A Quick fic pre-Day 5 because iceburnsweek haven't posted Day 5's official prompt so here's today's prompt: "Three Words"

Disclaimer: Frozen belongs to Disney.

Three Words

Why?

He couldn't help but ask that question over and over, and he would repeat it a thousand times over, every single time he'd get the chance to do so. It was a legitimate question anyway.

His entire life story was about him being on mostly everybody's hate list. Not that he could blame them. The unlucky thirteenth Prince, the reason why the Queen died at childbirth, the one who just doesn't seem to meet anybody's expectation, the boy who's only use is to be most—he had to give two of them credit for being more tolerable, and tolerant of him—brothers' stress ball, the disgraced prince, the traitor.

He was used to it, really, he didn't care. He was numbed, his heart was frozen and his soul was lost, nobody ever bothered with pretending—he likes their honesty though—or showing him an illusion that he was loved.

For someone like him, caring was an illusion fed to the weak. He didn't need care or pity, and the emotions that any warm gesture, or affection could invoke in a person was generally foreign to him.

So, why?

Anna hated him, she was warming up to him though, maybe, she did cut down on pulling pranks on him—and by cut down, he meant they were less life-threatening.

Which was a good thing too, since he didn't plead for banishment, and to have his title and inheritance stripped off of from him just so he'd get his death sentence by a prank.

Bottom line, Anna hated him, and he knew how to deal with her hate better than he could begin to fathom the kindness Elsa graced him with.

When you grow up being treated wrongly, and never shown even the substantial amount of illusions to at least allow you to trust others, you forget that people are actually capable of kindness.

And why kindness? You might ask, because Hans is infamously known for trying to murder Elsa and Anna to take Arendelle's crown, after all.

You see, Elsa found him in his half-dead state just a few months earlier. After his banishment, he decided to travel and gamble away what little he had left, the problem was, he got thrown into the forest, where he not-so accidentally angered a lesser god—he was being honest when he said the deity looked fat—so he was cursed with the damned fire magic that he just couldn't seem to get in control.

Some villagers found him, saw him in his new, fiery look, and they proceeded to dousing him with ice-cold water, tying him up, and burning him on the stake—which, of course, didn't work because he was completely immune to fire—so they proceeded to just beating the hell out of him, and mercy came in the form of being sold as a slave—at least he was no longer beaten, much—but after burning a part of the trading vessel he was in, they shipped him to gods know where, and left him there.

Which brings us back to the present, because coincidentally they just had to essentially leave him at the mercy of the Royal family he tried to murder.

They, and by they he meant Elsa, treated his wounds while he was locked in the dungeons—he was upgraded to a bedroom now—and his fever made him slip in and out of consciousness for weeks until finally, when he was conscious enough and Elsa wasn't there, she couldn't always be there, the guards mistakenly riled him up, resulting to a charred door, two injured guards, and him being naked because, while he was fireproof, his clothes weren't.

Elsa tried to talk to him.

Every night she came to his cell, which sported a brand new metal door, and every night, without fail, she would question him relentlessly, whilst he stayed quiet, very quiet, and he didn't utter a single insult or sarcastic remark.

Which is impressive, because now he can't seem to shut up when she's around.

Until one night, Elsa had finally struck the right chord. Took her long enough to ask the question too. Because he really thought her first bloody question would be, "Why did you do it?" but, no. Her first question was—"Are you alright?" proceeded by thousands of questions night after night, and all her questions had everything to do with everything except—"What drove you?"

What drove him to commit his act of treason?

Finally, he exploded, quite literally too, good thing her magic counteracted his, and to her credit, she didn't seem surprised—she also, briefly commented, that aside from burning down the door and injuring the guards, he seemed to "have the habit of melting my ice dress."

Which he found amusing, allowing him to smirk despite his anger. Ah, anger. He learned how to control his emotions, and he wasn't very good at feeling anger, sadness, loneliness, pain, fear—he wasn't good at feeling anything at all, actually.

I had to devoid myself of emotions.

To be completely unfeeling.

To just be a mirror who will reflect society around me.

In order for you not to get hurt, or be let down by anybody, you have to face the cruelty of reality with a blank face, a frozen heart, and a blackened soul.

It was the only way he could allow himself to survive. It was the only way he knew how to live.

But then Elsa comes into the picture, relentless minx she was, and she had managed to strike a nerve which led him to end up telling her everything.

He, metaphorically, poured whatever was left of his heart, and bared even the deepest, darkest parts of his soul, to her.

To someone he almost killed. And to Hans, everything meant everything.

Meaning, I told her every detail of every harbored feeling I ever had since I was a little boy.

That was the only way he found that he could make her understand what drove him.

He even told her that he was afraid of his new talents. Because he hated the way he couldn't be in control of himself.

So she—just Elsa, being Elsa, I suppose—swore that she would help him, and she did. No matter how busy her day was, she never failed to make time for him.

He felt a touch guilty, but he enjoyed her company too much to dwell on it for too long.

He found it flattering too. He was touched, even. That was the most effort that anybody ever did for him, and since they were former enemies, that effort meant a lot—more than a lot.

That night, when he told her his life story, before she left, Hans had asked Elsa—

"Why are you doing this?" he had also impudently reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back as he looked up at her while he was sitting at the edge of his bed. "Why don't you just have me killed?"

"Because," She didn't hesitate, she didn't pause, she didn't think of her answer—like she was sure he'd ask, and she believed her answer right down to the punctuation marks, "I believe you."

"But," he had also asked, as soon as he had managed to recover from having his breath,, metaphorically, stolen away by her. "Do you trust me?"

Again, she didn't pause, but she did grimace when she had replied, "No, but we'll work on that."

And finally he allowed her to leave.

Hans sighed as he watched Elsa walking and talking with Anna and Kristoff. The question still sat there at the tip of his tongue, Why?

How mesmerized he was of her, enchanted, even. While she was the only person who seemed to have the most amount of tolerance for him, and was the kindest and most beauti—Don't get carried away with yourself, Hans.—she also didn't hold back verbally sparring with him, and freezing him on occasions.

And he enjoyed those little debates that he had with her more than anything, and he found it disturbing that the thought If I were a king, I'd give up my crown for one night with her like this, had fleeted through his mind at all, and coming from the man who had dreamt of becoming king since he was seven, that was a really heavy statement.

He also hated what she was capable of causing in him. He didn't like feeling. Feeling came with a price, an almost irrational fear that you will, and will always be let down in the end.

But she hasn't let him down yet. She was always so patient with him. Hans was confident, despite himself, that even though she kept threatening him that she'll throw him out, she wouldn't. She was too compassionate for that.

Hans hated Elsa's compassion. He hated that because of it, he was starting to believe that people like him could change. That he wasn't too past redemption after all.

He hated that although he could control his fire, he could not control his heart.

And a wild heart is more dangerous than a sharp sword.

Hearts like that meant you were vulnerable to compromise.

And Hans didn't like that at all.

He hated that he felt affectionate for her. It didn't feel right, it felt perfect, and in it's perfection, it felt wrong.

He hated how one, additional word could make him lose control of his emotions.

"Why?" he had asked for what seemed to be the nth time.

And her reply was one word longer this time, "Because, I believe in you."

And maybe, it wasn't only his confusion and curiosity that begged him to repeatedly ask the question, but it was also his desire to hear those words coming from her lips over, and over again that made want to question repeatedly.

Because, I believe in you.

He hated how he had to fight to control and reign in his steadily, getting out of control feelings.

Even more so, he hated that he was slowly allowing himself to lose that fight.

It's just so tiring, somehow.

I don't think I have the strength left in me to continue fighting against her...

Or myself.

Hans watched the sun setting in the horizon, his heart racing in his chest just a little bit faster, because nighttime was his only, despite being allowed to roam around the castle grounds now, time with her that was uninterrupted and prank-free.

He felt guilty that he had to take more of her time to rest away from her, but she seemed to enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers, anyway.

At least that's what Hans believed.

I'm getting tired of fighting against her.

Tired of pretending she doesn't have any effect on me.

Another weary sigh escaped his lips, and finally the smirk on his face melted into a sincere smile. He was done with fighting against his emotions, or his heart.

Even if it meant going against every rule he had established for himself, and saying the words he'd never thought he'd say, it was alright with him.

I'm done fighting this war. I'm obviously losing it anyway. So even if it means I have to say this three words, Elsa...

"I give up."

I guess this is less conversation-y than the others? Sorry if that was disappointing in any way?

okay. I wasn't about to make him say I LOVE YOU. I was tempted, but it felt to cliched, and Elsa wasn't even there to hear him. :)) please bear with me.

Rhika - thanks so much for the reviews, and I'll be definitely use those prompts, so you can expect a few more extra chapters in here. (Now I just need the right kick to stop being lazy.) :3

rt123 - thanks! :) I'm glad you thought that way.

Elsa Sanguine - many thanks to you too, and here's the next chapter. :D

(And also, my thanks to anyone who took the time to follow/favorited this, and to the others who reviewed that I failed to mention, there aren't many of you, but I'm flattered nonetheless.)

(And finally, my thanks to anyone who has read/been reading this. I've reached over a thousand views, and while I know that doesn't mean you guys reached this far to read this, or if you just clicked on the story because it caught your attention, thanks so much.)

Cheers!