Chapter 11

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.

All the modern-English translations of Beowulf come from Seamus Heaney's translation; the quotes from Otto von Bismarck in the coronation scene are from his Iron and Blood address; and the lyrics of the hymn are the masculinized English version of the Heimr Àrnadalr.

Music for the chapter:

For the coronation: www. youtube. com [slash] watch?v=3AGhN4GCwKE

For the ball: https: [double slash] youtu. be[slash] xY0GEpbWreY (people noises); www. youtube. com [slash] playlist?list=PLsiEF5zINRD1zs4JspH6-I-bjKlkNz03d (music).


The coronation of King Johannes Andreas of the Royal House of Arendelle took place two months to the day after the declaration of the League victory and the annexation of Schwarzenbek and Ratzeburg into the Northern League, on the first of July, 1864. It was the heart of summer, and the wildflowers and the hanging garlands on the balconies were in full bloom.

The queen awoke early to find the bed beside her cool and empty; dim gray light from the pre-dawn drifted in through the window, and she arose and dressed in the near-dark in a gown of her own creation. A few servants greeted her in the halls, but otherwise the castle was still asleep despite its many guests.

She found her husband in the library, dressed in the same deep blue naval uniform as was worn by the king in the portrait above him, his white-gloved hand resting on the table. The queen watched him respectfully in silence for a minute or so before she spoke:

"You look like him, dressed like that."

Hans turned, the Order of the Crocus cross gleaming a dull gray-gold on his breast. "High compliment."

She approached him silently and stood beside him, both looking up into the portrait.

"You know, Eugene said something interesting about you last time we spoke."

"Did he…"

"He said men like you come along maybe twice in a generation. Men who can build an empire with their own two hands."

Hans was quiet a beat at that, and then said, "Well. Thank goodness we're such a rarity."

"Then you agree with him?"

"I don't know. I don't intend to find out."

She nodded. Another pause passed, and then her husband said pensively, "You know, at the christening ball I ended up talking to the Chancellor. He was the one who gave me the book of fairy tales."

"I guessed as much, but I don't quite understand why."

"It was a gift. In gratitude for my stories; he said his son likes them." But she could see in his eyes that he wasn't thinking about his own works. "We ended up discussing Briar Rose."

"Their founding märchen."

"Yes. I told him I knew it; he had a…particularly interesting interpretation of it." He tilted his head. "But, Teutonia isn't the only kingdom with a founding story."

"I imagine he knows the Isles'," said the queen with irony. "It's quite famous, after all."

"Him þæt tō mearce wearð," the prince quoted, in a deep and melodic voice that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine; it seemed to come from a different age, a better age—though she knew, with the same reason that warned against the temptations of empire, that the mythic ages had been no less wicked than the present."Hē þǣr for feorme feorh-wunde hlēat, sweordes swengum, sunu Hygelāces; ond him eft gewāt Ongenðīoes bearn hāmes nīosan, syððan Heardrēd læg, lēt ðone brego-stōl Bīowulf healdan, Gēatum wealdan."

"Þæt," she finished, "wæs gōd cyning."

Hans nodded distantly. "Yes," he agreed. "That was a good king." His expression was thoughtful. "And from that good king's most loyal retainer came my family." He turned to her. "Elsa, I've been thinking."

"So have I."

"Arendelle needs to modernize."

"I know. I've been reviewing the budget; we need to raise money for telegraph lines, and a sizeable donation set aside for the Herald–"

"That's not what I meant." She tilted her head. "It needs to modernize. The world is changing. We're still young, but we won't always be—and your parents died young. My mother did, too." He turned back to the portrait. "I've no doubt your sister and Kristoff would make excellent rulers, but we can't leave Arendelle's fate up to chance. The kingdom we leave behind must be able to survive without us."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying being a good king isn't enough—not for Arendelle. 'So this bad blood between us and the northmen, this vicious feud, I am convinced, is bound to revive; they will cross our borders and attack in force when they find out that Beowulf is dead.'" She recognized the meaning of the quote but said nothing, seeing he'd retreated again into his own thoughts. "Fairy tales teach us things," he murmured, and nodded as if to reassure himself. "It's up to us to learn from them."

She took his hand, and they looked upon the portrait of the late king together for a long while, until at last the silence was broken:

"Do you think we're ready?"

Their eyes met, green to blue, in the pale dawn light.


In the vestibule of the chapel, a young man of twenty-six waited for the ceremony to begin. The violet cape around his shoulders felt almost too warm for the weather, and the prince plucked at it, nervous. He looked around the empty narthex; unlike on his wedding night, he had been left here alone, as tradition obliged the royal family to meet him at the front of the chapel. Anna and Kristoff had wished him luck, in their own distinct ways, and the queen had given him a few words of encouragement:

"You'll be alright, just breathe and try to stay calm. Don't forget to take off the gloves before you pick up the scepter and orb."

"Elsa–"

"I'll be right there with you" And then she'd kissed his cheek and whispered so that the others could not hear his true fear: "You're going to make a good king."

And then she and the others had left him, the doors swinging softly shut behind them, and he was alone.

Hans stood silently now, leaning against the railing of the staircase up into the choir loft and staring at the embroidered crocus on the long cape, sweeping out in front of him from when he'd turned. So, she thought he'd be a good king, did she? He wasn't sure he had her confidence. He had tried to take this by force, once. Could a man like that ever truly be a gōd cyning? And as he'd told Elsa that morning, he had, at last, come to the realization that even being a good ruler was not enough—not for Arendelle, not for the new era. His boyhood dream had been too small, too petty. To be a good king…Perhaps that meant creating a kingdom that, in the end, could survive the man who wore the crown.

Hans knew himself as a man who needed to be needed. To foster an Arendelle that would eventually outgrow him…that would be the greatest challenge of all.

His head rose as he heard the choir in the chapel begin to harmonize. It was time. He straightened up, and felt his heart pounding. He had worked so hard to get here—had failed so often. The moment was before him, and, just outside of that moment, he felt a sudden and terrifying surge of unworthiness, and fear.

He was grateful for it.

In one swift motion he took off the gloves and set them on the railing. He turned to face the doors, steeling his nerve, steeling his conscience. He felt sparks burning just under his fingertips, longings and desires, and the realization that there was now no wickedness in fulfilling them.

He raised his head, and the doors opened.

"Verðug konungr stór…"

"Worthy King of Greatness; the Heart of gold shines."

The crowd of foreign dignitaries and citizens in their pews turned to watch as the prince paced forward in stately time, through the falling shafts of sunlight from the stained glass.

"For fifty years I ruled this nation. No king of any neighbouring clan would dare face me with troops, none had the power to intimidate me."

"We are too hot-blooded; we have a preference for putting on armor that is too big for our small body; and now we're actually supposed to utilize it."

"We crown Thee with hope, love, and faith."

The queen and her family stood straight and tall, preparing to receive him properly, as one of their own. Her face was etched in a visage of gravity; she bore in her hands the weight of his crown, symbol of her assent to the bestowing of power which had been dispensed likewise upon her.

"I took what came, cared for and stood by things in my keeping…"

"The position of Prussia in Germany will not be determined by its liberalism, but by its power. Bavaria, Württemberg, Baden may indulge liberalism, and yet no one will assign them Prussia's role."

"Beautiful, stony land; Home Árnadalr."

As all of Arendelle held its breath to witness the act of creation, and the international dignitaries trained their eyes upon the conferral of power, another man sat, far away in a quiet square office, and watched the world move below his window.

"Never fomented quarrels, never swore to a lie…"

"Prussia must concentrate its strength and hold it for the favorable moment, which has already come and gone several times."

"Follow the King of Light; follow the worthy King of Greatness."

The man, who was only a man, bowed his head in the sunlight, and the gold of the newly-smithed crown was delivered from the queen's hands into the bishop's, and then, with a shock at its reality in the man's heart, upon his head.

"All of this consoles me, doomed as I am and sickening for death…"

"Since the treaties of Vienna, our frontiers have been ill-designed for a healthy body politic."

"Follow the King of Light."

The new king raised his head; the photographer's magnesium flashed, and the moment was preserved for all history—the date marked, to be followed in the pages of history books what sort of king he was, and how he and the queen had lived, their reign and issue, and how the kingdom failed or prospered in their time.

"Because of my right ways…"

"Not through speeches and majority decisions will the great questions of the day be decided—"

"As he holds the holy properties…"

The scepter and the orb were taken up, the king weighing, as he turned to face his people, the balance of authority in one hand, and sacred responsibility in the other.

"...the Ruler of Mankind need never blame me, when the breath leaves my body…"

"—That was the mistake of 1848 and 1849—"

"And is crowned in this holy place…"

The people rose in a surge.

"...For murder of kinsmen."

"—But by iron and blood."

"I present to you…"


"Excuse me, your Majesty, but I am simply compelled by your beauty to request this dance."

His wife gave him a warm, albeit half-exasperated, smile. "See, now that is how you should have asked."

"Are you saying I had a chance?"

"Oh, no, definitely not; I was turning down everyone."

The new king touched a hand to his heart with an expression of faux-sorrow. "My queen, you wound me." He grinned as Elsa laughed and extended his hand. "Don't, not can't?"

She giggled, swept into a curtsy and accepted. A moment later she let out a gasp of surprise as she was twirled out into the heart of the ballroom and into the midst of the dancing dignitaries, frost swirling across the hardwood in time to the hardanger fiddles. He laughed and took her again by the waist as her hand found his shoulder.

"It's a lovely party, isn't it?" she said, looking around with pleasure. "Anna was in charge of the whole thing. I think she was determined to make amends for…last time."

"She really is quite the diplomat, isn't she?" Elsa smiled and inclined her head off to the side of the ballroom, and Hans followed her gaze to see the princess and her husband engaging in small-talk with a certain League representative. "Ah. The Lady Schönhausen, I see. Perhaps we should go over and make our introductions?"

"In a minute," his queen said, and then with a lower tone and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes: "You deserve to enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I am. Very much so. By the way," he nodded to her gown as he twirled her, "I've always liked this dress on you." For the occasion the queen had donned an ice-crystal replica of the very gown she'd worn for her own coronation, though now in midnight blue and sapphire, with white frost rosmåling in place of embroidery.

"Do you?" She took his hand again. "Anna always said it was a bit too conservative."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Anna used the word 'conservative?'"

"Well. She said it belonged in a nunnery."

He laughed. "My queen, I beg of you, never do me or the world the disservice of joining the cloister. Your fine wit alone, to say nothing of your beauty, are a bright flame without which we would all be quite in the dark."

Her mouth dropped open, and then she laughed. "Now which book did you get that out of?"

"Excuse you, I came up with that myself." She chuckled, and he twirled her again, before leaning in close to whisper in her ear: "Besides, you look lovely in blue."

On the other side of the ballroom, Princess Anna bade farewell to the Teutonian representative and was watching the pair in approval when she heard someone clear his throat and looked over. Her husband grinned at her and bowed as best as he could with the drinks in his hands. "Ambasador."

Anna giggled and curtsied. "Ambassador." Kristoff straightened up and handed her the glass he'd been carrying. "Ooh, lemonade. Thanks, I'm parched."

"I always forget how hot it gets in here during balls." He tugged at the wool collar of his ambassadorial tunic. "By the way, I talked to the grooms; the sleigh is all packed up. We'll be good to leave in a few days."

"It's weird," she commented frankly. "'Duchess' just sounds so…old. Not sure I like it."

"Aw c'mon, you'd be a cute little old lady." Anna giggled. "White hair and glasses–"

"Ooh, no," she shuddered, "I've seen myself with white hair. It's not a good look." Her husband suddenly sobered at the reminder, and she waved him off. "I'm fine. Speaking of leaving, have you heard anything from the garrison?"

"Got a letter yesterday; they say the manor house is ready for us to move in and they've started building extra barracks. And they've been seeing some of the young village men and even some of the women coming to enlist." Anna whistled. "I think Elsa will be able to pacify the Eastern Mountains, but Ruthinia is probably not going down without a fight."

"Have you heard back from Sáppa?"

Kristoff nodded. "His letter came in on the same cart. He said Risten and Joná have decided to sign—I mean, it wasn't exactly a hard sell, seeing as they know us personally. That'll make the three neighboring villages contiguous with our borders."

"That's good!" Anna exclaimed. Kristoff didn't answer. "And the rest of the villages?"

"Most of them have agreed to sign, though from what I hear it's more out of necessity—they'd prefer not to unify but they know there's not much of a choice. There's still a few holdouts to the northeast, but my guys tell me they think they can persuade them."

He took a drink from his champagne, and Anna noted the brooding expression on his face. "How are you doing?" she asked gently, her good humor softening.

"Well, Elsa was right. Empires are easier to defend than small kingdoms." He bit his tongue. "But I'm not going to say it doesn't make me feel like…I don't know, like I'm selling out. 'Collaborating with imperialism,' or something."

"This isn't the same thing," said Anna quietly. "My ancestors conquered the Northern March for their own gain; these villages are joining with us willingly."

"Only because they're between a rock and a hard place, and we're the least-bad option." Kristoff sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking around at his fellow dignitaries in their fine dresses and sparkling fringed epaulettes. "To be honest, Anna? What's getting to me is knowing I'm the one who stands to profit off this. I convince them to give up their independence, and get a duchy out of the deal? That's not a great look."

"Doing what's right is easy when it makes you look like a hero," his wife said frankly. "Not so much when it makes you look like an opportunist." She squeezed his hand. "But that's what being a ruler means. Sometimes you have to make the right choice even when it's unpopular."

Her husband nodded again, looking pensive. "Yeah. I just– I don't know, I guess I never thought I'd find myself sympathizing with–" But he cut himself off abruptly as something in the hall caught his attention. "Oh, for cryin' out loud."

"What?" He glanced meaningfully to a group of stuffy-looking foreign dignitaries not far off, and Anna caught their glances of disapproval. "Oh," she said, surprised. "Kristoff, really, I don't care what they think–"

"Well I care. Just because they've got some problem with seeing pregnant women in public–"

Anna's eyes suddenly lit up with mischief. "You know what I bet would really scandalize them?" Kristoff raised his brows in question, and she set her glass down on a nearby table and offered her hand. The prince grinned and led her out onto the floor for the next dance.

Not far off, the representatives from Corona had stepped aside themselves for a break and some refreshments, and Rapunzel beamed as her cousin and in-law gave their proper bows and curtsies to the departing king and queen, and then took their places in the circle. Anna and Kristoff began to twirl and pace in time to a traditional Arendellian folk dance, and Eugene chortled. "Ha! The Sphére is gonna have something to say about that!"

"They'll probably call it 'folksy,'" Rapunzel said, rolling her eyes with a fond smile as her cousin twirled, dress swirling. "But I wrote to Dr. Appia and he says all that stuff about pregnant women having to stay indoors for the last three months is nonsense."

"Speaking of, weren't you going to talk to the doctor about Scarlet Cross stuff while you were here?"

Rapunzel gasped and set down her drink. "I almost forgot! Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back!" She kissed his cheek and hurried away.

"Bring me back some punch!" Eugene called after, but wasn't sure she heard as she vanished into the crowd. Momentarily left alone, he made a survey of the ballroom. The new king and his queen were receiving congratulations from well-wishers, and various diplomats were milling around, enjoying the party or attempting to strike deals over the facilitating effects of good alcohol. He caught sight of the King of the Southern Isles standing off to the side of the room, similarly observing events with a glass of champagne in his hand, and was momentarily surprised, knowing that it was generally considered inappropriate for a king to attend another new monarch's coronation. His curiosity was interrupted, however, by the approach of a familiar presence out of the crowd.

"Prince Eugene." The general inclined his head, and the prince did the same.

"General von Helm. I wasn't expecting to see you here." Eugene couldn't help but be wary; he'd known Teutonia would be sending several representatives, but he hadn't expected one of them to be the general.

"As it happens, I requested the assignment."

"Oh." The Coronian cast an uncertain glance at the Arendellian king and queen. "I'm uh, guessing you didn't come for the kransekake?"

"As a matter of fact, Prince Eugene, it was because I wished to speak with you."

"With me?" His eyes swiveled back to the general. "Why?"

"Cölln-Bärlin would like to extend an invitation for you to visit again at the beginning of next month."

"Next month?" Jeez, hadn't he spent enough time away from home? Then the more important meaning hit him: "Wait, Cölln-Bärlin wants me? Why me?"

"You served the League well and aptly in the battles for Flusstadt and Schwarzenbek," the general said frankly. "Clearly you have tactical talents which the League would be remiss to waste."

Remiss to waste? What does that mean? "Sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I don't follow. The war's over…"

"This war," von Helm said calmly. Eugene eyed him with uncertainty. "Prince Eugene, have you ever heard of Philopoemen?"

"Uh– no, sir, I can't say I have."

"He was the strategos of the ancient Achaean League. Machiavelli writes of him as a great general, who in peacetime nevertheless thought of nothing but how a particular enemy might take advantage of a certain plot of terrain, and how the Achaeans could meet them."

"Sounds like a man to take inspiration from," Eugene remarked. If the General appreciated the joke, he didn't show it.

"Indeed. Prince Eugene, I am arranging a general staff for peacetime, who will be meeting in Cölln-Bärlin on the first of each month to draft plans for potential future conflicts. I would like you to be on that staff."

Eugene struggled to speak for a moment, before he managed an uncomfortable laugh. "Listen, I'm flattered, but I don't know much about– you know, running battles and–"

"No. But you know a great deal about risk and reward." The prince stared. "Consider the matter. Cölln-Bärlin would be grateful for your presence."

"…Danke schoen, sir."

The general turned to leave, and then paused and turned back. "Prince Eugene. You should know: you have my personal gratitude as well."

"Sir?"

"I was born in Schwarzenbek. My mother still lives there." And in the Roman-bust face, Eugene thought he saw something just a little bit alive. "Whatever tongue the dukes may have spoken, the common people always said our prayers in Germanic." The prince was struck dumb, and the general gave a cool inclination of his head. "In gratitude for Corona's service, Cölln-Bärlin will be allocating to her Heligoland and the rest of the North Frisian Islands."

"…Corona is grateful and honored, sir."

"I will convey as much to the Chancellor. Your Highness."

"General."

And with that von Helm was gone, vanishing into the crowd. Eugene stared after him, a bit dazed.

"Hey." He turned. Rapunzel was beaming at him, holding out a glass of punch. He accepted it, brow still pinched, and she frowned. "You okay? Did something happen?"

"I– yeah." He looked back at the spot where the general had disappeared. "Yeah, I'm fine." He paused. "I think Corona just got bigger."

"What do you mean?"

Up near the throne dais, the king and queen had just finished receiving their last well-wisher. "You know," Hans said conversationally, scanning the ballroom, "not one of my brothers has congratulated me."

"Agnar did right after the ceremony," Elsa pointed out. "The Herald got a picture of it."

"I meant the rest of them." But he was smirking. "And after you were so generous as to invite them. Do you think I should go say hello?"

"Hans, really, don't ruin this for yourself by antagonizing them."

He glanced at her and softened. "You're right. I don't need their approval." He nodded to the other king across the ballroom, who was standing more or less alone. "I think I should go talk to Agnar, though. He looks like he could use some company."

She squeezed his hand, and he marveled at that—five years ago, the small act of affection would have been impossible for both of them. "Go on, then."

"My queen." He turned and swept his wife's hand up to his lips, and relished in her blush. "I won't be long."

Elsa watched him go, still pink in the cheeks, and was so lost in her daze that she jumped when a heavily-accented voice said in Germanic: "Your Majesty."

"I– oh!" She blushed darker at seeing the ice crystalizing over the shoes of the foreign princess, and bowed. "Sultana Masoumeh. My apologies, I didn't mean–"

"It is quite alright." The Levantine princess had donned a dazzling peacock-green and sunset-violet clasp-gown and veil, which glittered with small crystals like stars. "I had hoped to congratulate His Majesty on his coronation, but it appears he has vanished?"

"Yes, he went to talk to his brother."

"Ah, then it is my misfortune. I will have to do so later. Though perhaps we may talk, the two of us?" She saw the queen's hesitance, and added: "It always seems to me a relief, to discuss pleasant matters after such heady political troubles."

Ah. So she doesn't want to talk politics, then. "Yes, I quite agree. Speaking of pleasure, I wanted to thank you for your lovely gift," Elsa added. "The Commentary has proved…quite useful."

The sultana bowed her head. "We had hoped you would find it valuable in your studies." Her dark eyes glittered as she rose with a smile. "Philosopher-queen."

Elsa blinked, surprised, and then smiled back. "You flatter me."

"It is a princess's work to make friends of all and enemies of none, your Majesty." Her smile grew slightly sad at that. "We had hoped Arendelle would be just such a friend in troubled times."

So she knows. Elsa felt struck by a pang of sympathy for the fellow-royal; she and Hans had discussed on many occasions the declining fortunes of the Levantine empire in the wake of the birth of industry and the spreading flames of revolution. She knows that it's futile. And with the statement we made in the Herald, she's given up on getting any help from us.

"I cannot speak for Arendelle," she said softly so that no one else could hear, and the sultana inclined her head, "but you have certainly found a friend in me. My husband is a philosopher in some respects, but I'm afraid his natural love of wisdom rather stops at the Just State." The Levantine woman chuckled. "It would be a pleasure to discuss the…things above, with someone."

"It would be my honor to start a correspondence, your Majesty."

"And of course," Elsa said firmly, "you are always welcome in Arendelle."

"Thank you." It was clear from the way the sultana's smile grew more rueful still that she had caught the implicit offer of refuge in exile. "I hope to be able to visit again under such pleasant circumstances."

Across the room, the new king approached the elder and held out a glass. "Don't tell me you're not drinking at a coronation ball," Hans scolded, "even if it is a Friday."

Agnar accepted the champagne. "I'm not insensible, Hans."

"Glad to hear it." He watched his brother take a sip and then added somewhat more seriously: "Thank you for coming. I know it's not traditional, but…"

"I would have looked quite the fool, turning down a personal invitation from the new King of Arendelle—especially after he's shown such favor to the Southern Isles." Hans smiled, and Agnar gave an ironic nod. "Additionally, considering the last Arendellian coronation, I didn't want to miss the excitement."

Hans laughed aloud at that. "Well, here's hoping I don't burn down the kingdom." Agnar "mm"ed at that. "Besides, I don't think I'd have much success trying to magic myself up a palace of flames. It was helpful in lighting the chandeliers, though…"

"I imagine. Speaking of Southern representatives, I see you've invited our dear siblings to the occasion?"

"Well, it didn't feel entirely fair to leave them out doing hard labor on the river while you and I got to drink champagne and dance with beautiful women. Though," he nodded across the room to the surly group, "I'm sure you've noticed we're missing a few faces."

"Yes; what a shame we couldn't all be together for this happy occasion," Agnar said dryly. Hans snorted into his glass. "I see Balthazar is absent."

"Ah, yes. Currently he's in a holding cell on charges of breaking the terms of his parole. To tell you the truth I rather think he did it on purpose so he wouldn't have to be here tonight."

"Hm. And Lief?"

"He's here." Hans nodded to a man standing in the corner speaking to a young Arendellian noblewoman, and Agnar looked surprised. "He's gained a bit of a backbone since last you saw him. In fact we're releasing him early on account of good behavior."

"That could be problematic."

But Hans shook his head. "Keep him away from the aristocracy and you'll be fine. He has absolutely no desire whatsoever of being king."

"I see. And where is Karl? Or has he gotten himself mixed up in his own version of 'bad behavior?'" Agnar wondered, recalling the several dependency-support funds the crown's coffers were currently paying back in the Isles.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Hans smirked. "Our profligate brother has apparently discovered a calling to the monastic cell."

Agnar choked on his drink and coughed violently. "What?"

"Of course, in my humble and impious opinion, I think the main attraction was getting away from the ice floes." The King of the Isles nodded and coughed again. "And I see Gunnar couldn't make it."

"He was, unfortunately, too busy."

Hans snorted and rolled his eyes. "I suppose he's been behaving?"

"He and the rest of the military. Ever since you let it slip to the Budbringer that I've been courting the cousin of the Iron Chancellor, things have rather calmed down."

"Excellent," Hans said, visibly relieved. "By the way, I've just met your bride-to-be; she's a lovely woman."

"I'm sure," Agnar said, his mood falling by degrees.

Hans blinked. "You mean you haven't met her yet?" Agnar took a sip from his drink. "Why on earth not? I thought you were planning to propose tonight."

"I am."

"But–"

"Hans, I'd rather not discuss the matter."

The King of Arendelle eyed his brother uncertainly, and then nodded. "Alright, we don't have to. As it happens…" He retrieved several folded-up pages from within his jacket pocket. "I've finished another manuscript. Is Bertram with you?"

"Look behind you." Hans glanced over his shoulder and saw his former jailer give him a nod, dressed in Southern diplomatic wear and hair slicked back.

"Bertram! My word, I didn't even recognize you!" They shook hands.

"That was the point, your Highness. May I see?" Hans handed over the manuscript, and the guard looked over it. "The Nightingale. What's it about?"

"Art and politics," Hans said vaguely. "Whenabouts do you think it'll be published?"

"I'll have my boy run it down to the Budbringer first thing when we arrive home, your Highness." The guard corrected himself. "Your Majesty."

"Bertram, if anyone has the right to call me by my Christian name, it's you," Hans said seriously. "And please, I want to give you and your family some repayment."

"I'm the personal guard of the king; that's a fine enough repayment by most men's standards."

"I meant something more substantial than that. I'm a king now, and goodness knows I wouldn't have lived to see this day without you. Name your reward; if I can grant it, I will."

"Your Majesty, my family has served the Westergaards for four generations," Bertram replied firmly. "To see honor and dignity returned to the throne of the Southern Isles is all the reward a royal guardsman could want."

Hans studied him for a moment, and then looked to the manuscript in the guard's hands, and gave a rueful chuckle. "Well. I suppose I can understand that." He pointed to the guard. "All the same, remember that if you ever want for anything, all you have to do is ask."

Bertram inclined his head with a smile. "I will bear it in mind, your Majesty." But Hans knew that the man who had shown him kindness without any prospect of reward would never ask for one. He resolved internally to ensure that the guardsman's children and grandchildren would never lack for anything. "Sire." Agnar raised an eyebrow. "May I be excused for the moment? I did promise my wife a dance."

"Ah yes. By all means, take the hour; Herman can manage on his own, I believe."

The disguised guardsman bowed and vanished into the crowd. A moment later, Hans saw him bowing and offering his hand to a well-dressed Hulda, who looked dazed and delighted to be at such an affair. He noticed out of the corner of his eye as another "undefined nobleman" sidled up behind them. "I see that Royal Intelligence has introduced a new position," he said quietly, behind his glass.

Agnar ignored this. "Art and politics. Are you trying to tell me something, Hans?"

The new king grinned. "Now brother, what would make you think that?" He saw Agnar's face and softened. "It's only a joke. But," he tilted his head thoughtfully, taking a drink from his champagne, "so long as we're discussing espionage–"

"I'm not sure how I feel about a foreign king having such intimate details about the inner workings of the Isles."

Hans shrugged. "So change it." Agnar rolled his eyes, indicating that this was easier said than done. "If you're going to spy on the people—and frankly, considering the current instability, I don't blame you—it might be worth taking their complaints, and suggestions, into consideration. You don't have to be a populist to know that bad conditions create unrest, brother."

"I'm doing what I can, Hans. Real change is a slow process."

"I know." He hesitated, and then, with the wrenching feeling of finally swearing off a preferred vice, gave his brother a slightly pained smile. "The people will come around in time. The Isles…has a good king."

And Agnar knew what that had cost him. He gave a single, solemn nod. "Thank you."

"If you'll excuse me, I'm fairly certain my queen is looking for me." Hans gave him a meaningful nod towards the crowd. "And you ought to go find yours."

"I will in time." The younger king turned to leave, and suddenly Agnar spoke again: "Hans."

His brother looked back, the violet cape swept around behind him, the Arendellian crocus bright in the warm light. Agnar raised his glass. "Congratulations. Arendelle is, likewise, fortunate."

For a moment, Hans looked stunned, his eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. He looked, Agnar noted, rather like a child unexpectedly praised. Then the young king smiled, a warm and genuine smile.

"Thank you, brother."

Agnar watched him leave, watched as Hans met his lovely queen near the balcony doors. They seemed to speak between themselves, their faces open and happy, and then Hans gestured towards the balcony. Unbeknown to them, the King of the Southern Isles saw how their hands found one another and clasped together as the pair looked out over the balcony, framed by the lamplights and house-lights of their good and happy kingdom.


The ball had lasted long into the late hours of the night; it seemed the Arendellians were eager to make up for lost time at their last royal coronation. Agnar sat down in the desk-chair in his cabin, grateful it was over.

So, little Hans has become a king. And of Arendelle, no less. He had expected to feel bitter about that, and a small and puerile part of him had—but in the end he had heeded the better and wiser part. He thought his mother would have been proud.

There was a knock at the door of his cabin, and he rose. Grimsby was outside in the hall. He bowed low. "Your Majesty. The Lady Schönhausen and her son are awaiting your permission to board."

"Her son?" Then he remembered. "Oh, yes, the boy…"

"Yes, Sire, it seems he insisted on coming to see the ship; shall I show them to your cabin?"

"No; I will greet them above-decks. You may go, Grimsby."

"Very good, Sire."

Grimsby left, and the king checked his reflection in the mirror, straightening his military jacket and sword. After that, he didn't know what else to do. He thought about parting his hair differently, and then dismissed the idea as sure to make him look like an idiot. He wished he hadn't dismissed Grimsby; Agnar had rarely concerned himself with the fairer sex precisely insofar as they were, ah, fairer and had little-to-no knowledge of how to proceed with a heady matter like a proposal. The only woman with whom he'd ever had any real contact, beyond flatly dismissing some poor faux-ingenue's attempts at flirtation, was his brother's wife. He wondered how Hans had proposed. Then he realized it didn't matter; neither he nor the Lady Shönhausen, he was sure, were expecting romance from this union.

The Lady Schönhausen. Agnar had never been exactly keen on the idea of marriage, though he'd always known it would be a necessity (even in his darkest days he'd seen that Balthazar, who let his petty and sadistic tendencies get the better of his commons ense, was not fit to rule). With a little more self-reflection under his belt these three years later, he could see that his distaste for the institution was due to the abuse his mother and siblings, as well as himself, had suffered at his father's hand. But he had put off his choice of a bride nearly too long, and the offer of a marriage to a powerful League family—who could then back his claim to the Southern throne with more than just words—was too opportune to turn down. Still, I know nothing about her, he thought with displeasure, and then: Perhaps that's for the best. Perhaps we'll rarely have to see each other…Yes, that would be ideal, she would be free to live as she pleased and he, he would never be tempted to treat her as a kept woman…

He straightened his jacket again and then left, nodding to Bertram as he shut the cabin door behind him. The guard gave a nod back that Agnar thought may have been meant to be encouraging. If it was, it did little to help his mood.

Grimsby was not above-deck when he reached the top of the steps, and that was a matter of no small concern; Agnar had not been expecting to meet the woman alone. He scanned the deck of the ship in quiet despair, and then turned at the sound of the gangplank being lowered.

He caught sight of two figures on the dock below, one definitely feminine, before the shorter figure was dashing up the gangplank with a whoop of glee that caused the king to stumble sideways—and just in time, too, lest the child have barrelled straight into him. There was a blur of black hair and white linen shirt as the boy rushed past him and then stopped in the center of the deck, peering around at the ship with mouth agape in breathless awe. He had a penny-whistle grasped tightly in one fist. So that's the boy. Agnar turned. Then she must be…

His train of thought abruptly veered off the rails and vanished into the undergrowth.

The woman who was ascending the gangplank was, in an adjective, handsome. As a young woman she must certainly have been a devastating beauty; now approaching middle-age, her beauty had become the stately strength and maturity which suits some women, as some men, better than even the fresh bloom of youth. Her black hair was shot through with flecks of silver, her pale blue eyes edged with the beginning of crows' feet, and when she swept aboard the ship with her gown of dark silk rustling in the evening wind, the king felt the way one does when a sudden thunderstorm whips up over the sea in August.

"Your Majesty." She swept into a curtsy, her pale eyes never leaving his. He cleared his throat and bowed.

"Lady Schönhausen. Ah– I hope the journey went well?"

Her lip quirked. "Yes. A pity we did not have the chance to talk at the ball."

Agnar flushed. He was saved from having to answer when the door to below-decks opened again and Grimsby appeared at the top of it, followed—to the boy's infinite delight—by a small gaggle of gray, fuzzy puppies.

"Oh, wow!"

The king watched, mortified, as the widow's son launched himself into the midst of the barking stampede, giggling as the puppies clambered up onto his knees to lick his face. The Lady Schönhausen chuckled, and the king felt his face turn even redder. "Forgive me, your ladyship," he muttered. "The, ah, the ship's dog just had puppies." This could not be going worse.

The boy had gotten to his feet and started playing his penny-whistle; one of the pups in particular seemed to appreciate it, leaping around his feet and yapping in time to the music. The boy laughed and played another reel, while the dog did a fairly good, if unintentional, imitation of a jig.

"…Do you like dogs, boy?" Agnar asked, and realized with surprise that despite his embarrassment, a smile had found its way to his face. The widow's son reminded him of himself at that age. The boy turned and nodded eagerly, the "jigging" pup still frockling at his feet. "Why don't you keep that one?"

The child gasped. "You mean it? Really?"

"Mm. What will you name him?"

"Magnus Maximus!"

"He's been studying classical history lately," the widow added. The boy peered up at the stern-faced king and saw, to his delight, a twinkle in his green eyes.

"Maximus is a good name for a dog. Why don't you and Grimsby play with him up here? Your mother and I have important matters to discuss."

"Eric, what do you say?" the widow reminded him.

And then, to Agnar's shock, the boy leapt to his feet and threw his arms around the king's waist.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Um– certainly." He patted the boy's head, unsure, and the child beamed up at him. "Grimsby, keep him entertained."

"Sire."

They descended below-decks, the sound of the penny-whistle fading away as they walked down the stairs. Agnar glanced around uncomfortably. "He's a fine child."

"He loves dogs," the widow said fondly. "His father's old hunting hound passed just a few months ago."

"Ah. His father has been gone now two years, as I recall."

"Yes; Eric misses him terribly."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

The widow's reply was startlingly frank: "My husband was a good man, but we had little in common. I miss him more as an acquaintance than as a friend."

"I see…" Agnar watched her in curiosity as they passed underneath a lantern. She walked very straight-backed, he noted, with her head lifted. She had a strong jaw. An inkling was beginning to dawn on him that he may have gotten more than he'd bargained for with this one.

Bertram gave them another snap-to-attention salute as they reached the king's cabin and opened the door. "Very spit-and-polish," the widow commented as the door shut behind them.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about the man. My brother swears by his loyalty, though."

"Yes, and goodness knows there's little of that in the Isles at the moment." He was so startled by this decorum-breaching forthrightness that he couldn't conceive of a response, and the Lady Schönhausen was left free to make a survey of the room. She noted the tortoise-shell box and the chess board set out on the desk. "You play?"

"My brothers and I were all taught chess professionally. Our father was insistent on the matter."

"A king insistent on teaching his heir to play chess," she mused. "How very…medieval."

"He was medieval in many manners, your Ladyship—aside, of course, from any of the dignified ones." She snorted at that, and he felt a flash of grim appreciation. People rarely laughed at his jokes. "However, of his many mistakes, insisting we master the game was not, I think, one of them."

"Indeed. I enjoy a good match myself; I have one going with my cousin at the moment."

"I imagine he finds it relaxing." Agnar cast a wry glance at the board. "Pure strategy, with no real consequences."

"Perhaps. I find it rather…invigorating." She must have seen the surprise on his face, for she offered him a dry smile. "There isn't much to do in a nice manor in a pastoral duchy that basically runs itself."

"Surely there are…appropriate diversions. Hosting parties, and such…"

She fixed him with a cool steady gaze. "And what makes you think a woman of my age and capacities has any interest in 'diversions?'"

Agnar colored. He could almost see his youngest brother rolling his eyes at him. Didn't you learn anything growing up under our father's reign? Mother would have made ten times the ruler he was. "I…Forgive me, Lady Schönhausen. I spoke foolishly."

"You did," she said, though not unkindly, as she sat down in the chair opposite his. "But you admitted it, and that makes you less of a fool than most people."

"I suppose I'll take that as a compliment." He cleared his throat. "I'm certain you have…anticipated the reason I invited you here this evening."

"The Southern Isles needs a new queen," she said brusquely, "and you need an army that isn't interested in seeing your head in a Francian picnic basket."

"Roughly, yes, that's the shape of things."

"Tying the House of Westergaard to the Iron Chancellor and the house of Eisen is a good start, and I admire your brother's foresight in setting these events in motion. But between the two of us, King Agnar, it will not be enough."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Picnic baskets are a popular commodity, your Majesty; the common people have been known to carry them as often as the military. Giving your people the material opportunities to use them for carrying cheese and wine, I find, helps fill the space which they might otherwise be tempted to occupy with your head." She saw his expression and added: "I do hope you weren't expecting a giggling courtier to wed and bed, King Agnar. Your people need a queen, not a concubine. Though I do find that my, excuse me, frankness of discourse sometimes wounds the pride of powerful men."

"Respectfully, your ladyship, I know something about the dangers of nursing a wounded pride."

He couldn't, quite, restrain the bitterness in his tone. The widow studied him, as if assessing the odds of some decision. Then she spoke.

"King Agnar, if we in Teutonia have heard word of the dissatisfaction in the Isles, then surely it has not escaped your attention in the heart of Hagenkopen."

The king gave her a sharp look. Is she trying to rub it in? "The trouble of being the eldest of thirteen, madame, is that there are twelve others who the people always somehow believe will be a better match."

"The people," she countered, "are not interested in your field marshal or a few dowdy ministers of trade."

"Yes, well." He was growing irritated. "Hans has always had a talent for being liked, and he did just stop a war. It's no surprise that the commoners currently favor him."

"And what do you think the Chancellor thought of that?"

"I imagine he anticipated the war would cause some unrest–"

"Anticipated? Or intended?"

Agnar fell silent, startled. He had the feeling he had just overlooked some essential piece of the puzzle.

"Your brother is a dangerous man," the noblewoman stated frankly. "He's even more dangerous now, with the ice queen of Arendelle at his side. In the coming war with Francia–"

"Francia?" The king felt wrong-footed. "Don't you mean the House of Weiss?"

"Of course not." She fixed him with a calculating gaze. "My cousin wants to unify the Germanic kingdoms, not occupy them. What war there will be with Weiss will be brief and negligible compared to the larger conflict; once the northern kingdoms have unified under League control, the Chancellor must persuade the southern kingdoms to join willingly. Some are already taking notice; Munichen, for one, is distancing itself from Weiss, but it will need assurances before it joins with anyone."

"And where Munichen goes, the rest will follow," Agnar concluded, nodding in understanding. "I see."

Her eyes widened appreciatively. "You know something of Germanic politics."

"I have made a recent study of it. The rest of the world powers may not understand the significance–" She smiled at the rather polite euphemism, "–of the sudden birth of a Germanic Empire, but the Southern Isles can no longer afford the luxury of ignorance."

She nodded thoughtfully. "To sway the southern kingdoms to the Empire's flag, I believe my cousin will create a common enemy in whose fire the sentiments of brotherhood and fatherland will be formed. That enemy will almost certainly be Francia, thereby framing the League as the southern kingdoms' new protector. Ruthinia would have been another candidate," she added, "but my cousin recognized what the Eastern Mountains and the Francian Emperor did not."

Agnar snorted; of the few hard-and-fast rules of warfare, do not test a Ruthinian winter was the one which the world never quite seemed to learn. The Lady Schönhausen gestured as if the following conclusion were forgone: "An alliance with either your brother or the Queen of Arendelle would be an invaluable asset in winning that war and in convincing formerly Weiss-friendly kingdoms that a Germanic Empire can defend them from exterior threats. The throne of the Southern Isles, I'm sure you agree, would have made a fine reward for such services."

"Queen Elsa would never allow herself to become a pawn in the Chancellor's games."

"No. But he had hoped your brother would. In that, he proved wrong."

Ahah. And there it was, the last piece of the puzzle. "So. This whole farce—going to war, losing the duchies—this was merely the Chancellor's manner of courting Hans." The king couldn't help but sound bitter.

"Your brother set you up for success by arranging our courtship," Lady Schönhausen said sharply. "He could have taken the Southern Isles from you and didn't." Agnar, grudgingly, had to concede this. "If we were to marry, and with the might of the League behind you, not one of your aristocratic families, or your brothers, would dare attempt a coup against you. You can proceed with your plan of modernization as you see fit, curry favor with the people and usher your kingdom into an era of stability, economic prosperity and greater enfranchisement for the common man."

Something about her tone made the king peer at her in surprise. "Forgive me, Lady Schönhausen, but you don't sound much like a conservative."

"I'm not." At his surprised expression she tilted her head, pale blue eyes gleaming in the lantern-light. "Is that so surprising?"

"From the cousin of the Iron Chancellor? Indeed it is." He dropped pretenses. "Why are you telling me all of this? Surely your cousin, at the very least, would not want such intimate League details revealed to a foreign monarch."

"Perhaps you have romanced it out of me. I am to be your queen, after all."

"Madame, with all respect, I would thank you not to tease me in such grave matters. I have little experience in romancing—far less, I daresay, than I have in ruling, and I have paid no small price to acquire that." He leaned forward slightly over the desk and met her gaze. "The world has underestimated the House of Eisen, but I am not so much a fool as to make that mistake twice. Your Ladyship."

The woman studied him for a long few seconds, and he knew she was sizing him up once again. Her eyes were that same pale blue as her son's, as the Chancellor's, and her dark gray-flecked hair framed a face equally as iron and calculating. Agnar had spent much of his life trying to prove that he was not the smaller fish in the pond, with mixed success—yet for the first time, he saw in the eyes of an appraiser, neither doubt nor fear, but respect.

"If my cousin has a fault," she said at last, "it is that, although he may have thought through every move in the game, he never thinks about what will happen after he's won."

"What do you mean?"

The countess ran her fingers along the top of the tortoise-shell box. "When the game is over," she said thoughtfully, "the board doesn't stay set. You put the pieces away, snuff the lights, and close the door." She flipped open the clasp. "And eventually, somebody else comes in for a new game and resets the board. That is my cousin's great flaw. He cannot conceive of a world where he's no longer around to run it. He cannot conceive of a game where he is no longer a player."

Agnar raised his eyebrows. "You believe somebody else will undo his work?"

"The crown prince of Teutonia—and future Kaiser of the Empire—doesn't much care for the Chancellor. He feels overshadowed by von Eisen—wants to make something for himself."

The king caught her meaning. "You mean he wants to fix what isn't broken."

"Precisely. Until that time, if you have the favor of the Chancellor, you have the backing of the League's military might. But your kingdom needs to modernize. Quickly. The world is changing, King Agnar. My cousin has created a system only he can hold together, and someday he will not be around to do so. Someday, perhaps not long after, neither will we. What kind of nation do you want to leave for your people? For your children?"

Agnar thought about the little boy who had dashed past his ankles, his penny-whistle clutched in his childish fist. "And you believe you can build the Isles into the sort of nation that can survive those changes?"

"With a Westergaard at my side? I do." She opened the box. "And I believe it would be an enjoyable game."

She did not yet place a single piece, waiting to see if he would accept the unspoken invitation. Agnar met her gray-blue eyes, and to his surprise, felt flattered at how cleverly she'd arranged it. He recalled something Grimsby had said once, about how women usually do the proposing, even if the man offers the more mineral symbol. "I was never as good as my brother at chess," he mused aloud, as he began to set up the board. "But I daresay I can hold my own." He held out the red queen to her.

The lady accepted the move with a smile.

Fin.


A/N: And that's the end of it, folks!

I do hope you liked it; this was, as you probably noticed, written in a markedly different (and hopefully more mature) style from Pierced Hearts, though with similar philosophical underpinnings. This was my first experiment in plotting a story from start to finish before actually sitting down to write it, and I'm pleased to say it I think it went well.

Obviously, much of this story has been based off (okay, stolen from) Otto von Bismarck and the Second Schleswig-Holstein War. If you would like to learn more about Otto von Bismarck or the war in an entertaining, educational way, feel free to reference Extra History's Otto von Bismarck playlist here: www. youtube. com [slash] watch?v=zc3Y-dU_GjM&list=PLhyKYa0YJ_5DTz_FAbdQyXo9TZdx1hTWf .

It has, as always, been an honor to write for you; I would like to especially thank Jacob Flores, RedHood001, Usualguest, Sadistic Lunatic, and all my wonderful reviewers for your support of this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

I'm afraid I probably won't be writing much fanfiction, if any, for a long time after this; I've decided to focus almost exclusively on my own projects. Thank you all, once again, for your support; I would not be where I am today without the Frozen fanfiction community. Writing these stories and getting your feedback, from six years ago to today, gave me confidence in my abilities and hope in my dreams. I love you all and wish you all the best in your own writing journeys.

For the final time: pax et bonum—peace and goodwill—to you all, good luck, and farewell.

-FFcrazy15