Elsa settled in the parlour, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She smiled, inhaling the delicate aroma; her favourite Darjeeling tea, imported from the Far East at ridiculously expensive prices –
"Boo!" screeched Anna, jumping out from behind the curtains. Or more accurately, she tried to jump out, but caught her foot in the velvet plush and half-stumbled, half-rolled out from behind the curtains.
Elsa shrieked, freezing her tea solid and dropping the porcelain cup onto the now-icy floor, where it shattered.
"Oops – sorry…"
The queen took a few deep breaths. "Anna…"
"I'm so sorry!" squeaked the princess, trying and failing to untangle her foot discreetly.
Her older sister sighed, waving a hand and depositing the frozen tea into another cup, where it melted back into cold tea. Elsa stared in dismay at the ruined drink. "Really, don't you think you're a little old for childish pranks?"
"I don't? I mean, I've never really thought about it..." volunteered Anna. "Uhm, I meant no – wait, was was the question again?"
Elsa felt her annoyance ebbing away rapidly as she stared at her sister. She chalked it up to the long period of separation, but she just couldn't stay angry at her. Somehow, she felt as though the time they now spent together was temporary, and one day they'd go back to the way they'd been before...
The older girl smiled. "Do you think I'm not above playing pranks on my baby sister?"
"N – wait, what?"
"Boo!" yelled Elsa, flinging her arms out.
"Yeeek!" Anna jumped back in shock, slipping on the icy floor – and landing on a snowdrift Elsa had conjured. Powdered snow coated her hair, clothes, and the utterly bewildered expression she wore.
"Payback time," announced her older sister, wearing an irritatingly smug expression, fighting to not burst into laughter from Anna's face. Anna opened her mouth to say something and was promptly lost in another shower of snow.
"No fair, using powers!" she spluttered.
"Don't tell me you've never heard of the phrase, 'revenge is a dish best served cold'?" teased Elsa, conjuring a sizeable chunk of snow between her hands.
Anna took one look and decided retreat was her best option.
"Elsa, you big bully!" she giggled madly, dashing down the corridor, the older girl in hot pursuit.
Elsa flung a small snowball at her, which hit the back of her head with a 'piff'. "Well, you started it! You were the one who said I was beautifuller, remember?"
"Are you still sore about that one?" wheezed Anna, now thoroughly winded from the chase and from laughing nonstop, collapsing on the floor of the throne room in a giggly heap.
"Of course! You're the one who eats chocolates like nobody's business and still stays so skinny!" Elsa jabbed at her little sister's sides and she promptly doubled up, squirming. "Look at those ribs!"
"El – saaa! Don't – make me – laugh – anymore – " Anna gasped, flailing helplessly. "Okay – you – win!"
Elsa flopped over Anna, mostly breathless herself. "At last."
There was a comfortable silence as snowflakes drifted lazily from the ceiling on the two sisters.
"Elsa?"
"Yes, Anna?"
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Hans felt as though he was beginning to lose his mind. Isolation didn't suit him; the silence only served to encourage his inner demons' noise.
Left alone, he felt compelled to face his actions and their consequences.
"Happy now, Elsa?" he grumbled.
It just wasn't fair, he thought furiously. Why couldn't I have won?
There was something to be said about the tenacity of someone who had grown up as the youngest of thirteen rambunctious boys. A normal family would have simply let others raise their children; Hans' status as a prince sealed his fate.
His mother, frail from so many births (three boys were more than enough for anyone), kept mostly to her rooms. His other brothers, sons of different mothers, were either busy, uncaring, or simply not bothered with the latest runt of the family.
Hans' first memory had been of the matronly servant who had looked after him in his infancy. Raised would have been a better word to anyone else, but she had merely provided him with the essentials for survival.
It was a bleak childhood he had experienced.
Another memory that stood out was when three of his brothers (two half and one full) decided to ignore his existence. It had made for awkward situations when palace servants were not allowed to even acknowledge his petulant, little-boy orders.
"Did you hear a rat squeaking, brother?" sneered Anselm, the ninth prince. Large and stocky; his punches hurt the most.
Rail-thin Farmund, the eighth prince, stared down his long nose at Hans. "Rats? In the palace? Surely you jest, Anselm." Farmund was the one who enjoyed playing pranks. He had once set fire to Hans' bed while he was in it, claiming it would match his hair.
And Haakon, pale freckled Haakon; the twelfth prince who looked just like his youngest brother. His green eyes slid away from Hans' pleading ones, walking away in swift strides. "It must be rats. Only rats can scurry around where they're not wanted," he said, pulling gloves over his hands, trying his best to emulate his older brothers.
Hans turned and fled the room, not caring where he was going, only focusing on running away from the laughter that followed him relentlessly.
He soon found himself in another part of the palace he was not familiar with. While he was trying to retrace his steps back to his own room, he bumped into a solid pair of legs.
"Oh," rumbled the voice above him. "Who is that – hmm. Hilde's youngest boy… what was your name again?"
Much to his credit, he recovered quickly enough to bow. "Hans, Your Majesty."
"Hans. Yes. I knew it was a good idea to give the boys names with their mother's initial." King Magnus boomed with laughter, one meaty hand giving Hans a few rough pats on the head.
"Why are you here, Hans? Normally the boys don't come to this wing."
"I was looking for the kitchens and got lost, sir." The lies flowed off his tongue smoothly.
Magnus knelt, his piercing blue eyes taking in the small boy's tear-stained face and petulantly-jutting lower lip.
"The other boys ill-treat you?" he asked abruptly.
Hans stiffened. "N – no, sir!"
His eye fell on the small wrist. "Then these?" The king pushed up the boy's sleeve to reveal vivid purple bruises. Hans blushed.
"I – fell, sir. While running through the corridors."
"Liar," chuckled his father. "But I would've said the same myself. You're a good boy."
Hans was still red, but he could have sworn he flushed deeper with pleasure.
"Let me tell you a secret, son." Magnus leaned in, his face deadly serious. "I know it's not easy, being the youngest of so many boys, and royal princes to boot. But strength is not everything." He tapped the side of his head meaningfully. "It's this that matters. I had seven older brothers myself, Hans; your uncles if they still lived. But I became king. Do you know why?"
"No, sir," breathed Hans, enthralled.
"I outsmarted them all. They underestimated me, the youngest and smallest one, until it was too late." The king rose to his full height. "I suppose you'll be the youngest, Hans; Hilde doesn't look long for this world if you ask me."
"Sir?"
Magnus shook his head. "Never mind that. Find your strengths, my son, and use them well."
Hans lifted his head proudly. "I will, Your Majesty."
"Good." He ruffled the smallest prince's hair.
And so Hans grew stronger. He no longer cared if they beat him, or stole his toys, or humiliated him in front of others.
His father had spoken to him and given him advice. His father, the youngest of his brothers, had become king against all the odds.
Unfortunately, he faced another setback.
Compared to his brothers, Hans was not skilled in warfare; not as a tactician or a warrior. He wasn't even a particularly inspiring leader. He also lacked the charisma to win people's hearts and inflame their spirits.
The prince was also not a born scholar, writing texts to baffle academicians. He wasn't even a good cook.
He was beginning to fall back into despair.
It wasn't until his eighteenth birthday, when he was deemed old enough to be sent abroad as a representative of the Southern Isles, when he discovered his strengths.
As the youngest in a palace filled with boys and men, Hans was utterly bewildered by women; young giggly girls who breathlessly clung to his arm, dignified women who exchanged small talk and gossip, matrons who fawned over him in a cloying manner that suggested they were too old to feel shame.
He was incredibly charming to women – no, irresistible.
After years of struggling with everything else, he was alarmed by how easy it was to impress them; a witty remark here, a compliment there, and they were practically eating out of his hand.
Most importantly, Hans realized that they were mostly lonely. The life of a noble was an isolated one, and many giddy young ladies were just looking for a listening ear and a friendly face.
His good looks and charm were just a bonus.
A dalliance with young Charlotte LaBouf (an incredibly wealthy young heiress but no princess, alas) gave Hans the idea on how to use his strengths; the girl was on a single-minded mission to be a princess by marrying a prince.
No one said he had to be King of the Southern Isles.
Why not simply marry into the throne of another kingdom?
Other men had done precisely that. He'd read tales of common thieves becoming princes simply by marrying princesses. Princes and princesses eventually become kings and queens, after all.
Of course, there was this whole issue of True Love but Hans supposed it would come when it did.
Or he could just fake it.
Hans felt like he had been plunged back into the abyss of his childhood, starting from the very bottom again.
And this time, there didn't seem to be any possible way up.
"So it's my fault, then?" he said to the stone slab on the floor where the shackles had been. "For what, having my plans fall through or even making them in the first place?"
Sieg opened the cell door, bearing a plate of food and a jug of water. "Eat."
"Not interested," said Hans dully.
The burly man stared at his prisoner in disbelief. "You need to." Setting the food and drink down, he shut the door again.
Hans spared it a glance, rolled over, and resumed staring at the wall.
"Stupid gloves," grouched Hans, picking at the loose threads on the hem. "My best pair and they're in terrible condition." Out of all the items he owned, the prince's favourite was this pair of gloves.
"Hmm?" He glanced up at the stone slab. "Why?"
"Oh, they were a gift from a German countess as a souvenir from this – shall we say, memorable? – summer we spent together in Europe." Hans stuffed them roughly back into his pocket. "I like them because the quality and stitching are extremely fine. You find gloves like these don't come cheap."
He snorted. "Sentimental value? That's for lesser people."
"Do you want to – "
" – send my little sister out of the room, because she's being an annoying brat? I would love to," said Elsa without even looking up from her book.
Anna pouted and draped herself dramatically over the couch's arm rest, sliding beside her older sister. "You're no fun."
"No, I'm Elsa."
Kristoff stifled a laugh as Anna shot him a pointed glare.
"I'm Olaf," smiled the snowman, not fully understanding what was going on, but joining in anyway.
"You have to admit that was a good one, Anna," remarked Kristoff, leaning back in his chair.
"No, it isn't," grumbled the princess. "And stop being on her side. You're supposed to be on my side."
"Actually, you're on her side now…"
"Kristoff!"
Elsa attempted to hide her laughter as they bickered. She had the unfortunate tendency to snort whenever she laughed (something only her sister knew, and she had been sworn to secrecy) and was valiantly trying to preserve her image in front of the ice harvester.
Although she supposed he would be family one day too.
Anna flung her hands in the air in frustration, barely missing Elsa's face. "Urgh! I can't stand you!" She narrowed her eyes at them both, and hastily added, "And I know I'm not standing, I'm lying down! Ha!"
Her last word was punctuated by a discreet knock on the door. "Enter," called Elsa, shutting her book and sitting up straight.
Sieg entered. "Your Majesty. Could you come with me for a moment?" Her questioning gaze met his eyes, and he nodded imperceptibly.
Elsa sobered immediately. Sensing a change in her sister's demeanour, Anna sat up as well.
"Elsa?"
The queen smiled and shook her head. "It's nothing, just state business. I'll be back in a short while."
She swept down to the dungeons as she was, clad simply in her ice-blue dress. He didn't even bother to look up.
"Good day, Your Majesty," he croaked, and was cut off by racking coughs shaking his entire body.
"Sieg told me you refused food and drink for the past few days – and as a result, you fell sick," she said, voice tight with anger. "What did you think you were doing?"
"You shouldn't waste food on me," he slurred. "Nobody's gonna care anyway. It's been two weeks. My brothers didn't even reply your letter, right?"
"N – no," she stammered, quite taken aback by the open bitterness in his voice. "That's not the point – "
"It isn't." He managed to pull himself up on his elbows, staring at her with fixed, bloodshot eyes; his face was flushed with fever. "This situation is actually rather ideal for you, isn't it? I die here of illness, and you won't be blamed for killing me."
Elsa stared blankly at him for a moment. She wasn't entirely sure what was the proper thing to be done in situations like this.
"Thanks for the last visit," he interjected roughly. She blanched.
"No!" Elsa shouted. "You will not die here, Hans. I can't let you do this."
His lip curled. "To myself, or to you?"
Taking a deep breath, her face dark with emotion, she took a step closer. "Someone stopped me when I was on the brink of becoming a monster," said the queen in a quiet voice. "I owe him my life, and at the very least, my gratitude."
Fever-bright eyes flashed with recollection.
Elsa knelt so her face was level with his. "I don't know what you had planned for me," she hissed, "but I can give you that one thing. Think of it as my mercy or my punishment, but your life is mine; you don't decide whether you want it or not."
A cool hand rested on his forehead.
"Sleep now." The coolness began to spread over his body, soothing the heat and lulling him to sleep.
Elsa watched as the prince's eyes fluttered shut. Asleep, he looked less cunning and manipulative than she knew he was capable of.
"Inform me when he wakes," she instructed Sieg as she left the cell.
Hans snapped awake with a start. The pounding headache was gone and he sighed in relief. A water jug sat near his bed; he downed the water in a few gulps.
The cell door creaked open. "Here," said Sieg, handing him a steaming bowl of soup.
"Soup?" He sniffed it, savouring the aroma. "Prisoners' fare has certainly improved."
"Queen's orders."
"I must remember to thank her later," sneered Hans, just to irritate Sieg. But instead of the growl he was expecting, the big man shot him a penetrating look.
"For other things as well, yes."
Elsa was in her study (thankfully, Kristoff had taken Anna out on some deliveries) enjoying some tea.
Sieg appeared in the door. "My Queen..."
She rose to her feet, heart in her throat. "I see." Her Darjeeling was set aside to be forgotten for the second time.
All the way downstairs, her mind whirled with activity. Even now, she wondered if she had done the right thing in saving him – God knew, he didn't deserve it. Everything she held dear argued against it.
As she came face-to-face with the gaunt, worn-looking prince, Elsa dismissed those thoughts.
"What did you mean – when you said that earlier?" he asked. "I thought I was delirious, but…"
She half-smiled. "I admit it is a bit foolish of me to attach sentimental value to something like that. But – to be completely honest – it was what I needed to bring me back." The queen's eyes darkened. "Even if it's likely you didn't mean it at all."
"Possibly," he agreed genially. Elsa shot him a wary look but continued anyway.
"I was this close to killing that man and becoming that monster they wanted me to be. The monster that I had thought I was." Elsa's fingers fidgeted in the fabric of her dress. "Though I can't think of a reason why you would say that when you had nothing to gain."
His mouth quirked into a twisted smile. "Don't ask me. It would have suited my purposes perfectly if you were to die there, a murderous monster killed by her angry people."
"Then why did you save me?"
"Honestly? I have no idea, Elsa." None whatsoever.
Elsa frowned.