Guest: Thank you for such a long and comprehensive review! You're right; Hans probably is a little too juvenile at this point. The real Hans would be "elegant filth" as opposed to the drooling brute I've portrayed him as so far. He's acting more like a school bully than like a criminal mastermind. The origins of Hans' behavior will be made clearer in this chapter and the next, as we delve more into his psychology and personal history! There is a reason he's acting this way.
Also, thank you for reminding me that Elsa needs to create a convincing explanation to the public, as to why she's marrying Hans. That will be coming up soon!
September 7, 2016 edit: Hans humor and profanity removed
Chapter 7:
As Elsa filed away the last bit of paperwork, she sighed and massaged her sore knuckles. But the real pain was in her heart. In three days, she would be announcing her betrothal to Hans, and next week, she would be at the altar announcing her marriage vows to that despicable man. Her head also ached, as she struggled to decipher her current situation. What motivated Hans and Henrik in their pursuit?
"Why was Henrik so adamant about Hans and Anna marrying?" she wondered aloud. "Henrik is a man of lofty ambitions. What could he possibly be trying to gain from this union? Maybe a trade agreement? Perhaps he is after our riches? We are a very wealthy kingdom, and the Southern Isles lost several trade partners in the wake of Hans' little debacle. But they've managed to stay afloat regardless…"
Suddenly, it dawned. "Henrik was very quick to point out that I could offer myself in Anna's stead. It's almost as if he was trying to goad me into that alternative. There was a very peculiar glint in his eye when he made that statement. His comments were so vitriolic and accusatory, as if he was trying to guilt me… make me feel obligated to take that path. Yes! That is what he was after! He knew that I would make that choice if presented with it! He was intending for Hans to marry me all along!"
"But why? What could Henrik gain by helping Hans become King of Arendelle? Henrik doesn't even like Hans. In fact, none of Hans' brothers like him. Perhaps Hans is here to spy on us? To steal our goods?" Elsa racked her brains and rubbed her tired, aching eyes. It simply made no sense. There were infinite possibilities, and no further leads.
The grandfather clock in the hallway struck six. Anna and Kristoff would soon be returning from their ice harvesting trip, just in time for dinner. Elsa raced down the stairs and towards the stables to meet them. She giggled to herself and tucked a couple snowballs discreetly into her cloak. Anna may have won the prank war, but I'll show her that I've got one last trick up my sleeve! Literally! The past few days had been incredibly rough, and Elsa was dying to have some fun.
One of the stable boys was bent over double, woefully prodding at what seemed to be a flat tire on his bicycle. As Elsa made her way gracefully across the courtyard, the lad dropped his bike and dipped into a clumsy bow. "Your Majesty."
Elsa smiled warmly at the young man and gestured for him to rise. He seemed to be only about fourteen years old. She vaguely recognized him as a new hire, as her recollections of him only went back a few weeks. "Please stand. You may just call me Elsa." The Snow Queen did not like to see people groveling at her feet.
The boy chuckled awkwardly and straightened up, dusting off his trousers. "Can I call you Frosty?" he blurted. No sooner had the words escaped his lips, his hands flew over his mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. It just slipped out. That was an awful joke. Forgive me, Your—Elsa. Well, I don't mean your, as in yours or mine, but you know… what I meant is…" His fair complexion flushed crimson, as his train of thought derailed into a hopeless mess of incoherent babbling and awkward stammers.
Just like Kristoff was when we first met him, Elsa thought affectionately. In both appearance and demeanor, the stable boy was just a smaller version of her dear brother-in-law. Already, Elsa was growing fond of the child. "Frosty is fine, too."
The boy was instantly at ease. "My name is Matthias. I come here after school every day. My father owns a ranch, and he taught me how to ride a horse when I was five." His attention returned to his bike, as he continued trying to salvage the flat tire. But his efforts were painfully inefficient and ineffective. Matthias gave the bike frame a frustrated little kick. "Someone let the air out of my tires. It'll be two weeks before I save enough to buy a pump."
Elsa understood his frustration. Nothing was more aggravating than to be robbed of one's mobility, to feel powerless and entrapped. A person's mode of transportation, be it their bicycle, carriage, or steed, was the ultimate embodiment of their freedom and empowerment. To be deprived of it was to rob an individual of his social and financial autonomy. Without a set of wheels or hooves, a man could not feed his family.
Besides, Matthias was correct. Tire pumps were indeed costly, and the young lad could certainly do with an early Christmas gift. Elsa reached into her pocket and withdrew a single gold coin. She laid it gently in the boy's palm.
Matthias turned brick red once again. The offer was nearly irresistible, but how could he take advantage of her generosity like that? "Oh no, I couldn't possibly… you're too kind…"
"Go on," Elsa urged gently. "You're a hard worker, and you deserve a break."
As the boy vacillated between accepting and declining her offer, a new idea crossed his mind. His eyes sparkled with inspiration. "Wait a minute. Do you think you could make a tire pump out of ice?"
Elsa had studied plenty of math and physics in her youth. With her strong interest in geometry, she was particularly adept at spatial perception in three dimensions. After some careful planning and some mental sketches and computation, a working tire pump soon materialized in her palms.
"Whoa…" Matthias held the icy contraption gently in his hands, gazing reverently upon its beautiful design and flawless workmanship. "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen. It's so perfect…" Elsa was almost blushing at his effusive praise. As he began inflating the flat tire, his eyes remained transfixed on the valves that opened and closed in perfect synchronization, on the piston that glided effortlessly along its track. But it was the beauty of the ice that truly took his breath away. The beautiful, flawless ice that shone like diamonds and reflected a dancing kaleidoscope of colors beneath the setting sun.
Finally, the job was done. Matthias handed Elsa the tire pump, nearly dropping it three times in the process. "Thank you, Elsa! See you tomorrow!" He bowed clumsily and hopped onto his bike, giving her a cheery wave before zipping down the streets and out of sight.
Elsa was nearly at the top of the stairs, when a hand sprang out from around the corner and wrapped itself tightly around her wrist. Hans' smirking face came into view.
Hans aimed the hose of the tire pump straight at Elsa's face, and unleashed a steady stream of air. The gusty wind sent Elsa's neat blonde hair flying in all directions. "Nice hairdo, Frosty," he sneered. His voice dripped with smugness and vitriol. Hans placed Elsa's hand on the piston and pushed down again. Another gust of wind assaulted her face, ripping her braid apart. "Hey Frosty, I'm messing up your hair. Aren't you gonna stop me?"
"Hans, stop that!" Elsa finally managed to find her voice again. She tried to wriggle free, but Hans tightened his grip, grinning wickedly.
"Whoa Frosty, did you get into a fight with a lawn mower? Because your hair certainly looks like it." Hans pumped some more air into Elsa's face.
"Hans, leave me alone!" Elsa thrashed about vigorously, but Hans refused to let go. He gave her his most repulsive smirk as he blasted some more air into her face. His countenance was a picture of pure bliss as the wind slashed through her delicate blonde locks. Two minutes ago, not a single hair was out of place. Now Elsa's hair was a hopeless mess of twisted and knotted threads.
Elsa stomped on Hans' foot as hard as she could. "Let me go, you big bully! Or I'll freeze you where you stand!" She tugged vigorously on her arm, desperately trying to free it from his grip.
Still, the thirteenth prince refused to relent. He tightened his hold and continued to smirk. "Hey Frosty, if you want to get away, you're gonna have to try harder than that."
In a fit of frustration, Elsa threw her entire weight into attempting to break free from Hans' grip. She kicked and thrashed so vigorously, her arm was nearly torn from its socket. Forsaking her royal dignity, Elsa repeatedly tried to fling her body onto the floor, until she resembled a child throwing a tantrum in a candy store. But all that mattered to her was getting as far away from Hans as possible.
Finally, Hans decided that he'd had enough fun. "Have it your way, Frosty!" As Elsa gave a particularly vehement tug, Hans abruptly let go of her arm, sending her plunging down the staircase.
Elsa cried out in pain as her body repeatedly slammed against the rough stone. Each time her back or shoulder hit a step, its jagged asperities tore through her dress and drew blood. The further she fell, the more rapidly she continued to fall, and increasingly lost control of her body. As she rounded a corner and collided excruciatingly against a particularly rough and angular protrusion of stone, Elsa emitted a shrill scream of agony. Lights exploded before her eyes. She could feel—and almost hear—one of her shoulder blade shatter like glass. Her vision was blurring and she was feeling strangely lightheaded. But she had hardly a second to regain her bearings, before she reached the bottom of the stairwell. Elsa landed awkwardly on one ankle with a sickening crunch. The delicate white skin instantly turned a mottled burgundy color and swelled to a monstrous size, from the fluids seeping from dozens of ruptured arteries. Elsa lay on the ground in a heap, writhing in agony as she pitifully clutched at her battered body.
Hans began to tauntingly sing, "Witchy Frosty, sat on a wall. Witchy Frosty, had a great fall—"
But before Hans could continue his song, he suddenly groaned in pain and sank to the ground. The front of his shirt was spattered with blood. The thirteenth prince clutched at his broken nose as he spat out curse after curse through gritted teeth.
Doctor Helmholtz stood at the top of the stairwell, fists clenched and shaking. "Prince Hans, what is your problem?" he demanded.
The auburn-haired man rose to his feet truculently. "I told you to mind your own business, didn't I?"
"This is my business!" The two men were now standing inches apart, as they continued jawing at each other.
Elsa winced in pain as she clambered to sit up straight. It hurt to even speak. "Brian, let's go. He's not worth it."
"Brian?" Hans repeated incredulously. His eyes grew wide as saucers and his jaw dropped. "I knew it! How dare you show your face around here?"
Elsa eyed the doctor curiously. "Brian, what is he talking about?"
Brian ignored her, as he continued addressing Hans. "I have no idea what you mean by that," he asserted in a cold, emotionless tone. However, there was the slightest trace of consternation in his eyes, and a barely audible crackle in his voice. "But what I do know is that you are a guest in this castle, and you've completely overstayed your welcome. Now go home and never return."
Hans' lips twisted into a mean little smirk. "Maybe you should go home first... If only you still had one…"
Whatever those cryptic words meant, they certainly were powerful. Brian completely lost his mind. A haze of red clouded his vision and adrenaline pounded in his veins. He threw himself at Hans and the two men rolled about, exchanging punches, kicks, and four-letter words. Flecks of blood and sweat flew through the air as Hans and Doctor Helmholtz became a veritable typhoon of flailing limbs. After a few tense seconds, Brian gained the upper hand. The muscles stood out like knotted cords down the length of his arms, as he began pinning Hans to the ground. But the thirteenth prince would not go down without a fight, as he prepared to throw another punch…
"Enough!" A loud, commanding voice reverberated throughout the castle walls. Henrik had just arrived on scene. The elder Westergard seized Hans by the shirt collar, and yanked him out of the tussle. Without another word, the two brothers began marching away.
"What did I tell you about causing trouble?" Henrik hissed furiously, as soon as they were out of earshot. "Your reputation in Arendelle is already precarious at best. Didn't I tell you to keep a low profile and not create any controversy, until your marriage vows were secured? You can do whatever you want with the witch after she's yours, but until then, you are to be on your best behavior!"
Henrik suddenly whirled around and grabbed Hans around the neck, glaring into his eyes. "I am not going to have my plans ruined just because you can't stop acting like a sophomoric idiot. Do I make myself clear?"
The younger man swallowed nervously. "Yes sir," he managed to squeak.
Elsa was passing through the guest wing of the castle, limping awkwardly and lopsidedly, on her way to bed. Her entire body still ached terribly, and she could hardly move her limbs. Even breathing was difficult. In the wake of Hans throwing her down the stairs, she had sustained dozens of scrapes and bruises, in addition to a cracked scapula and two broken ribs in her back. The ankle was sprained, but thankfully not broken. Considering how she had fallen ten meters onto a hard stony ground, Elsa considered herself lucky to even be standing.
People had died from far more superficial injuries. But in spite of the dreadful prognosis, Dr. Helmholtz has managed to carefully treat her wounds to ensure a complete recovery. It would only be a matter of time before she was healthy and whole again. Physically, at least.
The blonde smiled to herself. Brian was truly a miracle worker. The best of the best. He had been so caring and patient when taking care of her.
Elsa was nearly at the end of the hallway, when some strange whispers began emanating from behind Hans' closed door. Curious, she stopped dead in her tracks. Perhaps this could be her chance at figuring out what Hans and Henrik were up to! She crept closer, careful not to make a sound.
Indeed, two men were conversing in heated whispers. She immediately recognized one voice as belonging to Hans. The other voice was Dr. Helmholtz! Elsa pressed her ear to the wall and began to listen.
Hans' voice cackled derisively. "What's the matter, Lard Butt? Back for round two? Didn't get your butt beat enough times? Didn't get your face shoved into manure enough times? Hans dissolved into a fit of high-pitched childish giggles as he continued to issue a bunch of incredibly juvenile insults.
"Hans, you're making a big mistake." Brian's voice trembled with anger and frustration, although he tried his best to remain calm. "You might think Henrik is your ally, but the truth is he really couldn't care less about you."
Hans suddenly lost his jocular attitude, and became terse and snappish. "Henrik is giving me a crown, a kingdom, and a chance at revenge. That's more than what anyone's ever done for me."
A fist was heard slamming against a piece of furniture. Dr. Helmholtz was almost yelling at this point. "Don't be an idiot! You really think Henrik is doing this out of goodwill? Are you really so naïve, you think he actually cares about what you want? Henrik is one of the most cunning, ruthless, absolutely despicable men the world has ever seen. You and I know that better than anyone. Henrik needs you to execute the first part of his plan. That's the only reason he's pretending to care about you right now. The moment he gets what he wants, he'll toss you aside like a piece of rubbish. I guarantee it."
Hans' anger flared to life. "How dare you judge me? How dare you tell me how to live my life? You have no idea what I've been through! I've had nothing all my life, been bullied and pushed around and marginalized since the day I was born! Now I finally get a chance to make something out of myself, and you want me to lose everything, and go back to being poor pathetic helpless little Hansie... just for the sake of morals and principles? I've fought my whole life to extricate myself from the absolutely dreadful circumstances I was—through no choosing of my own—born into, and you're telling me that I'm wrong?"
"Wait a minute, Hans," Brian cut in. "You don't have to be—"
Hans continued in a fast and furious tone. With each passing word, his voice rose dramatically in volume and harshness. "I've been weak and I've been strong. I've been rich and I've been poor. I've been powerless and I've been in power. Most importantly, I've been bullied my whole life, and now it's finally my turn to be the bully. And I can tell you that it's a million times better to be on this side of things! Nothing you say will ever convince me to give up what I have now!"
As Dr. Helmholtz kicked the door open and stomped down the hallway, Elsa raced to catch up with him. "Brian, what's going on here?"
"Nothing," he responded curtly.
Elsa assumed a more urgent tone. "Brian, don't tell me it's nothing. You clearly know something about Hans, and I have the right to know as well. In fact, I need to know. Hans is a threat to this kingdom."
Brian sighed. From the moment he saw Hans in Arendelle, he knew he'd have to come clean sooner or later. He just didn't expect the time to come so soon.
"You're right," he admitted. "I do know something about Hans."
Elsa's eyes widened inquisitively. "Hans claims to have met you before."
Brian nodded grimly. "My father was a frequent visitor to the Southern Isles for business. A long time ago, I knew Hans Westergard." A mist of despondence suddenly clouded up his features, and he hung his head in shame. "In fact, I practically grew up with him."
