Author's Notes: The result of a fic challenge between me and Curione! Based on this prompt from tumblr by theworstinpeople:
What if Hans still loves Anna?
What if when they trolls said "Get the fiancee out of the way" they meant it?
What if they cast a spell on Hans that replaced his feelings for her with greed?
What if Hans is stuck inside his own mind, screaming and crying, because the love of his life is slipping through his fingers, by his own hand?
What if the open door never closed?
and the Vocaloid song Rolling Girl (lyrics from which appear in italics at the beginning of each act) by Hatsune Miku. The title comes from Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem All Things Will Die.
Act I: Anna
Churning, churning the insides of her flustered mind.
"There's no problem," she mutters; has she lost her words?
She didn't bother to see the ship leave the harbour; there were so many things to be done now that the gates were open, her sister was back, and there was a sleigh to replace.
Kristoff.
Even if he hadn't been the one to kiss her; even if she had saved Elsa (and herself and Arendelle) with her own act of true love, Anna can't deny that there are the stirrings of something more – even if neither he nor she can consider themselves love experts. It's comfortable, the pace they're setting. She isn't in a hurry to go anywhere.
We can learn together.
Anna pays the past no mind as she races, giggling, Kristoff's large hand in hers (gripping his massive fingers), pulling him along to the surprise she's prepared.
Well. technically Elsa's prepared it, but she prepared Elsa.
It's been hard to keep it a secret, but the happy astonishment on his face is completely worth it.
He loves it.
Smiling, feeling as though her newly-thawed heart is about to burst out of her chest, Anna's eyes flutter shut and she lets Kristoff press his lips to hers, wrapping her hands around his broad neck.
Her first kiss is everything she's ever dreamed of.
Elsa's door is always open to her now, and she takes full advantage of it. Their first night together, they sat up in bed sharing chocolates and stories to fill in the years between them.
Anna's determined to know everything about her sister – how she drinks her tea (no milk, two sugars), her favourite book (a long novel by someone with a longer name, and even though Anna's eyes glaze over when Elsa launched into an animated summary of its plot, she still vowed to read it someday), her hobbies (Elsa can draw, and has piles of sketchbooks stacked in her closet; Anna wishes she hadn't skipped her art lessons to hide in the portrait gallery and admire others' brushstrokes instead).
"Favourite chocolate," asks – no, demands – Anna.
Elsa bites her lip as she thinks. "Those creamy truffles Mama said were from France," she replies.
"Ohh! I remember those! They were heavenly!"
"I'm sure you do – Mama was lucky to have been able to save me any, because you practically inhaled the whole box whenever we got some!"
A gasp of outrage. "Hey! I did no such thing!" The princess assumes a snooty air. "I appreciated it properly, as befitting a confection of its status!"
Her sister snorts. While Anna's busy proclaiming this, she seizes the opportunity to stuff the last of the mint chocolates into her mouth. War promptly breaks out.
When they grow more comfortable together, by unspoken agreement, they tackle the difficult things. Anna had put it off as long as she was able, preferring to make Elsa laugh (because goodness knows her sister needs it), but her curiosity wins out at the end of one long day.
She knocks in a familiar cadence; tap tap tap-tap tap. Anna wonders if her knuckles have left imprints in the door, but before she can look, it clicks open.
"Anna?" Elsa opens the door with a smile that quickly fades when she takes in the determined expression her little sister's wearing.
"Elsa," begins Anna hesitantly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "That night – when we were kids…"
Elsa bites her lip. Her sister reaches over, taking her hand and squeezing reassuringly. "Anna…"
"I need to know," says Anna quietly.
She closes her eyes, summons her courage. "We were playing," she begins, and she looks relieved it didn't come out too shaky. "I froze the ballroom over. We skated around the hall, we built Olaf, we slid down snowdrifts. You were jumping, and I couldn't catch you in time – "
Anna draws her into a hug, her hands rubbing comforting circles on her sister's back.
"Mama and Papa…. they took us to the trolls. They… they did something to your memories, changed them around…"
Anna draws a sharp intake of breath. "Sledding. Ice skating. Olaf…"
"They removed all your memories of my powers," Elsa tells her. "But they kept the fun, Grand Pabbie said."
The redhead closes her eyes. "Fun. Enough to miss my sister, who shut me out without a word, despite the fact we were so close. We had so much fun over the years."
"Anna…"
"What else did the trolls tell you? To lock yourself in your room? To hide your magic?"
Elsa pauses, inhales. She's feeling cold despite her powers. "He said fear would be my enemy. He showed me… what might have happened, if I couldn't control my powers… Papa said he would protect me. We'd conceal my powers only until I could control them…"
Anna scowls, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Love will thaw. Of course you hid your powers for years, Elsa… you didn't let Mama and Papa touch you, didn't you? You didn't let anyone near because you were afraid you'd – oh, Elsa…"
She flings her arms around her sister's neck again, stroking the sleek blonde head. Elsa shakes in her arms. Cold fingers grip Anna's clothes tightly.
"I hurt you again. I couldn't – "
" – you didn't. It's alright, Elsa. I'm here. You're not alone anymore."
Anna pulls away gently, her eyes closed, tears running silently down her cheeks. When she opens her eyes again, there was that determination again, that glint that Elsa had remembered seeing in their father's eyes.
"We're going back to see the trolls," says Anna, and Elsa doesn't find it in her to say no.
A bemused Kristoff wonders why Anna is so insistent on seeing the trolls, and why Elsa is so withdrawn, even more than usual; but he never passes up an opportunity to see his family.
The rocks quickly spring to life, and the valley is lost in the sounds of jubilation when it transpires that, yes, Kristoff and Anna are together.
Kristoff has his hands full trying to convince the trolls not to marry the couple on the spot (because it never stopped them when she had a fiancé), Anna is swamped with congratulations and praise, and Elsa is smiling shyly at the excited trolls.
The chaos is somewhat reined in when Grand Pabbie appears, his stony expression splitting into a grin when he sees Anna and Elsa.
"Elsa, Anna," he said. "Or, Your Majesty and Your Highness."
Anna waves it off awkwardly, Elsa smiles slightly in recognition of those gravely tones. "Just Elsa." He inclines his head, taking in the queen's confident bearing and shy smile, and then his gaze falls on Anna. "Well done. Love thaws indeed."
"It does, but I'm here for another reason." Normally-bubbly Anna is strangely taciturn. "My memories… my true memories, from before that night…"
Grand Pabbie understands even when she trails off. "Yes," he says gravely. "Anna, you must understand that it was necessary – "
" – perhaps," she interrupts cuttingly. "All I know is I was suddenly locked out by the sister who was my best friend without knowing why."
"Anna!" Kristoff's and Elsa's shocked voices ring out in the suddenly silent valley.
The oldest troll chuckles, gesturing to show them he takes no offence. "I apologise, Anna. I presume you've come today to have your memories restored?"
At his warm, grandfatherly tone, Anna softens. "Yes. I – I'm sorry about what I said," she mumbles, flushing scarlet.
He shakes his head. Holding out his hands, he nods for her to kneel down.
Anna does –
– and he touches her temples.
Warm sensations roll through her mind, and Anna sighs.
– freezing over the ballroom floor, and she giggles as her feet slide out from under her –
– Elsa's hands around her waist, as they coast over snowdrifts –
– they built Olaf, but he wasn't alive, he spoke in Elsa's voice –
– of gently falling snowflakes, and the girl who could make them happen –
"Elsa," she breathes, and there are tears pouring down her cheeks.
Elsa can't speak; her hands are clamped to her mouth, but she's crying too, and their eyes are the same shade of watery teal in the dim light.
Anna feels grounded; the rolling girl she was is but a mere shadow of who she once was, unable to reach the colour on the other side. The overlapping voices mixing, mixing with each other. She feels complete.
She sighs and Pabbie's hands shift; another, foreign-feeling sensation insinuates itself into Anna's mind. New memories filter in.
"Wait, what – ?"
She remembers; being half-frozen, her mittened hands in Grand Pabbie's stony ones. A spark that she might have felt if her hands weren't so cold and stiff travels in between them…
She remembers; weak with cold, limbs stiff and clumsy with frost, falling into Hans' arms, clutching his collar and begging him to kiss her. The spark leaving her frozen fingers, touching his neck. His clear green eyes clouding over, but went unnoticed because of the fading light, her own desperation and fear of death, her longing for him…
She remembers; her heart near bursting with anticipation and hoarfrost, and then shattered into icy shards by his cruel words...
Pabbie lets go, and Anna tries to stand up; her legs won't cooperate, and she stumbles backwards in the dirt. Her chest heaves noisily.
"Anna!" Kristoff's at her side in an instant, followed by Elsa. When she opens her eyes, they're no longer shining with tears, but cold with anger and shock.
"Grand Pabbie, what did you do to me and Hans?"
"What?" Kristoff's face is blank with shock, and then anger quickly suffuses his features. "Anna, what are you saying?"
The grandfatherly troll suddenly appears more fragile than anyone else has ever seen him before – ironic because of the rock he's made of. "No. Let her speak."
There are no words to describe the shock written over the three humans' faces for that moment – but then Anna's face hardens. Kristoff regains his power of speech first, glancing in between them. "Grand Pabbie?"
"You are right, Anna; what you saw was unintended, but it is a true memory. Prince Hans did love you."
"A spell…" breathed Anna.
Grand Pabbie nods. "A simple spell to bring out the true personality hidden within."
The colour drains out of Anna's face. "Then he never intended to take the throne."
"Whether he intended to take the throne or not, the intention did exist."
"But he might have not." Memories flash through Anna's mind; her breath catches as she remembers his cold face, his cutting words, her freezing heart. Kristoff and Elsa's arms are warm around her but she doesn't notice them.
"There is that possibility," allows the troll.
Anna scrambles to her feet, not looking at him. "Hans – I have to go – " Her voice is distant, uncertain. Elsa reaches for her. Kristoff doesn't move; his expression thunder-struck.
"Anna – "
Her younger sister meets her gaze. Elsa's a little taken aback by the woman she sees; biting her lip, she wonders just how much she's missed over the past thirteen years.
"Elsa. I have to..." she hesitates, searching for the right word, "I have to know."
"... Of course," the young queen finds herself saying.
Beside them, Bulda approaches Kristoff, lays a hand on his shoulder. He pays it no heed.
Anna kneels beside him, touches his cheek. "Let's go home, Kristoff." Dumbly, he nods, and the three of them return to the sleigh,.
They don't look back.
She sails at dawn.
Elsa has an arm around herself, hugging her waist loosely – it's a habit she doesn't realise she still has. "Are you sure you won't let me go with you?"
"Someone has to stay here and take care of everything," says Anna, trying not to let her lip quiver. She tucks a lock of now-auburn hair behind her ear. Her sister notices anyway, and pulls her in for a long lingering hug.
Kristoff looks stricken. "Anna, I – " he manages to get out, and then is cut off as she flings her arms around his neck.
"Kristoff," she murmurs into his ear. "Take care of Elsa. I'll be back soon."
"Anna," he starts, and then chews nervously on his lower lip. "About my family –"
She shushes him. "It's all right. I know you didn't have anything to do with that. I trust you."
He nods, and bends to kiss her cheek. "Come home soon." His use of the word isn't lost on her, and she gives him a dazzling smile.
"I will," says Anna, taking Elsa's and Kristoff's hands in both of hers, and squeezing.
The voyage is long, but she can wait.
Maybe he truly doesn't know what love is.
Maybe she can help him understand.
Maybe the door is still open.
Act II: Hans
"Are you all right now?"
"In just a little longer, we might be able to see something very soon. I'll stop breathing right now."
For the duration of the voyage, Hans' head is in his hands.
His actions haunt him like so many ghosts; Anna, her skin cold, her frozen heart brittlebreaking. So close. Elsa on the ice, her eyes wide with panic. When he breaks her, it briefly crosses his mind how alike the sisters look when in the depths of despair.
The farther the ship got from Arendelle, the weaker the invading influence gets, until the fog clears and he is himself again.
Hans is left to put together the shatteredsharp pieces of himself.
He remembers the exact moment when he lost himself; Anna, ushered in by the servants, her hair streaked with white, desperately reaching for him and all he could say was you're so cold and the icy fingers of her hands touching his neck and the strange invading chill.
Frost permeating his veins, and as he carries her to the couch, he's thinking it's spreading, the ice in her hair.
When he has to kiss her, his body won't obey – he stops short, so tantalizingly close.
His mouth sneers, oh Anna if only there was someone out there who loved you.
He's drawing away from her, putting out the fire, hastening her death.
He's listening to her quavering voice, filled with hurt and uncertainty; I thought you did.
"I do," says Hans now in that same broken voice, but it's no use. The thirteenth son is cursed from birth to be a spectator in the tragedy of his life.
He isn't given a warm welcome home. The brothers he sees aren't pleased with the things he's done, and there's a heated debate over what's to be done with him. His parents haven't looked him in the eye (but it doesn't matter, because he can't remember the last time they did).
In the end, they decide to convene a grand trial, and set about summoning all of the other twelve princes home; in the meantime, he's to be imprisoned. Hans doesn't care. It makes no difference, whether he's locked up on the inside or the outside.
Anyway, he's well aware that 'convening a grand trial' is just another way of saying that no one wants the guilt of signing his death warrant. Better to have his guilt unequivocally proved by an impartial court, and then his execution can be justified.
Hans is sure his brothers won't mind too much – kingdoms are in short supply, and they have enough competition as it is.
He thinks he can atone for the shackles he put on Elsa, when shackles are placed on his own wrists. The Southern Isles are much warmer than Arendelle, but he thinks he knows how cold and lonely it gets in prison, being chained to one spot.
(He understands Elsa a little better now).
But at the very least, he's grateful that he's in control of his own body this time.
They've forgotten to feed him. Hans is preparing himself for another long day, or maybe a mercifully quick end, when –
"Where is Prince Hans?" demands a familiar voice.
His heart quickens, and he lives again. "Anna?" he calls.
"Hans!"
She bursts in, and she's all warmth and light and sun (he's forgotten what those are); he rises on unsteady feet to meet her.
"Anna," he says, and he's so happy to see her alive but he remembers she hates me; his smile slips a little. "What are you doing here?"
"Hans," she begins, her eyes overbright with tears, "I know what really happened then. When you tried to kill Elsa. When you didn't kiss me." Her words are jumbled in her rush to speak but he hears every word.
His breath catches in his throat. "Anna, I – "
Her eyes fall to his wrists. "Oh god," she says. Her fingers ghost over raw skin, and he's dimly aware of her shouting for a guard. The manacles come off, and she's cradling his hands in hers. Tenderly, she raises a hand to her mouth; Anna places a trembling kiss to the split skin. Her fingers trace broken patterns on the torn flesh – she's shaking, ever so slightly.
"It was the trolls, Hans," she says, and a tear splashes on his wrist. Hans watches it carve a track down his arm. "They cast a spell on you."
"Anna."
"I know now you didn't mean to do those things to me – to Elsa."
He closes his eyes. "Anna," he says again, letting her name roll off his lips, because she's here with him. When he opens his eyes, she's come close enough their breath mingles in the stale air of the prison, and he can see himself reflected in her luminous blue-green eyes. "Hans," she answers.
She tries to kiss him and he moves away.
"I can't," says Hans, feeling his nerve slip away.
"Hans?"
"I could've done those things to you and Elsa." He feels his shoulders lighten a little with the confession. Her brow furrows.
"Hans, it was a spell – "
" – it doesn't mean I haven't had those thoughts. But I saw my worst nightmares come true, and I…" Hans runs his fingers through his hair. "I watched you die. I killed you myself. Anna, I can't."
She bites her lip, and it's the most adorable thing he's seen, and it makes him want to go back to before things became so complicated. He wants to touch her.
But he doesn't.
"Go home, Anna," he says firmly. He draws himself back from her warmth and turns his gaze to the damp stone walls.
Of course she comes back the next day. She's Anna, and she doesn't take no for an answer, and she's going to dash herself at the problem like the damned ocean against the rocks until it breaks or she breaks.
Hans knows this, and so he's determined not to let her fall (it's lonely and painful at the bottom).
"Go home, Anna," he says again as she's busy cleaning his mangled wrists. Somehow, she's managed to force his brothers to remove the manacles and had the guards bring clean cloths and medical supplies.
"Not without you," she answers instantly.
"The trial."
The princess gives him a sunny smile, and Hans' heart sinks as it reminds him of how very innocent she is, and how he's going to end up breaking her heart (again). "I'll be a witness. I'll tell them you were under a spell, and – " She accidentally swipes a raw patch, and Hans grunts. "Sorry!" she squeaks.
He smiles. "I'm fine. But still – you shouldn't be here." Whether he means in prison, or in the Southern Isles, or even with him is ambiguous, and she ignores all of those meanings.
"I want to be here." Anna touches his face gently, caressing his cheek; he leans into her touch.
"I did those things – "
"– which you didn't mean to."
"I hurt you –"
" – you didn't mean to."
"I could have done those things."
"That doesn't mean you would have." Anna leans back, a triumphant look on her face. "Are you quite done?" Her logic is relentless and he lifts his hands in mock surrender.
"I don't want to hurt you more than I already have – regardless of whether I meant to or not," he says forcefully. "Things don't work that way. The fact is that I tried to kill Elsa and I manipulated you into getting engaged to me – oh, and I left you for dead."
Anna leans back, her expression inscrutable. "But do you love me?"
He meets her blue-green eyes (like the sea he loves). "I could."
Her smile is beautiful. "I can, and I did."
Convincing the rest of the world that magic is real is an uphill task, as Anna finds. Hans' brothers alone find it nigh impossible to believe that it would have controlled the actions of a person, let alone outsiders.
"Could it be that Hans is lying to you because he feels guilty for what he's done?" suggests an impressively-mustachioed prince with Hans' brown-green eyes.
"I think you haven't seen much of the world yet, my dear," sneers a tall man with the same wavy, auburn hair.
"You were engaged to our brother after only one day, am I correct? Surely one would not presume to know the true character of another person within that short span of time?" asks Hans' spitting image. His face is cold and cruel, like the man who sneered in Anna's face and left her to die.
Anna's fists clenches in her skirts as she tries very hard not to lose her temper with these princes. His fate depends on it. "If you would release him into Arendelle's keeping to be tried properly," she begins again patiently but some irritation bleeds through, "we can conclusively prove that Prince Hans is not guilty of the crimes he's been accused of."
The old man slams his hand on the mahogany table and the hall falls silent. "Enough squabbling," he says, and his voice is as gravely as Grand Pabbie's. "Princess Anna."
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"My son has wronged you and your sister, and for that we apologise."
"Yes, thank you, but – "
"– however, Hans' sentencing is for his blood kin to decide." He inclines his shaggy head. "You have honoured us with your visit."
"Hey," starts Anna, the words tumbling over her tongue, getting angry with his use of the past tense, "I wasn't finished – "
But she's left alone at the table; the princes are filing out of the room after their father and mother, and the servants appear and offer to show her to her room.
She's fuming all the way back.
"How was diplomacy?" Hans asks, and she scowls at him.
"Your family is impossible."
He smiles and shrugs. "Father still thinks women should be seen and not heard. I wouldn't expect much."
"I know. But I have to try," she admits, and scoots over to rest her head on his shoulder.
He stiffens. "I'm filthy – "
"Please." Anna closes her eyes, inhales his scent that's still there, under the grime and sweat and despair. He acquiesces, and wraps an arm around her shoulders.
Hans closes his eyes too.
"We find Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, guilty of two counts of high treason," says the king without a trace of emotion, "and sentence him to death."
"No – you can't!" screams Anna, leaping to her feet. "Your Majesty –"
He fixes her with a withering look as his sons leave the hall hastily, each careful to avert their eyes. "The traitor is being punished for the crimes he has committed against you and your sister. Are you trying to tell me you do not want justice done?"
"This isn't justice! He was under a spell – "
"– there is no such thing as magic as far as we could see. The traitor has always been power-hungry and manipulative –"
"He's your son!"
The older man looks into Anna's stricken eyes for a moment. "Not anymore."
The prison guards don't put up their usual token protest to Anna's daily demands for entry, and Hans knows it's all over for him when she flings her arms around his neck and sobs into his shirt.
He wraps his arms around her, rocking her like she's a child. "Hey," he says softly, "it's alright."
Anna's head snaps up, and her blue eyes are blazing fire despite the wetness of her cheeks. "No, it's not!" she shouts at him. "They're going to – oh god, Hans –" She presses her hand to her mouth, fresh tears welling up.
"I know." He smooths her hair from her face, and she closes her eyes, as though she's relishing the feeling of his ungloved hands on her skin, his warm, slightly-roughened thumbs wiping tears away. "I know. It's okay, Anna, really it is."
Her eyes are so pained; he briefly wonders how can she feel so much for him when he can't.
Act III: Kristoff
"Are you all right now?
It's okay. You gradually became tired of it too, right?"
We'll hold our breath, right now.
He doesn't go back to the valley while she's gone.
Kristoff buries his anger in every strike of his pick, grinds out his frustration in the old ice-saw. He works until he collapses, too numb to feel, and sleeps.
Elsa forces him to return after a few days. "Keep me company while Anna's away?" she asks, and it isn't a request but a command, and he pretends to agree. "It's too quiet when she isn't around."
"Underfoot, you mean," he says with a short laugh and blush (she would have laughed, and punched him), but Elsa doesn't laugh, she just smiles; she's not that comfortable with other people. But that suits him just fine; neither is he.
During the day, he starts to follow Elsa around (partly because when she smiles it reminds him of Anna, mostly because he's worried he'll get lost in the castle).
The nights are different.
After Kristoff was forced from his stall in the stables with Sven, he doesn't sleep in the big soft bed in the opulent guest room he's been given – it's much too fancy and he swears it gives him backache. He likes the floor better. Mostly, he doesn't sleep.
When he closes his eyes, he hears the words, sees Anna's hurt, feels the sting of betrayal (how it hurts when your heart is broken, he feels like he's beginning to understand) and he thinks that even trolls aren't as good as reindeer.
Once he opens his eyes and sees Elsa. He wonders if he's still dreaming about the valley until she touches his arm.
"I heard you shouting in your sleep," she says, looking worn and nervous by the light of the candle she holds, "are you alright?"
"Yes," he lies. No, say his eyes.
She doesn't believe him but there's nothing she can do – until the next night, when it's her voice that pulls him from a restless sleep and into her room (even if Anna isn't around to knock, her door's always unlocked). She's thrashing in her sleep in what looks like a violent nightmare; the room is unbearably cold.
"Anna," she whimpers, "Anna, please. No," and Kristoff can't bear it.
"Elsa," he says, shaking her shoulder, "Elsa, wake up."
She doesn't wake gently; her eyes are wide and blank, and she trembles like a leaf in the wind. He gathers her to his chest like how he vaguely remembers his parents doing (he hopes he doesn't smell like stable and Sven) but she doesn't seem to mind.
Elsa's so very small in his arms like Anna, but when he opens his eyes, he remembers her hair is blonde.
When she's fully awake, she darts from his arms like a startled deer. "Sorry," she mutters. Her face is aflame and she's trying very hard not to look at him as she thaws the room. "Did I wake you?"
"No," he answers truthfully. "I was already awake."
"It's late," Elsa says with a frown, but she doesn't pursue it. She pulls herself together, slowly, but on her own; he smiles. The ice harvester makes to leave, but Elsa catches his sleeve. "Stay," she says, and it's another command he readily obeys.
He wakes a few hours later to find himself lying on Elsa's bed, and Elsa herself curled into his side. Kristoff starts, but he doesn't want to wake her, and infinitely slowly he begins to disentangle himself.
She murmurs Anna's name in her sleep.
He doesn't go.
"I trusted them," says Kristoff abruptly.
Elsa nods. "So did my parents." She's silent, fidgeting with her clothes as though she's searching for the right words there. "But in the end…"
"They were my family."
She doesn't miss the past tense, and she touches his arm; Kristoff turns his head slowly to meet her eyes. He's solid like the rocks that raised him, but at this moment in time, he's the ice he cuts; fragile. Elsa wonders if he can shatter.
"I'm sorry," she says, because she can't think of anything better to say, and she hates that, she feels she needs to do something, be a better person like Anna –
He looks so tired but he smiles for her, and pats her hand, and looks into her eyes as if to say I know.
The sky's awake, and so are they.
Act IV: Coda
Another failure, another failure.
If it ends in search of the mistakes, once again, she'll spin!
"Maybe in another life, another situation, another time..." says Hans.
"What are you talking about?" Her voice is light, teasing; she brushes his fringe out of his eyes. But he can tell she's stretched tight and the only thing keeping her together is her stubborn determination.
"Us."
"Oh."
"You don't like the idea?"
"Stupid. Of course I do." She isn't looking at him when she talks.
"You don't seem very happy..."
"I am. I just – it's a bit hard to imagine, to be honest, after everything that's happened – not that it's your fault! I... really enjoyed that night with you."
He sighs, loud and overdramatic. "Dear Anna, such a naughty girl. Alluding to such unspeakable things, tut tut!"
"Shut up. Stop teasing me."
"I'm not teasing you, I know what's on your mind."
"Oh really? Okay, tell me. What am I thinking of now?"
"Chocolate."
"... that was an easy one. Okay. Now?"
"Hmm. A bit tough. It's either Elsa, or how devilishly handsome I am with my hair long..." His sideburns are shaggy, his auburn hair long and lank, but she doesn't care.
"Idiot."
"You didn't say I was wrong."
"No, I was – I was distracted! Pay attention."
"I am." His face is completely serious, his eyes intense. "You're beautiful."
A slow hot flush creeps up her neck and face. "T–thank you – but I – "
"I think," he continues, "if we had gotten to spend more time with each other, I would have truly loved you."
"I thought you did, even before – "
"– of course." Hans runs a hand through his hair. "But I would have kissed you, and hoped it worked."
A pause.
She tucks a now-ginger lock of hair behind her ear. "I wanted to. You to kiss me, that is." Anna doesn't say anything about it working or not. She knows now, that true love isn't always real, and princes aren't always charming, and they lived happily ever after doesn't come true.
He leans forward, caressing her cheek like he did before. Her hair isn't white, and she isn't shivering from the cold but he's so close, and she wants this – he can see it in her eyes. Perhaps as much as he does.
"Anna," he whispers. She tilts her face up to meet him, her lips slightly parted.
Her second (first) kiss is everything she dreamed it might have been.
"Oh, Anna," he says as they part, his eyes sad, "if only..."
"Don't," she tells him, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Hans cups her face in his hands, wipes her tears away with gentle sweeps of his thumbs. "Don't ruin this."
"I wish – " he starts, and stops, his mouth working soundlessly. "I wish I loved you."
Anna flings her arms around his waist, buries her face in the crook of his neck (she isn't surprised to find how well they fit together), and sobs into his chest. He holds her together.
"Don't die with me," he tells her. It's the first time they've dared to say it aloud, and from the way her slim frame stiffens in his arms, she still isn't ready.
"I won't. I promise."
Anna comes home on the tide, her face drawn and haggard.
"He was executed a week ago," she says hollowly, and they nod, knowing already from the stricken expression she turns to them.
Elsa opens her arms, and she falls into them. Kristoff wraps them both in his hug.
She mourns for a week or so, and the other two give her space; they move around her, but never from her, and Anna appreciates it.
Kristoff doesn't go back to the valley again, and has dark circles under his eyes. Elsa still has nightmares. Anna cries for them, cries for the family they've all lost. But she doesn't cry for herself, because that's not what he wanted.
One day, when Anna shyly slips into Kristoff's arms and kisses him, he holds her just a bit tighter than he normally would have.
Her third (second) kiss is everything she's dreaming of.