So, what if Hans's sword did not shatter? Because face it, steel does not shatter when it hits ice, even if it is that cold outside. And I will not take "Magic, duh" as an answer. I'm not that good at first person, so bear with me here. Might be a little dark, but its not too bad. Hans's POV.

"Clang!"

Huh, that was weird. People didn't make clanging noises when they were sliced in two.

Wait a minute!

That annoying princess had somehow jumped in front of his sword!

Oh well, Hans smirked, as he easily sidestepped the ice statue of the late Princess of Arendelle. A temporary inconvenience, that is all.

A funny thing, her sacrifice was. Wasn't it already clear that her witch of a sister was a hopeless case? A nervous jumble of frantic emotions, locked is a small, pitiful frame.

People always seem to die for the things that matter the most to them, in ways that matter the least.

A pity, that is all.

Luckily, his sword was unharmed, without a scratch, despite the subzero arctic temperatures.

And he raised it for the kill, a hunter finishing off its helpless prey.

Except that hunters stood to gain little but satisfaction and bits of meat. Whereas he, Hans, stood to gain everything. A whole nation, in his hands.

Oh Father, if only you could see me now.

And the sword reached its vertex.

Then, a slow, leisurely downward progression, getting faster, then swishing down at a blinding speed.

Everything around them slowed, as the first drops of blood began to appear on the ice.

And then, the world went sideways.

What? thought Hans.

Had he slipped on ice?

Impossible!

Yet, his face felt wrong, stinging with pain.

Ah

The troublesome ice harvester had thrown a carrot at near terminal velocity.

So fast was this projectile, that he had been propelled upwards at least a few feet.

Down Hans fell, and out the corner of his vision, he surveyed his handiwork.

A bad cut, missing all the vitals. And by the way she was slowly getting up, it probably missed anything too important.

The ground came.

A bad fall like this typically awarded a nasty concussion. On regular, dirt ground.

On ice, it was a different story.

"Crack!"

Ringing in his ears. Pain. Red.

It was pure agony.

Hans, with the well-organized mind that he had, could now barely think straight.

Wetness was pooling from his head. Had the ice cracked? Was that the fjord water, coming to claim him?

Hans didn't know.

He didn't care to know.

Was the princess thawing? How? Surely, she was frozen beyond the point of no return.

He saw the red, blurry versions of his two enemies help each other up, as they reconciled. Small splotches, redder that red, painted the ice.

And the ice gave.

The last thing he saw were the watery depths, coming to claim him.

And he closed his eyes.

Aaaaand there you have it

A short, non fluffy oneshot.

"People always seem to die for the things that matter the most to them, in ways that matter the least."

I'm rather proud of myself for coming up with that.

Or maybe I read it somewhere and forgot where I read it. I honestly don't know.