift, not a curse. Everyone knows about my powers , she thought, and aside from a few people, no one cares.

          “If you want to have kids, Elsa,” Anna said, “You should. You make a lot of sacrifices for others. Make a decision just for yourself, too.”

          “I don’t know… But I guess I have time to think about it. We should head back to the castle before nightfall.”

          “I think Kristoff wanted to stay overnight. Give Bulda more time with Agnar.”

---

Magdalena had seen the column of people move out that morning. The castle servants went about their work and she tried not to think about how close she had come to clawing Adelbert’s eyes from his face. The anger had turned to regret over her lack of self-control. Her pregnancy had her emotions all over the place, adding an edge to her grief that was as cutting to Adelbert as it was to herself. She knew her anger was justified, but to make such a scene in front of people who were still effectively strangers to her bothered her.

      Putting what she could from her mind, Magda went about the normal routine she had established living in the castle. Breakfast, reading, a walk before lunch, another walk after, another visit to the library… the hours dragged on. Perhaps she should go see the widow of the man who saved Prince Hans? But… did she want to spend the rest of the day crying? Dorian had died the same day. Unwilling to dwell, the Princess found herself walking through the castle idly. The artwork in the gallery took some time to appreciate. When she was in the throne room, she imagined a ball like those her family had held in her time at home. Maybe she would go home when the other princes were caught and tried.

      What would her son or daughter be like? What would it be like to raise them without Dorian?

      Magdalena wiped a few tears off her cheeks as she went to the chapel, convincing herself not to cry again. The chapel, silent and wooden, felt less cozy than she imagined the builders had envisioned. Her eyes on the cross, she found no comfort where she had always felt it before.

      “I don’t know if You care,” she said quietly to the shape, “but You took a man before his time. He was supposed to meet his child. Couldn’t You have waited until then, at least? Couldn’t he have held our baby?”

      She took a knee at the altar, hands pressed into prayer as she found herself crying again. “Please, God, just show me the way. I’m lost without Dorian. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without him…” Repeating the prayer several more times, Magda tried to hear an answer. When she dropped her head to the rail of the kneeler and wept, she felt no better than when she had started. Eventually, she ran out of tears. What did one do who was angry with God?

       Why must she face these trials?

      Rising and scoffing in self-derision, Magda stalked back out into the castle, deciding to wait for the party to return at the library. She was surprised to see Alda and Mel reading quietly on one of the sofas, Mel’s head on her mother’s lap. Of everything she had accepted as possible in a world that had never seemed magical to her, meeting two mermaids had to be the most surprising. Mel sat up when Magda walked in, looking unsure. Alda smiled at her sister-in-law, saying in a very kind voice, “I didn’t realize anyone else had stayed behind.”

      “If I never see Adlebert again, it would be too soon,” she replied in answer.

      “Understandably so. Well,... would you like to sit?”

      Magdalena chose an armchair across from the sofa and realized she was radiating so much discontent that Mel was wringing a section of her skirt in her hands. Magda covered her eyes with her hand, tender to the touch and soothed by the chill her hand had. “I’m sorry for scaring you, child,” she said.

      For a long moment, no one said anything. Mel finally broke the silence, “I don’t know my uncles, but I know what they’ve done was awful. I wish Uncle Dorian… was here, still… for you and for your child. It must be really painful to be around Un— Adelbert.”

      Melpomeni was earnest as she spoke to her hands, and Magda felt close to crying all over again. Alda had put her hand on her daughter’s arm, sharing a look before turning their ocean gazes to Magdalena. She was tempted to weep and cling to the pair. The thought made her embarrassed—how childish would she look as a grown woman sobbing uncontrollably before them? Done with crying, Magda decided to move on from the subject.

      “Enough about me. Do you mind if we talk about you two and Atlantica?”

      “Ask me anything, Aunt Magdalena,” Mel agreed with no small amount of enthusiasm. She liked the feeling of being called Aunt Magdalena.

---

Quietly, a small boat with six figures dressed in all black rowed to the side of the Sebastiaen . The men climbed up the side with mostly practiced ease, only one being hesitant in every movement. Cynebald was the last to climb over the rail and drop into a crouch on the deck, nearly blind in the darkness. Gustav led the four men he handpicked for the mission and his brother across the ship to the tail, breaking into the captain’s cabin in search of Jerrik.

       Where is he? Cynebald wondered angrily when their target was nowhere to be found. In Arendelle with that worm and bitch, likely.

      In whispers, the men discussed what to do next. They could kill everyone on board and set the ship aflame, crashing it into the harbor and taking advantage of the chaos to infiltrate the castle. Once inside, they might kill all the royals they found except Hans, who would beg for death when they took the debt he owed out of his flesh. The witch queen would die, but maybe not before also regretting meddling in their affairs. It would be difficult to get the ship underway again with just six men, however. Perhaps, they should skip setting it alight and take their dingy to shore, steal inside, and start their objective without the chaos. They risked apprehension by the guards that way.

      Gustav decided: “We take the ship hostage and ransom them for Henrik and Hans. We’ll kill Henrik before we leave and take Hans with us.”

      “How do we take a ship hostage?” Cynebald asked.

      “These men are like a family. We just find the most loved crew member and threaten to cut his throat if they won’t comply. The rest can go in the galleys until we have our brothers.”

      “Probably Grimsby.”

      “Probably.”

      With a plan in place, Gustav and Cynebald began their hunt.

Chapter Text

Dawn was still hours off when a castle guard caught sight of a torch waving on the deck of the Sebastiaen as if to signal to the shore. Hurriedly, the guard relayed what he’d seen to his captain, who ordered the barracks to mobilize and the guard to wake Kai and have him get Prince Jerrik. Kai answered his door alarmed, already asking what was happening. The guard explained and the butler nodded, bidding the other return to the captain while he dressed and fetched the Prince.

      “Prince Jerrik,” Kai said as he knocked firmly, “My apologies to wake you. It seems something is happening on your ship.”

      Jerrik wrenched open the door naked to his waist, carrying a shirt in hand and looking as though he had heard Kai. The butler swung out of his way as he began to dash down the hall, shoeless and throwing the shirt over his head as he went. Alda appeared in the doorway to watch her husband disappear around the corner and look at Kai for an answer. He explained.

      Like her husband, Alda didn’t bother to wait to act. Melpomeni was told to stay in the room as her mother hurried away in naught but a nightgown. Kai wasn’t sure what to do as he looked at the teen. She looked annoyed to have to stay behind, but she did as asked. Softly, she shut the door. The butler debated whether or not to wake anyone else. In two hours or so, they’d probably be up, anyway. He decided to go see if the captain had any suggestions.

---

Jerrik realized he had neglected to throw on a pair of boots when his feet made contact with the cold stone courtyard and nearly shot out from under him. He steadied himself, tried to remember how to get to the garrison, couldn’t, and just ran for a gate, instead. Before he made it out, he heard Alda’s voice call his name.

      Waiting for her, a guard ran along the wall above and stopped above. “Prince Jerrick!”

      Alda stopped at his side as he looked to the guard.

      “We used a spyglass. Several men have one of yours on the deck of the Sebastiaen . We think they’ve taken the ship. The old man looks like he’s been beaten. Their faces are covered.”

      “Grimsby,” he guessed, Alda’s hand jumping to her mouth in shocked concern.

      “Are there men ready to go to the docks with me?” Jerrick asked the guard.

      “Yes! We’re gathered over there.” The guard pointed the direction and both Alda and Jerrik ran. Obscured by the castle walls, two dozen men waited with torches for the couple. The captain seemed surprised by the state of undress they were in, but neither commented nor waited to give the order to move out. Jogging along with the column, Jerrik felt anger rising in his chest. How dare they? Thirteen years of peace with his wife and daughter and two days after picking a side, his younger brothers capture his ship. It had to be them. No one else had reason to ransom the Sebastiaen and the crew, and no one else knew Grimsby’s importance to him. The old man was more like a father to him than Wolter had been.

      They were at the docks in a hurry. Jerrik wondered who had ordered the ship back into the harbor. By the torchlight, they couldn’t see more than the side of the Sebastiaen and the waves between them.

      “Cynebald! Gustav! I’m here! Let Grimsby go and we can talk!”

      “Jerrik,” Alda said quietly beside him, “I’m going for a swim.”

      Like a ghost, she stole down the stairs to the water’s edge. He didn’t need to watch her to know that she dove into the water without hesitation and left naught but a ripple in her wake. If the sun shone on her scales, they’d be a brilliant seafoam green, but in the darkness, she was nearly invisible. They’d been through enough that he knew she’d go spy on what was happening on deck and no one would be the wiser.

      “Get a boat and row over, yourself!” A voice from the ship replied. Jerrik fought the urge to dive into the water himself. Soldiers pointed at a dingy. The captain and four men joined him when he shoved off from shore. They rowed like they were under the whip of the bosun. When Jerrik caught the rope ladder someone had shoved over the side, he clambered up it like a much younger man. Old Grimsby was curled into a ball at the feet of someone who held a crossbow at his neck. Just before he could dash over and save his mentor, he felt the barrel of a gun touch his temple.

      “You bastard,” Jerrik growled. The figure over Grimsby barked out a harsh laugh. The other men had been stopped on the ladder by figures that spawned from the shadows, all pointing either crossbows or guns at them.

      “Come now, brother. If anyone in our family is a bastard, it’s you.” Cynebald’s voice was at the rail.

      “Think about it… Mother hated Father by the time Adelbert and Aleksander were born. You look the least like us. Black hair and blue eyes. Surely that’s why he kept her pregnant for another nine sons.” Gustav was the one over Grimsby.

      “What the hell are you talking about?!” Jerrik could almost imagine they were right. The call of the sea had been so easy to give into because he felt so little connection to the Southern Isles. Nearly shaking his head to clear the thoughts, Jerrik decided that he was being baited into something that didn’t matter. “Get away from Grimsby and off my ship!”

      “Come now, Jerrik. You think we stopped with Grimsby?”

      “There’s six of you. What could you have done?” Jerrik hissed. 

      “We rigged your powder magazine, and all we need is to shoot the lamp over it to take us all to Hades.”

       That’d do it.

      “What do you want?” ground out past his clenched teeth.

      “Not much…” Gustav answered, blasé, “Just bring us Henrik, Dorian’s whore, the witch-queen, and that maggot who married her. We’ll leave when we have them. Oh, and give up your ‘claim’ to the throne.”

      Jerrik thought he heard a gasp on the far side of the Sebastiaen . Gustav turned to see the origin of the noise, although Jerrik knew his wife had probably already jumped to the safety of the water, and the gun left his temple for just a second.

      Opportunities like this were fleeting. He sprung forward, trying to force Gustav to the deck. He did catch Gustav around the middle but was hit by a crossbow bolt in his shoulder while a bullet ripped through his side just before. Howling in pain and anger, Jerrik used his good arm to punch Gustav in the face thrice. Roughly, hands pulled him away, tossing him back to lie in a panting heap on the wooden deck. Well, shit , Jerrik thought .

---

Alda climbed back onto the dock with shaking hands. Her tail transformed back into legs as she left the water—a wedding gift from her father—and she stood. The water-logged nightgown clung to her, red hair stuck to her face and neck. Soldiers jumped in fright when she ran back up the stairs. “I have to return to the castle now and get the Queen and Jerrik’s brothers.”

      A look was exchanged between some of the soldiers, but one of the younger men nodded and waved a hand for her to follow him. She had no time to worry about how sheer the nightgown had to be and just hoped the Arendelle soldiers were more preoccupied with the problems before them. Besides, she had weapons at her disposal if she needed to defend herself: talons and teeth every merfolk could manifest when provoked. A few moments later, she crossed back through the gate to the castle.

      The soldier hustled through a door, then another, leading her into one of the kitchens and up into one of the halls. A sleepy servant screamed when they nearly bowled her over. A flurry of activity would begin soon. As long as Queen Elsa making her way down to the docks was part of it, Alda was fine.

      “Here,” the young man indicated a set of doors. Forgetting manners, Alda wrenched them open and ran into an office.

      “Queen Elsa! Hans!” Bursting through another set of doors, she ducked a lance of ice by dropping to the floor.

      “Sorry!” both women said in unison. Hans was off the bed and bending to help Alda to her feet in a flash. “You startled us,” he said, wiping his hands on his shirt when he realized they were wet. At least her gown wasn’t sticking to her so much after the run, but she had to pull at the middle to let the hem drop back to where it should be.

      “The Sebastiaen has been captured,” she said after gulping down air. The couple exchanged a look. “It’s Gustav and Cynebald. They’re using Grimsby and the crew to try to get you two, Henrik and Magdalena. Before I made it back to shore, I think I heard a gunshot. Jerrik is in trouble— please help us. I know they’re dangerous, but… please?”

      Elsa took up Alda’s hands, giving a one-word answer that let all the tension out of her body: “Absolutely.”

      “One way or another, this must end between us and my brothers,” Hans said. He put on boots and a coat, handed Elsa her dressing gown, and gave Alda a spare. Together, the three ran out of the Queen’s quarters and through the castle.

      “Is Mel safe?” Elsa asked before they left.

      “She should still be in our room, so I think so.”

      Hopefully, her daughter would listen to her and stay in place. Alda had her suspicions that this time, Mel would guess at the danger they were in and be unable to wait in the wings. Just two years before, she had almost lost Melpomeni to the schemes of the sea witch Morgaine. Using Alda’s overprotectiveness to drive a wedge between them, Morgaine captured Mel when she swam away from home, ransomed the girl for her grandfather’s powers much like her sister had tried to do, and nearly succeeded in becoming the ruler of the seven seas. Morgaine’s defeat was assured when Mel broke out of her prison, leaving the King able to destroy the witch with no repercussions. Alda wouldn’t treat Mel like a helpless child ever again, so trust grew again between them.

      Only half paying attention to running, the queen and king led her back to the docks. The soldiers were still gathered, watching the ship warily, unable to ferry everyone to back up the men still held hostage on the side of the Sebastiaen .

      Elsa threw her power at the water, freezing almost all of the harbor in an instant.

      “Wait!” Alda yelled belatedly. The queen looked surprised and stopped the spread of the ice. “I can help more if I can get in the water. Can you leave me a path from the docks to the ship?”

      “Yes,” she said. In a moment, a dark path carved itself through the ice. Leaving the dressing gown behind, she went to the water again and dove in. Despite the darkness, the magic of the merfolk gave her clear vision in the depths. Swimming with powerful kicks of her tail, she was at the ship in just a moment, clawing her way up from the waterline until she could see her husband and Grimsby. A shriek escaped her.

      “Jerrik!” Alda cried, scrambling over the railing to run across the deck to her husband. He’d gone pale, bleeding from a wound in his side. Before she could touch him, strong arms clamped down around her middle and pinned her against a man who growled “And who are you?” into her ear.

      “Get off me!” she screamed, struggling but not able to free her arms to slash at him. Her captor had such a grip on her that she couldn’t even bend her elbows.

      “Stop struggling or we’ll put another hole in him,” said the man. She squirmed once more but held still. Jerrik’s eyes were open, his head turned just enough to see her. “Gustav… let her go… she’s got nothing to do with this.”

      “Nothing to do with this? Is she your lover? She seems to care about you like you are,” said Gustav.

      “My wife,” Jerrik said. His voice was weak, scaring her more than the man holding her. Trying to kick Gustav’s legs earned her nothing more than a tighter hold, his clasped fists pressing hard enough to bring bile to her mouth. Her arms might break if he squeezed any harder.

      “Your wife?” the man asked, venom in his voice. “Did you marry your ship’s whore?”

      Jerrik tried to sit up with a growl but collapsed back, unable to move. “Let me go,” Alda sobbed, feeling like she was going to watch her husband die right there. Elsa and Hans should be to the ship soon. She could jump into the ocean with Jerrik and someone could heal him. All she had to do was get to the water.

      “They’re coming!” came a warning from one of the men at the railing.

---

Elsa led the company of soldiers across the ice with Hans right behind her. The Sebastiaen was moored by her power, the thick sheet of ice holding steady all but the far side from the docks for Alda. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. When they were in range, a crossbow was fired at her. She stopped it easily, halting the retinue of guards behind a shield made in a moment.

      “We have Jerrik and the woman he claims as his wife. If you want them back, you’ll have to come negotiate with us directly, ‘Queen’ of Arendelle!” The voice was derisive. “You’ll want to make up your mind quickly. Jerrik appears to be bleeding out.”

      “Your Majesty,” The captain of the soldiers said on the rope ladder some twenty feet away, “We have the numbers. We can overrun them.”

      “We’ll kill our hostages before you even come up this ladder. The powder magazine has been rigged to blow. We’ll kill everyone on this ship and off it. Don’t doubt us, witch. You may have had your way in the Southern Isles, but not this time.”

      Hans held his hand out to Elsa, expression grim and determined in the torchlight.

      “Captain, climb down. I will treat with these men,” she said, sounding braver than she felt. She was glad he didn’t argue. The men backed behind the shield of ice with their hands up. So the men on the ship had more than one weapon. Two male voices had spoken, sounding so similar that they could be mistaken for a single man, but she guessed there were several more with them. Steeling her resolve, she moved from safety into the open. No one fired.

      Carefully, she made a staircase of ice up to the deck of the ship, unwilling to climb the rope ladder and risk being seized while her hands were occupied. Walking forward slowly, waiting for the trap that she was certain would be sprung at any second, Elsa held in a gasp when she could see what was happening. Hans, just behind her, muttered a curse.

      “We’re men of our word,” said the man holding Alda so tightly she looked ready to be sick. Gustav, she surmised.

      “You’re not men at all,” Hans said, “You’re monsters.”

      “That’s rich coming from you,” Cynebald laughed, “You’ve always been a beast. How funny you married a demon.”

      “What do you want?!” Elsa yelled, covering every surface in a fine layer of frost.

      Gustav tutted at her, “Temper, temper, witch. We want the same thing as last time: Hans comes back with us so we can finish what we were doing together. Did you bring Henrik down with you? I hope so. It’d be a shame if Jerrik died waiting for him. I wanted to send them off together, after all.”

      Alda slammed her heel into Gustav’s boot. The blow didn’t do enough to force her freedom, but she used momentum to try to jump out of his arms. It was like watching someone try to hold onto a cat. Her tossing head finally caught her captor in the nose. He dropped the mermaid with a yowl. Alda ran to her husband, dropping over him in a protective stance. Elsa heard the sound of weapons cocking.

      “I’ll kill you for that, bitch!” Gustav screamed, a flash of metal their only warning before he collected his crossbow off the planks and aimed it at Alda. Reflexively, a new ice barrier formed between Alda and her attacker. The bolt bounced off the ice and skittered to a stop at Elsa’s feet. Gustav’s rage was a howl, terrible fury brandishing a long knife from his hip and pouncing on the old man who had been unmoving this whole time. He stabbed the figure, earning a screamed: “No!” from Alda.

       Hans ran at the pair, grappling Gustav in an attempt to save Grimsby. Blood bloomed across the right arm of the coat Hans wore. “BLOW THE SHIP!” Gustav roared at Cynebald.

      “NO!” Elsa yelled, not sure where the powder magazine was or how to stop it’s lighting. Like a terrible dance, she watched her husband struggle against his brother. Alda had drug Jerrik out of the reach of the torchlight. Grimsby didn’t move. Someone shoved her hard on the stairs she’d made and as she went airborne over the railing and the balustrade, the pre-dawn darkness came alive with light and sound.

      The last thing she knew was that the Sebastiaen exploded and a piece caught her mid-air.

---

Hans punched Gustav’s jaw just after he ordered the destruction of the ship, but he didn’t free himself from his brother’s grip. They were tipping  over the railing when the blast threw them to the ocean. His ears were ringing in the water, closing tightly around him and reminding him he had survived being drowned before. Gustav was in the water, too, a vice-like grip on Hans’ arm the only way Hans could tell where he was. When they surfaced, they struggled in the waves, trading blows. The knife was gone, so fists and feet kicked and punched and pushed and pulled up and down. Get free , his mind screamed, Get free before he drags you under!  

      He wasn’t as strong as he had been before his first trip to Arendelle. The lost muscle mass had never returned. Gustav was a year older and had never been starved or any of the other punishments he’d helped heap on Hans. His advantage won out over Hans’ desperate survival instincts. Two, three, four solid punches to Hans’ head left his dazed and pliant in the water. Weighed by wet clothes and boots, Gustav struggled to pull his trophy in his wake. Flaming pieces of the Sebastiaen lit his way back to the small boat he had arrived in.

      Hans could feel the effort the other man put into getting him in the boat, but he couldn’t struggle against it. Rope was wound around his wrists tightly, Gustav shoving him roughly to the bottom between the plank seats. Pain, massively and inescapably present, rang throughout his body but particularly his head. The urge to vomit produced only bile in his throat, his last meal already digested. They were moving through the harbor, he thought, but it could have just been the feeling in his head.

       Jump into the water , he willed himself. Gustav had promised pain, and Hans knew he would deliver. Moving was impossible— the pain was worse when he tried. Hopefully, he’d have a chance to escape before they left this boat. There’d be no chance once Gustav had him locked away again. Please, he prayed, please let me get away… or die quickly if I can’t.

---

Anna woke to the sound of the Sebastiaen exploding, though they didn’t know what it was when it startled them from sleep. Bulda, Kristoff, and a crying Agnar were all heading down the trail to Arendelle from the grotto with a contingent of trolls before long. The light of dawn showed the carnage in the harbor when it came into view. Pieces of the ship still floated in the water. Ice lined the edge of the docks, broken from the explosion. Anna’s heart sank. Elsa had been there. The remnants of her magic…

      Panic gripped her. “Can I take Sven and go?” Anna asked Kristoff, handing Agnar over without waiting for a confirmation.

      Sven sped down through the town and past the castle bridge to the docks like a bullet.

      “Where is the Queen?!” she screamed when she slid from Sven’s back to take the nearest stairs two at a time. “Where is my sister?!”

      “Princess Anna!” Henrik yelled from across the ice, “Here!”

      The new king stood beside of Elsa, who sat on a crate someone had fetched, bent with her head in her hands. Anna stopped just shy of bowling Elsa over on ice, bending to try to assess what might be injured. Elsa was covered in cuts, most of which hadn’t continued to bleed, but a few were still staining her dressing gown. Blood had run down her face from a cut on her forehead. “What happened?”

      “Gustav and Cynebald took the Sebastiaen hostage,” Henrik said quickly.

      “I couldn’t stop him,” Elsa said, lifting her head out of her hands. She looked miserable, squinting in the low light. “Cynebald blew the ship and I don’t know what happened to Hans.”

      “Are there any survivors?” Anna asked, realizing a tent had been pitched on the dock.

      “A few, but they aren’t likely to make it. They’ve been burned so badly we don’t know who they are,” Henrik said.

      Elsa dry-heaved at her feet. “Did they check you? Are you going to be okay?” Anna asked.

      “A broken rib or two—they’re not sure. My head hurts, but they think I’m just concussed. I’m waiting for Mel to come back.”

      “Mel?” Anna asked, belatedly remembering the teenage mermaid and her parents. “Jerrik and Alda?”

      “I haven’t seen them since just before the ship exploded. Jerrik was wounded before Alda came to get us and he wasn’t doing well. Alda probably took him somewhere. Mel showed up when I came-to. She pulled a few people out of the water before she said she would go look for her parents and see if she saw Hans or Gustav. That was a while ago. If Gustav has Hans, I have to go get him back.”

      “You can’t go anywhere like this,” Anna insisted, bullish. Elsa leveled her with a look that sent a chill down her spine.

      “If I wait, Gustav will start sending pieces of Hans back to taunt me.”

      Another chill, but with a twinge of nausea at the thought. Based on what she knew about the man, that was true.

      Kristoff, Agnar, and Bulda arrived after another ten minutes. Elsa barely moved, confirming Anna’s opinion that her sister was too unwell to be running after anyone. The trolls who had followed their human family down spoke together for a moment and then decided to see if they could help the wounded in the tent. Anna followed Kristoff inside, taking Agnar and watching the trolls form a circle. Henrik had followed them, silent and grim. With voices that managed to echo without stone walls, the trolls began to sing. It was different from the songs she had heard before: the humming reverberations bounced all around the tent and felt like they went through her body. Where some of the casualties had been moaning in pain before, the noise seemed to calm the men. Bulda sang in a language without words. Crystals glowed in many colors, and the trolls raised their arms.

      A flash of multi-colored light filled the tent and she felt blind for a moment. When Anna could see again, several of the men on cots were sitting up, pulling bandages off their healing faces.

      So, it wasn’t just Pabbie.

---

Hans was only vaguely aware of being hoisted up out of the boat and onto the deck of another ship. Sunlight burned in his brain whenever he tried to open his eyes. The nausea hadn’t abated. He wasn’t sure if that was his wounds or the certainty that he had a finite amount of time before the torture started again. Gustav and his men left him lying in a heap off to the side, walking around him and setting the ship sail.

      “What do you want done with this?” someone asked while tapping him with their boot. He remembered how his brothers treated him as less than human—it would make it easier for their cretins to harm him if he wasn’t a person. He had to try to find anyone willing to get him off the ship. Grabbing the boot, Hans pried his eyes open and tried to look up at the owner. Nothing in his vision was clear, and light bounced off things like a kaleidoscope.

      “I’m Hans,” he rasped, jaw feeling like a ten-pound weight, “Please, help me.”

      They shook him off like he was filth they had stepped in, a voice mocking in a high-pitched tone what he had said. The next voice he heard was Gustav’s.

      “No one is coming to help you. No one cares about a piece of garbage like you. I’ve got you all to myself, maggot.”

      The hand that closed a fist around Hans’ hair pulled hard. Starbursts blazed flames all through his head. The pain was so intense that he passed out.

---

Elsa’s knee bounced as she held her head, knowing Anna had followed Kristoff and Bulda into the medical tent. She knew she needed to go after Gustav and Hans, too. Anna would have to forgive her for leaving without her blessing, but Elsa could just see waiting around for a week for one of her husband’s hands to arrive in a box. The harbor was impassable, but she might make it to another ship nearby if there was one. She made a crutch from ice and carefully stood, hissing out a breath as her chest and head protested. At the edge of her ice, she made a canoe that was just big enough for herself and turned her crutch into an oar.

      “Wait!” came a voice from the water. Elsa jerked in surprise and muffled a cry from the pain. Mel had returned; the teen swam over to the edge of the ice and bobbed in the water as she spoke.

       “My mother and father are safe. I found Uncle Hans on a little boat and watched it until Gustav put him on a ship. It’s heading south. The name was Utrecht . I can take you there, if you’re ready.”

      “How?” Elsa asked, looking at her canoe and her niece.

      “Make a sail,” Mel said, “You can make wind, too, right?”

      “Sort of,” she said, “It’s more… it doesn’t matter. I should be able to do it. Will you be okay to sit on ice or…?”

      “I’ll grab a few planks.”

      They were underway in a couple of moments, Mel at the front, Elsa blowing flurries into the sail she had made. She could hear a voice calling from the shore but didn’t dare to look, knowing it would be Anna desperate for her to come back.

      Mel pointed the way, literally. Elsa followed Mel’s directions and once they had left the harbor, they made good time across the waves. If not for needing to be present in what she was doing, Elsa was certain she would be worrying just as deeply as she had since she had woken up on the ice. How fast would Gustav be about resuming Hans’ torture? She couldn’t think more about that. Just look for the Utrecht .

      “There!” Mel yelled, pointing at a dot on the ocean. They turned toward it and sped along even faster. The canoe wasn’t made for this, but she hoped it would hold together. Attempting to be less conspicuous on their final approach, Elsa stopped her flurry and dissipated the mast and sail. Mel jumped in the water after a nod at Elsa and she could only hope that it meant she would be around if Elsa needed help. The canoe glided in the last few feet to the side of the Utrecht . 

      How to climb aboard without having to battle whoever caught her? The gunports would give her access to the lower decks. She could sneak around until she found Hans, hopefully escaping detection before she found him. The best she could hope for was making it on and off without notice. Carefully, she made a netting of ice up to the nearest gunport, connecting it to her canoe, feeling the other ship start to drag it along. Elsa made a ladder next, anchored to the hull by the water she froze in the planks. It was as matte as she could muster, hoping that she wouldn’t slip on the rungs. Just trying to step up onto it made her fight a cry of pain from her broken ribs. With as deep of a breath as she could take, Elsa forced herself to climb.

      It took an agonizing eternity to make it up to the gunport and pull herself through the small opening beside the cannon there. She dropped into a crouch and held her side until the pain had stopped stealing her breath. Tears had frozen at the corner of her eyes. If she couldn’t keep her powers from manifesting, she’d be discovered; steeling her focus, Elsa crept along the deck. Several times she had to duck and shift past cannons and crates to avoid being seen by men walking along, teeth nearly biting through her tongue to keep her breath and pain quiet.

       The ship was much like the Svalbard had been— the layout familiar after days on board the other. She found stairs down to a lower deck and crept in the shadows, looking for bars or a locked door. Her head pounded with the sound of her heartbeat, a cacophony in the creaking bowels of the Utrecht . Finally, she found a locked door. She didn’t need finesse to get past it, freezing it so suddenly that the wood splintered and shifted the door from the frame. It thawed under her power just as fast, letting her walk into the storeroom.

      Elsa stopped, seeing a figure but not processing what she was seeing.

      Brutally shorn to the scalp in places, an auburn-haired man knelt with his head bowed and one hand protected by the other.

      “Hans?” she asked, startling her husband. He looked up, one eye swollen shut and the other bloodied even through the sclera.

      “Elsa? Are you… really here?” his voice shook.

      “Yes,” she answered, dropping to her knees to put her arms around Hans. “I’m here. I’m here to take you home. Are you hurt?”

      To answer, he showed his right hand. He’d been holding a rag to the space where his ring and pinky finger should have been. Elsa’s stomach hit her toes, followed by a frightened rage. Between the hack job someone did on his hair and the fact that Gustav had the time to cut two fingers off already— despite how fast she had followed after them— Elsa knew they had to get off the ship quickly. “Can you stand?”

      “I’ll try,” he said, letting her put his arm over her shoulders and standing shakily when she did.

      “Of course you would show up,” Gustav’s voice came from the doorway. Fear lanced through Elsa colder than any ice had ever managed. Hans’ shaking doubled, but he stayed on his feet.

      “Get out of our way, you wretch,” he growled at his brother. Hans was right to push back. They had the advantage with her powers; no one could fight her ice.

      “You know, I’ve always hated that defiant streak in you,” Gustav slid a knife from its sheath on his belt. His features, so like Hans’, twisted menacingly until the man taking a step toward them was more like a demon. “I thought cutting off your balls might have broken that,” he continued, “but I guess I should’ve finished the job. You’ll watch me—”

      Elsa blasted the monster through the doorway into the hall before he finished whatever threat he was making. She was disgusted, stepping on his stomach for good measure as she and Hans fled the storeroom. They didn’t have long before he started screaming for the crew to stop them. A man caught them on the stairs. She froze him to the wall of the ship. Hans took the knife from the man’s belt as they passed, hobbling up to the deck with the gunports. 

      Gustav hadn’t been delayed for long. Elsa didn’t realize he was behind them until Gustav grabbed a fistful of her hair and thrown her down to the deck, slashing his knife at his brother. Hans cried out in pain, twisted around fast enough to stop the next strike with his arm, and slashed back.

      Blood dripped from the knife stuck in Hans’ arm. Her whole body hurt. This couldn’t go on. Two men were reaching for her. 

      The concussion of ice blasting all across the deck knocked everyone but Hans to the floorboards. Overtaking her fear and pain, anger coursed through her. Gustav had backed her into a corner by threatening her life and torturing Hans.

      “This ends now,” Elsa declared.

      “It’ll never be over while I’m alive. You won’t ever be safe. I’ll see to it,” Gustav promised, on his feet using a cannon covered in ice. He took a step toward Hans, malice radiating off him in waves. “You’ll beg me to stop. To kill you. I won’t. I’ll keep cutting things away a piece at a time until you aren’t human. You thought the prison was bad. Just wait, Hans. This time, whatever’s left will never recover. Those fingers were just the beginning—”

      Gustav’s feet were anchored to the floor by ice. Elsa sent the permafrost traveling slowly up his legs. He howled in pain, jerking, twisting, tearing, and falling over.

      Blood flowed from calves that were no longer connected to his feet. The anger Elsa felt was replaced with horror.

      The image of Anna, frozen solid on the fjord had been in her mind. Wolter’s dead body, preserved by her magic… This was entirely different. Gustav was yelling and crying, writhing and cursing her.

      “Monstrous bitch! Agh! Someone kill her! My legs!” No one moved even an inch closer to Elsa and Hans. The pool of blood expanded on the ice, Gustav slowing his movements as he bled out. Elsa reached out, receiving a, “Don’t touch me! Go to hell!”

      To the bitter end, the worst of the Westergaard brothers spat insults and obscenities, dying with a final choked “ bitch .”

---

Hans couldn’t muster a shred of sympathy as Gustav died.

      The death was gruesome. He and Elsa watched the light leave his tormentor’s eyes and she crawled away to vomit on the deck. There was a finality in the sight of the carnage that Hans felt satisfied by. No one would hurt them now.

      “We should go,” he said, helping her stand. The men who had seen what happened cowered as Hans and Elsa passed. It would’ve been helpful if everyone on the ship had witnessed the capabilities of Elsa’s powers, but as it was, she just pushed them behind walls of ice if they ran at her. Neither of them were doing particularly well as they made it to the top deck—his arm and hand hurt just as much as his head—but Elsa was shaking all over. Expressionless, she moved to make a tunnel from the stairs to the railing. Without ever having seen it on his own face, he knew she was spiraling in dark thoughts far, far away from the present. “Elsa,” he said, “You’re alright. We’re going to be okay. Come back to me. I’m here.”

      She lifted her gaze off the planks. Tears fell down her cheeks in rivulets. He couldn’t move his arms well, or he would have wiped away one of the streams. Instead, he squeezed her closer under his arm. “Let’s get off this ship. We can talk more when we’re alone.”

      They looked over the side of the ship. There was no way for him to climb down any ladder.

      “We need the rowboat,” Elsa said flatly. Hans watched her break the tunnel in one direction, pin three sailors to the deck, and aim a spike at the heads of two other men before they could even think to reach for a weapon.

      “Put us in the rowboat and I won’t kill you,” Elsa told them. The men nodded with their hands up.

      In just a few moments, the men did as bade. Elsa and Hans were off the ship, cast adrift. Whatever force had been keeping him upright before was waning; he collapsed into the spaces between seats, desperately wishing he could pull the knife from his arm. The rowboat bobbed in the water while Elsa tried to keep him awake. The pull of unconscious oblivion was stronger than her voice and her cool hands on his neck, and for a time, he knew nothing.

      When Hans awoke again, Elsa was speaking to Melpomeni. Several more unfamiliar faces surrounded the boat, male and female. Merfolk, he guessed.

      “— said your parents were okay,” his wife was saying, “Jerrik was worse off than Hans. Can your people heal Hans?”

      “That’s why we’re here,” Mel said. She listed the rowboat by pushing down on her hold on the side, looking over him with no small amount of concern. “Uncle Hans, are you awake?”

      It must have been difficult to tell with his swollen eye, squinting out the other. “Yes… You said Jerrik is better?”

      “We have healers in the fathoms below. Mother got him to one of them before he was too far gone. We’d better get you to them soon, too.”

      “Queen Elsa needs to be healed, too,” he said, remembering how pained she had seemed before Gustav found her with him in the storeroom. He could see her expression at the other end of the rowboat, “I won’t go unless you do.”

      “Fine,” she told him after a moment, probably just as keen as he was to stop feeling so miserable physically. To Mel, she asked, “How do we go to them?”

      “Swim,” she said, and while she didn’t add obviously it seemed to echo behind her answer anyway, “We’ll take you. You… you both have to get the ‘gift’, though.”

      “The ‘gift’?” Elsa asked.

       “Merfolk can let those from the surface breathe underwater for a time… but you have to kiss one of us.”

      “Ah,” was her response. Knowing his wife, she was going to overthink the same way his niece was. “I’m not going without you.” Hans said to remind her, shifting uncomfortably for good measure.

      “You have to be in the water, first,” Mel said when Elsa nodded at no one in particular.

      Carefully, both husband and wife eased out of the boat and into the sea. Putting both his hand and arm in the salt water forced a hiss through his teeth. It would be bad to pass out before he managed to get the gift. He was barely treading water when one of the mermaids swam over to him, steadying his bobbing with both hands on his sides.

       “Are you ready?” she asked. He nodded. Softly, she said, “Take a deep breath.”

      When he had, she pulled him fully underwater, pressing her lips to his. Hans was surprised when she blew a breath forcefully into him, and even more so when the breath felt like a static shot all over his body. He could breathe, he found, when she pulled away. The water in his lungs might have been air. Just across the bottom of the boat, he saw the same bemusement on his wife’s face as a merman pulled back from her. It was a guess, but Hans thought that there was no way for him to speak, even if he could breathe. The mermaid who had given him the “gift” put her arm around his middle and started to swim. He hadn’t noticed how cold his head was until they started moving through the water. He wondered how bad it looked.

      The movement through the water made his eyes sting, so for most of their journey, he kept them closed. It took maybe twenty minutes to get where they were going: a cave. Glowing algae was the only light in the darkness, difficult for human eyes to see by, but not so for the merfolk. He was guided to a spot in the middle and left to float by the mermaid who had been his ferry. Alda appeared out of the low light, taking his head in her hands.

      “Goodness,” she said, sounding like she was at the long end of a tube, “What happened to you?”

      Jerrik was also abruptly before him, taking his injured hand in his own. Only merfolk could speak, it seemed, but his brother made it obvious that he was upset for Hans by expression and gesture.

      “No matter,” his sister-in-law said, swimming behind him to greet Elsa, “We’ll have you two better in a pop. We have a shaman—Hrafnhildur, I have two more for you.”

      Hans nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw what Alda called a shaman. Some sort of mermaid or man materialized out of the shadows, a hulking figure with feathers and bones and black eyes, frightening like some sort of shark-eel-orca creature.

      “Sorry,” said a watery voice behind the toothy nightmare, “I forget that humans are scared of these creatures.”

      Hrafnhildur removed the mask, revealing an androgynous face of uncommon beauty. Their eyes were totally black except for a white pupil, their dappled skin gray like death, and their hair more like seaweed than actual hair. Elsa put a hand on his shoulder. If she could talk, she wouldn’t comment, but the shaman was the most interesting being either of them had ever seen.

       “This is going to sound odd, but to heal either of you, I have to make a contract with you. Since we’re unlikely to cross paths again, my usual fee of a favor for later won’t do. I gather neither of you have much in the way of payment on you. So—and I hate to be the one to perpetuate stereotypes about us merfolk being bloodthirsty monsters—I’ll ask for blood.”

      Hans looked over his shoulder at his wife. She squeezed her hand on him, nodding. He looked Hrafnhildur in their very strange eyes and nodded, too. Hans would have sworn that a smile crossed Hrafnhildur’s face before they grabbed the knife in his arm and yanked it free, bending to press their mouth over the now freely bleeding wound. Pain was the foremost feeling, but as Hrafnhildur drank, it dulled. Oddly, lights danced in his eyes. Normally, his vision did the opposite.

      It took seeing Elsa’s face through eyes that didn’t feel as heavy to realize the light was coming off him, illuminating the cave. Every moment Hrafnhildur’s lips stayed on his arm, the rest of him felt better. His head, which hadn’t stopped hurting since the Sebastiaen had exploded, felt soothed by a balm singing in his blood. Though the fingers did not grow back, his right hand stopped aching, which was good enough for him. Gustav had thrown the fingers away, including the ring that was still on the one. That loss bothered him more, now. His hair didn’t grow back, but the cuts on his scalp mended. Like the trolls, old wounds didn’t seem to be something the shaman could repair. Finally, his arm healed as Hrafnhildur withdrew their mouth.

      “King’s blood,” the shaman mused, “I haven’t had such a treat in a thousand years. It carries memories. The surface world is much changed since last I saw it. Perhaps I will journey above again after all.

      “But you,” Hrafnhildur pet the hand they had yet to drop, “You’ve had an interesting life. The worst thing you’ve ever done was giving that girl those same words your mother gave you—spreading the pain when you know you should have broken the cycle. Still, you’re making up for it, and you’ve won the love of this woman here.”

      Elsa held very still as the shaman reached out.

      “I must see,” Hrafnhildur said, pressing their lips to the inside of Elsa’s wrist. She flinched but soon began to shine brightly in the dark. Peace spread over her face, eyes closed. In moments, his wife looked as healthy as she had been before they left their bed. He was thankful.

      “ Magic ,” Hrafnhildur sung, delight evident, “I thought it was gone from your people when the new religion moved in. Your father’s people, I should say. Yet, you’ve got it as strongly as anyone I’ve ever known. It will get even more powerful, mind you. The horrible prince you killed today—it won’t be long before you can freeze someone like him entirely in a second. I know you regret it, but the magic you wield is singular and so special. Don’t be afraid of it.”

      Hans could see the skepticism his wife tried to hide. He touched her hand on his shoulder, wishing he could comfort her more. Once they surfaced, he would tell her that she wasn’t to blame for what happened to Gustav.

      “The gift should be wearing off, soon,” Hrafnhildur said. They took Elsa’s face in their hands and kissed her with more passion than the mermaid had done to him before. If it had lasted much longer, Hans might have had to wonder how quickly he would drown for pushing the shaman. Then Hrafnhildur grabbed Hans’ face and pressed their lips to his, the same passion in their delivery of the gift that Elsa got. He felt a blush creep up his back and across his cheeks, followed by the renewal of tingling magic letting him breathe here, fathoms below.

       The shaman smiled toothily when they pulled back from Hans. They had more fangs than he would have guessed based on the kiss. “I like you both. If I surface, we’ll have to get together.”

       “That almost sounds like a threat from you, Hrafnhildur,” Alda said.

       “I saw everything in their blood,” they looked between Hans and Elsa and he knew he wasn’t the only one blushing, “ Everything . Now, go back home, loves. You have people waiting for you.”

---

The rowboat had been moved far from the Utrecht by the time Jerrik climbed in and helped Alda, Mel, Elsa, and Hans into it. He took deep breaths as the gift cleared, telling Hans and Elsa to do the same.

       “I don’t know what happens to the water we had in our lungs, but I suppose it can’t be much different than how babies can go from the water of the womb to air after they’re born. Are you both alright?” Jerrik asked.

      “I’m fine,” Hans answered. Jerrik had had an hour to get used to get used to the sight, but he couldn’t hold his tongue a moment longer; “Gods. You look worse than a sheep shearer’s first try. When we get a chance, let me shave your head. At least it’ll grow back even.”

      Hans nodded, a faraway look creeping into his expression. “What happened after we got separated?”

      Elsa spoke up, “I don’t know if you know, but the Sebastiaen exploded.”

      Alda said it had, and he remembered the blast as she gave him the gift in the water, but Jerrik had held out hope that maybe it was a bad memory. Mel nodded, adding solemnly “I don’t think anyone’s going to have survived.”

      Jerrik looked away from everyone, out across the water. His entire adult life had been spent with that ship as his home. His crew were more family than his own had been. As he closed his eyes against the tears welling up, he could see poor Grimsby on the deck, unmoving and probably already dead.

      “And after that?” Jerrik asked hoarsely past the lump in his throat, hiding his tears with his head in his hands.

      “Gustav knocked me off the ship with him. We fought in the water and he won. He took me to his ship, cut off my hair and two of my fingers, then locked me in a storeroom. Elsa showed up a while later. Before we could get out of the lower decks, Gustav was back. Elsa pushed him back with ice and we tried to get away, but neither of us were moving all that fast. When he caught up to us, he put the knife in my arm and might have killed me if Elsa hadn’t used her powers again. He kept threatening us, and… well… we believed him. He bled out while he was cursing us.”

      There was a silent glance between Hans and Elsa. Something else happened that Hans left out. Jerrik decided he didn’t need that answered just then. “He deserved worse for what he’d done,” Jerrik thought aloud.

      “I don’t think he cared that he killed Cynebald in the blast of your ship,” Elsa said.

      “We’ve lost so many brothers in the last couple of months,” lamented Jerrik.

      “The only one I mourn is Dorian. The rest participated in what happened to me after I was hanged.”

      “I know that,” Jerrik said gently, seeing his youngest brother’s hard expression, “I didn’t only have bad experiences with them, though. Add in that my crew were…”

       The words stuck in his throat. Alda’s hand was on his knee, squeezing. She had known the crew just as well. Melpomeni was looking at her hands. “I couldn’t save more,” his daughter said, tearing up. He held his arms open to her. At least I didn’t add to their pain, he thought, though I was close . Hrafnhildur had taken a favor from Alda to save his life, and while the shaman seemed harmless, Jerrik worried that the favor might not be. Jerrik held Mel while she cried into his shirt.

       “We’ll get going,” Elsa said, creating a mast and sheet of ice and blowing the rowboat through the water. Jerrik would have enjoyed the speed if he hadn’t been too preoccupied with what he would see once they returned to Arendelle.

---

Anna almost jumped into the harbor when she saw her sister sailing away, only stopped by the fact that she had her son in her arms and Elsa’s boat moved far too fast for her to catch. It made her angry—truly angry—to have her sister run headlong into danger without help. Sure, she was magic, and had survived an encounter with Hans’ brothers in the past, but there was no guarantee this time. Why did she put herself in harm’s way? Watching Elsa with Hans, she knew they weren’t just in a political marriage anymore, but c’mon ! She could have waited for a ship full of her soldiers… right?

       “Princess Anna,” came a voice she knew well.

       “Pabbie,” she acknowledged, not looking away from her vigil. The horizon hadn’t changed in hours.

      “If it helps, I believe that were Elsa to fall, her ice would vanish. Given that it’s still here in the harbor, we can take that as a sign that she’s still alive. Given that, maybe you should take a break from watching for her.”

       “What if I stop watching and she needs help but she can’t get all the way over here? She could be hurt. She could just be swimming out there without a boat. I can’t leave until she’s back,” Anna insisted. Pabbie patted her hand, keeping quiet by her side. She knew he was worried about her, but she couldn’t fight the anxious need to stand ready.

       It was close to noon when a glimmer of light on the fjord made her breath catch.

      “I see them!” Anna yelled, excitedly jumping up and down and pointing. Kristoff shielded his eyes and found the same shining object in the distance. She hadn’t realized just how many people had lined up with her, looking to the ocean for any sign of the Queen. They were all cheering soon. Five figures were on a rowboat being propelled by Elsa’s powers.

       Jerrik and his wife and daughter were in the front of the boat. Elsa and Hans sat at the back. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was okay. Anna only belatedly realized that what she thought was an ugly skin-tight hat on Hans was actually his hair.

      Through tears, Anna waited for Elsa to step onto the shelf of ice before throwing her arms around her.

      “You stinker!” she said, looking her sister over for injuries, “You could have waited for me to come with you.”

      Elsa smiled, hugging her sister again. A weight lifted from Anna’s chest.

---

Adelbert had been in the prison cell overnight, waking when the explosion of the Sebastiaen rocked the entire castle. He had no answers to calls he made out for guards. Left with only his thoughts, he made guesses at what was happening.

      Scenario one: Jerrik’s ship was the one that exploded in the harbor. A pitched battle raged at the docks between men under Gustav and Cynebald’s command and Arendelle’s forces. Truthfully, he thought he’d be able to hear more noises from the battlefield if they were still fighting. It would explain the lack of guards in the prison, but not much more.

       Scenario two: same ship exploding. No battle. Maybe the other princes had already taken over the castle and just didn’t realize he was inside, alive and imprisoned.

      Scenario three: the Queen had demolished any opposition and his brothers were all dead. Maybe even Hans.

      He’d gotten up to a fourteenth scenario before he heard anyone even come close to the prison ward.

      “Is someone there?! Can you tell me what’s happened?” Adelbert called out. There was a long silence, and he thought maybe they had tried to keep quiet or sneak away. “Please… I just want to know if they’re alive…”

      A woman’s voice finally replied after another minute, “If who’s alive?”

      “Prince Jerrik? Prince Hans?—King. Sorry.”

      “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard either way. The ship exploded… The Queen’s gone after her husband.”

      “Gone after?” Adelbert wondered if that meant Gustav got ahold of their youngest brother. He shivered. Months following Gustav had given him a good idea of what would happen to Hans should the next youngest get his wish. The healing the troll had done freed Adelbert from fear of his mother’s curse—a stout wind blowing away a fog—and he looked back on his participation in Hans’ torture with shame.

      “The King and Queen were separated by the explosion. We don’t even know if they’re alive or dead.”

      “Thank you… Can I trouble you for something else before you go?” Adelbert asked the woman, hoping she would be willing.

      “It depends… I’m not getting you the keys, before you ask.”

      He laughed, realizing he hadn’t even considered it. “Nothing like that. I haven’t eaten since last night. Would you be willing to find me bread or anything else?”

      “I can do that,” she said, and he thought she had moved close to the door.

      “Thank you,” Adelbert said softly. She said back, “You’re welcome.”

      It took about twenty minutes for the woman to come back. He sat, stood, paced, and sat again, thinking all the while of Hans and Gustav. He could remember when they were born. He’d held them as babies. True, he hadn’t been impressed or particularly interested in them, but he could remember how they’d been. Just babies, entirely dependent on the care of those around them.

      When had he felt his heart harden to the needs of others? Was it little by little? Did he remember any specific times, or could it have been compounded every time he sought out the comfort of Queen Ingrid only to be rebuked? Wolter and Inga would fight behind closed doors and in front of their sons. He could remember Vilppu taking his hand and shuffling him off to a corner while Henrik sat unmoving, Jerrik made for a window, and Dorian balled his fists in his lap. Aleksander…

      His twin… Why had he let his twin be murdered in the purge?

       “It’s for her… Mother,” Gustav had reckoned, “She wanted to stop at four. You, Aleksander, all the way to me—we’re cursed because we were never meant to be alive. You and I, Cynebald too, we’ll make it right. When the rest are dead, Mother might rest easy and the curse will end.”

      Had Aleksander known that when he stabbed Dorian, he would follow their eldest brother to the grave shortly? He couldn’t think of his brother without seeing the crossbow bolt sticking out of his eyesocket, shock frozen on his lifeless face. Gustav didn’t have to say it out loud, but there was a warning in Adelbert’s heart all the same: disobey, and this will be your fate.

      “Mister,” the woman’s voice cut through his mental slog, bringing him back to the present and his empty stomach. “It took me a bit, but I got you some grub.”

      “You’re a godsend,” Adelbert responded, face pressed to the bars of his door in an instant. He could finally see the woman.

      She was about his age, brown-haired and eyed, a bit taller than the average woman. Given her maid uniform, he would guess that she knew why he was in the cell. Castles always held secrets and gossips. She approached the door slightly slower than a person might if they thought they were safe.

       “I know better than to bite the hand that feeds me, Madam,” he tried reassuring her.

      “‘Madam’ sounds far more formal than I’m owed. You can call me Linnéa, if you’d like—” she stopped in her tracks like she’d run into a wall. “You’re one of the brothers…!”

      “You didn’t know?” Adelbert asked, sincerely confused. Gossips—they never failed.

      “I’ve been off—wait! Which one are you?” Linnéa gripped the plate she carried as if he could come and take it from her.

      “Adelbert Westergaard. I owned the prison my brother was locked in.”

      “The prison… You employed a man named Egon, then?”

      “Egon… Ah, the man who helped Hans escape. Yes, I paid him.” Adelbert had to think, having never met him.

      Linnéa strung together expletives he’d never heard put together before. The plate crashed into the bars, food exploding on impact—a sandwich, based on the pieces. If he’d been any slower about jerking his head back, the disc would have slammed into his nose. “My husband! You got us into this mess! He wouldn’t have died if he’d never met Hans!” Linnéa reached clawed hands into the cell through the bars as she screamed at him. It was shocking to be sure, but once he got over the initial fear of someone running at him, Adelbert walked back in reach.

      Linnéa grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, dragging him until his face was pressing against the bars again. She was both furious and crying; watching her, he felt himself at a crossroads. Carefully, he covered both of her hands on his collar and said, “Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry. I think a lot of things would be different if Hans had never been in my prison. For what I’ve done wrong to you, I’m truly sorry. I regret… everything. It doesn’t change anything, and I know that.”

      Clearly, that was not what she was expecting. Her tears had stopped. With a snarl, she ripped her hands back through the bars. “I thought you were supposed to be terrible. What the hell is your regret worth to me? You don’t even know what you took from me! Egon was everything!” She covered her face with her hands. He could tell by the shaking in her voice that she had started to cry again. “No one saw me before him. No one gave a shit about a whore in the gutter. But—he did.”

      The bitter tears she shed felt familiar. Had he ever given over to the urge to weep so completely?

      “I see you now,” Adelbert said, brushing off tears that worked their way out of his eyes, “I see you, Linnéa.”

      The woman leveled a complicated look at him, shook her head, and started to walk away. “Wait!” he plead, “Wait, please! I want to make amends! I want to change!”

      Her back was stiff when she stopped. Without turning around, she said, “I’ll be back. You need another plate.”

       Food? What? “I—”

      “Don’t mistake it for what it’s not. I want answers, and I’m entitled to them if you want to make amends. Torture isn’t in my way of doing things, though, so… food. Just… don’t be crying when I get back. It doesn’t feel like you mean it.”

---

Hans ran his left hand over his freshly shaved head, impressed at how close Jerrik had cut it without a single nick. He gagged on a yelp when he saw his reflection in the mirror his brother handed to him—bald except for eyebrows, and stark white where the sun had never touched his skin. “Lord have mercy,” he said impulsively.

      “Better than the way it was before,” Jerrik said. Hans hadn’t even bothered to look at the before, certain that he needed this cut to salvage anything approaching decorum. His brother continued, “Besides, you can always wear a hat until the fuzz has grown in.”

      “That’s true. I don’t want to blind anyone, either, so it might be my best option,” he laughed. The joke made Jerrik guffaw, slapping a hand on Hans’ back jovially. In that perfect moment, Hans realized something that he hadn’t considered: he was happy. Truly happy. There was no fear waiting in the back of his mind. No specter of horror yet unvisited. He was free of it all. Gustav had only been dead for half a day, but it might as well have been years ago. He had no hair, eight fingers, and no way to have children, but it was over. That was all that would ever happen. The hair would grow back, and if Pabbie was to be believed, there might be magic in the world that would be able to heal his missing pieces. Relief coursed through him.

      “What’s wrong?” Jerrik asked, face a mask of guarded emotion.

      “I’m happy,” Hans admitted, vision swimming and wiping away the overflow, “It’s all over and I’m free. Finally .”

      The guardedness fell away, replaced by something that was happy and mournful at the same time. Jerrik hugged Hans, a warmth that he had yearned for all his life without consciously realizing. They both cried for a few moments and while Hans knew he was glad for what he had gained, he knew Jerrik was mourning what he had lost.

      Finally, Jerrik loosened his grip on his brother. “You should go see what the Queen thinks of your new look.”

      “I should, shouldn’t I? Maybe take a hat so she can be shocked by the reveal… If you hadn’t been here, Jerrik, I don’t think we would have survived. Thank you,” Hans said, hoping his earnestness was a balm. Sailing to Arendelle had cost him his ship, home, and found family, but Jerrik seemed not to regret anything. He pat Hans’ shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

       “Off you get,” Jerrik urged.

      Hans tried not to worry about his affable brother, leaving the rooms Jerrik had been given in the castle and walking to the main hall. People were everywhere. The bustle from the harbor had followed them inside. If it weren’t for the chaos, he was certain he wouldn’t have been able to sneak away with Jerrik for the shave. As it was, he attracted nearly every eye, bald head like a beacon. Someone giggled, then there was a great cacophony of laughter. He laughed with them, rubbing his right hand over the smooth skin. A few people stopped laughing at the sight of his missing fingers.

      “We might have some damage to repair, but we’ll rebuild,” he called out, “Does anyone know where the Queen is?”

      “She’s been gone just about as long as you’ve been,” said a soldier.

      “Thank you,” he said as he took the stairs to the upper floor. Maybe she was in their rooms.

---

Elsa had been waiting for a moment to slip away since she arrived at the docks. Hrafnhildur had healed all her physical wounds, but the shaman hadn’t banished the image of Gustav freezing from her mind. The feeling of her power capturing a living person like a bird in her hands, thrashing to be freed until… he was. The office of her apartment was freezing as she replayed the memory: the moments before, the moments during, the moments after. All in a loop that stole her breath and turned the room into nothing familiar, all sharp angles and jagged edges. It was like when she put ice in Anna’s heart, panic gripping her.

      Someone was pounding on the door.

      “Go away! I don’t want to hurt you!” Elsa screamed.

     “Let me in, Elsa! You won’t hurt me!” Hans called back.

      They’d been through this before, she remembered. She’d pushed him away, but he hadn’t let her go. He’d held her through her storm and cradled her close when she was too weak to walk to the kitchen and get food. Just for a moment, she wanted that again more than she wanted to keep him safe. The doors burst open, ice weakened enough for him to shove through.

      The worst-timed and most detached giggle fell out of her at the sight of his bald head. He ignored it and crossed the thicket of bramble-like ice that guarded her without a second glance. “It’s gone,” she laughed without mirth, “I really loved how it was before.”

      Hans caught her in an embrace that she knew was supposed to make her feel better. She couldn’t help reaching out to touch the smooth skin in shock. “It’ll grow back,” her husband promised, “We’re through it. We survived.”

      “But I killed him!” anger misplaced and sharp as a sword. She tried to shove her way out of the firm hold he had on her, “I killed someone! I promised myself I would never! But—but I did and I was glad !”

      Hans didn’t flinch to hear the confession. He held her as she struggled and gripped him with hands that felt like daggers, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t bear. “Gustav didn’t give us a choice.”

      “Us? You didn’t kill him! I did! I wanted him to stop! I could remember how everything stopped when Anna froze and I thought that if his feet were stuck, he’d stop! The things he was saying! I’ve seen all the things he did to you! I wanted him to stop and I wanted him to know how it felt to be hurt! I didn’t know he could tear himself away!” Elsa couldn’t look at Hans, screaming at the ceiling, hands pulling on her own face, “What have I done?! What have I become?!”

      The subsequent storm that overtook the castle sent already beleaguered citizens running for cover and heat. She wanted to escape this feeling, but her husband held her too tightly to run away. Like a dam, her emotions broke from her hold.

      She could feel the summer turning to winter again.

      “Elsa!” Anna yelled in the hall. “Elsa, what’s happening?!”

      “I can’t do this anymore!” Elsa cried, “Let me go!”

      “Elsa!” Anna’s face was in the doorway.

      “Just leave me alone! I’m—I’m a monster!”

      “No, you’re not,” Hans’ voice broke through the tempest. She looked down, seeing tears frozen on his red cheeks. He’d been in the center of the storm, but she hadn’t been keeping him safe. The rage dissipated like the air let out of a balloon. Her hands cradled his head and his feet went out from under him, dropping him to his knees. She went with him, afraid.

      “Are you okay?” she asked, desperate. He was holding her hands on either side of his face.

      “You’re not a monster, Elsa,” he said again, “You never were and you’re not now.”

      “He’s going to freeze, Elsa,” Anna said, unable to make her way into the icy room, “Remember, love will thaw. I love you. Hans loves you. Kristoff and Agnar love you. The people love you. Please.”

      Hans’ green eyes drooped, but he nodded his head, a weak breath carrying the words “I love you,” to her.

       Love will thaw , she said, willing herself to feel it, love will thaw.

      It wasn’t quick, but the ice did start to melt. Hoping, if nothing else, that it would count as an apology, Elsa pressed a kiss to Hans’ lips. It had the unexpected effect of thawing what she had done to him. He leaned into her, holding her like she was the only thing keeping his body on Earth. A shudder ran through her into him. Nothing was fixed, but she’d heard him say she was no monster. He’d held her despite the danger. The way he kissed her back conveyed more clearly that he loved her than any words had the power to. She could feel it, and she could use it.

      Now the thaw quickened. The ice in the room broke and danced around the office, no more substantial than the aurora borealis. The rest of the kingdom was returned to summer, even in the harbor, which she hadn’t had the willpower to release earlier. They broke apart, needing air. He hugged her chest, breathing hard. Over his head, she watched Anna looking everywhere but at them.

      “I can’t stay here anymore,” Elsa decided aloud. “It’s not safe.”

      “Take a few days on the North Mountain. Calm down, and come home when things aren’t so fresh,” Anna suggested.

---

Hans was the only one to go with Elsa to her ice castle. They packed provisions for two into Sitron’s saddlebags, said hasty goodbyes to people in the castle, and walked most of the way up the trail.

      “The town looked bad,” Elsa said after a twenty-minute silence.

      “We can fix it up,” Hans tried.

      “What if something like that happens again?” she asked, twisting her fingers uncomfortably.

      “I think these were extenuating circumstances. We’re never going to be in the same situation again,” he asserted, extending a hand to her, not forcing it if she’d rather not hold it. She took it, hesitating at first.

      “That’s true,” she agreed. They ended their talk of the subject in favor of commenting on the passing scenery.

      Later, once they had greeted Marshmellow in the castle, Elsa and Hans sat on the balcony in chairs she had made with his covered by a thick blanket, looking over the kingdom.

      “I think I should step down as Queen and give the throne to Anna,” she said, breaking another long silence.

      He said nothing while he thought. The man he had been before his torture would have clung to his title as King far more dearly than his role as husband. The man he was now had never felt particularly attached to it. “She’s very capable. She’ll make a great queen—she and Kristoff will take care of the people and raise Agnar to do the same…

      “But… what makes you think you should step down? If it’s about your powers—”

      “It’s not… entirely. I keep feeling like…” Elsa trailed off, looking like she was finding the right words: “like I’m not where I’m meant to be. I’ve always felt so trapped by the throne. When I was up here alone for that day, I had never felt more free.”

      “So, where do you want to go?”

      “I don’t know, really. Maybe, if I leave, I can find it—the place I’m supposed to be.” Her voice was sad. Hans left his chair to kneel at the side of Elsa’s, a hand on her knee.

      “Will you let me go with you?” he asked. The slight raise of her eyebrows made him think she was surprised.

      “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because I hurt you when I lost control.”

      Hans took her hands and pulled her to her feet, “Forcing yourself to be alone just because of a very bad day is too much. I feel like you’re so hard on yourself. I love you, and that’s not contingent on you being some perfect version of yourself. Given my experience with punishments, the one thing I’ve learned through it all is that the cruelest punishment is the one we choose for ourselves.”

      She blinked back tears. He gathered her in for a hug, setting his chin on her head, asking: “So, where do you want to go first?”

Chapter Text

“No! You can’t go!” Anna yelled. Elsa stood motionless in the doorway to her sister’s room with Hans just out of sight. She’d expected nothing less. “I don’t want to be Queen ! I said take a couple of days on the mountain, not come down and abdicate!”

      Agnar began to cry in his bassinet. They had returned from the North Mountain castle in the early hours of the day. Elsa crossed to her nephew and picked him up, earning a wide, blue-eyed stare and some cooing. “I know it’s not what you want, Anna. I wouldn’t put you through this if I didn’t know it’s what’s best for everyone. Look what I did to everyone in the kingdom in ten minutes—”

      “—You thawed it all out just as quickly—” Anna interjected.

      “—and my powers are only getting stronger. What if I kill someone? The power is so dependent on my emotions, and running a kingdom isn’t stress-free, so I could lose control again and… I need time to get my powers under control. I can’t just leave you as regent. We need Arendelle to be strong, and it's strongest when the monarch is here , dealing with the day-to-day problems.”

      “That’s why it needs you , not me . Father didn’t teach me to run the kingdom.” 

      There was a touch of angry desperation in her response. Elsa sighed, bouncing Agnar in her arms. “You know just as much about our people as I do, and you can help them with anything they need. I’ve seen you do it. The kingdom will be just fine with you as Queen. Besides, Agnar is going to inherit. It’s simpler for the whole family if I step down.”

      “You say that like it’s not simple now. He’s your heir.” Anna huffed, and Elsa had the feeling she wanted to snatch her son back in rebellion.

      Elsa was thinking of conversations with Hans after he had asked where she’d like to go. Anna was watching her expression and nearly growled out: “What am I missing?”

      “We’re going to travel together, and we’re going to look for magic that can give Hans back what he lost,” Elsa said, seeing her husband peek into the room. She could still see Hans’ sheepish look when he said that was what he wanted.

      “Lost? Look, that’s a great goal, but he can do that on his own.”

      “I’m not staying to be Queen, regardless of where or with who I’m traveling. You wouldn’t have gone somewhere without Kristoff going too. Besides, I’m saying that if we succeed, Hans and I might have our own child. We can’t bump Agnar from his spot in the line of succession.” If that child was born with magic, she didn’t want to saddle them with the same restrictions she had lived with all her life.

      “Bump him. He doesn’t know anything about being in line for the throne right now. Being a duke isn’t all that different from being a prince, right? We’re not at the point that you have to leave.”

      “We are. You and Kristoff will be the new Queen and King, and Agnar will be the next King after you. I can’t stay,” Elsa said firmly. Her sister didn’t have a rebuttal, and that seemed to pluck Anna’s last nerve. She gathered Agnar out of Elsa’s arms and said, “I want to be alone with my son.”

      Elsa retreated, catching Hans’ hand and leading him to the library.

---

Three days after the utter chaos started with the explosion of Jerrik’s ship, Henrik felt like things were just starting to return to normal in Arendelle. The harbor was being cleared of debris, the men he had watched the trolls heal were nearly completely back to fighting shape, and he was using the desk in the library to write letters, hoping to get a jump on retaking the Southern Isles. Magdalena read on one of the couches, comfortable and quiet in her companionship.

      Vilppu was Henrik’s best chance at assuming control of the army, so he was writing to every post that he remembered his brother ever discussing. If he wanted, Jerrik could be the next admiral —Henrik had asked already. “I have to talk to Alda about it,” was all Jerrik had said so far.

      That left Hans and Adelbert in Arendelle as King and prisoner. At least he would have a local kingdom as an ally.

      He and Magda jumped when Elsa and Hans broke the silence, appearing suddenly. “We have to talk,” Hans began. It only took two minutes for Hans to explain that he and Elsa would be leaving Arendelle in her sister’s care and traveling the globe—two minutes to upend some of Henrik’s foregone conclusions. Henrik heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

      Magdalena spoke up, “What about Dorian’s deal? Agnar’s betrothal to… well, if I have a daughter…?”

      “Anna won’t break any existing plans or treaties,” Elsa said. Magdalena put her hand on her belly.

      “What if I have Dorian’s son?” she asked, looking at Henrik. He had been thinking about that, too, and had been putting off talking about it with her. Sliding his gaze over Hans and Elsa, Henrik rose from the desk and knelt at Magdalena’s feet before the couch. Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to figure out what Henrik was about to do. His stomach did a flip, but it didn’t stop him. Taking the hand that wasn’t holding her book, Henrik cleared his throat and looked into her dark brown eyes, beginning with, “Regardless of whether you have a son or a daughter, I’d like to adopt them as my heir and firstborn child. I never tried hard to find a wife, but if I had, I’d have wanted her to be just as loving, passionate, and clever as you. More than the feeling of wanting to protect you for Dorian, I want to have your companionship and provide you a home that will never forsake you. We might never be to each other what you were with Dorian, but… Magdalena, will you marry me?”

      Out of the corner of his eye, Henrik caught Elsa covering her mouth. Magda’s eyes were filled with tears. She put her book aside and dropped her feet to the floor, both hands touching his, and said, “I will.” Henrik felt an odd sort of happiness as she hugged his neck. His first act as King would be in service of the last.

       The next would be rebuilding the reputation of the Southern Isles.

Jerrik was visiting Berty when Hans and Elsa found him.

      “Two birds,” Hans said with a sigh.

      “Would you mind if we speak to you in private?” Elsa asked, eyeing Adelbert with what Jerrik thought was distrust. That would go on for some time, he believed. Berty had a long road ahead of him in that sense. They had just been discussing the widowed maid who had been frequenting the prison to talk to him; Jerrik thought the visits were a good thing, while Adelbert still thought she might attack him without a door between them.

      “Is it something we’ll tell Bert anyway?” Jerrik queried, hoping to start the four of them on the path to reconciliation.

      “Probably, but that’ll be after some decisions are made. It’s better to discuss those first,” Hans replied, gesturing to the other end of the prison ward. Jerrik nodded and walked away from Berty. He turned to face his brother and sister-in-law when he had reached a spot far enough away not to be well heard. They seemed determined, if not trepidatious. Jerrik noted the auburn fuzz that had already sprouted from the head he had just shaved with a smile.

      “I bet that feels like sandpaper,” he said, pointing at Hans’ head.

      “Absolutely,” Hans said, rubbing his three-fingered hand across the top, adding the question: “How soon does that go away?”

      “It’ll probably lay down within the first month.”

      Small talk out of the way, the true discussion seemed harder to broach. “Is it bad?” he asked, trying to spur something on.

      “No, nothing bad,” Hans answered. Elsa let out a steady breath and said, “I’m planning to abdicate to Anna. Before I do, I’d like to give you a ship. It’s called the Svalbard . It’s not as big as the Sebastiaen was, but I wanted to thank you, Alda, and Mel with it. It’s the least I can do for saving our lives.” Jerrik was shocked, his mind working through both the gift of a ship and the idea of abdication.

      “Well… for one, thank you,” he managed, thinking of how he might just be able to turn down Henrik’s offer of admiralty for the open seas if he took the offered ship. That wasn’t all, however. “But… may I ask why you want to stop being Queen?”

      Elsa took a moment before answering. She looked unhappy, not unresolved. “I froze my castle and the town because I was trying to come to terms with killing your brother. I’ve been warned that my power will only grow. I think it’s time I try to find peace before something else happens… something worse.”

      Jerrik had been startled and afraid when visiting the survivors of the explosion after cutting Hans’ hair, to be hit by a blizzard inside the castle. He gathered who he could to escape, throwing open the main doors only to find that the blizzard wasn’t just in the castle. No one was prepared for the sudden onset of such terrible weather, dressed for summer, and in the case of the healing men, not dressed at all. They ran for cover in the stables, huddling with the frightened animals for warmth, praying that the storm would end soon. Everyone knew it was Elsa’s power, but they had no idea why—what caused her to freeze everything again. He’d been desperate to leave the stables to look for Alda and Mel when, just as suddenly as it started, the storm ended. It took another couple of moments for the ice to melt away, but when it was done, he checked on those around him. He suggested that the coldest have a fire started for them, and whoever was able had better go look to see if anyone needed help. Jerrik then went back into the castle to find his wife and daughter.

      “I can’t argue with your logic,” Jerrik said after a pause, “Though, I don’t really know why we needed to have the conversation over here.”

      “We’re hoping that you might take us with you when you sail away. We’d like to go traveling in search of magic,” Hans answered, “Magic that could heal even me.”

      “That might take us to many countries—we might be gone for a long while. I doubt that Anna will want to keep Adelbert here while we’re gone. We can take him with us… My sister wouldn’t treat him unfairly, but if we leave him with Henrik, I’m not sure what would happen. Would you be willing to take responsibility for him?”

      “Of course,” was his reply, “I think it would be good for him to be on a ship.”

      “We thought so, too. It was just our formality to ask you first, in case you weren’t willing. The Svalbard will depart after Anna’s coronation, with us, Henrik and Magdalena, Adelbert, and whoever else would like to join us, I suppose,” Hans smiled.

      “That will be fine. It’ll give us time to prepare,” Jerrik said, already making a mental checklist of things he wanted aboard this ship the Queen had gifted him. Even just to sail to the Southern Isles, he would need provisions for the journey. He would have walked out of the prison ward if Elsa hadn’t said, “Would you like to be the one to tell Adelbert?”

      With a nod, he went back to the cell that held his brother, looking in the bars and saying, “Which would you like first? The good news or the bad?”

      “Good news?”

      “Bad it is then,” he teased, grinning. Berty rolled his eyes: “You’ll have to do as I say every day for the foreseeable future.”

      “And the good?”

      “You’re getting out of here. You might even see the world on our travels. It’ll be great. There’s nothing like the sea to make a man feel free.” It was the draw he’d always felt, calling him home. Berty might take time getting used to it, but Jerrik thought he’d be hooked quickly.

      “...Are you serious?” Berty asked. He looked through the bars for Elsa and Hans. “You’re letting me go?”

      “We’re giving you a second chance. You’ll have to serve at least six months under Jerrik, as you made me serve six months in your prison,” Hans answered. Jerrik thought that was only fair, if not slightly less so. Adelbert looked like he thought so, too.

      “Gladly, Hans. I plan on serving the rest of my life making up for my mistakes. I never should have—”

      Elsa held up her hand and silenced Berty; “We can’t undo the past. All we can do is move forward.”

      “Well said,” Jerrik agreed.

---

With the Westergaard brothers sorted out, Elsa and Hans visited Kristoff next. He took the news well, petting Sven’s nose in the stables as Elsa explained her reasoning. They had been good friends ever since she thawed her first frozen summer, and they both thought of each other as siblings. Unlike his wife, Kristoff knew that Elsa was only getting worse staying in Arendelle. The pressure of the throne and the conflict with the evil brothers had wrecked her self-control and her faith in herself, and the shrinking was so painfully obvious to him.

      “I’ll miss you, but you do have to do what’s right for you. Anna might not be alright with it now, but when she sees what you’re like without this burden, she’ll come around,” Kristoff reasoned. He put his hand on Elsa’s shoulder and carefully pulled her into a hug. “This place will always welcome you home.”

      She hid her face away from view against his chest for a moment, and when she stepped back, he could tell she was fighting tears. “Thank you for understanding, Kristoff.”

      They spoke more about the logistics of leaving. He was glad to hear that they’d be taking Adelbert with them—the crimes he committed were all against his brother, and if that brother was leaving, it’d be better that he left, too. The days would all be less busy with his in-laws gone, and, not for nothing, but he would enjoy a little more peace and quiet.

      “You’ll probably be crowned, too, Kristoff,” Elsa said. He shrugged, “I can add consort to King and be ‘in name only’, like Hans was with you. I never wanted to be anything more than an ice harvester and seller… and Anna’s husband.”

      “You were the right man all along,” Hans said, surprising Kristoff with the acknowledgment. The ex-fiance of his wife was sincere, “There’s no one better suited to the role.”

      Kristoff didn’t say anything for a moment, then: “Thanks. It… I might never not feel awkward with you, Hans, but… you’re alright now. I hope you find the magic that can heal you.”

      “Thank you,” Hans said, extending his left hand out to shake his. Kristoff obliged. The couple stopped to give Sitron’s chin some scritches, then left soon after.

      “ Awkward is right,” he said for Sven, who tossed his head, “ ... but Elsa loves him and he treats her right.”

      “That’s true. He won’t be my favorite brother-in-law, but he’ll definitely be my only one.”

---

Linnéa heard about the royal couple’s plans the day after they were finalized. She slept on her first reaction to avoid making a scene and to decide what it was that she wanted for herself. Olaf had gone back to shuffling around the castle when he heard that Elsa was leaving, sticking close to Anna like a lost puppy. Her house was empty, quiet, and stifling. It was no home. Her bed was so cold without Egon, and her heart felt like a lump of coal in her chest. There was nothing to bind her to Arendelle. 

      She left the house in the morning with no intention of returning, having filled a bag with things she deemed worth taking—trinkets from Egon and clothes he liked on her. Cool air pervaded the town, and she took care to look around, hoping this was the last opportunity she’d have if all went according to plan. Memories of when Egon had walked the streets with her played in her mind. When was their last stroll? When had he last offered his arm to her? When was the last time his shoulder was her pillow, strolling in synchronization? She felt colder thinking about him than the morning warranted.

      In the castle, Linnéa found Gerda and asked for time to talk to Hans and Elsa. Gerda agreed to ask, looking like she suspected what it might be that the widow wanted to talk about. The head maid had a slightly sad expression as she left the room, which surprised the hell out of Linnéa. It took half the day for Hans and Elsa to find her.

      Linnéa waited to be asked to sit, which Elsa obliged and exchanged the awkward pleasantries that Linnéa had begun to expect between the three. “So… what did you want to talk to us about?”

      “Leaving with you,” Linnéa said without hesitation, “Getting out of Arendelle. I expect you’d fair better on the ocean with a maid than without, and… I made memories here that haunt me. So, please, take me with you.”

      Hans and Elsa exchanged looks, not instantly agreeing to her request. Linnéa fought the urge to scream: You owe me this .

      “Are you sure? We might not be back for a long time,” Hans said, as if it was a novel thought to her.

      Steadying her temper with a deep breath and her eyes closed, Linnéa answered, “Yes. I’ve got nothing holding me here. Egon’s body will still be in the ground if I ever want to visit again. I have to leave, whether you two take me with you or not.”

      “I… I don’t see a reason to say no. It may not be entirely comfortable on our voyages,” Elsa said. Hans added, “There’s going to be times when men may bother you.”

      “I can handle men bothering me. I can handle poor conditions. I can survive anything but this goddamn loneliness, and it’s everywhere here. I’m telling you both—I can’t stay here anymore.” As much as she didn’t want to cry or scream, it felt like it was building. Linnéa just wanted to hear that she could go with them.

      “Alright, then,” Hans said, “I’ll try to get you your own cabin with a door that locks. Do you know of anything else you need?”

      “I don’t need anything,” Linnéa said, “The house in town still has all your things in it. I’m planning to stay in the castle until we leave.”

      “I see. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?” Hans’ concern was obvious, and something about it rankled her nerves. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that the roles had been reversed when he had pushed her away. His concern did nothing to alleviate her pain, just like how hers hadn’t touched his fear. He’d spent time isolating until he had begged Elsa to kill him to save him from the paranoia. Here she was, trying to push people away, just like he had.

      “Not that I can think of… thank you,” Linnéa said, reminding herself that these were people she cared for and who cared for her.

      “Well, then… we’ll add another to the crew.”

---

The day finally arrived. The Svalbard was fully loaded up, and all that was left was to foist the crown of Arendelle on Anna and go. Elsa had felt for a week all of the anger that Anna had been radiating like heat from a flame. It wouldn’t change her mind. This search was as important to her as it was to Hans. The more she learned about other magic, the more, maybe, she would know about her own. Aside from that, freedom was within her grasp. Anna was entirely capable of being Queen in her own right—it was simply her not wanting to.

      She waited in the chapel with the rest of Arendelle as Kristoff did his best to convince his wife to walk to the altar without kicking and screaming. A hiss out of a side door was all the warning the crowd had before Kristoff and Anna appeared with Agnar. Elsa thought Anna looked magnificent in her coronation gown, gold and green and resplendent, with summer flowers embroidered across every inch, even if her face was all cold fury. Anna schooled her expression, walking to the dias with all the imposition of her new title.

      There was no hesitation in her hands as she took up the scepter and sovereign’s orb when offered by the bishop. Anna turned to face the crowd, stone-faced and crowned with a new tiara. The chapel was filled with applause at the triumphant sight. Elsa wondered if they were as excited to have a new Queen as Elsa was to leave. Kristoff was crowned with Agnar in his arms, the ceremonial sword foregone in place of the prince, who giggled when the bishop pinned a royal sigil to Kristoff’s lapel. 

      That was it. Elsa clapped with everyone else, wishing that the tightness in her chest had lessened. 

      Arendelle would celebrate its new monarch throughout the rest of the day and into the night, but they’d see the old one off before then. It wasn’t a final farewell, she told herself. She’d be back one day. Still, the mood was almost somber as the people gathered on the docks. Jerrik shook hands with people who’d helped him get the Svalbard ready. Alda and Mel gave hugs to Anna, Kristoff, and kissed Agnar’s forehead each before looking for all those new friends they had made in the time they’d been ashore. The survivors of Jerrik’s crew, including Scuttle, thanked anyone who had helped them recover. All along the docks, goodbyes were exchanged.

      At last, it came to Anna and Elsa to speak. Anna pulled Elsa away from the main crowd to talk without being overheard.

      “You’re really going,” Anna said, looking at their hands. Elsa nodded wordlessly. “Well, eventually, you’re going to have to make this all up to me.”

      “I know. I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you a choice.”

      “I would choose to go with you, and then where would Arendelle be? I’ve been mad all week that you’re leaving me behind.”

      Elsa was shocked. “I thought you were just mad that I was making you Queen.”

      “I’m not that adverse to work, you stinker,” Anna said with mirth, then, more seriously, “Is it that much of a surprise? I ran off after you when froze Arendelle the first time. We lost so much time together while we were growing up and ever since then, I’ve been trying to make sure that we don’t lose any more.”

      Throwing her arms around Anna’s shoulders, Elsa hugged her little sister tightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

      Anna hugged her back, “I know why you feel like you have to leave… But I wish you weren’t.”

      “It’s not goodbye forever. It’s just goodbye for now,” Elsa promised, squeezing just a little tighter before letting go, “I know you’re going to do so great. Arendelle will be thriving when I get back.”

      Anna wiped a tear off her cheek before letting out a hiccuping laugh and catching a tear off Elsa’s chin. “Don’t be gone too long, alright?”

      Elsa nodded, knowing that she had no power over that. They walked back to the gangway hand in hand, Elsa noticing that the tightness in her chest was finally gone. She could leave without too much regret, knowing that Anna would be alright.

      “Goodbye, everyone! Take care!” Elsa said, waving from the deck of the ship. Hans half-embraced her and waved with his free hand. The horizon beckoned.

---

Four days later, the Svalbard docked in the harbor of the main island of the Southern Isles. On the dock, astride his magnificent grey horse Samson, was Vilppu. The third prince was almost blonde—a change from the last time Hans had seen him. A regiment of soldiers waited with him. There was a moment when Hans noticed everyone holding their breath, looking from the deck to the general.

      “The King has returned,” Vilppu boomed, “Long live the King!”

      The soldiers cheered, and a series of smiles infected the area. Once the gangplank was installed between the ship and dock, Hans crossed with Sitron and Elsa, stopping next to Vilppu and clasping his forearm. He introduced his wife, careful to just use her given name as they had discussed on the ship. She squeezed her arms around his sides, a wordless thanks. To Vilppu, she said, “It’s nice to finally meet you, General Westergaard. Your brothers have all talked about you.”

     “One can only imagine what they’ve said, Your Majesty,” Vilppu said with a smile.

     “All good things, General. Also, I’m no longer Queen of Arendelle—I would welcome just ‘Elsa’,” she answered.

     “Ah,” Samson jostled to the side, apparently not appreciative of Sitron’s tail, “Well, then… Vilppu is fine for me.”

     “Alright, Vilppu.”

      Henrik and Magdalena crossed the gangplank carefully on the back of Maximus. The horse would be returned to Corona from the Southern Isles. He cut an impressive figure, standing taller than most horses around the dock by two hands. Hans could see Vilppu’s eyes gleam in appreciation—of all the princes, he’d been the most dedicated equestrian.

      “All hail King Henrik!” Vilppu shouted, loud enough to make Sitron flinch. The soldiers answered the call, yelling out: “ Hail King Henrik !” with gusto. Hans could see the tension in his eldest brother lessen. The journey from Arendelle had been a lot of advice given from Elsa, Magdalena, Jerrik, Alda, and even from himself—Henrik seemed to give the most weight to Elsa, the only one to sit a throne. He seemed to have plenty of plans for how the Southern Isles should operate going forward, though he didn’t seem confident in his ability to make them happen. Elsa reminded him several times that Anna would give aid however she could now that their kingdoms were allies. Hans told her later, in the privacy of their cabin, that he thought Henrik might believe that he had to do it all himself. Wolter had made the princes think they had to prove themselves in everything— anything less than dominant success was failure.

      “I hope he takes whatever help he can get,” she had said.

     Once the ship was empty of what would be staying in the Southern Isles, the massive retinue left the docks and started through the streets to the castle. There were cheering people, smiling at Henrik, at Vilppu, but Hans couldn’t say that they looked on happily at Elsa and him. She squeezed his middle more tightly than she had at the docks, a good indication that she had noticed the fear or anger that followed catching sight of her. As they followed the King, no one dared to get close to Sitron, but more than one person didn’t bother to whisper things like witch,  ice queen , or murderer. People started to follow the column in the street, volume growing until some were yelling at the soldiers, and some were yelling at them.

      “How dare you show your face here!”

      “Why is she with the King?!”

      “Shame on you!”

      Hans felt the growing tension, saying over his shoulder, “Maybe we should have stayed on the ship.”

      “I think you’re right,” she said, “but we’re stuck now. Hopefully, they’ll keep us safe.”

      When they crossed the gate that began the castle grounds, the soldiers had to hurriedly close the bars and yell at the crowd to be gone. Magdalena had turned to look at the commotion, her expression worried. The courtyard outside the main entrance to the castle felt chilling and unsafe. The last time they were here played in Hans’ mind.

      Conversely, Jerrik was ecstatic, elated despite the mob in town following them to the gates of the castle. He helped Alda and Mel down from the covered wagon they had all hidden in, surprising Vilppu into open-mouthed shock. The general and the seafarer grappled each other like the boys they hadn’t been in decades, wrestling until they hugged with spine-crushing power. 

      “Look at all that grey hair! Did you get old while I was gone?” Jerrik ruffled said hair, giving Hans reason to look more closely and realize that what he thought was blonde was grey interspersed in the auburn they all shared, save Jerrik.

      “You lout! I have to go into hiding, and you look like you just got back from vacation?” Vilppu said, his smile dropping when he focused on Melpomeni. Hans saw how quickly the general put together the girl’s parentage. Again, he stood open-mouthed and shocked.

      “It’s nice to meet you, Uncle Vilppu,” their niece said.

      “B-b-b-b-but,” Vilppu stammered, looking at their party for some joke, Hans thought. He found no smirks or deception. With a look like someone could knock him over with a feather, Vilppu said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

---

Elsa had looked on at the family reunion with an outsider's happiness, not because she didn’t care for her in-laws, but because she couldn’t stop hearing the people from town. Knowing the devastation she caused in Arendelle, which she undid just as quickly, she should have known that the Southern Islanders would resent her. She’d put enough ice through town on her way out, freezing the harbor and starting a blockade. It was poor foresight on her part to come with Hans into the kingdom, even if the King himself had asked her to be there. It was a possibility she had ignored.

      Elsa was in her head when Magdalena gently put her hand on her back. “Are you alright?” was asked quietly, just between the pair.

      “Oh, sure,” fell out of her mouth before she could gather her thoughts, “Well… I mean, no, but… I guess I will be.”

      “I don’t know what we can do to help, but whatever we can do, I’ll make sure it happens.” Magda rubbed her back in a circle as she spoke. The reassurance did little to halt the guilt eating at her. Should she offer to make reparations to those affected by her ice? Should she see if any ice still lingered—unlikely—to melt it? Should she find a way back aboard the Svalbard without being seen? The thoughts swirled, a quagmire of bad outcomes and worst-case scenarios. Out of the corner of her eye, Elsa saw Magda withdraw her hand like she had been stung.

      “I’m so sorry,” she said, seeing how red Magda’s hand was flushing. The princess tucked it under her arm above her belly, not angry or even showing any more pain. “It’s fine. It’s only cold. I’ll be alright.”

      Elsa could feel her eyes prickle with tears, trying to muscle the dismay back down. The Southern Isles would never let a second freezing go unanswered. When she was sure she could speak without crying, Elsa said to Magda, “My control over my power has been slipping so often… It feels like I don’t even have the option to stay for the coronation. I want to, of course… I just worry I might be too much of a hazard.” 

      “I’m sure we can find some way for you to be there… Henrik and I are getting married before the coronation… I’d like you to be there, after everything.” There was a look of sincerity in Magda’s eyes that ebbed Elsa’s desire to get back on the Svalbard and leave. 

      At dinnertime, she sat at a massive table eating dinner with the Westergaards, listening while the family talked and played catch-up. Vilppu had been in England when he got word that the usurpers were dead, hiding out in a Lutheran church. It was easy to get back to the Southern Isles from there, with most soldiers loyal to Wolter and his rightful heirs hearing about his return and flocking home. They’d been on lesser isles, in neighboring countries, or just hiding in their attics. It was a quick coup to oust the meager forces that Gustav and Cynebald had left behind, ordering house arrest for the lords who had supported them in Henrik’s name. 

      That was all he had had time to do, Vilppu said, adding that it was time to let everyone in the Southern Isles know the truth about Wolter and Dorian’s deaths, why Elsa had been violently chased out of the castle to the harbor, and what the other princes had done to Hans. The whole table was in agreement, although they spared Mel the gruesome details. 

      Everyone took a turn talking about things that had happened while they had been apart. Henrik detailed his meetings with the trolls of Arendelle. Hans described Hrafnhildur, who had left an obvious impression on her husband. Jerrik and Alda had the most to talk about—thirteen years of history to give Vilppu, which took hours in the telling. Elsa caught new details, leaning against Hans with his arm around her, listening with a glass of wine in one hand and the other carding with his fingers. 

      She didn’t know, for example, that Alda had gone to an evil sorceress for a spell that would let her walk on land. When the whole adventure with the sea witch was done, Alda’s father granted her the power to live as both a mermaid and a woman. Vilppu had been appropriately shocked to learn that they were mermaids, stopping Alda mid-sentence to exclaim his surprise. Mel showed off her magic necklace as proof, letting Vilppu hold the shell as he marveled at it.

      Finally, when the dessert was long gone and a yawn was being passed back and forth, Elsa decided to mention Adelbert.

      “He’s alive?” Vilppu asked, guarded. Elsa nodded.

      “He’s on the Svalbard . We thought things would be more complicated if he came ashore with us,” Henrik explained.

      “Who’s watching him?”

      Elsa caught Hans smiling and said, “Someone capable and very motivated.”

      “You ought to see her bossing him around cleaning the ship. Berty’s never worked so hard,” Jerrik laughed.

      “‘Her’?” Vilppu questioned. Mel jumped in quickly, “Linnéa. She was a maid and before that she lived here in the Southern Isles with her husband Egon… though I didn’t meet him. Apparently, Egon and Linnéa freed Uncle Hans from the prison Uncle Adelbert owned. I saw Linnéa make Uncle Adelbert scrub the deck twice in one afternoon because she said he ‘half-assed’ it the first time.”

      Alda lightly chided Mel for the vulgarity, but everyone had started to laugh before she was even finished.

      “I think Linnéa missed a calling as a drill sergeant,” Hans laughed.

      “I think Berty likes her,” Jerrik laughed. The smile vanished from Magdalena’s face. Elsa decided to course-correct. “At any rate, the Svalbard should soon be the cleanest ship on the high seas. He’ll be leaving with us on it when we go, so if you’d like to see him…”

      “Good riddance,” Magdalena said into her cup.

      “Sure,” Vilppu answered like he hadn’t heard the soon-to-be-queen, “I have a scolding to give.”

      “The trolls in Arendelle did some sort of magic to heal him,” Henrik said, beating Jerrik to the punch of defending Adelbert, “and… I don’t know how to describe it other than that it healed his mind, too.”

      “I’m going to bed,” Magdalena asserted, her pregnant belly stopping her from jumping to her feet. Elsa could sympathize. She had seen the loathing on the princess’s face when she crossed paths with Adelbert on the ship in the four-day journey. It reminded her of how Anna looked at Hans when he had first returned.

      “Perhaps we all need our rest now. Good night, everyone,” Elsa said, leaning out from under Hans’ arm to stand. The “good night” was echoed by all present, everyone leaving for their rooms. Hans and Elsa were tucked away in bed in the room he had formerly occupied as a prince, spooning, when she said against his back, “Do you think Jerrik is right?”

      “About?”

      “Adelbert fancying Linnéa?”

      “If he does, it’ll be an uphill battle for him. I doubt any man on earth compares to Egon in her eyes… but she did talk about being lonely in Arendelle…” Hans mused.

      “I can’t decide if I think it’d be good or bad for them. Jerrik was the first married Westergaard, then Dorian, you and me, and Henrik and Magda will be soon… If Adelbert and Linnéa do, the only one left will be Vilppu. He’s never been married, right?”

      “He hasn’t. I can’t imagine him ever marrying, though… he’s a general and in his spare time, he trains horses. He’d have to have a bride drop into his lap to consider her, I believe.”

       “If he did, that would prove that—” she stopped while she weighed whether or not to say what she was thinking, “That your mother’s curse was over.”

      Hans was quiet for a moment, then kissed her hand and said, “If it was real, it broke when you and I became close. I know true love because of you, Elsa. Thank you.”

      She pulled him onto his back so she could kiss him. It was only in this sharing of herself that losing control of her power seemed impossible—nothing could freeze their love.

---

Hans and Elsa were dressed like soldiers, tucked in an alcove to the side of the church. It was the day of Henrik and Magdalena’s wedding and coronation. He’d helped hide his wife’s hair under a hat and pad her shoulders and chest to look more like a man’s, laughing as she insisted on drawing on a beard “for the effect”. At a distance, she could be a short man, but up close, he thought no one would mistake her. No one would be looking at them, they all believed—the spectacle of seeing the pregnant widow of the former Crown Prince marry the spare heir becoming the sole piece of gossip on the entire island.

      Magdalena was doing her best to keep from bursting into tears. She said it was the baby who was making her emotional. Hans believed her, although he couldn’t imagine that it wasn’t some of her own emotions. Still, she looked continuously on the verge. Henrik looked as nervous as a cat. He had met with the gentry and nobles who supported his ascension before the wedding and asked whether or not the people would accept the plan to marry his brother’s widow. The answers were a mixed bag. Some thought Henrik was doing the noble thing. Some told him it was an odd thing to do. They weren’t opposed to it, though, as it preserved the relationship with her kingdom, which had been lucrative. A few told him he would be deposed just after the crown was placed on his head because the public couldn’t stomach something so wretched. 

      Hans was sure that was Henrik’s main worry now. 

      The ceremony went to the letter of the doctrine, with no one objecting aloud when prompted to. The relief was palpable when Henrik was told he could kiss his bride. They barely brushed their lips and turned to raise their joined hands to the people. While muted, the crowd applauded. 

      Next were the crowns and the coronations. Dorian had never worn the crown placed on Henrik’s head. He stood, looking very much like Wolter had once, though softer. Hans didn’t think it was a bad thing to live softer than their father had. Every Westergaard son left had suffered one way or another because Wolter thought he had to be cold, hard, and tough. Now, at least for Hans, he knew he would never strive for that perception of strength. Now, he knew just how much he could survive and overcome, and that strength had set him free. Magdalena wore Queen Ingrid’s crown as she turned to face them next. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she managed a feeble smile. The applause for the new King and Queen was much improved from the wedding—a few people wiping away tears of their own in between their clapping.

      The reception hall was warm within minutes of everyone moving into it. Dancing couples, dining guests, and well-wishers speaking to the new monarchs created a buzz of activity that was easy to get lost in. He and Elsa stood side by side against a wall and spoke to each other quietly. They were capable of a fair bit of humor between them and tried to keep their shaking shoulders from giving away how much fun they had watching the people. 

      A moment was given to Henrik and Magdalena to dance alone. Her pregnant belly was difficult to discern in her dress, less obvious with yards of fabric and tulle fluttering around her. Hans caught Henrik smiling as they swirled around the floor, which Magda returned. Maybe the marriage wouldn’t always be for convenience.

      When the clock tower struck midnight, Henrik thanked the meager crowd and declared the party over. Guests went to their rooms, into the waiting carriages, or out to walk in the summer night. Hans and Elsa followed Henrik and Magdalena as their “guards”. Elsa could certainly fend off any attack faster and more completely than any guard in the castle.

      “It was a nice ceremony,” Elsa said. Hans agreed with a noise.

      “I’m very happy that you stayed,” Magda replied. Henrik agreed with the same noise.

      “I think we should go back to the ship tonight,” Elsa announced. “We won’t have to sneak like this.”

      “You can’t stay a while longer?” Henrik asked, surprising Hans in the way he sounded disappointed.

      “We’re planning to come back eventually. Once Hans is healed, I’m sure we’ll make our way back to Arendelle. We’ll have to stop here first.”

      “But… I had hoped you might…” Henrik seemed at a loss for words. Magda threaded her arm around his and took his hand, comfort passing between them with the touch. He continued, “I was worried that things would be bad for the first few months and thought that if you were here for some of that time, I could ask for your help.”

      “I’m sure it won’t be easy,” Elsa acknowledged, “but I can’t solve all your problems. I couldn’t solve all of mine on my own. You’ll have Vilppu and Magdalena, and your people. If you listen when they ask for your help, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

      Hans nodded when Henrik looked at him. When they saw the couple off to their rooms, they said their farewells. Magdalena couldn’t help crying as she hugged Elsa tightly, kissed both her cheeks, and then did the same to Hans. Henrik hugged the couple as well. 

      “Thank you for everything, Elsa. I hope you find what you’re looking for out there as well. Hans, you keep her safe.”

      He nodded, wishing he could, knowing he was only human. Elsa was more likely to have to protect him.

      They collected their possessions from the room they had shared and left the castle. The early morning air was damp but comfortable. Hans carried their lamp, his borrowed sword and dagger hanging on his belt. Elsa had a dagger and a musket, looking formidable even for a short man. A few businesses were still open for the occasion, happy customers laughing in doorways or eating at tables on the street. Eventually, they made it to the ship, walking aboard when they were certain no one was watching from the docks.

      Once Elsa was beardless again, they blew out the candle and went to sleep.

---

The days at sea passed mostly peacefully. Linnéa had never spent so much time on a ship. They were never very far from land, caught passing storms that made the Svalbard list only occasionally, and had a good hot meal each night. Berty followed her around like a puppy and took her commands like someone had told him she was in charge. Once, a sailor had had a bit too much to drink and got fresh and then handsy with Linnéa. He’d been totally shocked to catch a fist to the jaw from Adelbert. When he jumped up to return the blow, Linnéa slammed her knee into his groin and took off with her defender. 

      In the cargo hold, hidden amongst the barrels, they waited for someone to follow them. No one gave chase.

      “I know what you’re doing,” Linnéa said quietly when she thought it was safe to speak, “and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

      Berty was silent enough that Linnéa looked at him—he had the good sense to look confused. She shook her head, trying to remember how to give a cold shoulder. “I don’t need to be rescued or have a protector. You wanna feel good about yourself, use someone else—I’ve been rescued already.”

      “What?” was all he responded with. She could feel a bit of anger rising. He could at least admit to it.

      “You follow me around like a dog looking for dropped food, and then you pop out of the shadows to hit some drunk crewman like you were just behind me the whole time. I’m not your woman. I’m not anyone’s woman.”

      Berty’s confusion turned into an embarrassed evasion, “I know that.”

      “So stop,” Linnéa insisted. Berty’s expression hardened: “I won’t stand by and watch someone be inappropriate with you.”

      “You shouldn’t be standing around watching me, anyway.”

      He looked down, stung by her words. When he looked up, she was surprised by the determination in his eyes. “I know that you’re trying to push me away because I had a hand in Egon’s death. I know that it would probably feel better for you to hate me for the rest of our lives… I’ve never met anyone like you… never liked anyone as much as I like you.”

      Linnéa couldn’t find deception in the green eyes that stared at her—the truth was laid bare, and the ball was in her court. Now it was her turn to look down and think. Hate him, she willed herself, hate him, or you’ll lose the right to grieve Egon. She could hear her husband in her heart, an echo of years of love and trust telling her that he’d always be hers and always be there in spirit.

       Frustrated by the anger she was clinging to, Linnéa looked up swiftly and surprised Adelbert by nearly pouncing on him. She crushed her lips to his, fingers finding the barest purchase in the short beard he’d grown. He was as stiff as a wooden board, rigid except that he put his hands on her shoulders and tried to be gentle about pushing her away. “What are you doing?” he asked when she finally pulled back in exasperation.

      “You said you liked me,” was her annoyed reply. She leaned to kiss him again, but he held her at arm’s length. Now was her turn to ask: “What are you doing?”

      “I do like you. I even want you, but I want you to want me, too,” Berty explained. Linnéa almost growled, “I do want you.”

      “No, you don’t.”

      “Yes, I do.”

      “You don’t want me. This is something else. Loneliness. I can see it in your eyes… I could feel it in the way you kissed me. I’m a stand-in. You said you didn’t want to be used—I don’t either.”

      She lurched to her feet, angry to be told how she was feeling in that moment. He was right, though. Sex would have been easy, but… she would have hated herself when they were done.

      “You don’t know anything, Berty,” was launched over her shoulder. Linnéa tried to leave but was stopped by his hand around her wrist. Adelbert flinched at her expression when she leveled it on him, but was otherwise stalwart about not letting her run.

      “I know what it's like to be angry about things you can’t control. I’ve been so angry for so long… I let it rule me. I let it lead me down dark paths. My twin died the same day Egon did… I didn’t even mourn him until the trolls set me free from my wounds. The bad things I’ve done are enough to send me to hell many times over, but… I have to forgive myself in the process of seeking forgiveness. 

      “It feels like you don’t want to let go of your anger because you don’t want to forgive yourself. What is there to forgive, Linnéa?”

       She tried to wrench her arm free, then tried to push against his chest with her free hand, fighting to turn away before his words broke the dam in her. “I can’t—! I don’t know—!”

      Too late. Linnéa was sobbing bitterly, crashing into Adelbert’s embrace and dragging him to the floor with her. She let him pull her into his lap to cling to him as closely as she could, finally forcing out the only answer she had to his question. Her voice was too loud and broke oddly: “I hate him for dying. How can I hate him for dying?”

      “The line between love and hate can be very thin. You loved him completely,” Berty replied, rubbing her back as she went back to howling and weeping. The torrent of emotions kept pouring from her. After a while, someone who overheard the episode left a lantern on a barrel near the pair; otherwise, they would have been in the pitch dark. Her eyes hurt from crying when she leaned back, squinting to look at Adelbert in the dim light. His shirt was wet with tears, snot, and slobber—she could only imagine what she looked like. Linnéa couldn’t tell what Berty was thinking from his expression.

      “You need a new shirt,” was all she could say.

      “I don’t mind,” Adelbert murmured.

      “Will you help me up?” Linnéa asked, wondering if she was breaking the moment. Berty nodded, putting her arms around his neck again. In an easy movement, he scooped her up and started to walk in the direction of her room. She blushed as the way he did so made her feel very light. On they went, through the ship. Linnéa felt embarrassed by her outburst. Her admission echoed in her ears, but so did what Berty said. She had a lot to think about, but just now, she was so tired.

      At her door, Adelbert put her feet down. Linnéa held on to his neck, unwilling to feel the cold loss of their touch.

      “Linnéa?” Berty asked, one hand rubbing circles around her shoulders.

      “I don’t want to be alone right now… You were right about us having sex… But… will you just… hold me?” Not looking him in the eyes as she asked felt easier than seeing him reject her. He didn’t, though. Adelbert nodded, making a noise of agreement that rumbled in his chest. She took his hand and led him into her room. They put his shirt aside, kicked off their shoes, and she fell into a deeper sleep in his arms than she had since Egon passed.

---

Three weeks after leaving the Southern Isles, the Svalbard had sailed into the Mediterranean and was following along the European coastline, stopping every few days to collect information and then assess where to go next. Elsa had never been so warm. Arendelle had had a few hot days in her life, but the near-constant warmth put them all to shame. Listless, she had taken to covertly icing things, erecting a little tent where she could make gossamer ice on the forward deck to sit under and enjoy the wind. She also watched Jerrik teach Hans how to navigate the rigging and how to be a sailor, giving her no shortage of something to look at. He turned almost as tan as his brother, muscles honing until he was lean and chiseled. When they were alone, Elsa showed her appreciation for the new physique her husband had worked himself into.

      They weren’t the only couple on the ship that moved differently. Elsa had watched Linnéa and Adelbert on the sly. Something changed between them at the same time that a sailor woke up with a broken nose. She told Alda to watch them, and both agreed that there was something there that wasn’t there before. Berty was hardly ever more than an arm’s length from Linnéa, though they both did as much following each other around now. Jerrik was the first to outright ask the pair if they were together.

      “I would say it’s not your business, but I guess you’re responsible for him for another few months,” Linnéa said as Adelbert blushed deeply, “He’s been sharing my bed, so I would say we’re together.”

      “Do you want to marry? I can do it, since I’m the captain,” Jerrik boasted, thumbs in his belt, “Just say the word.”

      “We’ll think about it,” was all the reply Adelbert gave, throwing Linnéa bodily over his shoulder and practically running below deck. Linnéa was laughing as they went. Not a single person had ever been able to shame her about sex, and that didn’t have a snowball’s chance of changing.

      Genoa was the kind of beautiful that made her want to stay for a while. Alda and Mel searched the sea for magic while Elsa and Hans did the same on land. When they were told someone might know more in the next state, they sailed down the coast to it, then the next. By the time they were in Rome, they had heard of all sorts of creatures and magic, yet met none. They toured the city with most of the Svalbard’s occupants, sightseeing and sampling the cuisine wherever something caught their eye. Elsa had a perfect cannoli while watching people make wishes at a gorgeous fountain and toss coins in the water.

       The Colosseum was her favorite stop. It was difficult wrapping her brain around the fact that it was built nearly two millennia before by conventional means of the time. They weren’t allowed everywhere inside, which was a disappointment. Perhaps, if they stopped in Rome again on their way back, she would be bold enough to sneak a peek behind a few doors. 

      In the evening, as they were going back to the Svalbard , Elsa saw Jerrik make a deal with a merchant to carry goods to Amalfi. She nearly slapped her forehead in realization—they’d been making money the whole way by ferrying parcels to their next locations. It made more sense than leaving debts behind in every harbor along the way, to be paid by either the Southern Isles or Arendelle. They’d left Sitron with Vilppu because keeping him on the ship seemed like too much. She understood that they had more room without horses and other livestock for cargo. Even the crew seemed to ebb and flow as they traveled. A few days' work for a chance to travel—of course, the faces had been difficult to memorize on their way. Elsa had been blaming the heat.

      Linnéa and Adelbert were the last back aboard the ship, walking with her under his arm. The signs were fading, but she had clearly been crying. Hans noticed too, and stopped the pair just as they walked on deck.

      “Are you alright Linnéa? Did he—” he was asking. Linnéa answered only with a seething look. Hans stepped out of their path and took Elsa’s hand. It had been what she was wondering, but now she felt ashamed that she had assumed.

       The next morning, as they made their way out of the harbor, Linnéa and Adelbert sat together at the aft, watching Rome grow distant. Elsa and Hans approached them and started with an apology.

      “Thank you,” Adelbert said quietly. Linnéa looked stiff but nodded.

      “Would you like to talk about it?” Elsa tried. 

      Linnéa was so motionless for a moment that Elsa wondered if she was planning to fight, take flight, or turn to stone. Finally, she said, “I’m not particularly religious, but Rome has as many churches as streets…”

      They waited as she gathered her thoughts to continue.

      “I’ve been trying to let go of… guilt, so I wondered if confession would help. I found a priest who speaks our language and asked if someone who wasn’t Catholic could do it. They can’t give instructions the same way, but he said he would listen and offer help if he could. I talked about my past, and that was easy. I did what I had to do to survive back then. Poor thing kept blushing. Then I talked about Egon…” Elsa thought she looked sad enough to cry all over again, but Linnéa shook her head and continued, “I got all weepy then. The priest was nice about it, even if he was a little preachy. Berty just walked me back. Then you had to be rude, Hans…”

      “I’m sorry that I assumed. I am sorry, Adelbert,” Hans said again.

      “You have every right to be suspicious of me,” he admitted, “I did try to kill you, and before that, I was beastly for your entire life. You have more reasons to distrust than trust… but, I am trying. I don’t want to disappoint or hurt anyone.”

      He didn’t reach for Linnéa, but Elsa could see the twitch of his hand as he fought the urge.

---

Two weeks after leaving Rome and stopping in Amalfi, the Svalbard docked in Athens. Alda and Mel had jumped into the sea earlier in the day before they were in port. Hans found himself thinking it was good that they were still enthusiastic about exploring the marine landscape. The lack of leads had started to whittle down his and Elsa’s enthusiasm for speaking to strangers about magic. They all had their suspicions that anyone who knew anything true would be hesitant to speak about it.

      The world did feel older in Athens. The Acropolis was impossible not to look at—Hans stared at it without even realizing that his gaze had slid off his wife and up to the ruins of the Parthenon. Elsa asked him if he wanted to go see it up close. He was nodding before he could even think of an answer.

      Within an hour, Hans and Elsa had hired horses for the party and were making their way through Athens. Within two more, they stood looking out over the city and back around at the beautiful ruins. Hans took Elsa’s hand, going with a gut feeling and leading her into the Parthenon. The blue sky above them was the only roof, and he had to imagine statues as they once inhabited the temple, removed from their home some thirty or so years ago. Hans could see the scars left behind by the use of the Ottomans, the Romans, and the Christians… but the bones were still Greek.

       “Oh, wise Athena,” he found himself saying aloud, praying for wisdom to the only goddess around who might grant it, “We come to you from afar to seek your help. Athena, please guide my wife and me to what has illuded us since our journey began. Please…”

      There was no flash of light or cracking thunder, no sign that his plea had been heard or ignored. He sighed when a moment had passed quietly. A loud bleat of a goat followed his sigh, almost an answer. 

      “Did you hear that?” he asked Elsa.

      “Sounded like a goat,” she said. Why he started to run after the noise, he couldn’t say exactly. Elsa followed after him, both running from the Parthenon toward the Chalkotheke. A bell ringing was his only guide across the ruins. 

       “Hans!” Elsa called, having fallen behind. Hans only stopped to catch her hand and started running again. The bell was far away now. The opportunity was slipping through his fingers. They crossed through the columns of the Sanctuary of Artemis Brauronia and to the ledge where they could see the Temple of Athena Nike. Several people stood milling around it—having just been rebuilt, it was a tourist attraction. Hans looked for a safe way down from the ledge, finding that he could drop down to a piece of rubble and then to the ground from there. He helped Elsa, both knowing that she could easily have made a staircase if they weren’t trying to avoid undue attention. When they were on the level of the temple, Hans and Elsa walked slowly over to the temple, looking for the goat with the bell or anything explaining why they had been drawn there.

      If he just went inside, maybe he would know why. Elsa tried to pull him back from the stairs, but he moved forward.

      “ Malakas !” A voice broke his trance, belonging to the man who had just bodily pushed him off the steps. Whatever followed was all in Greek, angry and reproachful. Hans put his hands up and apologized as he backed away into Elsa’s grip. She was also apologizing, hissing at him about how they should leave.

      “Was there a goat here?” he tried asking the man, looking around at the small crowd who looked at him with the same indignant anger. His eyes slid over a short, portly, bearded old man and then snapped back. He smiled broadly at Hans, then vanished in the blink of an eye.

       Elsa’s touch was cold on his arm. Heeding the need to get back to a calmer state of being, Hans let her pull him towards the Propylaea so they could get away. The image of the old man’s grin made Hans uncertain that they should leave. Then he heard the bell again, heading away from the Temple of Athena Nike, and took off like his feet were on fire. Elsa looked baffled, trying not to trip as they went from stone to street, leading down towards the amphitheater. He nearly tossed her over his shoulder to run faster, certain that he would be encased in ice if he tried. He might still be, ignoring Elsa’s attempts to figure out why they were chasing after something he didn’t think she could hear.

      At the very edge of the seats for the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, Hans saw the old man again.

      “Well done,” the man said in a strange accent, “Not everyone knows to follow the bell.”

      “Who are you?” Hans asked, noticing that Elsa looked from the man to Hans several times with a puzzled expression.

      “Not to rush this, but you need to ask more important questions. Y’know, the whole reason you did this song and dance?”

      “Where can we find the magic that can heal me?”

      “Greece ain’t it… you gotta go someplace where the gods are even older. Across the sea.”

      “And how will we know we’re in the right place? How will we find the magic?”

      “It’ll be in a cave. Someone will ask you to retrieve an item from inside. You’ll know what when the time comes.”

      Hans blinked. In the place of the old man stood a goat that bleated and began hopping down the terraces.

      “Do you care to explain that?” Elsa asked when he finally looked at her.

      “I think we’ve finally got an answer.”

---

The Svalbard docked in Cairo sixteen days after it left Athens. Jerrik had taken on pallets of olive oil, olives, feta cheese, and goat milk, along with textiles, and very quietly, jewels. Elsa kept the milk and cheese cold, happy to have an outlet for her powers that was useful for Jerrik.

      There had been a great deal of discussion about what happened at the Acropolis. The skeptics among those they told had said that Hans hallucinated the entire encounter with the goat man. Hans maintained that he asked for help and got it. Elsa had experienced the whole thing with him and was still unsure what to think. It would make sense for the magic they found not to be overt. She did her share of obfuscating with the strangers who joined the crew, careful to only make ice around those who already knew her secret. Hans tried to draw a portrait of the old man, hoping someone else had seen him. The image reminded her of a satyr, which made them both laugh. All that mattered in the end was their lead and their willingness to follow it.

      As they had crossed the sea, the heat had intensified. Elsa spent less and less time on deck during the day. She wondered how she would leave the ship once they arrived in Egypt—if she would have to be wrapped and shrouded in ice like one of their ancient mummies in gauze. She noticed that the crew all wore long sleeves, long trousers, even shoes and gloves, while they hadn’t bothered in the cooler temperatures.

      “Sunburn,” Hans said when asked. “The heat is relentless, but the sun is murder.”

      Would her ice concentrate the rays like glass, turning any cooling effort into a sunlight prison?

      The docks were the first test. Hans had to go alone first and purchase clothes that were acceptable to the Muslim women’s standards for her, as urged by Jerrik and Alda. In her telling, when they had last been to Egypt, Alda hadn’t gotten very far off the ship before she noticed a problem. It became apparent they would be ignored by every shopkeeper and adult until something unknown about them changed. A man with an English accent finally told them that she had better cover her head or continue to be shunned until a holy man shouted at her. He helped them with a plain scarf, wrapped around her head neatly, then communicated to a female shopkeeper that Alda needed help finding appropriate garments for their visit. Alda admitted that she didn’t understand human customs around clothing, anyway, and was merely amused that covering her hair had magically made her visible to the humans in the market.

      Hans returned with a blue cotton gown and matching headscarf, as well as some cotton clothes for himself. She made herself a set of undergarments from ice, just as fine and supple as cloth, kept from melting by the same permafrost she had invented for Olaf. Garbed for the heat and the society, Hans and Elsa quit the ship, not sure when they’d be back. Jerrik went with them as far as the markets, attempting to find a translator or guide. Elsa could tell that Hans was itching to ask everyone they came across if they wanted help in a cave. She hadn’t seen him so hopeful. The hint from the goat-man had lit a fire in him.

      They had a small fortune tucked away in several coin purses to aid them, purchasing the services of a guide and translator named Rami. He arranged for them to travel with a Bedouin caravan up the Nile. Elsa wanted to see the pyramids—she had seen several of the ancient wonders of the world, after all—but the caravan would leave at dawn. Rami offered them a room for the night in his own house, introducing his wife and two small children. They ate dinner, pleased to find that Rami’s wife Aya and the son and daughter were all able to participate in the conversation.

      In an effort not to lie about how they used to be the monarchs of a kingdom, Elsa and Hans didn’t talk much about home. It might be easier for them to move unencumbered as simple travelers, meager in belongings and status. Rami and his family were interested in their journey on the ship, how life was in other countries, and descriptions of the grand places they had passed through. The little girl, Yasmin, stole peeks at Elsa from under thick lashes, bashful and entirely adorable. Elsa was half convinced by the middle of the evening that the children could perceive her magic. Once dinner was done, Aya got the children settled in bed and bade them all goodnight. 

      Their room was little more than a bed and a shelf. Elsa found that she still felt the rocking of the ship on the ocean even while on land, after a moment of lying down. When she told Hans, he laughed and said, “I thought I had finally gone insane.”

      When Rami woke them, Elsa was groggy despite her sleep. She coiled her braided hair and pinned it in a circle around her head to avoid having it on her neck under the headscarf before she left the bed. The children were left to sleep, while Aya gave each adult a piece of what she called aish baladi. She served it with something she called fuul, olive oil, and a boiled egg. As they traveled from Arendelle, Elsa started writing down foods she wanted to try again with Anna whenever they returned. Her small journal was nearly full of entries, and she added the simple meal to it. 

      Dawn was creeping into the sky when they joined the caravan. There were no camels for the couple, but they were able to rent a mule to carry either of them or their bags. She and Hans took to calling him Sven, agreeing that the animals were much alike in temperament. When the day had started in earnest, Elsa was glad to be clad in ice. The sun and the sand were the worst combination she could think of, seeming to wick away all moisture. Hans’s back was wet with sweat in the center, prompting Elsa to covertly reach for him and turn the spot to frost. He nearly yelped in surprise, laughing off the shock and smiling while she whispered not to react to a bit more ice. They had almost left the city proper and caught sight of the Great Pyramids of Giza, which Rami proudly described as the tallest man-made structure in the world.

      Elsa knew she wanted to visit it when they were on their way back.

---

A few days into the journey of the caravan, Hans started to wonder if the advice of the satyr would come to nothing. They followed the river more often than not. It was true that the Nile was the lifeblood of Egypt, almost always finding a community abutting the shore. Rami translated when Hans and Elsa spoke to the locals, hoping to find the person who would ask Hans to retrieve an item from a cave. Like looking for a needle in a haystack, just waiting to be asked started to feel tedious. Eventually, Hans and Elsa began asking if there were any famous caves around each community.

      The first place several people mentioned was Luxor. To the northwest, the rumors went, were tombs of ancient pharaohs. Those were to be left alone, lest the dead resting inside be disturbed. Hans might find a natural cave near there, they said. The ancient city was near, and they’d arrive in a day or so. His anticipation was warring with the part of him that didn’t want to be disappointed. Whatever was supposed to heal him would either be such powerful magic or so different from all the magic he had encountered so far that he wondered what form it would take. 

      Each night, in a small tent that Sven the mule carried, he and Elsa held each other. She was the only way he could sleep in the heat, and he thought he might provide some comfort in such unfamiliar surroundings. He had wondered every day since meeting the satyr if being healed would scare Elsa away from his touch.

      In the tent, the night before they were due to enter Luxor, Hans broached the subject: “We might find it tomorrow.” He spoke to the space just above her head.

      “We might,” she agreed. He rubbed his hand across her back.

      “If we do… do you think this will change?”

      “What will change?” It was too dark to see her face, yet he could hear tentativeness in her voice.

      “How you let me hold you… the things we do together as a married couple… Will I be frightful to you as a man made whole?”

      Elsa was quiet and finally moved to sit up on their bedroll, stooped under the canopy. He sat up, finding her hand on her lap.

      “I don’t know,” was so quiet that Hans wondered if it was said at all, “I want you to be healed… to give you back what was taken from you, because you want it. Am I wary of the idea of making love to you when you could get me pregnant…? I am… but I love you and trust you, so… we can take it slow, right?”

      “Whatever you’re comfortable with, that’s what we’ll do,” Hans assured her. She followed his arm up to find his face with her hand in the dark, kissing him softly. When she broke it, they settled back to sleep. 

      Hans dreamed of a field of ice lit by the first rays of dawn, carefully planted with painstakingly detailed recreations of wildflowers that seemed to glow as light passed through. His feet were bare, but the ice was like a balm. Where he passed, the ice sculptures gave way to living versions of what they approximated. Far ahead of him, Elsa walked toward the dawn, creating the wildflower ice in her wake. When he caught up to her, he reached for her hand and joined her in the full light of the sun, seeing a radiant smile curve her lips. He had a strong feeling of peace with the past and joyous excitement for the future.

      He was smiling when he woke.

      Elsa was watching him in the dim light of the morning, smiling too.

      “How are you, my love?” he asked, losing a fight to a yawn.

      “Happy,” she said just before the yawn took her too. “A little hungry—ready to get the day started and see where it takes us. What about you, ‘my love’?” The teasing was warranted; he’d never called her that to his recollection, but it was all he wanted to use now. The dream was fading, but he could still see her smile in his mind’s eye.

      “I have a good feeling about today.”

      Before the sun was directly overhead, they had found a duo to take them, Rami included, to the place they wanted to go. A quartet of camels and their Sven were stopped outside of a cave, discussing what they were to do once they got inside. Hans nodded along as Rami translated, feeling the anxious desire to be asked to retrieve something build up.

       Finally: “In payment for bringing you here, if you find a golden oil lamp, we would like you to bring it out to us.”

      “I will, gladly,” Hans said, sharing a look with Elsa in triumph. The men offered him their hands to shake, watching him with guarded expressions. Rami waited with the guides while Hans and Elsa walked into the cave. They were only just out of sight of the opening when the hair on the back of Hans’ neck stood on end. He nearly dropped the torch he had been given as a voice that was not his own spoke in his head. Elsa didn’t seem to hear it.

      “ I know what it is you seek within ,” the voice said, hollow and emotionless. Hans put his free hand over his ear. “ Touch nothing but the lamp within or this place will be your tomb. ”

      “What’s wrong, Hans?” Elsa asked while the voice was speaking.

      “What if what I seek is not the lamp?” Hans asked the air.

      “ What you seek and what you need are one and the same. He is waiting for you. ”

      “He?” Hans tried, but the voice and the eerie feeling had disappeared.

      “What was that?” Elsa asked, concerned. Hans explained, feeling a shiver run the length of his spine in the absence of the voice.

      Hand in hand, Hans and Elsa walked deeper within the cave, carefully passing dusty objects to avoid touching anything. The path narrowed until they were squeezing between earthen walls sideways in the most claustrophobic maze he’d ever been in. The need to make it further until they found the lamp had his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The walls opened so suddenly that he fell on his hip into a chamber that gleamed with torchlight reflected in the facets of hundreds of jewels. A fortune had adorned this one room without being disturbed for years and years. Hans pushed himself back to his feet before holding a hand out to keep Elsa from falling into the room too. They were slack-jawed for a moment more, intricate patterns of inlay, gold, and jewels everywhere they looked. A sarcophagus tomb stood in the center of the chamber, adorned with a black cobra motif, red gem eyes angrily viewing the pair of interlopers.

      “Do you see a lamp?” Hans asked Elsa. She shook her head, walking away from him with her hands clasped behind her back. He started searching as well, careful to do nothing but look at the treasures in the cavern.

      In a grotto on the wall to the head of the tomb stood an unassuming oil lamp. It was out of place in the chamber by being so plain. “Elsa?” he called her over. She looked at the lamp for only a moment before nodding.

      “I think this is it,” she said.

      Hans reached a shaking hand out and grasped the handle of the lamp. It was warm, like it had been used just moments before. “I can’t tell what’s etched here,” he said, handing the torch to Elsa before trying to wipe the text clear enough to read.

      Flame erupted from the spout of the lamp, blue and blazing hot in proximity. Elsa’s magic was instantly fighting the phenomena that looked to be dancing with the icy wind.

      “You’re here!” the flame cackled in a voice deeper than any Hans had ever heard. “You finally found me! Ha!”

      “Who are you?” Hans cried above the cacophony.

      “Oh! I suppose it is mighty loud in here,” the flame agreed. All at once, it solidified into a form, glowing blue, like a man. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I am Fikri, and I am a djinn. You are Hans Westergaard of the far-off island kingdom of… Isles of the South? The translation gets a little sticky. And your lovely bride with the soothing cold air is Elsa of Arendelle, former queen and future fifth element.”

      The slack-jawed expression returned to Hans and Elsa.

      “Don’t be surprised. The wind carried a message that you were on your way months ago, and the saytr made sure you stayed on track. I’m very pleased you’re here.”

      Hans still didn’t know what to say. 

     The lag in response gave the djinn pause. “You’re not going to make me do a song and dance, are you? It’s been a while, but I suppose I could. I should probably stretch first—that lamp is a cramped place to live for a century.” 

      Fikri bent to start a stretch when Hans found his voice. “A ‘djinn’? What is that? Are you someone who can you heal me?”

      “If it’s what you wish,” Fikri replied with shrewd and shining eyes through the silvery curtain of his curly hair. Hans shivered at the answer, sucking air through his teeth without meaning to. Elsa took hold of his left hand.

      “Be warned, Hans of the Southern Isles,” intoned Fikri, dropping all playful effects, flames escaping his form again, “I may grant your wishes three. Worded correctly, you may have all you desire, but if your request is for the life, love, or death of another, it is other power you require. Heed me when I say that wishing magic is a blade with no handle.”

      “Three wishes?”

      “Indeed, after which I will return to the lamp until another master possesses it.”

      “And I need to be specific?”

      “Leave little room for interpretation if you do not want something unexpected to happen.”

      “I really only wanted one thing… I think I know how to ask for it. Was there something you wanted, Elsa?”

      “I have everything I could ask for, my love,” she said, making him chuckle as he kissed the top of her forehead.

      “What would you wish for, Fikri?”

      The djinn’s flames dimmed for a moment, “I dare not hope a master ever uses one of their wishes for me… but I yearn to be free of this power and I do not wish to remain in the tomb of my former master forever.”

      Hans nodded, closing his eyes, “I wish I was completely physically healed from all the damage my brothers did to me.”

      “As you wish,” Fikri said, his blue fire intensifying until it was nearly blinding white.

      It felt like the flame washed over Hans, burning only where it removed scars and replaced missing parts. Breath stolen away, he felt his missing fingers against Elsa’s hand. She brought them to her lips to place cool kisses on them, tears running down her cheeks. He knew without touch that he was again whole, but he couldn’t resist checking anyway. The feel of what had been missing for years was returned under his hand. Laughing, crying, and whooping in delight, he punched the air before pressing a deep kiss to Elsa’s mouth. She kissed him back, rousing his libido awake from its long slumber. He’d regret that his excitement went to his head, he knew, but it was beyond his control.

      “Somehow, I thought it would take longer,” Hans said against Elsa’s shoulder after they broke the kiss for a hug. The press of her stomach to his body was thrilling, if not cold after all the heat. A memory of an idea he had reached past the haze of desire to finally return his attention to Fikri. The djinn had a smile so wide that Hans could see all his teeth.

      Slightly embarrassed, Hans smiled back. “I have two more wishes, and now I have two ideas.”

---

Elsa didn’t know what to expect from the two other wishes—the first had been so incredible to behold as it was fulfilled. Hans’ amputated fingers were suddenly there again on his left hand, like they had never been taken. His nails were whole, perfect like she had never seen them. She blushed to imagine the return of his other missing body part. When he kissed her, she thought she could feel the difference, loaded as it was with a fervor that he hadn’t used before.

      Hans was whole. He was happy. Elsa was happy for him. She didn’t look too closely at the way the tingling in her lips matched an ache somewhere below her stomach. 

      “I have two more wishes, and now I have two ideas,” Hans told Fikri, followed by a conspiratorial nod toward the edge of the chamber to Elsa. She filled the room with a low breeze to drown out their whispering. 

      “Before I wish for it, I want to ask you if you’ll be alright with it,” he said, green-eyed gaze soft and happy. She had no idea what he was thinking.

      “If I could give you peace of mind about your power, without taking it away, I was thinking that I could ask for a way to counter yours. Something that would only be for emergencies. Something that—”

       “But—” Elsa interrupted him, not sure how to express her knee-jerk reaction. He let her have a moment of silence before she finally figured it out. “What would that even be?”

      “I’m not sure. I know that what happened in Arendelle scared you into leaving, though, so… it was just what I remembered wanting in the moment—some way to help you. Fikri’s fire made me think of it again.”

      “What if you can’t control it?” Elsa posited.

      Hans smiled more genuinely than she expected, “Then you can keep me under control. I’ll be your opposite, and we’ll balance each other out.”

      “What are you going to ask for, exactly?”

      “I will ask for the power to match yours, but where you have cold, I’ll have hot.”

      “And do you think it’ll be enough? Just to ask for heat? I understand what you’re trying to do, and I’m with you, but… I think you need to ask for fire—a fire to counter my ice. Fikri said to be specific.”

      “A fire to counter your ice,” Hans said it as if he were mulling it over. She wondered how much of this was her idea and how much he might have wanted her to think was her idea. Something to get her comfortable with the idea of creating another magical power to rival her own… something that could control her. Elsa nearly shook her head at the suddenness of the distrust jumping out of the dark corners of her mind. Instead, she let the breeze die out in the chamber and looked to the djinn, who had been quietly observing them.

       I trust Hans. He’s not who he used to be. I love him. This is just fear trying to hang onto the way things have been, she told herself, willing her heart to accept the benefits and dangers of having a true equal. 

      “We’re ready. Make your second wish, Hans.”

      “I wish that I had a fire magic to match Elsa’s ice,” Hans said, sounding less certain than he had when he had wished for his healing. Elsa saw Fikri smile before watching Hans burst into flame. She panicked, trying to put out the fire with her power, certain for a moment that he would be consumed. The sound of his chuckle bursting forth as she did so gave her pause. He was fine under the flames. It was the instant manifestation of his wish. He was whole, and now he wasin control of the flame.

      “I’m alright, Elsa. I don’t know how to turn it off, yet, but—” the fire went out like a candle at his word. She stifled a giggle at his bemused expression. Fikri said to them, “It was a well-worded wish. You will have no trouble in your learning, as you will match Elsa’s ice. You have one wish more.”

      “I wish you were free of your burden as a djinn, Fikri,” Hans said without hesitation. He had caught Fikri by surprise, though Elsa thought that it had been obvious from the moment that the djinn had said it was what he wanted. The djinn’s flames flared again, brighter than ever before, swirling like a storm, until, with a final flash, the azure light had extinguished and left a man standing in its wake.

      He looked much like the local men she had met in her time in Egypt, but taller than most and broad-shouldered like Hans, with a mane of grey hair and a neat beard that belied the youth of his face. He raised his brown hands to touch his face and marveled openly at the flesh he met beneath. “I’m human,” he said quietly, then, with tears building, “I’m human.”

      Elsa moved forward—Hans pulled with her, until Fikri wrapped his outstretched arms around them both. He smelled of a campfire, but otherwise, there was no difference in the two men in her arms to tell one was once a djinn.

      They stayed in that embrace for a while.

      Hans was whole.

      Fikri was human.

      Elsa wasn’t peerless anymore. It was all going to be different going forward.

---

Fikri followed Hans and Elsa out of the cave, the trio carrying only Fikri’s lamp from the opulence of the chamber. The second-to-last master of the lamp had been a dark sorcerer, Fikri explained as they squeezed through the walls. It took the sorcerer twenty years to use all of his wishes. The djinn was surprised that, for all the power-hungry, greedy man had asked for, he never asked to live forever.

      “He built the chamber himself with magic when he knew his life was nearly over, summoning me from my lamp one last time to speak. I posed my question to him, watching him climb into his sarcophagus with the knife he’d plunge into his heart.

      “‘Why didn’t you wish to live forever?’ He cackled until he coughed, mastered himself again, then said: ‘And be alone forever like you? I enjoyed having all the power I lacked in my youth throughout my time as the master of the lamp, but it would have meant nothing to me in time. All things are meant to end, eventually. I didn’t wish to walk this world alone when humanity is gone.’ Then he said his final goodbye and took his life. I thought of little else for years in the lamp. So now, I will end, eventually, too.” Fikri said it with a half-hearted smile, and Hans wondered if the man might be a little afraid of the mortality he had gained.

      “Would you like to travel with us back to Arendelle?” Hans asked.

      “Perhaps. I may not go all the way back with you, but I would like to travel again.”

      The pair of guides and Rami were sitting at the cave entrance when Hans, Elsa, and Fikri emerged. The shock of a third person, and particularly the ageless look of the former djinn spooked the guides. Shouting ensued, hastily translated by Rami, demanding to have the lamp and to know who the man was, calling him a devil. Hans threw the lamp at the nearest man, telling them to leave or face the wrath of the sorcerer in the cave. When Rami translated that, the guides’ faces blanched and the pair spit on the ground at the word. Running to their camels and making good their escape, the guides were gone in comically little time. 

      Hans waited until they were far out of sight before he started laughing. The other three laughed as well, Fikri being the loudest while Rami stopped to stare at the new addition to the party. An introduction was made, complete with that he had been a djinn until moments ago. The claim had to be verified with the examination of Hans’ hands, proof that he had been healed.

      “This is…” Rami trailed, looking for even a hint of damage that he had seen clearly before. “This might be the single strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

      “I would bet you we could top that,” Hans said, excited about his new power. Elsa elbowed him, “We should get going before they change their minds and come back. I think they knew what the lamp was, and they might take offense to it being just a lamp now.”

      They led the animals out on foot, agreeing to travel in the direction of Luxor without following the tracks of the guides. Fikri shocked them by saying he remembered when they changed the name from Thebes. A long tale began about being carried by nomads to the pharaohs, stolen and traded, lost in a war, seeing the rise of an empire and its fall as unassuming people passed his lamp around. Rami asked how old Fikri was.

      “This place was once green,” 

      “It’s always been a desert, hasn’t it?” Elsa asked.

      “There was a time when I was free. I remember moving across the grass as a flame, scaring the tribes. I knew their language once, but no longer. I would sleep during the rainy seasons—fewer and fewer along the years… I was sealed in a clay pot after destroying the harvest in an already lean year. I still don’t know how they did it—chanting in a circle around a man flat on his back with the jar in his belly. Not on, but in.”

      Hans had an image in his mind that ran a shiver up his spine.

      “The jar was broken several times, on purpose, I believe. The people didn’t realize that my power didn’t require a sacrifice… I didn’t quite know, either. Each time, the ceremony would become more elaborate with more witnesses. Finally, someone stole the jar and ran away. It was them who put me in a lamp made of metal. No one else should die for the power of thought, they claimed. I remember their words, but not their face. The inscription on the lamp was a spell that released me when touched by human hands. That’s how I came to be with the nomads in the lamp.”

      “We should introduce you to a mermish shaman we met a few months ago,” Hans said after Fikri’s story had left everyone in a state of deep thought. “They’ve been around for a millenia, too.”

      “Mermish?”

      “Seafolk—half sea creature, half human. When they come ashore, they look human. Hrafnhildur… they were…”

      “Unusual,” Elsa said when Hans had trailed off for a long pause.

      “Was this their tribe?” Rami asked, “This ‘Hrafnhildur’?”

      Their interpreter and guide was surprisingly unfazed by the conversation as they picked their way across dunes.

      “Hrafnhildur is the mermish shaman. They didn’t seem to be male or female, but something inbetween. We couldn’t have asked, either. A mermish kiss gives humans the ability to, for a time, breathe underwater, but we can’t speak,” Hans explained.

      “I would like to meet them,” Fikri stated.

      Hours later, they were in Luxor again, safely ensconced in a hospitality house. Rami had bought Fikri a shirt and scarf in the market before they entered the city, suggesting that the silver hair would draw as much attention as Elsa’s blonde hair.

      They had dinner together, retreating to the two separate rooms they had paid for. Hans had barely closed the door before it took on the diamond-encrusted look of Elsa’s ice power manifesting. He turned to see her smiling.

      “I don’t want to be interrupted,” she said. Heat rolled off of him in waves. Where they met, the air sizzled around them.

      He was ready before her hand found him under his clothes. Just a touch when he was so desperate pulled a low moan from him so deep in him that made Elsa look at him to see if he was fine.

      “I know we said slow,” Hans said, “But I think I might combust if—”

      Elsa captured his mouth in a kiss and slid her hand against him until he was gasping, tumbling, breathing her name. He hadn’t felt that release in more than two years, dropping his head against her shoulder and holding her close. Shaking, he led her to bed. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, then helped him out of his pants, taking in the sight of him naked, healed.

      “The scars are gone, too,” murmured Elsa. He nodded. “I felt it when I was healed.”

      “It’s like you’re new,” she said, reaching out to touch what was once marred by a hot iron.

      “I am, in a way,” he agreed, “I’m all yours to do with as you wish.”

      Elsa took the invitation, lying down with him and setting the pace. Their reaquainting took hours, spanning the known between them and the unknown. In the aftermath, curled together, peaceful and sated, they were almost asleep when the dream from the morning he had played in his mind as clearly as if he was having it again—a bright future with Elsa lay ahead.

       Hans didn’t know what it held, but it was theirs to decide.