Chapter Twenty-Two

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It never failed to amaze Anna how active her sister was in the morning. By the time the princess had woken up, brushed through her bird's nest of a hair, donned a simple dress of forest green and white and had gotten some toast from the kitchen, Elsa had already started in on her numerous royal duties. Anna inferred by the sudden appearance of evergreen garlands along the windowsills and bannisters and red ribbons tied around the candelabras that the queen had finally gotten around to what more pressing matters had prevented her from doing before—that was, decorating the castle for Christmas.

Anna found her sister in the great hall, directing a team of maids and footmen in bedecking the ballroom. "–A Christmas tree in each corner, if you can—but just in this room; it'll be a pain to remove any more than that after Epiphany. Have you finished decorating the library, Margodt?"

"Yes, m'Lady. Will there be snow in there?"

"No; I'd rather not have the guests slipping on it by accident- they're not used to having it around, after all. Ah, Klaus; has someone gone out for a Yule log yet?"

"Not yet, your Majesty."

"Have that done by this evening, if you can; I'd rather not trouble the woodcutter's guild any closer to Christmas. Oh, Anna!" The Queen had suddenly noticed her sister, and hurried over, smiling. "You're finally up!"

"'Finally?' Elsa, it's only like nine in the morning!"

"My point exactly." Elsa had apparently gotten into the festive mood herself; she had donned a long-skirted dress of cranberry red, with white embroidery and lace edging that Anna realized were actually made of snowflakes. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, with her bangs twisted in up at the top, and she had a hastily-written list in her hand of all the things that needed to be done.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Anna inquired, feeling a little guilty she'd slept in while her sister was working.

"Hm… well, I still need to decorate the gardens. Would you like to come with me?"

Anna gasped, delighted. "Really?"

"Really. Will you folks be alright without me?" she inquired of the servants.

"We'll be fine, m'Lady; go on!" Margodt reassured her.

Elsa thanked them and walked out of the room at a brisk pace, Anna hurrying along beside her. "So, how are you going to decorate the garden?"

"Oh, I think you'll like it," the Queen said vaguely, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. As she opened the door to the walled courtyards, she added, "It's rather cold out; shouldn't you go get a cloak?"

"What, and miss this? Not on your life."

The two made their way through the corridors, down the stairs and out into the walled garden courtyards. The morning was quiet save for the sound of a few chirruping birds, and the sun shone warm and clear, even on a chilly winter's day. The queen breathed in the brisk air and sighed with satisfaction. The weather was just perfect for what she had in mind. Her sister was watching her curiously, her eagerness barely held in restraint as she waited to see what would happen. "Want to see something beautiful?" Elsa asked her with a knowing smile.

Anna's eyes lit up, and she grinned. "Do the magic, Elsa!"

Her sister laughed and lifted the edges of her red skirt. She struck the ground with her boot-heel, and out across the garden walkways there spiraled beautiful frost crystals in intricate, rosemaling-style designs. Anna gasped. "Oh Elsa, it's beautiful!"

"I'm not done yet," the Queen told her happily. The princess fell silent and watched as her sister took in a slow breath and closed her eyes. Raising her hands as if she were a conductor to an orchestra, Elsa paused, and then with a sudden motion from her fingertips, snow began to fall down from the sky. With another motion, a gentler wave, snow in drifts along the ground began to spin around. Elsa sent them crisscrossing and spiraling across the garden. They covered the trees with garlands of white snow and glistening icicles, and miniscule gems of ice bloomed like flowers or tiny stars along the barren branches. As they crystalized, the facets and fractures caught the sunlight in a prismatic display, turning the entire garden into a glistening, dazzling wonderland of reflected colors.

Elsa opened her eyes and turned to look at her sister nervously. "Do you like it?" she asked shyly.

Anna looked around in wonder. "It's…amazing," she said with awe. "Everything you make is so amazing, Elsa."

The Queen smiled widely, joy in her eyes. "Thank you."

Prompted by some dual impulse, both turned to embrace each other. "I'm so lucky to have a sister like you," Anna said happily.

Elsa bit her lip hard, and hugged her sister even tighter. "Me too," she replied softly. "Me too."

The loud clanging of the camp dinner-bell rang out loud and pure as the sun set pink over the ice floes. Hans let out a grunted "uff" as he and Kristoff finished shoving an overly-large block of ice onto the sleigh and secured the ropes to make sure it didn't fall off. Most of the others had already lined up by the cooking fire by the time they reached it, so the prince waited patiently at the back of the line while the cook dished up supper. "Here y'are," the man said with a nod, filling up a wooden bowl with thick stew.

"Thank you." Hans took his bowl and sat down between Kristoff and Ole. Kristoff was tapping his spoon against the side of his wooden bowl, obviously antsy from having to sit on the sidelines all day as the other harvesters worked. Thankfully, they'd managed to harvest the last of the ice from their first cut, and removed the snow layer from the second. Per, Ole's boy, was sitting on the other side of his father, pestering the man with questions. "How much will the ice go for, Pa? When will we sell it? Will we get a lot of money for it, do you think?"

Hans could tell that the man was tired and in no mood to answer such a string of questions—perhaps in a few moments he would even loose patience and shout at the boy to be quiet. The thought made the prince's stomach twist uncomfortably; the matter of familial discipline was an issue that struck far too close to home for him, though he didn't want to interfere. He tried not to think, tried not to remember—but it didn't help much, and quickly his mind found itself retracing the paths of old and ugly memories.

He was eight, and idealistic, and hopeful that despite so many disappointments, today would finally be the day. He hurried through the halls, nearly crashing into a servant with a bundle of sheets in her arms.

"Prince Hans!" the maid said, quickly stepping out of the way. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

He grinned cheekily. "I'm looking for Agnar! Do you know where he is?"

"I believe Prince Agnar is having his swordplay lessons in the courtyard. The king's orders were they were not to be disturbed until half-past." A clock chimed somewhere nearby, and the maid's eyes widened. "Which as it happens is right now."

"Thanks!" He dashed off again, leaving the servant girl to chuckle behind him.

He reached the hallway that led to the courtyard doors in record time, but quickly hid in an open doorway as he saw his father walk inside. The king's face was full of a harsh contempt of which the boy had no desire to be on the receiving end. The man passed him by without notice, and Hans waited until he'd disappeared around the corner at the other end of the hallway before letting out a sigh of relief and hurrying over to the open door.

He was surprised to see that Agnar was sitting in the middle of the courtyard, although he reasoned that his brother had probably been knocked down mid-fight during his lessons. The crown prince was looking in a different direction and hadn't yet noticed the boy, so Hans skipped outside and said, "Agnar?"

His brother turned to look at him. His eyes narrowed. Hans bit his lip, suddenly nervous, and stammered, "Well, um… i-if you're not too busy, I was wondering…w-would you like to have a swordfight?"

For a moment, Agnar didn't answer, and then his face split into a smile. Something seemed strange about his grin—it didn't reach his eyes—but his tone was jovial as he said, "A swordfight, little brother? Well, I don't see why not."

Hans gasped. "Really? You mean it?"

"Oh, certainly. Go on, draw your sword!"

He pulled the little wooden sword out of his cloth scabbard with a grin. Agnar drew his—a gleaming steel hand-and-a-half—and Hans faltered.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Attack me!"

He bit his lip, sensing something was off but eager to please, and then dashed forward. He didn't make it two steps before Agnar sliced through the flimsy wood of the sword. Hans was so startled that he didn't notice as the crown prince re-sheathed his blade in one expert move and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Go on, little brother! Hit me!" he taunted.

"You broke it!" Hans shouted furiously.

"Then punish me for it! Or are you too scared? Too weak?"

Hans tried to hit him, but his arms were nowhere near long enough. "You're being mean, Agnar!" he shouted, tears in his eyes. "Mama gave me that sword, and you wrecked it! You're nothing but a bully!"

At this, the elder brother's eyes went wide, and Hans realized he'd said the wrong thing. "How dare you!" Agnar roared at him. "How dare you speak of her!"

He shoved Hans backwards so violently that the younger fell hard into the dust, crying. "You have no right to even mention her name!" the crown prince shouted at him. "You were nothing but a curse on her, a curse on this family, and a worthless thief like you will never be any brother of mine!" With that, Agnar stormed past him, slamming the door as he went and leaving the boy alone.

Hans sat there, sobbing, for several minutes. Eventually he sniffled and crawled over to the other piece of the wooden sword. The chunk was splintered and broken beyond repair. There was no way to fix it, so he simply hugged the pieces close to his chest.

"I miss you, Mama," he mumbled thickly. "I miss you so much… please come back. Please…"

Hans's countenance had darkened. Yes, each of his brothers had had different styles of maltreatment. Lief, as he'd mentioned to Elsa, he'd minded the least; in fact, he almost pitied the youngest of his older brothers, who was too timid and terrified of the elders to do anything that might upset them, including speaking to Hans. Karl had always been too involved with the fairer sex to be around much, and when he was, he rarely spoke to his youngest brother save for the occasional disparaging comment about how Hans was "no competition" when it came to women. Some, like the terrible trio, had found no end of amusement in mocking him verbally, or ignoring him altogether. Erling and Frederick had fallen into that category as well, never answering him when he'd asked a direct question, at most muttering amongst themselves about financial burden and how they should have sent the "liability" away to an orphanage at the start of the problem. Most of the others—Gunnar, Caspar and Duartr, and of course Balthazar—had seen him as little more than a servant to order around or a dummy on whom to practice their boxing.

But of all of his family members, perhaps even including his father, the one he hated the most of all was Agnar. For practically as long as Hans could remember, his eldest brother had always known how to cut straight to his heart, to destroy whatever it was that he held most dear at any given moment. The others all had some sort of gain from their treatment of him, some sort of pleasure or reward—but for Agnar, it was different. There was a true hatred between the two, a loathing whose origins Hans had never been able to decipher.

"Per, enough!" The sharp retort pulled him out of his memories, and Hans looked over. The boy had fallen silent, startled, and Ole sighed. "I'm sorry, Per. It's just that I'm tired; it's been a long day."

"I'm sorry, Papa."

"It's a'right." He ruffled the boy's hair ruefully. "Finish your stew, hm? Make you big and strong, like Papa."

Hans dropped his eyes for a moment, a sharp swell of bitterness and longing filling him. He forcefully shoved it down (nothing good ever came from dwelling on the past, anyway) and said aloud, "Mr. Bjorgman, will we be starting a new section on the river tomorrow?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah," the mountain man replied absently. "Yep, that's the plan."

On the other side of him, Ole frowned. "Y'feelin' a'right, Kristoff?"

"Hm? Yeah, why?"

"You're somewhere else tonight. Leg's not causing you trouble, is it?"

"Nah. I mean, it's not comfortable, but it could be worse..." He trailed off.

Hans glanced at him, a little worried. Ole was right; Kristoff really did seem to be unfocused. He hadn't touched his stew, but was rather staring down at the contents as if trying to divine the future from the beef chunks and diced carrots. The prince pondered it for a moment, and then mentally shook his head; it wasn't his business, anyway. He turned to Ole and his son, who was dutifully eating his soup, and said on impulse, "Per, would you like me to tell you a story?"

The boy took to this idea quite keenly, as did the tired father, and so Hans began. "Once there was, um, there was-" He cast around for an idea. "-A family of ducks. The mother duck, you see, she had lain eggs, and in the spring the eggs began to hatch." He'd always been a fair storyteller; it came from years of entertaining himself alone as a boy, along with his so-called silver tongue. "Now, of these eggs, all but one hatched into fuzzy yellow ducklings. But one, well, one was different than the others." He glanced over as Kristoff got up to stoke the fire, and inspiration struck. "He was large and gray, and didn't quite fit in with the rest. The other ducks mocked him and pecked at him, telling him he was ugly. And so he got the name, the Ugly Duckling."

As he told the story, he watched out of the corner of his eye to see the mountain man's reactions. Kristoff had taken to watching the fire flicker and die down, his face expressionless. "The wild ducks refused to marry one of their own to him; the geese took a liking to him, because they were almost as ugly as he was, but they lived dangerous lives and he left their company before he fell into harm. Even the dog refused to hunt him. He was taken in by a farmhouse woman who was kind enough, but her cat and her hen were right cruel to him. They said that, as he could neither lay eggs nor purr, the foolish duckling ought to hold his tongue while sensible people were talking."

He'd noticed now, though he pretended not to, that Kristoff was indeed listening; his thoughtful brown eyes had fixed on the prince in an expression of surprised and unselfconscious absorption. "The duckling left the farmhouse and went out into the world again," the prince continued. "He saw many beautiful things—including a family of great white swans. But the bitter winter came, and he got stuck in the ice over top the river. Eventually a peasant came and rescued him and brought him home for his children, but the duckling was afraid of the children and caused so much trouble—unintentionally, you understand—that the peasant's wife chased him out again."

Just as Hans was getting to the end of his story, a man walked over and said, "Kristoff, we need to go over the tallies with you; something isn't adding up."

"Alright, I'm coming." The blond man stood up, and Hans could have cursed. This was the part he wanted Kristoff to hear. But nevertheless, he finished the story, watching all the while as the ice harvester walked away.

The cold which had drifted through the open flap swirled around the cots and the reindeer's antlers, causing the candle to flicker and flare. The sleeping prince rolled over in his cot, restless, before his eyes opened. Hans frowned, confused, and looked over at Kristoff's cot.

It was empty.

He looked over to the tent flap, startled, and realized that it was loose and untied. A chill was seeping through the gap, and he could hear the plucking of lute strings, though the notes were off and the chords all seemed sour.

Hans got out of his cot and walked over, pushing the unlaced flap aside. Kristoff looked over as he walked out. He was leaning against the sled with his lute in his hand. Sven, who had clearly followed his master out, stood at his side. "Hey," the ice harvester said. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yes, but it's alright." He nodded to the lute. "Can't play?"

Kristoff sighed. "I keep messing up."

"It happens."

There was a long silence. Finally, Hans said, "…Is everything alright?"

"What? Oh, uh, yeah. Fine. Just, y'know, long day. Lot on my mind."

Hans nodded. There was another slight pause, before he asked, "…It's the princess, isn't it?"

Kristoff nearly jumped, startled by his bluntness. "What? No. No, no. We're fine. Everything's fine. Anna—she's great. Fantastic."

"Really," Hans scoffed. "Then I suppose that awkward breakfast with the Queen was all my and Elsa's doing?"

Kristoff sighed, dropping the act. "...Okay, yeah. We… sort of had a falling-out."

"Well, you needn't be so depressed about it; Anna never stays angry with anyone for long," Hans said matter-of-factly. "Trust me, I should know. By the time we get back, she'll probably have already forgiven you."

Kristoff snorted ruefully at that. "Yeah. I bet."

His tone was so clearly insincere that Hans knew he was lying, but the prince didn't press it. Again, they elapsed into silence. Kristoff's hands had stilled, and he set the lute aside on the sled. The guilt of the secret he was keeping seemed to twist and fall heavy in the ice cutter's chest, growing bigger and bigger until finally he had to say something. "Okay, if I tell you something, you gotta swear you'll never repeat it, to anyone," he said suddenly, turning to Hans.

Hans raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised; you don't exactly seem one for heart-to-hearts."

"Aw, forget it." He made as if to go back inside, but Hans caught his shoulder.

"No, hold on, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Clearly you've got something you need to get off your chest."

Kristoff grimaced. This was a mistake. He shouldn't be telling anyone about this, let alone Hans. But before he could stop himself, it all spilled out in a rush. "Thewedding'soff."

Hans stared. "What?"

"The wedding. It's off. We…we broke it off a few days ago, but we weren't going to tell anyone until, y'know, you skipped town."

"Off?" The whole notion seemed to perplex the prince, more so than Kristoff had expected. "That doesn't make any sense; she's in love with you-"

"Anna doesn't know the difference between true love and the fuzzy feeling she gets when a handsome guy on a horse offers to carry her off into the sunset," Kristoff snapped defensively.

His words stung, but Hans was too baffled to acknowledge it. "That may have been true in the past, but she's grown up a lot since she met me," he retorted sharply. "Do yourself a favor and stop acting petty; it's not a good look on you." Kristoff looked guilty. "What's the real reason? You're hiding something, I can see it in your face."

"That's not your business."

"You started this conversation. Anyway, don't you love her?"

"Of course I do!" Kristoff said vehemently. Then, he sighed. "Of course I do. I love her… more than anyone in the whole world." He slumped back against the sled. "But she's not just some country girl, she's a princess. A princess of a whole country, a country that needs someone who knows what he's doing. Maybe we're in love right now, but I know that she'll never be happy with me, I know…" He trailed off. "I know that I'm not the prince Anna and Arendelle deserve."

"The princess doesn't seem the kind to care about things like that," Hans said firmly.

"She didn't want me to wear my work coat in public. The reindeer-fur one." Comprehension dawned on the prince's face. "She'd never admit it, but I know I embarrass her in front of people like you. More to the point," said Kristoff tiredly, "you're right, I haven't…I dunno, been myself, with all this stress. If I'm losing my temper over little things now, I don't wanna imagine how I'd handle the pressure of being a prince." His face was set. "I can't be a good husband for her, so I shouldn't marry her. That's all there is to it."

His tone was so dishearteningly certain that Hans found for several seconds, he had no idea what to say. "…Have you informed the Queen?" he said finally.

"No. And you can't tell her," Kristoff urged.

"Doesn't she have the right to know?"

"Elsa has more than enough to deal with right now; Anna said we shouldn't stress her out any further than she already is."

Hans nodded, letting out a low sigh through his nose as he did. "…I know how this must sound, coming from me," he said quietly, "but I'm truly very sorry… I know how much you care for her."

Kristoff didn't respond, eyes staring at nothing. Hans realized that he probably wanted to be alone, so he stepped away and said, "…I'll leave the flap untied… You can come in whenever you like."

"Yeah. Thanks," Kristoff said dully.

Hans reached for the door flap. "Can I ask you something?" Kristoff said suddenly, looking back at the prince. The prince raised his eyebrows, and the mountain man chewed his lip for a second before saying, "…Whatever happened to the duckling? The one in your story, I mean."

"Oh," Hans said, surprised. "Well, it turned out he'd been a swan all along."

The incredible irony struck both of them at the same moment, and the two men fell silent. Finally, Kristoff turned away. "Yeah, well…it's a story."

"Right." Hans hesitated, and then disappeared inside.

As he lay down on his cot once more, he heard a shuffling noise from outside the tent. A moment later, the lute's plucking noise returned, playing a mournful tune with far too many wrong notes.

A/N: Love it? Hate it? Tell me what you think. : ) Pax et bonum, friends!