A/N: Hi! Welcome to the first chapter of Askelur, a Frozen AU loosely based on the original version of Cinderella, specifically a classic Norwegian Cinderlad story and many of the classic Hans Christian Anderson stories.

I made this story many years ago, formerly under the name The Asher, it has been improved to be better. Which I hope that will please.

Summary:

Tired of having to take care of so many children, Hans' parents decide to send him away to be fostered by another noble family. Fortunately for Hans, his foster family is of the morally upstanding sort and their positive influence helps him grow up to be a good man with many admirable qualities.

However, this idyllic upbringing is cut short when Hans tragically loses his foster family and is forced to return to the Southern Isles where a series of strange events and a mass uprising wipes out his biological family as well, save for his mother, two brothers, his niece, and himself. They are then forced to flee to Arendelle where King Agnarr grants them asylum. From there, things take a worse turn for Hans as he is forced to be a servant to his own family while trying to protect his sickly niece from their abuse.

Meanwhile, Queen Iduna decides that separating Elsa from Anna and isolating them from the world would do more harm than good, so she and her husband rescinds the closed door policy, allowing both sisters to have relatively normal childhoods.

However, the strict regimen of royal life is too much for Anna, and one day, after a particularly nasty fight with Agnarr, sheruns away from home. Elsa, on the other hand, is not faring any better as she is constantly being pressured to wed by her father who wants to marry her off to a prince or a king, while juggling the responsibilities of the crown heiress.

Due to their vastly different status, it was unlikely that their paths would ever cross, and yet fate works in mysterious ways. Will Hans and Elsa ever regain the happiness that they had lost or will they be the next victims in the vicious cycle of woe?

Anyway, I hope you will all enjoy this story, and I look forward to hearing your honest, unbiased feedback. Now on to the tale!


Chapter 1

A Blessing

July 2, 1816

Nighttime in Branaü, the capital of Corona, was generally a quiet affair. During these lazy hours, many of the residents were now safely ensconced in their homes, getting ready for bed. The only activity outside came from the street sweepers who kept the streets clean, the lamplighters whose friendly glowing lights illuminated the dark night, and the night patrolmen who kept awatchful eye against crime and villainy; and it was through the efforts of these stalwart men, that the residents could have a peaceful evening.

But in that cold, summerless night (1), this sense of tranquility was shattered by a piercing wail that caught the attention of all those who heard it. And if anyone had bothered to look, hewould have known that it was coming from inside a modest-looking horse-drawn carriage as it trundled down the cobblestone streets towards the outskirts of the city.

Pulled by a team of four fjord horses, the vehicle rattled and rolled until it arrived at its destination – a grand estate that served as the residence of Count and Countess de Mointeuin.

The door swung open and a small, middle-aged man stepped down. He was by no means handsome, what with his beady, blue eyes; bulbous nose; bristly moustache; and rapidly thinning strawberry-blond hair. However, his richly-decorated outfit indicated his status as a member of the high aristocracy.

Cradled in his arms was a squirming bundle wrapped in greenswaddling, a young infant who was the source of those piercingwails.

"By all that is good and holy, please shut up…" he begged, exasperated by the child's incessant crying. With his free hand, he massaged his now-throbbing migraine, wondering how he had wound up in such a predicament.

He wasn't just any run-of-the-mill noble, he was the Duke of Weselton, one of the shrewdest, most calculating aristocrats on that side of the North Sea. With his wit and wile, not only was he able to divert Napoleon's Grande Armée from conquering Northern Europe without spilling a single drop of his countrymen's blood; he was also a canny businessman well-connected with many of Europe's royal families.

One such family was the Southern Isle's Royal House of Westergaard, and it was the head of this family that had entrusted the Duke with this particular task, which, in his eyes, was menial enough to have been performed by the basest of servants.

"This advancement had better be worth it," he grumbled. "I should've kept silent, but noooo, I just had to open my big mouth…"


One month ago…

The Duke was beside himself with glee upon being summonedfor an audience with the King and Queen of the Southern Isles. The Queen had given birth to her thirteenth son, and knowing the tradition of the Westergaard family, a grand ball would be held to celebrate the birth of the infant prince, and it was in events like these that dignitaries would converge, giving him the opportunity for even more connections and trade partnerships.

However, upon arriving at Westergaard Castle, it was to his great puzzlement to find that it was business as usual for the castle residents and staff. There was no indication that an upcoming celebration was even underway – no food, no music, not even a single measly banner.

'How peculiar…'

He was quickly ushered in by the castle butler and led to the throne room where the King and Queen sat waiting on their opulent thrones. Even though they were well into their middle years, they still made for a very handsome couple.

King Stephen was the textbook example of how people imagined a king would look. He was a proud, burly man dressed in the finest raiment of red, purple, and gold, draped by an ermine-trimmed cape of scarlet velvet. His dark brown hair was styled in a way that accentuated his stony features, and his equally dark eyes had a cold and calculating gaze that could cow even the haughtiest aristocrat.

His wife, Queen Valhalla, the youngest of five sisters, was a woman unparalleled in beauty, much like Semiramis or Cleopatra of old. She did look a tad bit pale and drawn, as was usually the case for one who had just given birth, but still beautiful nonetheless. Her luxurious golden hair was picked up into an elegant bun that framed a delicate, heart-shaped face; her complexion was flawless like fine porcelain – not a single freckle, speck, or spot marred her skin; and despite having had undergone twelve pregnancies and thirteen births, her figure was just as shapely as it had been in her youth.

Even without the presence of their court, the royal couple alone were more than enough to intimidate the Duke. Both of them, especially the King, were extremely particular on how they should be addressed. Simply greeting them improperly wouldspell death for the poor unfortunate soul.

"O Mighty King Stephen, Lord of the Northern Seas," said the Duke, bowing lowly, "How may your humble vassal be of service?"

The King glared down at him imperiously. "I suppose you are aware that my wife had just given birth to our thirteenth son."

"Yes," said the Duke, in a sweet, simpering tone, "A grand display of fertility and virility, if should say so myself. You truly are the envy of all the royal–"

"We don't want him."

The frigid, terse statement hit the Duke like a ton of bricks, sending a chill right into the pit of his gut. "I beg your pardon?"

"We don't want him," Stephen repeated, his voice now a rumbling snarl. "We already have twelve perfect sons, all of them full of great potential. This runt, however, is nothing but a waste of time and resources."

"But surely the baby prince is also destined for greatness," reasoned the Duke, "After all, with you as his parents, how could he not?"

"Are you deaf or did we not make ourselves clear?" snapped the Queen, "We. Do. Not. Want. This baby!"

"I understand, Your Majesties," the Duke said meekly, "But with all due respect, that baby is your son, and a life is a life; you can't just do away with him! It's a sin." He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping that playing the religion card would sway them. Though he may be a shameless opportunist, the Duke still had a conscience when it came to children.

"Why else would we ask you to come?" thundered the King, making the other man flinch in fear. "Knowing you, we are confident that you have a solution to our little conundrum."

A cold sweat began to form on the Duke's brow as he wracked his brain to formulate a plan. He did not want his hands to be stained by the blood of an innocent child, but at the same time, it would be suicide to defy the tyrant king. Just as he was about to reach the end of his rope, he came across an idea, one that could very well put him in a favorable position.

"I believe I may have found an answer to your… …dilemma,Your Majesties," he said, taking great care to watch his words.

"Then what are you stalling for?" Stephen barked. "Spit it out!"

"Well-l…" began the Duke, fiddling his fingers nervously, "In the olden days, pit was common for royal households to have their children fostered by other nobles. It's said to be quite an efficient method too as the child will have a privileged upbringing and the parents can focus their time and energy on other matters."

Stephen scoffed. "And what self-respecting noble would even bother to take this runt off our hands?"

"Now if I'm not mistaken, doesn't Her Royal Majesty have a distant relative who lives with in the kingdom of Corona? A noble lady in King Frederick and Queen Arianna's court, if I correctly recall."

"Yes, and what about her?" Valhalla asked, not even bothering to hide her disdain.

"Now, I was thinking that you could send the baby to your relative's household where she and her husband could raise him," the Duke replied, "And should the King and Queen of Corona have a daughter, we could even arrange a betrothal between them. If not, they could still help your son secure a high position which could help strengthen your political and economic partnerships."

"You know..." murmured Stephen, rubbing his bearded chin, "That's not too terrible of an idea."

"Agreed," said Valhalla, who was not at all sad that she was essentially giving her son away, "It's the perfect solution to ourproblem. And knowing my cousin, she will definitely receive him."

"Forgive my presumptiveness, but how can you be so certain?" asked the Duke.

She sneered haughtily. "That woman has tried to conceive through every method known to man, and yet she is still as barren as a desert. Given her circumstances, she'll be more than happy to accept."

Stephen smiled nastily. "Then it's settled – We'll write a letter to your relative and once we get a reply, we can send the baby over to them." Without a second thought, he picked up a bell and rang for his secretary.

The Duke heaved a grateful sigh, happy that he was able to appease the King and Queen as well as spare an innocent life.

However, Stephen was not yet done. "And since it was you who suggested this," he added, pointing at the Duke, "There is no higher honor than for you to be the one to escort the boy to the Count and Countess de Mointeuin of Corona."

"M-me!?" squeaked the Duke. "But I–!" However, whatever protest he had quickly died in his throat when the King pinned him with a very glacial stare. With great reluctance, he relented. "As you wish, Your Majesties."


Despite his reservations on harming babies, the Duke did not really have a high opinion of them. And his perception of infants was only reinforced as soon as the baby prince was given to him. The child was a crier. He cried when he was hungry, he cried when he was tired, he cried when he soiled himself, but worst of all, he cried when there was nothing to cry about! Day in, day out he cried, his wails never ceasing. Not even the calmness of the night could soothe him for he just kept on bawling.

His incessant crying practically drove everyone mad as no one could figure out why the prince was screaming his head off, and because of it, no one could get a moment's peace.

"Please, enough already! I can't take it anymore!" groaned the Duke as he carried the fidgeting infant towards the chateau'smain doors.

Still, he could see that the young prince would grow up never knowing want. The chateau was not at all modest as it was a stone manor easily five stories high flanked by two elaborate towers. Behind the estate was a generous tract of land with flower gardens, vegetable fields, fruit orchards, and a pasture for the animals.

He knocked at the hardwood double doors only to have it answered by a man and a woman – the Count and Countess themselves.

Count Alexander de Mointeuin was a tall, sturdy, russet-haired man in his late thirties. He had not born into the aristocracy, but rather, he had been ennobled because of his exploits as amerchant-explorer. He had led many successful expeditions to foreign lands, bringing many riches to the Coronan crown, and in the process, had become exceedingly wealthy his affluence, he appeared to the Duke dressed in simple attire – a gray waistcoat over a white shirt accessorized by a blue cravat, dark drown pants, and black riding boots.

Beside him, dressed in a simple, flower-patterned day gown,stood his wife, Countess Amelia de Mointeuin. She was by no means ugly, but compared to her cousin Valhalla, she was quite plain. However, she made up for it by being an intelligent, forward-thinking woman with a heart as golden as her sunshine hair. Upon seeing the Duke and the baby, her green eyes lit up with joy as she smiled a friendly smile that could banish eventhe darkest shadows.

"Oh look, Alex!" she exclaimed, clutching her husband's arm in excitement, "It's them!"

"So it is," he noted. "Good evening!" he greeted, welcoming the older man. "You must be the Duke of Weaseltown who was sent to escort my cousin-in-law's son to us."

"It's Weselton!" corrected the Duke, thoroughly annoyed. It was already bad enough that his nerves had been completely frayed by the baby's nonstop squalling, and now it had to be compounded by his biggest pet peeve – mispronouncing the name of his duchy. "Here," he said, thrusting the infant into Amelia's arms. "He's all yours!"

"The prince sure has a good pair of lungs, hasn't he?" Alexander remarked, impressed. Beside him, Amelia made shushing noisesand gently rocked the child in an effort to calm him down.

"Yes, he does," said the Duke rather hastily as he turned to leave. "Now that he's in your good hands, I'll be on my merry way, if you please. Good night!"

"Wait!" Alexander called, chasing after the balding man, "What is the little prince's name?"

"I don't know," answered the Duke as he stepped into the carriage. For good measure, he locked the door so thatAlexander would not climb after him. He lean towards the coachman. "Go," he hissed.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Alexander asked, jogging after the carriage as it began to move. "And what about raising him? How does the king and queen want us to raise him?"

"Stop asking me questions and raise him as you wish!" the Duke yelled from inside as he urged the coachman to drive faster. "He's your problem now! Good night!" Having said his piece, the vehicle sped off, leaving the de Mointeuins alone with the royal infant.

Alexander scratched the back of his head, puzzled by the Duke's testy attitude. 'What was that all about?' Walking back to his house, he was surprised to see that the baby had sufficiently calmed down and was now cooing happily in Amelia's arms.

"There, there…" she soothed in a hushed, comforting tone, "It's okay. You're home now."

The Count smiled at the sight. Though the prince was not Amelia's son by blood, motherhood still suited her well, and Alexander was happy to see his wife bond with the child. However, he was concerned about the lack of information on the boy, and there hadn't been any specific instructions on how to raise him from both the Duke and his birth parents.

"Dearest," he said, walking over to his wife, "Now that he's here, I think we should send word to the King and Queen of the Southern Isles that their son–"

"His name is Hans," she corrected.

He blinked and did a double take. "Wait, what?"

She cuddled the infant closer and beamed up at Alexander. "I always said that if I had a son, I'd name him Johannes– Hans, for short. It has a such wonderful meaning too– "God is gracious", and that's what he is, our little blessing." She cooed at the child as she walked back into the house. "What do you think, little Hans? Do you like that name?"

"Now Amelia, please be reasonable," he called, striding after herin long, harried steps. "We can't name a child that isn't ours!"

"Sure we can," she chirped, "After all, we're the ones who will raise him. Ooh! I know! We should throw him a welcoming party. We can invite all our friends and relations!"

"Amelia!"

"Hey now, what's all the hubbub about?"

Alexander looked up to see his parents, Galen and Méline,descend from the grand staircase. 'Oh great…' he winced, knowing that they would be of no help in this situation.

"Are you two fighting?" Galen inquired. "That's so unlike you!" He yawned and clapped a hearty hand on his son's shoulder and made to lead him away. "Come now, there's no need for that."

"We're not fighting," Alexander pointed out ass he ducked away from his father, "We're just–"

It then that the infant prince decided to sneeze and wiggle from where he was nestled, catching the attention of the older de Mointeiuin couple.

"Is that a baby!?" Méline asked, gasping in delight.

Before the Count could even respond, the two elders nearly bowled him over as they rushed over to Amelia and began to dote over the child who looked at them with shining green eyes.

"Oh, look at him!" Méline exclaimed, "He's adorable!"

Amelia smiled the proud smile that only a mother could have. "His name is Hans," she declared with every conviction she had in her being.

"Congratulations!" Galen boomed as he took Hans from her. "Now that you have a son and we have a grandchild, I can finally have someone to pass on my knowledge to!"

"And I can finally have a grandchild to spoil!" Méline piped up. "It's like a dream come true!"

"Just you wait!" Galen went on, "I'll teach little Hans every trick of my trade. When he's old enough, he'll enlist in the military just like I did, and who knows, maybe he might wind up as one of the Royal Guards– no, better! He'll be the king's personal bodyguard!"

Méline swooped in and took the child from her husband. "Military!?" she huffed, slapping him at the back of his head. "You must be joking. Look at him, it's quite obvious that he'll grow up to be a very handsome young man. I'll teach him the manners and etiquette of the court, and in time, when he's olderhe can join in their ranks as a courtier, and who knows, he might wind up married to a duchess– no, better! A princess! Yes, he'll marry a princess!"

Galen shot her a strange look. "You're counting chickens!" he snorted. "All those romance novels must've turned your brain to mush! You know it's impossible to marry into royalty."

"It is not!"

It was here that Amelia decided to intervene. She stepped between the bickering couple and took Hans back into her arms. "Méline, Galen, whatever he may be in the future, let him decide. Anyway, it's long way off. For now, let's just focus on the present."

Galen nodded sagely. "You're absolutely right… These are details he doesn't need to bother with for now."

"Agreed!" Méline assented. "There's more pressing matters at hand– like, when is the welcoming party? I want the whole kingdom to know that we now have a grandson."

Alexander could only look on as his wife and parents prattled on about their dreams and wishes for the party while simultaneously doting on the baby. But as happy as he was to have a child join his household, he knew that the boy was not his. As a prince, the infant technically outranked him in status, and he knew that proper measures needed to be undertaken while raising him.

And who knew that better than the prince's parents themselves?

Having made up his mid, he slipped out of the room towards the study. He had a letter to write.


Three months later…

From the window of his study, Alexander peered out towards the lonely stretch of road that passed Chateau de Mointeuin. Day in, day out he had been on the lookout for any messengers from the King and Queen of the Southern Isles, but so far no one had come.

Just then, the distant silhouette of a carriage could be seen coming up from around the bend. Hope welled within him as it drew closer, only to be dashed as the carriage passed without stopping.

With a sigh of dismay, he slowly trudged out of his study. 'Why haven't they responded at all?' He had sent them letter after letter after letter, regaling them about growth and progress of Hans – as the baby was now known – and had yet to receive a even a single reply.

Feeling peckish, Alexander proceeded towards the kitchen where the family cook, was busy preparing lunch.

"Good day, Milord," she greeted as she stirred some batter in a bowl, "A lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes it is, Hedwig," he replied, discreetly reaching for a plate of sweet buns, only to have her gently smack his hand away with her wooden spoon. "Ow!" he yelped, nursing his smarting appendage.

Hedwig, who had been in the de Mointeuins' service sinceAlexander himself was a child, rolled her eyes at his antics. "Milord, please…" she chided, "These are for later!"

"But I'm hungry, and your cooking is sooo good!" he wheedled.

But the cook remained firm. "I'm sorry, Milord, but no means no."

He huffed, mildly annoyed. "Fine…" Just then he noticed that the house was oddly quiet. "Er… Hedwig, where is everyone?"

"They, along with Master Hans, went for an outing to Branaü– your father to visit his friends, the Lady and your mother to have brunch with the ladies."

"WHAT!?"

Alexander ran out of the kitchen and made a beeline for the stables. He leapt onto the nearest available horse and galloped, bareback, towards town.

This was bad. Very, very bad. Even though he had not received any instruction on how to raise Hans, he knew that both Stephen and Valhalla were very particular on their children's upbringing. He had heard on how their twelve older sons had been raised in the luxury and splendor of the highest nobility, away from the mundane routines of the common folk. And though he did not agree with their methodology, if word ever got out that Hans was being paraded around town mingling with commoners, there was always that grisly possibility that heads would roll.


The Green Valley Inn was well-known for its brunches and teaservices, and its warm, cozy atmosphere made it very popularamong the local townsfolk. Soft, lilting laughter could be heard from inside as a group of women of varying ages gatheredaround table, dining and chatting.

Suddenly the door burst open, startling the patrons, and in walked a disheveled man with a wild look in his blue heavily, he stalked over to where the women were seated.

"Alex?" Amelia quickly stood up and helped him to the , her companions were peering over at them, concern etched on their faces. "Alex, what is it?"

"Hah... The… Hah… The…"

She took his clammy hand in her warm ones and gently stroked it. "Shh… Calm down Alex. Take a deep breath."

"Is your son alright?" one of the older women asked Méline.

"Yes, don't worry about it," she replied with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "He only acts like that when he overthinks the situation."

"Now tell me, Darling," coaxed Amelia, still patting her husband's hand, "What is the matter?"

"The baby..." he wheezed, "Where is he?"

"Oh the baby," gushed one of the women at the table, "He's such a cutie!"

"I know," sighed another, "The two of you are such lucky parents!"

And it was there that Alexander felt something within him snap, and the stress of those last three months crashing down on himfull force. "He is not our baby!" he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. "And we are not his parents!

"Take it easy, adopting doesn't make you any less of a parent," piped up a third woman, "Quite frankly, I'd say you got the pick of the litter."

"Here, here!" chimed the others, nodding their heads in agreement.

However, he ignored them and whirled on to Méline who had been calmly observing the whole scene. "Tell me, Mother, where is the baby?"

Having had enough of his rude behavior, the older woman rose up from her seat. Even though she had considerably mellowed with age, Méline could still be a force to be reckoned with if she willed it so. "You do not take that tone of voice with me, young man!" she rebuked, her eyes blazing with hellfire. "I am your mother and as such, I raised you to be respectful of me and your elders! Is that clear?"

"Yes'm!" Alexander squeaked, all traces of his earlier aggression gone.

"Good…" she went on, "Now ask nicely and don't refer to your son as 'the baby', his name is Hans and don't you forget it!"

"Yes'm," he repeated, not wanting to displease her any further."Mother, can you please tell me where Hans is?"

Méline's lined face crinkled into a smile. "Now isn't that better? Hans is at the docks with your father. Said something aboutwanting his military buddies to meet his grandson."

With that information, Alexander quickly stood up and dashed for the port. "Thank you, Mother dear!" he called over his shoulder as he ran out.

"Such a good boy you have there, Méline," one of the older women remarked.

She beamed, basking in the compliment. "I know."


It was during midday when the port of Branaü, the main point of entry to Corona was at its quietest. Many of the fishing boats were currently out at sea, and the merchant vessels that were currently docked there had just been emptied of their wares. At these hours, the only people there were the harbormasters, a few ship wrights repairing the boats, and a small group of older men who used to serve in the various branches of the Coronan Military.

"Galen, you old scallywag, when the hell did you get a grandson?" asked one of the old soldiers.

"More importantly," added another, playfully slapping him on the arm, "Why didn't you tell us?"

"We had to cancel the welcoming party, what with the grain shortages and all," Galen replied, looking rather put-off. "Can you imagine? Frost in July?"

"I hear you," said the first man, rubbing his chilly arms. "The weather's been real crazy lately. It's feels like there hasn't been a summer at all."

"Oddly enough, it doesn't seem to bother your grandson that much though…" observed a third, pointing at Hans who lay contentedly in Galen's arms.

"But of course!" The senior de Mointeuin proudly puffed his chest. "He may be small, but he's a tough lad, our Hans!"

"Does it mean that you're planning on having him join the military someday?" inquired the second man, taking a long drag from his pipe.

"Do you even have to ask? You're looking at an admiral in the making!"

"May the Lord hear you," said the friend who had first spoken,"These new recruits just aren't anything like what they used to be. Milksops, the whole lot o' them!" He spat in disgust. "I swear, their horses could do a better job."

"So true!" the other men chimed, nodding in assent.

"Father!"

The old soldiers looked up to see Alexander coming up from the road, riding like a man possessed before pulling his horse to a stop and dismounting.

"Ah, Alex!" Galen greeted, waving his son over, "Just the man I wanted to see! Now, I was just going to–" But instead of acknowledging him, the Count merely strode over, picked Hans up, and left just as abruptly as he came.

"What's eating him?" asked Galen's pipe-smoking friend.

He shrugged. "Can't say. First-time father jitters, perhaps?"


The ride back to the chateau quick albeit bumpy, but Hans did not mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it quite a lot.

Slowing down the horse's gait from a gallop to a trot, Alexander guided the animal back to the stables where he handed it over to the groom before heading into the house with quick, decisivesteps.

With Hans cradled in his arms, he climbed up towards his study and sank into his favorite chair. "Look, I'm sorry…" he said, peering down at the innocent green eyes of the cooing child, "I know I'm acting weird, but… …it's just so hard… To raise you right, that is."

Just then, Hans shifted so that he was now fully facing the Count. He gurgled and raised his arms, his pudgy little arms reaching out for the man holding him.

He sighed, rubbing tiredly at his brow with one hand. "It's not that I don't like you, quite the opposite in fact; but you're a prince for Christ's sake– the son of a king and a queen. I can't just bring you up the way I would my own son, if I had one."

He sighed again. "Why am I even telling you all this? It's not like you even understand me or know what's going on."

"Alex…"

The Count lifted his head to see Amelia standing in the doorwaywith a tender yet serious look on her face.

'When did she–?'

"Alex…" She glided over to him and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "I know it's a difficult decision, but please trust me when I say let's raise and love Hans like he was our own. I know his parents. If they haven't replied to any of your letters, then it means they don't even want him."

"They don't want him?" he echoed, outraged. "What kind of–?"

Amelia shook her head sadly. "That's just how they are… Trust me, darling, he's better off if we toss caution into the wind and raise him our way."

"Very well, let's do that then," Alexander said after carefully mulling it over. "Perhaps this is God's answer to our prayers."

At his words, the little prince yawned and giggled before snuggling closer into the Count's embrace, eliciting a smile from the happy couple. Though Hans may have not been born of their blood, in their hearts, they still thought of him as their own; and from there, they vowed that they would be the very best parents to him so that he would grow up to be a good man and reciprocate the blessing that God had given them.

To be continued…


Cultural Notes:

(1) Cold, summerless night. 1816 was known as the Year Without Summer due to the Mt. Tambora eruption a year before. It was marked by frost in summer that destroyed crops and caused widespread famine in Europe.

Askelur: Its Norwegian for Ash fool or ashy fool.

A/N: So that concludes the first chapter! Just as a heads up, the next few chapters will focus on Hans' formative years, as well as those of Elsa, Anna, and Kristoff, so it will be a bit of a slow ride.

Just so you know, this fic will also put focus historical accuracy and give a bit of insight of what life was really like in the early 19th century (the time period in which Frozen was set it).

Still, I hope you liked this chapter, so please stay tuned for the next one. Please R & R if you can. Cheers!