Author's Note: TW: Character death.
Wolter's death did not shock the other monarch as much as it confirmed a worse-case-scenario that danced at the edge of her anxiety. Elsa had hoped that Wolter would return to the Southern Isles before he did anything as regrettable as die in her kingdom. More than that, she had wanted to escape the mourning she was sure even Hans would do for his father.
Elsa had not experienced the pain of losing a parent or her parents around anyone else. The isolation she had kept herself in for the three years between the King and Queen's demise and her coronation was presumably meant to keep her powers hidden and the kingdom safe; in truth, Elsa had simply maintained the distance her childhood had enforced. Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show—they had been rules for more than just controlling her powers. She made no public appearances. She barely saw Anna. When her room had finally thawed out, she emerged more shuttered than she had been before Agnarr and Iduna left Arendelle.
And so, it certainly wasn't Wolter's death that truly saddened her. When she reached out and took Hans' clammy hand, she was feeling the block she still had damming up her parents' deaths sliding out of place.
"I'm so sorry," Elsa murmured; for his part, Hans looked like he wasn't even one shovel-full into digging to the bottom of his feelings. It was a familiar look and bitingly distressing. Anna spoke softly from her bed: "Is there anything we can do for you or Dorian tonight?" It wasn't pointed, but her question had the misfortune of being posed by a very tired, very blunt new mother.
"I…" Hans faltered, then asked after a moment, "What's the child's name?" He seemed to have recognized that she couldn't help her exhaustion.
"Agnar," Kristoff answered, "For his grandfather."
Hans nodded, taking his time to find his words. "A good name," he said, looking at the little bundle in Anna's arms from the doorway. "Excuse me," he said haltingly and turned around to leave the way he had come in.
"Wait," Elsa bade, stopping her husband, "I'll go with you. I just want to say goodnight." He looked over his shoulder and nodded, then she crossed the room to kiss her sister on the forehead. "Goodnight Anna, Kristoff, and Agnar. I'll see you tomorrow." The beleaguered princess agreed with a sound and Kristoff couldn't help his grin when Elsa rubbed a finger at Agnar's swaddled chest. "I love you all," she added, unable to leave the room without declaring it. She still wished she had told her parents before they had left on the ship.
"Love you, too," Anna said.
Elsa followed Hans into the hall and shut the door on that untouchable happiness.
Reigning in his desire to escape a happy family moment had boiled down to physically locking his fingers around the doorknob in his fist. Running had been his plan until Elsa asked him to wait, and for some reason, he did as she wanted. Hans finally let the knob go when she walked back to him and moved woodenly out into the hall. All that was in his mind was that he couldn't believe what had happened in one long day; a wedding, a death, and a birth. Only Wolter would dare die on such a happy day.
Only he would begrudge his sick father his own death.
Elsa touched his arm, face showing concern in the dim light: "Come with me?"
He let her lead the way with his hand in hers, hardly registering where they were until she was closing her own suite's door while he stood in her office, absently. "I had Egon bring your bedclothes. They're in there on the bed."
"Why?" he demanded, and she looked surprised. "Why am I changing into my bedclothes in your rooms? I'm a eunuch and I thought this was a sham marriage; what good does it do to have me in here? And when did Egon move them?"
"I planned to have you moved after our talk on the balcony. I think you might be the only person I could share my rooms with. Whether our guests are spies or not, I thought it might be less likely to cause a stir if it appears that we are in an actual marriage… which means, you spend the night in here."
Like a lead brick, anxiety dropped heavily into Hans' stomach. His reaction was a burst of anger that he felt helpless to stop, "So you didn't bother to ask me first?!"
Elsa's hands flexed at his raised voice, but he continued, almost unable to stem the words; "My father died tonight. Even if the whole kingdom doesn't know that I'm useless, who would expect me to be a proper husband? But sure, after every other thing I've lost control of, why would where I sleep be any different?!"
The room was markedly cooler than it had been the moment before he said anything, and yet, Elsa's expression was not without sympathy. Hans still felt anxious and angry, but his hasty words had covered plenty of emotional ground for him in just a few sentences. She took a deep breath and responded. "I'm sorry about Wolter. I'm sorry about not asking you to move. I'm sorry that everything that's happened has robbed you of your agency, amongst other things." She meant every word, but the feeling that he had didn't go away just because she knew what she should say. Hans was bone-tired and emotionally exhausted; the sun was on the rise and he couldn't even go sleep in his own bed. Logically, he knew that sleeping in her suite at this point would be the best option for appearances, but he had a wild notion that he wouldn't even be on one of the office couches—she'd hand him a blanket and a pillow and he'd be sleeping on the floor.
Like a child, he pressed his palm to his temple, momentarily overcome with the urge to drop to the floor in a fit. Elsa reached out and gently took his hand from his face; he was fragile, and when he broke, she knew how to avoid his edges. Her arms wrapped around his middle, letting her head rest against his chest. The day caught up with him, standing in the comforting embrace of his wife-of-convenience, and he let go.
The sun spilled across the room onto the bed, over Hans' back, and onto her toes. Elsa hung her legs over the chair she had drug over to the bed when Hans had finally fallen into a fitful sleep. His expression smoothed out when his breathing deepened and the sound was enough to lull her eyelids into drooping. It had been a long day, and she knew she should sleep, but she needed to sort out what emotion was most prevalent after Hans' outburst.
Was he grieving? Was it really about what he could control in his own life? Was it a long history of repressing emotion until he burst from the stress? Was he just cranky without sleep? The last one only accounted for the look of frustration he had had when she apologized and he went mute. Being that he started out angry, Elsa decided that Hans had been feeling a mix of many different stressors. So what did that mean for her, besides holding him until he was all cried out and then tucking him into her own bed? Rolling her ankle and flexing her toes, she got the distinct impression that Hans' outburst had upset her for him. Elsa felt more than sympathy and wished she could take back her part in his subduing; he wasn't actually mad about the room change, he said when he was consolable, but he did wish she had asked.
"There's nothing I won't do for you," he had said, hand in hers, "You can ask anything of me…"
"I think you should get some rest," she replied.
When she fell asleep at last, she didn't dream of anything. When she fell off the chair, her shriek of surprise was obviously jarring for both Hans and Elsa. He was bolt upright and she was rubbing her hip.
"Are you alright?" he asked, reaching a hand out to help her up. She stood and rubbed her eyes, still tired and still at a loss for what to do next. "I'm too tired to decide anything right now…" Elsa said after a moment. He scooted over on the bed and patted the duvet before dropping back and lacing his fingers together on his stomach, set to fall asleep again. Elsa was unsure until her knees wobbled; she settled onto the bed next to her husband, closed her eyes and knew nothing more for a time.
"...I think we should let her sleep," a soft voice whispered in her office, while a deeper voice whispered back, "But it's been nearly all day and… well, what will we do with his body? If she freezes him, it won't matter how long it takes to return him to the Southern Isles." Blinking against the weight of sleep, Elsa stiffened when she heard Hans' voice amongst the other two, slightly above a whisper.
"Please… don't talk about freezing my father right now. The Queen will have plenty to deal with when she wakes. For now, let her rest." Hans was sending them away? Sleeping a few hours more would have made dealing with Wolter's death on the day of their wedding easier, surely, but could she justify it as a ruling monarch? Her head was all questions when Hans cracked the door open. She debated feigning sleep until the door nearly shut again.
"Hans," Elsa said, prompting him to look in again. He looked haggard like sleep had not helped him all that much. "...Elsa?"
"Will you come back to bed?"
"...Yes."
When he closed the door behind him, Elsa caught a blush on his cheeks that didn't make sense until she thought through what she had said. Even after that, she drew a blank as to why he'd be nervous—useless was the word he had used. Maybe it was a drowsy reaction to a very silly sentiment. He settled on the bed on his back as he had before and she studied his profile with one eye. In one year, he had looked like a completely different man than had left Arendelle. He looked more like Dorian than before, aged beyond his years, but there were hints of his face as it had been—a fullness to his cheeks and temples.
"Are you regretting marrying me?" she inquired, half-certain that wasn't meant to be spoken. Hans turned his head to look at her, obviously caught off-guard by the question. Elsa clarified, "Agreeing to marry me, I should say. You're free to say yes. I would be—regretting it. There's so much wrong with my rule in two years that kingdoms as far away as Asia threatened war unless I accepted their suitors. Not to mention the magic… All I mean is—I wouldn't blame you."
His jaw worked, starting and stopping a response when she finished. His eyes looked so dark. "Your people are happy to have you, magic included. I've been in the stables and the servant halls and no one has said one word ill of you; the only man who dared to say something crude about you was thrown out so fast by your sister his head spun. The nations who threatened you only want to exploit Arendelle for trade and natural resources. You were right to turn them down and negotiate a better deal with a kingdom where you keep your autonomy. For all that, and for every kind word and gesture you've ever shown me, I'm glad to marry someone I respect and admire."
Hans didn't keep eye-contact with her the whole time he spoke, but the look he gave her at the word respect was sincere.
Now, who was blushing?
Turning on her side, she reached out for his hands and took one to hold, fingers entwining and rubbing across the ruined skin on every finger. "That means a great deal to me," Elsa murmured, feeling too tired to fight sleep anymore.
When Hans and Elsa finally started their day, what followed was a marathon of questions and actions that were answered and dispatched. Though morbid, the conversation with Dorian concerning freezing Wolter's remains was had. Hans felt it was an unfair situation for Elsa to be put in—she would have to see the sunken-in face of his dead father and have that image in her mind forever, just like he did. He didn't know if she had ever seen death before. It was unfortunate that it had to be Wolter.
Dorian agreed that for the sake of a journey back south, the body would keep better if it were frozen. Elsa waved her hands over his father and aside from the unsettling sound and the pattern of snowflakes across his skin, Hans could hardly tell that he was frozen. "A block of ice large enough to keep his body would be impossible to move," Elsa explained, "I figured out a permanent frost for Olaf about a week ago… I thought this would be best for his last voyage."
When that conversation was over, Elsa pulled Hans along the halls with her to visit Anna, Kristoff, and Agnar. He was hesitant to follow her inside when she called out that Anna was decent, but he followed all the same. The baby was nestled into the crook of his wife's elbow. Hours after his birth, he had gained some color—all pink, it seemed—and against the color, he could tell that Agnar had the blonde hair of his father. "Come closer," Elsa beckoned, "He smells so new."
Hans toed his way over to the pair of Arendelle royals and bent to verify Elsa's claim—she was right. The baby did smell new, for lack of a better word. "He's handsome," Hans said, though, in truth, he thought the babe looked just the same as any other newborn he had seen. Elsa nodded, smiling and smitten. She needed time with him to decompress, he thought. It was indescribable, what a joy a baby was in the face of death. Agnar began to whimper after a few more minutes and Elsa seemed more than happy to hand him off before there was a full-on crying episode. Anna set about to feed him and Hans decided to step into the hall, almost right into Linnéa.
"Pardon me," she said, turning the basket of laundry so it didn't run into him. "Hans! Oh, I mean, King Hans."
The words put next to each other felt all wrong, and he found himself saying, "Just 'Hans'… please."
"Alright," Linnéa agreed, switching her weight from one foot to the other. She didn't seem like she wanted to talk, which after her help before the wedding was a shock to him. "Linnéa," he started, interrupted when she gestured with the basket and said, "Princess Anna will be expecting me, now. Excuse me."
Hans moved, blinked, and was confused all at once. Was she upset with him? Nothing had happened since the wedding between himself, Egon, or Egon's wife; Wolter had died and he hadn't left Dorian until his brother told him to go tell Elsa and Anna. Baffled, he paid no attention to Elsa's departure from Anna's rooms until she asked him, "What's wrong?"
"Linnéa was acting strange," he told her.
"How so?" she inquired, a slight frown matching her question. He hadn't intended to talk about it any further, but he felt like he could… like he should keep sharing with her. Once he had explained what happened, Elsa suggested that they wait until Linnéa came back out of the room and see if something was amiss.
They didn't wait long. She came out, seemed unhappy to be stopped and plenty interested in anything but Elsa and Hans. Elsa did the talking.
"Is there something bothering you, Linnéa?"
"No ma'am—your Majesty…-ies. Nothing at all," the maid said to her toes. When she looked up, Elsa gave her a doubtful look with one eyebrow raised and Linnéa seemed to unravel. He'd have to remember that was all it took.
"There's a rumor in the castle that you had something to do with Wolter's death, Hans. I know you… or at least I feel like I do, and you'd never… never be a part of that… right?"
It was like a blow to his gut; mortification overruled his shock to the point that his eyes felt near to popping out of his head. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"
"Who started the rumor?" Elsa asked, calmer by far than he was. Linnéa shrugged a shoulder, adjusted her empty basket, and set her free hand on his arm. "I didn't mean to be short with you before," she explained, "I was trying to avoid this exact thing. Telling you at all felt like I was saying I believed them, and I don't… I'm so sorry anyone's said anything." Her face fell when her hand did. Hans rubbed a hand over his eyes, thinking that the rumor could be more damaging in the Southern Isles than just in the kitchens of Arendelle's castle.
"Hopefully, the rumor stays off the first boat back to the Southern Isles," Elsa mused, "That would be the last thing we need."
Hans had a sinking feeling that any ship would most definitely carry the vicious rumor home.
Night came again after another long day.
Elsa changed into her nightgown in the privacy of her washroom and knowing that Hans was doing the same in the bedroom, she took her time. Finally, she heard his voice call out, "I'm done." Hans was under the covers on what she guessed was now his side of the bed. They'd talked about going to separate rooms, but a whole host of issues still stood from the night before. He offered to sleep anywhere but the bed but Elsa told him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't allow it.
Walking over to the vanity and taking a seat, she untied her hair and brushed it out before re-braiding the length. She felt Hans' eyes on her, catching his expression through the mirror and fighting a small smile at it. "Would you like me to braid yours, too?" she asked.
Looking somewhat embarrassed, Hans touched at his hair where it was bunched into a ponytail at the nape of his neck and didn't answer immediately. She took the little nod he might have made consciously as a yes and carried the brush he had given her for Yuletide to bed with her. In those years between her parents' deaths and her own coronation, she never would have imagined that there would one day be a man in her bed who's hair she would willingly braid. Marrying him still didn't feel entirely real, either. A question in her mind slipped out when he began to turn on the bed; "Why haven't you cut your hair?"
Hans stopped, absolutely halted by what hadn't felt like a heavy question when she thought it. She waited for some response, and he finally finished turning before he found something. "I liked that it was something different from before that I was—am in control of. I have plenty of new scars, but I didn't give them to myself… I couldn't cut my hair and I decided I wanted to keep it." She watched his hand travel down his sleeve and knew that the scars beneath were just a few of the many he had accumulated. The more that Hans let her in—the more context she had for his torture—the more she regretted sending him home. He flinched when Elsa set her hand on his shoulder blade; touching wasn't her go-to comfort, but she couldn't help herself.
"When I ran away, I started using my power in a way I hadn't for many, many years. Coming back, I might not have had the same freedom as I had on the North Mountain, but I could still dress how I wanted. I know it's not the same, but I think I understand how having something you can decide is important."
"…I feel like you're the only person who can understand…" he replied in such a small voice she almost missed it. She rubbed her hand back and forth over the spot it rested on for a second and then untied the cloth keeping his hair back. As the brush smoothed over the length of his hair as gently as she could manage, Elsa considered what more she could say.
Rather suddenly, Hans twisted back around, face and eyes red.
"I'm sorry I tried to kill you—!" he blurted, voice breaking and breath rapid.
She was stunned.
"I don't remember trying to apologize, specifically, for that in all this time. I don't know if I knew how much I should be sorry until the moment you hugged me on the balcony. Begging for your forgiveness now seems incredibly late, but I will—"
"No, you won't," she interrupted him, hands on either of his shoulders, "I would never have married a man I found unforgivable, no matter how badly I needed the political products. You earned your forgiveness when you made it back to Arendelle alive, changed for the better. You've been a comfort to me the last few weeks—a friend—and I can't thank you enough."
Elsa leaned up and kissed his forehead, then, feeling compelled again by empathy and something unnamed within, she kissed him on the lips. He was still for two long beats of her heart, then he tentatively reciprocated. It wasn't like the kiss they shared at their wedding; it felt deeper. A small measure of panic set in as she felt… different.
In the same moment that she felt his tongue slide into her mouth, the bedroom temperature dropped, the fire in the grate sputtered to a flicker, and she pulled back. "What was that?" she asked, hand on her lips. Hans was obviously alarmed by the quick change. Elsa tried to walk back what her surprise had done: "I mean… that was your tongue… I just wasn't expecting it to be in my mouth."
"I'm sorry," he said. If she had been mad at him, his apology was sincere enough to dispel it. Elsa replied, "I didn't know what that would be like. It was kind of… strange. I would say we could try again, but I don't think the fire would survive…"
Her eyes followed his gaze to the fireplace. With as awkward as she was feeling, leaving the bed was a welcome reprieve. She stoked the flames, encouraging them to reignite into something that would put out heat. On her own, she could sleep without it even in the worst of winters, but Hans would freeze to death overnight. She watched the flames dance higher again.
"I can sleep in the office," he tried once more, to which she shook her head.
"You need to be near the fire. If anyone should sleep in the office, it should be me. I think finishing your braid and trying to get some sleep would be best," Elsa suggested, returning to the bed. Hans looked down at his hands linked together on his lap and said one more time, "I'm sorry," while she finished his pleat. Unable to bear the defeat in his voice, she turned his face to hers again and slowly pressed her lips to his. He didn't move a muscle. Pulling back, Elsa told him: "I'm not."
His expression was equal parts dumbfounded and relieved.
Settling down beneath the blankets, she said, "Goodnight, Hans."
"Hans," was the last and first word he heard Elsa say when he fell asleep and when he awoke.
He was having a dream that something cold was stuck to him until he realized that it wasn't a dream. That she wasn't stuck to him so much as he had his arms around her. Jumping away wasn't quite possible in their position, but Hans did his best to scoot back and give her space. An apology was on the tip of his tongue when Elsa sat up and stopped him with a hand. Of course, she would, he thought miserably.
"That was bound to happen," she excused him, despite his own doubts in its inevitability, "I didn't mind until I woke up. You were… warm. Let's just move on. We've got another big day ahead of us."
He couldn't argue with that, so he started in on his morning routine. Elsa's pleat in his hair was too bedraggled to leave alone, but he found he couldn't do it the same way. Raking a comb through it, he nearly laughed when the waves fluffed out. How would he calm that down without another pleat? Maybe Elsa wouldn't mind…
Hans did all he could otherwise before stepping out of the washroom to see his wife just tying the end of her hair off. She caught sight of him and didn't hold back her giggle, even if she hid it behind her hand. Without a word, she stood and offered him her seat at her vanity. He took it gladly. "Thank you," Hans added, fiddling his thumbs over each other.
"You're welcome. My mother taught me how to… I didn't get a chance to do Anna's hair while we were growing up. When my parents reduced the staff, any hope of a handmaid for either of us was gone, so we got ready on our own. I know I thought I would never be able to touch anyone ever again, let alone braid their hair, but here I am. It's nice," she said, and when she was done speaking, she was done with his hair. In the mirror, Elsa met his gaze, smiling slightly. She patted his shoulder and moved to the door.
Hans followed her into her office, "My mother tried to teach any of my brothers to braid when they let their hair grow. She wanted a daughter, but all she had were sons. Wolter used to say that if we let her, she'd put us in dresses and have us recite poetry and pick flowers; we all knew he'd disown us if we did."
"That's a harsh way of dealing with children," she replied, looking up from a stack of papers on her desk. She pulled the one she must have wanted from the pile and looked at him again, "You've never spoken about your mother to me before. What was she like?"
Hans looked down at his toes, uncomfortable in a way he couldn't explain. He opened his mouth and shut it again, unsure of whether he could even start. The depth of whatever internal well was that held memories of the Queen of the Southern Isles within him was a mystery, even to himself. Knowing he couldn't stare at his toes forever, Hans looked to Elsa, brows drawn.
"Would you rather we not talk about her right now?" she asked gently. She was consistently gentle with him. He nodded, though he followed it with a little shake as well. "Maybe later?"
"Maybe," Hans agreed. If he collected his thoughts, he hoped he would keep from crying on her for the third night in a row. Asking Dorian to explain their mother to Elsa didn't seem to be a reasonable alternative. Later, he hoped it would be better.
"Would you mind if I went to the stables for a while? I haven't seen Sitron since before the wedding," he asked.
"Would you mind if I went with you? I don't really want to jump into the itinerary yet, either."
"I'd be honored, then," he said.
Twenty minutes later, Elsa sat on Sitron's saddle while Hans walked beside his horse along the courtyard path to the gates. They hadn't intended to go for a ride, but Hans' horse insisted; Elsa had pretended Sitron was speaking to her, like Kristoff did with Sven, turning what he thought would be a quick visit into a full-on excursion. At least it would still be early when they returned.
The Queen sat astride his fjord-horse with all the regal grace expected of her title until they cleared Arendelle's streets. Like a flag losing the wind, she drooped into a slouch and rubbed her hips. "How can anyone stand to ride a horse for hours and hours? I want to get down and walk around. Would you mind?"
Hans shook his head and held out his arms for Elsa to drop into when she couldn't swing her leg over Sitron's back to get down. She needed a second with him holding her up to get her feet back under herself. Climbing up when he was sure Elsa was fine, Hans had Sitron walking paces in the same area she was.
"I thought about asking to join the stable master's staff when I was living in the hayloft," Hans told Elsa as Sitron passed her. She looked up at him, mildly surprised. He nodded, adding, "I've always liked horses. Sitron was the only nice thing my family ever gave me. I don't mind the work involved in keeping them; I tried not to show it too much at home, sure that my brothers would find some way of ruining it for me."
He said the last with a smile, which was meant to lighten the subject, not make her frown.
"They never were very nice to you," Elsa said.
"No," Hans agreed, "Until I met you and Anna, I thought that was normal."
She smiled, but it was colored with sadness. "I lost so much time with her. I didn't know that embracing love would protect her or my parents, so I lived in fear of hurting them."
"You had no way of knowing any difference. You said your father told you to 'conceal, don't feel'. It took Anna's apparent death to break down the walls you had up to protect her. I need to thank her for stopping me... though if she hadn't already been frozen solid…" I'd have mutilated her arm, he finished mentally. It sent a shiver down the length of his spine.
Elsa looked at him, but Hans couldn't tell what she was thinking.
Sitron pawed at the dirt, and the silence stretched until the Queen broke it: "It was horrible, what you did… but it brought Anna and me back together again. That doesn't excuse it, but I don't know if Anna would have gotten through to me otherwise. I don't know where I would be right now if I hadn't frozen the summer. Probably miserable."
"Maybe something else would have started the change. Anna wouldn't have given up on you—I could tell that much when she rode off after you in your storm. She was so concerned," he said, remembering the night somewhat painfully, "She left your kingdom's well-being to someone she had only met that day."
Elsa was pensive as she walked over to Sitron. Hans watched with a small amount of apprehension.
All she replied with was: "Maybe we should return to the castle…"
"Alright," Hans said, helping her back onto Sitron behind him.
Dorian made clear at lunch that he planned to sail back to the Southern Isles the next day. Elsa agreed that it would be best to go back sooner rather than later. They would sail together, one ship returning to the Southern Isles and one ship from Arendelle that would return home with her on it. While the conversation was had at lunch, in full participation with Dorian, Anna, Kristoff, and Hans, it wasn't until later that evening that Hans expressed his opinion.
"I really don't think you should go anywhere near that place," he told her frankly while she wrote out a missive for Anna's proxy rule. She could see the same fear that had plagued him months ago settling onto his face.
"If I send Dorian alone with Wolter, frozen, will I look innocent?"
Hans' lips twisted down deeply. Dropping into the chair across the desk and more fully into the orange light of the sunset, he thought about her question until he seemed to have arrived at the same answer she had; "You have to go."
Elsa nodded, setting her pen down to watch him. "Sending the physician won't do any good to prove your innocence. My brothers are just as likely to claim him biased as they are to keep him jailed for abetting any perceived 'lie'."
"Yes. So, better I go and tell them myself that while I'm very sorry for Wolter's untimely demise, I had no hand in it."
"That's horrifying," he said back.
She watched him steadily as their silence stretched; Hans obviously wrestled with something, and Elsa thought she was just familiar enough with him to guess what it was. He squirmed slightly before he forced out, "I'm going with you."
"You want to go with me?"
"Not even in the least, but I really don't trust the eleven of them to allow you a safe passage."
"I can handle myself," she said, not offended but not satisfied with his answer, "You don't have to go."
"I know you can protect yourself, but I can't sit in Arendelle not knowing what dangers you're facing."
"Why not?" Elsa asked, somehow annoyed that he was insistent over arbitrary reasons, "Why put yourself through it?"
Hans was speaking before Elsa had even finished her last word— "Because I love you—!"
Stunned silence was an understatement for her shock. Was her mouth hanging open?
Did he say love?
"Because I promised to stand by you. Because you've been there for me in ways I can't ever hope to repay. Because I know who my brothers are and how they hurt people, and I can't let them hurt you, Elsa," Hans explained. His chest was heaving, and she realized that he'd go with her whether she liked it or not. Elsa stood, and heartbeat in her ears, walked around her desk until she stood next to him. Carefully, she framed his face in her hands and bent to place a gentle kiss on his lips. It was slow and chaste, and when she rested her brow to his, Hans set one hand on her own.
Her kiss was her rebuttal to his declaration because even if the peculiar feelings in her heart were love, she wasn't ready to say it back.
"I promised to stand by you, too. If your brothers try to harm you, I have no problem freezing them until summer."
Hans let out a breath, relaxing into her hands.
Dinner, later, saw the same people gathered again. When the food had been served, Hans took a deep breath and said to Dorian, "I'll be going with the Queen to the Southern Isles."
"You jest!" Egon shouted, surprising every person sitting at the dinner table from the doorway.
"No. I don't," Hans replied after a pause. Just like Elsa, Egon seemed to know how bad an idea going back would be. He sputtered, looking at Elsa and Dorian before saying, "I'm going back with you, then."
Needing a deep breath beforehand, Elsa sighed and nodded once; "I thought you might say that."
"Elsa," Anna said in a tone that cut back the noise between her sister and herself, "Come back home, no matter what. Agnar can't grow up not knowing his aunt."
Goosebumps raised on Elsa's arms at the unhappy thought.
Dorian's face wrinkled just slightly at her statement—Hans was probably the only person to catch the expression—and he politely interrupted the conversation, "May I remind everyone that I'm the heir to the kingdom we'll be sailing to? I get the feeling, instead, that I'm the only one expecting something tame or at least only tense."
"After the hell they put me through, I don't expect our brothers to make anything easy, even if you exiled them," Hans replied, not expecting his voice to ring so loudly in the dining room. No one said anything more for a few long moments, his words hanging in the air like a reminder—don't underestimate them. The first to speak again was Anna, who repeated herself, "Just come home. All of you."
"We'll come home," Elsa promised. On that, no challenge was made.
Once dinner was over, and after the attendees bade each other goodnight, Elsa asked Hans to go for a walk in the gardens. It was no July night, but a simple coat kept him warm enough as they made their way down the main pathway—Elsa's bare arms were proof enough of her immunity to the chill. They'd prattled on about the dinner and the clear night sky above them until it appeared that Elsa had reached her desired location; she turned to him resolutely, then spoke.
"You said you love me."
Hans remembered her kiss after—tender and kind. "You don't have to say it back. It's the only explanation I have—"
"I know," she interrupted, "I know… I just… wanted to—to," she blew out a breath and mustered, "I had this all planned out on the way over here and now I have no idea what I'm doing. It's maddening, like Anna before she had the baby, and it's kind of dumb—"
Nervous, he thought, smiling in spite of himself, she's a nervous rambler.
"—Why are you smiling?" Elsa asked, smiling a little herself.
"Why are we out here?" Hans rebuffed.
"I… I hoped that out here would feel… romantic?"
"Romantic…?"
"Will you try kissing me again? I wanted to see if I could without losing control of my powers again."
Suddenly he was nervous too. The night hadn't really lent itself to a calming or romantic mood, but more than that, he was concerned that another overzealous move would have him frozen in a heartbeat. Still, he nodded, eager to not disappoint.
She reached for him, and he cupped her cheek with one cold palm. His anticipation as he leaned in slowed everything down—leaning, leaning, not really being able to see her face, but knowing where her lips were all the same—until he was pressing a slow kiss to the seam of her mouth. Elsa responded with slow movements, letting him lead until he felt her tongue press into his lips. Despite his surprise, he didn't hesitate to let her in, suppressing a shake when she traced the inner rim of his bottom lip. Elsa's hands were resting on his chest, and as she pressed her mouth more firmly to his, they slid around to his sides—that was, every motion and action was slowed down, even as it happened in the spaces between heartbeats. Wrapping his mind around the speed of everything as it happened had become a very real problem.
He had gotten married to the Queen of Arendelle and his father had died on the very same day. The next heir to the throne was barely a week old, just like his marriage-of-convenience, and he'd told his wife he loved her. Inserting himself into the mission to take his father's body back to the kingdom he'd barely escaped alive and likely face the band of malevolent sacks of slimy, scummy, scrotum-chinned brothers was insane, now that he was focusing on the insane in his life. Was he insane? Had he finally had it? Why did he say he was going with his wife, whose tongue was sweet but very strange in his mouth? What did he know about love, to use it to justify going too?
Hans pulled back from Elsa with an obvious jerk, thoughts spiraling out of control to very bad places. He couldn't breathe even in the chill of the night air, sucking in air like a landed fish. Elsa was saying his name, trying to catch his focus but all he could think of was a metal box his brothers had locked him in and how the heat inside had stolen his breath in just the same way. Every touch against the tight confines of the box had felt like touching an iron; they'd touched enough hot irons to his skin already. He had been weak, though, and staying away from the walls had been a battle he lost over and over. Out in the garden, Hans could fall over. Out in the night, there was no sun to bake him in an oven. Out here with Elsa, things were different—cold but comforting. Slowly, he realized she was helping him with both hands holding his.
"Hold your breath," his wife coached, "Let it out slowly."
He was sitting on the ground, blinking away spots in his vision, panic ebbing away like the tide going back out.
"I'm sorry," he said when he was sure he could speak again, "I can't—I don't know what just happened."
"You were saying it was hot," Elsa offered, adding, "I think you were remembering more… you scared me."
Cold registered in his palms as Elsa's emotions touched her powers. "I'm sorry," he said again, standing and pulling her forward to wrap his arms around her, "I'm sorry I scared you... and ruined the 'romance'."
She huffed a breath against his chest in protest to his teasing, but let him hold her until they both agreed that they'd better go back inside the castle.
Elsa had never been on a ship out to sea but within half a day, she was sure she didn't like it. The pitching as the bow cut through the choppy ocean was like nothing she'd ever experienced before; she stayed by the taffrail, leaning out when she thought she might be sick. Sailing as an idea was much less tumultuous than the reality, and with every pitch and yaw, Elsa imagined a dark maelstrom swallowing the ship whole.
Maybe the rolling was more within her body than the sea.
Hans was usually above deck as well, looking very much at home. He told her once, as she leaned out again, that being a prince of the Southern Isles meant sailing often—mostly to visit the smaller islands. She watched as the wind blew his hair and clothes around and knew she didn't appear half as good as he did; "green around the gills" being the optimal euphemism.
At night, when she finally left her post at the taffrail, Elsa met Hans in their cabin. Over four nights, until the pair of them couldn't keep their eyes open and finally blew out the lantern, Hans and Elsa spoke of the customs of the Southern Isles. There were many things just the same in Arendelle as his home, but plenty of differences that surprised the queen. Traditions that must have branched long ago, when their Norse ancestors had settled or withdrew their campaigns of conquest. Just how long ago had that been, she wondered. Given her power, Elsa had poured over all the books she could that might explain the magic in her blood, and many held tales of pagan gods. Most had been translations of ancient texts with all the modern skepticism of devout Christians. She had wondered about Skaði, who had powers most like her own. In any of the Nine Realms, was she not an oddity, but just another woman? If she could leave Miðgarðr, would she find magical kin?
Hans talked about each brother. Dorian, she knew, but next was Henrik, who had been raised to be Dorian's replacement if needed—he had a love of dance, Hans said, particularly ballet. Vilppu had been the brother to give him Sitron. Hans sighed heavily after telling her that, and they had talked about how difficult it was to be close to someone and then not. A great many things had gone wrong since those better times when Samson and Sitron ferried them around the main island. Vilppu could ride at full gallop like the very best tourney knights, having practiced with lance and sword, and Elsa thought Hans was both envious and proud of his brother.
Jerrik was the sailor of the bunch, so much so that Hans said he had seen him only fifteen times. His tone changed when he spoke of the rest of Wolter's sons. Aleksander and Adelbert had been the twins responsible for engineering his "hanging" and disposing of him away to the prison where he was tortured. Iefan styled himself a poet, but there had been nothing poetic in the nightmare he designed for his youngest brother. Stanley and Dagny had been as opposite in their punishments as they were in looks and personality. Owain couldn't bear to watch the man work who carried out his own sentence—Hans wiggled his fingers and Elsa felt her stomach roll again at the thought of how one went about damaging fingernails in such a way as that they hadn't all grown back.
Cynebald and Gustav were the two who had liked him the least his whole life. Hans didn't look Elsa in the eyes when he told her they had been the pair that hurt him the most. "They were the ones who pretended I didn't exist for a year," Hans had said, "And since they were the last to pick out tortures, they wanted theirs to be the worst. They sent a man in… he… I told myself I would live through what he did to me. I've never felt more helpless… then, I was castrated the next day."
Hans was so quiet when he told Elsa that she could barely hear him even lying next to him. She touched his face as lightly as she could, then kissed his brow and cheeks and lips—all just as lightly. As though she could hear his thoughts, she knew that was when they really broke him. He eventually reached shaking hands out to her, pulling her closer to hold in silence.
As the Southern Isles drew nearer, Egon had the feeling that Wolter's body would last longer than any of them. He watched Queen Elsa and Hans—King Hans—stick together on deck with a bit of wistfulness. Whenever Elsa cracked a smile despite her seasickness, Egon knew their relationship was deepening; he missed his wife in those moments.
On the morning of their arrival, Egon dressed in the uniform he had received in the Queen's service and felt oddly out-of-sorts. He had served with pride for twenty years in the army of the King he was returning home to lay to rest. When he had lied his way into the ranks at fifteen, he didn't know if he would live to see sixteen. To think about how life had turned out… that fifteen-year-old would never have imagined where forty-two years would land him.
The Svalbard weighed anchor in the harbor when Dorian's ship docked, and Egon joined the longboat that ferried the Queen. Hans carried his sword like every other man protecting Queen Elsa, but only he was dressed in finery as her counterpart. On closer inspection, Egon noticed that his former charge was as white as a sheet. His own nerves were stretched tight as they neared what was obviously a royal procession waiting for them. Would the wrong brothers be waiting for them?
The last letter Dorian had received from Henrik was the day before their ships had sailed. He'd played close to the chest what he knew about the political climate of the Southern Isles.
In truth, Dorian knew that Henrik had been preparing to flee. The eight brothers who had been disavowed were unfortunately rich in ties and friendship in the aristocracy and were all very convincing. Word had spread before Wolter had died that Dorian, Henrik, and Vilppu were attempting to take power for themselves. Any news of the king's death would only predate them by a few days, but the crown prince was sure they would be walking into danger.
Still, they had to go. He couldn't stay in Arendelle, not when his Magda was at their mercy, unprotected and left alone by the brothers he thought he could trust. Perhaps Elsa could be convinced to attack the usurping band if she felt she had no other safe way home. If he had winter's queen on his side, surely he could reclaim his kingdom.
He said little on the journey home, worrying all the while that his brothers were torturing his pregnant wife; he prayed that she was safe since that was all he could do. When he was sick, it was with worry. When he couldn't sleep, he was worrying. Magdalena didn't deserve to suffer—his imagination offered up every horror Hans endured and more—and he couldn't leave her in their clutches. Their baby would be born in a few months, and while he had hoped desperately to meet that child, he worried that they would be the first casualty of what might be a terrible civil war.
Finally, the ship entered the harbor and moored at the docks. Elsa's ship weighed anchor and several longboats followed in the Eversten's lead to disembark. Dorian oversaw the moving of Wolter's casket onto the deck, eyeing carefully the attache who greeted them; a familiar man, surrounded by castle servants. Unease wormed its way under his skin with every wooden groan of the planks beneath his feet.
Should I follow them to the castle? he wondered. Could he trust that he would be unharmed? No, but would he rather Magda face their brutality alone? No. So, he had to go.
When the longboats were tied to the jetties, and Queen Elsa had safely climbed the ladder onto the dock, Dorian guided Wolter's body down the gangplank. Hans was as pale as a ghost, all of the Arendelle honor-guard as nervous as cats. They were right to be fearful. Dorian considered warning them, but if Elsa returned to her ship, he had no chance to escape.
"Where is Henrik?" Hans asked though Dorian suspected that his youngest brother already knew. "Ask the steward," Dorian replied, waving for the cart awaiting the body. He listened closely to the man's reply.
"Your brother is at the castle preparing a funeral for your father. We assumed his body would need to be laid to rest quickly."
"There's no need to rush," Dorian said, opening the lid on the casket, showing Wolter's perfectly preserved body to anyone who could see. Elsa's magic had held soundly and might go on holding forever. The steward was obviously shocked into silence. He dropped the lid back into place and tried to seem calm.
"Lead the way," he implored.
The light rain started as they made their way to the castle, which did nothing to relieve the tension pushing against Elsa's eyes. When it became apparent that the weather was not on their side, she did her best to provide them all with cover. The steward looked back at her from the coachman's bench with shock after eyeing the hood now extending over the cart, the driver, and himself. She tried to reassure him with a half-smile, but even her honor-guard had been startled by their sudden fine-knit ice cloaks. Hans caught her fingers carefully, face pale but attempting to show solidarity, she guessed.
Dorian was nervous, she thought, under all his positive posturing. What did he have to be nervous about? Taking the throne? She looked east to the castle when it appeared past the city. In her mind, it was a jagged thing, all dark stone rising out of a seaside cliff constantly battered by the ocean and rain. It would be moody and dark there, always. Instead, the home of the King of the Southern Isles looked rather idyllic. A vast lawn was manicured neatly with new flowers growing low to the earth, while paths of white gravel led to the castle. It was protected by a moat with a drawbridge, seeming to rise out of the water with smooth pale stone neatly lifting towers into the sky. A white castle, stark in the overcast day, slightly grey with rain—nothing at all like she had imagined. Hope threatened to appear in her heart; maybe other things would be nothing at all like she thought.
Once the cart had passed over the drawbridge, the steward had them unload Wolter's casket and led the way through a large door. Dorian's men carefully maneuvered the casket through the hall and into a chamber that Elsa assumed was meant for his funeral, settling it on the bier the steward indicated. Aside from Dorian and Hans, no sons of Wolter awaited his body. Elsa was sure that more of the Westergaards should have been in that room.
The steward's voice made her jump when he broke the silence; "I will announce your arrival."
"Shouldn't they have seen us?" Dorian asked when he had gone.
Hans looked at his brother suspiciously, asking: "Who are you expecting?"
"What?"
"Who's 'they'?" Hans pressed. Elsa tensed.
"Why, it's us, of course," a voice said from the doorway. A man stepped out who looked somewhere between Dorian and Hans' age, but he had a short, full beard that she had never seen on either of the familiar brothers. His eyes were bluish and darker than her husband's. Judging by his smirk, she didn't need to be told that he was dangerous.
"Aleksander," Dorian said, "where's Magda?" He was pleading, she realized. Bringing Wolter's body to the castle was a trap, and Dorian had known it. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Don't worry, Dory," the man said, patronizing Dorian, "You'll see her soon. We've taken very good care of your wife since Henrik left her behind." Dorian's expression turned to horror.
"Henrik's gone?" Hans questioned. He was trembling. Aleksander smiled, reminding Elsa of a snake, but he did not answer. The answer came from a brother much closer in age who stepped through another doorway, one who had almost pale auburn hair and hazel eyes. He said, "You brought us back our favorite toy, Dory. Maybe we'll let our new one go. I've never liked the sound of a woman's screams. Speaking of… could this be Queen Elsa?"
"I think you're right, Cynebald. A pleasure to meet you," said another brother, a twin of the first one, minus the beard. "My name is Adelbert." He offered a bow with a smirk that matched his twin's.
"Come out, brothers," Aleksander called, conjuring five more shadows that stepped into the light at his command. "Don't be rude to Queen Elsa; introduce yourselves."
"I'm Iefan," said a tall, thin man with very red hair. He sounded bored.
"Stanley," said a much shorter man with stocky limbs and a mustache. The man beside him looked more like the rest of the brothers—tall and lean, but his eyes were brown. He introduced himself as "Dagny".
"Why are we introducing ourselves, Owain?" one of the last two asked. His voice was enough to chill her to the bone, and she watched as Hans froze even his trembling. "Why does she need to know that my name is Gustav to pay for our father's death?" Elsa looked him over, shocked to see Hans all over again—Hans as he was, but with a short beard on his chin. He was tall, auburn-haired, green-eyed, and completely wrong if she had just one word for him.
"She killed our father and you want us to play nice, Aleksander? I'd rather—"
"You accuse me of killing your father?" Elsa asked, taken aback. All ten Westergaards were staring at her in an instant. She wouldn't be cowed. "I didn't kill him. He was dying of cancer in his stomach when he arrived in Arendelle. Our physicians did their best to make him comfortable in his last days. I'm sorry for your loss, but I had nothing to do with it."
"Do you really think we care?" Adelbert asked, "About any of that, or any excuse you make?"
"Wolter has been more of a thorn in our sides than anything else for several years now," Iefan said, matter-of-factly.
Elsa blinked in shock.
"He made no marriages except for Dorian, and even that was to a small kingdom with few resources," Owain explained, his voice much softer than anyone else's. Dagny took over for him, saying, "The Southern Isles were strong just ten years ago, but he let us fall behind. He ruined relationships with trade partners and paid our navy so little they turned to piracy or mercantilism."
"He was our father, but he wasn't a good king," Stanley said.
"But that's really not even the point," Gustav clarified, "We're not worried about what you say happened. Truth hasn't meant much to us since Dory had us all exiled. Hans was guilty, so we punished him. I had a lot of time to think about how unfair it all was in Lord Blomberg's manor. Eight princes banished for doing their appointed duties by their king, while four remain home and one gelded lump of uselessness got saddled by an icy bitch without an ounce of shame in her!"
"Horse shit!" echoed Egon's voice in the very cool hall. The sound surprised everyone, particularly Egon, who continued while his face became more flushed. "Horse shit that you were just 'doing your duty'! Your eldest brothers punished him, and you all agreed to kill Hans. But you didn't! You lied and cheated your way into getting him all to yourselves so you could play out all the most despicable thoughts any human ever had. You tortured him within an inch of his sanity and paid me to keep him alive! You don't get to insult Queen Elsa! You don't get to insult your brother! You're all filth for what you did and what you didn't stop from happening! The shame is on you! Foul creatures!"
Right after Egon finished his shouting, there was a beat of silence. It was followed by the laughter of no less than five of the offending brothers, Cynebald even holding his stomach as he bent over, laughing. They mocked him mercilessly, repeating phrases and wiping at their eyes. Elsa felt her stomach drop, realizing with horror that she would have to fight to get away from these absolute lunatics; they were terrifying and they believed wholeheartedly that they were in the right.
"Dory, if you come with us without a fight, we'll let you see Magda," cajoled Dagny, gesturing off to a doorway out of the hall. Dorian, sweat glistening off his brow in the low light, took a step forward. "No!" Elsa and Hans and Egon all yelled.
The heir spared them a quick glance and muttered, "Sorry," before stepping into his brothers' reach. In plain sight of every person in the room, Aleksander stepped behind Dorian, pulled a knife from his jacket, and plunged it into his brother.
She hadn't meant to shriek, but it burst out just as Dagny also stabbed Dorian. Four people converged on her, and four people were knocked away by her magic with only her own survival considered. Crossbow bolts began crossing the hall as an attack began from all angles. Men were hiding behind the walls, she thought, watching Dorian crumple, a bolt having found its home in his neck. Taking quick stock of where her allies were in the room, Elsa purposely froze a tunnel around each one leading to the door they came in from.
"Run!" she screamed, hoping they would all hear her. The first man to the door was felled by another wall of soldiers armed with crossbows, sabers, and even some pistols. He was dead before he hit the floor. She flicked her wrist out and watched a jagged wall spike up and out in the courtyard, clearing the escape. Three more guards made it to the door before her, followed by herself, Egon, Hans, the last of her honor-guard, and Dorian's men.
Hans ran with the horrifying image of Dorian's dying face burning in his mind like a blinding flash that didn't fade. Why he thought Dorian might have looked relieved before the bolt hit his neck mystified Hans. Why had Dorian believed Dagny? Magda was probably already dead, along with her child; no heir would compete with the children of the new heir for the throne. Hans just couldn't understand why Dorian had believed them.
He followed Elsa and Egon into the courtyard, dodging raining crossbow bolts that had been launched over his wife's ice wall, then gladly watched as she blew apart the mechanism that held the drawbridge closed. It crashed to the ground on the other side just as the first man took a running leap off the end, rolling away from the splintered wood that exploded outward on impact. Hans did his best to keep up, driven on by the fear in his heart that he wouldn't make it back to the ship.
Rain fell heavily on them all and Elsa used it to their advantage, turning the paved streets into chutes back down to the harbor. Instead of running, they slid, mostly on their backs, behind the queen. The ship appeared on the horizon, and his heart gave a lurch in relief. Yet again, however, they met soldiers armed to the teeth. Elsa wasn't quick enough to stop all the attackers, and several men around him cried out as they were harmed. Ice walls formed again, leading a path to the harbor.
Egon grabbed two fistfuls of Hans' finery and hauled him to his feet, growling, "You're not dying here, son."
They ran on, defenseless aside from the walls Elsa had made, feet sliding on the wet cobblestones. Every muscle in his body was screaming in protest, but he, nor the other twenty or so men following the queen wanted to be left behind. Once they made it to the docks, Elsa stopped and flung her powers out across the water, freezing the harbor. Dorian's ship groaned against the ice, fighting men slammed to the deck by the sudden toss. The Eversten is lost, Hans thought.
Elsa froze a ramp down to the new ice, aware that a few boats were frozen on their way out to assail the Svalbard, men flooding the ice with plans to fight. Hans noticed that the ice didn't capture Elsa's ship, and he was thankful that she had been aware of what that might do to their escape. She stopped to raise more walls to barricade their path out, chest rising and falling quickly. Hans and Egon stopped at her side, the former saying, "Climb on my back," to his wife. After watching her briefly weigh the options, she nodded. Elsa weighed little, but even that was a task to carry across the harbor after running so much. She reached out over his shoulders and froze them all a path to the ship, a shell that bumped against the rising and falling of the Svalbard.
"Get on the ship!" a man at the front yelled, watching the man before him struggle to catch the ladder trailing over the ice. The men on board had seen them coming, but the rope ladder was the best they could do. Finally, men started up the side of the ship, swinging as the waves beneath shifted them around. Hans set Elsa down when they came to a stop, doubling over as the pain in his side caught up with him. She understood with his dismissive wave that he was just winded. Egon dropped against one of the ice walls, breathing hard and holding his arm. While the line of men went up the ladder, Hans checked to see if there was blood under the hand Egon had clasped tightly on himself—there wasn't any.
Hans met Egon's eyes and watched as pain shut his friend's jaw and crumpled his brow. He clawed at his chest, unable to do more than gulp for air. "No!" Hans screamed, watching and unable to help Egon, who had gone red trying to breathe. Elsa had her hands over her mouth, horrified. Egon went rigid in Hans' grip, shuddered, and went limp. He wasn't breathing.
The crew of men on deck and the men still on the ice all looked on or tried to help. A pair of hands pulled Hans away, and Elsa pulled him into an embrace. They watched two men try all they knew, but Egon did not begin breathing again.
He died.
With the time they had left, someone on deck grabbed a rope, threw it down to the men who tied it around Egon's middle under his arms, and the crew pulled him up onto the ship. Shaking, Hans followed Elsa up the rope ladder and dropped to his knees next to the old veteran's body, wishing for a black-out that never came. Elsa put a hand on his shoulder and watched over him as he silently mourned both his brother and his friend. He hadn't been able to save the man's life who had saved his.
The ship set sail, every wounded or dying man was tended to, and no one spoke a word to Hans.
Elsa waited for Hans to leave Egon's side before she asked the crew to move Egon below, wherever seemed appropriate to them. When they left, she froze his body, as she had done for Wolter, then she cried. She cried for Egon and for Dorian and for the men she had saved, the men who died, and even for the enemies that she was certain she must have killed. She cried for herself and for Hans. She cried because she was sad and angry and afraid. The day news of her parents' death had reached Arendelle, the day she had frozen her kingdom, the night she had hurt Anna, and this day all competed for the worst day she could remember.
After this, there would be a war between Arendelle and the Southern Isles. She'd tried so hard not to go to war.
Anna would be in danger, and Agnar and Kristoff and every other person under her rule.
Elsa was sure there were no tears left when she joined the restless crew on the deck. Hans gazed out at the sea sitting on the stairs to the quarterdeck. Only the ghost of the sunset lingered on the horizon, deepening in blue as she watched with him. Eventually, when lanterns had been lit along the deck, she suggested quietly that they retire to the captain's cabin. Hans nodded blankly, following her inside. They changed into their bedclothes with their backs to one another, then settled under the covers. Elsa pulled one of Hans' arms around her, exhausted, and tried to sleep.
Hans woke her the next morning when he moved to get out of bed. She touched his back, and in the dim light within, noticed the emotion he was trying to check as he looked back at her. "Oh, Hans," she whispered—that was all it took to break the dam. They were both crying, unable to stop for so long that light streamed in the cabin when they finally could.
Elsa took a few minutes to sort through her thoughts out loud, most of which were the things she had cried about the night before. Hans listened without comment, then did his best to calm her worries: "They can't follow us out of that harbor for a few weeks, and it's possible that they may not get word to their fleet or allies for that long. They said they didn't have that many, and liars or not, the Southern Isles probably haven't been that popular since I tried to kill you."
"I really hope you're right," she replied. Nausea was setting in again, seasickness returning when her other worries had simmered down to small fires. On the deck, the sailors performed their duties and mostly ignored the pair. With the action of the day before, sitting around was both relaxing and nerve-rending. There was the sense that there was more to do, but Elsa also felt the need to rest. There would be things to do once she was back in Arendelle, looming like a sword ready to swing down.
Hans was mostly quiet, even as they sat down to eat. She tried to read his expressions but eventually decided to wait for his thoughts until they were back in the captain's cabin.
"I wish we had been able to stop Dorian," Hans finally said. She had shut the door behind them just a moment before he spoke—she thought he must have wanted privacy. Elsa nodded, agreeing. His death had been a total shock, and she thought she might see him falling with the bolt in his neck every time she closed her eyes. "I wish I had told Egon to stay," she said, "But I didn't. I hope you don't blame yourself, as I hope for myself eventually not to. Dorian knew what we were walking into—he knew they had taken over. He was thinking of his wife. If they still have her, I hope she passes quickly."
Hans nodded, paused, then added quietly, "I'm glad Dorian went quickly. I'm glad they didn't get to make him suffer."
Elsa understood. It took being in mortal peril to understand, but now she understood.
Dreaming was only a little better than nightmares on the trip home. Hans woke several times a night, holding Elsa or being held, aware that whatever bizarre images he could remember were disjointed and indistinct. Elsa woke with him on the third night, finding his hand in the dark; "What is it?"
"Uh… dreaming," he replied groggily—he cleared his throat before continuing—, "Egon…"
"What happened?" she whispered. He sighed slowly, unable to hold on to the dream. "I don't remember," he told her.
At around noon that day, Hans was thinking of Linnéa when his mind strayed to Magda. He was foolish, he knew, but he hoped that she had gotten away like Henrik. Maybe she was back in her small kingdom, safely protected by people who loved her and would protect her child. Hoping was his only balm—the only way he could cope with having watched Dorian's murder.
Hans mused at the change in his heart towards his late brother, from an indifferent figure in his youth to the source of his jealousy, and finally to the only brother he trusted with his life. In mourning Wolter, more had joined the old man—how strange that change seemed now too, from the great and terrible king to the weak and human father—until Elsa, alone, counted as family. He looked over at her, overcome again at how something so beautiful and graceful was also powerful and dangerous and aware of his great fondness for her. She was aware, and maybe—just maybe—shared those feelings.
Thinking about changes, he thought of his own. What he'd give to turn back the clock and change his own heart… If he could try again, knowing now what life could offer a man who had abandoned greed and personal ambition, perhaps many things would be different. He may have joined the clergy—when Egon had rescued him, Hans thanked God for answering every small prayer for deliverance he had made in that cell—and never left the Southern Isles. He may have sought out Arendelle's monarch as an ambassador, only there for the things his kingdom could offer and trade. For all the things he wished out of that, he knew that it was hopeless. There was no going back—only forward.
At least he could do so at Elsa's side.
They docked, at last, in Arendelle, glum faces and lesser several fine soldiers. Dorian's men who had joined them had good reason to suspect that they may never be able to return to their lives in the Southern Isles. A crowd gathered at the friendly harbor, happy faces draining away as the mood on the ship spread. Hans searched the faces of those present and hollowed internally when he met Linnéa's gaze. She had been smiling, ever so slightly, but it fell away when Hans shook his head.
Linnéa was one of several new widows, but few bodies had made it to Arendelle. Only the five men who had died on the ship and Egon were carried down the gangplank.
Elsa gave a eulogy, eyes cast down at the covered bodies on stretchers lain out on the stones. There wasn't much to say, but she thanked each man for their service and lamented the early deaths. The crown would pay the funeral expenses, she said. Hans thought nothing more could be asked of her.
After speaking before the people on the dock, Elsa yearned to see Anna. Some part of her just wanted to drop into her sister's embrace and weep—Anna would let her, she knew. Mostly, she just wanted to be reassured by Anna's unyielding optimism. A war would surely come to Arendelle, but maybe, on the other side of that, there would be happiness again. Slipping away with as much respect for the grieving as she could, Elsa hurried down the bridge to and through the castle gates.
Anna stood on the main threshold, Agnar nestled against her neck. When she saw them, Elsa broke into a run, crossing the courtyard with tears welling in her eyes. Hans had followed Elsa back to the castle, but he gave her space as Elsa hugged Anna, sobs wracking her frame.
"Wh—" Anna began, holding Elsa with her free arm. Taking deep breaths to compose herself, Elsa calmed enough to relay what had happened on the brief trip to the Southern Isles. Anna was appropriately horrified, calming Agnar, who had started to cry when he woke. By the end, Elsa wanted to cry again. Agnar had taken over that duty, however, and was its obvious champion. "How terrible," said the new mother, adjusting her wailing infant and moving to allow her sister through the doorway.
Several hours later, when funeral plans had been made and the castle was full again, the kitchen served dinner. Anything important always seemed to happen during dinner.
Kai announced visitors to the castle just as Elsa set down her fork. They would not give their names, but it was a man and a woman with a contingent of armed men, saying they came in peace. The steward cut a glance at Hans, and Elsa felt her stomach give a little flip—she wasn't sure, but she stood and went with no more questions. Normally, a person or group requesting an audience with her would have to declare themselves; breaking protocol and scurrying to the main hall might have been a bad idea, but Elsa couldn't help herself. She was guided by hope.
The woman looked bone-tired, dark circles under dark eyes visible on her olive skin. She was beautiful, even if her dark hair was tangled and she was dirty from the road. The men around the pair wore no uniforms, but Elsa was sure they would fight to the death for their charges.
Hans appeared behind Elsa, and his small gasp confirmed for Elsa what one look at the man had told her.
"Henrik?"
Just like Dorian, the man looked like every other Westergaard brother she had met, only older. Elsa's husband started forward, reaching out one hand to shake his brother's. Henrik took Hans' hand and shook, looking relieved. Elsa couldn't take her eyes off the woman, who hadn't stopped looking at the door they had come through.
"Are you Magdalena—Dorian's wife?" Elsa asked. The woman nodded, releasing some coil of sorrow from Elsa's heart. It was bittersweet because while Magdalena was safe and alive, her husband had died thinking she was not.
"Where is Dorian?" Henrik asked. Elsa exchanged a look with Hans. He took a deep breath and answered sadly, "He was murdered in the Southern Isles by our brothers."
Magdalena dropped to the floor with a noise of anguish.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Sorry for the delay. Still hoping for faster chapter updates. (Also, sorry if you liked Dorian and Egon. I was sad to let them go too.)