He has every right to be angry at her.
After everything that she had done; the lying and dishonesty that had led them into all of this mess, her foolishness in falling and trusting into the Duchess' words so easily without once ever thinking nor had the suspicion that something was amiss, how it could have costed them their unborn child should he had not found her in time, he had every reason to be furious.
But he couldn't.
Not when he looked at her and see what the Duchess had done to her, no matter how hard she had tried to mask it –the cracks that now resided within and left his wife in such a fragile state, he could see all past her demeanor. The way she had held onto him the moment that his brothers had managed to cut the metal cuffs off her –leaving the black leather ones that none of them know how to rid of, the way she clung her whole-body weight as he carried her up and onto Sitron, how she buried her face against his chest the whole trip back to Arendelle.
He had even carried her all the way from the main gates and into the castle, up the rounding stairs to their bedchamber –even when his muscles ache, he had barely paid any mind to them, throughout everything she had still refused to make eye contact with anyone, not even to her worried-sick sister who had basically ran up to meet them despite the ungodly hour that they had arrived in.
Seeing her lying in their bed, buried under the blankets, the condition that she was in both physically and mentally… he simply couldn't bring himself to get angry at her. At least, perhaps, for now.
The Council was a different story all together.
They had meant well, he was sure of it, after all they had to help manage an entire kingdom under the monarch's reign, but their insistence in having an audience with him when he rather stay by his wife's side in case that she needed anything had gotten into his nerves. Yet he did try his best not to look overly irritated, just enough to show that he would not let even a second go to waste.
When he did finally able to dismiss the brief meeting, he had taken long quick strides back toward his bedchamber, wearing an expression that would make anyone to reconsider in stopping him in his track.
It didn't stop Anna. Though he doubted anything could.
"Have you seen Wilhelm?" no, he hasn't. He hasn't seen his son at all since he had returned back with his wife, mind too pre-occupied in tending to Elsa's needs especially since it was the Princess herself that had assured him that she would be the one watching over the young Prince. Thus why the deep frown on his face was unavoidable, even as he listened to her explanation regarding how she had sent for him to play with Olaf but could only find the enchanted snowman by himself. "I promised him that he could see Elsa in the afternoon."
"Why would you promise him that?" his composure cracked as his tone turned sharp. He had told that no one should bother the Queen, the doctor himself had informed him that she needed to rest properly for the sake of their child and herself.
"She's his mother, Hans." The Princess' tone, however, had remained calm as she merely let out a small sigh. "He missed her dearly, you can't keep him from her forever. Besides, she may need-"
Yet he hadn't let Anna finish her sentence, had already turned on his heels and took long quick steps to the bedchamber that he shared with his wife as the strawberry blonde-haired Princess stumbled as she tried to keep up with him. He knew Wilhelm, he was well aware of his son's stubbornness –he inherited it from both of his parents after all, and he knew that if he could not be found at where he was supposed to be then he must has insisted it upon himself to decide in acting against the order, a rare sight as he was such a sweet and understand boy, but not unexpected.
He would be there, with Elsa, he knew of this.
Pushing the door open, avoiding to make unnecessary loud noises despite his annoyance and exhaustion with the whole ordeal, he had slipped into the bedchamber, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
And there he was.
Snuggled up in his mother's embrace, napping peacefully with his penguin doll held tightly in his arms despite how high the sun was in the sky, curled up as he hid his face against his mother's neck.
He had prepared himself to scold, to be firm, to be a responsible father that teach his son how to behave and follow orders from the adults, but the sight had made his heart fluttered.
"Don't." it was quiet, a hushed whisper that came from the platinum blonde haired Queen that he thought was sleeping just like her son; apparently, she was awake, as her head turned to look at him, as carefully as possible as to not disturb the sleeping Prince, just so she could meet his eyes, as if she could read his mind. "Let him be."
His original intention had been pushed aside even before Elsa had scolded him about it.
Making his way around, he had disposed of his boots before he had climbed onto his side of the bed, lying down in his full outfit as he faced her –Wilhelm was the only thing that separated the two. His hand reached up to brush a strand of falling platinum blonde hair aside and away from his wife's eyes, and for what seemed to be a long moment they had stayed in silence, just simply staring at one another and drinking in each other's presence.
"Why are you doing this?" her question came in a sudden, out of the blue and even when he could guess what she had meant, he had remained silent to allow her to say it herself. "Why are you not mad? Why are you not punishing me after everything that I've done? After risking my life and the life of our unborn child you should have—"
His finger came to press against her lips, and he could feel the slight dryness of them instead of the usual softness that he had grown to be very familiar with, cutting her off before she could continue in her spiral of self-blame. "We're not discussing that right now, Elsa."
"Why not?" her eyebrows furrowed, and if she did not have their son sleeping by her side, he knew she would have sat up on the bed by now. "Hans, I'm not delaying this and have both of us dwelling about it ourselves longer than necessary. Please, I really don't want to keep feeling this way."
He didn't want to either, but a part of him was stubborn enough to think that they really shouldn't, that he should let Elsa rest until she would have gotten better and then he could have a proper talk with her. Yet another part of him, far more reasonable thankfully, reminded him that she was right, that delaying this would only stress her out and it would take her longer to recover then.
Thus, why he had nodded as he moved his hand to rest against her side instead, caressing her by her waist ever so gently, letting her to express whatever it was in her mind as freely as she desired.
He listened.
To every single thing that Elsa has to say, to everything that had happened to her, tears welling up in her eyes and pouring down her cheeks as she could finally let out all of her fears and feelings that she had to push back in front of her captors. She wept over her own foolishness, her disobedience toward her husband's words and warning, of the lies that had brought her spiraling down the worst possible path, one that could have been the end of her and her child should he had not come to her rescue in time.
And he told her about everything that he has to say.
His disappointment in her, the feel of betrayal that resided within him and eating him from inside out, but he was never angry. He simply couldn't. Truth to be told, he had expected himself to be angry, but he told her that the moment he had seen her, he allowed himself to only feel grateful that he could have her back in his arms.
He still had questions, but those truly could wait until she was better.
It took her a few days before she even exited her bedchamber.
To dress properly in her Queenly attire instead of the nightgowns that she had spent her days in, to feel the brush of soft silk on her skin as her handmaidens laced her up –falling over the curves of her body and hugging snugly against the bump her hands could not find themselves leaving. She had been feeling flutters, a promise of movement in which kicks should follow soon enough coming from the babe, a reassurance that despite everything it had stayed alive and well in her womb just as she had prayed for. They pulled her hair into a side braid instead of a bun that rested against the nape of her neck, a sign of casualty –not yet ready enough for stiff meetings and pilling paperwork, freshening her looks with the thinnest layer of makeup to mainly hide the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her complexion.
Her wrists itched with the cuffs that wrapped around them, forcing her to wear it everywhere she went like an out-of-place piece of accessory that she could not get rid of. Anna promised her that as soon as Kristoff returned to Arendelle –as he was up in the mountains harvesting ice for trading purposes, that they would make a short journey up to meet the trolls at their valley, as they perhaps had more grasp of understanding when it comes to magical artifacts such as the cuffs that the Duchess had somehow acquired in her possession.
The servants kept an eye on her, acted that they didn't but she knew they were, stolen glances and worried-some gaze behind her back and when they thought she was unaware. But she was, she could see the reflections on polished windows and hear the hushed whispers of whether she was truly alright and should be out and going. She didn't mind, really, somehow, she understood their concern over her condition, her well-being, physically and mentally, and a part of her was thankful to have people caring for her and her child after the weeks of feeling helpless and alone.
Council didn't ask for her audience even when they surely had seen her walk around the halls, so she suspected that either her husband or her sister had something to do with it –perhaps even both as she had seen how those two could work in such sync when it comes to her.
Opting to spend her day in the library instead, she had requested for a cup of warm tea to accompany her reading, yet her lady-in-waiting had returned not just with tea but an auburn-haired young Prince tailing behind. She apologized, as the Queen had mentioned that she wished for some quiet time, explaining that Wilhelm simply would not leave her alone after he had seen her making her way back from the kitchen, which Elsa had dismissed calmly as the said boy climbed up and practically snuggled his way against her side, craning his neck up to see what the book that she was holding.
He's her son, one that could not stay apart from her too, so it truly was no surprise that he would tag along to find her.
"What are you reading, Mama?"
"Something boring." She simply explained as she placed the bookmark against the yellowing paper before shutting the leather-bound book closed, earning a curious tilt of a head from the young Prince. "Why don't we go and find a book so I can read it for you, hm?"
Wilhelm jumped up to his feet, almost slipping off the lounge due to his sudden movement if only his mother had not been quick enough to catch and steady his footing. Giving a disapproving look, as he could have hurt himself, the boy had merely grinned sheepishly before he got down. "Sorry, Mama."
Browsing the tall shelves that towered in the room, never once did Wilhelm had let go of her hand, gripping tightly against her fingers with his own as she patiently followed every tug that came from him as he moved around. He may not be able to read everything yet, but he had his own way of deciding, mostly based on his memory of the book or what may catch his attention, skipping the ones that looked large and heavy all together as he knew that those did not contain stories.
Her heart had almost stopped when a man had turned up around the corner of one shelf, hand tugging Wilhelm until he stood behind her legs out of pure instinct as she glared at the man –who in turn had looked just as surprised as she was.
"Queen Elsa!"
He looked somewhat familiar… like she had seen him before but she couldn't exactly put her finger on it.
Perhaps sensing her difficulty in recognizing him, the man had cleared his throat as he straightened his posture, pushing his spectacles up to sit properly on his nose. "Prince Lars of the Southern Isles, Your Majesty."
Ah. Hans' brother. Now she could see the similarities that he held with her husband, though they definitely were not the perfect copy of one another. "The third oldest, right?" Hans mentioned him a lot, since they barely had known one another too, had always looked up and was fond of him the most. He was there when Hans had come to save her as well, along with the other brothers, but she had not paid much attention back then.
"That's me." Lars nodded, smiling. His eyes soon drifted toward the young boy, giving him an equally kind smile before he met the Queen's gaze once more. "Forgive me for the intrusion. I was reading then I heard you come in and I was hoping you wouldn't notice my presence."
"It's quite alright." He may had overheard her request to her ladies-in-waiting that she wished to not be interrupted. "The library is open to anyone who wish to come."
The older Prince had nodded then, appearing to be glad that he had not upset her in any way. "I always like the library, feels like a second home to me wherever I am." He told her, "You have quite the collection, Your Majesty."
"Thank you."
She took pride of it. Arendelle always valued knowledge and education, her father had always taught her that reading would help her becoming a better Queen for her people, that knowledge was something that she should hold dear. Reading had been her escape too during her childhood, a window for her to look at the world even when she could not leave the castle.
"I realized I've never thanked you or your brothers." She admitted, brows furrowing. "I dare not think what would happen should you had not help Hans in finding me."
Lars gave her an emphatic smile. "You shouldn't worry, we are family after all, we ought to help one another, no? Besides, the Southern Isles always had a rather… interesting history with Weselton, it's only natural for us to handle this."
"What do you mean?"
Her lack of knowledge regarding whatever it was that Lars had meant earlier seemed to have taken him by surprise, as though he had not expected her to question it, and he had to clear his throat to regain his composure. "Ah… I'm not sure I'm the person to tell you about it." His nervous chuckle and the way he had scratched the nape of his neck reminded her a bit of her husband. "I thought Hans would have told you but now that I think about it, I don't really see why he would, you really shouldn't concern yourself with such thing."
Lips parting, at ready to demand what it was that he had meant, after all she perhaps had somehow gotten herself tangled into this history that he was referring to either way, she had to abruptly closed them again when her name had been called out from the entrance of the library, prompting both adults to turn their attention just as the strawberry-blonde haired Princess had poked her head in from around the door.
"Kristoff's home, we could go to—" turquoise eyes drifted toward the dark-haired Prince, brows coming to a furrow, before she corrected herself. "We could go now, if you wanted to."
The trolls. The cuffs. They had not mentioned any of that to anyone outside of the royal family members, didn't think that it would be proper to tell the guests regarding her situation and also their familiarity to such magical beings.
"I believe that wherever it is that you're going, Your Majesty," Lars pipped in, "That you shouldn't delay if it can be helped." And thus, allowing him a way to dodge her question.
She didn't want to lose the chance, but he had his point, she couldn't stand wearing these damned cuffs any longer than necessary, to feel so powerless without the pulsing coldness in her veins that she had grown familiar with. Nodding, she had started to head for the exit, but small hands gripping against her skirt had reminded her that her son was still there with her.
"May I come, Mama?" wide blue eyes had stared up at her, pleading, as she held herself back from sighing. "Please?"
She had not planned on bringing Wilhelm along, there was no need to, and the journey was short enough that she could have returned even before the day ended –should things had gone as smoothly as she had hoped for, but she couldn't resist that look, she never could.
"Very well. Come." Yet the auburn-haired Prince had refused to budge from his spot, had instead raised both of his arms up in the air in the gesture that she had known all too well. "I can't, Wilhelm."
"But why not?" the boy whined, for it was rare for his request to be lifted up to be met with a rejection. "I want to go up-up."
"Because your Mama is pregnant, Wilhelm." Lars had somehow, during all this, went down to his knees, setting himself at the same eye level with his nephew. "She shouldn't lift heavy things and you," one of his hands coming to ruffle his hair affectionately. "Have grown so much, yes? You're a big boy now."
Wilhelm scrunched his nose in displease, before he had looked up at his mother with the same pleading face he had earlier, but once she had given him a firm shake of her head –telling him that her decision would not change regarding this, he had puffed his cheeks and went to run toward his aunt, who had taken it upon herself to be the one lifting him up instead, receiving a nuzzle against her neck from him as she gave a smile of defeat at her older sister.
"Be careful, Queen Elsa." The third oldest Prince of the Southern Isles called out, just as the Queen reached the doorway. "And take care."