Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen or its related characters. Such is the property of Walt Disney Animation Studios, Walt Disney Pictures, Jennifer Lee, John Lasseter, and, of course, Hans Christian Anderson. I'm just borrowing it for some non-profit entertainment.

Cut From the Same

Chapter One: Fire Prince

As thirteenth in line for the throne of his own country, Hans of the Southern Isles hoped to claim a kingdom of his own by marrying into the royal family of Arendelle. But that didn't go over so well. Not well at all, in fact. Now he had to go home, a political criminal, and explain things to his brothers.

He supposed he should take it as a kindness that Willaham chose to hold his 'hearing', thus as it was, in a private and informal conference room rather than the Great Hall with full court present. Hans tried not to fidget under the intense scrutiny of ten of his twelve older brothers. Willaham glared at him from his place at the head of the long conference table.

To his right, Kurtz, his fourth eldest brother and also the Minister of Foreign Affairs read the full narrative of his dealings with Arendelle that was sent ahead of his ship. His brothers knew all that had happened before he even stepped off the ship.

On Willaham's left sat Conrart, the Secretary of Defense. He scrutinized Hans with every word. Seducing a princess, plans of usurping the throne, attempted murder of the Queen… Conrart looked at Hans as if he were a stinger he'd never met before yet was greatly offended by. Hans thought it was a bit ironic then, that Kurtz and their other brother Jovan were two of the three that pretended he was invisible for three years. Well, they sure as hell saw him now!

Dimitri sat beside Kurtz. As Treasurer, he was probably wondering how much it would cost to appease Arendelle.

Jovan, the Minister of Justice, sat with arms crossed, fingers tapping his forearm anxiously. Yuri, royal Cardinal and spiritual advisor to the King meditated, eyes closed, the only indication that he wasn't asleep was the slight fluttering of his lashes as Kurts read. Renard. Gunther. Sergei. Viktor. Almost all of his brothers sat around the conference table to learn what happened to him in that far away country to the north and to hear Willaham's judgment on him. The only two that were not in attendance were his eldest brother, Asher, the one who would have been King if he hadn't run away from home and joined a gang of pirates. And Morgan.

Asher's absence was to be expected. No one had seen or heard from him for years. But Morgan, his ninth older brother, was the Southern Isles' Minister of War. One would think that he would be at his hearing -informal though it was. Hans couldn't help but wonder if it was more worrisome for Morgan to be absent than it would have been for him to be present.

Kurts finished reading and set the paper down.

All eyes turned from Hans to Willaham.

The room was tensely silent.

Willaham sighed. "You couldn't have just run away and joined a pirate crew. That would have saved us all a headache. I want you to know, I seriously considered banishment as your punishment, Hans."

"You act like I invented some new crime." Hans said in his defense. "But Kings have been stealing thrones since the beginning of time! The worst thing I did was get caught!"

"No remorse, I see." Jovan leaned back in his seat. "Perhaps Will will make you live a year and a day at the monastery with Yuri. That seems an adequately cruel and unusual punishment."

"Perhaps for you." Yuri replied placidly. Sitting strait backed in his gray monk's robes, hands folded in his lap.

Willaham rapped his knuckles on the table for silence. Once again addressing Hans, he said, "You are being placed under house arrest. You will be taken to our mother's old summer retreat where you will stay indefinitely. You will have full run of the castle and grounds, but you cannot leave the property, all your letters and correspondences will be read before you send or receive them. If you object to this ruling, or step one foot beyond the estate grounds, you will be handed right back to Arendelle for the Queen and her sister to deal with you as they see fit. Do you understand, Hans?"

He gulped, imagining all the things Elsa could do to him with her magic. "Yes."

"Good." Willaham nodded. "Jovan will escort you there. But first, you're going to Feuer Island and explain yourself to Morgan."

Hans blinked in confusion. "Why?"

"As you said, Kings have been stealing thrones since the beginning of time." Explained Yuri, suddenly no longer looking placid and serene. "That's not really what we're angry over. Yes, you've made a mess for Kurtz to clean up and Conrart is going out of his mind worrying over magical attack-"

"I'm not going out of my mind."

"-but what really burns us, Hans, is what you did after you learned the Queen had magic. You still manipulated the sister, left her to die of the frozen heart, and tried to kill the Queen. You should have known better! You notice Morgan isn't here. He can't even stand to be in the same room with you right now. Jovan is gonna take you to mother's old estate where you're gonna stay and think about what you did! But before that, you're going to Feuer Island explain yourself to our own magically gifted sibling!"

Hans swallowed hard. But knew that there was no way he could talk his way out of it. "As my lords please."

…

Many Years Ago…

It was one of the last nights of summer and what better thing was there to do than a beach bon fire!

It was originally Asher's idea -most of the activities that could get them all in trouble were Asher's idea. But Kurtz and Jovan, acting as Asher's little henchmen, somehow managed to rope the other ten of them into coming along. Sneaking out of the palace, they gathered on the beach and dug a shallow pit in the rocky sand. In their soon-to-be fire pit they piled dry grass and twigs beneath a lattus work of driftwood and small logs.

Hans sucked his thumb and looked at the drift wood. He and Yuri gathered most of it. As the two youngest, most of the unpleasant tasks and grunt work was shuffled onto them. Some of the driftwood was still wet and dripped down onto the kindling below.

"Its too wet." Hans informed them, taking his thumb out of his mouth just long enough to speak.

Unsurprisingly, nobody seemed to hear him. Or if they did hear him, they pretend they didn't. It was infuriating.

"I don't think the wood will catch." Renard commented. "The wood's too wet."

"That's what I said!" Hans grumbled indignantly, stamping his foot in the sand. But, once again, no one seemed to notice him.

"It'll light." Asher insisted. "Where's Morgan? Hey, Mor! Get over here and do the thing!"

Kurtz came up, practically dragging Morgan by the arm. "Come on. Do the thing!"

Morgan ran a hand through his dark hair that seemed intent to defy the laws of gravity and grow upwards like a flame rather than lay flat against his head as hair should. He picked at his acne when he looked around at all of them, but it was Asher he spoke to when he said, "My mentor says the magic isn't for show-boating. Its a gift not to be taken lightly."

"Oh, come on, its just a bit of fun." Insisted Jovan. "Just do it! Do it. Do it. Do it"

Everyone else started chanting. "Do it. Do it. Do it!"

Even Hans joined in. He liked seeing Morgan do his magic. He and Yuri often snuck away from their governess to spy on him and his mentor practicing their arts. But mostly, Hans took up the chant just to feel like he was part of the group. "Do it. Do it. Do it!"

"Alright!" Morgan snarled. "I'll do the thing! Just step back."

Everyone took a single suspenseful step back from the wood they had piled. Morgan bent down and blew gently on the kindling. At first nothing happened. Then the dray grass and twigs began to smoke. Then a small flame leapt to life in the heart of the pile. It was a tiny thing, but it would be enough to catch the rest of the wood given enough time. But Asher was notoriously impatient.

"Aw, come on! You can do bette than that!" He whined.

"Alright, fine!" Morgan swung his hand at the wood, palm outward. Bright red sparks flew from his fingers and the wood burst into flames. Bright red and orange tongues of fire leaping into the sky, radiating heat all over the beach, illuminating their faces. "There! I did the thing. Are you happy?"

…

Hans was not happy.

He sat indignantly in a skiff, arms crossed over his chest, as two of Jovan's officers escorted him from the ship to the shore of Feuer Island. There was no dock on the island, the landscape changed to much, to often to make one practical. So, Jovan's ship couldn't pull into a harbor. Smoke rose from Brand Peak, the closest thing to a 'mountain' on the island and the Southern Isles only active volcano. That by itself was indication that Morgan was home. Evan before Jovan's ship came close enough to see Morgan's yacht the Morning Star, Has saw the smoke rising from the mountain and knew that not only was his ninth brother home, but he was angry.

One of the officers pulled Hans to his feet while the other pulled the skiff up to a mostly stable looking ledge of jagged volcanic rock. It came up about a foot above the waterline and scrapped the side of the skiff. The officer holding Hans unfastened the wooden plank that shackled his hands and gave him a none to subtle shove towards the ledge.

"Not coming with?" He asked.

The officers gave him identical stony looks but said nothing. Neither did they make any indication of climbing out of the skiff. Then again, everyone who worked closely with any of the thirteen brothers knew not to bother number nine when he retreated to his citadel on Feuer Island. His powers were tied to his emotions and it was unwise to approach him until he calmed down. Not unlike Elsa and her ice abilities. The difference being that Hans knew how dangerous Morgan's fire powers where. He didn't know Elsa had magic too until Anna pushed her into revealing herself at the coronation ball. But he hadn't expected her ice to be as dangerous as it turned out to be. He thought he could handle it.

The thing was, he wasn't really all that wrong. He almost had handled it. He almost won. He had Elsa at his mercy out on the ice. Sword raised for the killing blow that would have made him King of Arendelle. It was actually Anna who defeated him. Not Elsa. If he had just made sure she was out of the way before leaving to dispatch the Queen, then he would not only be King right now, but a hero. A tragic hero who had lost the 'love of his life' to her own sister. It would have been a beautiful story instead of the ugly truth that it was.

Hans found a trail that might possibly have been a lava flow a few days ago. The trail had a slightly smoother texture than the rest of the rock around it and it seemed to flow along the path of least resistance, making its way down to the shore. But it was not hot under his boots and so was confident that he wouldn't burn to death on his way to the citadel. So, he followed it up.

Like Elsa, Morgan built his fortress on the side of a mountain, near the peak. But while Elsa chose the highest and coldest mountain to the north, Morgan chose one that complemented his own powers, a living volcano. The smoke was thicker up near the peak.

The air filled with the acrid scent of burning rock. It stung Hans' eyes and scratched at his throat. He almost past the fortress.

Made from the dark volcanic glass, obsidian, it blended in with the smoke surrounding it so that Hans did not see it until he was almost right on top of it. His dry lava flow trail curving around it and continuing on up the peak to the lip of the lava that pooled there. He coughed a few times and picked his way carefully over the course and jagged rocks that separated him from the door. Anxious to get out of the smoke, Hans forwent the formality of knocking and pushed open the door and slipped inside.

The air was much clearer inside the citadel. But also much much hotter. Then again, Morgan liked things hot. Always had. Heat never bothered him.

"Hello." Hans called hesitantly. "Mor, its me. Will wanted me to come. I know you're home."

To spite the heat, it was relatively dark inside. Hans stumbled around in the dark for a few moments before every single wall-scone leapt to life, filling the chamber with light and even more heat. Hans wiped a trickle of west from his brow, and unbuttoned his waistcoat for the little relief it offered.

"Will thinks an explanation from you will settle me."

Hans turned around to see Morgan leaning against the frame of a door he knew lead out onto a ledge that overlooked the lava pool.

The older man glared at him, hazel eyes smoldering in the firelight so that they almost looked golden. Hair, the same color as coal, sticking up like a black flame.

He wore his 'Fire Prince' get up. Willaham and Yuri always thought it looked a bit over the top and theatric, but Asher and Kurtz loved it. Like Elsa formed a new raiment for herself, one better fitting to her affinity, so too did Morgan. Only while Elsa's was sleek and elegant, Morgan's was sharp and graceless. A bright crimson cape fastened over his bare chest with two iron chains, it draped just short of the floor behind him in uneven tatters as if the ends were burned. Around his wrists were iron gauntlets with jagged and sharp flames rising up out of the metal. Round his waist was a leather belt with a large iron buckle that held up a pair of utterly tasteless leather chaps, beneath which he wore very unremarkable black trousers. His feet were bare.

Overall, Morgan looked more like a barbarian warlord than the Prince he was.

Hans shrugged off the waistcoat, and untied his cravat. It really was to damn hot in here. "What would you like me to explain, Mor?"

Morgan looked at him forlornly before turning his back on Hans and heading for another door. "Lets go down to the shore before you have a stroke."

Hans was lead out the back of the citadel where the rock of the mountain was carved into uneven but perfectly serviceable stairs that lead down to a rocky shore filled with tide pools. It was much cooler down here and less smoky. Hans was grateful for the repave. Hans dipped his cravat in the water and dapped his forehead with the moist cloth. Morgan sat on a rock and dipped his bare feet in the water. Steam rose where his skin touched the surface and the air was filled with a distinct hissing sound.

Neither brother said anything.

Hans likewise sat on a rock and began pulling his boot off to dip his feet in the water.

The silence was tense.

"Do you remember that one summer we all had that big bonfire on the beach?" Hans asked in an attempt to break the silence. "You were so reluctant to do your magic, but Asher twisted your arm. Asher was the heir, but you were always so much more special than him -than all of us really- because you can do something no one else can. Sometimes I think that's why he ran away. To be special. He'll always be the one who gave up the crown and became a pirate. Then Willaham became King instead and that's what makes him special. He's the second son who succeeded his brother. Then there's-"

"Was that it, then?" Morgan asked, cutting the younger man off mid-sentence. "You wanted to be special. The one who defeated the Snow Queen."

"No, I-" Hans paused to consider his own motives.

Originally it was just bedause he was tired of living under his brother's rule. He never went into the government as Demitri, Kurtz, Conrart, Jovan, and Morgan had. Niether did he feel any compelling call to join the faith as Yuri had. He was living as just another useless and unremarkable nobleman and royal relation. Such an existence might be enough for Renard, Gunther, Sergei, and Viktor. But Hans wanted more. He wanted a kingdom of his own.

But when it turned out that Elsa had magic like Morgan had magic, things became more complicated. In retrospect, Hans began to realize that maybe the payout wasn't worth the effort he had expended in his efforts to attain said kingdom and in the end it hadn't been enough either. So, if the kingdom wasn't worth the trouble, why'd he do it? For the glory? To be special? To be a legendary hero who defeated a winter witch? Maybe. As a thirteenth son, someone who was overlooked for most of his life, fame and glory sounded very appealing to him.

"The Queen of Arendelle is like me, Hans." He said. "She may not have the exact same power, but we're cast in the same forge. She and I have never met, but we are of the same kind. When Kurtz told us that you tried to kill her… it felt like you had done it to me."

"Mor, I-!"

"You did it to me, Hans!" The water around his ankles began to boil, so he withdrew his feet from the water. "I don't care that it was in another country a hundred verst away! Or that it was a woman I have never met. She was one of my kind, Hans. She was like me. You did it to me!"

"Mor, I'm sorry."

Morgan began pacing back and forth. "I came here to try and get myself under control before I leave for Arendelle. Kurtz thinks it would be better if I was the diplomat instead of one of his regular ambassadors. He thinks because the Queen and I are of the same kind, I would have a better chance of keeping the peace with her than anyone else. I think he's an idiot and sending the War Chief to a peace talk is like using a sword to butter bread. Sure, you might get some butter on it, but you're more likely to louse your wrist in the process."

"Kurtz is sending you?" Hans couldn't believe it. He understood his brother's reasoning. Morgan had magic just like Elsa did, the two could bond over their shared gift-curses and form a strong bond of friendship between their two nations. But at the same time, Hans couldn't help bout think it was a stupid idea. Morgan's official title and job within the government was Minister of War. What kind of message did it send to appoint a war minister for peace talks. Elsa might hear his title and nothing else, shoot ice first and ask questions later. "And you agreed to go?"

"I believe my exact words were, 'get out of my way, Fart-Face, before I do the thing'. I was a little out of sorts at the time."

"So you didn't actually agree." Hans was relieved. As mad as his brother was at him right now, Morgan was one of the nice ones and he didn't want anything to happen to him. Elsa's ice could easily put out his fire and after the mess he'd left in Arendelle, Elsa might not take the mine to listen before she went on the offensive. She just might hear the words 'Southern Isles', 'Minister of War', and 'Hans' older brother' and go on the offensive.

"No." Morgan shook his head. "But I'll probably do it anyway. I haven't seen another like myself since my mentor left and from the sound of it, this Queen Elsa has never met another like us. It would be nice to have a friend again." He looked over the sea, far off into the distance. Either imagining what Elsa looked like, or else remembering his old mentor. Then he looked back at Hans. "And you? What punishment had Will condemned you to?"

"House arrest." The younger man supplied. "I'm being send to Mother's summer home on Freja Island and I'm not allowed to leave the place indefinitely."

"Hm." Morgan turned and walked away without giving an opinion on that ruling.

Hans wished he would have said more. For the first time since his failed coup he was feeling remorse for what he did. Not because he nearly killed two innocent women or placed his country at odds with another. But because he hurt his brother. Might possibly even have lost his brother's love. Not because he tried to assassinate a Queen and take her kingdom, but because he'd tried to kill another magical person like himself.

"Morgan, I'm sorry." He shouted after the retreating red cape. "Really! I'm sorry I hurt you."

…

Arendelle's trade embargo hurt Wesleton more than the Duke let on.

While the Duke's interest in their neighbor was purely profitable, Wesleton as a whole's interest was far more base. The King of Weselton was ill and had been for many years. The only thing that seems to ease his symptoms was a draft made from a moss that only grew in Arendelle's Valley of Living Rocks. Always being such a mysterious and secretive country, Wesleton never learned what it was about the Valley that made the moss so special or so potent. All they knew was that they needed it and that Arendelle had it.

But now they would never get it again. Not through trade anyway. That rout was closed to them thanks to the Duke's bungling.

But the King was still ill and needed it. So, the Queen of Wesleton was determined to get it by other means. If Arendelle would not trade for it, then they would just roll in and take it!

The only problem was that Queen of theirs. The Snow Queen, Elsa. Whom possessed a powerful and terrible power to summon ice and snow with a flick of her wrist. She could crush Wesleton's navy in a single day. Summon her own fleet of icebergs and smash each ship like a walnut. No, Wesleton couldn't fight Arendelle alone. They would need an ally.

"The answer lies in the Southern Isles, my Queen." The mousy Duke informed her, desperate to garner back his favor. "The Snow Queen deported the young Prince of the Southern Isles and branded him a political criminal. He has as much reason to hate Elsa of Arendelle as we do. Through him we can convince his elder brother, King Willaham, to join our cause against the Icy Tyrant!"

The Queen of Wesleton smiled, but it was not a cheerful or even warm smile. It was a dangerous almost predatory barring of her teeth in the parody of a smile. "Very well, Duke. Since you already have experience with this common enemy, I will make you the ambassador to the Southern Isles. But if you fail again, not only will you have fallen out of favor with this court, but I will strip you of your title and all your wealth and gift it to someone who does not fail me. Do you understand?"

The Duke of Wesleton gulped. "Yes, Your Majesty."

…

The Morning Star was a small yacht, the kind that could be sailed by only one man. Morgan liked it that way. The fewer people on his boat, the less likely someone would get burned. But a Prince never traveled alone. Neither did ambassadors for that matter. And Morgan had absolutely no diplomatic training to speak of. So, Kurtz sent him along with three other dignitaries from his own pool of interns. Their job was simple, 'don't let the Fire Prince make an ass of himself unwittingly'.

They were there to correct his etiquette and manners. Don't salute, she's not a general. You're not bowing low enough, she's a Queen you're just a Prince, her station is above yours, show the proper respect. Now you're bowing to low, it is a mockery of her station. Etc. Mogan felt like he was a boy again being chastised by one of his tutors. There was a reason his parents stopped his royal training and gave him over to his mentor when he entered his adolescents.

He spent six days practicing how to bow, memorizing when it was appropriate to make eye-contract, when it was not. Now, finally, the Morning Star was less than a day from Arendelle's harbor. They could see the North Mountains rising up above the sea in the distance, growing ever nearer.

Morgan barricaded himself in his Captain's Quarters, not just to get away from Kurtz's insufferable diplomats, but also to try and get his own appearance under some semblance of control. As his brothers -all twelve of them- often reminded him, he did look a bit like a barbarian warlord. The 'fire lord' costume had to go. Normal cloths were in order. Black trousers and matching jacket, a deep crimson waistcoat, white shirt, and yellow cravat. How the hell did you tie a cravat!? Damn it! How did Hans ever manage to master this?

After a few moments of fighting with the decretive neck ruffle, Morgan gave up. One of the diplomats would do it for him the moment he stepped out on to the deck. (Either that, or faint from the shame of a Prince of the Southern Isles not knowing how to tie a simple cravat.)

Next was his hair. Defying gravity and sticking up like tongues of black flame might be its natural state, but it just wasn't presentable for an ambassador to a tense nation. The hair would have to come down somehow. He tried taming it with shoe polish, wood oil, and anything else that seemed liquify enough to comb through his hair but heavy enough to hold it down. In the end, the thing that worked was whale butter and he made a mental note to take a jar of it to shore with him.

He was about to step out onto the deck when he remembered shoes. Normal people wore shoes. He fished around in his quarters until he found a pair of riding boots that seemed to match adequately enough. The diplomats would probably have a thing or two to day about wearing riding boots with formal clothes but Morgan chose not to care. He stepped out onto the deck and got his first glimpse of the Arendelle he'd heard so much about.

…

(A/N: "verst" is an obsolete Russian measurement of distance. Roughly 1.0668 kilometers. Since Frozen had a very Scandanavian/Russian/Germanic flavor to it, I am mixing bits of language, culture, and names from all three. )