Author's Note: I would just like to say I don't think Hans is a good guy in canon. I just like alternate universes and I had no internet earlier today, so... this is a thing that happened. I would also like to note I have no idea if shipping will factor into this story at any point, at all. But hopefully it's still worth reading.

Hans focused on his breathing.

It was a hard learned lesson, this one, but he could do anything if he kept his breathing perfectly controlled. In, out, a timed rhythm, matching perfectly to his heartbeat's tune, careful stillness in a body otherwise in motion. Up above the sky was a perfect blue that didn't come to the Southern Isles when it was summer – summer was the season of rain. They only had snow on one island, and only during the winter. Arendelle's summer was a Southern Islander winter. But despite both being sea-bordering nations, the air was different. No one else made a comment – they never did. They didn't take it into the deepest part of their chest and let it linger in their hearts, so they didn't smell the faintest trace of sugar in the air, as if the kingdom was alight with baking in preparation for their arrival. They didn't notice the lack of spice in the air that would have filled the Southern Isles on a clear day like this. He nodded at one of his ship hands when they said the Captain was going to dock the boat soon. Hans had been breathing in the familiar seaweed and treated wood of docks for a full minute already.

His internal war was best solved by focus. Breathe and let the worries leave. He could practically picture his mother, all dark auburn hair and eyes so warm and black they reminded him of a dream's embrace. He remembered her gentle kiss to the top of his head, how she believed in him. His brothers clearly didn't – that's why he'd been sent to Arendelle at the height of storm season back home. Should his boat be sunk, well, nothing of value was lost. Should he manage to actually get this done, he gained a kingdom. What more could a man want, especially the thirteenth in line to the throne? He should feel grateful his eldest brother graced him with his time and a task. If only that task didn't involve murder and deception, maybe he wouldn't have spent half this trip sitting on the floor with his eyes shut, breathing in and out slowly, trying to avoid a meltdown. Hans had entertained insane ideas during the trip to Arendelle of running away, reaching land and making a break for it, heading to another country, feigning sickness during the coronation ball, pretending to get lost, anything. His ideas grew more ridiculous as they came closer.

I have to do this for the Isles, he reminded himself, readjusting his gloves. He glanced at himself in the mirror as the ship slowed to a creaking halt. This is nothing personal. This is going to help people. My people and theirs. Islanders need a place to live and Arendelle needs a proper leader. I'm doing the right thing.

He couldn't meet his own eyes anymore. The air was still ten degrees hotter in his cabin than it was in the rest of the ship after hours of bringing it down. He might as well have been a furnace.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Jovan was one of few people with the physical strength required to kick palace doors open, and he did so without even flinching. Multiple royal guards stepped in front of him and he cut them down with eyes the color of limes in sunlight, yellow-green and dangerous, unnatural in their intensity. The guards parted like water.

"Gentlemen," he greeted the stunned delegates, "I just need a moment with everyone's favorite benevolent ruler. Since Marcin isn't here, I'll take the King instead."

No one dared laugh, but their faces must've showed it for a second, because King Adler's face darkened as he approached his brother. Eldest faced second youngest, and Jovan's face could have been carved of stone for how little his expression changed. Jovan turned and beckoned him with a hand, not even bothering to bow or speak, and because his brother couldn't afford to rage and yell at any other members of the royal family in public, he followed until they were down a hall and safely behind the private walls of a random room. Alder's fist hit said wall so hard there was a snapping sound from the abused wood. Jovan half-turned to look at him, expression eternally an unimpressed one. In the Southern Isles each Prince had earned a nickname, Jovan was Jovan the Steadfast. It was a lofty title he thought more than a little old fashioned, but sometimes, whether he knew it or not, he embodied it.

"You have no right-" Adler paused as Jovan turned and leaned against a wall, settling in as if testing an angle he'd need to lean at for a long time. His brother's beautiful face twisted with even more anger. "Well, fine, then, let's have it! What's so important you feel the need to make me look a fool in front of everyone we need to broker deals with?"

"That's not everyone and those people are already in your pocket. As are the judges of the Isles, as well as, apparently, more than one sailor and at least one captain," the black haired sibling replied, tilting his head as if in curiosity. With his eye-color, it reminded Adler of a snake examining something before it struck. "I told you not to touch my brothers."

"I am your brother-"

"I told you not to touch my real brothers," replied the unflinching, foolishly brave member of the family. Silence reigned. "I'm going to bring him home. You may think of this as a nice way of either expanding the kingdom or getting Hans killed, but if something happens in Arendelle, we will be at war and the people will not fight in your name, no matter your threats or guards. This is a tactical mistake of the kind of caliber no kingdom could afford, least of all ours."

The problem with Jovan was there was no threatening him into submission. He had already publically renounced any ideas of taking the throne, money didn't tempt him, he was a chronic loner and while he could coordinate the laws and taxes of the Isles in a way that kept people from revolting and kept things just, he could rarely form attachment to any one particular human being other than his family. Since everyone was now spread out to other nations trying to expand the power of the kingdom, there wasn't anyone present to threaten in order to make Jovan obey. He was too valuable tactically and diplomatically – in so far as in-kingdom diplomatics went – to lose with threats of physical violence or death to himself, and thus the great Adler the All-Knowing was reduced to floundering.

"You'll not find a ship in the sea that will take you. I'll see to it." His large hands curled into fists. He was the tallest, strongest, most perfect of the brothers physically. He was a large personality with a charming smile to his guests, but to his brothers he had always been the giant they pictured being slain in fairy tales.

"It wouldn't do you much good if guards who prefer my feather-light touch to your steel stranglehold on the land were to stir talk among the people you had imprisoned one of your brothers. Between that, Father's death and Hans suddenly 'deciding' to leave in the dead of night, I doubt the people would let you sit on that throne much longer. Not with Marcin less than two weeks away from returning."

"Marcin does not desire a throne that isn't abroad to the Far West."

"The people desire a throne they can approach with gladness in their hearts." Adler raised his hand, and Jovan grinned as his brother prepared to hit him, eyes catching the light. "Do it. Let's see if everyone will believe I 'fell' for the fifth time in three months. Should I move off the wall so you can knock me to the floor, make it look a smidge more authentic?"

"Your tongue will be the death of you."

"Your heart would be the death of you if you had one."

Adler hit him so fast that Jovan barely caught himself against a bookshelf. His laughter through a bloodied nose was borderline manic, and bubbled up from quiet to loud. The redheaded King stormed out. "Take your boat and leave, then. One day these airy words you spin will trap you and those you care about, and I will not be there to save you when you do."

Jovan's broken laughter echoed in the halls as he staggered his way in the opposite direction down a hallway. He waved off several guards who asked what was wrong, let the blood run down his face from his nose to splash upon his clothes freely, and told his courier to arrange for a ship and captain, charter to Arendelle, immediately. Payment was of no consequence. He smiled reassuringly at the startled looking young servant, and shut his door. Only when the footsteps faded and the murmur of voices were so distant he couldn't hear it did his broken laughter become chuckles, and then he was slumped against the door, tears falling down his cheeks as he gripped his raven's wing hair with his long, thin fingers. The curtains fluttered and the papers on his desk scattered despite the window being shut and locked tightly.

I promise it'll be okay, Hans. I'm coming for you. I can save you, just hold on a little longer. I'm only a day behind you.

No ship's sails had ever been favored by better winds than Prince Jovan's.