At a purposed-but-not-brisk walk, a maid wound her way up through the bowels of Arendelle's castle. She passed through doors with a shove of her hip or shoulder, her basket of linens on an important journey from the washroom where it had dried, to a bedroom in the upper regions of the palatial residence. It occurred to her to be thankful she was fit, because tackling flights of stairs with a basket of what could only be described as dense cloth would be impossible with any extra girth. She did this nearly every day, and at the rate it was going, it would be every day quite soon. It wasn't something she begrudged doing. Any extra weight she had had hidden around seemed to have melted off, and her husband had noticed. If it weren't for her being barren, the maid would likely be in a similar predicament to the woman which she carried the linens. The maid finally found herself on the wing she had been climbing to and moved down the hall as though she had not just carried the equivalent weight of a large dog up from the servant's wing.
She stopped outside of the door and knocked. It was not answered, so the maid balanced the linens on one knee and twisted the handle, entering the room with calm and practiced ease. She should have knocked louder.
The bed, a huge mattress atop an ornate and highly polished frame, was visible in its own room through a large folding-door partition, and the occupants were not prepared for the unexpected company. In fact, they seemed to be in the middle—or end—of the most intimate of acts. The sound of the door closing caught their attention, and man and wife did a little shriek of embarrassment. Scrambling took place, the woman pulling herself off the top and hiding under the covers while her husband pulled his side of the covers up to his chin. The air settled for a second before both lovers realized that the maid was simply standing at the door with the basket in her hands, looking perhaps shocked but not in the least embarrassed.
"Look away, Linnéa!" came from the woman, and from the man, "Turn around!"
The maid dropped the basket at her feet—avoiding her toes—and crossed her arms. She even went so far as to look annoyed. "Now, just because I walked in on you two bumping uglies doesn't give you the right to throw out your manners. I'm not your slave. Besides, it's not like I haven't seen that before, or anyone's private parts. I used to fornicate for money, remember?"
"Please?!" the wife said, having to put a hand on her husband's arm to keep him from climbing out of the bed naked and throttling the maid, who was never shy to remind anyone that she used to be a whore. With a huff, Linnéa turned around and faced the door, giving the couple ample time to put on house coats or whatever else they wanted to throw on in a hurry. She almost laughed aloud at the mental image of the pair trying to modest themselves up. "Why were you still in bed at this hour anyway? Don't you know it's almost noon?" the maid asked, speaking up to be heard in the other room.
"We had a late night," came the reply from the wife.
"It was too cold to get up," answered the husband.
In a good-natured but haughty manner, the maid turned back around, not wanting to waste any more time with her nose to the door. The married pair were hasty in closing their garments, again looking embarrassed but with a touch of harassed fury overlying it. "Get over yourselves," was all the maid said in reply, lifting her basket, "We're all born naked." She walked past them into the room with the bed, and started the arduous task of stripping the sheets and replacing them. Sheepishly, the woman went to stand against her husband, head leaning on his shoulder. They watched the maid without the slightest intention to help. That was the way Linnéa liked it, and neither liked risking slight slaps to "helping" hands.
None of the other maids would dare act so familiar or brashly with the couple, being that the woman was the Princess of Arendelle. If it weren't for Anna's appreciation of the "normal" treatment, Kristoff would already have put an end to Linnéa's easy attitude—or tried, at least. It just wasn't in Linnéa to bow and scrape. She had a habit of treating her friends like everyone else, and she included the royal couple in that lot now.
It took a good five minutes to redo the bedding, which was stripped unceremoniously, dropped to the side, and replaced by the clean linens confidently and quickly. The maid set the bedspread like she knew Anna liked it, placed the rolled sheets into the basket and weaved her way out of the bedroom towards the door. "Your presence was missed at breakfast, dearies. Go and get something to eat, for the sake of that baby," she said, teasingly authoritative, before exiting.
Having snuck one last peak as she left, Linnéa smiled as she headed back down to the laundry, the image of the couple, Anna and Kristoff, both lovingly touching the growing bulge of her stomach. Bouncing, almost, down the stairs, Linnéa imagined how wonderfully noisy the castle was going to get in another three months. She passed Yule decorations on her way down as though they were not a reminder that it was close to the longest night of the year, happily expecting a spring baby for the Princess and husband.
Six months prior, Queen Elsa had just seen her baby sister off at the docks, who—despite her own isolation and insecurities—had never been the type to have social anxiety, and, of course, was the first to get married and was going on her honeymoon, leaving the Queen with a decidedly bad feeling pressing on her shoulders. It wasn't like Anna wasn't an adult, or that she had married the wrong man, or that where she and he were going was dangerous—actually, they were going to the southern sea, which was supposedly warm, crystalline, and beautiful year-round—, so, the monarch couldn't wrap her brain around what the issue was with Anna's marriage. Whatever it was, Elsa unconsciously tried to push it aside, and when she remembered Prince Dorian's letter to his brother, she decided to concern herself with delivering it as a distraction.
That led to the discovery of the soggy, sauced puddle of a half-man who had tried to drink himself into oblivion with two bottles of alcohol. He'd done well in his goal, so deliriously drunk that he was barely responsive to the sound of her voice or the impatient touch of her hand in anger. Oh, and how angry she had become! How dare he drink her glögg, in her castle, under her sanctuary?! Hans could drink himself into a stupor in the gutter, Elsa thought, and the idea of actually putting him out on the street was so, so very tempting as she left his room to find Egon and Linnéa. That pair was found in the castle and brought to Hans' room by the two maids she had found first. Waiting in his doorway, Elsa didn't miss the shiver of the married couple as they entered Hans' bedroom. Clucking and fussing about him, their breath visible in the cold air. She had left after flinging Prince Dorian's letter on Hans' small nightstand, completely irritated.
Elsa's day was unusually repugnant from there on; she had returned to her bedroom fuming over being left with such an insolent house guest—too good a title for him, but without the profanity that found its way into her head—and again she wished that she was on the North Mountain in her ice palace. The Queen had too much time alone to fume, which quickly decorated her room with a thin layer of frost. In the heat of the afternoon, without continuous cold intent being pushed onto the frost, it started to melt, leaving every surface in her room covered in tiny water droplets. As annoying as that was, she didn't want to call up some maid or butler to wipe everything in her room off. She tried freezing the droplets only, which naturally went awry in her emotional upheaval, and was stuck in a room of powdered snow. To take a few calming breaths and remember that "love will thaw" seemed overwhelmingly impossible. She sat in the snow on her bed and enumerated all the reasons why this day hadn't gone at all like she wanted it to, wedding aside.
First, Prince Dorian and Hans were complications she did not need. They were aggravating reminders that being head of state, no matter how enticing it was to others, was mostly only frustrating. She didn't mind being the Queen of Arendelle, but being a political chess player was something she could have done without. It was one of the things that "came with the territory," however. Secondly, Hans himself was a problem. When he was revealed to be alive to the Southern Isles, surely at least one of his other brothers would attempt to reclaim him as their prisoner. Not only that, but until such a time as he could leave the castle, would Elsa really have to put up with him drinking or otherwise trying to drown himself in something other than misery? No, Elsa answered firmly in her own mind. No, she wouldn't, because she would give him an ultimatum—that was her right, since he was imposing on her hospitality. He could either be put out in the street, free to drink himself to death, or, he could remain in the castle, where it was safe, sober. No in-between. She would not have a lush depleting her stores of valuable alcohol, period. It didn't matter that he was a eunuch, seeking political asylum in her country, hunted by his own brothers. No, it didn't matter.
Lastly,—and this was the thing that gave Elsa the most trouble—she was not reacting well to Anna's wedding and far-off honeymoon. A part of her felt guilty that she wasn't over-the-moon ecstatic about the nuptials, gaining a brother, and maybe having nieces and-or nephews in the near-to-distant future. That wasn't normal, Elsa thought, brining on its cacophony of emotions about how unequipped she was to deal with normal things. In a corner in her mind, she had jealousy, too, but this she kept glossing over, refusing to acknowledge it for what it was. If she had, Elsa would know that her jealousy stemmed from a) being the older, unmarried sister to the bride, b) wanting to have her own love, someone who could accept the fact that she was a person with an incredible supernatural power, and also accept that she would never be "good" at relationships, especially her own, and c) that Elsa seriously doubted that she would ever find someone who could meet those requirements and still love her. A part of her brain recognized all that and kept quiet, perhaps sad that even after a good year with love and acceptance in her life, she was no closer to erasing the self-doubt than she had ever been.
So, even later in that evening, eating dinner with the remainder of the wedding party, Elsa's mood had not lifted nor improved. She went to bed and couldn't sleep, waking from a doze with a start each time she got close, feeling the dregs of unease tug her back up, out of peaceful oblivion. Sometime in the darkness, Elsa did fall asleep.
That next day, six months ago, Hans had been set in a chair in the library where he had left Anna to freeze to death, and told to wait for the Queen. The hangover resulting from the two bottles of ill-thought-out glögg was horrendous, and he spent most of the morning retching up his guts, and most of the time he sat in the chair sitting forward to rest his arms on the table and his forehead on those. Queen Elsa was quick about meeting him, however, so he wasn't there for a long time. She wasn't particularly quiet when she came through the doors, and definitely wasn't quiet when she started talking.
Between the headache and hangover, Hans only got the gist of what she was lecturing him about. The alcohol. The disrespect of trying to develop a habit while under her protection. The ultimatum. The anger in her voice. Hans supposed that Queen Elsa didn't like alcohol for her own uses, at all. For a moment, he could understand why. If she ever got drunk enough to lose control, she could probably freeze not only her own kingdom, but the neighboring ones as well. And, while he was thinking about it, she'd probably freeze Anna, Kristoff, and the rest of anyone she cared about. That was her problem, though, and Hans wasn't feeling particularly charitable.
"So?" Elsa had asked, "What will it be? The gutter and glögg, or, the castle and your safety?"
How sorely tempted he was to spite her in that moment. He was like a wounded animal, wanting to lick his wounds and be left alone in peace. That would be suicide, wouldn't it, living in the streets of Arendelle? And hadn't he realized that he didn't actually want to die, but had been afraid of more torture?
"I am sorry for actions, Queen Elsa," Hans said, meeting her gaze steadily—not an easy task when the room spun—adding, "It won't happen again. Please, allow me to stay, though I don't deserve it." Self-deprecation usually helped to convince someone of his apology, though he didn't know if it would convince the Queen.
"You may stay, so long as you assure me that you will not touch my stocks of wine, liquor, mead, and glögg again so long as you are being harbored in my kingdom," Elsa laid out plainly. Hans wasn't particularly surprised by her response, stipulations such as these being a no-brainer for anyone who wanted to put an end to his drinking. The Queen didn't realize how little desire Hans had to ever consume copious amounts again. "You have my assurance. I will not seek out alcohol again, from anyone."
Their meeting at an end, Hans and Elsa had gone separate ways. He returned to his room with the aid of his cane, unwilling to face any more Queens, veterans, ex-whores, or brothers, and shut himself in without the will to come back out until he had decided what else he could occupy his time with. Alcohol was out, but what other mind-numbing substances he could get his hands on. His promise had extended only to alcohol for that reason. If he had to sit alone in his room, the wallpaper his only entertainment, surely Hans would go mad, and he had nothing else to fill his time.
He'd heard—never mind that it came from one of his brothers, the one that traveled, Stanley—that in the far East that there were certain types of system opiates that would make his head spin and send him into a fit of laughter. Knowing his luck, Hans could imagine among his reactions: reliving his worst moments in the jail in horrible detail, death by overdose, paralysis caused by the same thing, and a more fanciful imagining of being incapacitated long enough to be recaptured by Lumpy and be taken back to his brothers. There'd be no drug to release him there, either.
Back to the beginning of not having anything to do, Hans looked over at the piece of paper the Queen had mentioned at some point during her lecture, which she said was a letter from Dorian. Not having anything better to do, Hans opened the letter, recognizing his eldest brother's flowing script instantly. He read it once, paused, and read it again. He read it out loud to make sure he wasn't mistranslating things in his brain.
Brother,
You cannot imagine what a relief it is to know you are alive. I'll spare you my feelings, however, because you surely just scoffed at what I call "alive." When I return to the Southern Isles, you will be reinstated as a Prince. I will send the promised boat to Arendelle as soon as I can gather your things together. I have to be brief because I will be leaving shortly, knowing that you will not likely miss me.
There is a particular horse in the stables. Consider him the first thing returned to you.
Dorian
Hans let the letter drop from numb fingers, drawn to his feet by some force he didn't understand but couldn't fight any more than he could fight the need to breathe. He teetered where he stood and had to find his cane with the same numb digits, leaning on it heavily. Who could he find to lead him to the stables? Wait, he knew the way, didn't he? He had been there with Anna a year ago on the night of Elsa's coronation. He could find it himself, again, Hans thought, and that was one of the few things he could think of outside of: Can I truly hope for this?
Several turns and a trip outside led him right where he wanted to be, and he hobbled as fast as his leg could manage, coming to a stop just inside the stable and allowing himself a moment so his eyes would adjust. Where was he? Hans' mind frantically asked, finally starting the sweep of horses in the stables. Tipping forward almost to the point of falling, the invalid almost landed face first in used hay, only saving himself with an outstretched hand. The overwhelming emotions were making his head spin, and all he wanted to do was lay eyes upon the horse mentioned in Dorian's letter. So, Hans moved down the stalls, looking over each occupant closely, and startling more than a few with what he could only assume was the blazing, intense stare of a madman.
There he was, Hans realized, the strength in his leg giving out right then, crushed down by the sight of the horse; tall for a fjord hose, dark dun in color, and looking at him with two large brown eyes. Hans had to drag himself along the stable's dirt floor and use the hook of his cane to pull himself upright.
"Sitron," croaked the human, sounding nothing like the man he used to be. The horse's ears pricked forward in a semblance of alarm as the unknown—or at least unrecognizable—visitor reached out to lay a straining hand on whatever part of him the man could touch. Hans repeated the name, sounding a little more like himself, and the horse paused in surprise. Without a hint of trepidation, the soon-to-be-reinstated prince reached out and touched a hand to Sitron's muzzle, breaking down when the horse recognized him.
One month, almost to the day, after Kristoff and Anna's wedding, they returned to Arendelle and a crowd of well-wishers. Anna came off the boat on the arm of her husband, happy to be home at last, and able to smile and say hello genuinely, but felt nauseous in a way that wasn't caused by the sea. She moved down the plank practically hanging onto the ice-harvester for steadiness. Once her feet were on steady ground, the first person who found her to hug her tightly was Elsa. Her sister was also the first—and only—to recognize that her sister was under the weather. The Princess waved the Queen's worries away with a pass of her hand when she saw the question in her blue eyes.
The Queen looked quite fabulous, even for her usual self. That day, Elsa had fashioned a… more risqué dress than normal, the blue—light and dark—ice crystals of her bodice were split down her middle almost to her navel, only covered with a mesh-like overlay that was only meant for keeping the dress together. Her shoulders were covered with a heavier blue cape instead of her normal train. Anna fixed the image of her sister in her mind consciously, the blues of Elsa's dress against the gray dock-stone, the late-summer breeze playing with the light in Elsa's pale hair, and the sparkling happiness that seemed to touch everything. Then again, maybe the sparkling had more to do with Anna's nausea.
As wonderful as their honeymoon had been, Anna was happy just to be home.
They had left the docks to go to the castle in a party much the same as they'd left the castle in a party to see the couple off at the docks after the wedding. The staff of the Arendelle monarchy spared no effort in welcoming home the royals—Kristoff was technically Prince Kristoff Bjorgman of Arendelle, with a Duke's title in there as well, elevated by Queen Elsa, but he expressly forbid them holding a ceremony for his promotion—having been party to the party at the docks, and had still more waiting in the castle's courtyard for their arrival. Olaf had gotten the warmest hug Anna had thought he could stand, and promptly rushed to Sven's side, hugging the reindeer's nose with his stick arms.
Sven had done well in the heat of the southern sea. He acted as though he were hot only a few times, mostly taking running leaps off the boat whenever Kristoff and Anna were also in the water when the tundra-made animal overheated. Hindsight, maybe Sven should have remained at home, where the summer heat never reached that stifling level. Not that Anna planned to leave again, but if they did, and went somewhere tropical, Sven would have to stay home, no matter how Kristoff protested. It wasn't good for the reindeer.
Anna and Kristoff went through round and round of people welcoming them back. Somewhere between the gates and the ornate front door, Egon and Linnéa welcomed them back warmly. Kristoff shook hands with the Southern Isles veteran, and Anna hugged the maid. In one month, they had seemed to have integrated into the staff seamlessly, which made the Princess happy, if for no other reason than that there wouldn't be any more fights in the laundry room.
Some hours after their arrival, Anna, Kristoff, and Elsa sat down to a light lunch, electing to eat on one of the castle's balconies and enjoy one of the few warm days left of summer. Anna wasn't surprised when Elsa coated her chair in ice, half-tempted to have Elsa do the same to her chair. The southern sea's weather had been hot, but there hadn't been quite as much humidity to the air there as there was in Arendelle on the truly hot days. She wasn't surprised when later in the evening a thunderstorm rolled through, all crashing thunder, dazzling lightning, and violent rain.
When Kristoff and Anna retired to their bedroom as the sun set—after an uneventful dinner alone with Elsa—neither one of them could hardly make it behind closed doors without immediately savaging the other with kisses. Anna's fears about her wedding night had been unfounded as it turned out, because the pair had apparently been made to fit together, which she had discovered that first night on the ship. Kristoff had been gentle with her, but only to the point of making her comfortable. When her shyness had worn off, Anna had… held her own.
That first night back in the castle, with a month of practice—give or take a few exhausted nights —Anna and Kristoff "christened" the bed, the lounge seat by the coffee table, and the door that they had closed behind them. It awakened a whole new side of Anna to be enjoying the intimate marital life, wherein the middle of the day found her pining for her husband's touch, and the evenings wouldn't allow her to be without him for very long. It gave her insight, as well, into the minds of those who knew what it was to biblically "know" another. In some small way, Anna grew up; gone was the innocence, so to speak. For all that she knew about what men and women did, now, the Princess wondered about her sister. Something in Anna couldn't imagine Elsa having the calm it would take to not freeze her first lover, much less open up to a stranger enough to want to marry them. It wasn't about courage—Anna knew that Elsa was a brave woman—but about being able to calm a frantic heart, talk past a suddenly awkward tongue, and speak from her heart without worrying what her companion thought of her. Ice powers would certainly prove to be a difficult point of contention between Elsa and her suitors.
Anna had settled closely against Kristoff, despite the heat, and nodded off with thoughts about other royalty in the world with magical powers, wondering if any were eligible princes or kings. Her last conscious thought was that anyone would do, royal or not, so-long-as they were as magical as the Queen.
In the days that followed their return to Arendelle, Kristoff hardly left Anna, aside from going to the stables to see Sven. The morning after their arrival, however, the reindeer-man made a curious discovery: Hans, practically living in the hayloft. Kristoff would have missed seeing the ex-prince if not for the latter's movements as he dressed. All Kristoff could do on the ground below was look up and wonder why in the world the bastard—yes, he still had hard feelings for the man who would have let Anna die—was without clothes in the stables. Hans noticed Kristoff quickly, it seemed, because at first he tried to duck out of sight, shirt half-pulled over his head. When he realized he couldn't hide, the man from the Southern Isles straightened his spine and climbed down from the loft.
Surprise marked Kristoff's face momentarily when he realized that Hans looked much more like himself than he had just a month-or-so before. The man's hair was still long, clasped at the nape of his neck with a leather thong, and he still had no sideburns, but otherwise, Hans was healthier looking. There wasn't any spare weight on him, and Hans wasn't back to his previous physique, but Kristoff could see only the ghost of torture on the man.
"What are you doing here?" Kristoff asked, the once-over appraisal having only taken a fraction of a second. Hans' eyebrows twitched down quickly, only to return to their raised-to-the-point-of-facial-openness position in the time it took to blink. He didn't answer with words, but moved cautiously over to one of the stalls where an unfamiliar horse was penned. With a confident hand, Hans summoned the horse from the further wall to put his nose against the human flesh.
"My horse."
"That doesn't explain why you were in the loft," Kristoff parried the answer, finding it lacking. Hans let his hand drop and kept up the cautious act. "Queen Elsa allowed me the space for the warmer months. I've been sleeping up there instead of in the castle."
"Oh," Kristoff said, suddenly running out of fuel for the badgering questions. He had one left, "Even if your horse is here, why are you not sleeping in the castle?" He'd never seen the castle of Hans' native land, but as far as castles went, Kristoff was pretty impressed with Arendelle's, so he didn't imagine Hans thought it was bad in any way. Besides, the man had plotted to take the Kingdom for his own, so he must have liked it to some degree. If that wasn't it, Kristoff couldn't quite imagine what the reason could be.
It took a moment for Hans to prepare an answer, it seemed. He had to cross his arms and then uncross them, looking at his horse and finally back at Kristoff. "I might be the most ungrateful refugee in Arendelle's history, but… living in the castle was driving me mad." Hans explained nothing further, looking his horse in the eye before patting the creature and taking his own leave, heading for the very structure he had just claimed to be unable to inhabit. Getting food or using the privy couldn't quite be considered "inhabiting" a building, Kristoff thought in reply to himself, watching the one-time prisoner cross the courtyard.
Sven and Kristoff shared a look, neither buying into whatever Hans wanted them to believe. "'I don't trust him,'" Kristoff voiced for Sven, replying, "I don't, either. And I don't like him living in the loft. I'll see what Anna thinks, and maybe talk to Elsa. He's not a guest. He's a refugee, like he said."
"'That's great,'" Sven plowed on, "'Did you bring me my carrots?'"
With a long-suffering sigh, followed by a smirk, Kristoff produced the orange vegetable like a carnival magician. The reindeer pranced in his stall as only he could, tongue rolling almost like a dog. The whole thing disappeared before Kristoff had a chance to tell Sven to share. Shaking his head, Kristoff rolled his eyes and dug out another carrot.
Hours later, when Anna and her sister could both be found in the library with the portrait of their father, Kristoff asked about the use of the hay loft as a bedroom by Hans. It was news to Anna, who hadn't had the benefit of being told first, like Kristoff had planned. Elsa didn't look so much as surprised to hear her brother-in-law asking about it. If he had to guess, she probably wondered what had taken him so long to ask. Placidly, she gave an answer, "Prince Dorian has offered to not collect taxes on exports to Arendelle, which will likely encourage trade between our two countries and keep the price of meats, furs, and other materials down, all in exchange for harboring Prince Hans until it is safe for him to live elsewhere. Arendelle can harbor him whether he lives in the castle or in the hay loft in the stables."
The answer had been satisfactory enough, all things considered, but Kristoff just didn't like it. Being in the castle where they could keep an eye on him was one thing, but being in the stable, practically free to do as he pleased, that seemed a little too lenient for Hans. For all his protests, Kristoff wondered for a second if the real reason that he didn't want Hans living in the stable was because of Sven. Sure, Sven had survived the night, and Hans couldn't be all that bad if he had a horse's trust, but Sven was his best friend. If anything happened to the reindeer, Kristoff had already decided that it would be on Hans' head. That night and in the following weeks, that was all he heard on the matter.
Another month passed before it was made communal knowledge that Princess Anna was with child. They did not spread the news outside the castle—even if rumors and gossips were positively twittering with excitement—because as exciting as it was, it was still very early, and truth be told, no one knew how the pregnancy would go. It seemed like no one in the castle could find the nerve to get their hopes up. Anna was the most optimistic, of course.
Elsa was the first person she told aside from Kristoff. The Queen's reaction was mostly joyous surprise, and partially some sort of sadness. Anna understood it before she asked her sister what was wrong, but she thought it might have been the first time that Elsa admitted it to herself. "It's not that I'm not happy for you, Anna, because I am. I'm so happy for you, because you deserve all the happiness you can accumulate… I think… I'm jealous, and that makes me sad; makes me mad at myself. I can live without romance… I could probably live without having children—I worry about them being born like me—but I haven't lost hope that maybe one day I can have those things. Seeing you have them already, it makes me sort of jealous." Understandably, the sisters spent the rest of that day in each other's company.
Anna, at first, wanted to ban everyone and anyone from breathing a word of her pregnancy to Linnéa, Egon, or Hans. It was not feasible, however, and when she had brought it up with Kristoff, it had led to their first tiff as a married couple. He took her not wanting to tell everyone as embarrassment, that she was perhaps ashamed to be having his baby. She tried to assure him that his idea was the furthest from the truth. It went back and forth until Anna resolved to tell Hans, Egon, and Linnéa at dinner that very night. She did feel bad that Kristoff hadn't been as far off the mark as she first thought—announcing to the maid, veteran, and her ex-fiancé that she was pregnant seemed awkward in her imagination.
It was funny how that dinner had actually gone. Egon and his wife had not been a normal part of their dinner party since Anna and Kristoff's wedding, though not of Elsa, Anna, or Kristoff's choosing. The pair didn't seem comfortable being waited on by their co-workers, and opted out most of the time. They didn't have a choice, however, since telling Hans alone was completely not within Anna's comfort-zone. Elsa and Hans had not dinned together while the Princess and her husband were on their honeymoon. Aside from Hans asking to be allowed to live above his horse, he hadn't spoken much with Elsa at all, or so Anna found out from her sister. Elsa wasn't sure what Hans would have said anyway.
During the dinner, directly after the main course, Anna finally worked up the nerve to spill the beans, metaphorically. All eyes were on her as she grabbed their attention with a well-placed and loud clearing of her throat. "Um… I—" Anna quickly amended her speech, "—We, that is… Well,…" She stammered when she realized she had everyone's undivided attention, including the butler pouring the watered wine into Kristoff's cup. "Kristoff and I are pregnant."
She couldn't help searching the faces of the people gathered around her. The butler managed to pour some of the light-colored wine outside of his target and was nearly frenzied in his dabbing. Elsa and Kristoff were also looking at the other three, and Egon and Linnéa seemed to have frozen except for a duplicate look on their faces: what was Hans' reaction? It took only the spans of a baited breath, but the reaction was delivered too quickly not to be sincere.
"Congratulations!" Hans exclaimed, face breaking into a wide smile. Anna wasn't sure why such a smile, seemingly sincere, without a shred of malice, also seemed so deceptive. It might have been the "once-burned" example of a lack of trust, but it seemed too genuinely happy. Linnéa was fast at adding her own congratulations, a beaming beacon of sweetness, while her husband only added gruff-but-warm-seeming felicitations. She could almost imagine what the man was thinking, because it likely mirrored her own thinking; why did Hans seem happy to hear that she was having a baby?
"Why are you so happy to hear that I'm having a baby?" came tumbling out of Anna's mouth before her mind had a chance to stop it. Truth be told, she'd never had much of a filter. Hans looked affronted for a second, thin, hairless face finally looking something like it had when he had shown his true colors in the library—a face she could understand and read—before answering with the smoothed out unreadable face, "I thought it was only polite to congratulate an expecting couple. I didn't think you would want to hear anything else from me."
"Anna, it's fine," Kristoff said in an undertone at the end of Hans' sentence. Elsa had set down her drink and was looking at her with knitted brows. Why was it her fault that Hans wasn't acting like she expected him to? It was like they thought she was being rude. "So, you didn't mean what you said?"
"No," Hans said, clamping his mouth down, "No. You've got it wrong, Princess Anna. I did mean it when I said congratulations."
"Why?" Anna could suddenly hear how it might be coming off as rude, but couldn't back-wheel fast enough out of the mindset and tone of voice, "It might have been a ploy to marry into the throne, but you were my fiancé once. I don't want to go back to that, but—,"
"—But you were hoping I'd be jealous?" Hans asked, cutting her off. Anna had kept her eyes firmly on the green pair staring back at her unflinchingly, "Maybe that I would be mad, or sulk off like I was truly hurt that you had moved on?" Hans laughed, not scoffed, and not a mean sort of laugh, either. He sounded almost disappointed. "Oh, Anna," he said, those two words making her flinch, "You found the perfect person for you, and you're married to him, and you're carrying his child. Despite me, and all I did to you, you're doing fine. What isn't there to congratulate?"
That was not the answer she was expecting. In fact, it caught her mostly by surprise. Anna frowned, then watched as Hans stood from his chair, bowed to Elsa, bowed to her and Kristoff, and smiled at Egon and Linnéa. "If you'll all excuse me, I believe I'll return to the stables for the evening. Good-night."
As he disappeared, Anna felt a compilation of guilt, aggravation, and confusion as to why she had dogged such a confession from Hans. It crossed her mind as they finished their dinner in relative silence that Hans would be having no children, with anyone, ever, and how her announcement might have pricked that tender nerve—if he had one about it. She was still bothered by the genuine-feel of his well-wishes, but quickly forgot most of her worries behind her and Kristoff's closed door.
Late autumn, with all its colorful leaves and harvests, arrived at the same time as the promised ship from the Southern Isles. Hans was not yet cold enough overnight to move back into the castle, but he didn't think there would be much more time for his sleeping in the loft. Anna was obviously pregnant, and prone to mood-swings that left everyone but Kristoff with the urge to avoid another thrashing. Even Queen Elsa seemed not to enjoy being around her sister, though Anna could never be so much as negative with her sister. Linnéa seemed to have some insight as to why the normally kind princess was a nightmare, not from personal experience, but as an outside party.
"Girls," she said to Elsa while Hans was within ear-shot one day, "They'd get themselves in a state, and they'd be happy one minute, and then crying another, or mad enough to throw things. I'm not proud to say I wasn't the type to be too forgiving until one day, a doc was checking up on one of them. She was one of the Madam's girls, and pretty young, like Princess Anna. She'd been like that. Anyway, I hear him telling our boss that when a girl is in a state like that, it's because of the baby. The baby can't tell her how it feels, but it does have a way of tampering with how she feels. Quick, fast changes."
It sounded like hocus pocus to Hans, but if Linnéa thought it was true, who was he to disagree? He'd never be a father. It wouldn't, or shouldn't concern him.
Hans had his work cut out for him when the ship arrived. Not only was it something of a colossal goat-buggering quality to get it all at once, but Hans wasn't even sure what to do with half, if not all of it. His room in the castle was big enough only for his bed, a chair, the bedside table, and his few sets of clothes. All his belongings in the Southern Isles would fill not only his room, but probably come spewing out of his door like too much dung. He committed himself to first emptying the ship and sending a letter of thanks back to Dorian, and sorting out his things to keep later. Egon, Linnéa, and two of the crew helped Hans load the belongings onto three carts, each piled high. The head butler caught them before they could leave the town for the castle, offering to guide them to a place Queen Elsa urged the re-instated prince to store his things. It was the very same house she had offered to Linnéa and Egon in the beginning, which was so close to both its neighbors that one side was only inches from the next wall and the other side only gave room enough for a wide-shouldered man to squeeze through. The maid lit up at the sight of the tall house, walking through from front to back and then from bottom to top with a slack-jawed wide-eyed gaze. Hans asked the two crewman of the ship, at the risk of dumping valuables and breakables alike in the street, to help unload all his belongings into the house. The task was complete just before sunset, a pile of un-placed objects sitting in the parlor, but many more having found homes in the three bedrooms, kitchen, and attic.
Tired, the crewmen parted for their ship, and Hans for the stable. Egon and Linnéa elected to stay the night in their new house and return to the castle in the morning. A kind of relief crossed Hans' mind to feel—he could leave Arendelle now, and he could travel far from it, his homeland and brothers, and anyone who had ever heard of Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. He'd be out of their reach, and really and truly be free. Hans imagined himself exploring the world—maybe he'd even go across the ocean. Either by reading or by word of mouth, he had heard that in the West, vast expanses of grasslands fed whole herds of wild horses and bison. They were free to roam as they pleased.
The cage was open, and he was free to go.
As Hans rounded the end of the street, he was unaware of the shadow that detached itself from the nearest wall until its owner violently twisted one of his arms behind his back and wrapped a strong arm under his chin. Taken entirely by surprise and slightly exhausted by the day's toils, Hans was incapable of fighting off the impending attack, and the arm at his neck cut off the air he needed to call out for help. The assailant pulled Hans into the shadows beside a building, easily driving Hans' face against the wall—the only reason such a move missed breaking his nose was because Hans managed to twist his face enough that his cheek absorbed the brunt of the attack. What felt like a layer of skin was scraped from the surface, an immediate pain lancing in. The wall was made of a rough wooden siding; the wood had let loose a swatch of splinters into the skin. As slow as it all seemed, the capture had taken only a moment.
"I have a message for you from your brothers," said the captor, hot breath hissing into Hans' ear and making him flinch, "'Don't try and leave Arendelle. Let the Icy Bitch keep you as a toy in her castle a little longer.'" The arm was twisted further, until Hans thought it might rip off. The arm on his neck also tightened, to the point that Hans gasped for breath and none was allowed. "They said, too, 'If you do try, our men'—and they have quite a few under their pay—'will drag you back to the Southern Isles and do to you all the things we never got to do.'"
All the pressure was suddenly lifted, and Hans dropped to the ground, catching a booted kick to his gut where he lay. The attacker had one last thing to say before he disappeared: "If you go to the docks, you're ours. If you try to leave over the mountains, you're ours. Don't get too comfortable in your stable, either. All we need is the opportunity. I'll see you around, 'Prince' Hans."
The cage was shut, and it seemed he had narrowly missed being crushed between the bars.
Egon, who had lived his entire life in the Southern Isles or on campaigns to winterless places far South, was absolutely unprepared for the winter of Arendelle. The first snow blanketed the kingdom with a snow as deep as his hand; it was also almost a month before the Southern Isles even thought about snow. The temperature also dropped, as if no sane sunbeam would venture this far north to give warmth to weary souls. Egon was not the only one to notice the harshness of the early winter.
Every day, Elsa was petitioned to use her powers to lift the snow off of the castle-town by at least three-to-five of its occupants. A farmer would appear every few days to ask her to thaw the snow on his farm. Anyone could stand in for these meetings, and Egon often did, for nothing more than a little entertainment. The Queen had to change how she answered petitions; she would wait until every issue had been heard—usually they were the same issue, sometimes worded different, sometimes no attempt to the effect was made—and answer them all exactly the same: "I will not tamper with Arendelle's weather again. We are experiencing a naturally harsh winter. I expect you all to deal with it the same way you had." Egon never heard more than a grumble out of the townsfolk, likely disappointed that Elsa wouldn't fix their problems like some ice-toting Fairy-Godmother. She would leave the audience chamber, and all the other occupants would filter out or mill around bemoaning how the snow was piling up and the Queen wouldn't even try to move it off the roads. Egon couldn't blame the monarch, however. Just because she had powers over ice and snow didn't mean she was at the beck and call of her people to sweep streets and clear roofs.
A rather wet snow had fallen overnight, perhaps a month before the Yule celebrations were to begin, and Egon was on his way to see Prince Hans. The enigmatic man had returned to his room in the castle rather suddenly one night, found there after not having been seen in the stables for two days. A physician had been called, not only for the numerous splinters needing to be removed from his cheek, but because he was so lethargic that there was no difference between the young man being asleep or awake. He barely got up to use the chamber-pot, and ate little to nothing. That was just the first week. Hans seemed to snap out of it all of a sudden, returning to how he had been—almost. The prince spoke to no one. He moved about a normal routine, smiled at people, went to see Sitron, bathed, shaved, ate, but all wordlessly. Whatever had changed, Egon was certain that it was not a change for the better.
Egon found Hans in his room, reading a volume of Arendelle's history with what passed as bored fancy. The veteran entered the room with the occupant's permission, all obtained in gestures. He sat down on the bed, feeling the mattress grunt out air beneath him. What Linnéa had lost from traversing the stairs for Anna and Kristoff, Egon had gained, apparently. Hans put the book away lazily and aimed a disarming smile at his former-jailer-turned-rescuer. Having not heard Hans' voice for the majority of at least three weeks, Egon was starting to forget what it was like to talk to the man. Green eyes, white smiles, glove-free hands… these were the things that came with conversing with Hans.
For a long moment, Egon and the prince just looked at each other, the latter holding eye-contact because the former was boring twin holes in his head with his eyes. Finally, when Egon thought he'd lose the staring contest because he couldn't stand to look any deeper into Hans' eyes, he said, "What is this all about, Hans? Why aren't you talking to anyone?"
The smile dropped off Hans' face, being replaced with what seemed like disappointment and weariness. He reached out for the book he had put away, as if he would return to reading instead of answering Egon. It was the proverbial "last straw." The veteran jumped to his feet and hauled Hans up by his shirt. Despite their height-difference, Egon loomed over Hans. He growled out, "Answer me. Quit playing games. You're not a child and you're not a mute. Tell me why you won't talk!"
A flash like anger briefly flickered in Hans' eyes before dulling into a bland cowed look. He was so infuriating in that moment that Egon forcibly pushed him away, and left the room, jerking the door shut behind him.
Just a couple of days later, Hans received another visitor: Queen Elsa—though she was actually of the unexpected-coincidental variety. It just happened that Elsa had had enough of the castle and that Hans was down for his daily appointment with Sitron, and suddenly, the Queen was staring at a very startled former occupant of the loft. He was not expecting to be caught, it seemed.
"Oh," had been the first thing out of her mouth, quickly followed by: "Pardon me."
It only dawned on her after a moment's breath that she really had nothing to apologize for, considering that these were her stables, and he was here only by her permission. She didn't voice these things, even though she could have, and left it as a courtesy. Her "Queen" beat his "Prince" at every turn, any way one sliced it. But it wasn't in her nature to lord her title over much of anyone. The thoughts passed through her mind quickly and were gone almost as fast. Still, there was a hanging awkward silence between them, and it only seemed to be growing.
"How are you today, Prince Hans?" the Queen ventured. She had avoided him, mostly, for the last few months, and when it was deemed necessary, she and he had made only polite small-talk. He'd been entirely absent from her for almost a month. In the scheme of things, with all her duties, Elsa didn't pay much attention.
He gave no audible reply, and since she had turned to scratch Sven's chin—he was the only stable occupant that didn't seem in the slightest shy around her—Elsa had to turn back and questioningly quirk an eyebrow at him. Clearing his throat, Hans answered, "Very well, thank you, Your Majesty."
Elsa was entirely unaware of how profound it was for the Prince to have said anything. Conversely, Hans would have drawn more attention to the fact that he wasn't speaking by not speaking, especially to her. Elsa went on rubbing Sven's muzzle and was oblivious to this.
"How is your horse?" Elsa followed up, turning her attention slightly to the Fjord horse and its owner. The gender wasn't obvious on the animal, likely either female or gelded male. "He's well, also. Thank you for asking, Queen Elsa," Hans said, not quite stiffly, but not perhaps as easily as before.
"What is his name?" Elsa asked, not sure that she'd caught it before. Sven blew air into her hair to try and attract her attention again. She missed Hans' quick flare of slight panic before he deadpanned and answered, "Sitron, Your Highness."
"'Lemon'?" she echoed, a genuine smile curving her lips. Still panicked inside, Hans didn't catch the amused humor in her voice. He nodded tightly and swept his eyes down to the hay scattered on the floor. "Yes. He was a gift when I turned eighteen. He was so yellow as a foal—,"
Hans stopped short rather suddenly, eyes finding that the Queen had been listening with a slight smile, but as she caught sight of his acting uncomfortable, the smile faded. "…So yellow as a foal that I thought he looked like a lemon…" he finished, eyes going back to the subject of the moment. Sitron looked at Hans with his large brown eyes, and Elsa could almost imagine that their bond was as strong as Kristoff to Sven. "Are you feeling all-right Prince Hans?"
The question made him flinch, and he turned his face from Elsa's view. The action was something outside of her ability to react to normally. More-over, the way he was acting was so unlike the calm-collected version of himself that he had presented, that Elsa was realizing that she might be ill-equipped to deal with him in this state at all. She was about to back away, tell him she would go and find Egon or Linnéa, when he looked at her from the corner of his eye, looking over his shoulder, only turning himself slightly back to ask, "Why am I still here, Queen Elsa?"
Confused, she thought his question out and came up with only one answer, or more of a response-question, "Winter travel is unusual?"
A rather bark-like hollow laugh came from the man, and he sagged against the stall door, hands gripping the top tightly, head drooping between the two. He was quiet for a very uncomfortable moment in which Elsa still debated leaving. Finally, his voice, almost ragged, sounded out, "No… I want to know for what purpose. Why have you allowed me to stay for so long? Why haven't they made good on their threat? If they're going to take me back, why won't they do it already?... I don't want to live like this, waiting for the moment it happens. I can't trust anyone."
"Wait, what?" Elsa asked, hearing the same question in her sister's voice for some reason, "Who do you mean 'they'? Your brothers? What threat? 'Take you back'? What is that supposed to mean?" Elsa found that she had taken a step closer—just one step, but a step all the same—and froze, not intending to get closer for any reason. She took a deep breath, garnering a correction of posture from Prince Hans, and started over again, "Are your brothers going to attack Arendelle?"
"No," Prince Hans said, seemingly surprised by that assumption, "No. Only Dorian could persuade the King to… But no. He wouldn't, and my other brothers don't have armies at their disposal."
"Good. How did they threaten to take you back?" Elsa asked, not feeling very empathetic as Hans appeared to collapse again, sliding his back down the stall door to sit in the straw. "The day I moved my things into the house for Egon and Linnéa, I was attacked. The splinters that were in my face didn't come from taking a fall in the loft like the physician assumed; they were from the side of a building. He said that I was being watched—my attacker. That I couldn't leave without them knowing. My brothers have spies and men on the docks, or maybe in the castle, since they knew I was sleeping in here. I keep looking over my shoulder and expecting a hood to come down on my face. 'It could be anyone,' I keep thinking. I haven't talked to anyone in three weeks… Well, now you, but…"
Trying to absorb all of that as Hans talked was hard. Everything brought up more questions. "Did you see his face? The man who attacked you?"
"No… He came at me from behind, kept a tight grip on me," Hans said, rubbing a hand over his previously wounded cheek. "And the men he said were on the docks, did he point any out as being your brothers' men?" Elsa doubted that, since he had gone through great pains to hide himself from Hans. "No. I didn't see anyone else."
"Is it possible that this is an empty threat? That your brothers only had the one man, and hoped to break you in just the way they have?"
"No," Hans said, almost seeming angry for a moment, "No… they're not that smart."
"They faked your death in front of your court," Elsa suggested. She watched Hans draw his knees up to his chest and hid his face with his arms. He was quiet for a moment, long enough for Elsa to shift her feet and pat a curious Sven. Sitron had his yellow head—complete with the mane of hair Hans was letting grow to match his own—hanging over the stall door, breath blowing in Hans' hair, curious, but subdued. "How did they know I was in the loft, then?" Hans asked, stretching to not believe that all his fear had been part of the plan.
"Perhaps a member of the staff is the spy. If so, I will have Kai and Gerda ferret them out," Elsa said, then added, "I can trust them, and if I ask them to, you can trust them, too."
The Queen watched Hans' eyes rise from below his arms. "You already know that you can trust me, or I wouldn't have been the first person you talked to about this."
"I don't deserve… well, any of this, Your Grace," Hans said, sounding more like himself. She looked up to the roof out, slightly, frustrated that it seemed she was repeating herself again, "No, you don't… But you didn't deserve the things your brothers did to you, nor what they're trying to do now."
Elsa stood looking at Hans for another minute, then turned to leave, stopping at the stable's threshold. Hans was still sitting on the floor, but had watched her, apparently. "Come inside with me, Prince Hans. I would prefer you not to be alone until I can discover the spy."
Yule was only a week away when a roof collapsed in the town, sending the castle into panic. The weight of the snow had proven to be too much on the older timbers of the framework. It might not have caused so much of a fuss if it hadn't been for the family now without a home. The Queen had moved the family into the castle until a replacement house could be found or theirs' could be repaired. A few whispers in the castle suggested that she felt partially at fault for not having done anything about the snow.
Kristoff had been the one to suggest that they go and see the house, he and Elsa—naturally, Anna would either know and stubbornly refuse to be left behind, or no one would, particularly Kristoff, would make a big deal about leaving the castle for a few hours—go with a small group of soldiers to see what could be done about the roof. The plan worked well as far as Anna was concerned, but both Egon and Hans—who seemed to be as distant now as Hans was with Kristoff—caught wind of the plan and joined. The ice-harvester wasn't sure at all why they had any interest.
Nonetheless, at noon on that day, the entourage of Queen Elsa—Kristoff, Hans, Egon, and two soldiers—left the castle. Kristoff drove the sled Anna had given him, Elsa next to him. She'd dressed herself with her ice powers: a long overcoat of powder-ish blue ice crystals made to allow her arms to move, the length of which would touch and drag the ground if she walked, and would have hidden the fact that she wore trousers—again made of her ice-cloth-material—and long military-style boots, if not for having to climb into the sled beside him. Egon, Hans, and the two soldiers rode their horses behind the sleigh, only the soldiers bringing up the rear making conversation.
"So, when we get to the house, what do you plan to do?" Kristoff asked, pulling one reign to signal Sven into a turn. The Queen, his sister-in-law, thought for a moment and then smiled a tiny bit while saying, "It's a surprise." This prompted a playful dialog about how surprises in their family usually went either really bad or ran them into cast-iron poles.
"Come on. Tell me. You know you want to," Kristoff was saying right as the house came into view. Elsa's smile faded as she saw the hole in the tall townhouse. The roof, which was visible from the side since the house was on the end, had fallen in, taking the upper section of the room's wall with it. Below, Kristoff helped Elsa out of the sled and the other four dismounted their horses. Six sets of eyes were glued to the side that showed the collapse. For a few moments, no one said anything.
Elsa was the first to move, shooing the men to the side. Planting her feet in the snow only a few feet from the house, the Queen pulled her arms up to her sides, fists balled—Kristoff watched, sucking in an anticipatory breath and holding it, not having gotten many opportunities to see the Snow Queen work her magic—and pushed out, icy magic creating a structure that was beginning to coil up from the ground and into the air. With one step, Elsa gave the structure her finishing touch, the ice becoming as flawless as that first staircase. Kristoff, not for the first time, was torn between crying at the perfect ice and squealing like a little girl at how awesome it was to see anyone make anything so incredible; the latter would never actually happen out loud.
The soldiers and Egon didn't seem as impressed. In fact, the three of them looked so unsure about the spiral staircase that Kristoff couldn't imagine any of them walking up that way. Hans, however, looked as interested as Kristoff believed his face could portray. When the Prince wasn't trying to manipulate anyone, it seemed his face was allowed only a teaspoon of expressions. To Kristoff's surprise, Hans made to follow after Elsa without batting an eye. Being closer, Kristoff was able to squeeze in between the two on the way up.
The men had to wait on the staircase as Elsa built a balcony, reinforced by a long framework of icy scaffolding. She even made a railing, and it was just as perfect as the rest. Both Kristoff and Hans made cautious ventures out onto the balcony, looking over the railing with a mirrored apprehension.
"There's still snow down in the room," the Queen explained while standing at the edge of her balcony. "I'm going to remove that and try to stabilize the roof. When I do, one of you two inform the three on the ground that it'll be safe to go inside and clear the debris." Elsa edged her foot onto the wooden gable; Kristoff noticed that she was more surefooted on ice than on the wooden roof. She turned back to add, "Oh, and that we'll need a carpenter to fix the roof."
Hours later, said carpenter was already beginning his work. He'd only have a little daylight left before the dusk fell and it became too cold to work in the dark, regardless of lantern light. It was at this point that Kristoff suggested that the party return to the castle. Elsa had spent most of her free time after her task going house to house and seeing how the inhabitants were and how they thought their houses were doing under the weight of the snow. From the very first house, she allowed Hans to follow like a bad shadow. He would be a reasonable amount of feet away, boots covered in the snow, but there anyhow. It irked Kristoff enough that he joined Elsa from the second house on. Nearly all the occupants reacted the same way, flabbergasted at first that the Queen of Arendelle was on their porch, asking how they were, then asking her to come in and have some hot glögg or hot this or hot that—to which she always politely declined,—and each time saying that either their house was fine or that the roof groaned every now and again. They would congratulate Kristoff, too, on both his nuptials and impending fatherhood, which made him as flattered as it did uncomfortable; he didn't know practically anyone personally, but they treated him as if he was a lifelong-dear-dear-friend. How the royals dealt with it on a daily basis all their lives and stayed sane, he'd never understand, even if he had joined their ranks.
Yule came rather suddenly for all involved.
The staff of the castle realized two days before the holiday that no evergreen tree could be found inside the castle. This was quickly rectified, however; a massive spruce had been hand-picked by Kai and hauled to the castle by a group of ice-harvesters. It was decorated quickly and expertly by Gerda's command and instructions through the rest of that day and into the night. When everyone retired to bed, late that night, it seemed the fun was just beginning.
Anna, mildly stable—most talk of her emotions were only teasing and overstatements, most—was among the first up on the Eve of the Yuletide. She had been doing her best to gather presents for those she felt comfortable giving to, and felt confident that the packages she placed on the tree would bring smiles to their recipients.
Elsa, an early riser, too, startled the pregnant princess when she arrived to the tree with her own bag of presents. They laughed it off and chatted back and forth until all of the presents were set, then left for breakfast together.
"…and then she just stood there!" Anna laughed, having Elsa in stitches before the food had even been served. The Queen had to hold onto her sides trying to keep her ribs from hurting. A surprising hiccup escaped her, making both Anna and Elsa laugh, though the latter was groaning through part of it. "You," hiccup, "You mean she walked in on the two of you," hiccup, "And just stood there?"
"Yep," Anna said, making a face, "She just stood there and looked at us. Guess what she said?"
Hiccup, "I bet I know."
"'I used to lay on my back for a living,'" the two sisters imitated the whore-turned-maid in unison, dissolving into giggles afterwards. They laughed themselves out for a time, conversation staying light and bouncing from subject to subject until Anna sucked in a breath and press a hand to her stomach.
"What happened?" Elsa asked quickly, somewhat panicked that her sister seemed to be in pain, "Is it the baby?" The younger of the two shook her hair, coppery braids waggling and much longer than they were before her marriage. Pregnancy had sped up her hair growth enough that she had nearly another inch for each month. "No," Anna answered, "Yes. I mean, its fine and I'm fine. I just got a rough kick to the ribs is all. Here, the baby's still kicking. Give me your hand and feel it." Anna made to take Elsa's hand and put it on her bulging baby, but Elsa retreated from her touch.
"I don't think it's a good idea for me to touch you," she reasoned. Anna shook her head and reached again saying, "It'll be fine. I trust you, Elsa."
The Queen stood from her chair, almost upsetting it in her haste. Elsa made her hands into fists, crossing her arms behind her back, "I…" she began, "I… It's not that I doubt you, Anna, but what happens if I curse the baby somehow? Or if I get worked up and freeze it? I just… I don't think I want to take the chance."
Anna's hand stayed on her stomach, over where her child grew at a seemingly exponential rate, and for just a moment her maternal instincts tried to win out over her unconditional love for her sister, losing to the stronger emotion. But for just that moment, she could see why Elsa was hesitant, could see from her perspective, could imagine the danger her unborn child could be in were she to force Elsa. But it was in Anna's nature to blow off the instincts and put her total faith in her sister. "I don't think you could hurt the baby, Elsa."
"But I could, Anna."
"You wouldn't hurt it."
"Anna, I nearly froze you for all eternity. And I 'wouldn't' hurt you, either. I just don't have that much control where emotions are involved."
Anna might have said something more, but they were interrupted by breakfast and the arrival of Kristoff, Hans, and several of their Yuletide guests.
The moment arrived when presents were to be given out, and Elsa, being the Queen of the castle, was the first to touch the glittering packages on the tree. Her first gift was to Anna, of course, who took it and opened the lid off the box, and almost instantly started to cry. Elsa had found their mother's birthing gowns and had altered them herself to have more green in them—twenty-one years of ice powers didn't mean the Queen had never been given lessons in embroidery.
Her next gift was to Kristoff. The ice-harvester was much too brawny for their lean father's clothes, alterations or not. His present was more ornamental than practical, being an icepick that had a clear Quartz handle, inlayed with blue semi-precious stones. He was enamored with it, and Elsa was happy that she had done that instead of gotten him new boots.
To Linnéa went a rather beautiful shawl that Elsa couldn't imagine herself wearing anymore, and to Egon went a nicer pair of boots that had extra wool sewn into the lining to keep him warm—he almost blushed to have something so nice. Kai and Gerda and most of the staff received a "free-day" waiver that most itched to use. She got to the last of her presents on the tree and felt the sting of awkwardness try to color her cheeks. The present in her hands, she turned to seek out Prince Hans; he was seemingly looking right at her, a box wrapped neatly in blue cloth and tied with a blue ribbon in his hands. Sarcastically, she wondered who it could be for, imagining that she was the clear target for such a present. Laughable, though, in a way, that she so quickly accepted the idea that he had bought a present for her.
"Your Majesty," Hans started, voice mechanical and nervous, "I hope you'll accept this gift and consider it no part of what I owe to you."
Elsa took the gift, offering the present she had in return, to which Hans seemed surprised to be receiving. "This is for you," she explained. Both took the proffered gifts and held them as if neither knew what to do with them. It was the Queen who managed to have the presence of mind to say, "You go first."
Hans untied the ribbon that held his box closed, taking the lid off and unfolding the cloth wrapping that hid and protected the gift. A slow smile creased his face, gentle and sort-of touched looking. He held up the top of a tooled leather bridle for his horse, dark in color with a golden trim, patterned carefully and expertly with curls. Elsa was surprised that she felt relieved that he appeared to like it, relieved and nervous. "There's… well, the matching saddle is in the stables, Prince Hans. I hope you can make use of them with Sitron." She didn't tell him that the saddle and bridle had belonged to her father. It felt strange.
"Thank you, Your Grace," he replied, sounding so sincere to Elsa that she smiled and replied, "You're welcome."
A moment passed before she started to untie the ribbons of her gift. Had Anna not appeared and put a gift into her hands, she would have opened it right away. The younger of the two started in on how her sister just had to open her present first, because she was her sister and she just had to. Elsa looked down at the present long enough to unwrap it, and looked up to see Hans' sympathetic face. He waved her off and turned, disappearing in the gift-giving throng.
Elsa unwrapped Anna's gift, the box giving way to a surprise—a doll that was the spitting image of herself, but sewn into its arms was a green swaddled baby figure, obviously meant to diffuse the issue between them. Elsa's eyes welled up, a lump developing in her throat, "But… we only… this morning…"
"I know. I had something else, and you'll get that, too, but…" Anna reached out and put one hand on Elsa's holding the doll, "You don't have to be afraid. This baby—my child—is going to be my life soon, and I can't wait, but… I don't ever want distance between us, Elsa. Put your faith in me to know what you can handle, and we won't let each other down."
At some point Elsa had gone from tearing up to actually crying, which made Anna start to cry, too, and despite her concerns about Anna's pregnancy and her proximity, the Queen hugged her sister, the presents in her hand less important than maintaining their bond and all but forgotten. If she had time to pick apart her emotions, Elsa would be happy to be loved so much, but unhappy with herself for letting fear interfere with her life again. The gift exchange wasn't over, however, and she received and opened presents from everyone present. Hans' present set with Anna's, unopened for the time being. A feast was served, the leftovers of which were left out for whatever unexpected visitors might pop in overnight—traditionally for… trolls. Kristoff laughed at first, the humor wearing off when he realized he'd never seen a troll leave for "late night snacks" on the Yuletide Eve.
The party seemed to last well into the night, but eventually everyone retired to their beds, likely to sleep in the next morning. Elsa left Anna and Kristoff at their room and continued on to hers' finding that all her presents had been delivered to her room before Kai or Gerda went to bed. She looked over the clothes that she would probably never wear, smiled at the doll Anna had given her, and then saw the corner of the blue box that held Hans' gift. Appraisingly, she picked up the box. It was weighty, and something shifted inside as she rattled it slightly. Curiosity piqued again, Elsa sat down and untied the ribbon as the box sat on her lap, setting the lid aside and finding a set of combs inside. They were mostly silver, some with handles inlayed with white porcelain, lapis lazuli, aquamarine, and a couple with dark sapphires winking in the light of her candle. The beauty of the hair combs caught her breath for the moment. Though beautiful, Elsa could see too that they were not new, and as she picked the combs out and set them down on her lap, she came to a note at the bottom. It read very simply, "These belonged to my mother and her mother."
The next morning, Yuletide, Elsa sat at her vanity table coiling her hair with the aid of the silver combs, their usefulness undeniable. As a last touch, she secured a small silver comb, one with a sapphire between two aquamarines ornamenting it, in her braided chignon. Before leaving her table, she almost took it out, feeling as though if she wore the comb she would show some sort of favoritism—a favoritism that she felt for the comb—that would be hard to explain. Her eyes went to the piles of presents she had left on the sofa and wondered if she could handle wearing "normal" clothing again, even if it was only for a day. It would be rude not to, wouldn't it, she asked herself.
When Queen Elsa left her room, she was dressed entirely in cloth made of material and not her ice cloth, wearing leather boots and a blue cape similar to the one she had let go of on the North Mountain. Had it not been for the cape, she might have escaped notice, mistaken for a lovely new maid or foreign dignitary. As it was, three of her staff did double-takes and then raved about how different it was to see her in plain clothes again—all nice things—just on the way to the library office.
Inside the office, she prepared to face a good day in good humor, imagining that few could find things to complain about on Yule. She was partly correct, in that what complaints came across her desk had nothing to do with the holiday. They were, in fact, thinly veiled angry letters from various countries whom sons', princes', and kings' hands she had turned down in the last four years since her parents' deaths. The general consensus of each was that further refusals to take a husband would be considered as insults, heinous enough to warrant war.
DUM-DUM-DUUUUHHHMMMM! haha so that's the big bad chapter 6. Thanks for reading, because I'm sure that this one is WAAAY more hefty than the others, word-wise. Sorry about the lag. Still doing some moving things (ugh) and will hopefully be done within the next two weeks so I can get started on ch.7. Really and truly thankful to you all for reading this. Uhmmm... oh! It's gonna start getting... darker-or at least I'm planning on it. Not so much sugar-coating. If you're not up for it, I'm sorry. I will be putting warnings for the content at the beginning, however. Thanks again.