A/N: This has been a loooong time coming. With such a gap, my writing has probably changed... so there's that.
The impromptu council watched the Queen and Hans re-enter her office with expectant expressions.
"Hans," Anna said, noting the pallor of the prince and the hard line of her sister's mouth, "Elsa?" Kristoff's hand on her shoulder kept the princess from going to the pair of them. They stood side-by-side, but the gulf between them was palpable.
"Why do they look so unhappy?" Olaf asked in a whisper that did nothing to keep anyone from overhearing it. Hans took the slight turn of Elsa's head towards him to mean she'd let him answer—let him say it out loud.
"For the safety of Arendelle and all who live here, and for its prosperity, her Majesty and I will marry. We'll make the announcement tomorrow to the public and send letters of invitation out as well. The ceremony will be before the birth of your child, Princess Anna. Or, it should be, so long as the baby is born in March."
Silence reigned for a full minute as he closed his mouth. Surprisingly, Egon found his tongue first, and shockingly, he was angry. Angry at the Queen: "What are you doing? Both of you? You can't force Hans to marry you!" the veteran barked, ignoring Linnéa's tightened hold of his arm, "He's had enough of people toying with his life, don't you think?—"
"I'm choosing this, Egon. Remember yourself," Hans said, voice louder than whatever Egon was going to follow his comment with. The prince's rescuer-and-apparent-advocate was shocked by the strength with which Hans defended the Queen. "The marriage will be a contract, a lifelong agreement to offer the only thing I can—the support of the Southern Isles. The line of succession will remain as it is, starting with Anna and passing to her children. I agree to all of it, knowing what it means, and I've agreed that I will have no claim to the affairs of this kingdom. Mine will be the title of king in name only." Anna saw the hard line of Elsa's mouth soften and it occurred to the younger sister that whatever sort of conversation the pair had in all the time they were gone, it included this.
"It's complicated," Elsa said, her voice lower than Hans' had been, "But this is the best option. I… I know it's not ideal. You can still say no, even now, Prince Hans; you understand that… that you didn't have to agree?" Her gaze pulled from the other faces in the room to look up toward the man she had spent several minutes convincing to do just that. She wasn't truly looking at him, he noticed, and he imagined that her thoughts were on their conversation and how his autonomy had been challenged by everything she had said. Softly, because speaking louder seemed like it would shatter the question inside the question, Hans answered, "I know you wouldn't force this."
Her eyes moved to look at him then, and there was more sadness in her gaze than he thought he could bear to see, but also small thanks. The Queen knew that Hans was aware that the pressure had been on him to say yes because that was how fiercely she protected her people. But she also knew that he was accepting a loveless life knowing full and well that it was for the same people. The Queen could have what life he had left if it was of any use to her.
"Elsa," Anna said again, and the Queen's gaze was gone. Hans caught the look on Anna's face—somewhere between pity and sympathy hid behind the facade of a question. Everyone was aware of what Elsa would be giving up and it hung heavy in the air: children, don't you want children, are you sure you want to give up that chance? Hans could almost read the questions hanging in the air in the absence of anyone voicing of them. "It's already decided, Anna," the Queen said, adding with a stony expression and a voice that matched, "I'd like to be alone, now."
No one dared disobey.
Linnéa heard the rest of Egon's objection to the decision. She sat on their bed and listened until the storm in her husband had blown itself out and he sat, morose, at the end of the mattress. He had talked about how the situation was another punishment for Hans. She didn't bother pointing out that Hans would be married to a very nice woman and not just be marrying a queen. Whether or not he got a fancy title, Queen Elsa didn't deserve to be treated like a villain.
"They'll never be in love," Egon had said as he dropped back, his head resting in her lap.
"Don't decide that for them," Linnéa countered, and the edge her voice took had his eyes flicking up to look at hers. She continued, "They respect one another. I saw what you saw, but they both know exactly what they're doing. I want him to be happy just like you, but you can't say they'll never be in love. It might not be the kind of passion that threw us together, but people can grow together if they give it a chance."
His expression softened and one calloused hand reached up to stroke her cheek. She leaned down and kissed her husband. Time would tell.
Dorian was shocked by the letter he received—or two if one counted the smaller paper folded inside of the invitation. Queen Elsa was announcing her intention to marry Hans in the first, obviously a form letter sent out to more than just the heir of the Southern Isles. In the second, addressed to him alone, Hans explained that the marriage was political in nature. He had not won Elsa's heart, but an alliance between the two crowns would help both kingdoms prosper. The only thing she required was Dorian's word that the nation to the south would come when called upon.
His father would be dubious of the union. The King had his own opinions on who his army would be deployed for, and the son he had thought was dead did not rank high. Dorian spoke in private with his father, as the two men had kept council for a great amount of the heir's life.
"Hans… he won't ever supply a blood heir to Arendelle," the Crown Prince said, having had to pry that admission loose from his own mind. The King ran his hand over his beard, and Dorian wondered when had it gotten to be so white? Age was wearing on his father, a realization that dropped hard into the pit of Dorian's stomach. Would he be King of the Southern Isles before it mattered what his father thought?
The old man said, "And she wouldn't take one of your other brothers instead? Someone with which she could have a real marriage?"
"Absolutely not," Dorian said, remembering his time in the northern kingdom. The Queen of Arendelle was a great beauty and a woman of her word. "But, I assume the kingdom will go to Anna in the event of Elsa's premature death. Then, to her children after. My wife is pregnant at long last. Perhaps my child and the unborn child of the Princess could be betrothed? The crowns would have a union eventually unless the children are all male or female. In that unlucky event, I believe God would be the intervening hand, but we could always foster a daughter or they could one of ours."
His father's eyes settled unfocused on the melting snow of a far-off landscape, "Draft the letter, then, my son. I will attend the wedding and settle that matter of betrothal myself."
"It will be done, father."
As Dorian walked the route to his study, he questioned whether his father was of the right health to go north in early spring, knowing that voicing such concerns to the man would only invite indignant anger. To point out the King's age to him was a well-known taboo.
Snow feet make a ton of noise going across stone floors, Olaf puzzled out, eventually. He never was good at sneaking up on people on the feet Elsa had given him. S'not a problem, like not having a skull wasn't a problem. Why did he need to sneak around in the castle anyway? He had the privilege of being one of Elsa's living creations and everyone in Arendelle was familiar with him. The people from Arendelle, really, and just like when Anna got married, there were more people in the castle than just the usual faces. Some he knew, some he did not.
Rapunzel and Eugene were back. The Irishman and the Italian and a few more that were there for Elsa's July snow. As nice as it was to have them around, none of them seemed to be of particularly good cheer.
"Why isn't the castle decorated? I thought this was supposed to be the wedding of a Queen," someone said.
It was true that there weren't streamers or icicle adornments and no big banners with the Queen's colors or her and Hans' profiles. He'd never been to a funeral, but someone said it seemed more like that than a celebration. Olaf just didn't understand what was going on. Didn't those grumps know Elsa was marrying Hans because his brother would send his army to help if Arendelle needed it? They didn't kiss like Anna and Kristoff and they didn't walk close like Rapunzel and Eugene and they didn't wrestle in the hallway like Egon and Linnéa—why the last two always looked guilty, he definitely didn't understand. Hans was doing what Elsa needed him to.
They weren't in love.
Those people that didn't get it shouldn't act like Hans and Elsa should act like the other couples.
Hans and a retinue of Arendelle's palace guards waited at the docks as the ship flying the colors of the Southern Isles sailed into the harbor. Terror struck him as he remembered the last trip to the docks, pushing his stomach somewhere around his throat. His father was on that ship, and Dorian. If any of his other brothers had traveled with them, it was against the expressed insistence that they not be there. Elsa forbade any of the brothers who had had a hand in his torture from setting foot or sail on Arendelle lands or waters. The Queen waited in the castle, and the tension there made it hard to breathe.
As little time as Elsa and Hans had spent alone since deciding to marry, the tension wasn't between them.
Anna… the last month was gearing up to be the worst, between the fits of crying and breathless monologues about the guests—sometimes while they stood right by her. No one could avoid the waves of stress that flowed in all directions from her epicenter. The best thing for the princess was to not be around her sister, however much they both lamented that—best for both their relationship and the current weather patterns.
A longboat detached from the ship and rowed for the banners of the crown. The figures were too small, but Hans thought he saw a flash of gold as though from a crown. Nightmarish imagined visions flashed through his unsettled mind—Dorian wearing the crown and saying that their father was dead or dying on the ship and asked to see him one last time. They would row back out, his guards and his brother's, and he would climb aboard to the waiting horde of his remaining family members snaring him in a trap. He comforted himself with the idea that dead or dying, his father was unlikely to care to see his youngest son.
The King was a man Hans no longer recognized. Where was the fading auburn hair? The man who wore the crown was white-headed, and the beard that hung from his chin was as snowy as old man time. Dorian was stern-faced beside the old man, and Hans got the impression that he was close in the event that a wave jostled the boat and tossed the King down. It was like he was a shadow of the man he used to be. Hans was all too familiar with that feeling.
One guard tossed the rope to a man on the dock, and several hands pulled the boat flush with the dock. At least the shadow had the grace to step unaided from the seat on the boat to the steady planks. His cloak hid a frame that had thinned in muscle and gained in girth through the middle, but the illusion was broken as he lifted away the fur to step out.
"Your Grace," Hans greeted, "Prince Dorian—thank you for journeying north this time of year. I hope—"
The King waved his hand and grimaced, obviously dismissing the pleasantries and formalities, and said, "You look better than Dorian led me to believe you would. That ponytail belongs on a horse, not on a prince."
A sense of the familiar washed over Hans and he checked a smile. Insults shouldn't make a man grin, but it was comforting that his father's gruff countenance remained no matter what else was fading. That, at least, was grounding.
"As you say, Father," Hans conceded, calm, if not a little fond. The old man met his eyes and for a moment, Hans thought perhaps his father would say something uncharacteristically sentimental or reach to embrace him. The opportunity passed and neither prince nor king acted on whatever passed between them.
"Lead the way, Prince Hans," Dorian supplied into the silence, "Unless we came all the way just to see the docks?"
"Not a chance," was the king's fast reply, followed by: "Neither of you happen to be pretty enough to ride four days across choppy waters to stare at. I'd like to meet this Queen you're marrying."
It was clear to Elsa after only a short time that all of Dorian and Hans' father's effort in raising a decent man had gone into his heir, and that it must have taken quite an effort for him.
The men arrived with the appropriate fanfare owed to a visiting monarch, heralded by Kai's strong voice announcing, "King Wolter Westergaard of the Southern Isles and Prince Dorian of the Southern Isles." Hans passed the entourage of his father and brother's men to stop at her side—a predetermined move—as he had been sheltered in her nation for nearly a year. Elsa's slight case of nerves cast her gaze quickly to the man beside her, attempting to gauge his mood and failing, before settling on the King who had insisted on meeting her. It was a quick sizing up; he broke the silence before she had time to form the thought: 'he looks ill.' The voice that came from his aged person was stronger than she had thought he might have, like the howl of a wolf sounding out of a lame old dog; "Let us not stand on ceremony, Queen Elsa. I'm too old and you are far too powerful to pretend we are not here, right this very moment, to negotiate."
Ah, so this was the King. "So we are. Well, King Wolter, permit me to suggest we speak in the castle's library. My family and yours." The Queen cut her eyes to Hans, feeling that his place was somewhere in the middle, not so much the king's son any more or queen's husband yet. He wore a mostly blank expression—odd, considering how often he emoted—which seemed to suggest his unease more than if he had blanched and began to shake. After a nod from the King, she led the way into the castle's library.
Before being offered a chair, the elder monarch dropped into the nearest one he found suitable. More than that, he wasted no time in getting right to the matter at hand.
"You, Queen Elsa, could do better than an exiled eunuch. Why choose the most broken of my sons when you could have a real marriage with one of the others?" he asked, and the hard gleam to his eyes seemed partially a test and partially malice for the son he had just so thoroughly insulted. The prince, for all his control thus far, flinched.
Elsa was not unprepared for the question. "King Wolter, I have not chosen the most broken of your sons; those kinfolk that would devise torture as a contest for their ilk are far more 'broken' than their victim could ever be. I would not marry any of them and give them the opportunity to treat me as their toy."
"And you believe that Hans has changed—truly changed—and that his intentions are not to 'toy' with you?" The old man's thin lips curled as he asked his question. Prince Dorian's gloved hands seemed to creak as they tightened behind his back, and out of her sight, Anna breathed a slow breath as though to calm herself. It wasn't without merit, for a person who had not seen Hans as he had been and Hans as he was now. She returned a version of his smile, less derisive and more knowing as she answered, "I am certain of nothing, King Wolter. There is a part of me that may always suspect a man who once tried to kill me… and yet, that man is so obviously not this man."
Her gaze met with a pair of green eyes that held emotion as tightly as their owner seemed to hold his breath. She couldn't name it, but she felt like, if this library was the sea, turbulent and hostile, he was looking at her like the only thing that might keep his head above water; the thought caused a sudden tightness in her chest. "It's a strange thing… trust."
Wolter seemed to let the moment progress until he perhaps couldn't stand the silence that followed. Elsa wondered, however, if there was some discomfort in the room at large, for the second she broke eye-contact with Hans, she found no one else willing to meet her gaze. The king cleared his throat, sat forward in his chair and cloak, and spoke: "So be it. You've set your mind to this union despite what I consider to be obvious reasons it suits no one well. I've heard from Dorian your sister is to be your heir, and her children after her—as she is already married," Wolter looked to Anna's undeniably large midsection, something of a statement in itself, "Preventing the usual politics from running their course."
"I realize that—"
He stopped her from completing her planned assurances, apparently not at his own conclusion yet. "Dorian too is expecting his first child. These two future heirs could be wed when they come of age, which, generations aside, will be preferable to no standing relations at all."
"I can't promise you that without speaking to Princess Anna."
"Certainly not. Talk it over," he leaned back into his chair, one hand sliding into his cloak as if to rest on his stomach, and she didn't imagine the spasm of pain that darkened his brow.
Elsa might have paid it more attention if she had had any inkling of what was to come.
Anna waited an appropriate amount of time after leaving the library with Kristoff before starting in on worrying—which was to say, they had stepped over the threshold with Elsa leading the way, just those three. Before the door had even closed behind them, with one hand over her unborn child, Anna let everyone inside and outside the room know: "I'm worried."
"Anna—"
"Let's talk somewhere—" Kristoff started to suggest, she knew, that they go somewhere with more privacy before she really lost it and some part of Anna knew that was for the best but the other part of her brain was all bells tolling in alarm and she didn't like any of this.
"Let them hear. I haven't even held my baby yet and they're about to be betrothed to the first baby a stranger has with a not-so-strange stranger and that man in there is just so rude and—and—" she put her hand on her side and took a deep breath… and then a not so deep breath and Kristoff had her wrapped in his arms, soothing with a shhh…
So what if she was freaking out; the hallway was cooling by the second, and the look on Elsa's face seemed to match Anna's anxiety. Extricating herself from her husband's calming embrace, she was careful how she took her sister's hand. "I'm sorry. I should have waited, Elsa. You've got so much to worry about right now. We could go outside and talk in the gardens if you want…?"
Between her two favorite people in the world, Anna wasn't sure who looked more surprised to see her go from mania to reasonable. Elsa let her lead, still hand in hand, Kristoff bringing up the rear. Their silence let Anna think a little more clearly, and by the time they were in the gardens—not yet in the full splendor of their summertime potential—Anna was sorta-kinda-certain that the next thing out of her mouth would not be a run-on sentence. "Please have a seat," she asked her audience—yes! she knew she could do it—waiting as they both settled on the stone bench in front of her. "I need some room to pace or I would sit down, too. My feet feel awful," Anna said, her humor in her complaint wasted on her husband, who seemed ready to trade places with her, and dare she hope, rub the offending appendages. He was so good to her… agh, she was getting side-tracked.
"So, I see both sides of this. On the one hand, if this is the only way Arendelle will have the support of the Southern Isles as allies, then I should be willing as the princess to make at least as much effort for it as you have, Elsa. I mean… marrying Hans and making this baby heir is just like—" the humor died in her manufactured laugh, "—wow… so I know it's important. On the other hand, my mind is racing because what if Dorian isn't capable of raising a well-adjusted child? What if his heir is like their uncles? If they're like Hans was before he was tortured, back when he was all… murder-plotty? I just don't want our baby to have to marry a lunatic in twenty—no, thirty years." She didn't realize she had gripped handfuls of her skirt in her pacing until she came to a stop.
"Anna," Elsa said, patient and understanding and so-not-as-worried, "Anyone's child can end up marrying a lunatic,—" that wasn't as reassuring as it was meant, Anna thought, "—not everyone shows their insecurities right away. We can hope for the best and plan for the worst in the future, but we can't control it."
"Besides, what lunatic would hurt our baby knowing that their aunt could freeze their toes to the ceiling and their nose to the ground?" Kristoff tried. Anna looked at Elsa, who seemed willing enough to play along for Anna's sake. The image was enough to release some of her tension in a chuckle. All they needed was for Dorian's heir to believe Elsa would rescue her niece or nephew from them in such a way, and she'd feel better.
Still…
"What if they fall in love with someone besides each other?" Anna asked, "Would that start a war if they wanted out of the betrothal? Because… I mean, it's possible to fall in love with someone other than who you're engaged to…"
Kristoff beamed at her, his smile the one that made her heart do a little flip in her chest.
"We can include a provision for that in our agreement," Elsa said, "That if they reach the age of marriage and find one another unsuitable or generally don't want to marry, they may declare it… hopefully, Dorian and I won't have such a poor relationship that war is unavoidable. If we don't, or we aren't making the decisions, maybe those who are will consider all other options first."
Anna took a deep breath, put her hands on the small of her back, and looked at Kristoff again. "And you're alright with this plan?"
"Generally," he said, "I've been leaving the more… 'royal' decisions to you two. I never thought I'd get married, and I never thought I'd marry a princess. Betrothals and political marriages are pretty well beyond me. All I want is our baby to be happy, healthy, and loved. I can let you two decide the rest."
It was pressing, at that moment, that she be kissing her husband for saying something so sweet. Kristoff so often seemed unreachable when she wanted to snag a kiss, so she took advantage. Only when Elsa stood up to leave did Anna realize she went a little overboard. "Sorry, Elsa," was all she managed before her sister waved them off.
"Enjoy the day. I'll see you at dinner," she said, before sweeping away and leaving Anna and Kristoff alone in the gardens.
Hans had not enjoyed hearing the king's summation of him—it wasn't unfamiliar, truly, given that his brothers seemed to have learned their dispassion for him from the most obvious source. In King Wolter's eyes, even before his castration, Hans was never a man. Old frustrations played in his head—as loud as cannons—until Queen Elsa made her counter-statements.
There had been a time during his months trapped in the hell of his brothers' design when Hans had not felt like a man—or even particularly human.
Queen Elsa not only saw his humanity, but she also called him a man, and when he met her gaze, she implied that she trusted him. How had that happened? Had his agreement to the political marriage of the strictest definition been a tally in his favor? Was it his simple need of her to survive after being rescued? Some wild thought dashed through his brain: Elsa trusted him because he had entrusted his life to her? Any version of that would be acceptable, so long as he never abused her trust in him.
They seemed to have stared at one another so long that the rest of the room took notice. When Elsa looked away and at their audience, Hans closed his eyes against the scene—he had yet to wonder what his life would be like when Elsa married him; now, he imagined they might be friends eventually. His father's voice broke the moment of silence and Hans watched him as he made his stipulation to the marriage. King Wolter was known to drive a hard bargain, and Hans was used to the interruptions and the overshadowing that went hand in hand with that, but Queen Elsa was his royal peer, and Hans felt it underhanded how his father overran her. As much momentary indignation as he felt for his father's rudeness, he could no more say something to the man than he could relax around him.
The exiled prince felt oddly proud that the queen stood from her chair wordlessly and beckoned her sister and Kristoff to follow similarly; it seemed a response on her own not to excuse herself in her own castle. Warmth died in his chest the moment that Anna made it across the threshold to the hall. Her unfiltered way of doing everything during her pregnancy was something he and those around the castle had gotten used to, but his brother and the king were total strangers to it—he dreaded meeting their eyes after the door closed and the voices had gone. Truly, Hans dreaded being left in that room, with that man, especially in that mood. It didn't take very long for Wolter to zero in on his youngest son again.
"I would have thought that your ego would have kicked in by now," he said, shrewd gaze and tone toward Hans all he needed to feel the threat of a biting lecture, "The kind of ego that got you into this mess in the first place. When did you lose it, I wonder? When they cut off—"
"Enough, father," interrupted his brother, more stern than he had heard the man be in twenty years. Between Hans and Wolter, it was hard to tell who was more surprised, an advantage that Dorian pressed. "You've embarrassed me. You've embarrassed yourself. We did not come here to bully Arendelle, its royalty, or Hans. If you had been treated in as abhorrent a manner as your son by your brothers, you'd have changed too—and not for the better. I won't go back to holding my tongue while our family exchanges blows—that's what started this mess, not Hans' ego."
Dorian's statement lasted all of ten seconds before Wolter's silence wore off and venom returned to the set of his mouth. "Not so keen on your family anymore? Perhaps Arendelle has room for another prince in hiding?"
"Arguing with you is not a crime, father. I was the one who came in your stead, months ago when everything that our family had done to him was still fresh. I saw how thin he was, how his body was healing. I told you, when I came home, how I wanted nothing more to do with any who had a hand in it—something that I've stayed true to—unless you've forgotten. Do not bully him. I was negligent when he was a child, but I won't stand for it now," Dorian said, brokering no argument. It was a valiant effort, and if it had been any other man, it would have quieted them, but this was their father, the King of the Southern Isles and he was not to be cowed. Hans watched the blood rise to his father's face all through the Crown Prince's speech, and his sense of dread grew all the while.
"You forget yourself, Dorian," he said, voice choked with anger, "I can name any heir; Henrik never presumed—presu—" Wolter seemed to lose his breath, falter, and lose color all at once. Even in his chair, he shifted as though pinched. "There's twelve more," Wolter struggled, and neither brother needed to hear the rest of the threat to know it had everything to do with the plethora of other sons he could name his successor. The majority of their attention was on his obvious pain and possible collapse. Hans, all the same, couldn't deny that some part of him mentally corrected his father: eleven, not twelve. That same shameful part seemed to freeze as the king erupted into a fit of coughing.
"Get some help, Hans!" Dorian said, kneeling by Wolter's chair, one hand on their father's shoulder and the other on his knee. The king had one hand on his gut and the other over his mouth. Blood pressed on the seams between his fingers, the sight making the younger prince's stomach drop and veins run cold. He had coughed up blood before, more than once. The memory sprung out of the depths of his mind as if his mouth was permeated with the metallic, putrid, odious taste. He gagged without any possibility of controlling it and ran to the door of the library, wrenching it open to yell into the hallway: "Get the doctor! Help us!"
Egon was the unlucky runner as Kai rushed into the library past Hans and produced a handkerchief for the king. The butler was always prepared, it seemed. Hans, rooted to the floor at the door watched the bustle around his father without a clue what he should be doing. Dorian finally looked up for his brother again, meeting the petrified gaze that had been locked on his two kinsmen. His face was pale, surely matching the color of Hans' own, though Dorian had a handle on his emotions that Hans was certain he didn't mirror. In fact, it felt like he was on some shrinking island of butter atop a boiling stew of emotions, and every second melted away the little barrier between a false calm and outright hysteria.
"Please find the Queen, Hans," Dorian said haltingly. Giving one jerking nod, Hans turned out of the room and stumbled along several feet before breaking into a trot. Where would he find the queen? Would she be concerned that his father might be dying in her library? Of course, she would—a foreign ruler dying suddenly on the day of his arrival after a private meeting with herself? She would have to be ignorant and daft not to worry over appearances. Not to mention, she might control ice and snow, but of the two of them, only Hans had ever cold-heartedly left someone to die.
On the next turn in the halls, he nearly collided with Egon, the doctor, and Elsa.
"Hans!—" Egon said, side-stepping the prince's toes. The group of four stopped, rooted by the disruption to their purposes, but the doctor—perhaps showcasing his good sense—only faltered for a moment before he continued on his way. Egon looked between Hans and Elsa a beat and then chose to follow the doctor. Elsa looked at him, opened her mouth, closed it, and said nothing; somewhere in the middle of that, Hans' tiny boat melted. Like the rain that can only be outrun so long, panic caught—seized—him. "Hans?" Elsa asked, concerned.
He couldn't slow his pulse. He couldn't get enough air. His hands were shaking.
Without a clear recollection of how she did it, rather suddenly, he was outside of the castle bent double over the balustrade, retching up the last thing he didn't remember eating. A pair of blissfully cold hands were on the back of his neck while the heartbeat that pounded in his ears slowly faded back into normalcy.
"What happened?" Elsa asked, shock outweighing her discomfort with touch. Slowly, he raised himself back up, reluctant to be upright but unwilling to be bent across the balcony any longer. She had her hands behind her back as he braced himself on the railing.
"I—… I panicked…?" he answered, unsure of what to say. Elsa's brows drew together, "Is that all?"
"Maybe?" he tried, as unconvinced as she looked. "Dorian sent me to find you. We should go to the library."
Shaking in every muscle, he stepped beyond the queen back into the hallway. "Hans," she said, following, "I know that what's happening with your father is urgent, but shouldn't we talk about that?"
" 'That' what?" he deflected, trying to swallow down the taste of bile leftover in his mouth. She stopped walking, a very obvious lack of cool air filling the space where she had been. He stopped and turned slowly, surprised that she only looked more concerned. "'Panic' doesn't cover what just happened to you. Panic is Anna finding a dirty wall or staircase. You were frozen to the floor and you didn't hear me call your name. I thought you were going to faint or start screaming or vomit all at once."
She closed some of the space between them, gently. Hans closed his eyes, pressing a palm to one temple. The queen shouldn't be troubled by his problems, he told himself, but she didn't take the out he offered. Time slipped away every second he held onto his few insights—time in which the king might be dying. "Father… I remembered why I spent so little time with him. He and Dorian were arguing after you left, back and forth until he started coughing. He coughed up blood and I just…" he let his hand drop, making a fist that he found easier to look at than the queen's crystalline gaze, "I coughed up blood more than once while my brothers were torturing me. It was all too familiar."
Pity hadn't been his goal when sharing what he thought was the reason for his distress, but Elsa exuded it all the same, mixed with horror. He let out a long breath and started to turn away, only to have the queen halt him again; "I'm so sorry I sent you home to them, Hans. I can't tell you how sorry I truly am."
With only a minor pause, Hans replied, "I might have done the same if I were you, or ordered my death. For all the bad, I'd much rather be alive."
Elsa nodded, and they continued back to the library.
They arrived at a scene much less chaotic than the one Egon had described when Elsa had intercepted the veteran and the doctor on the way in from the gardens. Had Egon been accurate, King Wolter would have turned completely inside out from the force of his coughing while the rest of the room ran amuck with utterly useless fear. Instead, the doctor had eased the old man toward the now-open window and eased his coughing with some sort of candied honey and clove. Wolter breathed through his nose, obviously exhausted and ashen, sitting back in the chair moved for him—assumedly by Kai or Dorian. The latter stood with one hand resting on his father's shoulder.
"King Wolter," Elsa said gently, rousing a lazy eyelid up over one green eye, "May I offer you a bedroom to rest in?" Weakened, the old man closed the eye and nodded his graying head in one drooping movement. Elsa looked to Kai, knowing a look would do in place of instructions and confirmed when he made short work of organizing with Dorian and the elected guards from the Southern Isles. He would have, easily, one of the nicest suites in the castle aside from her own and Anna's with Kristoff. The steward was invaluable, appreciated even in the littlest ways he made Elsa's reign run as smooth as possible—greatly appreciated in the larger work as well.
The whole retinue moved with King Wolter down the turns of halls, with Elsa, Dorian, and Hans at the end. The brothers were reluctant to break the silence between the pair of them; the queen was no more ready to do it for them. When the King reached his appointed room, Dorian and the doctor were all that strayed beyond the doors. Hans, Elsa, Kai, and every guard that had followed his father all did their best to maintain a respectable silence—it was broken by the crown prince before the man shut them out: "Two guards stay for two hours, replaced by a new pair every two hours. Do not disturb the King. The rest of you will follow Queen Elsa's instructions on where you are to stay." More than one set of eyes exchanged glances before eventually turning to question Elsa and Hans; what now? Elsa nearly asks the same back of them—had they known their king was in such fragile health? What was she to do now? Too many guests had received and replied to the wedding invitation to put the ceremony on hold for more than a few days. Too much of Arendelle's future seemed to be resting on her marrying—not even specifically Hans, just marrying.
"Set your first watch and the rest of you may follow myself and Kai," Hans said, authoritative tone masking a sort of urgency that Elsa only understood when she realized she could see his breath hanging in the air; he would provide her with space to sort out her own version of panic by leading the soldiers off. The steward nodded and set the pace, Southern Isles guards following with no small measure of relief. Hans, last to leave, told Elsa, "We'll all figure this out. Maybe it won't be as bad as it seems." Even he didn't sound so convinced, she thought, watching his back numbly until he turned a corner and was gone. This turbulent day with no end had dealt everyone she knew their own chance to worry—here was her own and she was hesitant because it might mean having to thaw a room later? No, she refused. Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show had ruled her life overlong. She started walking, lips set in a hard line, mind on all of the ramifications of Wolter's possible demise in her kingdom.
Kristoff was shocked when he overheard the staff speaking of King Wolter's fit and the guards posted outside of his room. He didn't like the man, but he didn't wish him dead—the way the maids talked, he had one foot in his grave. When he told Anna, she sought Elsa out immediately, throwing her arms around her sister as though his news had been a crushing blow to the pair of them personally; this was part of the royal experience that he would never fully understand. It took Anna's explanation later, in the comfort of their room to get a sense of what his wife seemed to inherently know;
"This is bad… like bad, bad. If Wolter thinks we did something to him—or if Dorian does or if the other princes get wind of it and they do—we don't have the international relationships to dispute it. Politically, it's not a good thing for the King to be so sick… here." She made a face at the end and he had a feeling she'd need a backrub when anxiousness let her sit down. Anna was the calmest around him, and Kristoff knew that the more she unpacked the day, the faster she would settle into his arms and rest.
Changing into his nightshirt, he felt he needed to say something… anything that might help: "It'll be alright, Anna… whatever happens, it will all be alright."
"You think so?" she asked. Kristoff nodded, glad to see the ghost of a smile on her face; the whole day had been trying beyond belief. First, betrothing their unborn child to a stranger, to further strengthen the ties of marriage between Arendelle and the Southern Isles, which was then followed by the alarming incident in the library. That Anna could smile at all was a testament to her disposition—always the optimist—and he loved her for it.
When they settled down under the covers, his wife, her pregnancy-induced neurosis not to be forgotten, said, "We have to scrub the library down before the baby comes."
He smiled against her neck.
Nothing at all could have made Elsa anymore ready for the week of her wedding. Wolter's health was not greatly improved, and aside from meals she made sure she ate with the visiting monarch, was rarely seen outside of his room. Guests arrived, filling the castle with who she hoped would be witnesses to her kindness to her future father-in-law. The old man was a taciturn shadow to most meals and guests, at best. At worst, Wolter insulted the cooking and his peers equally, excusing himself to his room with one of his sons in tow.
Hans was so quiet that Elsa had actually jumped when he said something quietly at her right during one of the uncomfortable meals. She couldn't remember what he said, exactly, thinking about it as she brushed her hair out with Hans' Yule gifts, but a near-silent rebuttal of an off-the-cuff comment by his father seemed the most likely. Being engaged had changed little, but in just one week she thought that Hans had taken one step back from her and everyone else. Dorian attempted to befriend Kristoff—common ground being expectant fathers both—and was able to, to a degree. Her brother-in-law did his best to side-step the Southern Isles heir-apparent, and to say that she had seen him dive into bushes was not much of an exaggeration. Sven had exited the castle at no less than a full-gallop three times. To his credit, the heir-apparent had a good sense of humor about it all, saying, "He's not much for conversation, is he?" to Elsa before Kristoff's fast exit had let the dust settle. At least it was one thing he could laugh about in light of his father's poor health; he was quick to say that he didn't believe Arendelle or its inhabitants were the cause of Wolter's illness.
Setting the brush on her vanity, Elsa realized that she wouldn't be able to rest until she had had a conversation with her fiancé. Hans' gift glinted in the candlelight as she stood, taking the lamp on her desk with her, though she thought she could navigate the halls without it. A trip like this—night, attempting to keep her footsteps silent so as not to wake anyone—reminded her of the few times she left her solitude unbidden by her parents. She would take the most direct route to the courtyard or the fjord, avoiding the sleepy patrol one turn at a time, all so she could see the stars or watch the tide roll in. Those lonely, confined days were now, thankfully, only bleak memories overshadowed by two years in the sun with her sister.
Tapping her knuckles on the door of Hans' room gently, Elsa waited what she thought was an appropriate amount of time for him to respond or open the door before she cracked it open herself, peering within. She had just enough time to realize the room was empty before a very hesitant voice asked, "Queen Elsa?" startling her. Reflex had her ice at her fingertips, pointed straight at Hans in the dimming light of her failing lamp. He was wincing in expectation of pain, and only relaxed when Elsa lowered her hand, answering in a question: "What are you doing out in the hall?"
"I couldn't sleep so I went to look at the sky," he said, dropping his gaze to the floor. He didn't let the silence hang, realizing he could ask the same question of her. "Was there something you needed?"
"What? Oh," she paused, gathering her thoughts, "I wanted to talk to you about your father."
"Ah," was Hans' short reply. She heaved a sigh, certain she knew the feeling, "...Would you mind if we go watch the sky while we talk?" He gestured for her to lead the way, and she would have barreled headlong out to the windows if not for a fleeting idea—to take his arm. Elsa heard his breath catch as she slid her fingers gently around his elbow, so lightly that she wasn't sure he could feel it at all. He stayed so still that she used the lamp to look more directly at his face in the dark. His eyes were closed tight, but otherwise, his expression was blank. "I—," she started, dropping her hand back to her side, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
Hans regained whatever part of his mind he had momentarily vacated, stopping her apology with, "It's nothing… I've… had a lot on my mind since this afternoon… unfortunately, it's all been things better left in the past."
Elsa read between the lines, regretting immediately her part in reminding Hans of his torture. Taking a deep breath, her fiancé said, "We could try again…?"
"Only if you would like to; I thought that now might be a good time to practice… for the wedding," explained Elsa. They both seemed to have an embarrassed moment of anxiety at the mention of the word. "May I?" she asked, breaking the tension. He nodded, offering his elbow—mechanically, but Elsa was able to take it without causing an adverse reaction to either of them.
When they reached the windows and balconies overlooking the courtyard, she opened the nearest set of doors and stepped out, glad to see the stars in the clear sky. He followed her out, leaning on the railing, appearing comfortable in the quiet. Too bad she had to break the silence.
"Are your brothers as likely to claim we caused King Wolter's illness as I think they are?"
Hans squeezed the elbow Elsa had been holding discreetly, feeling, to his surprise, no ice had formed on his sleeve in their walk to the balcony. Perhaps the icy end to his life he felt inevitable and likely on his wedding day would not come. He had heard her question, but it bounced around in his head like a cork ricocheting against narrow walls. She watched his face, waiting for his response, lamp illuminating her face in a collection of pale and shadows and two blue eyes in the corner of his vision. There was dizziness in his head—present almost constantly after Wolter's episode—that tightened his chest and stung his eyes and felt like something desperate to break out of his skin. From a distance far off, he caught himself chuckling.
"They probably poisoned him themselves, just to send him to Arendelle and reap the rewards of the scandal. He might have even planned it himself, just for one last spiteful laugh," his words were hollow in his ears—Elsa's brows were drawn, a certain amount of horror evident on her face. "You don't believe that, do you?"
Hans could feel his knees giving out on him as the panic again took him—he was sitting down without remembering how he got there. Elsa was crouched beside him, hands on either cheek and while he couldn't see her lips moving, her voice calling his name was able to reach his ears. He blinked several times quickly, and the connection between his sight and hearing returned. Relieved, she dropped her hands, one resting on his shoulder. "Thank goodness. I thought I might have to get some help—"
Grabbing her was not his intention—he was aware of how her boundaries if breached, were guarded well with ice and snow—but it happened, much like everything this evening had, out of his control. He buried his face against her shoulder and held her close, unaware that he was sobbing like a child until he shook with the strength of them. She had yet to freeze him solid. After that observation, he gave himself over to the bitter tide of emotion that had utterly washed away his good sense for a time.
When Elsa cleared her throat, he took her gentle hint and let his arms drop, drained and unwilling to meet her gaze. The two sat in silence for several moments, a profound and fragile thing dangling on some unseen thread between them. He broke it, because, at last, he had the control to do so.
"I'm sorry—"
"You don't have to apologize, Hans."
"I do… if for nothing else, for soiling your robe."
Elsa smiled, giving her shoulder a glance and shrugging. He almost smiled, but it seemed to get confused somewhere and turn into more tears—surely, he'd be done by now, he thought—and he covered his eyes with his hand. A light touch pulled down on his fingers, dropping their hands to his knee, where she let it rest, "You don't have to hide."
"That's not how I was raised," he said, voice miserable in his effort to keep something, anything, inside.
"It's not how I was, either," Elsa responded. Hans lifted his gaze to her face. "My father gave me the gloves I wore always; he said 'conceal, don't feel, don't let it show.' He was trying to help in the only way he knew how," she said, and there was overwhelming sadness in her, "But they were a crutch, and if I hadn't been so afraid of what I might do to those I loved, I could have found that that love was strength, not a liability. It's not exactly the same, but… hiding how you feel until you it overwhelms you isn't any better than freezing July after losing a glove."
"I didn't know," Hans said. She shrugged, "I've told Anna…"
She meant she had told the person who mattered most.
Regret and loneliness clawed their way out of the emotional stew brewing in his gut and he didn't bother to stem the fresh flow of tears. "I wish I hadn't pushed Dorian away," he croaked, "I wish I was as close to one—just one—out of twelve brothers as you are to Anna. I know I annoyed them as a kid, but why didn't any of them give me a chance?" He couldn't make sense of it all. "Why didn't one of them—any of them—stop what was happening to me?"
She had no answers—he wasn't sure there were any—but she did her best to comfort him, voluntarily sliding his arm over her shoulder and hugging him across the chest. Hans gave into the embrace, gave in to the emotions, gave into the pity he had for the person he had been and the idea that that person was gone, however horrible he had been. Elsa seemed to find some words, charged in the moment by his own grief. "You didn't deserve it," she said against his chest, "You didn't deserve what happened to you."
He held her tighter, briefly, and then at long last, the moment was over.
The queen slipped back out of his arms and stood, wobbling slightly. "My feet fell asleep," she groaned, and they both smiled in spite of themselves. Exhaustion hit Hans like a ton of bricks as he stood, forcing him to steady himself on the railing. When they had both hobbled into the castle and closed the balcony doors, Elsa said quietly, "We should talk again tomorrow… maybe not like that, but about the future…"
"Whenever and wherever you decide," he responded. She nodded, withdrawing only when they had bid one another goodnight.
Wolter got worse.
Elsa started to wonder if some higher power was punishing her for some perceived misdeed or if her luck could really be that terrible. The visiting monarch had stepped off the boat and put one foot solidly in a grave. His downturn took Dorian by surprise and the crown prince barely left Wolter's side—at least there would be a voice Southern Islanders might listen to that could vouch for the care he received in Arendelle. The physician said Wolter complained the most of stomach pain, and that, given the muscle loss evident in his limbs and the weight gain in his abdomen, he believed it was cancer in that region.
With Dorian, Hans, and several members of the Southern Isle guard, Elsa listened to the diagnosis when delivered to Wolter. There was a definite silence, where everyone watched the king's reaction—he was stone-faced when he asked, "Is there anything to be done?"
"There is nothing save a miracle for you now."
"How much time have I got?"
"I would not expect you to last past the end of the season."
"Thank you. If you'd all permit, I'd like time to discuss this with my sons… alone."
All but Hans and Dorian exited the suite.
Elsa followed, hesitating at the door when Wolter called her given name: "Stay. I know you'll hear what I say from one of these clucking hens sooner rather than later. I would have you hear it from me." The king gestured welcomingly to his bedside, and with a nod of acquiescence, Elsa took her place.
Wolter took stock of himself, then began; "I have no intention of slipping quietly into the afterlife. Death will have to fight me first; that is how I've lived thus far, that is how I will die. Given that, I doubt greatly that it will be a long fight.
"Dorian, you are Crown Prince and my heir. Nothing changes now. The throne of the Southern Isles is yours. I will authorize the letter declaring it today and have it sent home tomorrow—if all goes according to plan, you will not face opposition. Your brothers may accept that, they may not. Either way, it will be your first test as a king to handle. I would have liked to meet your child. Tell them I was a strong king—spare them nothing about my reign, and don't be afraid to call me a cranky bastard… it's only the truth.
"Elsa… this marriage to Hans is perhaps the most astounding piece of political gameplay I have ever seen made by someone as young as you are. I will not stand in your way any longer but remember that familial ties make the best alliances where monarchies are involved. Marry your niece or nephew to my grandchild—make it official, that is my advice. You may be stuck with me until I die, and for that, I am sorry; if I had it my way, I would have gone before all this, with a sword in my hand."
His eyes settled on Hans, and he stayed quiet a few beats longer than was comfortable. Elsa felt Hans bracing for a blow from five feet away. Wolter's voice was low as he addressed his youngest son, low but not unkind. "You remind me of your mother… She hated me sometimes, loved me at others, and feared me almost always. I knew I could hurt her with words; I didn't fight the urge to often enough. When she died, she told me the other boys would be the hardest on you—I thought it might make you tougher. The plot you hatched to steal the throne of Arendelle was proof that it did; disappointment for me was really only in your failure and discovery. I apologize, Queen Elsa, for that, but you were a stranger and that was the most ruthless he had ever been. Delegating your punishment to the princes seemed right, at first. When they ordered your death, I knew I had made a mistake. Had I stopped it… we'll never know what might have happened." As he stopped, Elsa thought he did so because he was choking a cough back, but she was surprised to see unshed tears gather in Wolter's eyes.
"I failed to make your brothers men who would never harm their own blood. I'm sorry it hurt you most. I'm sorry for what I've said since arriving here. I needed you to hear that from me before I die. Be a better husband than I was. You'll make a decent king."
Without realizing, Elsa held her breath from the moment Wolter stopped speaking until Hans broke the heavy silence. He sounded almost hoarse as he said, "Thank you, father." Then, with little hesitation, he sat on the bed and hugged his father, lingering just a second and then retreating. Hans looked at his toes as he stood, reminding Elsa of a child expecting a reprimand; she felt the same pull at her heart that she had on the balcony. Some part of her questioned her sympathy, and another part of her understood that she saw some of herself in him. He was only now opening up to deeper connections in the same way she had done two years ago.
"Go, please…" Wolter sighed, settling into the bed, "All of you. I need some rest." Dorian looked ready to argue, but for the beyond-reproach glare that Wolter leveled at him. Elsa would have laughed if it didn't seem so inappropriate. The three of them filed out of the room and shut the door behind them.
Linnéa fussed at his suit's lines and his pleat for the fourth time as he stood attempting to calm the jitters in his arms and legs. Hans tried again to not think of the wedding, but his thoughts would circle around again and again. A kiss with a woman he tried to kill, whose ice powers were connected to emotions she didn't necessarily have control of. A room that was full of people who knew of him only as the wretch who tried to steal the kingdom, all watching him make vows to their Queen. All of that and the ever-present fear that his brothers would find a way to take him home and torture him again, spinning like tops in his mind.
"Nerves are contagious," his company said, her lips pulling like she might smile but not quite completing the act. Hans let out a breath and shook his hands out, "I've been through worse… I've been through worse—Ow!"
Linnéa leveled him with a withering look, having pinched his arm, "Don't think about that now; a wedding is supposed to be a happy thing."
"A political marriage does not need to be happy and the wedding only has to be public enough to be witnessed," he retorted, earning him another pinch to the arm. Linnéa pressed her point as he protested— "You are likely to never marry again and spoiling this for you or the Queen is only going to kick it off to a poor start, right?"
"I think trying to kill her two years ago was a poor enough start—"
"—She forgave you for that. Besides, from what you told Egon about the night on the balcony, you and she have buried the hatchet—"
"—Egon told you what I said?"
"He's my husband. Of course, he told me what you said. He was very happy that you and Elsa aren't going into this on bad terms," Linnéa said, taking one of Hans' hands. When he hadn't said anything in a moment, Linnéa gave the hand a squeeze and added, "It'll be alright… you'll see. Make your vows, kiss your bride, and eat some cake."
There was a knock at the door. Egon and Kai had been sent to collect Hans and escort him to the chapel. He felt his stomach somersault, but he reminded himself that he had, indeed, been through much, much worse than marrying a beautiful queen. He had agreed to do this and he had to do this. They left the room—his two rescuers and the senior butler. Down they went, away from the more lavish rooms he had been forced to take when the engagement had been announced, back down to the main level and the noise of a gathering. Where Anna's wedding had bedecked the halls with decorations and finery expected from a celebration, the halls were unadorned for the Queen's wedding. Hans knew the plans and the reasons behind them, but he wondered if Elsa would regret the bare halls.
When they stopped before the chapel doors, Hans had just a moment to steady himself. It'll be alright, he echoed Linnéa mentally, Make your vows. Kiss your bride. Eat some cake.
The doors opened… and he stifled a laugh.
Elsa realized only retroactively that inviting her heavily pregnant sister to be her matron-of-honor was a problem—it was obvious once they began that day, however.
"I look like a whale," Anna lamented, tears rolling down her cheeks as she pulled at the fabric stretched across her stomach. Elsa couldn't say for certain, but she thought Anna looked ready to burst. It would be hard for her to get much bigger… maybe. "No, you don't, Anna. You look very pregnant," Elsa tried, but Anna was having none of it. She frowned and wiped her face with her sleeve, plucking at her stomach again.
"Can't you wait to marry Hans until after I have my baby? I can. Why did I pick this dress?"
"Because you liked it two weeks ago, Anna. It won't be as bad as you think—no one will even notice your dress. They'll be too busy running away when I accidentally freeze Hans."
"You're not going to freeze Hans," Anna said, momentarily distracted. She set a hand on Elsa's shoulder, adding, "I doubt anyone will be able to look away once they see you. This dress… you really look beautiful."
"Thank you," Elsa said, smiling. At least no one expected her to wear a cloth dress, not when her wardrobe since her false-winter had been primarily her own ice-creations. That much expression of herself was welcome at a political wedding, no matter how rushed. "I can fix your dress, Anna. Just hold still."
"No!" Anna said, throwing her hands out as if the action could stop Elsa's magic. "I mean… It's not so bad when I look at it from the side. I think we'll be fine—I mean, thank you for the offer." Though she tried to cover it, Anna's use of 'we'll' told Elsa that she didn't trust that the baby would be safe. Elsa turned her face from her sister, trying to avoid letting her know how disheartening the exchange was; she didn't. Looping her arms as much as she could around Elsa's waist, Anna said, "I'm sorry… I'm just so ready to meet this baby and stop putting my foot in my mouth. You're going to be fine—I mean, even if you're not, you will be."
"Thanks," she said in a small voice.
It was Kristoff, Gerda, and Olaf who came to get Elsa and Anna. The snowman gasped when he saw Elsa, saying, "It's like you're the prettiest winter ever. I didn't even know ice could do that. How did you get it all to do that?" His wonder gave her a chance to giggle, and both Kristoff and Gerda to agree that her dress was, indeed, dazzling. "I'll tell you on the way to the chapel, Olaf," Elsa promised.
The bridal party started down from the Queen's rooms. She heard their guests before she saw them, and anyone left out in the halls paused to stare at her dress almost long enough to embarrass her. Before that day, she had never imagined a wedding. She still couldn't see it all—Hans was just some figure at the end of the chapel in his suit. The chapel and the throne room were filled with people facing away, both as simple as they had always been.
"We're ready to start," Gerda said, focusing Elsa back on the present. They were outside of the chapel, and all eyes were on her. "Yes. You can open the doors."
Her heart was in her throat for some reason, and the doors swung open on well-oiled hinges to reveal a chapel bedecked with all manner of blue streamers and white ribbons and children's hand-made snowflakes. It was as shocking as it was haphazard, which only served to pull a giggle up from her toes. "Who did this?" she asked of her bridal party—they all looked complicit. "Boulda said the little ones wouldn't stop asking if they could decorate for you. Then there were the children in town," Kristoff said.
"I helped, too. I hope you like it, Elsa," Olaf added, taking one twiggy handful of her dress to hug. "I love it," she said, apparently just loud enough that a waiting child squealed with glee around the corner. The choir had already begun to sing, and her guests stood to see her enter. Her gaze tracked forward, up the aisle, until she caught sight of Hans with the most curious expression on his face. She smiled and he did too.
Representatives from many kingdoms lined the pews, witnesses to rushed nuptials—they seemed to pass by her, not her by them. Her hands were heavy with their burden—a ceremonial sword made for her wedding by the best blacksmith in Arendelle—and a bouquet of early spring wildflowers. It was reassuring, once she climbed the steps to the chancel, that Hans' expression hadn't changed, and up-close, Elsa knew he was barely hiding awe. She blushed, bashful in the face of admiration.
The choir stopped singing, and the ceremony began.
Trepidation slipped away the instant Hans saw her in the doorway. She held a bouquet and a sword in a sheath but she might as well have been holding nothing; like the dawn on freshly fallen snow, she glittered. Like a thousand, thousand jewels, Elsa shone in the light. The choir sang, her eyes caught him, and the laugh she had caught in her smile was just as dazzling as the dress she wore. He forgot to be afraid. He forgot that the strongest emotion he had felt for her so far was gratitude. There was a queen in all her glory gliding past a room full of people with a smile just for him; why should anything else take precedence in his mind?
His heart did a flip when she stopped before him—was she blushing?
"Esteemed guests and beloved citizens of Arendelle," the priest began, "We are gathered here in this holy place today to bear witness to this union."
The priest did not offer the room a chance to object—blessed mercy—because someone would find a way to ruin the nicest moment of his life so far. Instead, the old man made a sweeping gesture between Elsa and Hans. She handed the bouquet to Anna, who must have followed her down the aisle, then presented to him the sword in her hand. "Use this to protect my kingdom, as my father did and his fathers did," she said, very obviously a prerequisite that he had no idea would be happening. Maybe it was a tradition in Arendelle. He was expected to take it either way; when he wasn't sure what to do with it, she tried to subtly indicate the belt… which made perfect sense. Still, the entire chapel caught it, and the laughter was appropriately tame. Hans buckled the sword on and offered his hands out for Elsa to take. She had said it would be safe… after all, she hadn't frozen him on the balcony.
Her bare hands were soft as they slid into his; she was nervous, or at least they had broken out in a cold sweat. It would be fine, he told himself. The ceremony began in earnest then, and while her thing with the sword had been unfamiliar, everything else went by the book. They listened as the priest defined marriage, repeated after him when he led them through their vows, and when he announced them married, they knew exactly what came next.
The kiss.
Hans hoped if the worst came to pass, it would be over quickly. "You may kiss the bride," had never before seemed so intimidating. Elsa braced herself.
He leaned in.
It was chaste and only lasted long enough to be counted as a kiss. The clapping started with Kristoff, of all people. Hans noticed that Anna barely participated in the tame congratulations—he understood that some wounds never healed completely. Dorian, Egon, and Linnéa were perhaps the most enthusiastic guests in attendance. Elsa squeezed his hand and looked out into the chapel.
"The coronation," she reminded the guests, "of Prince Hans."
He'd nearly forgotten that bit.
Elsa did not expect Hans' kiss to be much more than tolerable, but if someone pressed her for another adjective, she might even go so far as to say it was pleasant. He was very gentle, though she knew he had kissed her. Only having Sokollu's kiss to compare it to was obviously a narrowing of the field. Elsa knew she was placing a lot of importance on one moment, but she doubted their capacity to accomplish that feat again; those might be her only two kisses.
There would be one last thing before the reception— Hans' coronation.
Some part of her was unwilling to name him King of Arendelle, and another part hoped that being vague wouldn't be an obvious dodge. That was the point of marrying Hans at all… right? To not have to have a king? There was no better title that would calm the angered suitors who had not been chosen. A queen of her own right would never satisfy them. If only knocking them off their high horses wouldn't start the wars she was trying to avoid, Elsa might have tried.
The priest led the proceedings as he had done for her—they were to be equals before God, the old man said—and after setting the crown of her father on his head, declared him King Hans of Arendelle. That's surreal, she thought; Elsa married the man who tried to kill her for her crown. A wild flash of her vivid imagination—a version of Hans laughing maniacally as the skies darkened, the earth split, and her fate was sealed to spend eternity in Hell—melted away like late spring snow, leaving only her apprehensive, by-convenience-only husband in its wake. He was not the man he had been, she reminded herself, and she was not the woman she had been.
Elsa took his hand when he stood and offered it, both leaving the chapel first to lead the procession to the throne room. When she was sure he would be the only one to hear, she said to him, "We made it through the hardest part. Now, we can just eat and accept congratulations."
Hans smiled, and some of the tension fell away from his shoulders. "It'll be like a stroll in the gardens, comparatively." She nodded and smiled.
Being announced as "King Hans and Queen Elsa" as they stepped across the threshold into the large hall felt like a jolt—it was done. To the world he was her chosen partner, though, in truth, she wouldn't have married at all if not for the threats of war. A king would be thought of first, despite Elsa's refusal to relinquish her power over her kingdom. Hans knew those were the terms of his ascension, and she had all the power to make sure he never forgot, but would her title ever command the same respect as his? The pall of her thoughts over her must have been obvious to Hans, who squeezed her hand gently. The world could go on misunderstanding their arraignment, she decided, because they understood what it was they had done.
An hour and a half later, once her subjects had been served dinner and sweets, Elsa decided that she and Hans would share one dance before her good mood was spoiled by more pertinent issues. She stood, opened her mouth, and heard the unmistakable voice of her little sister drop a very unladylike swear on every ear at the high table. Shocked, Elsa looked over to Anna. The princess had grabbed her husband's arm like a vice, her face red in embarrassment, and looked to her sister. "The baby," she mouthed, using her free hand to bunch her skirt. Anna couldn't mean the baby was coming, Elsa thought, totally unable to process reality. Kristoff and Hans both stood, Kristoff calling for Gerda and her husband calling for the maid Linnéa. It really is coming, she realized.
Who in their right mind had more than one child in their life? Anna growled through her clenched teeth every single swear she could think of and a few more she thought she might have made up. Kristoff wasn't in the room and she thought it might have been for the best. If she had seen his face in that moment, he'd be getting the brunt of the vulgarity she was spewing out. Elsa sat furthest away, looking pale. Linnéa wiped at her face again with a wet cloth and agreed with every word that she said—she would have to thank her for that later—while Gerda tried to coach her through pushing.
"Your mother did this twice without using that sort of language, Anna," Gerda said, hoping to shame Anna into something less scandalous. Anna knew no shame, only pain, and anger. She pushed until tears mixed with the sweat dripping into her eyes and said another fifty or so filthy things. It was worse. Surely that meant she was close to done, right?
Just when she thought that Gerda urged her to push harder. The rest of several minutes passed with just the pain in her mind.
It was over.
Her baby cried out, and she wiped her blurry eyes to catch sight of her newborn.
"A baby boy," Gerda wept, absolutely no pretense to her joy. Anna held out her hands and cradled her son against her when he was set against her chest. Elsa was no longer far away, looking at her nephew with perhaps the weepiest smile she had ever worn.
An hour or two later, Anna was clean and so was her son, and Kristoff sat on the bed beside her and Elsa sat on the opposite side. News had been shared of the birth and the health of both herself and her boy. Holding him and looking at his face, she was sure she had never loved anything more. "What are we going to name him?" Kristoff asked—not for the first time, but for the first time that she was willing to discuss it.
"I'd like to honor our father," she said, looking first to Elsa and then to Kristoff. Both looked like they expected that answer, but Anna could see the emotion welling in Elsa. "I'd like to name him Agnar."
"It's good to meet you, Agnar," Kristoff said touching his son's little fist. The three of them basked in their uninterrupted joy for a while longer, until Elsa got up to leave. "I should see to our guests. Who would have expected a baby when they came for this wedding?"
Anna laughed a little, adding, "Leave it to me to surprise everyone."
There was a knock at their door, and when Elsa laughingly commanded the person to enter, Hans stepped in through from the hall. He was pale, and despite Anna having just labored and birthed a baby, she thought he looked worse than she possibly could.
"What is it?" Elsa asked, also aware that something must be wrong. Dread hit her before he could say it as if she knew already what it was—
"My father died."
Anna couldn't help the swear that tore out of her mouth; if it wasn't one thing, it was always another.
A/N: I hope the wait was worth it. I know it was a very long wait. Had to get Helsa hitched. Had to have Anna have the baby. Had to try and remember how FFN edited things. Thanks for reading!