a/n; Good news: I cleaned up this chapter enough to the point of posting it. Bad news: I haven't started the next chapter, but I will have it posted as soon as I can. Thank you all again for the extremely lovely reviews! I appreciate the patience and the support, as always.

In the morning, Hans is not taken to the fields. Julian answers that he is "being given a day off by order of the queens". That makes him nervous—and curious. Curious because queens, plural, can only mean his mother agreed.

He's been lying awake in his bed and pacing along his cell for the better part of the entire morning, unsure what to do with himself. He hasn't not been to the fields for several months. The change of routine has him unsettled and uncomfortable, until he is finally put out of his misery.

She visits him right before the lunch hour.

He feels very inadequate standing before her in his prisoner garb, but she smiles at him like she doesn't mind it. He's not sure why that's something he's worrying about. He was wearing a similar garb the day before.

"Elsa," he greets.

"Hans," she greets back.

He has a sudden and frightening image that last night was only a dream. It's vanquished when she kisses his cheek.

His blush is immediate and embarrassing.

"It is…very good to see you," Hans says.

"You as well," she answers. Her eyes glitter with amusement. "Have a good night's rest?"

He thinks about bravado. "Hardly," he answers, instead. "You?"

"Not a wink."

He stares at her smile for a minute before he realizes he should at least try to give her some accommodations. He pulls out the only chair from under his desk and gestures for her to take a seat. She takes it.

"Thank you, Hans."

"Of course," he says. He clears his throat. "I find it very curious that I have been… 'given a day off' from field work, today."

"Really? I don't find it that curious at all."

Her innocent look is very suspicious.

"Well, Julian told me the it was 'by order of the queens.' Not one queen, but two."

Elsa sighs. "I told you your mother doesn't hate you." She pauses. "I actually….talked with her this morning, and she agreed that one day of rest from the fields may be good for you."

Hans raises a brow. "You talked with my mother? And she agreed with one day of no punishment?"

Elsa folds her hands in her lap. "Yes, that's correct."

Hans rubs a hand over his chin. "Are you sure it wasn't a proposition? Because I can't see my mother agreeing to something so…"

Elsa shakes her head, almost laughing. "I did not proposition her! I merely asked what she thought. She said she didn't think it would do any harm."

Hans shakes his shackles. "Only as long as I have these on, though, right?"

Elsa hesitates. "Well…"

"I knew it. She'd never agree to freedom." He doesn't mind it. Honestly, it's a surprise that he finds quite nice, and he usually hates surprises. "Regardless, I must thank you, Elsa, for letting me have this day. I never thought I'd have one."

She smiles sadly. "Hans…"

"But this does mean that I have nothing to offer you to do, except sit around in a cell. So, I'm not sure if this would be considered a mercy."

Elsa rolls her eyes at him. "Well, if you would rather, I can easily allow you to be shepherded back to the fields."

He takes a seat on his bed pallet, grinning at her. "No, that's okay. I like this view better."

"That's what I thought."

"I actually think I wear this disheveled, prisoner's look pretty well."

"Oh? What gave you that idea?"

This is where the bravado comes in. Kind of. He shrugs nonchalantly. "You know. Brings out the cavalier recklessness in me. It's also nice I haven't looked in a mirror in about a year or so."

Elsa blinks. "Really? A year?"

By the incredulous tone of her voice, he feels like he let out a secret he didn't realize was a secret. "Uh," he stumbles. "I think so."

"How do you…I mean, what about your hair?"

"Julian usually grooms me, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh," she answers. "I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Her uncertainly over the topic pulls out a smile from him. "Don't be. I think it's been for the best. I'm happy I haven't been forced to look upon myself day in, day out. I was quite vain about my looks. It would have been depressing watching my own…ah, evolution."

That's only partially true. He had been vain, before Arendelle. He held onto it like it was his saving grace. Thirteenth he may well be, but the gods looked upon him for his bone structure and the skin stretched like a canvas. The thing he had that substantiated his charm. It's easier when you are decently good-looking.

He must look frightful, now. He hasn't let his thoughts linger too much over the idea. He hasn't much cared enough about it. Until Elsa—until the possibility to see her. And even then, he pushed that away, because why would it matter?

It still doesn't matter, not really. They read each other's words and have seen each other's souls. They didn't watch each other's expressions, the movement of skin, freckles, the cartilages of their noses.

As she looks over him, now, he knows that she sees into the cavern of his abdomen, where his spirit might reside, rather than the skin that tries its best to hide it.

"Perhaps," she finally answers, her eyes vivid in their scrutiny. "I wonder what you would think about what you looked like, now."

He scoffs a laugh. "Probably nothing good, I assure you."

She watches him for a while before she says, "It had helped me—giving myself a good, hard look in the mirror on some mornings. Remembering mistakes and faults, the love felt by Anna, everything that embodied who I wanted to be. Telling myself I was good enough." She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "It is…a personal thing. It might help you, as well, Hans. You never know."

Hans thinks about Elsa, giving herself a pep talk in the mornings. Telling herself that she deserved the love she received, when she held onto the belief that she didn't. He sees that girl—woman—sitting before him, with her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, her head held high even under the weight of a crown.

"You may be right," he concedes. "I'll have to try it, sometime."

She gives him a hint of a smile, and he gives one back to her. He feels a thread of understanding tugging at his chest as he stares at her.

"I'm…going back to Arendelle today, after I discuss something with you," she says, breaking the silence between them.

"So soon?" he hears himself ask quietly. He clears his throat. "I mean to say, yes, of course. A country needs its queen, after all."

She shifts in her seat. "That being said…Hans, I did also make a proposition to your parents this morning."

He begins to frown. "What do you mean?"

Elsa lets her confident veneer slip just slightly, her shoulders coming forward in a second of insecurity.

"We discussed the possibility of a reduced sentence for you," she says.

He blinks, the words jolting him to sit up straight. "What?"

Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, and her eyes find a spot on the floor by his feet. "Your parents were of the idea to keep you in this basement and the cycle of labor year-round for at least as long as it took the rest of your brothers to marry, using the idea of Arendelle's punishment for treason and attempted murder. Arendelle laws dictate life in prison, but your family wanted to use it for a specific period of time. By then, they thought you would have learned the…lesson of humility, hard work, and gaining what you earned—not by stealing it, but by working for it. Then, they were going to apply the Southern Isles' true verdict of punishment. They didn't want the sentences to run concurrently, and…as we both know, the Southern Isles' punishment for treason and attempted murder is execution."

Hans did know that. He assumed that his parents would dole out the punishment they deemed necessary, but their true laws would be in effect whenever his family decided it was time. He did not care so much for the end game, because he began to stop caring one way or the other. He knew execution was unavoidable. He had thought about sending letters to his family members to try to appeal to some merciful nature they may have inside for him, but he had long given up the idea. They would think he was trying to manipulate them.

He clears his throat. "Would this mean I will be sent to the death throes sooner rather than later?"

She is still looking at the floor. He follows her gaze to find what she's looking at and sees a large crack in the cement.

"Actually, as ruler of Arendelle and the individual you attempted to murder, I have executive power to override the bylaws of convicted criminals by extradition, as the crime you committed was not in the Southern Isles, but in Arendelle. Especially complicated ones like you, Hans, seeing as you are a foreigner of royalty who has committed these acts of treason and attempted murder. I can…do what I deem fit for you, not the written laws on parchment."

Hans frowns in thought, blinking hard. "Elsa…what are you saying?"

Her chest rises in a breath. "I'm saying…I found a loophole."

He feels his body go slack. He almost slides off his bed.

"With this idea in place, you would move to Arendelle by this law of extradition and become a personal servant, loyal worker, or whatever job is deemed a good match for you until Princess Anna and I come to an agreement that you have repented for all grievances laid against us." She pauses. "Only if you continue to show this humility and compassion that you have shown to me during this visit, and…in your letters, by the end of this year's winter solstice."

He can barely breathe. Sweat beads his brow, and he feels… light, weightless, like he may fly away with the sea breeze. To even think of the barest possibility of leaving this room, this place, to live in Arendelle, to be near Elsa, to potentially play some role in her life.

It is all so beautiful. Too beautiful. He is grounded by his unworthiness. This picture swiftly developed in his mind is cloudy, flimsy at best, too simply wiped away with the knowledge that his family would never allow him to live, no matter what kind of law or loophole is used.

He doesn't speak for some time, gathering his thoughts together. It's too long for Elsa. She eventually breaks the silence between them.

"Would you be interested in this, Hans?" This time, she's looking directly at him.

"I…" he tries. "Yes. Yes, of course. This means…this could change the entire direction of my life. I can't even begin to…imagine. But…my family would never agree to this."

She smiles, as if she had been anticipating his answer. "On the contrary, Hans, the only person who can authorize this is me, and with this new trade agreement in place between our countries...well, I can break the negotiation contract if they don't agree with sending you back to Arendelle."

While growing up, each and every Prince of the Southern Isles went through rigorous educational aspects of law, legal proceedings, politics, and a level of exposure to all of the countries they held alliances with. None of their education gave hints to these kinds of loopholes. Hans feels gobsmacked and completely out of his depth.

No one has ever surprised him so profoundly. He's certain his jaw is hanging open.

"You...you would do that?"

Her smile is still soft, but she seems pleased, as well. She might even look...happy, and Hans grips at his shackles to keep himself from doing something crazy, like pushing her up against the wall or throwing her onto his bed.

"I think I'm finally getting the hang of this Queen business," she says.

"And you would...I mean, I don't feel as though I deserve half of the effort you're giving me. I don't..." he tries, struggling to verbalize his thoughts. He sighs in frustration. "Maybe you're right about what you said, about the mirror. Maybe I just finally need to look at myself and see if I can find anything redeeming about my reflection."

Elsa furrows her brows, frowning at him. "I meant what I said last night. I see someone who is a decent human being, and someone who has the potential for great things."

He looks up at her. His jaw softens, his teeth unclenching. "You told me you believed in me. You freed me with those words, alone, Elsa. I think I...I fear that I will fail and disappoint, just as I have always done. I don't know if I can be the exception for you."

Hans stares at her, and she stares back at him. Frost is encircling her knuckles and crawling up her forearms to the bend in her elbows, but her face is cool and collected, giving nothing away about her emotions swirling inside.

He takes in a deep breath and continues. "I forfeited my life as soon as I decided to forfeit yours, Elsa. I just...I want you to be sure with your decision."

"After last night, I saw the life still left inside you. I felt your pain and your sadness and your hope and your longing for freedom. I could see a man who could be a gentleman. I saw someone who could persevere and overcome his demons." She shakes her head. "I didn't kiss you last night because I think you are weak and useless and ordinary, Hans. I kissed you because I think you are the opposite. I can see the man you want to be—and now I'm asking you to prove it to the both of us."

He goes to stand cautiously, watching her hands dancing with frost. She stands up to meet him, and she pushes a hand into his chest. Her handprint freezes on his shirt. "Try."

His breath flutters out of him. "I am," he says. "I will."

"Good," she says, lifting her chin. "Remember, I can send you back to the Isles to face the execution you think you deserve."

Hans smiles faintly. No one can say that Queen Elsa is weak or naive. She's proven she might be the strongest woman Hans has ever met. The room glows with ice. It has branched out from the folds of her dress and into the crevices in the walls. The crack in the floor by their feet gleams, filled with glassy, clear ice.

He breathes out, and his breath is a plume of frosty fog.

"I will remember that," Hans says.

"I'm challenging you, Hans," she says. "I'm daring you to be better."

"A dare? Then I can't answer with boring predictability, can I?"

She flicks her wrist, and the ice vanishes. She crosses her arms. "No, you can't, or I'll be very disappointed."

"I'd never want you to be disappointed again because of me."

"Good answer. I think you're learning," she says, and she finally gives him a smile.

"I think I might be," he says, smiling back. His eyes dart to his desk, and his smile begins to fade. He feels the unequivocal need to show her his gratitude, and hiding those letters from her is anything but.

"Elsa…about the letters…"

She begins to frown, following his gaze, then looking back at him. "What about them?"

Before he loses his nerve, he reminds himself that she is leaving today, and she is a Queen who is very busy, and she more than likely won't make the trip back to see him anytime soon, and she has single-handedly saved his life, so—

"I'm…not ready to show you the letters that I haven't sent you—the DO NOT SEND letters. I don't think…" He looks to the ground, and he steps away from her. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready to show them to you. But you believe in me, and I hope that means you also trust me a little, too. I want to keep that trust, and I think the only way I can is to give the letters to you before you leave. It would be too easy for you to think I made them all up because you've reduced my sentence."

Elsa blinks, her face vulnerable with surprise. "But, Hans, you said you're not ready—"

He walks past her and opens the drawer, taking out the bundle of letters. They are stacked on top of one another. Whenever he can't sleep, he obsessively checks them to make sure Julian didn't send one of them off again without his permission.

"The one on top is the first that I wrote. The one that is a reply to your fictitious one—the crucifixion of my character. The rest second and third are before Julian sent the accidental letter to you. The rest are after our correspondence began again. They're in chronological order. I dated them, so I could remember." He folds them in thirds, making it look like a very large and long winded letter. He closes his eyes and sighs, denting the parchment with his fingers. He opens his eyes and looks up to her, her eyebrows knitted together, her countenance unsure.

"The only thing I ask," he says, swallowing. "The only thing I ask of you is to read them in order. Don't…don't read the last one first. Or, you know, you don't have to read the last one at all." He nervously chuckles, and he might be leaving damp fingerprints on the parchment.

"You know…had I not known you better, I'd think you were trying to manipulate me again," Elsa says teasingly, but Hans can't hide the despair that flits across his face. Elsa frowns. "Oh, Hans, I'm only teasing."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I wouldn't have put it past me a few years ago," he says. He thrusts out the bundle to her, looking out toward the gated window.

"Hans, you are very pale," she says, glancing at the bundle between them.

"Am I? I assure you, I'm as healthy as a horse."

"I'm not so sure. You might be ill or have a fever again." She holds out a hand, and the air around them chills a few degrees. It helps his heated skin, but the feeling of passing out is quite severe.

With his head still turned away from her, he says, "Please, Elsa. Take them."

After a moment, Elsa reaches her hand out. Instead of wrapping around the letters, she wraps her fingers around his forearm.

"You aren't ready for me to have them, Hans," Elsa says. "So, no, I cannot take them."

He glances back to her. "But—"

"I know they exist. I trust you to be clever enough to not fool me." She smiles.

Hans knows when he's lost a battle. He slowly lowers his arm. "There are ten. Ten letters. I mean, I guess after last night, eleven."

She looks at him funny. "You wrote one last night?"

His neck flares. "I…yes. I couldn't sleep."

The way she looks at him, he thinks she can see right through him.

"What?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Nothing. Like you said, I'll read them someday."

He looks down at them, sighs, and places them back on top of his desk. "All you have to do is send a request to me, and I'll send them to you, Elsa."

"Believe me, I am very curious," she says, eyeing the pieces of parchment on the desk. "Even more now that I turned them down. But I will only read them when you want me to. We can't foster trust based solely on the potential to break it, Hans."

He finally looks her in the eye, and he's falling far more quickly than he knows how to handle. She makes him the biggest fool he's ever been, and that's quite the feat.

"You're right," he says quietly. He wonders if she can read it all over his face. He's terrible at hiding things, these days. He's too out of practice. He wonders if he still wants to. It never helped him before, so maybe that's one thing that has gotten better. "Someday. I promise."

"I'll hold you to it, then," she says. She dusts imaginary dirt from her dress before clearing her throat.

He knows what's about to happen. He doesn't want her to leave.

"You can't stay for lunch?" he asks.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could," she answers, frowning, her eyes flicking away from him. "After yesterday, I need time to…" she splays her hands out in a general gesture, as if she's not sure how to explain.

"Yeah. Yes. Of course. I know it's a lot," he says. He glances to his bed, and his mind takes him to the blissful hours of the night before. Things are always different in the bright light of day, when overlaid by the mysterious pull of night. He takes a breath. "I hope last night wasn't…"

She hurriedly shakes her head. "No, no, I…well, I mean, I instigated that, Hans. I wanted to. I had to…" she pauses, folding her lips in between her teeth, just like she had the evening before. She glances away from him. "I had to know."

"Had to know?" He takes a step closer to her, looking at her curiously. "Know what?"

She clears her throat, but she doesn't move away from him. "You know. Kissing."

A rummage of thoughts clang around his head. "Kissing me? Or kissing in general?"

Her eyes roll up toward the ceiling, and he takes a chance when she hesitates. "Kissing me, then?"

The line of red blooms on the bridge of her nose. She finally looks at him, and her vulnerability makes her even more beautiful. "Yes."

He swallows, and it feels like a hand is gripping his stomach into a hard knot. He wants to touch her somewhere, anywhere. He allows himself to reach up and brush a stray bang out of her eye, as she had to him the previous day.

"Good to know I wasn't the only one to want it," he admits quietly, letting his fingers linger on her cheek. "But you knew that. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, I think."

She reaches up and places her hand on top of his, and it emboldens him to say, "May I kiss you again? To reinforce your answer from last night."

She laughs lightly, and he bends forward to kiss her neck. Her laugh dies in a throaty sigh. Her hands come up to grip his shoulders, and his come around to land on her hips. They are like edges to a cliff, the perfect handhold to keep him from falling into a canyon.

She exhales and pulls his face gently in front of her, letting her forehead rest on his. "I never finished telling you yesterday, about what I realized after Anna discovered the letters," she says gently. "She thought I was stressed and acting differently, what with all the courtship and our correspondence. She spoke to me about it, wondering if I was finally losing it. Queen Elsa, having a relapse and losing control." She smiles humorlessly. Her fingers tighten around his own, and he feels the brief, bright flash of ice against his chest before it disappears just as instantly.

"That's when I realized I started to care about you, and how much I didn't want to. I was biased before I came here, because I had expectations of you, and I hoped you would meet my expectations, just like you had exceeded them on my first visit, even though I tried not to hope and—oh. I'm rambling."

"No, you're not," he says immediately. "Not at all."

She shakes her head and brings it away from his a few inches, holding one of his hands in both of her own. She glances down to them, entwining their fingers, weaving and pulling them apart. "Anyway, I thought I was fine until I realized all of those things. How much I wanted from you, of all people, until I thought it wasn't so crazy after all. Not after all this time."

Hans smiles briefly. "Maybe a little crazy."

She laughs. "Yes. You can't always control your emotions. And Anna began to come around once I…explained."

Hans raises a brow. "Oh, really? I can't imagine her ever coming around to the idea of me being anything other than a criminal who wanted her sister dead."

Elsa sighs. "Not from you, certainly. But from me…it's different."

She continues running her fingers over his palm. His shackles jingle with her ministrations, and he never thought her fingers on his could affect him this way. His stomach shudders, and his heart pounds like a drum.

"Maybe she will," he manages, watching her fingers. "But you're the only one who matters to me."

He doesn't realize the implication behind his words until she looks up to him, her eyes slightly wide.

"I mean—" he tries to backtrack. "Your opinion of me. Your opinion is the only thing that matters to me."

She narrows her eyes at him, pondering over his attempt at a cover up. "I'll remember that, then, Hans."

He knows she can see his flush creeping up his neck. He's sure he's broken a record for number of times he's been embarrassed within two days. Swallowing it away, he steels himself and raises her hand to his lips. He kisses the back of her hand.

"Be sure that you do," he says.

Her lips part slightly, and her cheeks wash over with a bright pink. He slowly drops her hand, and she slowly folds it with her other hand, clasping it in front of the folds of her dress.

She clears her throat. "Well, then. I must go."

Must you?

"A Queen's duties are never finished," he says, bowing his head. They stare at one another. Hans brings his arms carefully to his sides, the jingle of shackles just barely keeping him levelheaded. He wants to throw her on his bed again.

She eventually turns toward the door. She places a palm on the wall of his room, and a faintly visible sheen covers the crags of musty brick.

"That should keep you cool for the rest of this season and the summer," she says. "It isn't much, but it should keep you from sweating so much in your chambers. Maybe it'll even help with your…sweaty palms and racing heart when my letters arrive to you."

The allusion of her continuing to write letters to him lightens the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "It might make it worse, feeling as though you're near me."

She glances at him over her shoulder. "Something tells me that you'll be just fine."

She goes to open the door.

"Elsa—" he begins, but he's not sure what he wants to tell her. She turns to him expectantly. He rubs the back of his neck before he pushes past his irrational doubts. He comes forward and gives her a soft, chaste kiss before backing away.

"I, uh…have a safe trip back home," he says.

She gives a slow nod, her cheeks pink again. "And you, try to behave."

"By the orders of Her Royal Highness."

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly before she sobers. Their eyes linger for a few, precious seconds. "Goodbye, Hans."

"Goodbye, Elsa," he says softly as she closes the door.