So.

I'm overwhelmed by all the support I've been getting here and on Tumblr. I can't thank you enough. This time of year has always been difficult for me, and your kind words have really lifted my spirits.

So here's chapter 17. My head has been incredibly muddled these days, so I hope it's a decent read for you. I already know that I'm going to have to have another look at it when my retinas heal. I really do need to consider turning down the brightness on my monitor.

As always, I look forward to hearing your thoughts. Thanks again so much for reading.

ssg.x.

CHAPTER 18
BLACK ICE

Hans…

"Hans?"

"Hm?"

Hans opened his eyes sleepily, surprised to find himself back in his old room, the one he'd been forced to call home since he'd returned from Arendelle. The room he'd shared with Elsa.

He sat up to examine his surroundings. The icicles that had hung from the rafters were gone, and without the thick coating of frost, sunlight was finally able to flood into the room through the massive window.

The floor…

Hans climbed out from under the blankets, straightening the jacket he wore before realizing it was his light grey tailcoat. He was wearing it over his royal blue waistcoat and shirt. For whatever reason, he was still wearing his riding boots over the matching blue trousers. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he saw that the chasm in the floor Elsa had caused during her escape attempt was gone, as was any trace of snow or ice.

There was no way this was the same room.

He turned and noticed that the wardrobe he had destroyed after Elsa had inadvertently locked him inside was perfectly intact.

"No, no, no…" he whispered. His hands flew to the collar of his shirt and he quickly began unbuttoning it. He slipped one hand beneath the fabric, feeling for the brand over his heart.

Still there.

"That's very sweet," he heard a voice say. Elsa's voice.

He spun around to look at her. She was standing across the room, and in only a few strides he was standing beside her. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her white hair. The feeling of relief that washed over him was so intense he thought he might cry.

"You're okay. You're alright," he gasped. She brought her arms around him and laughed.

"Of course I'm alright. You checked for the mark on your chest."

Hans nodded, arms still wrapped tightly around her. "Yes. I wanted to make sure it wasn't a dream."

"What part?" she asked, lifting a hand to stroke the back of his hair.

"The part where you loved me," he said. "Tell me you love me." He held her out at arm's length. "Please," he whispered. "Tell me you love me."

"Hans…" she began. The small smile on her face wreaked havoc with his heart, which hammered in his chest the longer it took her to fulfill his request. It was a miracle he noticed anything else outside of her hands on his waist, her blue eyes on his green ones. But he did.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, stepping away from her. She was wearing his blue, wool greatcoat. The last time he had seen it, it was lying across a trunk on the docks with the rest of his belongings after arriving home. It was in rough shape. There were several drops of blood on the torso from when Anna punched him in the face, sending him clear over the side of the ship they'd found themselves standing on together after Elsa managed to thaw the fjord. The greatcoat hadn't been dried or aired out properly after he'd been pulled from the water, and you could tell if not from looking at it, then by smelling it.

Once, not long ago, seeing it would have simply reminded him of his failure to steal the crown. Now it was a symbol of his failures as a human being. Seeing Elsa standing there in it was making him sick to his stomach.

"This old thing?" Elsa said, smirking.

"Take it off," he said quietly. "Please."

"Alright. Whatever you want," she replied. She slowly unbuttoned the coat and then opened it, revealing the shimmering blue dress and train she wore beneath it. She began walking towards him, letting the coat fall from her shoulders as she drew closer.

"That dress…" Hans murmured. "You were wearing it when…"

"Do you remember how you cradled me in your lap as you rode with me back to Arendelle?"

Hans' eyebrows shot up in surprise. Nothing was making any sense.

"You couldn't possibly remember that. You were unconscious," he replied.

Ignoring him, she pressed on. "Do you remember?"

"Yes," he said uncomfortably. "I remember."

"You laid me down on that bench in that cold cell. You brought me a blanket. Do you remember?" she asked again. Hans sat down on the end of the bed. She stood between his knees, reached down and took his hands, then placed them on her hips. He leaned his head against her belly and sighed.

"Yes. I remember. I remember thinking…" His throat began to ache. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"What do you remember?" Elsa asked gently. She began to draw her fingers through his hair again.

"I remember thinking you were beautiful. That…" his voice was shaking. He tightened his hold on her. "That you would have made a beautiful bride. That it was a shame I'd have to k-kill you…because you…"

Hans began to sob, and the sheer force of his shame and his agony set his entire body quaking. Elsa shushed him softly. She knelt down in front of him and kissed his forehead, then the tears from his cheeks. She pressed her lips to his, and he moaned against her mouth. The tip of her tongue toyed with his. They began to kiss properly, and he quickly felt himself becoming aroused. Elsa's breasts brushed against his groin with every one of their kisses, and it was maddening. He couldn't undress her because the gauzy, glittery thing she wore was like a second skin on her, not a ribbon or a fastener to be found. He ran his hands up and down her arms, encouraging her to rock against him again and again.

He climbed back on the bed, and much to his delight she followed him, lifting the hem of her dress up and around her thighs so she could straddle his hips. He groaned as she settled in his lap, pulling her deeper into their kisses.

"Hans…" she began, pulling back.

"Elsa, no…please…" he gasped, driving his tongue into her mouth as his fingers traced the pale slopes of her breasts. She allowed him to invade her mouth for just a few seconds longer before she pulled away again, this time more insistently.

"I have something for you," she said. Hans watched her curiously as she reached into the front of her dress, drawing out a silk, magenta cravat. His silk, magenta cravat. She held it up with both hands for him to see. Hans continued to move his hips despite his confusion, and she continued to follow his lead, moving her own hips in small circles around his erection. He wanted to be inside her again so badly he could hardly think straight.

"Put your hands behind your back," she whispered into his ear. He mindlessly obeyed, crossing his wrists one over the other behind him. She reached around him and, using the cravat, tied his wrists together, her lips a mere breath away from his. He leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing quickly becoming ragged as Elsa's focus turned back to making them both feel good. She looped her arms around his neck, and with renewed enthusiasm, she began to ride him. His erection strained against his trousers and – Christ - was it ever excruciating, but it felt glorious. He wanted to lie back so he could thrust upwards with more force, but he was afraid he'd yank one of his shoulders out of its socket if he leaned back too far.

"Untie my hands, Elsa," he gasped. "I want to touch you. Please."

"Hans," she moaned. "Won't you save me? Won't you save us both?" she whispered, beginning to ride him harder.

"I can't, Elsa," he groaned helplessly. Against his better judgement, he leaned back on his wrists. His arms shuddered beneath his weight and the extra strain of being used as leverage for his violent, desperate thrusts. "Elsa, please…"

"You need to think of a way to save us, Hans. You need to think of a way out of here."

"Untie me, Elsa," he pleaded almost tearfully. "I'm begging you…"

Elsa's eyes fluttered closed as she cried out his name. Her head dropped back, her lips fell apart. He watched her chest rising and falling as she shimmered and shook above him. He smiled around his attempts to catch his breath, closed his own eyes for just a second…

When he opened them again, her neck – her long, elegant neck – had split open as though a seam had burst.

"Elsa!" he shouted, eyes wide with terror. He struggled against the cravat still tied around his wrists. Above him, her head was tipped back in the most grotesque way. It seemed barely a part of her body as it hung behind her, almost halfway down her back. From the gaping wound poured pomegranate seeds - shiny, wet and red as blood. The cravat held together as though it were forged from iron. The more he fought against the knot, the stronger it became. He cried. He called out Elsa's name. He could do little else.

oooOOOOooo

It had been a couple of hours since Hans had awoken from his nightmare. He had been afraid to fall asleep again, so he found himself playing a game of Kriegspiel in his head. He counted the icicles hanging from the rafters above his bed. The presence of snow and ice in the room and the frost gathering on the windowpane were the only signs Hans had that Elsa was still in the palace somewhere. It put him a little at ease because it meant that she was alive.

"I promise you I will slit my throat."

He knew she would never willfully hurt another person – he was sure that whatever Elsa had done to him during that meeting between his parents had been an accident, though she would have every right to want to hurt him after what he'd done to her - but he couldn't be so certain she wouldn't hurt herself. A light snow fell from somewhere above him, and ice began to wind like vines around the bedposts and reach across the headboard. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt himself becoming short of breath again.

She's okay.

She's okay because she has to be okay.

Hans sat up when he heard the doors opening. Through them swept his parents, unescorted this time, which usually meant that they were worried Hans would let one of their secrets slip. As usual, though, his father looked emotionally impenetrable. His face was a wall with nary a crack in it. His stepmother, on the other hand, had panic written all over hers.

"How are you feeling?" his father asked. Hans gave him a lopsided grin.

"Honestly, Dad. I wish you'd drop the concerned father act. If you want to play that game in front of your court, go ahead, but spare me the performance when we're alone. You and Lady Macbeth are about as happy to find me alive and well as I usually am when I wake up in the morning to find you both in a similar state."

"Very well, son." Enoch sighed tiredly. "We've come to tell you that we've honoured our part of the bargain. Queen Elsa departed on a ship headed for Arendelle early yesterday morning."

It took every nerve-ending in Hans' body not to show even a hint of confusion or panic at his father's news. There was a menacing electricity in the air that even his parents seemed to notice. Enoch gave his shoulders a good shake while Alma crossed her arms tightly across her chest, evidently feeling a cold Hans no longer noticed.

"Will she arrive safely?" Hans asked. He didn't want to come right out and ask them if they were planning on having her meet with some kind of "accident" on her way home. He didn't want to give them any ideas.

"On my life she will arrive safely," Enoch replied. Hans narrowed his eyes at him. His father's response seemed genuine but Hans wasn't stupid. Over the course of many, many years, his father had sworn on his sons' lives, Alma's life, his grandchildren's lives, his great grandchildren's lives, his father's grave, his mother's grave... The list went on and on. Now Enoch was swearing on his own life. It would have to do for now. Hans was in no position at that moment to doubt him, if only because his mind was occupied with thoughts of Elsa. If he was going to try to read his father, he'd need to have his wits about him.

In short, Hans would have to hold off on wishing his father was dead for at least another day or two.

"Alma and I have been racking our brains trying to decide what's to be done with you. You haven't exactly been a model son this past year," Enoch began.

Alma rolled her eyes. "That's the understatement of the nineteenth century."

"All things considered, I think I've been an exemplary son." Hans replied. "I marched in the parades, waved to the crowds, did the royal tours, shook hands with dignitaries, and supped with rulers of other kingdoms. I stood side by side with the brothers who hate me, and side by side with the parents who hate me more. I've done everything that's been expected of me as a son of the Southern Isles. Have I hated every second of it? Yes. But no one has ever been the wiser. To the naked, and even the not so naked eye, I couldn't be prouder or more honoured to be a Westergård. I've kept this family's secrets, and there have been many."

Alma was about to speak again, but Enoch held up his hand, effectively shutting her up.

"What do you want, then?" he asked.

"My freedom," Hans answered without a second's thought. "I want my freedom, and I no longer care how I get it."

"I think it's pretty safe to say you stopped caring how you got your freedom the second you decided to blackmail us to send you to the coronation," Alma barked.

"I want to go back to Arendelle," he said firmly. "If Queen Elsa is carrying my child, I want to be sure she doesn't harm it or herself. I don't trust that woman. If she isn't pregnant, I will return and resume my duties as a Westergård. No more cells, above or below ground. If she is pregnant, I want to be there when she decides on her next move. I want to be the voice in her ear. I want Queen Elsa as my wife. I want Arendelle's throne."

His voice trembled almost imperceptibly as he spoke. Elsa, of course, would never be his wife. Nothing would shame her more than marrying the man who had tried to slaughter her, the man who had left her beloved sister to die. Who would ever believe he followed her around because she'd wholly enslaved him and not because he was hiding a sword behind his back? Not that he and Elsa had a better chance at being together before she tried to freeze him to death for the second time in less than a week, but he let a part of himself believe her when she promised him that he'd never be alone again. Maybe more than a part.

He wouldn't be able to convince her to let him be a part of her life, but he couldn't bear to be the cause of her death. Not again. If she did something to hurt herself…

Mercifully, his stepmother interrupted the thought before he had to finish it.

"That's it!" she shouted. "I've had enough of this! I've had enough of him, Enoch!"

Enoch pinched the bridge of his nose. Hans couldn't help but smile. Enoch would probably never pay for his past crimes, but Hans did find a measure of comfort knowing he was stuck with Alma 'til death did them part. How his father could stand her, he had no idea.

"Hans, I promised your grandfather that you would grow up benefitting from the same advantages as your brothers. But I can't be beholden to my father for the rest of my life. So I'm granting you your wish. You are free to travel to Arendelle."

Of all the things Hans was expecting his father to say, that was nowhere near the top of the list. After all these years, he was letting Hans go of his own free will? There had to be a catch.

Of course there was a catch.

"You will take what you can fit in a single trunk and leave the palace tonight. You will find your own way to Arendelle. Three months should give you just enough time to learn for certain if Elsa is with child. Make good use of that time to 'be the voice in her ear'. If you marry the queen, your freedom will remain yours to do with as you wish."

"And if I don't marry the queen?" Hans asked.

"Well, we'll just have to send someone out to fetch you," Enoch answered easily.

Fetch. Right.

Alma chuckled. "You could give him a year. Ten years. You think she'll want to have anything to do with him ever again after he made yet another Machiavellian lunge for her crown?"

"Enough, Alma."

"You heard what she said. She would sooner take her own life than have his child. Enoch, this whole thing is a complete waste of time."

"Alma…" Enoch ground out, shooting her another warning look.

"Enoch, I've had enough of you coddling this ungrateful, troublemaking little rat! He is never going to stop holding history over our heads! We can't just wait until the next ice queen he crosses finishes the job! We need to dispatch of him ourselves now!" she shouted, at the end of her tether. "He'll never stop, Enoch! Don't you understand? He will never stop!"

Hans threw the sheets aside and leapt off the bed, launching himself towards her. Startled, she stumbled backwards, reaching out for her husband's arm.

"History? You think this is about history? Listen, you shrieking, twisted, old crow – "

"That's enough!" Enoch roared. "Alma! Leave!"

Alma was incredulous. "I will do no such thing!"

"Leave, Alma! I will handle my son alone from here on out!"

She opened her mouth to speak again, but Enoch, setting his jaw, glared at her. "I won't ask you again."

Positively indignant, Alma tossed her chin, turning brusquely and heading through the doors. She slammed them behind her with such force that they shook in their frame. Enoch glared at his son.

"Three months, Hans."

"Very well. Three months." Hans agreed.

"You'll forgive me if I don't see you off tonight. Do have a safe trip, son."

Hans had nothing to say to that. He watched his father turn on his heel and begin to head for the doors. Just before opening them to leave, he paused.

"Hans, I really do hope you get what you want."

Hans tilted his head to one side and stared at his father, puzzled by his words.

"That Queen Elsa is a beautiful woman, isn't she?" he said ever-so-nonchalantly. "And so spirited. She reminds me a little of your mother."

Hans' eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I think she'd be a wonderful addition to our happy little family, don't you?"

Lips curling to reveal quite the crocodile's smile, Enoch opened the doors and left, closing them quietly behind him. Hans clenched his fists.

I'll kill him.

If he touches her…

His blood thundered in his ears, tore through his veins like a firestorm. Frost climbed the walls noisily, jagged and dark like hematite. His fingernails bit into the heels of his hands. The mark on his chest blazed.

If he goes near her, I'll run him right through his shriveled, little –

His left fist suddenly burst open in an eruption of light and…what? Stars? Snow? His fingers were pushed apart by an incredible force…

An elaborate hilt and guard, and then a blade, long and curved. It was easily the most stunning cutlass Hans had ever seen, and it was made entirely of ice. The shock of its sudden appearance, combined with the sheer weight of the weapon, caused a startled Hans to drop it. It hit the wooden slats of the floor with a heavy thud, narrowly missing his foot.

Hans stared at it, mouth agape. He crouched down beside it to have a closer look, not yet willing to trust his eyes.

What the…