I'm really fascinated by Hans and find him a very interesting and tragic character despite his dickishness. I wrote this originally as an exercise to speculate on his possible motivations and thought processes. Hence the first chapter is essentially the end of Frozen from Hans' POV to lay down the groundwork - but after that it's all mine.
Comments most appreciated, especially the constructive kind! Even if I don't always reply in the comments, I really appreciate and cherish all feedback, it's interesting to see the reader's interpretations.
Thanks for reading!
/NEW! A background "Extras" document with a character listing, the music I listen to when writing and other such extra tidbits can be found here :
https: [double slash] goo [point] gl [slash] zMTHR6
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where a prince tries to be a hero
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When the heavy cell door closed behind him, the thud sounded louder than it should have been, heavier and fateful. Hans felt odd, with an unpleasant lightness in his head and a churning of lead in his stomach. There was a curious tight feeling in his chest, too. What was to be done now? What was the course? He took a deep breath, held it, exhaled, shook his head to sort his thoughts and started to walk towards the upper floors. Get Anna, the Queen had said. Anna, his wayward bride, second-in-line to the throne, who'd ridden off into the blizzard and vanished. As fickle as she seemed to be, for the kingdom of Arendelle she was undoubtedly a better option for a monarch than Elsa, the cursed queen of snow who was now locked in her own cell.
He'd placed far too much faith on the Queen's ability to control her powers. Taken it for granted, really, that was stupid and naive of him - but it had never occurred to him that she would only be able to unleash and not to rein in. She was terrified. She'd begged him to let her go, as was expected, but not because the imprisonment was an affront to her, nor because she claimed to have done no wrong, but because she considered herself a danger to her own realm. She was a curse, her presence a threat, she knew it full well, and the knowledge seemed to fill her with great terror. Hans saw her vividly in his mind; powerful, beautiful, dangerous - and so very scared of herself. At her ice palace on the North Mountain, she'd seemed like a completely different person than the distant and reserved young queen they'd all admired at the coronation, playing the part so perfectly, proper and courteous if a little too timid for a monarch. It had been hard to believe the formidable sorceress encountered at the palace was the same woman, transformed into an apparition of fiercely blazing magical power.
But it had been her, and thankfully she had listened to reason, giving up her attack at his urging, snapping out of it as if woken from a daze. Attack? It was self-defense and you know it. The thought stung. He'd brought the assassins to her door himself, albeit unknowingly. He'd need to have a stern word with the Duke about that, at some point. He did not appreciate being used for a puppet and a decoy, especially by that pompous, self-important little prune. He ground his teeth together. The volunteers of the Arendelle militia had not seen the deception through their shock. Believing that their queen had tried to murder her own men, they had wanted to kill her while she lay unconscious, quickly, before she'd wake and drown them all in snow or impale them on icicles. He'd interfered, and had for a desperate moment thought that they would not listen to him - but his authority and royal air had prevailed, his command was obeyed and the Queen spared. He'd had to do it. She was still the rightful queen after all, and besides, murdering a helpless, unconscious woman was vile and wrong, witch or not.
He reached the gate level and decided to make a little detour outside before returning to the gathered envoys, to give himself more time to think. His thoughts always flowed best when moving, and he hoped the outside air would help him make some sense of the situation. Or at least help him decide his stance on the whole mess, to come up with a neatly thought-out plan or opinion to present to the other dignitaries. The last thing he wanted to do was appear confused or indecisive, especially in front of the Duke of Weaseltown.
Hans remembered Queen Elsa at the coronation, when her mask collapsed under the scene Anna so publicly raised and her power broke out of control. She'd looked like a hunted animal then, so vulnerable and threatened, petrified with fear. He'd felt an overwhelming urge to comfort and protect her. He thought there might have been a brief moment where she could have altered the course of events, maybe tried to turn it all into a jest, to shift the mood - but she'd turned tail and ran, and the shocked surprise of the guests had turned to confusion and fear. The moment had passed and things had been set in motion. Still, the memory lingered, and he'd found himself unable to allow her to be killed. Instead, he'd brought her back to the city on his own horse, holding her slight body up with his own while pretending not to hear the nervous mutterings of his - her - men. Was that unwise? Should he have simply left her lying there and walked away, abandoning her to her fate?
What the devil had he been thinking of, actually? Letting the Queen be killed by her own frightened subjects might in fact have been the wisest thing to do. To stand aside and not interfere, and let the history of a nation take it's own course. He was engaged to princess Anna, second in line to the throne. Elsa's death would have made Anna the princess regent, the queen not yet crowned, and him the king-to-be as her future husband. That's the thing, isn't it, future. They weren't married yet, and Anna was missing. And if she should disappear into the wild for good, never to be seen again? Who would take the throne? There were a thousand ways for a woman to die alone in the wilderness in wintertime, even with proper gear, and Anna had ridden off in her fine coronation gown, with only a borrowed cloak. Of course, it was supposed to be high summer, but the snowbanks and the blizzards were there nonetheless. Hans frowned, cursing under his breath in exasperation.
He strode out through the gates. Clear air, clear thoughts, that's what Hafleikr always said, and he definitely needed his thoughts clear now. The cold air nipped at his face and he lifted the collar of his coat up against the cold, more for the gesture than any real benefit. He felt himself to be at a crossroads, a rare definitive turning point in history, a wild moment where anything can happen and events can move to any direction, take any route, depending on the actions of the individuals. Most of the time, he knew, things were set down and successions mapped out in advance, unions and wars foreseen, planned and developed. But no-one had anticipated the young Queen suddenly turning out to be a witch at her own coronation and inflicting an uncontrollable plight upon her people.
Was it fate? He'd come to Arendelle for the coronation as a diplomatic representative of his country, but also as an aspiring suitor. Arendelle was a nice little kingdom with only two unengaged, young, inexperienced, marriageable sisters to rule it. A nice prize for every unnecessary royal second (or younger) son around, to be sure, even if no-one had seen the sisters in years. He supposed that was why there hadn't been a bigger crowd of hopeful princely bachelors - the whispers circulating the courts had assumed the determined royal seclusion was due to some hideous deformity or mental instability, but he was desperate and unneeded enough to at least come to inspect the situation. He had been very pleasantly surprised. The sisters were both incredibly lovely and seemingly sane. He had scarcely believed his luck when it'd turned out the fetching, spirited lady he'd (very literally) run into was in fact the princess royal, unattended and desperately eager for new acquaintances. He'd aimed for the queen-to-be at first, of course, like the rest of the hopefuls, but she'd firmly refused all contact before the crowning and had been decidedly formal and distant in every small encounter anyone had managed. He now knew why, but at the time had simply thought her to be proud, aloof and unpleasantly haughty.
While everyone was flocking around Elsa, no-one had competed with him for Anna's attention - though he knew it would only be a short matter of precious time before someone would notice the princess' embarrassingly obvious longing for attention and romance, and use it to their advantage. She seemed like she was ready to attach herself to the first man who bothered to smile at her. So why not him? He'd worried that some other aspiring admirer would wedge themselves into her favour if he didn't move fast, and had put all of his charm to full use in order to secure her affections and appear as a great match for her, a veritable soul mate. He had actually worried he might overdo it and appear too eager, that she would realise that he was trying very hard to show just what she wanted to see, but her delighted responses had exceeded his wildest dreams, and so he pushed on. It paid off. She'd agreed to marry him the very same night! His feelings on the outcome of the pursuit were curiously mixed. It was what he wanted and hoped for, so naturally he was pleased, but at the same time couldn't help but disapprove of her behaviour.
Such recklessness was absolutely not fitting for a princess second in line to the throne, who might very possibly become the queen of her nation, and her chosen husband its king with her. What's more, Arendelle had only two royal brides to offer the world. Two chances to form beneficial blood connections with the other kingdoms, no more, and they ought to have considered very carefully who to choose. Of course, it all worked to his advantage, but it was unnerving nonetheless.
Anna would become queen now, should she return alive. However, she seemed absolutely unfit to rule, completely thoughtless about the consequences of her actions and decisions, however well-intended they were. For some noble-born little maiden, whimsy was acceptable, even endearing - but the fancies and whimsies of a queen affect her whole kingdom and its people with her. He was deeply worried about Anna's impending reign. She had even suggested, in all seriousness, that all twelve of his older brothers would come live with them in Arendelle! All twelve, as if none of the royal princes had anything of importance to do in their own kingdom, no affairs of the crown to maintain or duties to attend to, and they could all just bugger off to go live in a foreign land. It was utterly incredible. Almost as if she didn't have the foggiest idea of what it meant to be royalty despite being a princess, not the slightest understanding of the duty and responsibility that came with royal privilege. At that moment, Hans had realised with a sinking feeling that his marriage would not be a very happy one, that he was destined to join the ranks of the husbands suffering their wives' idiocies with a pained but resigned air. Perhaps she was born simple?
I'll have to find a way to rein her in, he thought grimly. She has to learn some proper manners before she'll shame her entire country. If she already hasn't. The scene she raised at the ballroom was a complete disgrace. Tainting the historical occasion of her sister's coronation with her petty little emotional tantrum! No-one in his family would ever have dreamed for a second of having such a private matter displayed in front of the gathered envoys of every important collaborator they had. The gossip would be fluttering about the courts of the other kingdoms for years and years, he was sure. It was too juicy, the princess starting a private family quarrel about a love matter with the Queen at her own coronation, in public, like an immodest, shameless skivvy. How very very vulgar. Hans could practically hear his mother's voice, brimming with disapproval. He made a face and took another deep sigh, the cold air crisp and sharp in his lungs.
Anna had seemed so delightful when they'd first met, but his opinion of her had quickly plummeted, and sunk further with every new moment spent with her. He supposed she was very charming in her own way, still, but for a royal person in her station she was far too unchecked, spoiled, immodest and incredibly self-centered, completely ignoring her obligations as a princess of the realm. Although he carefully hid his feelings from her, it annoyed him endlessly, her careless disregard for her position and all it's implications. Wearing her heart on her sleeve for all to see and thinking only of herself. Entirely unlike her sister. Her sister, the imprisoned sorceress queen. Elsa.
He was walking slowly towards the main square, the coronation banderols still up at the poles, frozen stiff with hoarfrost. They had the Queen's silhouette on them. He stopped and stared at her likeness.
I don't know anything about her, he thought. Had she been cursed? Or had she always had this power, the dreadful force beyond her control, while living amongst her family and servants, pretending to be normal? How long had she been aware of being such a clear, direct threat to those around her? Anna had sworn she didn't know, and he believed her. Had she really kept it all to herself - while knowing she couldn't control her dangerous power? He looked out over the water, at the ice stretching into the horizon as far as he could see, cracking and booming as it grew thicker still at her presence. Such immense power. She couldn't really have attempted to hide that side of her forever, to pretend it didn't exist? Had she?
What a front, quite a role to play. Turning one's whole life into a performance, trying to play the person one is expected to be instead of being the one one is. He knew what that was like from bitter experience. Putting on a show, living most of your life behind the mask, or armour, of cheer and charm and politeness, showing everyone exactly what they want to see and not what's really there. Never letting anyone see they've gotten a hit in, because when you seem weak and vulnerable you're as good as done, you've already lost, and because that's what you're supposed to do as a royal, grin and bear it. Whatever comes your way. It's your duty, after all. You can't change the cards you're dealt, you can only play with them as best you can. And he played to win.
He looked at the Queen's profile again, obscured behind the frost. They were more alike than he'd thought, in a way. The numbing desperation, the choking, constricted feeling, the devastating lack of options, the hidden, burning bitterness. Are they your companions too, Elsa? Is that what she'd tried to become, a perfect image of a perfect queen, shrouding the flawed, anomalous, real woman with her horrifying secret from all the world forever?
Some-one must have known, she was the crown princess, for heaven's sake. Heirs apparent didn't skip around unmonitored, catching curses from God knows where or developing magical powers at random without anyone paying attention or bothering to care. Younger princes, perhaps, Hans smirked to himself. But not the crown heirs. What about her parents, the late king and queen? They died accidentally, at sea, he remembered, glancing at the icy vastness with it's crushing hold on the ships, creaking and moaning under the cold embrace. Could the king have tried to remove his cursed offspring from the line of succession, deeming a princess bursting with uncontrollable magic too unreliable for the throne? Provoking her to - no, he didn't really believe it. She seemed so intimidated and emotionally fragile it was impossible to believe she would have murdered her own parents for standing in her way. So gentle and nervous - and yet he remembered the moment when she'd been a heartbeat away from pushing a man to his death and skewering the other, hunched in her attack like a frenzied beast. She'd have done it, too, if he hadn't stopped her. She had a smoldering fire in her, he mused. A true fighting spirit, an unrelenting core of steel somewhere beneath it all. Bloodlust, too? An appetite for vengeance, perhaps? He truly knew nothing about her.
She's let go of the mask, he thought. She's finally being herself, even if it scares her. The thought felt appealing. There was something in her transformation, in this new alluring, sparkling form, that sang of elation mixed in with the desperation and the shame. The shame of being magical.
The whole thing was surreal. The world had gone mad and become a fairytale. The Queen had turned into a character from children's tales, but somehow seemed to be more herself, more real and alive. But was she the cursed princess to be saved, or the wicked witch to be vanquished? And what was his role in this story? I'm the handsome prince who rides in, saves the day, marries the princess and gets the kingdom. Isn't that what I've always wanted to be? He felt the lead in his stomach again. His gut feeling about it all was bad, very bad.
Things felt wrong somehow, as if he was about to make a misstep on unknown territory, walking on thin ice without knowing where the treacherous parts were, thinking he was on the right path until he'd fell through.
You think too much, Hans, said an unpleasant sharp voice at the back of his head. You always did think too much and do too little, hesitating too long, getting lost in your ridiculous musings and fancy tales. His legs felt reluctant to move, but he walked to the main square, his chest tightening with every step. He stood at the square, letting his gaze swoop across the buildings, the now dead maypole, the ever-growing snowbanks, the icicles large enough to kill a man at the eaves where the heat was escaping from the houses, the streets abandoned to the piling snow and crippling cold, all the people huddling indoors for warmth. The city was frozen stiff, helpless, waiting for spring to release it. He looked further up at the hills, finding the batches of what seemed to have been fields now vanished under the snow, and closed his eyes. The cold was biting his numbing face hard now. He felt tired and weary.
Hans finally allowed the thought he'd been very carefully avoiding to take a clear shape.
She has to die.
There was no doubt about that. Arendelle was dying. The kingdom had been caught completely unawares, utterly unprepared for winter. He had sworn on his honour to take care of Arendelle. He took his duties seriously - always had, as an attempt to be taken more seriously himself, not that it'd worked - and as per his military training had tried to assess the situation thoroughly when he'd been left in charge. He'd done what he could to ensure the people wouldn't freeze to death through their summer windows, but he was painfully aware of just how disastrous the whole situation was. Affairs of the crown had apparently been run very sloppily and inefficiently for a few years at least, and things were in dreadful disarray. There were no real emergency stores, nothing near enough to carry the population through the winter. Even if this winter could end while she lives. In fact, he was worried about the looming natural autumn and the winter following on its heels. If this magical freeze lasted any longer, the crops would die for good, and then the kingdom would truly be doomed.
Hans had already started to get attached to Arendelle, viewing it as his responsibility, as a place meant for him. He wanted so badly to come into his own, to leave all of the misery and humiliation behind him, the cruel head games and the superficial politeness laced with poison. He could rule competently and well, he was certain, better than most of his insufferable brothers. Definitely infinitely better than either of the blundering royal sisters of Arendelle. But the right to rule was never about competence, was it, he thought bitterly, and the realm was the one who ultimately paid the price for the mistakes of incompetent firstborns.
If the winter didn't end soon, people would have to move away, but how would they pay their way or keep, leaving their possessions behind save for what they could carry? Would they scatter to the world, leaving their queen behind to rule alone in a frozen land? No, the solution was obvious, however uncomfortable. For the sake of the kingdom, its queen had to be killed in order to put an end to this devastating false winter, and the sooner the better.
The thought pained him far more than he'd thought. What did you think, you fool? That she was the evil sorceress from the stories, the foe who curses the kingdom out of spite and runs away to her ice palace in the mountains? Who will change her mind and lift the spell with a snap of her fingers when it's asked sweetly enough of her, just like that?
Indeed, that's what he'd hoped. That somehow it could be set to rights, maybe have Elsa declared unfit for ruling, dethroned, perhaps imprisoned - but not dead. Not dead, not her. He thought of her eyes, blue and deep like the sky on a clear winter day. Stop wallowing in past hopes and staring at blocked paths like a confused cow, the voice hissed at him. It's impossible, that option is gone, it didn't work out, stop thinking about it. He opened his eyes, deliberately pushing her memory away. Let go. Plan failed, make a new one. Focus on the possible, you weak, pathetic, sentimental twit. It's your moment. Seize it. He didn't want to have Elsa killed, but there was no choice. Seize it. He looked at the ailing kingdom again, mustering strength behind his resolve. It has to be done. Yes. The decision was made. The course was clear in front of him. Seize it.
He turned and strode briskly towards the castle, hoping to shake off the damned wistfulness. The main thing now was to track princess Anna down, bring her back in tolerable health and marry her as soon as was possible. He'd have to gather another search party. This time, he dearly hoped, there would be no murderous snow monsters, although with his luck Anna would have caught some curse of her own by now and would likely be turned into a swan or a troll by the time he reached her. Getting distracted with your stupid fancies again, idiot. Focus. He started to plan the practicalities. Princess Anna had chased after Queen Elsa alone in order to bring her disgraced sister back, and to make things right, whatever the devil that meant. Convincing everyone that an inexperienced sorceress as a queen was in fact a good thing and not an ungodly abomination? Maybe talk the Queen into retreating out of the public life and taking her place, turning her own debut to polite society into a debut into politics and power? It was very brave of Anna, brave, reckless and bloody foolish.
And if she'd bothered to respect her sister's - her queen's - wishes and thrown her tantrum in private, maybe no-one would have needed to chase after anyone and no-one would need to die. The sudden thought flared in his mind with anger, bright and hot. The Queen had managed to keep her powers under control for so long. Perhaps, just perhaps, had there been no disastrous public scene, her powers would not have escaped her so violently and there would be no crisis, no exile, no curse that needed to be washed away with royal blood. Perhaps they could have managed to sort it out between themselves, perhaps they would have even agreed that Anna ought to take the throne, with him by her side, and there would have been no need to clear Elsa out of the way. No need for any of this distasteful unpleasantness.
Perhaps this, perhaps that, only if. He harrumphed at himself, getting sidetracked again. Focus on the possible and the present, not the past. Where could she have gone? She hadn't aimed directly for the North Mountain, that he knew for sure. He'd led the first rescue mission straight up the mountain, assuming they would naturally come by Anna on what seemed to be the most logical path for Elsa to have taken. Sure enough, they'd found the Queen, but not a trace of the princess. He felt another sharp tinge of annoyance at her and grit his teeth. Could she not have been sensible and predictable for once? Anna could be anywhere, absolutely anywhere, it would take them precious time to find her, maybe too long for her - or the kingdom. He thought of the snow monster they'd fought at the Queen's gates with sudden unease. No, she was the Queen's own sister, surely Elsa's minions had not attacked her? She would never hurt me, Anna had said. He had to trust that and believe she was still alive and well. She had to be.
He found the dignitaries huddled together in the chess room, nervously talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. They greeted his arrival with relieved enthusiasm, like officers glad to see their general, glad that some-one else was there to take the responsibility off their shoulders and make the decisions. It felt good, the authority, the influence. It felt natural. Reminding himself that he was supposedly madly in love with his bride in the eyes of the world, he chose his tone accordingly when informing them of his plans. He was surprised when they protested his announcement of going back out to look for the princess, unwilling to be left leaderless again.
"You cannot risk going out there again," pleaded du Fourberenard, the Galterrean ambassador. Hans whipped around to point out that should his dear bride suffer any harm, both him and the realm would be utterly devastated and lost. The Umbirian, count what's-his-name, cut him short.
"If anything happens to the princess, you are all Arendelle has left."
Him?
He was nowhere near the official Arendelle line of succession, not before they'd been wed. And not truly even then, the real claim to the throne was in Anna's blood, and that of their future children. But him? Now? Already? He had not even considered the possibility of by-passing Anna and ascending to the throne on his own as a complete outsider. That's a coup d'etat. Would it be possible? Could he just waltz in and declare himself the new monarch, just like that? He glanced at the eager faces of the gathered diplomats. They certainly already seemed to treat him as the de facto ruler of Arendelle.
Wasn't that what he was, actually? The one left in charge, by the last royal order of the princess, heard by everyone? The one who had been there for the people in their time of desperate need, to provide authority, order and shelter while the actual royal rulers had ran off after the unbelievable had happened, leaving them frightened, confused and lost? They would not protest, and the dignitaries would back his claim. In the eyes of the people, the Queen was a wicked sorceress who'd cursed the land and abandoned her subjects in the first day of her reign, and the princess had vanished. He was the only option left that was right and familiar, behaving the way royals were expected to behave in times of crisis, leading and ruling. He represented the way back to normality, reality, safety. Yes, it was very possible, but to even attempt it was high treason. The realisation rushed through him like a wave, almost choking him with the immensity of the decision. He drew a deep breath, his thoughts swirling. Seize it. Quick.
And then a voice called his name, a clamour stumbled into the room and suddenly Anna was there, supported by the servants, weak and seemingly injured but definitely alive. Relief flooded over him and he ran to her like an excited child, grateful that she was alive, that he didn't need to make the monumental choice just yet. He didn't wish her any real harm, annoying and bothersome as she was. For a fleeting moment, he naively hoped that the worst was over and things would be slowly settling themselves back into proper order. But the second he held her he knew that something was wrong, horribly wrong, and that the nightmare was far from over. She was inhumanly cold, like a statue of marble, her hair streaked with white.
"You're so cold!" He couldn't help stating the obvious as she stumbled against him. A part of him faintly hoped she would reply that she had simply been out too long, had frozen herself, would give some explanation - but instead, she grabbed his lapels, enthusiastically demanding a kiss.
He was completely dumbfounded. A kiss? Their first kiss? At a moment like this, with her kingdom dying, her people suffering and the crown in the middle of its greatest crisis, with her sister essentially doomed to death because of her utter lack of discretion, she chose to indulge in her little romantic whimsies? In front of everyone? Shocked and embarrassed, he shot a bewildered look at the head housekeeper. Her faint knowing smile fanned his burning embarrassment into fierce indignation and anger. My God, she really has no sense of decency at all. He could barely keep his expression in check and couldn't help recoiling slightly from her. "Slow down," he ventured, only to have her brazenly attempt to jump up to try to reach his face in an extremely un-princesslike manner. Hans almost couldn't believe it. Did she have a secret perversion for shamefully embarrassing public displays, for heaven's sake? He had to struggle to keep his composure, but the routine of keeping up a pleasant front he'd developed through the years of hiding his true emotions won. Despite the waves of anger crashing violently inside him, he even managed to squeeze out a smile of thanks he hoped looked genuine when the head housekeeper ushered everyone out of the room in order to "give them some privacy". Privacy! He vaguely felt like slapping her, but pushed the buzzing swarm of anger back and demanded an explanation instead, fighting to keep his tone worriedly intense and not enraged and impatient. He had to remember to appear loving, loving and adoring, they weren't married yet, he couldn't afford to push her away now.
Her answer gripped his heart with cold, sharp claws.
"Elsa struck me with her powers," she whimpered, looking like a lost child begging for comforting. His head was reeling. Elsa? She would purposefully strike her own family? A vision of the Queen flashed in his mind, the open fear in her face when she'd worried of being a danger to her kingdom, the distress when she heard her sister was missing. He didn't want to believe it.
"You said she'd never hurt you," he desperately burst out.
"I was wrong," Anna said, and crumpled to the floor under the effect of her sister's wrath, as if to underline her fatal error.
He scooped her up and carried her to the sofa, worry and fear dancing inside him. It felt like carrying a corpse, he could feel the unnatural cold seeping through her clothes. He laid her down as gently as he could, remembering the ferocious attack the Queen had inflicted on the duke's men. Had Elsa taken her revenge on Anna, a brutal retaliation for ruining everything for her at her brightest moment, forcing her to reveal herself and flee alone in disgrace, for forever destroying her chance to rule peacefully? Was the gentle vulnerability just another fake front, masking a ruthless, vengeful, cold heart? Capable of any atrocity, even murdering her last family member in cold blood? Anna shuddered in what seemed to be great pain.
"She froze my heart and - and only an act of true love can save me," she said in a shaky, small voice, looking at him with pleading eyes. True love? So that's why she was so adamant about the kiss. He stared at her, his anger giving way to pity as the terrifying realisation set in. She is already as good as dead. She'd come to him for her rescue, believing in his ardent expressions of affection, but it was in vain. He simply didn't have the power to help her. Hans didn't truly love her, far from it, he could barely stand her. He felt himself despise her more and more with each moment, with each new blatant display of her complete gracelessness. And apparently, her sister had no love for her, either. Hans felt vaguely sad and frustratingly helpless.
"A true love's kiss," he said slowly, taking in the trust and faith in Anna's eyes. She thinks I'll fix it all for her, he thought. She's gone and doomed first her sister, then her people and finally herself with her thoughtlessness and now she's brought the whole mess to me, expecting that I'll make it all better with one magical kiss. But he couldn't. Hans was no fairytale prince, this was real life, and like most royal matches theirs too would have been a union of practicality and convenience. She really ought to have known better, but she was spoiled and self-centered and believed the world would always bend to accomodate her no matter what she did, he thought with wistful sadness. Now her blind faith in her charmed life had doomed her.
He cupped her face gently, smiling as tenderly as he could. He would give her the "true love's kiss", her first and last. When it wouldn't work, he would hold her hand appearing utterly heartbroken and desperate through the last moments of her life. It would be quite a short while, by the look of it. He would beg her for the honour of becoming her husband for even a few precious moments, and they would whisper their marriage wows with tears in their eyes. After her inevitable death, he would present himself as the appropriately desolate widower of the late Princess Regent, thus the strongest claimant to the throne, as the Queen was clearly ineligible for ruling. In fact, Elsa had committed treason, first cursing the land and then murdering the ascendant ruler, her own sister. She would be declared a traitor and a murderer, sentenced to death and executed swiftly, the accursed winter would melt away and he would be crowned as the saviour of the land. He leaned in to kiss her, closing his eyes.
What's the point of this charade? The voice was faint but sharp. Why was he still holding on to the pretense of love, all the way till death? He was lying for her sake, to make her last moments as comfortable as was possible. But did she really deserve the kindness of the lie? All of his annoyance at her surged back into the surface, and all of his repressed frustration and anger with it. He paused.
Why should she be allowed to dance through life, never taking any responsibility or facing any consequence of her actions? Hans had done all he could to be the prince of her dreams, suffering through her inelegant silliness with a smile, playing along with her whims. He had taken care of her kingdom for her when she'd first driven her sister off and then wildly chased after her without a thought for their subjects. When she'd gone missing (as he'd feared she would), complicating things further, he'd nearly lost his life trying to find and rescue her. He'd overpowered both the Queen and her snow monster and brought her back while Anna had been traipsing Lord knows where. He'd tried to do his best and fix everything, but he couldn't do miracles. Hans was tired, tired of trying to clean the messes her recklessness caused, for her and her kingdom and everyone around her. Why shouldn't she finally face reality, the repercussions of her deeds? The bitterness and resentment in him had grown to a dark, boiling maelstrom, and he felt it pulling, sucking him in.
Besides, when else would he ever have the opportunity to be honest with anyone and let his real feelings be heard? Truly, he was sick of pretending. This was his chance of letting go of the front, the smile, possibly the only chance of speaking his true mind. It was tempting, so tempting, he could feel the words at the tip of his tongue. She would die soon and take his confession with her. The pull came over him again, and this time, for the first time in years, he didn't fight it.
"Oh Anna. If only there was someone out there who loved you," he said softly, pulling back. She had been expecting his kiss with her eyes closed and lips poised, and his words caught her completely by surprise; she didn't seem to understand what had just happened. It was exhilarating, coming clean, and he couldn't help but smile. He got up and walked to the window. He heard her call hesitantly after him, reminding him of the professions of love he'd made to her.
Is she honestly so hopelessly naive? How could she not have understood that as the princess of Arendelle, her hand in marriage was worth a great deal, and that most potential suitors would in fact be pursuing the status and power available through her, rather than her as a woman? Astoundingly, she seemed to be so sheltered and spoiled that she assumed that everyone expressing romantic interest in her would naturally be completely sincere, intrigued only by her personal charms, and most laughably of all would surely never lie about the depth of their affection in order to secure the match. Unbelievable.
Practically all royal marriages were matches of convenience and suitability, where princes and princesses were shipped about the world as pawns in a game of alliances. Some lucky few managed to fall in mutual love or at least mutual compatibility with their assigned spouses, but most existed in a state of polite indifference, both parties enjoying their own private little indiscretions. What on earth gave Anna the idea that she would be special and different and would have the amazing fortune of forming a match of true love? Just like that, with the first man she happens to meet? She was so like his elder brothers, he thought scathingly, taking their blessed situation in life completely for granted and assuming that the world owed them happiness and success in everything simply because they existed. It was high time someone opened her eyes to real life.
The rush of finally speaking out made him almost light-headed. Now it's out. Too late to turn back. He looked in the eyes of his reflection in the window. How far can I take it? How much salt to rub in the wounds? Who knew, maybe her death would come swifter should her heart break in addition to being frozen. Wouldn't that be a kindness of sorts, to end her suffering sooner? He decided to tell her everything, to show her the real way things were in the world, if perhaps slightly exaggerated to emphasise the point. He had learned the hard way, and so would she.
"I was thirteenth in line in my own kingdom. I didn't stand a chance, I knew I'd have to marry into the throne somewhere," he started calmly, closing the curtains.
"Wha- what are you talking about?" He could hear the fear creeping into Anna's voice as the shadow engulfed her.
"As heir, Elsa was preferable, of course, but no-one was getting anywhere with her," he continued in the same nonchalant tone, snuffing out the candle as he walked by. "But you," he grinned at her, now alert and afraid as she tried to stop his words by calling his name, "you were so desperate for love you were willing to marry me just like that!" He took the pitcher on the side-table and walked to the fireplace, gently shaking his head at her stupidity. Really, it was long due someone told her off.
He decided to add a pinch of salt to the wound, just for the heck of it.
"I figured that after we'd married, I'd have to stage a little accident for Elsa," he stated with a dramatic face for emphasis, turning to look at the effect his words had on her. Do you see it now, what an idiot you've been? She called his name again, begging him to stop, and reached for him so desperately she tumbled off the sofa. He carefully doused the fire and continued, "But then she doomed herself, and you were dumb enough to go after her." The darkened room started to cool almost instantly, undoubtedly due to the Queen being held at the lower levels. He shook out the last droplets from the pitcher and set it back, chuckling. Indeed, both sisters had blundered spectacularly as soon as they came into power. It would have been vastly amusing to behold had the effects been less dire. Again, she pleaded with him to stop, as if not saying unpleasant things out loud would make them not true. Unwilling to face reality to the last.
Hans smiled at her, lying on the floor, and finally stated the obvious in a gentle, almost tender tone. "All that's left now is to kill Elsa" - she winced - "and bring back summer." He squatted down by her side as Anna gathered her remaining strength behind an attempt at defiance.
"You're no match for Elsa," she spat, scowling. Does she still think Elsa should live, even after she's struck her through the heart, even when the price of her life is the doom of the kingdom? Doesn't she see her death is the only way to save this land? Silly, silly girl. He grabbed her chin, more harshly this time, and forced her to look at him.
"No. You're no match for Elsa," he stated flatly, allowing his contempt for her to show in his face. "I, on the other hand," he went on, standing up, "am the hero who is going to save Arendelle from destruction." Did she finally see? Did she finally understand? He doubted it, but there wasn't much more to be done here. Time was of the essence now, and it was pointless to stay and watch her die while precious moments flew by. The thought of smothering her with a pillow fluttered through his mind, just to be sure, but he dismissed it instantly. He would not get involved in her death and resort to murder. Surely, she could manage to die on her own.
He was on his way out when she threw one last pointless, empty threat after him.
"You won't get away with this!" Her voice was hoarse and soft now. Death would claim her soon.
"Awww," he said, giving his fiancée one last amused look. She really is a bit simple, isn't she. Such a shame, she might have made a lovely wife if things were different. "I already have." Hans locked the door behind him.
On his way to the dining hall, he tried to summon up the suitable level of grief surely expected of a man in his situation. Heartbroken but determined to do his duty, that was it. If ever he'd needed the ability to be convincing, it was now, although he didn't think the dignitaries would be too suspicious. It had been clear to everyone who wasn't blind, deaf and dumb that the princess was in an exceptionally bad condition. An unpleasant tinge of something like regret flickered in his mind. Wasn't that a bit much? Treating a dying girl with cruelty and ridicule? It was slightly low, and more familiar than he cared to admit, in fact. Hadn't he been treated the same way by his brothers? We really are chips of the same block, all of us. That thought made him uncomfortable, but there was nothing to be done about that anymore. There you go again, getting all soft and sentimental like a girl. She would have died no matter what I did. And she deserved it. What's done is done. He needed to focus on the present. He felt the thrill of tension and adrenaline course through his body. His heart was beating fast. This was it, there was no way back. The only way was forward. Get it over with, no more hesitation. Seize it, Hans.
He staggered slowly into the hall with the best impression of a man distracted with grief he could manage and informed them - with a shaky voice, he thought that was a nice touch - that the princess was dead. The diplomats gathered around him, exclaiming in shock. The Duke of Weselton even helped him down to a chair, sympathetic for once. Hans drew a deep breath.
"She was killed," he hesitated for a heartbeat before naming her, "by Queen Elsa." The men around him gasped in horror.
"Her own sister," the Duke muttered. And now, the important part.
"At least we got to say our marriage wows," he paused for effect, trying to look desolate. "Before she died in my arms," he uttered with a breaking voice, bowing his head in an imitation of grief. Do they buy it? He didn't dare to look up.
"There can be no doubt now." The Duke's voice was somber and grim. "Queen Elsa is a monster, and we are all in grave danger." Yes.
"Prince Hans," implored the Umbirian conte, d'Uffigiano, that was his name. "Arendelle looks to you." They'd bought it and swallowed it whole. And like before, they preferred him to take command, to tell them what to do. A sense of thrilling relief washed over him. So close, he was so close.
"With a heavy heart," he began slowly as if deliberating every word, "I charge Queen Elsa of Arendelle with treason and sentence her to death." His words seemed to echo ominously in the dimness. His mouth felt dry. The dignitaries looked at him with the solemn, fateful look of officers about to enter into battle. It's done. The only way is forward.
When they went to seize the Queen from her cell, they found the door frozen shut. The delay made him impatient and nervous. Although the Queen deserved a dignified, clean death as befit a monarch, he wanted to get the whole damn business over with as quickly as possible, before something unexpected happened again. Or before he had a chance to hesitate in front of her distress. Stop it, you damned gallant idiot. She's tricked you with her looks of vulnerability, charmed you with her magic. It's a trick. She's taken you for a ride. Think of Anna's death. Think of the men she nearly murdered at the castle. Think of Arendelle. He could not, would not hesitate, he had to be sure. He would be sure. But when they breached the door, all that was waiting for them was an empty cell with a gaping hole on the side. The makeshift hand chains hadn't contained her powers, then. He felt humiliated, outsmarted by his opponent, and felt his anger and the familiar stirrings of battle-thirst wash the last of his doubts away. Vulnerable and distressed, indeed. Did she think she could escape from him? Play him for a fool? He turned and ran back in, shouting for his greatcoat and sword. He'd finish the witch off himself, damn it.
Once outside and armed, he assumed the Queen would try for the same route she'd escaped last time, straight across the fjord. The storm seemed to be thickest in the middle of the fjord, and he was sure he'd find the thrice-damned sorceress right at the heart of it. The violent, unnatural blizzard made it near-impossible to see, but he pushed in it anyway, trying to advance in a straight line, slower than he'd liked but steadily enough. The world vanished around him and his senses became useless in the whipping, tearing whiteness and the deafening roar of the wind. For a while, he thought that he had lost himself in the emptiness and almost felt terror rise in him, but he kept pushing on against the wind, deeper into the heart of the storm. He had to keep going. He had to keep strong, he was so close. End this nightmare, end this winter. Don't let her escape. And sure enough, he glimpsed her form through the blizzard and headed towards her. She seemed lost and unsure of the way, too, but tried to run when she saw him. He called her name, hoping to subdue her through reason as he'd done before.
"You can't run from this!" he implored. Hearing her name, she turned and faced him, her face an image of desperation.
"Just take care of my sister!" She shouted back, her voice cracking with a sob. She started to back away from him, her whole being signaling fear and terror.
"Your sister?" Hans was confused. Is this another trick? She cursed Anna herself! He sensed a chance. It was worth a try, anyway. "She returned from the mountain weak and cold! She said that you froze her heart!" he shouted through the howling winds, trying for an accusing tone. Elsa seemed astonished and alarmed at his words. So his hunch was right. He kept at it, playing the desperate, heartbroken lover. "I tried to save her, but it was too late! Her skin was ice, her hair turned white!" The snow queen stared at him, stunned at his words, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief. The winds seemed to grow even stronger, and the ice boomed beneath his feet. Hans went in for the final blow.
"Your sister is dead! Because of you!" he bellowed into the storm. The accusing words seemed to hit her like a blow. The sorceress reeled in shock and collapsed on the ice with a moan of grief. As she succumbed, the storm around her seemed to freeze in time, the unnatural stillness spreading like the ripples on the surface of a lake, the air freezing with an otherworldly sound. It was unquestionably the work of true wickedness. Hans drew his sword. This is your moment. Seize it. Be the hero. All that stood between him and the throne, a place of his own, would be cut down with one strike of his sword. He gripped the handle tighter. The first blow would have to do it, he couldn't give her a chance to retaliate. One strike, strong and true. Do it. The witch seemed oblivious to the outside world, collapsed and lost in her regret. Hans steeled his mind and took aim. Now. Now! He raised his sword and struck down, as hard as he could.
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