The Cruelest Punishment Chapter 10 - Matrixectomy, a frozen fanfic

Here it is, the moment you've been waiting for (maybe)! I started five different times on this chapter and never found anything that clicked until recently. Some things I kept, some I discarded, but I eventually found a rhythm.

TW: dark themes and mentions of abuse.

Up to the moment she boarded a ship to the Southern Isles, the only things Magdalena had been parted with in her life were trivialities. Her mother and father were healthy, and her siblings had all lived to adulthood. Even leaving her home had been lessened by the presence of her dog.

Dorian was a good man—he was kind, welcoming, and warm. When compared to his brothers and father, she thought he might even pass for a saint. The marriage was happy when it began in earnest; when the awkwardness and laughable self-doubt subsided, she discovered Dorian was hilarious, a romantic, and had an incredibly equal mind to hers. They could debate about the role of classical literature in the morning, tease each other over lunch, brief missives in the afternoon, and lounge in their passion for one another at night. Waking up next to him each morning had been a comfort she hadn't expected.

The Westergaard brothers had not been what she expected either. Around the younger tier of brothers, Magda had learned to keep her guard up. Little things about them were off-putting at first, but—and she saw it with the benefit of hindsight—each little thing filled in the puzzle of their personalities. Working backwards, the youngest was the type to want to prove himself; full of bravado but with little substance to balance it. Gustav was secretive, though if she knew where she stood with any of the princes, she knew he hated her. Cynebald made her skin crawl; something utterly depraved lived in the depths of his eyes, and if he turned his gaze towards her, she made every excuse to flee from it as she could. Owain played at being tough and dropped his façade whenever anything didn't go his way. His penchant for being both petulant and sycophantic cemented her dislike for him early on. Dagny and Stanley…when she told Dorian that they were as disparate as she could imagine twins being, he laughed and told her the only thing they agreed on was how awful to be to everyone else. She often wondered how Dorian turned out so different from his brothers—when she asked him, his most succinct answer was that his mother had been well when he was born. Magda guessed that meant that the late Queen had been… less so as time went on and the family expanded.

The business with Hans had seemed to be over when he had been executed, as one might expect from an apparent death. She didn't mourn him and heard of no one who did; the hanging wasn't the first she had seen, and there was no funeral. The scandal was swept under the rug, forgotten like any good embarrassment.

Life moved on at a glacial pace. She wished they could add a prince or princess into the mix so she had something to occupy the slow days. In her own family, she had two nieces and a nephew from her eldest brother. From the moment they could crawl, they had introduced levity to a droll palace.

In the fall of that year, her beloved dog passed while hunting with Dorian. He cried more than she did, at first. When the days grew short and sunlight sparse, Magdalena found that it hurt terribly to be so far away without a reminder of home. She thought she couldn't be more miserable. Like most things, misery loves company.

Before she had even realized she was pregnant, she miscarried. Magda didn't know how to feel, and the shock had her acting out of character. She buried the remains with her dog and steadily came to terms with losing something she wasn't aware she had gained. Telling Dorian after the fact felt like a moot point, especially since she hadn't told him right away. More than anything, she hated having a secret.

Gradually, she felt comfortable being happy again. They celebrated Christmas and had all the brothers home but Jerrik, who sent them warm wishes, a case of Limoncello, and blood oranges from Sicily. Dorian whispered in her ear that if she ever met the man, he'd be as tan as he was bawdy and as impertinent as a child. She smiled, imagining the seafaring prince as close to a privateer as one could allow royalty to be—their very own Sinbad.

The youngest tier of the Westergaard brothers seemed predisposed to some sort of mischief. They left after presents had been given out and carols sung, but never said where they were going. It was inconsequential, but even Wolter commented on how little Limoncello they had partaken in and how unusual it was for the fun to end earlier than one or two in the morning. Theirs were holiday customs unlike her own, but which she found she enjoyed for their novelty; she prayed before bed and slept very well in Dorian's embrace.

The answer of where the younger brothers had disappeared off to on Christmas came months later, and explained why it was difficult to get them all in one room together for any length of time. Hans was alive and had been their prisoner from the time of his hanging all the way until he escaped with the help of a jailer. Dorian had been contacted by Queen Elsa of Arendelle in the days that followed. She sent a letter back with the men he had dispatched, short and to the point. Hans was alive and in her castle, and he had made the worst accusations of maltreatment against the youngest Westergaard princes. She would not relinquish him, therefore, until Dorian fetched him himself with no company from any brothers or their agents.

Magdalena didn't follow Dorian to Arendelle, nor did she associate much with anyone other than Wolter—who was not great company and complained of stomach troubles daily—and her handmaid. It was from her handmaid that she heard what talk the two bounty hunters had been spreading since their return: Hans the ex-prince was not only alive but safely ensconced in the castle and protection of the very same Queen he had one year before tried to kill. Her handmaid was tactfully asking Magda to confirm the news or elaborate, if she knew more. It was a shock to her she said, if that man was still alive when she had watched him hang.

"Ah, but there was no funeral, was there?"

"Well…"

There wasn't more talk of the matter that day in front of Magda, but she did notice the unusual absence of all of the younger princes, conspicuous in the unlikelihood that not even one was to be found beyond Henrik and Vilppu. Wolter was used to having each night's dinner attended by half the roster of his sons. So empty was the dinner table that she suddenly found herself beckoned to move to the place at his side and pressed for information on every subject she could supply. Although rather crass and definitely used to having his way, she found that Wolter was both subtly insightful and moderately good-humored. In his youth, he might have been like Dorian, she thought. What had hardened his heart and given him such a gruff demeanor? Was he more prone to smiling before the death of his wife? Had whatever happened before marriage?

Dorian might know, so she decided she would plumb him for answers on top of whatever had taken him to the kingdom of Arendelle.

On seeing the ship return, a messenger waiting at the docks ran back to the castle as requested, skidding into the parlor Magdalena occupied out of breath and wordless. Just his presence reported what she had wanted to know; Dorian was home and she would be ready to meet him at the gates. There was a difference of only a few moments, but she was able to stretch up onto her toes as her husband bent over his saddle and met him with a kiss on the gravel drive. Her mind was full of questions, but her heart was full of love. She let her heart lead.

After a groom led Dorian's horse off toward the stables, he and Magda walked close together, her having taken his arm when offered. The glow of reuniting couldn't last, however, and before they made it far away from the King, Dorian expressed the need to inform his father of all that had happened in the small northern kingdom.

"It was Hans," Dorian explained in a low voice, eyes cutting around to see if they were too close to unfriendly ears. She felt her mouth fall open in shock, then closed it with a snap as her husband pressed his free hand against hers caught on his elbow. "Worse than that," he whispered, close to her ear, "it was our brothers, and they did terrible things to him. Terrible."

The ensuing tale retold to Wolter by Dorian left Magdalena both dizzy and nauseous. Brothers were not meant to harm one another so heinously. Animals, she thought, don't even torture one another so. Suppressing shivers, the princess wanted to never see any Westergaard brothers involved again; knowing Gustav to openly hate her, and knowing that he had ordered Hans castrated, she hoped he would fall down some deep dark well. Perhaps he would keep going until he reached the right circle of Hell.

On Dorian's insistence, Wolter disavowed the sons who had proved so black-hearted, and exiled them from the Southern Isles, though none were located beforehand. The old man had seemed reluctant to give his eldest son the security of so few brothers to compete against. Everyone knew Dorian was the heir, but Wolter often pretended that his birthright could be revoked. Dorian had long understood it to be an empty threat leveled at him. Wolter always wanted his way. At any rate, Magda saw the exiling of the princes as the best thing for everyone in the castle. She could content herself with the company of Dorian, Henrik, Vilppu and the occasional letter and gift from the sea-faring brother she had yet to meet.

Life settled. Magdalena thought it was all over, like a storm that had blown itself out. Concentrating on growing their family, she and Dorian were almost never far apart. Her handmaid supplied all types of superstitions and guaranteed-to-work concoctions and every old wives' tale. Some felt quite silly, some useless or nauseating, and some were so complicated that she lost her nerve half way through and stopped. It was almost Christmas, and she had nearly given up—if she stopped thinking about pregnancy, maybe it would happen—when she realized she was late in her courses. A week. Then two. She dared to hope. On the stroke of midnight of the new year, she kissed Dorian and shared her prediction.

"In the fall, I think we'll have a baby," she said. He didn't register what she had said until he had thought it through.

"You mean…?!" he gaped, flabbergasted, "Really?!"

She was showered in kisses, even as she advised him that they should manage their emotions. In a very small voice, she told him of the miscarriage she had kept all to herself for months. He listened, and she was unsure of what she would see in his eyes when she finally met his gaze, but she knew she had to. There was profound sadness in his eyes. "I didn't..." she started, unsure of what she was trying to say. Dorian held her hand and said, "I wish you hadn't gone through it alone, but I'm glad I know, now. I love you, Magdalena. I want to be there for you."

"You'll be there for us," she said.

It was the best new start she had in memory, and everything she could hope for.

Dorian didn't want her to lift even a finger and busied himself like a man possessed to do it. He relented after Magda constructed a whole day of absolute nonsense to run him ragged and show him how silly it was to keep her from doing even the smallest things. The whole process had taken a week. From there on out, she was treated more like herself and less like an egg carrying something even more fragile. When she finally started to show a tiny little round low in her midsection, Dorian would speak to it, mere inches away, and tell it how he loved its mother and it. She was so happily content with the silly things he would say, the way he would kiss her, and the tenderness that had shielded them from everything but the brightest future.

Eventually, the eight worst brothers found a way to darken it.

Nobles from the furthest reaches of the Southern Isles answered no summons and sent letters back unopened. Those closer to the main island were taciturn when Dorian was around. The political climate made the halls feel as cold as the winter outside. Rumors were carried from ear to ear, eventually relaying to the heir that his little brothers were spreading lies involving plots, coup d'état, and generally garnering support from those who thought the King was not capable of leading well anymore.

As for said krumudgen, Wolter soured, worse than before—though his bad mood never singled anyone out. He didn't eat as robustly, complaining that the food tasted like ash. He would spend days in bed, which Dorian remarked as a first. Magdalena sat with him when he requested, bringing books and reading aloud for hours while he seemed to think, gaze on the ceiling. He'd sleep too, and she would trail off when it was obvious she had no audience. He began talking in his sleep, particularly when he was close to waking, and she could tell through the mumbling and sometimes shouted words that they were not pleasant dreams. He dreams of war, she thought, or something like it. In the aftermath of a nightmare that scared Magdalena so much that she shook him awake, Wolter cried while holding her arm. It was shocking, to say the least.

"I miss my Inga," he said, overcome like a child, "I miss my wife."

Queen Ingrid, known to her family as Inga, had been dead for more than a decade, and in his ill-health Wolter craved her tenderness. He said as much when he calmed, talking about how beautiful she had been, how kind, and how he had killed all that was good in her. There was no explanation from the man as he lapsed into silence and eventually fell asleep. She took the first opportunity alone with Dorian to ask what he might have meant.

"I wish he hadn't said anything," Dorian lamented, obviously uncomfortable. Magdalena might have left it alone if not for the code of silence that had made her all the more curious about the late Queen. With a sigh, her husband relented. "Wolter wasn't kind to my mother. They had a disagreement when I was small, before Aleksander and Adelbert were born. She said it was the cause of the animosity, and that everything came from that."

"Do you know what the disagreement was about?"

"I have my suspicions, but… no one ever said for certain."

"Dorian—"

"I know… it's just… I try not to think about it… I think… Wolter wanted more children and my mother didn't. He was the king… and he got what he wanted…"

"What?" Magda asked, clarification not really necessary when she thought it through, "You mean that Wolter forced your mother to have every child from Aleksander on?!" She was mortified.

Dorian seemed ashamed, and she understood that he thought he should have done something about it when he was old enough to understand. "I remember how terrified she was when she was about to have Iefan… she said she wanted him to stay inside her so she couldn't have any more children. I remember wanting to carve my father into ribbons—" his hands were curled into fists and she took hold of them.

"Dorian—"

"Don't say it… I was a man when Hans was born… I could have stopped Wolter… I finally did… sort of… I gave Wolter a black eye when I saw my mother with one. Hans wasn't out of swaddling clothes. Wolter didn't speak to me for a year, but I had helped my mother, just once. Six months after that, the doctor was summoned. He told my parents that thirteen might seem like an unlucky number, but that they would have to stop there. 'A baker's dozen' he called us. Mother said she had lost the ability to bear children with Hans. As much as I blushed to hear it, I think she would have shouted it from the parapets if she had the chance. I know she tried to get back to the young woman who had laughed and smiled and charmed the whole court, but there was an edge to her… cruelness and malice… she told us how she hated Father, called him a drunken brute and a philanderer. I don't doubt the things she said… just that she wouldn't have said them if her mind wasn't stretched to a breaking point. Her mood was unpredictable, and the worst days saw her encouraging the animosity between the younger boys. I loved her, really, but there were times when I hated her… the things she said were exactly the things no children should hear from their mother. Then, she fell ill. It wasn't a beautiful death, or peaceful. She complained of pain, and though the doctor saw her several times, he found nothing to remedy it. She was screaming for hours before… she cursed Wolter and us, then died…"

"Why would she curse her children?" was all Magdalena could think to ask.

"I would guess she was out of her mind… but maybe because we were part Wolter, part her. It was her last rejection of him."

"I'm sorry, my love," Magda said, embracing him. He returned her affection, letting out a breath she thought he had been holding while keeping Inga's sad story to himself. She didn't ask him about it again, satisfied, but not necessarily happy, to know.

Winter gave up its hold on the main island as spring threatened to creep in. Wolter seemed better with the change, though Magdalena had lost all tenderness toward him. She thought of how terrible it was to know that the woman the king longed for had been his victim for many years. If Inga was alive, she would have detested him.

A letter arrived from Arendelle, announcing the wedding of Hans to Queen Elsa. Dorian told her that another letter from the prince implored his eldest brother and father to honor the wedding as an alliance and provide military support in the event of any declaration of war on Arendelle. Despite his ill-health, Wolter insisted on journeying to meet with the Queen himself. Dorian made it clear that he thought it was a bad idea, but they set off all the same.

She didn't know that her husband was concerned about the exiled brothers. She didn't know that Henrik and Vilppu were making plans to leave the main island, until Henrik barged into the room she shared with Dorian and told her to pack whatever she didn't want to lose forever. Her handmaid attempted to shame the prince into leaving—he had intruded after Magdalena had already changed into her dressing gown—but the prince was adamant. They needed to leave, now.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because my brothers are coming, and they have no great love for me or you," was his answer.

Blood pooled, congealed and cooler than the season allowed for, staining the wooden floor of the hall. Gustav considered the bodies he would have to dispose of—those of Arendelle soldiers, that of Dorian, that of Wolter, and most opportunistically, the bodies of five brothers he had directed to be dispatched in the mayhem. There was Aleksander, who had caught a crossbow bolt to one eye and who had always been too pretentious to survive. There were Stanley and Dagny, the twins, one with his throat slit and the other run-through. Iefan, who's droning poetry Gustav had always loathed, killed while he fled when he realized he was marked for culling. Lastly, Owain, who was much too unconvinced of the need to seek a higher station than tenth prince. It was that coward that he had eviscerated with his own sword—who wailed like a woman as he died.

Gustav could see the path forward now, unencumbered by so many brothers, and he plotted it out with glee. The brothers would all have been "killed by the wicked Queen Elsa", especially dear Dorian—dead before they could lay their father to rest. She "planned to take the Southern Isles by treachery", Gustav would say. Adelbert and Cynebald would be his witnesses, and they would mourn the seven dead members of their family together. How their grief would stir the soldiers in their armies and the allies they would call on…

Henrik would be caught soon enough, and Gustav would see to it that Magdalena and her welp were just as dead as Dorian. Vilppu and Jerrik would join the last three Westergaards or die.

Then, when he had severed the witch-queen's head from her body and murdered the other Arendelle heirs, he'd lock Hans in prison and carve something inhuman out of him.

Maybe, when all their blood was spent, the curse from his mother would be satisfied and he would at last rest deeply and peacefully.

Linnéa walked back to the castle alone once Egon's funeral arrangements had been made. She didn't care for company right then, not when her head and heart were so heavy.

Life had been hard before Egon; she had had reason to turn to prostitution. Before him, she had never been in love. There'd been the sailor at fifteen, and the merchant's son at seventeen, but they had been flirtations. She wasn't proud of it, but a tenant farmer's third daughter couldn't rise higher without a little scheming. When she had to leave home, she couldn't read, write, or sell anything else but herself. Sex was not love, and she didn't mind the act. Eventually, it was clear that she wouldn't rise above her station no matter what she did; there was no place in polite society for a whore.

There were dark years in between then and Egon —years when she drank and forgot time, times when she tried whatever drug her next customer offered her and forgot herself. Egon hadn't saved her from those days, not like he had saved Hans. He just showed up one day after she had spent all her coin on alcohol and was sober enough to remember him.

"You smell like shit," he told her with a smile. Linnéa had tried to act indignant, but she had been sitting in the gutter. Egon was never one to mince words. She countered with: "You look like shit. What a fine pair we make."

"Aye," he had said with a laugh, "That we do. Why don't I buy you a drink?"

"How about a bath? You can share it with me."

"A bath I can manage. I think you might better do it without me, though."

"Why's that?"

"Because you smell like shit."

They had laughed about it, many times, sometimes while sharing a bath. She had told him, one night after they had married and they were nestled tightly together in their small bed, that people had passed her by with the attitude that she was garbage. She told him that he had made her feel like a person again after so long, simply for seeing her and offering a hand. After she took it, she felt like a lady. He had seemed like her very own knight, smelly and poor, but with a golden heart. He smiled, kissed her, then told her he had seen life in her yet—even in the gutter.

Linnéa had never thought her knight would die so young. Surely, they were meant to have more years. No one else would have rescued her, dusted her off, and treated her like a rare treasure. How was she to go on without the one who loved her?

She walked back into the castle, ready to drop into bed and never leave it. To her surprise, the entrance hall was full; men and one unknown woman, Elsa and Hans, Anna and Kristoff. They all stood looking at one another, and then the unknown woman collapsed. Mind full of a buzzing noise, she observed the scene, detached. A man who looked like Prince Dorian dropped to the floor to comfort the woman. Another new widow? Linnéa had had enough of comforting new widows; her strength was gone, even for other people. Unreachable, the maid took a direct path out of the entry hall.

She just couldn't do anything else; it was a task just to make it back to her room. Her weariness felt like an actual weight on her back. Before her door to the room she had shared with her husband for a year, Linnéa wavered, still being crushed by the invisible weight of her sadness. He wouldn't be there, smiling at her knowingly, waiting with a kiss. Wrenching the door open she swept inside, cast her gaze around, and grabbed the bedding with a cry. Why? Tossing things around, she repeated the question in her head—why why why—, shouting and finally tripping on the heap of blankets she had tried to shred.

"Why did you leave me here without you?!" Linnéa cried out, voice strangled with sobs she dissolved into.

Over the course of their flight from the Southern Isles, Henrik had thought he would be returning Magdalena to her husband. They had conversed with the ease of likeable in-laws in an otherwise tense series of events. She was worried about his brother, but he often assured her that there would be safety for them all with the Queen of Arendelle.

Being wrong about that wasn't conceivable until Magdalena went to her knees.

He took several seconds to follow her to the floor and offer comfort, shocked and unable to process the sentence Hans had said. "What brothers? You mean the younger ones?" Henrik asked, knowing Vilppu had also fled and that Jerrik was unlikely to care either way. Over the gut-wrenching sobs of Magdalena, Hans answered, "The more murderous ones—the ones who tortured me."

"How did they manage it?" Henrik asked, trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

"You promised he would be fine!" Magdalena shouted at him, pushing away when he had instinctively tried to embrace her. He stared at her agape. Her anger turned toward the woman standing with Hans, who flinched to be thusly called out: "Why didn't you save him?!"

The queen's mouth worked, but it was Hans who managed an answer: "We were ambushed. They were saying they had you hostage… that if Dorian went with them, they wouldn't hurt you anymore. He thought that he could save you." Magdalena didn't speak, wordlessly coming to terms with her husband's brave but ultimately fatal fidelity to her and their child. She covered her face with her hands and wailed. Henrik wasn't sure what to do, so he put his arm around her shoulders and waited, like the rest of the witnesses. Eventually, the other woman who was not the queen suggested that Magdalena have the privacy of a room to herself. His sister-in-law nodded, face twisting as she worked against the tears trying to overwhelm her again. Henrik scooped her up—she was very slight—and followed the Arendelle group to a guest room, where he set Magdalena on the edge of the bed and turned to leave. She held his sleeve and implored him with a look to stay.

Henrik stayed all night, sleeping in a chair when she finally let him go and turned down the covers. He fell asleep knowing and dreading his ascension as the rightful heir of the Southern Isles.

Arendelle mourned the lives lost on the mission of the Svalbard when the bodies had been prepared and the families were ready. Egon and the other husbands, brothers, sons, and fathers were interred at the cemetery below King Agnarr and Queen Iduna's hill and monuments. After the bishop had read a passage that Linnéa barely heard, Elsa took her turn to say:

"These may not be the only funerals we face in the next year. These men may not be the only ones taken too soon from us by the usurpers of the Southern Isles. I will not let their sacrifice be in vain. I will find a way to protect Arendelle and restore King Henrik to his throne."

Revenge didn't have the ring to it that Linnéa thought others might hear. Egon hadn't died from a wound dealt by men loyal to Gustav and the other princes. To hear Hans tell it, her brave old veteran had run himself to death, dropping as his heart failed. Linnéa thought, even if it wasn't there, he would have eventually died the same death. It set her apart from the widows of those gone before their time, a distinction she hated.

Hans, hesitant and very dear, was her most constant companion. Egon had meant a great deal to him as well. He may not have accepted her motherly affection but he was a good friend. They'd sit in the gardens, walk the docks, and almost every day, he would help her onto Sitron's back and they would take a ride to sit in the grass and watch the kingdom. It only took a week to decide that she didn't want to stay in the castle without Egon. She didn't mind the work of a maid, but she found their room sad and empty now that it was just her. Hans and Elsa were quick to offer her the house Hans had never used and enlist help to move her meager collection in, joining things the former prince hadn't thought about in months. She remembered staying for one night with Egon and finding out about the attack on Hans after. There were two extra bedrooms that they said might make a decent profit for her if she rented them out. "Maybe later," she told them, "I think I'd like to wait before doing that."

Her first night alone was the hardest. Linnéa cooked the only thing she knew how, changed into her nightgown, and cried herself to sleep. It was the last time she let herself do so.

Kristoff woke at dawn when Anna fed Agnar. So much was on his mind, and so much had happened since Elsa had returned home unharmed. He thought about Henrik, Magdalena, and the coming conflict with the Southern Isles that Elsa and Hans assured everyone was inevitable.

"I want to go see Pabbie," he said, eyes on his son in his wife's arms. Watching him was one of his favorite pastimes, but he knew that Agnar's future was uncertain at best and dangerous at worst. He needed the advice of the trolls—needed their stalwart and unflinching optimism to pretend like everything would be alright. "I want to go with you… but I don't think I should this time. Agnar is feeding a lot," Anna said, and they both knew that she wouldn't leave him. Going with Agnar just didn't seem like a good option. "Give them my love," Anna added as he headed out.

"I will," he promised.

Sven was ecstatic to be taking a trip. Just as Kristoff was heading out, Hans was coming in on Sitron with Linnéa. They exchanged pleasantries, and the maid dismounted, but Hans asked if he could tag along wherever Kristoff was going. He might have said no if Hans hadn't looked like he would follow anyway. "Oh, alright. Just keep up."

The trip was absolutely quiet between the two men, and Kristoff preferred it that way. Sven took the familiar route like he was trying to set a new record. Hans was bent low in the saddle, and by the time that Sven slowed into a walk, both riders and mounts were breathless and reddened from the cold wind. Kristoff saw Hans crack a smile and couldn't help one either. Who could pass up the fun of a full gallop? They walked a few minutes to cool down, then dismounted when Kristoff indicated. They were near the trolls' grotto.

"So… have you met my family?"

"I'm not sure," Hans said, following the winding path Kristoff blazed. "You'd know if you had," was his reply.

A chorus of "Kristoff's home!" greeted the pair upon being sighted. The trolls rolled out, each one clamoring to hear news of baby Agnar and how Anna was doing. The little ones hung off his arms and climbed up his back, everyone talking over one another in their excitement. He was reminded of the first time Anna had met his family—they were very quickly very personal and absolutely ignored the interloper in their midst for the entirety of a minute.

"The trolls are your family," Hans said, and Kristoff laughed. So they had met. Bulda looked from Kristoff to Hans and back again. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Everyone, I'd like you to formally meet Queen Elsa's husband, Hans," Kristoff said, not expecting his mom to ball up and roll over to the unprepared former antagonist and grab a fistful of his jacket where she could reach it. Wrenching it down until Hans' face was level with her own, Bulda stared him down with all the intensity a three and a half foot troll could muster. His eyes were wide, hands hovering over her own, scared and uncertain of what was happening. The whole family was watching, breath held, waiting for her verdict. Rather suddenly, Bulda put her free hand on the corresponding cheek and said, "You're not the same boy anymore, are you?"

"Bulda—" Kristoff started, hearing Pabbie before he saw the chief. Hans looked shocked, but cast his eyes down. Kristoff didn't know what the other man was thinking, but he did look like a child reprimanded. Pabbie touched his daughter's shoulder and caught Hans' gaze, saying: "Anyone can see that, Bulda."

"Welcome, Hans," she said, a sentiment which the rest of the family echoed. Hans was speechless but didn't balk at being paraded around and introduced to the tribe of trolls. There were jokes at his expense, but mainly about how awkward he was and how Bulda had had him going. Kristoff busied himself with catching up with and updating anyone who asked. They wanted to see Agnar the next time, they all said. He promised he would bring his son as fast as he could. Eventually, he managed to get Pabbie alone, and explained the situation—

"Hans already told me what was happening; I'm sorry it hasn't been peaceful since Agnar was born."

"You talked to Hans?" Kristoff asked, not sure when the man had had time.

"Yes. While you were regaling the little ones with the story about how Agnar peed on you. He's very polite now, isn't he? Very shy, but much nicer after so much pain. Did you know that he's already fallen in love with Elsa? She could do worse than a man who loves her," Pabbie said, his authority as a love expert clear in his opinion freely given.

"He told you that?—Wait, I mean, fine, but I wanted to know what you thought about what I should do with Anna and Agnar?"

"Well, I think they're safe and well cared for in Arendelle. I can't imagine Elsa letting any harm come to them. It's upsetting, to say the least. Hans' brothers are very cruel, so I understand your trepidation. You have people you want to protect. Trust in your ability to do so, and in the love your family has for one another; it's a powerful motivator. We will always be here if things get out of hand." Pabbie caught his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Thanks… I needed to hear that," Kristoff said. The men eventually made their way home after many well-wishes and goodbyes. They took it easy, and like before, they were quiet. Actually, looking at Hans, Kristoff got the feeling he was deep in thought.

"Doing alright over there?" he asked hesitantly.

"Hm?" Hans said, "Oh… yes… Just… plenty to think about."

"Yeah… Me too," Kristoff said, satisfied that he wasn't going to be inundated with questions about things he either wouldn't know or didn't care to know about. Silently, they continued to the stables.

Just before they went their separate ways, Hans stopped Kristoff and said, "Thanks. For letting me go with you."

Things had been very muddled since their return to Arendelle; Hans and Elsa were still spending the nights in the same bed, but for the most part, Elsa seemed to be retreating from him. She talked of missives and responsibilities and entreatments. If she wasn't pouring over statements and reports, she was writing to allies and awaiting a declaration of war. The advisors she talked to were never able to put her mind at ease, and he felt like a nuisance hovering over her like he had tried to do at first. He asked Anna, therefore, to try and pull Elsa from her desk with the lure of spending time with Agnar. It was an awkward conversation, and they bumbled through it, but eventually, the princess said she would do her best.

Linnéa needed him, he thought. No one else had been as close to Egon nor as gutted by his death as they two. Hans regretted the harsh words he had said to the older man, wishing he had the ability to take them back. They sat in the gardens or walked the docks. Eventually, he took her on rides on Sitron, who had been itching to go on more frequent outings. Sitting in the grass and saying nothing seemed like what she wanted from him. Things had never been so quiet in Arendelle, Hans thought.

Catching Kristoff on his way out somewhere one day, he asked if he could go as well. The prospect of returning to the quiet castle seemed more daunting than he thought he could handle. "Oh, alright. Just keep up," his reluctant tour guide said. Hans did his best to adhere to the stipulation. By the time they slowed down, he was smiling at the pursuit. He hadn't felt free of his burdens since the trip, but this… chasing the reindeer and rider took all his concentration. Maybe he could convince Elsa to go for a ride too. They walked on, dismounted, and finally arrived at Kristoff's destination. He hinted at what Hans would see, but Hans didn't make the connection until he saw the trolls.

The shouting and joy was nearly deafening compared to the castle for the last few days. He was quiet for a few moments, watching the interactions with a mix of envy and wonder as the stone folk welcomed home their prodigal son. He hadn't known that they were at the weddings for Kristoff. He had thought they were there for Elsa, as magical mentors or just in solidarity. "The trolls are your family," he had said aloud, regretting the instant he called attention to himself.

In rapid succession, the troll spoke, Kristoff spoke, then she rolled over and seized a fistful of his shirts. Hans wasn't prepared for how strong she was, jerking him to be eye-to-eye. The next minute was silent, intense, and unnerving. He didn't know what she was looking for, or what she would find. Then, she put her free hand on his cheek like a mother might: "You're not the same boy anymore, are you?"

Absorbing that was complicated. He was shocked by the insight, ashamed of the past, and nearly lachrymose from the sympathy with which she made her observation. He looked down, trying not to be overcome with guilt. He might never be free of that feeling, but if pain and suffering were a currency, his debt to those he harmed in his scheming had been repaid with interest. It wasn't, but if it was…

A second troll joined the first—the same one that had given Elsa away—put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Anyone can see that, Bulda."

"Welcome, Hans," Bulda entoned, and he continued to not be able to speak past the lump in his throat. A blur of faces were soon introduced and there were smiles and laughter. It was difficult to know whether or not the variations on "How's that leg? Pulled?", "Bulda had you going," "Loosen up," and "We don't bite," were supposed to be taken seriously. Pabbie—he caught the name at last—stopped the carousel of introductions to ask how things were in Arendelle. Hans' stomach did a flip as he realized he'd spent nearly an hour without worrying about it. Reading his expression, Pabbie pulled Hans aside to speak more candidly. "Are you all in danger?" was his first question.

"Yes," was the short answer. Pabbie required more of an explanation. "The brothers who tortured me ambushed us and killed Prince Dorian, attacking Elsa's retinue as we were trying to escape. Arendelle will probably be at war as soon as the main fleet thaws from where Elsa froze the bay."

"Froze which bay?" Pabbie asked. It took several more minutes to apprise the chieftain of the situation the crown had found itself embroiled in. Hans had to explain how Wolter's death had forced Elsa to go to the Southern Isles and how his brothers' attack had forced her to defend the retinue. The optics of a foreign monarch with magical powers returning the frozen corpse of the king, then freezing the bay on her hurried way out were bad. Very bad. Add in the other dead bodies and it was safe to assume that Elsa's reputation was ruined. Their allies would know her to be kind and gentle, but his brothers would work tirelessly to undermine all their foreign diplomacy. Pabbie listened, asked questions where he needed, and agreed that it was probable that war would be next.

"I feel like I can't help Elsa… like I'm the reason all of this is happening. If I had never come to Arendelle—"

"We can't unmake the past, Hans," Pabbie counseled, "Whatever happened, happened."

Hans nodded. It was unhelpful to fixate on things he couldn't change. "Is there anything I should be doing for the queen?"

"Be there for her," was the troll's reply. He patted Hans' arm and walked away. The conversation strengthened his resolve to do anything he could to help Elsa.

Much later, when the two men were back at the castle, Hans realized he had been bolstered by the trip to see the trolls. They had been so removed from the troubles of the kingdom that they could make what seemed like the end of the world just another obstacle to a peace that would come. He headed toward Elsa's rooms, hoping to share the burdens she faced and give her some of his borrowed hope.

I just want to scream.

Things looked dark. They looked insurmountable. She couldn't get ahead of the trouble, and she was under so much pressure. Most days, she had the kind of headache that made everyone seem like too much. Hans had taken the hint. She was miserable, and she didn't want to be alone, but how was she supposed to figure out how she could furnish her army if Agnar was crying right across the desk? Could she be allowed a break from the pile of letters she needed to write to their allies when the soldiers would get no break in defending the kingdom? Why should she go to dinner when her people might soon go hungry if a blockade began? The terror of every waking moment was in how much her people would suffer because she was queen. Her choices had led to what they faced now.

It neared sundown when Hans came back to her suite. She didn't hear him enter, flinching when she heard him suck in a breath. She looked up to see him watching his breath float toward the ceiling. The office was covered in frost and she hadn't even noticed. Elsa's gaze met Hans' and the silence stretched between them. Trepidation evident in his every move, he advanced toward the desk, finally speaking.

"I went with Kristoff to see the trolls."

She looked down at her papers—thankfully not iced over—and didn't know what to say back. He continued instead, "Pabbie helped… We spoke about the likelihood of war… how unchangeable the past is, and… what I could do to help you."

Elsa waited a beat for him to say what it was, then croaked out, "What did he say?"

"Just to be here with you," Hans replied, slowly walking around the desk. He offered out a hand, and she felt her heart take off in her chest. What did Pabbie know? She knew she shouldn't be angry, but he was so unaware of the magnitude of the danger they were in. The troll didn't have orders out to the smiths to make as many crossbows and swords and musketballs as possible. He didn't have to try and find as much grain as might carry them through the next few seasons as possible. He wasn't here, trying to decide whether it was more just to battle the army himself than send soldiers to their deaths in his place. He didn't know how afraid she was. He couldn't imagine the pressure on her.

Fear would be her enemy, always.

"I—," Elsa tried, finding a lump in her throat, unable to take his hand, "I don't know what to do!"

She wanted to lay her head down on her desk and sob, but Hans gently gathered her to her feet and pulled her close. Burying her face against his chest, she let the overwhelming helplessness she had been keeping at bay consume her. Her emotions, a whirling maelstrom inside, became a snowstorm without; the office blew into total disarray as she broke down. Hans held her through it, soothing what she thought couldn't be soothed. Slowly, like a fog clearing, Elsa calmed down. She felt weak—when did she last eat or sleep well?—and needed his support just to stay standing. Tears seemed poised to return with every other heart beat, but she blinked them back and took deeper breaths.

"Are you alright?" Hans asked quietly. She looked up and realized that his face was pink from the cold and tiny cuts had appeared on his cheeks. "Nevermind me—I hurt you!"

"What?" he asked, wincing when she put her fingers to the fresh wounds. "Oh."

"Come over to the fire—" she stopped when she realized that her storm had killed the flames and cooled the logs to the point of no quick return, "Maybe Anna's got one burning."

She started to twist out of his arms and nearly crashed into her desk. "Elsa!" he exclaimed, alarmed. She pressed her eyes closed for a moment, trying to reassure them both that she was fine, but wobbled on the spot. Quickly, Hans scooped her into his arms and headed for the door. "I'm supposed to be helping you," she said, hands covering her face as the tears started again. For his part, he just seemed concerned about her; "When was the last time you had anything to eat?"

"I think… I had… toast… this morning," she said shakily. She hated how pathetic she sounded.

"We'll go to the kitchen and see what they can make for you."

"You still need to warm up. Sit by the fire when we get there… please," she said, looking past her hands at Hans. He smiled, though it didn't erase his worry. "As you wish."

Two miserable weeks had passed in Arendelle's castle since Magda had arrived with Henrik. It helped to stay detached, at first. For the first three days, she stayed in her room, weeping, sleeping, or blankly whiling away the hours. Then, she attended breakfast, willfully not meeting anyone's eyes. Henrik spoke for her to Princess Anna, thanking the royals for their hospitality and inquiring after the queen. It took hours for her to realize that she hadn't seen the regent since arriving. They took lunch in her room, Henrik mostly talking to fill the silence. She would make noncommittal noises to the things he asked, and he let her go on being quiet.

The small hours of the morning found her being shaken awake as she swatted at the hands on her arms. Henrik's face was illuminated by a candle, and he was trying to calm her with: "You're alright," and "You were only dreaming." It had seemed so real—Dorian had been walking away from her, swallowed up by darkness and the sound of knives stabbing flesh—that she had been too disoriented to know what way was up, down, right or left.

"Dorian!" she cried, balling fists in Henrik's sleeves and calling for her husband over and over until she had disturbed others in the same hall. There was an attempt to shush her; that she would not suffer. If anything, Magdalena yelled louder for Dorian. Why wasn't he here? Why wasn't he answering her? She just had to call for him. Finally, Henrik grabbed her face and said loudly: "He's gone. He's not coming back. He won't answer you."

Those words broke the spell that the dream had created for her in her grief. She slammed back to reality with a gasp and then began to weep again. Henrik seemed reluctant to pull her into a hug, so she flung her arms around his neck. "What am I going to do without him?" she cried. "How do I raise our child without him?"

Henrik didn't answer, and the silence spoke volumes.

Being the "spare to the heir" had never bothered Henrik. In fact, he thought he had had tremendous luck in being born second. Educated, respected, with all the clout and none of the trouble. It suited how unambitious he was. Dorian had been only a year older and was in near constant perfect health. Death moving Henrik up the line of succession was as likely as a cold day in Hell… and then it wasn't. He still reeled at the thought. There were things he had planned to be doing instead—joining Jerrik on his ship for a year, traveling to far off places, seeing the world, generally living in the lap of luxury without a care in the world—all ash blowing away from him on the breeze. How could he be King?

When Magdalena had been crying for Dorian, he felt like joining her. Maybe his spirit would provide some insight if they could just summon him. Yet, he knew, dead was dead. Hans said—when they had had a chance to speak alone—that Dorian had died in a pool of his own blood. He'd seen it. There would be no secret torture or miracluous survival. So he buckled down his own fear and told Dorian's wife what he had been telling himself for days.

She wanted answers that he didn't have.

With the man from whom Henrik usually sought advice dead, he found he was falling back on half-hearted lessons he had had with tutors as a youth for help. Regal bearing, decisiveness, tactics and war-planning. He would need those loyal to the crown to fight the usurpers. He had to inspire courage and fidelity—if only he hadn't been so content with his life and reputation—and he had to do it quickly. Perhaps if he rode in the vanguard of the first battle? The thought made him ill. He would probably be killed. Then where would they be?

What was he to do about Magdalena? She carried the sole heir to Dorian, the rightful and deceased king. Should she go home to that little backwater kingdom? Should she stay? Would her child inherit the throne? Would he have children? Would he live to have children? He'd never wanted them. He'd never thought he would have to marry except for an alliance, not to salvage the proper Westergaard line. He'd never worried so much in his life.

There was only one person in all of Arendelle with any experience as a monarch, and she was harder to get in to see than the Pope. He tried, rebuffed, then rebuffed again.

Perhaps he could run away. Vilppu could ride a horse every which way, but would he be an effective leader and a good king? Would he even want it? Where was he? What about Jerrik? Ha, Jerrik will only stay in one place when he's dead, was Henrik's honest opinion, bringing a rueful smile to his face. A nation shouldn't be run from the deck of a ship, even if it were a nation of islands.

Finally, he happened upon the queen and his brother under strange circumstances. Hans looked like he had been caught outside in a snowstorm—unlikely with the seasonable weather—with the queen gathered in his arms. She looked wan, clinging to his brother's neck as they bumbled down the hall. Henrik hesitated, not sure of what was appropriate. He stepped aside when Hans was done waiting for him, pushing past. They were twenty feet away when his youngest brother said: "Are you coming or not?"

He caught up.

They went into the kitchen, finding preparations still underway for dinner. Queen Elsa settled on a chair, blue eyes on the ground as Hans asked one of the staff for anything they had ready. It was met immediately with a bowl of soup and a cup of tea. Hans stood by one of the ovens, rubbing his hands together. There was an obvious lack of answers to any of what was happening, and Henrik wasn't sure how to coax them out in the silence. "So…," was all he could try.

"So… How is Princess Magdalena?" asked the queen. Hans added, "We heard about her calling for him."

Without needing a name, Henrik knew that Hans meant Dorian.

"She's going through what we're all going through, plus being pregnant. I think I would be screaming all the time… it seems that she's stronger than I would be. I'm not… Well, I never thought I would be in this position."

It was their turn to understand without further explanation. Henrik didn't want to meet their gaze. Hans spoke first, "None of us thought we would be in these positions."

"I'm lost… I don't know how to take Dorian's place. He was the better man by far," Henrik said, unsure of why he was voicing something so defeatist in the kitchen. He didn't know the queen well enough for this level of sharing, but he couldn't stop himself. Hans to Elsa in rapid succession, he searched for some guidance, some empathy, some revulsion. Anything. They both looked back blankly.

Good God, he thought, they don't know what to do either.

To Elsa, having something as straightforward as finding a house for Linnéa to move into was a welcome task. There wasn't much "finding" to be done; Egon and Linnéa had been offered the house twice already. Acting as storage for Hans' belongings for months, it was overly large for one person. The maid just needed somewhere other than the castle. Elsa was hesitant to suggest a roommate or two, but did eventually out of sheer practicality. Linnéa said she'd rather be alone just then, and that was that.

Since the incident in her office, Hans had rarely left her for more than a few hours. She wasn't sure how to feel about his near-constant presence. The part of her that had been used to being alone was stifled and irritated, while the part of her that had broken down from the pressure she had put on herself panicked when he wasn't around. There had been more temperature drops as her emotions fluctuated, but overall, she felt like her grip on her powers was stronger when she had him there. If she asked for food, he went and got it. If she asked for space, he gave it. If she bounced ideas off him, he usually returned insight. His upbringing had allowed him to dabble in a great many subjects. Though his older brothers had a strong hold on their chosen fields, Hans had a passing knowledge of things like the army, the navy, and the cavalry.

"Vilppu didn't mind me so much as a kid," Hans said, adding a moment later, "I hope he's alright."

Henrik had been a cause for worry as well; his insecurities felt contagious and he made no effort to hide them from Elsa and Hans. She had learned from her father how to govern her people, but theirs were different kingdoms and different peoples. Sure, she could advise him generally to do this and that but not that or this. Those answers satisfied him the least.

Anna gave out the most generalized piece of advice Elsa had heard, yet it set Henrik afloat, his capsized boat in troubled waters finally upright again: "We have to do what's right for our people, not what's right for ourselves."

They had been at dinner, one of the first few Elsa and Hans had attended in the time they had been back. Henrik had chewed on the thought as the courses were served, oblivious to Magdalena's growing agitation. That had not escaped Elsa. Rather suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, the princess sought Elsa's gaze and said: "Could you kill them?"

Them. There was no other them than the Westergaard usurpers possible. Magdalena had asked the question like it just became apparent to her that Elsa had ice magic. Still, as theoretical as the widow had made it sound, Elsa felt it like a slap to the face. Sound died in the dining room as those gathered waited for someone else to speak.

"Elsa can't kill anyone," Anna said, dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter, "She's too kind and too compassionate to be used like a weapon. Even though they killed Dorian, she isn't the vengeful type. If you knew her better, you'd never ask her to do something like that."

"I… I'm sorry," Magdalena mumbled, dark eyes filled with tears. Elsa saw the raw pain the woman experienced, shame loosening the tenuous hold she had been keeping on her emotions through dinner. It was too much to expect from the widow. "We can seek justice for the wrongs done, but no amount of violence will bring back the dead. The brothers who had a hand in Dorian's death and Hans' torture will not walk free when I find them," Elsa promised. Magdalena stared at her with all the intent of someone receiving an oath.

When dinner was done, the group tried to stay together. Anna, Henrik, Magdalena, and Kristoff played cards at a small table in the library as Elsa tried in vain to read a book and Hans might have been succeeding at the same. The fire crackled and the whole of the room could have been startled by a pin dropping. Magdalena's sigh was about that loud, and Elsa watched her set her cards down and look over at the piano in the corner. No one had played it since her father had passed. "Do you play?" she asked the princess.

"I haven't for a long time, but I was just thinking that it was so quiet…"

"If you'd like to use it, please do. We haven't had anyone play in years."

Magdalena left her seat as if drawn to the bench at the piano, lifting the cover off the keys and settling down as though it were the most natural thing she knew. Elsa thought she looked graceful and elegant. She put her fingers to the keys and began a melody that was almost familiar, apparently from memory. The piano might need tuning, but even with that, the music seemed to create a spell over the library's occupants. She played for several minutes, barely lifting her gaze from the keys. Elsa envied her passion for it, watching the widow's troubles melt away, even briefly. Magdalena looked up and was surprised by Anna, Kristoff, and Elsa all clapping as she finished.

"That was beautiful," Hans said. Henrik was only able to nod. Magdalena treated them to a small smile, adding, "I know another one that's a little more lively…"

"Oh, please play it!" Anna entreated. With a nod, the player struck up what was indeed a lively tune.

Kristoff hopped up and pulled Anna to her tapping feet and they bounded around in the library. They were followed by Elsa and Hans, who had taken one look at one another and decided to join. If Magdalena was free to dance, Henrik would have danced as well. For the time of the song everyone seemed to forget how terrible things were outside of the library. They were breathless when they sat back down.

"Thank you," Elsa said in earnest to Magdalena. "I'm glad I could make everyone smile," she said.

Later, owing to the good mood, Elsa snuggled closer to Hans in their bed. "I haven't danced… I was a child the last time I danced like that," she said. It was peaceful, laying in bed, Hans lazily rubbing one hand up and down her back. She closed her eyes and slept better than she had in weeks.

Sentries had been stationed at look-outs with a good vantage point of a few miles in and around the fjord once Elsa had the presence of mind to do so. They were to keep an eye out for ships approaching bearing no colors or Southern Isles flags. Spy glasses and horns were the best way to communicate with the castle. The town was instructed to take only the essentials and flee into the hills if ships were spotted with cannons out. There were farms and homes that agreed to have camping supplies hidden in caches on their land, and some of whom were more than willing to guide and care for displaced residents. Elsa's incentives to them were no taxes for the year.

The kingdom had its breath held.

With the sound of a horn, peace was shattered.

Three ships flying the colors of the Southern Isles grew on the horizon. It hadn't yet been three weeks since the queen's return. As calmly as possible, the people of the kingdom of Arendelle left their homes for their designated locations. They had prepared for this, and they knew where they were going. Eventually, one of the ships turned broadside and ran out their guns in the shadow of the mountains. Waiting to be fired upon, a lone figure stood on the battlements of her castle. She was barely visible to the sailors on the ship—a little fleck of light color along the light walls.

They might have laughed, but they were aware that she had frozen the bay from which they had sailed four days earlier.

Then came the order to fire all. Ten long barreled cannons rent the air with their volley.

Colder than the deepest parts of winter, a blast of icy air slammed into the side of the ship, pitching it heavily to and fro on the instantly choppy fjord. Ice raced across the expanse, solid, unyielding. Just before it reached the ship, it grew skyward, up, up. It was as tall as the mast! Taller! The sailors cried out in shock and awe. Some called it the work of the devil. Some thought they had never seen anything as beautiful as that ice. It curved around the fjord, blocking out the sun and ensconcing Arendelle like a mother's arms.

What was supposed to be a punishing first battle or an invasion had been stopped almost a mile from the docks. It was over before it had even begun.

Anna, Kristoff, Agnar, Olaf, Sven, Magdalena, Henrik, Kai, Gerda, Linnéa—anyone who had been living or working in the castle—all had been ushered out to safety by the royal guards the moment the horn blew. They were out of the town by the time the ship turned in the fjord and fired. Try as she might, Elsa couldn't convince Hans to leave with them. He promised to stay off the battlements, but he was just steps away when she began her counterattack.

Having frozen the fjord by accident two years ago, she was confident she could do so on purpose, now that the situation called for it. Their own ships, including the Svalbard had been sailed several miles up the coast and hidden just for this outcome. It would take days longer to get provisions, but by using a harbor unknown to the enemy, they might stave off a blockade. Cannonfire was the bigger problem. She made the wall not just above the water but below as well, thickest where it met the seafloor. As it grew, the cannonballs struck random targets. A house collapsed in town. A smith lost their bellows. Most, however, hit the walls of the battlements below and along the castle. She felt the stones beneath her shift and dove for what seemed like a sturdier structure. Hans' arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her with him down the stairs, two at a time. They reached the courtyard's cobbled base and ran under the nearest awning available, panting for breath as the wall stopped shaking.

"Thanks," she huffed, hands on her knees. They both coughed as the dust settled from the breaking, then, knowing what was next, Elsa and Hans found their way out onto the new ice. The plan was to make several more walls as fail safes for the first. In the hotter days, she didn't expect even a seventy foot ice wall to keep indefinitely. Hans carried two flasks and a waterskin full of drinking water, his sword on his hip for the off-chance that someone scaled the wall and meant to attack his wife. She made three walls in an hour, each as tall as the one she had first created, but each one took more time and drained her. Hans finally begged her to take a break, drink water, and sit in the shade. Arms and legs shaking, the queen settled heavily into a hastily made ice chair, shading them both under a sloping ice tent. Hans kneeled in front of her, offering a flask. She took it and drank, slowly lessening the bouncing of her legs by concentrating on his hands on her knees.

"We would have enough time to go back and eat if that's what you want to do," he suggested, concerned. Elsa started to brush off that idea, then felt faint as the water hit her empty stomach. She nodded, dropping her head onto one hand. Normally, her power wasn't a drain. Stress had done to her what it had done to Hans when he thought there would be war rather than suitors. He's so calm now. She didn't hear him calling her name past the ringing in her ears. "Sorry," she mumbled, letting him pick her up like he had in the office and holding onto his neck as he carried her back to the castle and into the kitchen again.

It was stone silent, eerie. Hans handed her a covered plate that one of the cooks must have left out for them. It was a sandwich, apple slices, and cheese. He poured them both a cup of cider, then sat down with her. They ate in silence, both aware of what they would be going back to do. Far off, they heard cannons trying to take on her wall. It was inevitable, but Elsa hoped that they would find her wall too thick to break down easily. Perhaps the ships had some of the Westergaard brothers aboard. If they were there, were they trying to get to Arendelle? To kill her? To kill Hans? To kill Magdalena and Henrik? Why? Why did they hate everyone else so completely?

She ate mindlessly, wordlessly, until she was satiated. It was only about half the sandwich, the majority of the apple slices and cheese, chased by all of the cider in her cup. The shaking in her muscles had stopped, but her body was drained. It might take hours to feel well enough to continue building walls. She put her head in her hands, thinking of how she had built her castle on the North Mountain in minutes with unlimited energy. What was so different about this? She had not let loose with her powers, and had been happy to; she was having to use her powers for defense, having to create giant, heavy structures. There was no joy in her powers now, only responsibility and anxiety. She felt like crying again.

"I think we should wait to go back outside," Hans voiced. She nodded, aware that she needed more of a break. So this was it? War? She felt sick. Maybe the walls would keep the enemy at bay indefinitely. In the growing heat, she doubted it. The walls would melt, the cannonfire would weaken them, or they would find another way into the kingdom. Sick wasn't even strong enough to describe how she felt. How Atlas never dropped the sky, Elsa couldn't understand.

"I could go get a bottle of mead," Hans said, as if he could read her mind, "It might take the edge off."

"Normally, I would say no, but… just this once."

Hans left for only a few minutes and in that time, Elsa tried to eat a little more of the sandwich, apple slices and cheese, listened to the intermittent cannonfire, and thought it was for the best that they had planned to evacuate the town whenever the trouble started. She hoped the letters to their allies would yield results soon.

While he hadn't been back in the cellar since the time Elsa admonished him for drinking the two bottles of glögg, Hans still had a good idea of where everything was. The mead he found was sealed with wax and a cork and labeled as having been bottled six years prior. Must have been the previous king and queen, Hans thought. He would have to ask Elsa more about them. Pulling the bottle down and turning around abruptly put him face-to-face with another man.

Three things happened very quickly in the dimly lit cellar:

One, Hans dodged the stabbing motion the man made with something sharp in his left hand.

Two, he brought the bottle in his hand down on the man's head, shattering the bottle and freeing his hand to reach for his sword.

Three, Hans shoved the length of his gifted sword from Elsa into the stunned man still on his feet.

The assailant groaned, feet slipping on glass until he fell into one of the shelves. Hans watched, horrified, as the face of the man became clear: Adelbert. The room tilted, backing Hans into the shelves he had just pulled from. Terror gripping him, Hans decided to run. Elsa was alone. If a brother had made it to Arendelle, into the castle, then another one could be bearing down on his wife.

Back in the kitchen, with no clear idea how he got there, Hans stumbled toward Elsa. She looked stricken, her gaze zeroed in on his right arm. She was alone.

Thank God, he thought, she's alright. "Adelbert!" was all he could say out loud.

"What happened to your arm?"

He looked, saw blood, looked back at Elsa, and said again: "Adelbert!"

Adelbert was still alive when Hans and Elsa reached him. He hadn't moved from where he fell, unable to sit up without moving the sword around. It had been a wound through a lower rib, they found later. He watched them with such contempt that neither Hans nor Elsa wanted to be closer to him than they had to be. A trickle of blood ran down his chin. Elsa was the first to speak.

"Is there anyone else here? Any more of you?"

The wounded man glared at them, giving no answer.

What do we do? they both thought, looking at one another. Hans' arm had been sliced when he tried to dodge the blade from Adelbert, but he had yet to be bothered by the pain. The man on the floor was their primary concern. Would he live long enough to see a doctor? More darkly, should they try to save his life when he tried to kill Hans, not to mention his part in the torture Hans had endured? Adelbert had taken part in the brutal beating Hans had received when he was moved into the prison Adelbert owned. He'd been present in the castle during the ambush, and he had helped kill Dorian. If he had died when Hans had run him through, they could have the peace of mind that it had been self-defense. Now, either they let him die slowly or treat him and throw him in prison.

Elsa and Hans had the conversation behind their hands, close to him, just to see what would happen. Adelbert grimaced and hissed out, "If you were more of a man, you'd pull this sword out and plunge it into my heart. Oh… I remember, Gustav made you half a man; you can't be more than a sniveling, cowering, buggering—"

"That's not going to work," Elsa said, cutting him off. Taunts would do little more than lower the temperature in the cellar. "Are you alone, or are there more brothers somewhere?"

Adelbert tried to spit at the pair but only managed to get blood down his front and a little on the floor. Hans tried: "Did you come here to assassinate Elsa or were you attempting to abduct someone from Arendelle?"

Grimacing and glaring, Adelbert lapsed back into silence. Hans and Elsa went back to conferring. "We should get the guards back here and search the castle top to bottom. If there are any old passages, we should seal them. We'll get the doctor to see what he can do about the wound and maybe hold him hostage. See what Aleksander will do to get him back."

Listening, Adelbert barked out a laugh—"Alek is dead. You were still in the castle when it happened."

"What?"

Back to silence. Getting the feeling that the Westergaard on the floor was unlikely to elaborate, Hans and Elsa set about doing what they had spoken about. On the nearest balcony, Elsa sent up several jets of ice magic to signal to the soldiers to return to the castle. There was a larger signal for a doctor that she sent even higher. It took an hour, but the people trickled into the town again.

In the cellar, the doctor looked Adelbert over. He was moved very carefully into one of the prison cells, where the doctor took the sword out and did all he could to pack the wound. The prognosis was that neither outcome was more likely. He might live, he might die. Either way, he was kept well guarded.

The search for Adelbert's entry point uncovered a dingy that had been partially hidden near the docks. From there, he might have tried to cross the docks without being seen, or waded and swam around until he found a way in. They discovered a broken lock on a door that led to the cellar and a broken window he crawled through. From there, he likely bided his time. Those were the theories. The dingy suggested that he was alone or only had one other person with him. Adelbert refused to tell, not speaking when questioned by the doctor and the captain of the guard.

Elsa waited a few hours more before returning to her work of creating more walls. There were seven in total, varying in size, though still impressive. The sun had begun to set when more cannonfire rent the air. It didn't seem to be aimed at the wall, based on the sound. Instead, it sounded like the enemy ships might be being fired upon. She created a ladder up her most recent wall and a ramp up to the next, over and over until she could see what was happening in the fjord; a large ship—far larger than any other in the water—had opened fire on the ships. Shocked, Elsa saw a gigantic red flag with a golden trident flying proudly above the back end of the ship. Whoever they were, they had caused considerable harm to the Southern Isles ships; the enemy of her enemy was her friend. Satisfied that they were not in more danger, Elsa headed back to the castle. How they would communicate with this unknown ally, she wasn't sure. Maybe someone would know who they were based on her description of the flag.

As residents of the town returned into it, none mistook the giant ice walls for what they were. It was dusk, but the almost crystalline structures were not only beautiful, they were the source of much awe. Elsa had protected the castle and the kingdom's largest town from major damage on her own. No one doubted she was a force of nature, including Henrik and Magdalena.

Henrik had decided that when they had marshalled enough allied forces, he would seek their help in returning him to the Southern Isles and his rightful place on its throne. Wolter, of all people, came to mind. Henrik could almost see him—as he was before falling ill—arms crossed over his chest, chastising him as a coward. "You never did like to share your toys; why would you let your brothers cheat you out of the throne?"

He felt like iron being forged into steel. It was uncomfortable and brutal to be molded in such a way, but he might have all his weaknesses hammered out of him by the end of it.

Magdalena thought of how happy they had all been in the library, dancing to her tune. All the merriment in the world couldn't stop the onslaught of this war, but it had been a bright spot that might eventually be repeated. She could hope, for the sake of her child, that the war wouldn't take more from them than it already had. Henrik rarely left her side, maybe in an effort to keep her sane or because was sympathetic to her plight. The patriarcal line of succession put him in power while it hung her out to dry; she had known that if Dorian died without a male heir, she would remain a princess in perpetuity. That was how her own kingdom dealt with succession as well. Arendelle's previous king presumably had no brothers, and with only two daughters and no contestation from the aristocracy—if the small kingdom had that—Queen Elsa had come into her own power. It was obvious to Magda that she cared deeply for the wellbeing of everyone under her rule. That care hadn't stopped others from using any means necessary to bring the queen under their thumb. Hans was King in name only, and she thought that suited him.

A shock greeted them at the gates—Hans, arm bandaged, telling them to come with him. Magdalena and Henrik followed with no small amount of dread. She was worried that the battle had claimed lives, even if it were a brief one, and he was worried that they were still in danger. Both were relieved that they were wrong. "We had an intruder. We think he was working alone. He attacked me in the cellar and I… stabbed him," he told them. Neither could fathom why he sounded ashamed; he defended himself. Anyone would do the same.

"It was Adelbert," Hans said. They both only knew one Adelbert.

Hans led them into the library where Queen Elsa and her sister, nephew, and brother-in-law were in a huddle. The adults were animated, apparently hit by a second wind, speaking of some ship in the bay.

"Is Adelbert dead?" Henrik asked, unable to think about ships when he had no answers.

"No. The doctor said he might die, but not yet," Hans said, something his wife nodded in agreement to.

"What are you going to do with him?" Magdalena asked. Elsa looked hesitant to say.

"He might be valuable as a hostage," Hans started, "but…"

"Adelbert told us that Aleksander is dead and has been since Dorian's death…"

Magda felt her heart kick into a gallop; "Was he one of the ones who killed Dorian?"

"They were all part of it," Elsa answered.

"Where is he? In the dungeon?" Magda looked at all the faces in the room, hating the pity she saw on each one. "Tell me! Please!"

"He'll speak to us," Henrik promised. Elsa and Hans still looked dubious, but Anna, holding her son, seemed to understand Magdalena more than anyone else. "I'll show you where to go."

They all moved as a group, no one wanting to be left out of either answers or drama, or both. Anna led the charge, stopping at the head of the last staircase to let Magdalena and Henrik go first. They were like moths being drawn to a flame. Each step was heavy, like they were on their way to see another execution, not the man who participated in a fake one. The guards to either side of the door were surprised to see the gaggle lumbering down the hall toward them. Elsa nodded to the captain. He unlocked the door, grabbed the lantern from its place on the wall, and entered first. Henrik followed, then Magdalena.

Adelbert roused from an apparent doze to glare at the group. "So the bitch and her welp survived, huh?"

Like the crack of thunder, Magdalena landed a full-force slap across Adelbert's face. Those from Arendelle held in gasps, but those from the Southern Isles didn't even blink. They had seen such a slap from their mother to their father more than once. However, they didn't expect her to follow the slap with anything else, much less the primal rage that turned a rather gentle princess into a hissing, clawing, screaming wildcat. Hans and Henrik both had to pull her off Adelbert. Hans backed toward the doorway restraining Magdalena while Henrik moved forward and checked the prisoner over.

"Get that animal out of here," Adelbert demanded, wiping blood from a cut on his lip. Henrik returned the remark with another slap, harder and more over Adelbert's ear than Magdalena's had been. She stopped struggling in Hans' grip, utterly shocked. Like a boy, Adelbert yelped and held his ear.

Venomous and brokering no reproach, Henrik told his brother: "Listen here, Berty. I'll box your ears like when we were kids until you stop this foolishness. Apologize to Magdalena, you little wretch."

No one dared to even breathe while Adelbert weighed his options. Magdalena didn't move a muscle. In an unsurprisingly bad decision, Adelbert attempted to spit on Henrik, like he had with Hans and Elsa. Tensed and coiled, Henrik's strikes were swift and punishing, following through on his promise to box Adelbert's ears. Anna and Elsa looked away. "How dare you! I said to apologize, dammit! You've had your way for far too long. Apologize, or I'll do it again."

"This isn't right—" Elsa started, Henrik putting a hand up to stop her. "With respect, your majesty, this is the only language this boy speaks. Our parents taught it to us all. I will hear him apologize to Magda or I will ring his bell until his ears bleed."

Elsa shook her head and stepped behind the other side of the doorframe, telling herself that Adelbert was a murderer and part of the torture of Hans, so she shouldn't intercede. Anna held out her hand to her sister, who took it. Hans, noting that Magdalena had stopped struggling, loosened his grip. Henrik had shared too much… Hans recalled the times when misbehavior had led to corporal punishments. Once, in a memory both perfectly clear and entirely forgotten, he had been egged on by Owain or Cynebald or Gustav or all three, had run to his mother for reassurance and been told what he would later level Anna with; "Oh Hans, if only someone out there who loved you." His mother had almost smiled as she said it, light touch gripping his chin before turning into a ringing slap. That had been the most hurtful thing he had heard as a child, and when he wanted to crush Anna's spirit, it had tumbled, unbidden, from his mouth. A shiver racked him from head to toe, not caused by any sudden chill.

Adelbert glared, holding on to see what Henrik did if he said nothing; the latter jerked as though he would strike again, forcing the former to clap his own hands on his ears. Adelbert relented, though the monotone and remorseless apology was spat out rather than meant: "I'm sorry, Magdalena."

"Good. Now, tell me about Aleksander. You told Queen Elsa and Hans that he was dead?"

Grimacing like he had bit into something rotten, Adelbert seemed ready to insult the queen and his youngest brother but stopped when Henrik nonverbally dared him with an icy glare. His body language was poised toward violence, and he was in much better shape than Adelbert. Through clenched teeth, Adelbert began his tale.

"We knew we could trick Dorian into anything if we told him we had his wife. You ran off with her, but he didn't know that. The ambush should have killed everyone we wanted, but that one," he jabbed a finger at Hans, "And the witch-queen got away with that ice magic. Gustav pointed out all the times Aleksander had assumed he would be king by being the eldest left alive. He'd have been a terrible king. So Gustav, Cynebald, and I killed him, Dagny and Stanley, Owain, and Iefan."

Hanging in the air, the admission of such heinous deeds left the party reeling. Six princes, dead. Six out of thirteen. Henrik forced out a question despite his urge to vomit, "Do you three have Vilppu?"

"No. He ran before we could catch him, too."

"Have you recruited Jerrik?" Henrik continued, monotone like Adelbert's apology.

"We sent a letter to the last port we knew him to have been at, but no reply as of yet.

"What was the point of all of this? Why kill so many of our brothers? Who will accept any of you as king when they know what you've done?"

"We blamed it on the witch-queen, obviously. She killed Wolter in her own kingdom, convinced Dorian she didn't, infiltrated the castle and dispatched all six princes with the aid of her sniveling lump of a husband, froze our bay, and fled from a fair fight. All it took to convince the people were a few tears and their dead bodies." Adelbert knew the retaliatory hit was coming, but he didn't expect a punch and he didn't expect it to come from said sniveling lump. Henrik hadn't either. In fact, the only one with prior warning of Hans moving was Magdalena, but she was unable to do more than sway in place in his absence.

"I think we've all heard enough for now," Hans proclaimed, turning and ushering Magda out.

In silent agreement, everyone left the cell and returned upstairs. Gathered in the hall, the first person to speak was Elsa. "I imagined they would blame me for Wolter's death, but to kill their brothers…" Henrik's hands were shaking, and he thought he might be sick. Hans was light-headed, but he wasn't sure of the cause—he had punched Adelbert with his right fist, and his arm was throbbing, but just being in the same room with Adelbert made him remember too much of his time imprisoned. Kristoff had his arms around Anna and Agnar; Magdalena had her arms around herself.

"Hold him for ransom if you have to, but never let him go," came Magdalena's unsteady voice, "Please. When this is over, you have to hang him." Whether she was talking to Elsa or Henrik, neither knew.

When this is over…

Everyone had their own ideas of what it would mean, what the end of this conflict would be like.

For most of the town, they thought a return to normalcy would come at the end of the war. For people like the smith who lost their bellows and the family who lost their house, help would have to come faster than that.

When this is over…

Magdalena hadn't asked for Adelbert's death lightly or simply for revenge. His kind of malice surviving would endanger Dorian's child forever. She thought of Henrik demanding an apology on her behalf and wondered at his intentions. Would she be welcomed back to the Southern Isles as a dowager queen if her child was a boy?

Henrik bent low over the water basin in his room. He hadn't stopped shaking yet, replaying over and over the shameful things he had done and said in the cell. Was he truly any better than their brothers were if he was capable of harming a shackled man? Even if Adelbert were the worst man in the world, did that give him a right to do what he did? He'd been so angry when Berty defied him. When this was over, would he take Berty home and string him up in front of the kingdom? Would that put anyone at ease?

When this is over…

Anna wanted Agnar to grow in love and safety. She wanted Elsa and Kristoff to never worry again. They would make it through this. They had to. She wouldn't know what to do without either one of them. She wished that she had never been foolish enough to let Hans into her head two years ago, and thereby undo whatever happened after. Hans wasn't the same now, she admitted, but she might never forgive him even if Elsa did.

Kristoff imagined taking Agnar on sleigh rides in the winter. He expected the war to be over by then. Why would the people of the Southern Isles support corrupt leaders? Why would they fight for them? Barring that, why wouldn't the allies Arendelle had cultivated over time come to help them in their time of need? He thought of Rapunzel and Eugene, the diplomats, anyone who had been at his and Anna's wedding; they'd come.

When this is over…

Seeing past the war was like trying to see through a brick wall to Hans. His marrying Elsa had not helped her in the slightest politically. He loved her, and he was happy to be with her, but all that they had set out to accomplish with their union had blown up in their faces. Being reminded of his upbringing had put a knot in the center of his stomach. Come what may, he resolved to never treat Elsa poorly. He'd follow her anywhere if she'd have him.

When this is over…

Elsa didn't have the luxury of looking far into the future for hope. She was operating as though the war would outlast her. Adelbert's confession made her skin crawl. The people who had seen the trail of their escape from the castle in the Southern Isles and the frozen bay would believe all the worst about her. With seven dead Westergaard men they could blame her for, the two free duplicitous brothers left could garner support from any sympathetic ear. Still… she hadn't forgotten the sight of the large ship utterly demolishing the smaller ships in the bay and the hope it lent her. Maybe the future wasn't as bleak as she thought.

Tomorrow, Elsa thought as they settled into bed, exhausted and mute, I'll ask Henrik if he knows who sails under a red flag with a golden trident.

A new day dawned. The sun peeked over the horizon and onto the deck of the Sebastiaen. In the rosy light, the ice wall across the fjord glittered like a bejeweled curtain, ethereal and otherworldly. The captain, Jerrik Westergaard, had his wife tucked under one arm and his daughter under the other, all three wrapped under the same oversized cloak, colder near the wall than they would be out at sea. What was left of the three Southern Isles ships had sailed away from their doom the day before. They awaited some sign from behind the wall; any intent to communicate. As the sunlight spilled over the top of the wall, they got it.

A figure, pale and shining, appeared at the apex. With a spyglass, Jerrik discerned a woman smiling down at his ship. Two more figures appeared, both male, tall, and familiar. Henrik, he knew right away, but the other man looked too different from how Hans had been when he had last seen him to know as fast. The woman waved her hand and the occupants of the ship watched in utter fascination as a staircase materialized in the ice. He saw it happen and still didn't believe it. The trio made their way down slowly, eventually reaching the water, where the woman built more ice out from the wall as a dock. It took several minutes to get a rowboat in the water, but Jerrik, the wife and daughter that his brothers knew nothing about, and three men from his crew climbed down into it and rowed over to the dock.

To say that they received a warm welcome was an understatement. Three pairs of hands reached down into the boat to steady those who climbed out. Henrik gripped Jerrik so hard in a hug that the air was squeezed out of him and his feet came off the dock. The woman—he suspected she was Queen Elsa of Arendelle—was shaking hands with his wife and daughter, welcoming them. Giving Hans a look once over, Jerrik thought that he had seen far worse off in his travels. Sticking his own hand out, Jerrik shook Hans' hand.

"It's good to see we didn't have to climb this wall just to let you know we were here," he said, then bowing at the waist, he added, "I'm Jerrik, your majesty… or should I call you 'sister'?"

"Elsa, sister—just as long as I can call you a friend, not foe," she answered, offering her own hand to shake Jerrik's firmly. She had the regal bearing of her station, he thought.

"That you can, my dear. I'll ask your pardon if I'm too forward; I don't like formality and don't expect it for myself. Now, before we get too far into any conversation, I'd like to introduce everyone to my wife, Alda, and my daughter, Melpomeni." He gestured to the red headed woman and the dark haired girl, respectively.

"Just Mel," his daughter added, playing as though she were shy. He knew her far too well. Henrik stared at them, slack-jawed. Hans was in a similar state. Elsa smiled and replied, "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"When did you get married?" Henrik asked. "I mean,... she's—she's… how old are you?"

"Thirteen," Mel replied, smiling brightly. She had had her birthday a month before and relished the number as a true teenager.

"Why don't we get off this ice and I can regale you all with the details?" he suggested. They'd either go to the castle or to the Sebastiaen.

"It's quite the story," Alda promised.

Sorry for the long wait. Thank you for reading!