"Is everything all right?"
"Yes Sir!"
The Captain's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"Nothing out of place?"
"No Sir!" the guard grinned broadly, as if proud of himself. He added, "There's only an old man and a dying man in this section. What could go wrong?"
The Captain slapped him. "This," he growled. "This could go wrong. Do you have no idea who the 'dying man' is?"
The guard rubbed his cheek, obviously offended, yet did not dare to retaliate. "No Sir," he replied quietly.
"He is Hans Westerguard. The lost Thirteenth Prince of the Southern Isles and Prince Consort of Arendelle."
The guard's mouth gaped open. "H-Hans…?" he stammered. "Wasn't he supposed to be… dead?"
"Turns out he isn't after all. And now the 'higher ups' would like to see him."
The Captain gestured with his head and let the guard lead the way for him. Together they descended into the darkness with only a torch as their guide. Quite some time after, they stopped at the innermost corner of the dungeon; before them was a thick steel door. The guard reached for the key and slotted it in the hole. With an echoing click, the door swung open.
Inside were the figures of two men, illuminated by the torch.
"There. Do you think that is a dying man?" the Captain loomed over the still Hans. "Prince Hans," he addressed him.
"Prince? Heh heh… boy, I knew you were hiding something," the old man Rolf cackled.
"How may I help you, Officer?" Hans smirked. His patience paid off; it seemed there was a reason he was kept alive after all.
"My Lord wishes to see you," the Captain said stiffly. "Please come over here."
"I would, but it seems these shackles hold me back from doing so," Hans said sarcastically. The Captain gestured with his head and drew his sword.
"Private, unchain him. You," he turned to Hans, "If you try anything…."
"… You'd have my head cut off and fed to the crows, I see," Hans scoffed. With another click, the chains dropped and Hans's legs was once again free to move. He flexed them, drawing a nervous glance from the soldiers. "At ease. I am not about to stir a mess up," he sneered. "How about you do a favor and open these as well?"
"I would be foolish to let that happen," the Captain barked.
You are foolish, Hans mocked inwardly. I won't even need my hands if I truly meant to break free at this very moment.
"Here, put this on," the guard handed him a long, black cloth.
"Over my eyes, I suppose?" Hans said, suppressing a laugh. He shook his head and did as ordered; obscuring his own vision with the cloth. Little did the soldiers know that it did little to stop him from taking in his surroundings; by the time he got back to this cell, if it ever happened, he'd already have a perfectly clear layout of the building.
"Do tell them to release me as well if they do let you go, boy!" the old man guffawed.
"I won't hold my breath if I were you, old man."
Feigning helplessness, Hans let himself be guided by the two soldiers.
They walked up and down through the pitch black stairs and corridors that would drive a normal person nauseous. Hans, however, was able to continue to mentally draw a map from his surroundings. No doubt it would come in handy if he were forced to go with his original plan. Yet as they continued to tread ever so waywardly, the Prince too began to find it cumbersome.
After what seemed like countless hours of trudging in the pitch blackness, they finally came into a halt. Hans stood still and feigned indifference, yet still continued to observe the environment with his remaining senses. Soon there was a quick rapping; like that of a human palm meeting a stone.
What followed was a thunderous quake. It shook all three of them, revealing the light in front.
"Step inside!" the Captain shoved him. Seeking to avoid trouble, at least for the moment, Hans silently complied. There was another rapping followed by the quake; Hans knew that whatever crevice they had come in from had been shut.
Before he could think of anything else, however, a heavy blow landed on his hip and shins, sending him reeling over on his knees. He gritted his teeth; he felt another rough tugging at his blindfold – removing it and giving back his sight. The intensity of the light left him momentarily blind - he could only make the silhouettes of three men before him. As his vision slowly returned, the first sensation he felt was rage. One of the three men standing before him was unmistakable: the Duke of Weselton. He could never wipe that old fox's smug grin off his mind, the one who almost succeeded in killing him and the one he loved most.
Not wanting to show weakness, Hans kept an impassive, bored expression. His eyes moved to the other two – one was a tall man with a full head of fiery hair (not unlike his before his heart was frozen, if even redder). His exquisite regalia - deep crimson, high collared robe with gold trimmings - suggested that he had to be a man of high standing, or a royalty of some sort. The last stood as tall, yet particularly distinctive; he (or she) was clad in a suit of steel plated armour complete with an adorned cape. A fully face-covering helmet sat on his (or her) head. Yet again, the lavish decoration of the armour suggested a high standing.
"Prince Hans," the Duke spat, "we meet again."
"Amusing," Hans scoffed. "I do not seem to remember ever meeting an old weasel capable of standing on two feet before. Let alone one capable of speech."
The Duke struck Hans with his cane, drawing blood from the Prince's lips.
"You mongrel!" he barked. He was about to deliver another blow when the scarlet-haired man stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
"Stand down, Duke."
"But, Lord Ghish-!"
The man ignored him. He crouched and gently held Hans instead, helping him to stand once again. He reached for the chains on the Prince's wrists, and with a click, they dropped with a clang.
"Pardon my men's lack of courtesy. This is no way to treat a royalty," he smiled. Yet beneath that smile, Hans could sense a complete lack of empathy. It was not unlike the one he frequently displayed before he met Elsa.
"Glad to see another man of civilization down here," he said, mustering an intimidating grin of his own. "I do not believe we have met."
"The name is Ghish. Magister Ghish. I am the Majordomo to the King of Nordgard, Vaynord."
Vaynord? Isn't King Albrecht…?
"His Majesty Albrecht has passed away," Ghish said, seemingly reading Hans's mind. "His son now rose to take the throne. King Vaynord, the one true King."
"Let us spare the pleasantries, shall we, Magister Ghish?" Hans sneered. "I would appreciate it if you could skip the sob-story and state your point."
"Such haste," Ghish laughed softly. "I can't be the one to judge, however; we are alike in this regard. Your Highness, I do not believe you are aware of the reason why you are still alive."
It was a statement, not a question.
"I do have a dozen of theories," Hans said. "But I'd appreciate if you could enlighten."
"Very well," Ghish nodded, still sporting the wicked smile. "Prince Hans, we would like you to join us."
"… I beg your pardon?"
"Join us," the Magister repeated. "War is coming, and we would like you on our side."
"... I might consider it if you'd let me be your leader," Hans mocked.
"Of course we are prepared to do that," Ghish nodded. "We will grant you the rank of Magister, the highest there is before King Vaynord himself."
Hans did not see this coming at all. "You must be truly desperate to seek aid from your enemy, aren't you?" he laughed. "My apologies, but I'm not in the least interested in the petty rivalry between two-"
"Not just Iscalius," the scarlet-haired man cut in, "Ebona. Corona. The Southern Isles. All of them."
The Prince couldn't hold back his disbelief. He was staring blankly at the Magister for two full minutes before he could regain his composure.
"I must admit it's a good jest-"
"A jest it is not. We are more than ready to show the world our might. Blood will be spilled. Cities will burn. All in the name of Nordgard, the strongest of all."
A look into his eyes showed that this man wasn't being humorous.
He is insane, Hans thought. I need not to listen to the ramblings of a madman; I have to get out of here as soon as I can.
"Assuming that is true," Hans scoffed again, taking in the milieu. "Have you not enough competent soldiers of your own? I'd imagine so, especially if you do intend to make the world your enemy." The golden opportunity had presented itself. Any time soon now... he had to make the move. If he could take these three down with him while he made his escape… that would be much better than he'd imagined. Especially this man called Ghish; with his second-in-command gone, even the White Wolf would suffer an enormous setback.
He argued further, attempting to buy more time. "Thus I see not how freeing me, let alone having me to join your ranks could benefit you at all."
"Quite on the contrary, Prince Hans, we seek to help you. It's such a shame to see a talent such as yours go to waste. Just say the word and I can promise you your freedom… and much more."
There was silence. The calm before the storm. Just one word to decide life… or death.
"Oh, but I am free, Lord Majordomo," Hans finally declared.
He swiftly ducked and swept at the legs of the guard standing behind him. The guard let out a suppressed groan, but his surprise did not end there. Hans grabbed the sword at his hip and immediately drove it into his heart. The guard twitched and was still.
The smell and taste of blood reminded Hans once again of who he truly was - a monster. Yet he felt no shame; a monster he would gladly be if it meant protecting Elsa.
"A pity," Ghish sighed. "I was hoping that a man of your stature could listen to reason."
He snapped his fingers; the Captain let out a blood-curling roar, charging at Hans with his sword drawn high. He let out a barrage of fierce slashes and thrusts, yet Hans dodged them all with apparent ease. In a split second opening, the Prince countered with a horizontal cut. The Captain put up his guard but was too late; Hans's sword hacked his side away. Blood immediately spurted as the blade found its mark. With the loss of blood and not much life left in him, the Captain too fell before Hans's superior bladework.
The elderly Duke shrieked and cowered.
"Stop him! STOP HIM!"
Hans laughed. "It seems once again your ambition fails before it even begins." He dashed towards Ghish, who was standing and smiling fearlessly even in the face of death. Just three more lives. Just three more lives and he could save countless lives. And most importantly, her.
Yet instead of flesh, his steel was met with another steel. The armored man had jumped in, intercepting his frenzied rush towards Ghish.
"Protecting your Lord?" Hans gritted his teeth as their blades locked. "It's a noble gesture." He put a burst of strength into his arms and pushed the armored man back. "But foolish." Hans dashed once again, this time towards the ironclad man. With blinding speed, he let out a barrage of thrusts, each adroitly aimed at the enemy's vitals.
Ribs, solar plexus, groin, thighs.
*CLANG* *CLANG* *CLANG *CLANG*
The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed in the chamber.
The man of silver consistently deflected each and every attack of his. He was way better than expected. For all Hans knew, he might even be… stronger than him? No, it couldn't be. More precisely, he couldn't let himself be overcome by such thoughts. Adrenaline flowed intensely through his veins. He pressed on once again, increasing the force and precision of his blows.
Each of his consequent strikes managed to whittle the armored man's defenses. Hans kept pressing on; battering his opponents with ever increasingly heavy blows. In scintillas of seconds, he glanced at Ghish. The Magister still showed no signs of movements, only maintaining his confident standing. It seemed he did not at all think this steel-clad subordinate of his could lose. All the better; he could always use some overconfidence and blunder on the enemy's part.
Hans brought forth a mighty horizontal swing; the force of the blow knocked the sword from the man's arm. This was it. The finishing blow. Hans brought his sword from overhead, as if moving to chop a block of wood.
*CLANG*
Once again he found his blade blocked. Yet before him was only the armored man. On his left hand was another sword. The sword that was sent flying was recaptured; the man of silver now wielded two, one in each hand. Hans instantly retreated.
Two swords?
Before Hans could compose himself, the man had already lashed at him. This time, it was he who was on the defensive. He could barely believe what he was seeing. Usage of two weapons should inhibit one's strength to the point that few could use it effectively. Yet this man could utilize his swords with such proficiency, each delivering strikes as precise and strong as a person who was only using one sword would. It was as if he was as skilled as… Edvar?
They continued to trade blows after blows. Sparks flew from the edge of their blades. Each of Hans's strikes was met by double the force from the enemy. And even when he was slowly getting used to the pattern of the armored man's attacks, he was met with yet another surprise – the two blades the man wielded were now combined by the hilts to form a weapon resembling a double-edged polearm. The man in silver continued to batter Hans's defenses. His arms grew numb and his knees grew weak. The enemy's skill, combined with the ever-fluidly changing motion and shape of the weapons did not allow him any room to breathe.
He could not win; speed, strength, and tactics… this man outclassed him in every respect. This was not an opponent he could defeat. He needed another option. A distraction. He glanced and saw the Captain's limp body, still lying motionlessly on the floor. This was it. This was his chance. Thus when the armored man lashed out another mighty blow, he pretended to be knocked off balance and aimed his fall at the Captain's body.
Got it.
He slipped from underneath the limp body… a dagger. The steel-clad man walked towards Hans, ready to deliver the final blow. As he lifted his sword high…
With blinding speed, Hans threw the dagger towards the Majordomo.
Now, what would you do? Go on and protect your Lord. When you do, I'll…
Hans never finished that train of thought, however. His last sight before the world spun and stars exploded in his eyes was that of the Ghish's triumphant grin.
"You should never have underestimated us."
The steel-clad man never turned his back to protect his Lord, yet Hans's dagger did not reach its mark. All he could sense was intense heat in the air. How could it be?
It seemed his enemies did not intend to provide an answer either. The man in silver already had his foot on his sword arm and the tip of his blade on his throat. The Majordomo slowly approached them, clapping.
"Masterfully done as always, Magister Zelgabaarth."
Defeat and death was upon him. But Hans was not going to die without a final fight. He put his strength into the arm holding the sword, and…
"Stand down, Hans. I do not wish to kill you."
Hans gasped, his arm falling limp. That voice? Even muffled by the helmet, there was no mistaking it.
"W-hat…? You…?"
The steel-clad man swiped his free hand over his helmet, removing it in one swift movement.
Finally seeing what was behind the mask, the former Prince Consort of Arendelle was overcome with the shock of recognition.
"No… No! It can't be…! Not… you!"
A/N: That's that. A little bit of action every now and then or it wouldn't be me. ^^ I feel this chapter and the previous left us with so many points to ponder and questions to ask, but rest assured, they will all be answered in due time.
Ah, and bonus points for those who could guess who Zelgabaarth really is. I'll even do a special favor for the first person to make a correct guess! (No, really!)
Oh and more importantly, I see the general consensus seem to lean towards Elsa getting really pregnant. But I'd like to hear some more opinions. So, to have pregnant Elsa or not to have pregnant Elsa?
... Hmm? Do you guys hear that? It sounds like music, and it's coming from the direction of the next chapter...