Chapter Twelve
Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.
The Snow Queen's sleigh raced over the frozen ground with a speed unknown to the mortals in the southlands far below. The northern lights danced above her, green and rose, and some part of her hated them and loved them at the same time. Green and rose… springtime and life.
"Julia!"
She shook her head slightly, frowning deeply. Once she had been able to stand the lights, even used them to illuminate her palace, but now they only brought back memories of too many things about which there was no use thinking. She turned her eyes from the wavering bands of light and continued her fast-paced trek across the ice caps. Into her view came a towering fortress. It glimmered icily in the glowing light, and the Snow Queen smiled with a smile as cold as her palace. Her castle of ice was a city unto itself, a lifeless world all her own. On the top of the earth, nearer the Northern Pole than any other settlement known to man, it was too cold for anyone to survive for long, save for herself and her icy creations. Here, everything was under her control. She ruled her silent citadel with an iron fist.
The great ice giants turned to greet her as the sleigh pulled up to the doors. "At ease," she said curtly as she stepped out, and they returned to their former positions. The ice giants, huge translucent sentinels of her own creation, were nuisances but necessary ones. After that pathetic little girl had defeated her snow guards some fifty years previous, she had quickly set to work at making larger, more efficient guards to protect the castle.
She pushed open the doors and quickly made her way through her labyrinthine palace to her throne room. Her ice-clad heels clicked as she paced across the frozen floor before her throne, thinking. "What to do, what to do," she said to herself. "That fool will never accomplish it on his own. Why is it that I always have to do everything for these people?"
She stopped in front of the window on the opposite side of the room, looking out over her icy realm. Slowly, a smirk spread across her lips.
"Of course; how silly of me." She strode out onto the balcony beyond the window and began to chant lowly, hands turning and twisting. Between her snow-white palms, a blue light began to crackle, fierce and cold. The crackling grew to twisting, larger and larger, and her smirk became a cold grin. With a large flourish, she threw her arms to the sky.
Across the North Pole, there erupted a blizzard, winds screaming, snow swirling. The Snow Queen laughed and threw her hands out, sending the blizzard south, covering the northern lights and their blasted brightness.
"After all," she said, grinning. "Nothing causes distress faster than a storm."
Paperwork.
She couldn't understand it, but she was pretty sure it was a secondary curse. Every time, without fail, every time she sat down to complete some of the avalanche-like amount of paperwork that came with being a queen, that paperwork which piled up into mountains upon mountains of little notes, all of which of course had to be signed by her own hand and sealed with her own ring—that was when trouble struck.
And so she really wasn't that surprised when, the moment she picked up her quill, a maid burst into the study.
Elsa threw down the quill in frustration, splattering ink and little snowflakes all across the trade agreements with the Eastern Mountains. "Well the castle had better be on fire!"
The castle was on fire.
She ran through the halls, skirt grasped in hand and sprinting as fast as she could. She tripped over a rug and nearly fell, before continuing on down the corridor. The smoke grew thicker the closer she got to the conference room, where the maid had said the fire had started. She covered what would usually have been a five-minute walk in the space of about ninety seconds. As she rounded the corner, she stopped, mouth hanging agape.
All her life, she'd been wary of fire. When she was a child, she'd really believed that she would melt, and had been so fearful of it that she would shrink back at the sight of a candle. Of course, she'd eventually learned how ridiculous a thought this was, since after all she was still human—just maybe human and a little something extra. Even so, the old fear had never quite left her, and so when she saw the conference room ablaze with flames and smoke billowing out of the open doors (which were also on fire and couldn't be shut), she stopped short in momentary terror. So stunned was she by the sight that she didn't even notice when the burning doorframe, to which had been fastened the iron hinges, suddenly splintered altogether. The door fell forward- straight towards Elsa.
"Queen Elsa!" Someone grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of the way, just as the door crashed to the ground right where she'd been standing. The flames blazed up in front of her eyes like a devouring monster before suddenly guttering down, leaving her gasping in the heat of it.
"Are you alright?" Hans demanded, for it was he who had pulled her away.
"Yes, I-" She coughed on the smoke. "-I'm fine."
"You have to put the fire out!"
"Yes, yes, of course-"
"Hurry!"
Trying to clear her head—she could hardly breathe with all the smoke—she focused hard as she faced the heat, squinting at the intense brightness of the flames. Raising her hands, she conjured up the feeling of snow in her bones.
The flames were doused by a stream of blizzard-like snow, pouring into the room incessantly until the fire had been entirely put out. Still coughing, she looked around. "Is everyone alright?" she called. Most of the nobles who were a part of her council and quite a few who weren't had arrived. At the general positive response, she looked over to Hans. "Thank y- your sleeve!"
"Thank my sleeve?" he said, baffled.
"No, your sleeve, it's on fire!"
He looked down, startled, and then quickly beat out the flames that were devouring the left sleeve of his jacket. "Is your arm burnt?" Elsa questioned, concerned.
"No, I'm fine," he said, inspecting the skin beneath where the jacket had been charred away.
"Well, that's fortunate, at least." She looked with despair at the conference room, which was now little more than a blackened-out hollow. "I can't believe this. How could this have happened?"
"Could someone have lit the fireplace and caught the rug on fire?" one of the nobles suggested.
"No; the fireplace is never lit in there," another countered.
"Someone go check the tinderbox."
One of the lords disappeared inside the room, which was now cool enough to enter thanks to Elsa's emergency downpour. The Queen pinched the bridge of her nose, beginning to pace. "This is a disaster. We were supposed to hold a second meeting in there tomorrow- oh no!" she gasped, whirling around.
"What?" demanded Anna, who had hurried up next to her.
"Our papers! I had you all leave them in there!" Her expression turned to one of horror and guilt. "I never meant…"
"It wasn't your fault," Anna said sternly. "You couldn't have known that someone was going to try to burn down the castle."
"Was it intentional?" Kristoff said from his fiancé's side.
"We don't know yet."
"The steel and flint are still in the tinderbox," the lord who'd gone inside reported, hurrying out. "The outside's scorched, but the inside is still covered in dust. It looks like it was never even opened."
"Then someone must have brought in an extra set. Who was the last person in the room?" Elsa questioned.
"I was," Hans said. Everyone turned to look at him, and he suddenly realized that this was as good as an admission of guilt. "But I didn't do this."
"You expect us to take your word for it?!" one of the nobles demanded angrily.
"No, but you can take mine," Kristoff said, stepping forward. "He left just seconds after me; he never would've had time. Besides, I would've heard him strike the flint."
"Someone must've come in after we all left," Elsa agreed.
"I still say we shouldn't trust him," the nobleman said, glaring at Hans.
"Now hold on a minute, I didn't–" Hans started angrily, but Elsa cut him off.
"All of us here are under just as much suspicions as Prince Hans- in fact, anyone in this castle could be the perpetrator. We have no way to know at the present time." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Regardless of who started the fire, the report still needs to be taken care of. We can postpone it until after the wedding, at least. But we'll all need to redo the paperwork."
Several of the lords and ladies groaned, but Elsa held up a hand. "I know, I know. But it must be done. The council won't convene today; thank you all for your patience." Recognizing this as a dismissal, many of the nobles present walked off, grumbling to themselves.
When they were gone, Elsa turned to Hans. "Did you-"
"I told you, I had nothing to do with it!" he said emphatically.
"Let me finish," she replied sternly. He closed his mouth. "Did you see anyone when you left?"
"No," he answered. "Besides, even if I had, Mr. Bjorgman would've seen them, too."
She looked over at Kristoff, who shook his head. "No one."
Elsa gave a brief nod, biting her lip. "What about one of your brothers?" she questioned Hans.
"It's possible," he agreed, "but there wouldn't be any point to it. Agnar wants us to get married; the last thing he'd do is cause any sort of trouble that could prevent that."
"Then who?" Anna demanded. "For starters, Prince Charming, I don't see why I should believe you at all."
"I just said–" Hans started.
"Yeah, well, you said a lot of things," Anna said bitterly. "So you're going to need a better excuse than that."
Fighting the urge to start shouting, Hans took a breath and calmed himself. "Anna-"
"Princess Anna," she snapped.
"Princess Anna, what use would there be for me to burn the conference room? If I really wanted to do any of you harm, I could have done so a long time ago. I know that doesn't exactly sound like an invitation to trust, but destroying a few grain reports does nothing to really hurt a kingdom—well, except give the queen a lot more work."
"Don't remind me," Elsa sighed. "Anna, he has a point; this doesn't do much except give me and the rest of us a little more to do. It's not as if it's going to be a major setback to the kingdom." She paused, and then said, "We can't allow the guests to feel endangered or we'll risk starting a riot, which is the last thing we need right now. Someone needs to start the rumor that a candle got tipped over or the like. Anna, you know the servants the best; you handle that. I'll tell the councilmembers that this has to be kept quiet. Understood?"
"Gotcha," Anna said, shooting one last glare in Hans's direction. "I'll see you guys later." She turned to go to the kitchen, and then stopped suddenly. "Kristoff, I know this isn't the best time, but do you maybe wanna go down to the docks today?"
The man had been heading back towards his chambers, but stopped when he heard this. Although his first impulse was to answer yes, he suddenly remembered what Agnar had said in the stables.
Run the kingdom into the ground.
He cleared his throat, glancing back. "No, uh, I've got some work I gotta do. Maybe later."
"Oh," she said surprised. "Okay, then." She gave a quick goodbye to Elsa, pointedly ignored Hans, and then started down the nearest flight of stairs.
Elsa couldn't help but chuckle a little as she watched her go, despite the disaster behind her. Hans glanced at her, annoyed. "What?"
"Just that there's a lot more to Anna than meets the eye," she said vaguely. "Who knew she could be so effective at freezing people out?"
The same thing ran through their minds at the exact same moment, and Hans opened his mouth to say it, before quickly closing it shut. That would be a low blow if there ever was one.
Elsa, however, bit her lip again, harder this time, and then said softly, "I… suppose she learned from the best."
"Perhaps she did," Hans agreed quietly.
Elsa looked over at him sharply, no doubt intending to shoot him with some barbed retort, but then she saw again the scorched, charred mess behind him, and groaned. "This could not have happened at a worse time. I'm already busy enough as it is; the last thing I needed was paperwork to redo."
"Well, to be frank, there isn't much you can do about it now," Hans said bluntly. She shot him a look, and he added, "It's about suppertime; you ought to eat. I'm sure things will seem less impossible after a ham-and-cheese sandwich."
"Oh, you're 'sure,' are you?" she said, but her irritation seemed lessened. "I'll see you later, Prince Hans."
"Until then, your Majesty." He inclined his head slightly, and then both turned and went in the opposite directions.
The prison cell was cold and damp, and he shivered as he lay the unconscious woman down on the bench. He located the cuffs that one of the guardsmen said seemed to have been created for this very purpose, and methodically locked her slender hands inside.
He stared at her sleeping form. Even at rest, her face was distraught, exhausted. There were rings under her eyes, like bruises in her pale skin, and she looked so horribly pathetic and unhappy. Like an ice queen starved by her own frozen fears.
He didn't want to kill this woman.
The Queen looked so- so helpless. So small and timid, like a child scared of her own shadow. His hands felt like they were burning inside his gloves; a feverish feeling was spreading up his arms and flushing him with heat. He stared down at the woman before him and wondered when exactly he'd started to consider putting an end to her life. Had it been when she'd forbidden her sister to marry him? Or even before, on the terrace with Anna? And then that chandelier…
That had been a mistake. An intelligent, calculated mistake, maybe, but a mistake nonetheless. It had been perfect; everything was set up for the queen to die at her own hand. The ideal chance. He wouldn't have even been to blame! But he'd knocked the crossbow upwards to shatter the ice, saving her life and knocking her unconscious. He didn't have to ask himself why he'd done it, he knew the reason perfectly well: cowardice. He'd never killed anyone before, directly or otherwise, and the idea of ending another person's life, especially such an innocent life, made his stomach twist in revulsion. Was it weakness? Was it conscience?
What on earth was he doing?
His father would have berated him for such weakness; his brothers would have jeered at him and called him a gutless fool. But some part of him—the part he stubbornly kept at bay, because he knew how the world worked and sympathy wasn't one of its rules—made him reach for the thin gray blanket off to the side and drape it over the queen, whether she felt the cold or not.
He stood up, trying to steady his shaking hands. He didn't have to make this decision now, at any rate. That could wait. Besides, he needed her to end the winter. No, she didn't have to die yet. Maybe she wouldn't have to die at all; maybe if Anna never came back, he could turn his attentions to her, as had been his original plan. In any case, he didn't have to worry about that now. His options were wide open.
He walked out of the cell and closed the door behind him.
As he turned, he found himself not in the dungeon corridor, but instead standing off to the side of an empty ballroom- well, nearly empty. There were two figures in the center, dancing to a beautiful waltz. The woman was a pale blonde and dressed in a lovely light pink, slightly shimmery dress that fell to about mid-calf, like a dancer's dress. The man had donned a white suit-coat and had reddish-brown hair. Upon closer examination, he realized that the woman was Elsa and the man was… himself?
Yet it didn't seem too terribly odd to him, to be watching his doppleganger dance with the queen. Smiling faintly, he sat down on a nearby chair to watch.
His other self spun the queen slowly and pulled her close again, taking her bare hand in his white-gloved own. Hans, the real Hans, frowned briefly, looking around. Where was the music coming from? He could see no orchestra, no string quartet to bring the waltz to life.
His attention was drawn back to the pair in the center as his alter spun the Queen and then pulled her close. Goodness, she was beautiful. Even lying in that little prison cell she'd been beautiful, not that he'd noticed further than a passing observance. But now…
His twin touched the queen's chin, and Elsa smiled, looking up at him. She closed her eyes as the other Hans tilted her face upwards. Even this did not seem odd to the real Hans…
…At least, not until he saw the knife.
He stumbled to his feet in horror as the other him drew a knife out of his back pocket. Elsa's eyes were still closed, and Hans tried to call out to her, to warn her- but he couldn't make a sound. The other him brought his arm around the petite queen, the knife glinting, poised to strike. Hans tried to rush forward, to shout, to do something, anything—but he'd gone mute and immobile in the same instant. All he could do was scream voicelessly as the other him brought the knife plunging down.
"Elsa!"
He sat up straight in bed, breathing heavily. His hands were shaking violently, and Hans ran one of them through his hair, looking around.
The room was dark. He was… in bed? His bed. In the Arendellian castle.
Slowly, he realized that it had all been a dream—part memory, part fabrication of his own guilty mind. Elsa was fine. The Queen was fine. Everyone was alive and well.
No thanks to you, a snickering voice whispered in the back of his head.
Hans flinched at the accusation, but knew that it was true. Would he have done that to the queen? Yes. Without a doubt. But I'm not the same now, he argued with himself. I've changed.
Have you? the voice whispered back.
Had he? If given the opportunity, would he- would he-?
"Enough," he muttered aloud. "You'll drive yourself mad, thinking like this." More than one hardened criminal had been driven to self-harm by such things; he had faced his demons, fought them, beaten them, over eighteen long months of his personal isolated hell. Whatever anyone else thought, he knew what he'd fought his way back from. I won't be dragged down that road again.
It was too stuffy in here, he decided. He needed to walk around, get some fresh air. Trying to even out his breathing again, Hans swung his legs over the side of the bed and headed for the bedroom door. Just as his hand landed on it, he paused, fourteen years of custom reminding him that a proper prince never went out in public without gloves. He hesitated, debating whether it would matter at this time of night, especially considering he was in his nightclothes—but then he sighed as force of habit compelled him to grab the pair off his dresser and yank them on, rolling his eyes at the absurdity even as he did so. Pain's a good teacher, he mused, locking the door behind him and pocketing the key. If he were still the old him, he'd tell himself to remember that.
The hallways were dark, and Hans had nothing but the silvery light of the moon to guide him as he walked the corridors, still dressed in his bedclothes. Eventually, his wanderings led him to a pair of large oak doors on the second floor, which he recognized as the doors to the library. He opened them quietly and slipped inside.
The library appeared deserted and dark, save for the slight bluish glow in the back he attributed to the moonlight, so he lit a candle and used that to set the other candles in the wall sconces aflame, until the part of the room he was in was filled with a warm light. As he looked around, he found that he was in sort of a sitting parlor area of the library, complete with several cushy armchairs, a couch, and a piano.
His face lit up slightly as he saw the piano, and he walked over, running a hand along the lacquered wooden top. It was a beautiful instrument, a baby grand with white ivory keys and burnished metal pedals. Hans loved music. Playing the piano was one of only two pastimes that had ever helped to settle his mind and calm his senses. Music and sailing, his two passions, were the only things he'd known would never change: the sea would always be blue, and an F-chord was never suddenly going to include a G#.
He sat down at the piano, pressing one of the keys lightly. It rang out softly with a pure, sweet sound. Quietly, he began to press out the melody of a tune, one note at a time.
"That's Deilig er Jorden."
He jumped and turned around on the bench. Elsa was looking back at him, dressed in a white nightgown and a heavy navy dressing-robe, holding a red leather-bound book in hand. Her braid was loose and messy, as if she'd been tossing and turning on it, and she had donned a pair of pale pink slippers. Dancing blue snowflakes flitted around her fingers, and he realized that she'd created her own light to read by. For a moment he was too stunned by the apparition—half expecting it to be another nightmare—to find his voice. "U-Um, yes, it is," he said. "I didn't think any Arendellians would recognize it."
"Oh, it's very popular," she commented, walking over to the piano. "What are you doing up?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Ladies first."
She rolled her eyes, and then admitted, "I couldn't sleep—worrying about the fire, you know. And you?"
"A similar predicament." He neglected to add the fact that the predicament had something to do with her. While he'd thought the queen's presence would make him nervous and uncomfortable, especially after such a dream, he found that the relaxed, contented and very much alive Elsa in front of him paradoxically seemed to bring with her a sense of calm, which he found most welcome. Hans nodded to the book in her hand. "What are you reading?"
"Treatise on Law," she answered, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "It's so heavy that I thought it might help me get some rest, but my mind seems determined to run itself in circles tonight." She gestured to the piano. "Do you play?"
"Yes. Do you?"
"Not very well." She smiled a little reminiscently. "Mama used to play Deilig er Jorden every Christmas."
"Really?" he said, surprised. "So did mine, until she passed. I asked my instructor to teach it to me when I was old enough." He paused, and then admitted, "It's always been my favorite."
"How old were you?" she asked hesitantly
"When she died? Eight." His hands shifted slightly on the keys. "She and my father—well, they were never a very happy couple, but that year was the worst. They argued constantly. I think the stress took its toll on her, and…she fell ill. She was gone within the month."
Elsa's eyes were sad, stunned. Her parents' deaths had been hard enough on her as an adult; to lose one's mother while still so young… "I'm so sorry," she said honestly.
"I'm not," he said quietly. "She would be appalled, to see what her family has become."
Elsa bit her lip and looked away, unsure what to say. Eventually, she settled on, "Could I hear you play?"
He shrugged wordlessly, and began to play again. His hands moved across the keys effortlessly, and Elsa began to sing softly.
"Deilig er jorden,
prektig er Guds himmel,
Skjønn er sjelenes pilgrimsgang!"
"Gjennom de fagre," he joined in,
"riker på jorden,
går vi til paradis med sang."
They finished in harmony. For a moment, the note hung in the air, and then faded off into silence.
"…You play very well," Elsa said finally.
"Yes, well… I had very good training," he deflected.
"Do you mind if I read a little?" she said, gesturing to a couch a few feet away.
"By all means. If you want me to stop…?"
"No, please, continue. It's… it's lovely."
No one had ever praised his playing so highly before—indeed, no one had ever so much as noticed. At least two of his brothers had played with better craft growing up, and shown off with more respectable pieces than Christmas carols. "…Thank you," he said uncertainly. Elsa smiled slightly and nodded, sitting down on the couch.
Hans began to play again, more quietly than before. When he got through the piece, he turned around to see if he were distracting Elsa from her reading. Much to his surprise, he found that the Queen had fallen asleep. She was lying on the couch, snoring softly with her book still in hand.
Hans smiled despite himself, stood up, and walked over. She looked so peaceful, much less like a queen and much more like a carefree young woman. Careful not to wake her, he disentangled her fingers from the book and laid it down on the ground beside her, marking the page. He reached for the blue woolen blanket that hung over the back of the sofa and draped it over her gently. Whether or not the Queen felt the cold, he didn't know, but he felt he owed that much to her.
But some part of him made him reach for the thin gray blanket off to the side and drape it over the queen, whether she felt the cold or not.
He took a sharp breath, stunned, for before his eyes there had flashed another, almost identical image of the Queen: exhausted, alone, unconscious and terrified. He let go of the blanket, baffled. The same sensation he'd had all those months ago in the cold, dirty cell had resurfaced, but in a much stronger, more potent form. He tried to put a finger on it. Satisfaction? No. Concern? That was close, but not quite…
Tenderness.
The word came to him as easily as if someone had whispered it to him, and as he realized that it was right, he stumbled backwards as if struck. What in the world…?
He stared at Elsa, so innocent and harmless in her unconscious state, and felt a sense of dread again replace the traitorous feeling of affection. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. There was no way that he could possibly be so stupid as to–
Without really thinking about it, he turned and began to walk very quickly out of the library. Faster and faster he walked, until he broke into a run. By the time he finally reached his room, his bubbling panic had spilled over the sides.
He burst into the little bathroom in his chambers and slammed the door behind him, bracing himself against the sink. His own labored breathing did not cease even then, for the memories refused to stop—
—"Oh, Anna," he said in fake pity, smirking. "If only there were someone out there who loved you."—
—"Your sister is dead!" Elsa stared, disbelieving, and he delivered the final blow. "…Because of you..."—
—He swung the sword, grinning as he felt the success course through his veins, he was so close, so close!—
He came to and found himself staring into green eyes. He blinked. So did the eyes. After a moment, he realized he was looking at his own reflection in the bathroom vanity.
"Look at you," he whispered hoarsely to the Hans on the other side of the glass. "You fool, you damned fool. How could you not have noticed this happening?"
His reflection offered no reply, but Hans needed none. "Do you think she could care for you after what you did to her?" he demanded of himself. "To her sister?" He shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach. The whole room seemed too small, and he felt almost feverish, too hot and too cold at the same time. How? How could this have happened? He'd tried to- to kill this woman; how could he possibly…?
"She can't know," he decided aloud. "If she ever found out… No. You're lucky she's helping you. That she trusts you. Don't risk everything for some absurd fancy." Again he saw, less sharply than before, his own hand drawing the sword. "She could never feel the same, so don't insult her by deluding yourself."
His own haggard expression looked back at him, and Hans sighed. He stripped off his gloves and ran the taps, splashing his face with cool water. Everything was alright. Everything was fine. For goodness' sake, he'd managed to fool Anna into believing he was in love with her, surely he could shut down these emotions for the Queen's sake?
Yes, he could, he decided as he shut off the taps. He could and he would, because he had to. He owed these people at least that much. Elsa could never learn he'd entertained such thoughts, not after what he'd done. And besides, for the first time in his life he had a future, an opportunity for real freedom—one that definitely did not involve trying to court the queen. If he shut down these feelings, they would pass.
He straightened up and wiped his face dry, ignoring the little voice that whispered as he walked out of the bathroom, well, at least, he hoped they would.
A/N: Whew! Intense chapter; I hope you all enjoyed it. By the way, ten magical snowflakes to anyone who recognized the book Elsa was reading. ; ) Pax et bonum!