Disclaimer: The story below contains content taken from Disney's Frozen and Dreamwork's Rise of the Guardians. This content is used solely for the purposes of free non-profit entertainment of fans of both features and is not intended to defame either of these these franchises, their copyright holders, the companies producing them or anyone else associated with any of these.

Prologue

Dry afternoon warmth flooded the high triangular architecture of the Southern Isles. Caught in a natural wind shelter between the mountains the capital received neither a lot of rain nor a lot of heat as a rule, but in the height of summer it was at least reasonably pleasant outside. Sadly the temperature was as far as the term could be pushed. The endless drought and smog pollution from the town had killed most of the plant life, leaving the churned-up dry earth that lined the roadsides dusty and barren. Even the majority of the trees were blackened and bare, the barren twigs crackling and crumbling off the branches at the slightest touch. Their brittle remains hung over the walls and fell down into the pathways, leaving the ground unpleasant and dusty with the diseased bark.

Pale brown bunches of twigs and empty red-patterned earthenware lay scattered between lonely stone pathways. Someone had once tried to plant shrubs and potted plants in the corner of the giant angular house, but these had long since died away to leave nothing but the stark reminders of what might have been. The layer of soot and grime on the building hid ornate the wood facing and beautiful traditional beamwork. A smokey edge besmirched the painted walls, dulling the once vibrant colours of the paintwork and reducing it to a dirty grey. Without the natural trimmings to give the place a measure of homeliness, the two long wings of the building squatted uncomfortably at right angles to one another, in the shelter of the grimy iron topped walls, like the most unwelcome guest at a dinner party. The entire place was lonely and awkward-looking, much past its prime. Still from the recessed shutters and pillared porch to the tall elegant windows it was clear that this was no simple country cottage, but the grand home of someone at least vaguely important.(1)

The atmosphere inside the front room felt more muggy and stuffed than elegant summer society. Heavy rosewood panels lined the walls and dark hued portraits and paintings hung between opulent carvings on every raised edge. Simple ornaments were scattered on the sideboard, a small table clock of German make and some Dutch and Danish pottery. A pair of impressive but uncomfortable winged armchairs held their position near the fireplace on either side of a long thick Turkish rug. Most prominent however was the dark mahogany couch dominating centre of the room almost alone, its throw cushions opulently embroidered with red silk.

At the moment it was doing time as a day bed. A mountain of muscle had fallen upon it, swathed somewhat loosely in a brocade patterned burgundy housecoat with the shawl collar pulled up around his neck. The prominent chin jutted out from between its folds, the face otherwise hidden except for a mess of untidy chestnut hair. Still thickened arms curled were in the loose swathes of the sleeves around the elongated middle and both feet hung bare in mid-air over the edge of one of the heavily tufted seats, occasionally twitching with the exploits of sleep.

"Are you going to lie there all day?" holding open the door with a scowl upon her thin lips was a sallow-looking woman with high arched cheekbones, "Should I perhaps have the maid come and dust you like a decoration?" Her dress was a rich shiny material, window's black lined with a shocking red velvet trim. Deep scarlet house slippers paced the floor with an audible tread as she advanced on him, kicking the ornate leg of the sofa to get a reaction.

The disgraced youngest prince of the Southern Isles barely lifted his head. "That's hilarious, mother. Thank you."

The woman tisked softly under her breath, sweeping passed him as she went to open the window. Sunlight streamed into her face, lighting up the yellowing wrinkles under the lace trim of the widow's bonnet. She had the same large jutting chin and square jaw as her son and there was something similar about the shape of the eyes, but even when it had still held its full colour her hair had been a much darker shade than his and the same could be said for her irises. The apples of her cheeks seemed to withdraw into her mouth for protection, leaving the bones above them prominent and exposed. Her brow had a pinched look, drawing inwards until it culminated in a high set narrow nose that currently might have been mistaken as one plagued by a really bad smell.

"Well, what were you expecting?" she demanded, shooing away tan errant fly with a wave of her bony wrinkled hand and shaking up the heavy curtains as she pulled them further back. "Do you think I'll let you bellyflop about like a dying fish? Your brothers always..."

"Don't talk to me about my brothers!" Hans snapped, sitting up with a jolt. His morning robe fell open revealing the simple shirt and brown trousers he wore underneath, a far cry from his usual lavish attire. Confinement clearly wasn't suiting him. His sideburns looked overgrown and his cheeks were lined with traces of stubble. Much of his healthy colouring was starting to disappear and the once full stature of his legs and torso had started to lessen. "It's bad enough that I have to stay here all day without having to listen to you going on about the twelve degrees of 'much better than me'."

"Well," his mother shot back, hands digging into the black lace waistband of her black dress as she rounded on him with heavy irritated footsteps, "None of the others are under house arrest in their mother's retirement villa, you have to give them that." She glared coldly at him from the pronounced creases of her eyes, until he looked away with a shudder.

"Hurrah for them." Hans collapsed back on the sofa, his muscular arms flopping out to either side and his head lolling backwards with his mouth open. His tongue rolled against the inside of his cheek, making his sideburn crinkle slightly.

She reached across the space between them, slapping his jaw gently to make him close it. "Don't sulk. It doesn't suit you." She pursed her lips again, her scowl becoming even more evident among the deeply creased old skin.

He raised his head, staring wide-eyed into her sagging face framed in the dark of the wooden panels. "Don't... Don't sulk...?" he mouthed incredulously, "I'm a laughing stock. Publicly humiliated. Ruined. Locked up like some common criminal."

"Yes," she agreed flatly, adjusting her cap as she moved away from him across the reddish purple carpet, "All the common criminals waste away on cashmire-lined sofas and complain about the French chef's foie gras."

Hans sighed loudly, rubbing a strand of his hair with his thumb and forefinger, his other hand limply on the armrest beside him. "All I wanted, mother, was to find a little space of my own. Somewhere where people looked up to me and went to me for help, not Adrian or Carl or Emil or one of the others..." His bare feet kicked at the rug and her buried his toes deeper into the opulent plush.

Something heavy and almost tender came over the woman's features for a strange moment. She turned slowly and sighed, straightening her skirt as she moved back towards the sofa. With a somewhat gentler expression, she settled on the edge of the cushion beside him, rubbing his elbow, "I know, darling, I know."

Hans gave a long searching look from the corner of his eye. "Just a little bit of attention, from somebody," he sighed again, resting his head in his hands, "That's all I wanted."

She snorted, withdrawing her hand abruptly. "And naturally you decided to murder the Queen of Arendelle to get it." One cheek was pulled upwards in a sardonic half-smile as she spoke.

Hans turns his head as his expression darkened. He glared at her, his face livid. "I would have married Queen Elsa instead had she not been such a stuck-up paranoid little screw," he hissed, standing up, "And if it hadn't been for her freakish abilities. You should have seen that horrible weather, mother. I was practically doing her people a favour." He waved his hand expansively, pacing about the floor.

She sucked in her breath, nodding in mock seriousness. "Of course you were, darling, of course," she folded her arms, leaning back against the sofa, "It's not like she's a gifted sorceress from a line of kings highly beloved by their people or anything."

"And her sister's no better," he continued, barely heeding her words, his hands clenched into fists in his side."Tight-fisted little airhead. I hear she's stuck marrying the castle's ice delivery boy now. Good. It's what she deserves." He snorted angrily, kicking at the heavy pile in the maroon rug with his bare feet and pulling it into heavy folds in the process.

"Well," his mother sighed, "You did leave her to freeze to death..."

"It wasn't my fault," he exclaimed dramatically, spreading his hands wide as he faced his parent, "Only true love's kiss could save her. We'd just met. She is pretty enough and I'm sure I could have loved her properly given time..." He made a slight rolling motion with a flick of his wrist. "As it was there was nothing I could do. You have to understand, mother. I just tried to make the best of a bad situation." He shrugged his shoulders, looking back at the rug.

She raised her eyebrows at him, her expression unconvinced. "You did somewhat lead her on."

"I genuinely wanted to marry her," he growled, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in exasperation.

"Ye~s," the woman agreed, drawing out the middle sound, "But for her kingdom. Not for her."

Hans snorted, turning away in disgust. He moved across towards the fireplace, resting his elbow on the dark black mantle as he glared across the room at the gilded horses that decorated the rosewood sideboard. "Any half-decent princess would have understood," he declared, waving away the suggestion without even looking at his mother, "If she weren't so naive and full of fairy tales and magic and nonsense, she would know what is expected of real royalty."

The aged parent nodded, picking some imaginary lint from her sleeve. "And she would have held out for someone with land, money or connections like the rest of them."

"Oh very funny, mother, very good. You mock me," Hans's scowl intensified, "The fact is she never could have coped even as the second-in-command of Arendelle. I was giving her someone capable and dependable to rely on and take care of her duties for her." He folded his arms decisively over his chest, his eyes narrowed he glared down at the delicate ornaments on the side board.

"How very noble of you," she sighed, shaking her head softly as she paused her inspection of her clothes.

"Mother!" he snapped, his eyes wide. His fists shook against his chest.

"No," she quibbed, the shadows in the natural darkened room still as she held a hand to her heart, "I'm touched by your sacrifice. Really." At no point in the last minute had her expression changed even by a fraction.

"Urgh," Hans glared, his chin jutting out as he moved further away from her with folded arms. "It's no use talking to you, is it?"

"Apparently," she agreed, rising to her feet. She dusted her dress with a few hard slaps, barely paying any attention to her son until she was done. Then she strode straight into his line of sight, jamming herself between him and the wall to force him to return the hard stare she levelled into his eyes. He tried to turn away, but she reached forward, snapping her fingers straight in front of his nose with a sharp twist of her hand. He flinched. Her glare cut into him and he backed away nervously.

"At any rate, my boy," she went on in a satisfied tone, succinctly making her way back out of the room with a swish of her skirts,"You're not going to lie around here like a sack of old potatoes. Get up and find something useful to do. Go muck out the horses or help with the bringing in of supplies. I expect to see you properly engaged by the end of the day." The door snapped shut behind her and her slippers were surprisingly noisy as she moved away from the room.

"Urgh... you old... Urgh..." Hans grabbed a dancing china shepherdess from the sideboard, watching it smash against the fettled woodwork with satisfaction. The broken pieces lay in the entry, a mess of discordant limbs and a splintered rosy face. He stood gasping for air, a solitary figure in his maroon robe. His bulky frame heaved as he stared angrily at the dark chestnut and crimson all around him. The delicate pinks and white of the ornament lay smashed into jagged pieces in the shadows of the doorway.

"Engaged," he grumbled, his shoulders still shaking as he did so, "I was engaged. That was the problem. I was being too nice. I made goo-goo eyes and let myself get pushed around by a couple of backwater country girls. Well no more!" He growled loudly, shrugging off his morning coat and throwing it over the back of the sofa. Jutting out his jaw, he straightened the loose shirt he had been wearing underneath, smoothing out the creases. "From now on I'm going to be master of my own destiny. I'm going to be hard and firm and tough. People are going to fear me. Yes, fear. No more laughing at me any more..." He paused, a thoughtful expression taking over his face, "I just have to figure out what it is I'm going to do precisely."

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(1) When I originally wrote this I wasn't sure where the Southern Isles would be located. I didn't know whether to put in the south of Scandinavia (Denmark or in the sea nearer the UK) or somewhere much further south. I eventually had the Southern Isles as a sort of Mediterranean inspired place. It had flowers and heat and villas and buzzing bees and was lovely. Then I finally got to see Frozen Fever... and it turns out that the 'Southern' Isles are just the isles south of Arendelle (So south(-west) Norway)... and are pretty dreary-looking. *Sigh* I really miss the pretty garden that this story had originally.