Angel in the Snow, Demon in the Shadows 6: The Wicked Prince and the Ice Maiden
(A/N: Preceded by Of the Cursed Mirror and its Wicked Master (5). Warning, dark themes ahead. Surprisingly dark. This story kind of weaves a good bit with the book Frozen Heart, putting in more details and kind of showing more of the sort of man Hans was, while also entwining with the H.C. Andersen story 'The Wicked Prince', which is in italics. Hence its dark themes. Yeah, for a children's fairytale, that story was kind of disturbing. Not necessarily as much so as 'The Shadow', but in the context of this? Enough said. In fact the fairy tale might be more disturbing in and of itself depending on the reader. In future chapters, bits and pieces of his also dark novella 'The Ice Maiden' will also be showcased. This installment of my series will be another pretty emotional one, as well as in part a horror and psychological thriller type thing. This chapter starts out pretty black and disturbing, so brace yourselves.)
The Wicked Prince
There lived, once upon a time, a wicked prince whose heart and mind were set upon conquering all the countries of the world, and on frightening the people.
The terror on the faces of the citizens was clear whenever he rode by with his father's soldiers, his soldiers now he supposed, at his back. His own personal battalion, the King had called them when he'd put these men under his authority for reasons Hans still didn't know and didn't care to know. The fact was he commanded them, end of story, and they got the job done and they got it done well. Every time he rode down these streets with them behind him, the people knew what was about to happen. Devastation, doom, and despair unless he was otherwise in a good mood. Then it might just be despair and a bit of devastation on the side.
The law was simple, cooperate and pay on time you went on with your lives merrily as could be. Minus a good chunk of your profit, of course, but hey, father left them enough to live on. If barely. Don't cooperate, you suffered. It wasn't that hard to follow and yet somehow people just didn't get it. That was usually where the Brute Squad came in, but he got a feeling his father was grooming him to be part of them to get some use out of him, so whatever. He'd put himself in this position after all. End goal Arendelle and getting out of this nightmarish hell he was stuck in. If that required being his father's lap dog for a while, fine. It would be worth it all to leave the Isles forever anyway.
He devastated their countries with fire and sword, and his soldiers trod down the crops in the fields and destroyed the peasants' huts by fire, so that the flames licked the green leaves off the branches, and the fruit hung dried up on the singed black trees.
When the columns of smoke rose high into the sky, all eyes would turn in that direction. Again, every one of them knew what it meant. It meant disobedience or failure to comply. It meant fields had been bathed in blood and they'd suddenly be seeing one less shopkeeper and their family around the villages and towns under the King's rule. It also meant that much less food. Hans had never really understood why father had wanted fields burned. Most often they were well-producing land that could be confiscated or worked again. It was a waste, but then he supposed it was all part of the fearmongering. Oh dad was good at fearmongering… He was…
Frozen
Many a poor mother fled, her naked baby in her arms, behind the still smoking walls of her cottage; but also there the soldiers followed her, and when they found her, she served as new nourishment to their diabolical enjoyments; demons could not possibly have done worse things than these soldiers!
He wiped his sword clean of the blood as the body of the man fell to the ground. When he came down alone, she would know what had happened to her husband. They always did. The horror and fear in their faces… He closed his eyes, scowling and wiping the image away… He'd stopped watching them… No matter how he tried to find enjoyment in their terror, he never could. Of course he didn't exactly take displeasure in it either. It was just business in the end. Business… He could have scoffed.
When he came down he could hear her audible gasp and her sobbed 'no'. He moved swiftly passed her and her infant. He turned a deaf ear to her pleading and slammed the door of the house behind him, jamming it shut. She continued to beg. Why did they always continue to beg, dammit? What, it wasn't clear by now that there was no mercy from the King of the Southern Isles or from its princes?
You're lying to yourself.
He'd shown mercy before... helped others escape... But that was when he'd worked alone and without enforcers. Nowadays mercy wasn't an option. "Burn it!" he ordered.
"There is no escape for her, my lord?" one of the men asked. Not because he cared, of course, but because the men wanted to ensure the king's wishes were carried out.
"No," Hans answered flatly. Which was a blatant lie, he'd seen the back door. He didn't know why he bothered lying to them. They always searched anyway. And found the fleeing women trying to escape a fiery death. Whether he said yes or no it didn't matter. They searched. He'd attempted saying 'yes' in an ill-destined attempt at reverse psychology or something of the sort. The only difference it had made was how much pain he'd ended up in when father got wind of his antics. They all assumed, by now, that when he said 'no' he was being snide and sarcastic because every one of these slobs had known what 'no' meant after the first couple of times he'd said it and suffered for his lies. When he said yes, they assumed he was trying to genuinely trick them into thinking 'yes' meant no, and then word of that got back to dad and presto, he was enduring a torture session at the hands of Lars.
'Hey, just so you know I don't relish this, so no hard feelings little brother, it's just business!'
Business. Always just business...
Sure enough, when they put a torch to the house the woman panicked. As usual. The baby started screaming and weeping. The woman started begging for mercy. The soldiers prepared for when her screams for mercy stopped, because that meant she was making a break for it and she was fair game. "She has a baby. Bring it to me. Alive," Hans warned darkly. If he didn't warn them to do so, they would end up dashing it to pieces. If there were children, same story. He'd learned that the hard way and had gone into a state that had been akin to shock. Which had implied weakness, which meant weakness needed to be beaten out of him, which meant another untimely visit to Mael, except he'd been lucky—he couldn't believe he was calling it lucky—and Jürgen had been with him at the time.
'We all die, little brother, get over it. It's part of life. The babe wouldn't have lived long without its mother anyway. The orphanage isn't equipped to handle infants. Most die of loneliness within a few months. If anything killing it was a mercy. Spared it a slow death. Oh, the children? Well the orphanage isn't a nice place for children to be anyway. It was a mercy.'
The pleas stopped. She was running. As usual. The soldiers took off without an order, to Hans's annoyance. It meant he didn't have as much power over them as father tried to make him believe. He never chased her down with them. He knew what they did to the women when they caught them. He always thanked fortune that the fires consuming the house and fields crackled so loudly that he didn't hear the screams. If he didn't go after them, he didn't get the urge to slaughter them all. He waited, watching the house burn and the smoke curl up into the sky. If only he could be so free. Sometimes it was hours before they'd return. He'd usually leave and wait for them at an inn or tavern. Usually that happened only if the woman was alone. Or if her children were old enough to understand what was happening. With a baby nearby they'd be quick. They didn't want to deal with a screaming infant, but they knew killing it would bring down his wrath on them and that was something no one wanted to face. They'd learned that the hard way... He still sometimes saw the terror flickering in their eyes if the child or infant he'd ordered them to bring back alive ended up injured in even the slightest way...
Sure enough, they were back in only a little while. She hadn't suffered too long then. The man holding the baby plopped it disgustedly into his arms and he looked down at it. A son, he noted. He'd been cordial to the couple, at first. Asked what the child's name was. They'd told him it was only a couple of days old, that they hadn't decided on a name. When the father had offered to let him name it, he'd known they couldn't pay up and had told them calmly and clearly that bribing him wasn't going to work. The dad had caught on. He'd brought him upstairs to his room, turned to him, and told him to name it anyway because it was apparent they'd never get the chance to. He'd told the man he was right and, well, enough said. Before the man had died, Hans had whispered the name it would be called. Mordred. Mordred because he wished to god he had the guts to do to his own father what Mordred had done to Arthur, albeit Arthur's death was underserved. Mordred because he hoped to god that one day this baby would grow up and come after him and hunt him down and kill him for all he'd done and would yet do, and all the soldiers as well… He'd seen peace reflected in the man's eyes as he died, and he knew the infant's father had understood completely.
Frozen
The prince was of the opinion that all this was right, and that it was only the natural course which things ought to take. His power increased day by day, his name was feared by all, and fortune favoured his deeds.
As they rode away, he told himself it was just business. The law was the law, he was upholding the law, as twisted as it might be. If you couldn't contribute to the crown, you died. End of story. If you couldn't live on what you were given, you were doomed anyway. The strong and obedient lived, the weak and rebellious died, it was the natural course of things. "My Lord, your plans for the baby?" a soldier asked.
"That is none of your concern," Hans answered.
"The law is clear on the matter of dealing with families, my Lord, the babe cannot..." the soldier said. It was the last thing he ever did. The others were left gaping in horror as the body fell to the ground minus the head. The prince both hated and loved that he'd smirked. The baby started wailing again.
"Shh, hush little one. It's alright now," he cooed, holding it close.
No man such as him should have the honor of holding something as pure and innocent as a newborn so close to his breast and pretend that he's doing right by it.
"Now, does anyone else want to question me?" Hans asked, turning to the men. Alright, so maybe sometimes he loved the terror he instilled. It made him feel powerful. And day by day he did get more powerful. Suddenly the obscure throwaway prince was being remembered. Suddenly his name was being whispered in the streets in dread, and when people saw him they cowered or bowed or paid tribute—read bribes—that he got to keep for himself. He'd become daddy dearest's boogeyman. Maybe that was what father had in mind. Not that he should become one of the Brute Squad, but that he should become the horror in the night. It was generally night when he struck anyway. He chuckled to himself as he cradled the infant and he was sure his men thought he was crazy. He probably was, because he could have sworn he saw hatred unmatched in that baby's eyes as it looked up at him. But babies didn't feel hate. They couldn't. They didn't even know what it meant.
He made a gesture with his hand and his men got the cue. They rode onward towards the palace, leaving him to deal with the child as he saw fit. He watched them leave then turned and rode towards the orphanage. This marked about the tenth or eleventh child he'd be dropping off there. He hated that he'd become a regular presence at their doorstep. He really didn't want to be. He would have preferred leaving them at a church or temple doorstep and letting them deal with the waifs... But every time he went near one he could swear he felt himself burning up... See, crazy. He knew that wasn't possible.
That night he could have sworn he heard a baby crying in his dreams…
Frozen
He brought enormous wealth home from the conquered towns, and gradually accumulated in his residence riches which could nowhere be equalled. He erected magnificent palaces, churches, and halls, and all who saw these splendid buildings and great treasures exclaimed admiringly; "What a mighty prince!" but they did not know what endless misery he had brought upon other countries, nor did they hear the sighs and lamentations which rose up from the debris of the destroyed cities.
It was no secret the Southern Isles was among the richest of kingdoms known. Their allies were awed at the wealth and splendour, at everything the King built up on the gold he had accumulated over the years, or had his sons build up in his name. It was favored gossip among other royals and the nobility, in fact, and the king made it no secret that Hans was responsible for a good large chunk of it. The nobles praised him almost more than they praised Caleb, at this point, and that made Hans feel extremely powerful and defiant and cocky. To be called a mighty prince instead of an extra was the highlight of each feast. That was father's way. Reward evil, punish good. Though really the King was getting the best of both worlds with him, because the more he praised the youngest and the more the youngest was praised by others, the more the older ones resented and whispered and scoffed and the crueler they got, and while once he would have given anything to be praised by his father like he was being as of late, he hadn't factored in the possibility he just might have wanted it only as long as he didn't lose his brothers in the process. Ugh, if he were an only child this would be so much easier to enjoy.
The nobility and allied kings and queens, of course, had no idea what had been done to accumulate that wealth. The cities destroyed, the countries vanquished. Well, the kings and queens who had been conquered knew, but none of them dared speak up in Father's presence. They understood fully they were under his control. Their loss, the Southern Isles's gain… But Hans found that about halfway through this recent dinner, he couldn't stay anymore. He told himself it was because he had to prepare for another task he was meant to carry out tomorrow. He could almost convince himself it was true except for that one little annoying voice in his head that said otherwise… He despised that voice and constantly buried it away. It had no business existing.
Frozen
The prince often looked with delight upon his gold and his magnificent edifices, and thought, like the crowd: "What a mighty prince! But I must have more. Much more. No power on earth must equal mine, far less exceed it."
He found himself thinking that thought, at least, before realizing it was his father's and noting in terror that he was being assimilated… And then also promptly realizing that even if he was, he didn't half mind the way that statement sounded to him either… Maybe it was correct? After all the Isles was preparing for another needless power grab—read war—against an alliance of three other kingdoms they really didn't need under their thumb. It was possible, and he almost dared hope, that father was trying to kill off his older brothers so that he could hand the throne to his youngest. No, even he knew how ridiculous that was. The man was probably trying to kill off some of the castaways. Heaven forbid he put the seven oldest ones on the front lines. Or if he did, the three eldest at least certainly wouldn't be up there.
"Hans, it's time to go," Kelin-Sel, already decked out in armor, said. Hans turned from the treasury to face his sibling. After a moment he nodded. "How are you? In the wake of… of the orphanage being burned to the ground?" Father's order, of course. Word had come to him form one of his many reliable spies—read Jürgen—that Hans had been sparing children. So father had decided to teach him a lesson and sent out Caleb, Justic, and Lars to deal with it. Read burn it to the ground with every living thing inside. Meanwhile, Hans had been set on by the brute squad. And Kelin-Sel himself. Dryly Kelin-Sel noted that Hans hadn't been the only one being punished for something… Iscawin had reported he'd heard their sibling's cries of pain from his room… Kelin-Sel, for his part, had watched numbly as the Brute Squad had mercilessly pounded their brother.
Hans on the ground lying broken and unable to move. He doubted his brother even wanted to. He fully believed Hans would have liked to die in that moment, and the way their brothers were having at him, it was a possibility. Franz, enraged, stood domineeringly over him. He would never have admitted it, but Kelin-Sel knew it was because something inside of the 'party prince' had died when father ordered the orphanage burned and informed them it was Hans's doing. Maybe something in all of them had.
"Stand up you f***ing weakling!" Franz had roared, kicking their brother in the stomach as hard as he could. It had ruptured something inside of the youngest. He would have died there if Lars hadn't been present to heal him. FYI, healing him hadn't been a mercy. Or maybe in some twisted way it had been, because in that moment Hans had felt like he deserved every second of it. He didn't even fight like he usually would try to.
"Only a f***ing coward lays there and takes it! Get up!" Jürgen had shouted. He was the next one to break something on his brother's body. Jürgen who wished to god he was the one in his sibling's place at that point… He had expected praise, maybe a reward, and a chance to beat on Hans. He hadn't expected father to order the place burned down with everyone inside. He knew it was more his fault than Hans's, but in the end the remorseless lived, the remorseful died. Hans was already on borrowed time anyway.
Hans was quiet. "Caleb's weak," he soon answered. "You know as well as I do that he let them live."
"The orphans screaming at the window?" Kelin-Sel asked. Reports had come in from all around about that.
"Illusion," Hans said.
"You're in denial," Kelin-Sel said.
"No. I'm not," Hans replied, tossing back a book. Caleb's diary. Kelin-Sel, curious, took it and looked inside, reading the marked passage. His body visibly sagged in relief. "Whatever illusionist they used, he was good. Justic smuggled them out to his own little island with no trouble whatsoever. At least... some of them... Father was none the wiser."
Kelin-Sel was quiet. "What were you doing with Caleb's diary?" he asked.
"Considering revenge," Hans answered. "Have you read 1001 Arabian Nights?"
Hans hadn't needed to elaborate. In that book there was a story of a man sentenced to die, who brought before the Sultan, or whatever the ruler was, a book that he claimed would let him hear a condemned prisoner's severed head speak to him. The ruler carried out the execution, placed the head where he was told, and it spoke. It told the Sultan to flip through the pages of the book. He did so, licking his fingers as he went. Long story short, the pages were poisoned. Every time the man licked his fingers to turn a page, more of said poison entered his body. He died painfully.
"Did you poison Caleb to get to father?" Kelin-Sel asked.
"I considered it," Hans admitted. "Until I read that entry."
Kelin-Sel nodded. "It's time to go," he said.
"I'm ready," Hans replied, joining his sibling. To live or die.
Frozen
He made war with all his neighbours, and defeated them. The conquered kings were chained up with golden fetters to his chariot when he drove through the streets of his city. These kings had to kneel at his and his courtiers' feet when they sat at table, and live on the morsels which they left.
Well, truth be told that was his father's doing, but he felt like it was his. The prince in that case was the king. The courtiers were the princes. For a moment, as he looked back, he wondered, though.
At last the prince had his own statue erected on the public places and fixed on the royal palaces; nay, he even wished It to be placed in the churches, on the altars, but in this the priests opposed him, saying: "Prince, you are mighty indeed, but God's power is much greater than yours; we dare not obey your orders."
"Well," said the prince. "Then I will conquer God too."
He wrote the word god to by symbolic. Really 'god' in this paragraph was Arendelle. Arendelle which, while peaceful, had become potentially more powerful than the Southern Isles. The King had gotten wind of the corruption and evil of the Isles. He and his Queen had formed allies. Many, many allies. Corona, Avalor, Weselton, Cumberland, the list went on. The King of Arendelle had been scoffed at by his council. After he died, they had taken over until Arendelle's oldest princess came of age to take the throne. On hearing of the defeat of the three kings, said council had suddenly become acutely aware of how right the old king had been, and of how close Arendelle was to the Southern Isles. Sensing that at any moment its King might get it into his head that he could wipe them out, they'd hastened Elsa's ascent as much as they could. The time to strike was then. Hans had pitched his idea to go to Arendelle and the rest? Well… 'Then I will conquer Arendelle too.' Father hadn't necessarily meant conquer it by force, Hans still wasn't sure what the man had meant in the end, but regardless it had ended the same. 'Go with my blessing. Make our presence known and make it clear. Represent us well. Do me proud for your sake,' father had said. He'd partially succeeded.
And in his haughtiness and foolish presumption, he ordered a magnificent ship to be constructed, with which he could sail through the air; it was gorgeously fitted out and of many colours; like the tail of a peacock, it was covered with thousands of eyes, but each eye was the barrel of a gun. The prince sat in the center of the ship and had only to touch a spring in order to make thousands of bullets fly out in all directions, while the guns were at once loaded again. Hundreds of eagles were attached to this ship, and it rose with the swiftness of an arrow up towards the sun.
He'd gawked at the ship in stunned disbelief. It was beautiful! How the hell it was floating still he didn't know, and probably never would, but it was beautiful! More than beautiful, it was deadly and dangerous. It hadn't been as spectacular as he was writing it, really, that would have been impractical in every sense, but it had been a sight. Eagles were indeed attached to it, as carvings. There were indeed many guns, it was a war ship more than a ship you'd send to represent a nation that was looking for peace. He did indeed have complete control over it and its crew, the 'spring' had been the crew. It had indeed been fast, and it had indeed risen with the swiftness of an arrow soaring across the 'air', that was the sea, towards the sun. The sun which was again Arendelle. More freedom than Arendelle, actually. A way to break away from home, from his brothers, from his father, from grief and deceit and monstrous deeds… A way to forget, if only for a while.
The earth was soon left far below and looked, with its mountains and woods, like a cornfield where the plough had made furrows which separated green meadows; soon it looked like only a map with indistinct lines upon it; and at last it entirely disappeared in mist and clouds.
The Southern Isles far behind. Nothing but a memory, for a time. A future that maybe could be bright lay ahead, a future that would take him forever from that nightmarish hell that was home… But though he was for a time free of the monsters that were his father and his brothers, he wasn't free of himself… As it turned out he was a monster too, though he hadn't seen it immediately. Or hadn't acknowledged it at least.
Higher and higher rose the eagles up into the air; then God sent one of his numberless angels against the ship. The wicked prince showered thousands of bullets upon him, but they rebounded from his shining wings and fell down like ordinary hailstones. One drop of blood, one single drop, came out of the white feathers of the angel's wings and fell upon the ship in which the prince sat, burnt into it, and weighed upon it like thousands of hundredweights, dragging it rapidly down to the earth again. The strong wings of the eagles gave way, the wind roared round the prince's head, and the clouds around—were they formed by the smoke rising up from the burnt cities?—took strange shapes, like crabs many, many miles long, which stretched their claws out after him, and rose up like enormous rocks, from which rolling masses dashed down and became fire-spitting dragons.
The bullets were his deceits that at the time had seemed so promising, the angel was Arendelle, the drop of blood… the drop of blood was Elsa… Elsa who had fallen upon his heart and soul and mind against his bidding and burned into his being, who had weighed upon his conscience like thousands of hundredweights dragging him rapidly down to earth again. Forcing him to start to see the truth of what he was. Forcing him to see that he was the monster he'd tried to flee and torturing what little remnants of a conscience he'd had! The screams of the men and women who had died at his hands, the sobbing of the infants and children, the smoke curling up from every destroyed farmhouse or village. Those crimes were him. They were all him! As much as he tried to tell himself it was for a greater good or for father, it had been him, and the sudden guilt and the understanding… The moment he had called to her not to be the monster they feared she was, he'd known it was the inner voice talking to him too. The way she looked at him in the prison when he'd gone to plead with her to end the winter, the despair and helplessness… She had been the mirror, then. He had seen in her what he had once been and might still be buried away somewhere… But he could shake it off. He always could... And he had, and had come back more vicious than ever.
The prince was lying half-dead in his ship, when it sank at last with a terrible shock into the branches of a large tree in the wood.
"I will conquer God!" said the prince. "I have sworn it; my will must be done!"
And he spent seven years in the construction of wonderful ships to sail through the air, and had darts cast from the hardest steel to break the walls of heaven with. He gathered warriors from all countries, so many that when they were placed side by side they covered the space of several miles.
The warriors the following he'd gathered in Arendelle. Of course, their expanse wasn't so vast, and it certainly hadn't taken seven years - more like hours - but that was hardly the point. Their assault on Elsa's ice palace...
They entered the ships and the prince was approaching his own, when God sent a swarm of gnats, one swarm of little gnats.
His pursuit of her across the frozen Fjords. The gnats the inklings of guilt and conscience and realization brought about her and by his thoughts during that chase.
They buzzed round the prince and stung his face and hands; angrily he drew his sword and brandished it, but he only touched the air and did not hit the gnats. Then he ordered his servants to bring costly coverings and wrap him in them, that the gnats might no longer be able to reach him. The servants carried out his orders, but one single gnat had placed itself inside one of the coverings, crept into the prince's ear, and stung him.
Anna's cry. 'No!' The princess moving in front of the blade meant to cut down the thing that threatened to draw out parts of him he never wanted to face again.
The place burnt like fire, and the poison entered into his blood. Mad with pain, he tore off the coverings and his clothes too, flinging them far away, and danced about before the eyes of his ferocious soldiers who now mocked at him, the mad prince, who wished to make war with God, and was overcome by a single little gnat.
Frozen
He stopped writing, suddenly, and glared at the paper with nothing short of hatred. Hatred because of the memories it dragged up, hatred for the realities it was forcing him to confront. Hatred because on paper, laid clearly before him, it couldn't be shoved aside or avoided. A personal condemnation, so to speak. Here, like this, he could see so plainly the sort of monster he had been… Might still be underneath it all…
'She froze your heart!'
'The only one with a frozen heart here is you!'
He shook his head. "Oh Anna, if only you had known how right you were… I don't think I would have been sent home to my brothers alive then," he said out loud. "I shouldn't have been… Men like me don't get second chances." Or shouldn't. How many men who could have been redeemed had been killed for less, he wondered? How many who had never needed redemption in the first place? It hardly seemed very fair, but then since when was life and reality fair? He heard guns firing and looked sharply up. He cursed under his breath and shoved the short story into his desk before racing out to see what was going on. The pirates they were hunting, he'd bet. Just what he needed now. Humph, privateer had never been on his list of things to be, but oh well.
