I was a little disappointed with the comments from last chapter (or there lack of), but perhaps no one noticed this at first because FFN is dumb and didn't correctly label it the way I wanted it to be labeled. Anyways, here's the next chapter. Just a forewarning that if you're squeamish about needles, there is a short scene with one and it's a bit graphic (but not the focus!). Hopefully this chapter will get a better response and I'll be motivated to post chapter 3 even sooner :D Enjoy!
He trudged through the snow with a heavy stack of wood in his arms. The sun had begun to set early that evening, and the visible cloud of his breath told him how quick winter seemed to arrive. It would only get colder, and despite the dull ache in his arms, he was glad he decided to run out to gather more firewood. Winter weather was unpredictable and he didn't fancy freezing to death tonight.
As he stumbled over a hidden boulder within the snow, he was grateful he'd thought ahead and prepared a stock of wood not too far from his isolated cabin before the temperature dropped. With his boots buried in the snow, grounding himself from falling flat on his face, he tightened his grip so as not to drop the stash.
Continuing his journey, Hans made his way around a large pine tree and into the clearing that was a mere few hundred feet from his home.
The ex-prince halted, wide eyes drinking in the devastating scene before him as each log of firewood tumbled from his arms and plopped into the red-stained snow. With furrowed brows and a tight frown, he stepped around a soldier—catching sight of the iconic Arendelle crocus emblem on his bloody uniform—and surveyed the massacre.
"The hell. . .?" he muttered, jaw slack. His green eyes darted from body to body, searching for any survivors.
His breath hitched when he recognized a writhing, young maiden amongst the scattered array of bodies. Hans hesitated, though he urged his legs to sprint to her aide.
He could recognize her anywhere. White-blonde hair woven into an intricate braid adorned in ice crystals. Bright, mysterious blue eyes, and dark red lips.
She was lain in the snow on her back, chest undulating rapidly beneath her restricting bodice. Dark lips parted, releasing pain-filled whimpers and gasps. Her wide eyes stared at the cloudless sky. As he watched her writhe, the ex-prince caught a glimpse of the source of her agony.
On her thigh was a narrow gash, deeper than it was wide, just inches above her knee. Her crystalline pants soaked in red, pooling into the snow beneath her.
She was the only survivor.
With her injury, he knew it was only a matter of time before she bled out.
He hesitated, contemplating the benefits of rescuing the queen, but a voice berated him. It's always about you, isn't it, Hans? The ex-prince curled his hands into tight fists. This wasn't about him. Reflecting on the circumstances of their last encounter, a pang of guilt encompassed his being. Despite his ill-actions in the past, he would never forgive himself if he left her there to die.
After another moment, Hans released a low hissed curse and shot forward, kicking up the white powder beneath his boots and leaping over the forgotten firewood. When he reached her, he noticed the dullness of her eyes and heard the shallowness of her breath as she struggled to keep conscious. At first, she was unresponsive to his arrival, but something in her must have clicked to recognize his presence.
She squinted her eyes at him and reached out with a trembling hand. Behind her dwindling gaze was a flicker of hope as she rasped, "A-Anna?"
Hans bit his lip to keep from correcting her. The blood loss was making her dizzy and delirious. Given the dire circumstances, he couldn't blame her for mistaking him as her sister. The mere thought of the energetic princess forced him to swallow over a lump in his throat. Try as he might, the ex-prince failed to block out the rush of mistakes and wrong-doings he'd inflicted on the sisters two years ago.
An inkling of jealousy accompanied those memories, and he found himself wishing he actually loved Anna, if only to feel welcomed into a family (tiny as it may be) who never thought of him as a disappointment. A waste. A burden.
The sight of an arrow buried in the snow jolted him out of his self-loathing.
Deciding not to waste anymore time, Hans knelt next to her and carefully scooped her into his arms, mindful of her injured leg. The queen's head lolled onto his shoulder. Her body limp, skin an abnormal pallor. The only sign of life was her shallow breath tickling the skin of his throat. Steeling himself, the ex-prince rushed her into the warmth of his cabin.
After he laid her on his bed, the prince rummaged through his half-empty cabinet in search of first aid. He breathed a low sigh of relief when his fingers met with what little he had left of gauze before stumbling back over to the fallen queen.
Hans paused, eyeing the blood dripping from her leg and leaving a steady red puddle on the white linen sheets. He grumbled a curse, fumbling for his pocket knife. He'd be damned if he undressed her. God forbid she regain consciousness, he'd find himself behind a stone-cold door in a murky dungeon, accused of defiling the Queen of Arendelle.
Wasting no time, he cut through the fabric just above her wound and proceeded to rip and peel it off the skin of her thigh; revealing the morbid nature of the arrow-wound.
"Shit," he muttered, eyeing how deep the gash ran, swearing again when he noticed the white of a bone beneath chunks of flesh. She was losing too much blood, he needed to move quickly.
With haste, he crouched by the fire and dipped the metal of his pocket knife into the flames just long enough for it to heat up. Rushing back to the queen, he glanced at her, mouthing an apology before pressing the heated blade to her flesh; cauterizing the wound.
In her unconscious state, Elsa arched off the bed, releasing an earth-shattering scream. Before she could pierce her bottom lip with her teeth, he placed a towel in her open mouth for her to bite down on as he continued on to clean the wound.
Fumbling with a bottle of alcohol—nearly knocking over his other, half-empty bottles of wine haphazardly arranged on his nightstand—he poured a couple drops on a cotton swab and proceeded to gently dab and disinfect until he could see.
Afterward, he threaded a needle. The first time he pierced her flesh, she flinched, releasing a low groan. The former prince tried to ignore it as he began to sew, only giving a short pause when Elsa's unseeing eyes shot open and her back arched, releasing a blood-curdling scream. Hans bit his lip and continued, finding himself knotting his work not even a few moments later once her cries settled down to soft whimpers.
After wrapping her leg in clean bandages, she laid still as a statue as he went to wash his bloodied hands and pack up the first aid.
When he sat with a sigh before the fireplace, having thrown the remnants of her pant-leg into the flames to feed the fire, he leaned back in his chair with a frown as he watched the Queen of Arendelle.
What was she doing out here so far from Arendelle? Would there even be a reason she'd take an entourage and travel this far north?
He admitted that since the beginning of his self-exile, believing he didn't belong anywhere and needed to start a new life, he'd intentionally fallen out of the loop of kingdom affairs; Arendelle included.
Though, upon his discovery of the blood bath, he should have turned his nose and marched back home with his firewood. He had no reason to search for survivors, especially when he was starting to run low on supplies in the middle of the Winter. But when he'd noticed the Arendelle flag followed by the writhing Queen, his gut told him otherwise.
Why had fate presented him with a victim of his wrongdoings during his self-imposed exile? Oh, what agonizing, twisted irony.
Hans recognized that once she came to, she would be less than happy to set her sights upon his countenance again. Not that he could blame her, after everything he'd done. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to make it up to her, to help her. To dissipate the underlying guilt of his actions years ago and redeem himself.
With one last glance at her, he sighed and rose from his seat to gather a couple of blankets and a pillow. Creating a makeshift bed on the floor by the warmth of the fire, he attempted to rest. Sleep eluded him for what seemed like an hour until he fell into a light, fitful rest.
Darkness filled her vision when her eyelids fluttered open. Confusion clouded her at the warmth that caressed her skin and the scents of wool and musky pine assaulted her nostrils. When she felt herself drifting off again, a rhythmic soft crackle in the distance made her sit up with a gasp. The queen instantly regretted the swiftness of her actions, crying out as a sharp pain shot up her leg. Sucking in a sharp breath to hold a curse at bay, she threw the wool blanket aside to find the fabric of her pants ripped up to her thigh and the open wound from earlier wrapped in bandages.
"What?" she murmured, eyes widening. It wasn't until a few moments later, when her vision adjusted to the dark room did she realize she was resting on a bed in a foreign cabin. The embers of the small fire across the room cast eerily mobile shadows in the small space she resided in.
Elsa swallowed, resting her upper body on the palms of her hands when memories of the ambush flashed in her mind. A hand flew up to cover her mouth, stifling a cry as her body seemed to be in a state of paralysis.
The sound of shuffling and a shadow in her peripheral vision jolted her into motion. Ignoring the pulsing in her leg, Elsa scrambled backward into the corner of the bed, pressing herself as close to the moonlit window as possible while spreading her fingers outward.
The shadow of a man towered over her as adrenaline rushed through her bloodstream, numbing any pain she previously felt. Cornered like a caged animal, tendrils of ice gathered at her fingertips, glowing a bright blue in warning.
"S-Stay away!" she hissed, but the dryness of her throat and trembling in her form made her warning sound nothing like a threat.
The injured queen bit her lip when met with silence. The man before her took a step back, raising the palms of his hands to give a show of their emptiness. Her wide eyes searched what she could see of his tall frame for any suspicious tools or lumps in his clothing that could possibly be a hidden weapon.
"I mean you no harm, I promise." he assured her. His deep voice sending a shiver up her spine despite how Elsa failed to place its familiarity.
Though it seemed to be he truth, Elsa refused to let her guard down. The ice retreated, but she kept her arms stretched with her fingers splayed—if only to force him to keep his distance.
The queen squared her shoulders and tilted her chin high. A deep frown etched on her face when she noticed not a single one of her trusted guards were in sight.
"Where am I?" she demanded, barely managing to keep the tremor out of her voice. Instead, her limbs shook, betraying her feigned confidence.
The stranger backed away, running a hand through his unkempt hair as he let out a long, tired sigh. Elsa watched his every move in the silence that followed. Only half his torso and below was visible to her in the moonlight that reflected off the snow outside and streamed through the windows. But when he took a few steps closer, she noticed loose, ginger strands of a short ponytail resting at the nape of his neck.
"In my log cabin. I thought that was obvious," came his snarky reply while he lifted a hand to gesture to his humble abode. "Now, if you would please stop pointing your icy fingers at me and relax, I would like to check on your wound and change your bandages."
Elsa pursed her lips, but refused to move a muscle. She gave pause, comprehending his response with raised brows. "Icy fingers? How—"
"Besides the fact that it dropped at least ten degrees in here and your fingers were glowing with ice just a few moments ago? Everyone knows who you are, Snow Queen. Now if you please—"
"Snow Queen? Is that what everyone is calling me now?" she retorted, searching his shadowed countenance for any sign of ill-intent. Unable to get a read on a face she couldn't see, Elsa gave a defeated sigh and lowered her hands into her lap. The dissipating adrenaline now taking its toll on her body; she could feel every ache in her muscles accompanied by sharp stabs racing up her injured leg.
Elsa clenched and ground her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut in attempt to ride through the pain. After a couple more waves, she released a gasp—not realizing she'd been holding her breath—and leaned her head back against the wall. Her chest rose and fell beneath her bodice with each deep breath. She'd spent so much time warding off the pain that she didn't even notice when the man had already begun re-dressing her wound.
The queen wiped a cold sweat off her brow as she stared at the ceiling.
No guards were with her. She must have been the only survivor.
Her throat tightened when her mind replayed the events of the massacre, inwardly cursing herself for not thinking to send any scouts ahead.
I could have saved them all, she thought with hot tears brimming. If I had known I would have. . .
Would have what? Used her powers to fend off their assailants? Created an icy dome to protect herself and the men she'd brought to aid her? There was no time for the careful planning she needed, so it was a fat chance either of those would have worked. She'd end up just as helpless as she was now.
As the man finished wrapping a new bandage, Elsa let out a defeated sigh, glaring at the wound that crippled her for the time-being.
No other words passed between them, but she was grateful for the silence that encompassed her. Despite how it merely served to dampen and match her mood.
It was only when he spoke again that another shiver trailed down her spine and her wide eyes shot up to find him crouched by her bedside. The moonlight revealing his all-too familiar features as he glanced up at her. His deep green eyes piercing through her, forcing her to the realization of her predicament. His frown seemed to curl upward into a chilling smile—the exact kind she witnessed in his attempt to end her life.
"—sa?" he called her name, snapping her out of a nightmare to find the frown etched deeper on his lips.
"Hans?" she breathed, eyes wide. When he rose to his feet, Elsa scooted away from him until the entirety of her back met the wooden wall. She raised her hands to him once again, threatening him to keep his distance. A warning, lest she turn him into an ice statue. "What. . .what are you doing here?"
The ex-prince pursed his lips and buried his hands in his pockets, averting his gaze from her.
"I should be asking you the same thing, Queen Elsa."