It's a pale sliver in the pre-dawn sky, a waning crescent Hans hasn't seen in years. He had spent many nights gazing up at the moon from the deck of a ship when he commanded a fleet, the infinite blanket of constellations his tool for navigation. In his youth he'd secretly made wishes on shooting stars when he'd look out his bedroom window - wishes for his own horse or to make his first trip to another kingdom. Back then, when things were far simpler, he never really stopped to realize how beautiful the night sky was but rather took gazing upon it for granted. Never put much thought into how dynamic it all was. Never realized how the moon can look like a tilted smile.
(Presently, it smiles down at him like he's a fool.)
Hans thinks distantly - it mocks me.
Hans lies silent and still, the tide lulling him peacefully upon her beach, waves slopping gently against his fin. He's gazing up at the slowly brightening night sky as it starts to paint the shore of Elsa's fjord in shaded shadows, awakening the beach. The one he left her upon days ago. He hasn't seen her since.
Fisk had spoken with the seabirds, asked for any news of the Queen. Eventually there was a nosey kittiwake who managed to find the Queen's bedchamber window, yesterday, finally confirming that Elsa was indeed alive – being well cared for and doted upon. Hans had figured that much. He assumed the magic wouldn't be pulling him to someone who wasn't there.
She's sleeping soundly, the kittiwake said kindly.
At least someone was. He's frustrated and exhausted. Worried and pining for her.
Worried.
Pining.
Hans had never felt an iota of longing or true desire for a woman before, never felt this unsettled fear of the unknown, and he's baffled as to how to manage it. Even Fisk had given up on him tonight, declaring Hans had officially lost his marbles and it was just too pathetic to watch any longer. Fisk left hours ago to sleep, something that Hans has found just as elusive as Elsa.
Why won't she come – seek me out?
If he could just see her, talk to her, his mind might clear enough, Hans thinks. Enough to understand if she's as afflicted as he is, enough to think through how to end the curse. To stop this.
"If I could give her my breath, restore life to her, then I must be able to call her to me," Hans had said. Fisk insisted that was nonsense. Granted, Hans lacked any sort of knowledge about such magic; and he couldn't very well just ask someone - these sorts of evils were no longer kept in records (he'd checked) – besides, how nefarious it would seem to be inquiring about such things?
Hans starts singing again. Softly, under his breath – tones only audible when under the water, beneath the raging crash of waves, amongst those who inhabit the sea. It builds stronger, an ancient tongue he learned begrudgingly in his youth. He's sung all sorts of songs over the past few days, anything he can remember.
He's running out of songs.
Elsa still hasn't come to him.
This time he sings a lullaby; one he recalls his mother singing to nieces and nephews as newborns – she sang to all her children and grandchildren to hush them to sleep. He imagines holding Elsa as he sings; instantly he can feel her weight like a phantom in his arms, pressing warm to him, completing him.
His eyes fly open.
Of course she's not there. She never is – this isn't the first time she's haunted him over the past few days.
He pauses, huffs at his foolishness before continuing his mother's lullaby – a melody sung in a tongue unlike anything a human has ever heard. Hans reasons that from the lips of a siren, while in the form of a merman, the song may be magic. And if so, if it is, the breeze will carry his song gently into the air and perhaps it will fall upon the one who he has enchanted. And she will come.
(Or fall asleep. He realizes he is singing a lullaby.)
Hans stops.
He has imagined the scenario in his mind's eye enough now, the daydream lulling him to sleep. She comes to him. She completes him. His eyes close – and he sleeps.
.
.
.
Hans startles awake in somewhat of a panic at the sound of glass smashing onto rocks.
"What the hell?" says an old voice, male and intoxicated by the sound of the syllables blurring into each other, feet stumbling harshly in the rocks.
Hans curses silently at himself for having been so careless as to doze off on the shore of the Arendelle fjord. He darts upright, not looking back, instead disappearing into the waves that had begun to recede before he can catch the rest of the protests and vulgarities that fly from the man's mouth.
Elsa slips in and out of consciousness, she's cognizant of that much, mind filled with strange images and fragmented dreams of the darkness of waves and water, of shimmering scales, bright – illuminous. Of a man – a creature – a nøkken so beautiful she aches for him, having stolen his breath greedily when offered for her own. Elsa dreams he's looking for her, calling to her, songs lulling her back to him. She dreams of Prince Hans Westergård, of the Southern Isles, her mind supplying a name to the nøkken but not the man she knew of. He's different, and with an intensity lacking any rational explanation he's perfect and hers – wrapping her gently into his arms he completes her - her light. Her life. There are images she can't make sense of but cause her skin to sing, arousal racing with urgency, blood coursing hot in her veins. She's never experienced such intimacy - it is new, and she never wants it to end. There is a child in these dreams; a babe held in his arms. Hans' emerald eyes wet and filled with adoration, "Say hello to him. The future King of Arendelle." He sings soft lullabies to their babe, swaddled, fresh and new, as she lays beside him. She smiles for it is more than she could have ever imagined, this second chance the nøkken has granted her. Completion.
Almost with inevitability, like the swing of a pendulum, it ends.
Elsa wakes with the break of dawn on the third day following her drowning, eyes fight to flutter open, blinking back the fog hanging in her mind. She's in her room, safe in her bed. Her hand shifts to press over the ache in her chest. It is among the cacophony of things she notices just as she wakes: the distant sounds of the castle - noises, frantic activity at the start of a day, a warmth at her back, the call from songs coaxing her to rise and come.
Get up. Go to the sea.
Her body feels very heavy, almost protesting to comply like gears of clockwork trying to wind. Eventually Elsa coordinates herself and push upright, weakly pressing her hand back over the ache in her heart. It hurts. As she does, she hears a soft gasp from the other side of the bed. Elsa glances over, truthfully unsurprised to find Anna sitting up beside her.
"You're up! Oh my goodness that is wonderful!" Anna squeals suddenly. In the blink of an eye she's sprung to her feet, halfway round Elsa's bed, offering a hand and a desperate hug.
"I." Elsa begins, stopped by the unbidden quiver in her voice. She clears it, attempts to smooth it. Elsa takes a deep breath and continues simply, "I. How long – what happened?"
"There was accident on the ship and in the rain and wind we couldn't find you. We were terrified you had drowned but hours later you washed-up on the shore, still alive." Anna's eyes are filled with such unease, worried brow pulled low as she studies Elsa. "Elsa. It's been days. You'd come to long enough for the physicians to give you various tonics - medications. A little water. Then we couldn't wake you again for hours."
Days?
Elsa's mind races after that – stomach sinking at the thought that he could be anywhere by now. Hot panic races through her, a hopelessness, how will I find him again?
Her eyes despondently shift to the window, the fjord obscured by the fabric draping the windows.
No.
Anna senses her despair, attempts to reassure, "I can't imagine what you've been through, I am so proud of you for being so strong and brave. Really Elsa, I think I'd have a nervous breakdown if I'd been lost at sea!" Anna's awe is evident, small smile of pride on her lips.
"Kristoff was going to see Grand Pabbie – see if there was something he could do to help you since nothing the physicians were doing seemed to help." There is a roll of her eyes with that. She adds, "He was going to leave this morning."
Elsa nods dumbly as Anna hands her a glass of water. Anna stares at the tremor in Elsa's fingers as they wrap around the glass, offers a reassuring smile when Elsa manages to get the glass to her lips without spilling. The water quenches the dry burn to Elsa's throat, relieves some of the ache she feels, but tastes sweet after the salt of the ocean had filled her. Strange.
Elsa's expression must be odd, one of confusion because Anna giggles. "What's wrong?"
Elsa shrugs as she hands the glass back, laying back onto her pillows. Anna continues to fuss over her, propping and fluffing pillows around her to help. Elsa realizes that a pair of maids have come into her chambers, opening drapes and setting breakfast trays and tea at the bedside for Anna. Anna says something quietly to them, instructions to notify the Queen's physician and Head of Staff regarding her status. Anna glances back to Elsa with such relief, absurdly Elsa feels guilty.
"I can't explain it." Elsa says finally, after the maids finally bob their neat curtsies, eyes fixed to the floor, and the bedchamber door latches shut. "The water tasted…sweet."
"That's weird." Anna says, still watching with those worried eyes as she sits beside Elsa.
"Umm. Elsa? Do you want to talk? About what happened?"
No. Elsa does not. She wants to be at the shore, in the waves, in his arms. Not something the Queen of Arendelle can confess Elsa decides, even to Anna. But she has to figure this out, and maybe Anna knows a piece to the puzzle.
"Know that I am unsure what was real and what was just a dream," Elsa takes a steadying breath as she takes Anna's hand with a slight squeeze, "so please don't think I'm crazy."
"I love crazy," Anna giggles softly, forces Elsa's lips to pull into a small smile. "And I never would, but talking about what you remember may help."
Okay.
"I was saved. From death." Elsa says slowly, cautiously, "I don't know how, and I definitely don't understand why, but I was saved. When I was thrown into the sea, I couldn't tell which way was up, how far under I was, nothing. I had resigned myself to my fate: I was going to die just as Papa and Mama had. I heard sounds in the water like songs, calling to me. I realized that someone was there, with me, that I was safe. He was – beautiful, a gorgeous creature from the water who moved like liquid with fin like a fish. He kissed me and at once the pain I felt went away. My chest no longer burned, longing for air, and I felt something stir inside me that I have never felt before, like a switch being flipped and magic rushing through me…but not my magic."
Elsa knows how ridiculous this all sounds, certainly she's gone mad, "The last thing I remember was waking up on shore of the fjord and hearing faint songs calling to me again. He was still there, next to me. He kissed me again and it was like his energy and power washed over me, like a wave crashing…I felt stronger the longer we kissed but something startled him, and he laid me back down and returned to the sea."
"Hu?" Anna grunts, almost comically.
"Remember those tales Mama use to tell us at bedtime? Of magical creatures who inhabit the waters – nøkken?" Elsa realizes that it all feels so much more real saying it out loud. "I think they are real, and I've been bewitched by one. He – he took the form of Prince Hans."
Anna's jaw had dropped with disbelief, completely dumbfounded and unable to reply by the time Elsa's eyes meet hers again.
"I still feel his magic, it's pulling me to return to the sea. To join him."
"I don't know," Anna says warily. "It seems - unlikely?"
That's putting it mildly.
Elsa sighs, "Maybe Grand Pabbie would know? His wisdom is far greater than anything in our library regarding magic."
"I can send Kristoff this morning. He was planning a trip."
"No. I." Elsa can't really think straight, mind wanting only to think of her savior. "I want to talk to him."
Anna protests, "You're not strong enough!"
"Tomorrow then." Elsa says with finality. "We will go tomorrow."
