Welcome to the latest installment! Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing.

*Question* What do you think of Brian as a character? This is my first shot at writing an Elsa/OC pairing, and romance certainly isn't my forte. Do you think he is a good fit for our dear Frosty so far? Is there anything you dislike about his character or the way he is written?

(I know I've asked some of you this before, so this is mostly for the Guest reviewers. But feel free to chime in again!)

Reaper: You could certainly think of it as Stockholm Syndrome. Henrik was viciously cruel to Hans in the past. Yet Hans still idolizes him and wants his approval so badly.

Guest: For the sake of variety and trying something different, I've decided to make Hans in this story a little more of a "sidekick" than he was in Playing Dirty.

Now, onto the story!

Chapter 10:

Henrik threw back his head and roared with laughter. "You mean to tell me that our old friend Lard Butt is here in Arendelle? Brian Helmholtz? I almost forgot about the man!"

Hans confirmed, "Yup, it's him all right. You know that Doctor fellow? Well, that's him."

The King of the Southern Isles rubbed his hands together gleefully. "This just keeps getting better. How did I become such a lucky man? Destroy Arendelle, take over the world, and put that loser in his place one more time."

The younger Westergard babbled enthusiastically. "Lard Butt even has his eye on the witch! Oh boy, I can't wait to see the look on Brian's face when he sees me ripping his precious darling Frosty in half with my twelve-inch dick!"

Henrik waved his hand dismissively. "Anyways, enough talk about Lard Butt. He's not worth my time. The witch is the one we're truly after. So, you will be marrying her in three days. Is that settled?" Hans nodded.

"Excellent," Henrik said slowly. "Remember the plan. I know you're gonna get sidetracked by your fantasies of fucking the witch, but don't lose track of our real goals. You are here to destroy the witch psychologically. Then she'll turn into the soulless monster we all know she is deep down inside."

The eldest Westergard lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "The witch's greatest weakness is that she's terribly insecure. She's constantly afraid of doing the wrong thing. Afraid of becoming a monster. She spent thirteen years thinking she's a monster, and she has a pathological fear of regressing back to that state. Hans, it's up to you to convince the witch that she is a monster. Isolate her from everyone she cares about. Turn people against her. Put her in a position where she has no choice but to hurt someone. Make her lose her sanity."

Hans cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "How am I supposed to turn anyone against the witch? In case you haven't noticed, these idiots worship the dirt she walks on."

Henrik laughed condescendingly. "Let's start with the obvious, shall we? Remember the terms of your agreement? The witch promised to marry you, and in return you promised not to do anything to Anna or that stupid ice harvester. Is that correct?" Hans nodded vigorously.

"Perfect." Henrik leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying himself. "You probably know that a consummation is a legal requirement for marriage. I'm sure you've also deduced that the witch would never agree to do anything with you."

Hans smirked. "Oh, I have my ways of making her—"

"That's not the point!" Henrik interjected forcefully. "Here is the crux of the issue. If the witch refuses to consummate, she is violating the terms of the contract. A perfectly legal and binding contract that she signed in front of her entire court! In return for being a lying, cheating, backstabbing slut, King Hans of Arendelle has the right to impose punishment. And what better way is there to punish the witch… than to toss Anna into the dungeons? For the second time in their life, the witch will be responsible for her sister getting locked up. Anna will resent her so much, and the witch will go insane hating herself!"

Hans quickly caught on. "Frosty might be upset enough to set off another eternal winter. And this time, the people won't be so forgiving!"

Henrik was practically dancing with excitement. "That brings me to my next point: We must also turn the people of Arendelle against the witch." A dreamy expression overtook Henrik's features, as he closed his eyes and smile ear to ear.

"Picture this. A huge mob of angry citizens chasing after Frosty with torches and pitchforks. Thousands of voices demanding the witch's head on a platter. The witch will run and hide, until she is backed into a corner. Finally, the witch will have no choice but to strike back. The moment she raises a hand against her loyal subjects, her soul will be tainted forever. Once the witch uses her magic to kill someone for any reason, she will have gone off the deep end. She would never recover from that! Frosty would completely succumb to self-loathing and hopelessness, and lose her will to do good. Henceforth begins her downward spiral to becoming a full-blown monster."

"That's your plan?" Hand interrupted incredulously. "You'd be hard-pressed to find ten people in the entire kingdom who dislike her. The children literally think Frosty is God."

The King of the Southern Isles smirked broadly. "Way ahead of you, little brother. Don't forget our wonderful, lovely Formula XIV."

Hans was slightly confused. "But you said Formula XIV was meant to be a last resort."

Henrik's eyes brimmed with smugness. "Over the past few days, I've taken some time to explore the secondary effects of Formula XIV. It turns out that it has another very special property. One spoonful of Formula XIV combined with a single drop of the witch's blood will allow you to impersonate her for twelve hours. Imagine that, Hans. For twelve hours, you will look and sound just like the witch."

"Now, think of all the anti-Frosty hatred you could incite within that amount of time."

Kristoff took a sip of ale and twirled the pool stick around his fingers, whistling a merry tune. The ice harvester swung the cue behind his back and delivered a nice, crisp shot. The balls jetted about the table, darting back and forth in a seemingly random configuration, before two of them dropped into the pockets. A slurred chorus of whistles and cheers filled the air.

After the next man had taken his shot, Kristoff pitched the stick to Brian, who caught it in one hand. "All right, Doc. Let's see you beat that," he teased playfully.

Brian tried to concentrate on the game, but found it impossible to focus. His body was in the pool room of the tavern, surrounded laughter and merrymaking. But his mind was elsewhere. Stuck in a torturous recollection that he had worked for thirteen years to banish.

As he reached forward to take aim, his sleeve hitched up to reveal a small tattoo. A white ram mounted on a cobalt-blue shield took residence on his inner forearm. The words Bowhead Islands, Never Forget was scripted on the flesh below.

Indeed, how could he ever forget? This was the land of his birth. The Bowhead Islands were an autonomous territory owned by the Southern Isles, primarily as a fishing and whaling outpost. King Joseph had appointed Brian's father to be Governor of this tiny country of ten thousand. They were a proud, rugged people who believed in hard work and fair play. What they lacked in numbers, they made up for with an indomitable spirit. The Bowhead Islands may have been a part of a greater kingdom, a tiny country lacking the political muscle to achieve sovereignty. But there was not a place on earth that didn't take pride in its culture and history.

Unfortunately, Brian couldn't say the same for himself.

For most of his childhood, Brian had been an awkward, overweight young boy who had no friends. As a member of the noble class, his social naivete especially made him a target of bullying and ostracism. He always felt out of place. He was nerdy, bookish, and lacked all the suave and subterfuge needed to thrive amongst the elite. Worst of all, his country had strong political and economic ties to the Southern Isles. This meant that his family had to work closely with the Westergards.

His circumstances drastically improved following his fifteenth birthday. Brian had been admitted to Arendelle College, one of the top universities on the continent, where he would pursue his dreams of studying medicine. Around this time, he also underwent a massive growth spurt. The corpulent, ungainly physique of his childhood was soon replaced by sculpted shoulders and a handsome face.

Brian's confidence soared. For the first time in forever, he could extricate himself from the baggage of the past. He continued to flourish in his new environment, gaining the respect of his peers and racking up one accolade after another. At the tender age of nineteen, he graduated at the top of his class. With the highest test scores the university had seen in a century, and a portfolio full of glowing recommendations, Brian was invited to work under Arendelle's aging royal physician. In time, he would inherit the position. That was the happiest day of his life.

But first, he would take a brief trip home. After all, he had barely seen his family at all in the past four years.

Unbeknownst to Brian, his home visit just happened to coincide with a diplomatic envoy from the Southern Isles. The nineteen year-old seethed with rage as painful repressed memories began to resurface. He thought he would never have to see the Westergards again for as long as he lived. But now he would be eating at the same table with them! Brian knew that no matter how far he climbed, they would forever view him with utmost contempt. He may have been Dr. Helmholtz to the rest of the world, but to the Princes of the Southern Isles, he would always be Lard Butt.

Now that Brian knew how it felt to be treated with respect and courtesy, he wasn't going to put up with this for any longer. Gone were the days when the Westergards bullied him with complete impunity. The next person who tried to mess with him would pay dearly.

Thirteen years ago…

Prince Justin of the Southern Isles strolled through the marketplace, flanked by bodyguards. The ninth Westergard was a most pompous and arrogant individual. Brian's memories of his childhood had dimmed over the years, but several recollections of Justin stood out vividly in mind. He was among the meanest of the bunch, second only to his eldest brother. But unlike Henrik's shrewd and cunning ways, there was nothing sophisticated about Justin's behavior. He was pure filth. The Prince spoke like a dockhand, behaved like a street thug, and possessed the intelligence of a Neanderthal.

As he passed by a restaurant owned by a Finnish-speaking Sami family, Justin reeled off a barrage of racial slurs and tossed a brick through the window. The men donned in the Southern Isles uniform guffawed stupidly at the Prince's antics. Justin turned to lock eyes with the horrified owner, pausing to give the elderly woman his haughtiest smirk.

How dare you? Brian seethed quietly as he watched from afar. You were born into luxury, never did a day of honest work in your life… and you think it's funny to destroy someone else's livelihood?

Justin sauntered through a park and pushed a little boy into a puddle of mud. Brian trembled with indignation as he continued to watch. You son of a bitch! Justin was a guest in their land! How dare he carry this snooty attitude? Justin may have been a savage brute, but he wasn't completely stupid. He knew that this nation was of little political and economic importance to the Southern Isles. He knew he could get away with this behavior. All it took was a nice loud, "Do you know who I am?"

The coward couldn't even fight fairly! Justin needed a whole entourage of bodyguards behind him, before he could bully children and old ladies. Brian almost found himself hoping that Justin would try to start a fight with him. The last time they had met, he was obese child. Now he was a lean, muscular young man who stood six feet tall. Come on Justin, come and have a go with me… Brian would have loved to knock some manners into that idiot. Wipe that repulsive smirk off his face.

Later that night, his wish was granted.

Brian had been on his way to bed, when he unintentionally stumbled upon an inebriated Justin sauntering through the halls with two of his guards. The Prince was vandalizing everything in sight. He chuckled sophomorically as he knocked over vases, tore up paintings, and fired off lewd remarks towards the female staff members.

As Brian's thirteen year-old sister Sofia passed by, Justin grabbed her by the bottom and pushed her against a wall. The drunken Prince leered menacingly at the young girl.

Brian had seen enough. The classless idiot had disrespected his country and behaved abusively towards his fellow citizens. Now he was acting like a wild animal in his own home! Brian stomped into the room, making a beeline for Justin. In a split second he had both hands wrapped around the Prince's throat.

"Hello, Lard Butt," Justin spoke in his condescending drawl. "What are you doing here?"

As the Southern Isles guards moved in closer, Brian released Justin from his grip. "Why am I here? Because I live here, and you are a guest in my country! Now get your filthy hands off of my sister!" Brian discreetly gestured for Sofia to run. Taking the hint, the girl slipped out the door and vanished into the next room.

"If you can even call this pathetic place a country," Justin sneered. "More like a town full of stupid hicks who don't know anything. I've also never seen uglier women in my life. Don't worry about your slutty sister. I wouldn't fuck her with my brother's dick."

Brian furiously opened his mouth, but Justin silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Watch your tone, Lard Butt. Let me remind you that I am a Prince of a real kingdom, and you are just a poser. Without us, you'd be nothing. If not for your father kissing up to my old man, you'd be shoveling manure and your mother would be whoring herself out on the street corners."

"The only reason you talk shit is because people can't kick your sissy ass when you're surrounded by bodyguards! You think you're so tough, when you need a whole army behind you before you can bully an old woman and a child!" Brian fired back. He was mere inches away from Justin's face at this point. "You wouldn't last a minute on your own!"

With his pride wounded and his cowardice exposed, a murderous rage flashed through Justin's eyes. "Restrain him," he hissed to his guards. The two men promptly seized Brian by the arms and pinned him against the wall. Justin proceeded to strike Brian with a massive flurry of kicks and punches; shattering his nose and blackening both eyes. A kick to the stomach cracked several ribs and made him vomit. After what felt like hours, Brian sank to his knees in a quivering heap, while Justin smugly patted his bloodstained shirt. "That'll teach Lard Butt to respect his superiors."

As Justin was temporarily distracted, Brian leapt to his feet with a burst of adrenaline-fueled anger. A haze of red flashed before his eyes. Plain and simple, Brian Helmholtz had hit his breaking point. He was done with being a victim. With his final ounce of strength, he whipped out a concealed dagger and plunged it into Justin's stomach. Warm, sticky blood cascaded over his hands and trickled onto the floor. Finally, his hazel-green eyes glazed over and he slumped to the floor.

Prince Justin of the Southern Isles was dead.

Brian's father had gone through great lengths to keep his deed hidden. After all, Justin had viciously assaulted him first, and Brian was merely lashing out in self-defense. Besides, the only good Westergard was a dead one. Soon Brian was back in Arendelle, comfortably settling into his routine as assistant to the royal physician. No one knew who he was or what he had done.

Or so he thought. Six months later, Brian would pay dearly for his actions.

The newly-crowned King Henrik did not take kindly to Lard Butt killing his brother. Soon the beautiful little island country was surrounded by a vast fleet of warships flying the flag of the Southern Isles. Blasts of gunfire reverberated violently through the tranquil air, as thousands of men, women and children perished in a mangled heap of blood and entrails. Soldiers stormed the villages, looting and pillaging whatever they could find. The blue skies turned black beneath the smoke of cannons, and the sapphire sea glowed crimson.

After one week of fighting, their entire civilian population was dead. All their riches were brought back to the Southern Isles. The Bowhead Islands were no more.

Brian's entire family had been personally murdered by Henrik. Those wicked green eyes and that malevolent smirk were the last thing his father, mother, and dear little sister had seen.

No one came to their aid during the attack. King Henrik of the Southern Isles was a masterful manipulator. No matter how outlandish his lies or how nefarious his intentions, he could trick anyone into believing anything. Henrik had managed to convince the world that Justin was an innocent victim. A sovereign Prince of a proud nation had been murdered by in cold blood, and his death must be avenged.

Brian had been spared of that terrible fate. But he was left to suffer something far greater in return.

It had been thirteen years since Brian single-handedly brought about the demise of his own country. No one knew that he had survived, and was hiding away in Arendelle. No one knew what a pathetic coward he had been. No one knew that he was enjoying his new life across the sea, leaving others to suffer for what he had done.

Everyone believed that young Master Brian had perished alongside everyone else on that hapless island. No one knew the truth. Except for himself, Hans, and possibly Henrik by now.

Henrik. The man of his nightmares.

Not a day went by where Brian didn't agonize over the decisions he had made, leading up to that fateful moment. He had been bullied all his life, and never fought back. The one time he tried to fight back, tried to rebel against his state of perpetual victimhood, he was ground into dust. Perhaps he was simply destined to be a loser. Perhaps it was simply his fate, to forever be bullied by those who were stronger, and to fight against this celestial pecking order would only make things worse.

Why did he pick that fight? Had he truly acted out of a desire to dispense justice and stand up for the weak? Or was he simply fulfilling an oath to himself? Maybe he hadn't done it for his sister. Maybe he had attacked Justin only because he wanted to prove a point. To show that he was a strong and confident person.

Brian tried to take his mind off of the past, as he picked up the pool stick and prepared to take a shot. But no matter where he looked, all he saw was Henrik's laughing face. The young doctor sighed and halfheartedly took a shot, missing horribly and nearly breaking the stick. A chorus of playful jeers rang throughout the tavern.

Kristoff seemed to have noticed that something was wrong. He pulled Brian aside and spoke in hushed tones. "Doc, what's the matter? You're totally off the mark today."

Dr. Helmholtz sighed. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately." Biggest understatement ever.

The ice harvester slapped him jovially on the back. "I know what you mean. I still can't believe—"

"I can't believe Elsa is marrying that asshole!" Brian hissed viciously. He wasn't quite ready to divulge the real reason he suddenly became so agitated.

The large, rugged blond man quirked an eyebrow at his companion. "You love her, don't you?" There was a hint of teasing in his voice.

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" Brian shrugged nonchalantly, trying his hardest to conceal just how much it was killing him on the inside. Seeing Hans with Elsa tore his heart to shreds. "She belongs to Hans now."

"That's where you're wrong. She doesn't belong to anyone," Kristoff corrected. "On paper, she may be married to Hans. But her heart will never be his, and all the formalities in the world don't change that."

"Yeah, your point?"

Kristoff took another swig of ale. "The point is, Elsa loves you too. She hasn't been forward about it, but it's the truth. Elsa is too deeply convinced that she's incapable of being loved, and that's what's holding her back. It's up to you to take the first step."

"Mate, that's a hopeless endeavor at this point. She has no choice but to marry Hans. It's too late to do anything now. You want me to rip out her heart and stomp all over it? Give her false hope? You want me to get her in more trouble with Hans?"

Kristoff posed another inquiry. "Brian, why do you think Elsa is doing this?"

Brian gave the obvious answer. "To save Arendelle, of course. One of them has to marry Hans in order to prevent this war."

"There's more than that. Why do you think Elsa is being so passive about this? Don't you see? Elsa has completely surrendered herself to this circus because she thinks this is all she deserves. She loves everyone—you, me, Anna, and everyone in the kingdom—but she doesn't love herself! Elsa believes that a loveless political marriage is all she can ever expect to have. Doc, it's up to you to change her mind! You need to convince Elsa that she deserves better. That she CAN be loved. Only then will she have any motivation to fight against Hans."

Kristoff grabbed the stick and took another shot, knocking the remaining balls into the pockets. "Thirteen years of being made to feel like a monster is not easy to get over."

Don't I know that already? Brian chuckled bitterly to himself.

Whew! That was a tough chapter to write. Stay tuned, and please let me know what you think!