Queen Maren walked through the seemingly infinite halls of the castle, turning to the small room that held her youngest son, Hans. peeking through the small crack of the door, the Queen was pleased to see he was sleeping soundly, his reddening hair shining in the light of the pale moon from the gabled window. After the door closed, Hans' eyes popped open, alight with relief. Casting a mischievous grin to the door, the smallest prince got out of his bed and changed from his pajamas into a cloak. It was a cold night in the Southern Isles.


Sneaking out of the castle was an easy feat for Hans. Being the smallest, he had a fair knowledge of the hiding places in the vast castle. Besides, it wasn't always easy to hide from twelve constantly angry brothers. Reaching his normal nightly route, he made a right turn at an ancient suit of armor, a left at a painting of his Mother's coronation, a look of concern seemingly following him wherever he went. Sliding down the marble banister, Hans reached the door that led to the wine cellar. Opening it with a small motion of his hand, his bare feet stepped on the cold stone floor. But Hans didn't mind a bit. He never got cold.

Walking past the tall racks of wine, the Prince reached the spot he was looking for. It was always the thirteenth shelf to the right. At least, Hans thought it was. Walking to the end of the aisle, he reached for a lantern, and lit it with a flicker of his fingers. Light illuminated the stone walls and the thin black cracks that webbed between them. Placing a bare palm on the damp rocks, steam crept from between his fingers at the stones dried out. Hans smiled as a layer of rocks fell at his small feet to expose the once sealed archway, a large cloud of mist spilling into the cellar. No wonder the servants said the thirteenth shelf was always rotting. Walking over the crumbled grey stones, the young boy walked out onto the castle hunting grounds, lantern in hand. "Kristoff?" He let out a stage whisper in the seemingly endless grassy field.

After a moment, a meek voice rang back. "Hans!" A small blonde boy ran up to the Prince, his blue shirt damp from fog and dew, the ragged cloak he carried offering little protection.

"There you are!" Hans dropped the lantern and hugged his friend with small arms.

"Come on," Kristoff smiled and let go. "Do the magic! Do it!" He laughed, barely able to contain his excitement, the triangular gap in his white teeth showing.

"Well," Hans smiled modestly. "Alright." The Prince took a deep breath and ran his hands over and under one another in a spiraling motion as the blonde boy leaned towards the pale hands, his brown eyes glowing in amusement.

Suddenly, a flicker of red appeared in Hans' hands, the dull red flame growing bigger with every second. It floated a full two centimeters above the palm of his hand, the fire gaining different color shades with size, the dark brick red soon becoming a brilliant orange ball of fire in Hans' outstretched hand.

"Wow…" Kristoff exclaimed at the fireball, knowing full well that it was real from the heat radiating from the bright flame, his face beginning to glow in the crackling light.

"That's nothing!" Hans laughed at his friend's expression. In an instant, the flame grew ten times its pall-mall ball size. With a slow connection of his hands, Hans threw the fireball high in the air above the clearing, orange shadows illuminating the walls of the palace, the fog suddenly disappearing as heat radiated from below. "This is amazing!" Kristoff nearly shouted across the grounds, but Hans shushed his excitement. Shrinking the fire back to normal size, the shadows fell back to where they were, and Hans' mischievous smile returned.

Kristoff, who now shared the same smile, knew exactly what Hans was thinking. He rushed into the nearby woods with the young Prince trailing behind slowly, the dry leaves crunching under the two boys feet. In minutes, Kristoff had two armfuls of beechnuts, the smaller ones escaping his grasp that the pair ran back to the field. "You ready?" He called out after planting himself about fifteen feet away from the thirteenth prince, Hans' back turned, preparing to 'fire.'

"Yeah." Hans giggled, a glowing fireball materializing in his hands.

"Go!" Kristoff called and threw a hazelnut high in the air, and Hans turned around, his power poised and ready. In an instant, the fire shot through the air and hit the nut, blasting its blackened shell far into the forest behind them. "Throw another one!" Hans shouted out and held both hands out with glowing embers flurrying around his fingers. Kristoff laughed and sent not one, but two nuts sailing through the air. The prince shot two blasts to combat them, the scent of toasted nuts filling the air.

"Again!" Kristoff called and tossed four more into the air, and Hans tried his best to hit them, but could only catch three, the fourth one landing on the grass. But Kristoff kept laughing and threw four more, and Hans realized he couldn't hit all of them. "Wait!" He called out, the fire blasts coming slower and more sporadic with each second.

"Stop! Kristoff-" Hans' tried to plead over Kristoff's laughter, but the boy didn't hear him, and threw even more, the total reaching seven beechnuts in all directions. Hans saw they were all coming down towards Kristoff.

"Kristoff!" Hans pulled all the energy he could from his powers and conjured the same fireball that he'd cast high in the sky, spreading his pale hands out to expand it even more. Right as the nuts were only a few feet from his best friends head, he sent to fire straight at the targets, sparks and smaller flames trailing behind like a comet's tail. A deep rumble coming from the solid mass of heat.

The fireball flew straight across the field and in an instant, blackened the nuts with so much heat, they turned to solid ash, the black powder raining down on Kristoff, who had not escaped the heat. A rogue flare collided with his shoulder, the brilliant flame smouldering through the fabric and flesh. The force pushed Kristoff backwards and jerked his head sideways, a red glowing line blooming in the veins of his exposed arm. It spread, his veins illuminated like blood red tree branches. A look of fear and shock crossed Kristoff's face, and his brown eyes rolled back in his head and the boy collapsed in the grass, the white blisters flourishing on his red shoulder.

Hans' mouth dropped open in a scream, and the thirteenth Prince ran tripping over his slippers to his friend, dropping to examine the injury. But it was worse up close. His eyes fell to the blistering wound, blood dripping onto the dry grass. Hans wished he'd paid more attention in his apothecary lessons, wished he'd been given healing powers instead of fire powers, wished he had never left the castle. But now wasn't the time for ambition, it was time for action. He let out a shrill cry, tears streaming down his cheeks at his silent friend. "Mommy! Erik! Anyone!" He called out, the echo reaching far into the surrounding forest. After a moment of waiting, Hans heard bounding footsteps, and turned his hazy gaze to the castle, and saw his mother, the Queen, and two of his older brothers running behind her. Erik, the heir to the throne, reached Kristoff first, taking his small head in his large hands, turning it side to side delicately, as if too much movement would cause more damage. Thomas, the sixth Prince got down on his knees took to examining the arm and shoulder, blood drying on his fingers. But Queen Maren hugged Hans, and gripped his shoulders. Looking into his eyes, holding the fear and anxiety that matched her coronation painting.

"Brother! what happened with this poor boy?" Thomas turned his littlest brother, beads of sweat coming down his forehead and brown bangs, his fear magnified through thick glasses. ""We were just playing." Hans said sadly looking over at Kristoff, "You call this playing?!" Erik gritted his teeth in anger. "Erik! This was obviously an accident." Maren hissed and left one hand on her youngest son protectively. "But mother," Thomas chimed in and began to cover the bloody wound with part of the ragged cloak. "These powers of his are getting out of hand." He frowned and put a hand on Kristoff's wrist. "I suppose you're right." Maren looked at the childs limp body. "Well, he's breathing. But he needs a doctor." Thomas released a sigh of relief. The Queens mind raced, trying to think of a solution. "I know where we need to go." She looked into the forest as the sun began to rise over the treetops. "What on earth going on with his hair?" Erik asked holding Kristoff's head up. "What?!" Maren gasped and looked with Hans behind her. All four people stared in shock at the peasants blonde hair, a streak of gray appearing in the wave of bangs. Thomas pushed the damp fringe up and felt his forehead. "He's burning up! Mother, where do we need to go?" The sixth prince asked with an urgent tone in his voice.


Queen Maren leafed through the personal archives of her family history, looking desperately around for the book. Finding the dusty novel, she wiped it off with her nightgown sleeve, flipping to the leather bookmark and ancient Danish, tearing the faded map of the valley off of the binding carelessly. In ten minutes a small troop of three horses was racing through the worn forest paths of the Southern Isles Orchards. The leading one, a stout horse with buttermilk hair groomed short, named Kraftig carried Erik. The second one carrying Maren and Hans, her favorite pony Hasselnød, and the last one holding Thomas and Kristoff, who was wrapped in a soft blanket. On the bouncing mare, Hans' nervousness tripled. The thirteenth Prince hadn't the slightest idea where they were going. Heat radiated from his small body and Maren hugged his waist tight, the other hand guiding the reins. "It's alright, Hans." She whispered in his ear and brushed a tear off his blushing cheek. But that reassurance wasn't enough. Sparks flew from his hands like a smouldering book, a thick trail of smoke painting an easily visible line from above the forest like a winding trains smokestack. The tears kept flowing, quickly turning to a steaming vapor. The Queen hugged him tighter, trying to kept strong for her youngest son. The horses galloped into a large clearing, exposed stones jutting out of the rocky ground. Maren took a closer look at the faded parchment map. It depicted a group of rock-like trolls, siphoning a misty substance from the head of a fallen soldier.

It was well known throughout the region that trolls existed, and were well sought after for their magical abilities and healing powers. Legend had it that they stole children from their parents, though this theory hardly held any water, it became a popular bedtime story with imaginative caregivers. Queen Maren hardly believed this herself, but wasn't sure what to expect when they reached the Valley of Rolling Stones. Through her years of history lessons, she knew there were troll colonies are far north as the Kingdom of Arendelle, and as far south as Corona. Rumors of what they looked like passed through crowded taverns and dark alleyways in the full light of the moon. The one she heard was most common was a stout creature, its face sharp and jagged. The Queen of the Southern Isles bit her lip and gulped, pushing any fear to the back of mind, then dismounting Hasselnød with a now quiet Hans.

She could only imagine the guilt he must have been feeling.

Erik and Thomas tied the horses to one of the trees by the clearing. Thomas held a still limp Kristoff in the crook of his arm, the other hand on his dagger, only in case. While Erik, still on alert, removed his sword from its scabbard with a small scraping sound, drawing it in a threatening position. Though Hans was feeling unimaginably horrible, he rolled his small eyes at his eldest brothers arrogance. "Please," Erik called into the small, amphitheater-like valley. "my brother, there was an incident." A small bit of worry entered his once authoritative tone as Erik's gaze fell to the limp peasant boy. Lowering his sword after a moment, as if having lost hope, he heard a deep rumbling from the earth below them. The horses bucked and whinnied, kicking against the reins that bound them. Hans hid behind his mother's blue skirt, his small fingers toasting the fabric, looking out at the valley as the hundreds of grey, pumice-like stones began rolling towards them in a somewhat… unified manner. Thomas and Erik backed away to their mother, sharing a shocked expression as the rocks came to a stop in a near perfect circle around the group. After a moment, the rocks began to unfold, showing large white eyes, bulbous noses, and shocked expressions of "It's the Queen!" several of them bowed. But the new appearance didn't seem to bother Maren. She had seen her fair share of strange things.

Suddenly, a rock troll a bit larger than the others rolled through a small clearing in the seemingly infinite crowd. He had an elderly looking face, a buck tooth coming above his bottom lip. A grassy mane grew from his head like wild bullrushes. "Your majesty," He tapped his staff on the ground, and the last few trolls quickly bowed to the Queen. "Where is the legendary child?" He questioned looking around for Hans. She led Hans from his hiding place behind her, a look of pure fear plastered on his face. "Young Hans, I presume." The king bowed. Hans looked confused. The troll king was only a few inches shorter than he was, but what did he mean, 'legendary'? "Your excellence," He indicated Thomas. "Yes, sir?" The prince stammered. "The boy, please." The king beckoned at the limp shape that was Kristoff, and the teenager lowered to one knee, leveling the injured boy to the trolls height. "Now, your Majesty, was the Prince born with the powers, or cursed?" He asked peeling away the bloodstained cloak to reveal the injury. "Born. But nothing like this has happened before." Maren tried to keep her calm demeanor. "Something it definitely going array with his powers." Erik chimed in putting a hand on his mothers shoulder, sliding the sword back into its scabbard. The ancient troll placed a bulky hand by Kristoff's injured shoulder, a glowing green light filtering onto the wound, and it meshed into the same pale, milky white skin as the rest of him. It had seemed so much worse, Hans thought looking over at his best friend.

But the troll wasn't done. Cradling the boys head in his hands, he moved the same hand to Kristoff's forehead, and suddenly, a milky fog coming out of what Hans could only assume was his mind. It showed the countless hours Hans and him had spent playing together; in the gardens, the courtyard, and the hunting grounds, collective smiles on the both of them in every memory, as well as one more similarity. As well as fun, every memory that showed the youngest Prince, there was a sickening red tint that grew in each memory, expanding from Hans to envelope the entire picture. Hans gasped.

"It's just as I feared." The old troll said wisely. "This boys memories are becoming tainted."

"Tainted?" Maren said, her calmness dissolving like arsenic powder in a water basin. "Yes. When stuck with fire such as what your son possesses, they carry a great danger." He sighed. "The heat can corrupt and twist the memory, leaving it a complete mess." Hans was shocked. His power, destroying his best friends happiness? The thought made him so nauseous he began releasing dry heaves, smoke and embers glowing and sprouting at his fingertips. "Hans, listen." The Queen hugged him. "This was only a misunderstanding. They can fix it." She cast a nervous glance at the elderly rock troll, who nodded. "I can," The troll said assuringly. "But it won't be easy." He finished. Maren bit her lip again, releasing her grip to look into the creatures brown eyes. "Do what you must." She said sadly looking at Hans and the the child in front of him. The troll pulled the reddening pictures far from Kristoff's head, expanding them with both arms. "I recommend, that we remove any memories involving magic, and anything magic related from here on out. Any reveal could destroy his personality, leaving him a fearful shell of who he once was." The prince watched in shock as with a wave of his hands, the memories red faded ever so slightly with a change in the flames.

Every fire that Hans ever created in Kristoff's memory was being snuffed out like a candle, the blasts from his hands turning to a statuette, the balls of fire being chucked turned to feather stuffed balls and a branch appearing in young Kristoff's small hands. The brilliance of it was rather stunning to everyone. As the final memory was altered to normal, the troll king pointed out, "Don't worry, I'll leave the fun in them." He said as if that fixed everything before shrinking the thoughts back to a smaller size, and waving the now white haze into Kristoff's mind, and a small smile formed on his face as if he was experiencing a beautiful dream that he didn't want to wake from. "He'll be alright." He looked at Hans and smiled.

"So this boy," Thomas questioned picking Kristoff back up. "He won't remember Hans' powers?" The troll king shook his head. "If not that, I'd need to erase Hans completely." He frowned. "Listen to me, Hans." He walked to the side and beckoned for the prince to follow. "Your strength will only grow. Your power over heat and fire is strong, but it can be tamed." The king materialized a haze of an orange, grown Hans silhouette with a blue Kristoff at his side. "The bond you share, with the people you love, is your only chance at taming the fire." The Hans shot blasts of orange from his outstretched hands, and a smoky blue crowd appeared to be in awe from the creations. "But," The troll continued with a wave of his hands, and the fire glowed red, consuming the crowd, tiny hisses and screams coming from the drawing. "Fear is a powerful enemy. If you lose these bonds," Hans' eyes opened wide in fear as the fire turned the Kristoff apparition red, consuming him as well, "Your power will destroy us all." He said ominously before the apparition enveloped the grown Hans in a final burst of smoke wisps, a sharp cry emanating from the flames.

Hans gasped and clung to his mother, realizing the weight now set upon his tiny shoulders.

The Queen looked down at him, offering all the comfort she could in a smile. Then she broke the gaze. "Well, I'm sure he can learn to control it." She offered a hopeful smile. Erik broke his silence. "But until he does, we can't take any chances." He said casting a glance at Kristoff, the smile still on his red cheeks. "Mother, he may be right. Next time, this boy…" "Kristoff." Hans mumbled from the folds of Marens dress. "This Kristoff, or anyone, may not be as fortunate." Thomas said grimly. Maren nodded. "Then I suppose we need more precautions. We'll close the gates." She offered. "Reduce the servants and staff." Erik offered. "Limit his contact with strangers, and all but family." He continued. "Keep him away," He looked at the sleeping child. "From anyone and everyone he cares about." He pursed his lips. "Even Kristoff."