Author's Note: I didn't intend for this chapter to end up as long as it is, hence the delay in publishing as it required more editing. Further updates are also likely on a biweekly basis as I balance a tight work schedule with this (my true passion). Thanks all for your support and readership.
VIII.
The queen did not sleep well the evening after her conversations with the prince and her sister.
Once her public – and private – meetings with the prince had become common knowledge, even solitude was unbearable for her, and she instructed her steward to pack her schedule to the brim. At first, she managed to keep clear of both the prince and princess for a day or two, and push the inconvenient thoughts and feelings to the back of her mind.
But where purposeful avoidance had been her modus operandi for so many years, she now found it ill-suited to drown out the chorus of whispers, murmurs, and rumors which increasingly pursued her through every nook and cranny of the castle. By the end of the week, she had missed two or three meetings, and instead spent them pacing in her room until snow whipped around her in a blinding flurry.
Her attendance at social events likewise dropped off, as she found that she could not help but stare with undisguised longing at the prince and princess from the other end of dinner tables and large rooms. She was too fearful to approach them publicly, but also too ashamed of her own avoidance to speak with them.
Whenever the urge struck her to try, she was stopped in her tracks by her father's mantra.
Don't let it show.
It was not until she received a discreet note under her door one evening that the queen paused to reconsider her current course of action – or inaction, as it were – as the sudden appearance of the small, folded paper stirred her from her endless brooding.
She plucked it from the floor, opening it with bated breath.
I hope you're okay. I miss you.
She recognized her sister's flowery script immediately, and pressed the page flat atop her dresser, rereading those two short sentences until the words in them became distorted.
Her face red, she sat down with a thud upon her chair, and belatedly noticed that the snow she had involuntarily conjured was suspended in the air.
She blinked in wonder at the sight, having only seen it happen a few times before; and after glancing at the note again, the snow and ice which had previously stuck to every surface of her room began to disappear.
Her mouth went agape for a moment, and then for an entire minute.
What's missing for you?
It closed again, and she exhaled.
I miss you.
Galvanized with a strange sense of purpose, the queen was too excited to sleep, and greeted the morning sun with restless eyes just as it rose over the horizon.
She slipped on her signature blue gloves – defrosted and cleaned – and pressed her crown atop her plaited hair as the final touch before stepping out, walking at a measured pace to the other end of the hallway. Once there, she dismissed the guards nearby and knocked lightly on the door, swallowing the lump of uncertainty that was stuck in her throat.
No answer to her knock came for a few seconds, which then turned into minutes.
Holding her head high, she knocked again, rapping her fingers harder against the wooden door. When she was met with more silence, she sighed, her head lowering in resignation.
In the same moment, the door creaked open, and the groggy, disheveled features of the princess appeared from behind it, the younger woman's eyes squinting through the sleep that blurred them.
"Who is i—Elsa?" she said, yawning halfway through her question. She blinked slowly. "What are you doing here?"
The queen reddened, looking down. "I'm sorry, I know it's early. I should've come later, but I…" She paused, her lips twisting. "I got your note, and I wanted to speak with you, and—"
"It's fine," the princess cut her off. "Just come inside. It's awkward talking out here." She gestured for her older sister to enter the bedroom with a tired wave, and the queen complied after a moment of hesitation.
She regarded the room with wide eyes, having not seen its interior in many, many years. It was only a little smaller than her own and had much of the same furniture, with one noticeable difference.
"It's all very pink, I know," the princess drawled, rubbing her eyes as she leaned against a bedpost, crossing her arms. "I bet you're surprised it's not messier than it is."
The queen's nose wrinkled as she tried not to smile. "I suppose Gerda makes sure that the maids keep it tidy."
The princess smirked. "That's right. You know it would be a nightmare if I had to clean it myself—just look at the state of my hair!" She poked at the mess of red curls atop her head with a sigh, her white streak still visible at the front.
The sight of it caused the queen's smile to fade, and at the sudden change in mood, her younger sister's brow rose. "Anyway, what was it," she began before yawning again, half-covering her mouth, "that you wanted to talk to me about?" She glanced at her bed, and at the dresser opposite. "Do you want to sit down?"
The queen drew her arms closer to her. "Oh, that's all right. I don't mind standing."
The princess shrugged. "Suit yourself. As for me, I'm just gonna lay back down here for a minute." She flopped back onto her bed, propping herself up on her elbows, and threw her older sister a questioning look.
"You're really not going to sit?"
Her older sister's arms dropped to her sides and she relented, coming over to sit delicately on the chair by the bed. The princess nodded and ran her hands through her hair, trying to smooth it down.
"Good. Now, where were we?"
The queen's brows stitched together in thought, her fingers interlacing to match. She glanced up at the princess, and then down again.
"I… came here to apologize. For how I left things the other night," she explained, "and for not talking to you since. I'm sorry."
The princess blinked. "Oh," she said softly, her hands dropping to her sides. "I wasn't expecting you to say that." At her sister's remorseful expression, she clarified: "I mean, I'm happy that you're saying it, of course, it's just—it's not like I was upset at you over what happened."
The queen matched her younger sister's wide-eyed look. "You weren't?"
"I mean, I was a little annoyed, sure," the princess admitted, "but it's not like this is the first time you've ever ignored me, either. Sorry to say, but… I'm kinda used to it." Swallowing at the small, guilty frown her sister wore, she continued: "It's like I said that night: I didn't hear what Hans said to you, but it looked like whatever he said – or did – really upset you, so I figured that you just needed some space afterwards, and tried not to take it personally. I told him the same thing."
"You… told Hans that?"
"Yep," the princess said, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes. "He really wanted to talk to you the last couple of days, but I told him to wait until you came around." Her forehead crinkled. "Of course, I thought you would've done that by now, but you haven't, so…"
The queen frowned at the comment, and the princess looked sheepish. "Not that you had to do anything, obviously—I'm not saying that. The point is that I could tell he was coming on a little too strong that night, and probably scared you off. Right?"
The queen's frown deepened. "He didn't scare me," she retorted, crossing her arms. "He just doesn't know when to stop talking. Or what boundaries are. And…" She paused, her eyes downcast. "It's been hard, with all the rumors."
The princess patted her sister's hand. "I know, and I've gotten my share of that, too," she empathized. "I think he gets it, you know? How people see him, and how people see him with you. He knows that it isn't easy for you."
"Did he tell you that?" the queen asked, her brow rising.
"Yes, actually," her sister replied. "But I'm not blind, Elsa. In fact, I'm pretty sure I would recognize sooner than him when you're feeling upset. That's why I slipped you that note."
The queen smiled a little. "It did make me feel better."
The princess smiled back. "I figured it would, or at least I hoped that it would. I just didn't want you to feel like you were alone."
Her older sister's lip trembled at the statement, and said nothing.
They sat in silence for a beat until the princess broke it, her playful smirk returning. "You know, it's kind of funny: when Hans is with me, he's pretty laid-back and easygoing, but when it comes to you, he gets so… intense. I can see why you might need breaks from him."
The queen's nose twitched. "That's one way to put it." She paused. "Did he tell you anything about that day?"
The princess shook her head. "No, not really. He's very private about his conversations with you." She eyed the queen with interest, and noted: "You're the same, in that way."
"Well, there's nothing to say," her sister snapped, and then collected herself, pinching her eyes shut. "Sorry, that came out the wrong way. I just meant—whatever happened, it doesn't matter. I shouldn't have spoken to you, or ignored you, in the way that I did," she continued, her tone contrite. "Or in the way that I have before."
She stared at the princess. "He's not the reason I'm here, Anna."
"Isn't he, though?"
The queen blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Let's be honest, Elsa. Would you even be sitting here in front of me right now, apologizing like this, if Hans hadn't shown up at your coronation two weeks ago?"
Her gaze narrowed. "I don't understand what you're getting at."
"Just imagine what would've happened if he'd never written to us that he was coming," the princess said, "if he never came to Arendelle, and never stayed in the castle with us. Would we have been able to be together like this?" A slow, patient smile broke out on her lips. "I thought for sure you would've snapped by now, with everything going on and all these new people around – it's so different from what we're used to – but you've actually been handling it all really well."
The younger woman's expression grew thoughtful. "I still don't know or understand what happened, exactly, but it was like something woke up inside of you when he arrived. You just… turned into this totally different person overnight. Someone I haven't seen since we were kids."
The queen sat stock-still in the chair, her face pinking.
The princess waited for her to gather her wits, which she did—but only after the room had grown so silent as for the ticking of the clock to become audible in the background.
"It can't be because of him," said the queen, her surroundings coming back into focus. "He hasn't—"
"Been here long enough to affect you like that?" the princess finished. "Yeah… I think you might've said something like that a few times already."
The color in the queen's cheeks darkened at the comment. "Because it's the truth. You and I were talking and seeing each other more before all this, while preparing for the coronation over the last few weeks. Him being here has nothing to do with it."
"Elsa," the princess began with a sigh, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but all that 'talking' and 'seeing' we did before he showed up was mostly passing each other in the hallways, or me trying to have a conversation with you and you trying to get out of it." She added in a more serious tone: "I know it's hard to admit that he could be the reason it's happening, but… I don't think there's any harm in doing so. It might even make you feel better."
The queen scoffed. "I doubt that."
The princess frowned. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I could be right—that him being here is a good thing for us?"
The queen paused, looking away ruefully. "There are things that I wish I could tell you, Anna—things that are hard even for me to understand, or explain. Maybe one day, I'll be able to do it. But right now…" She trailed off, looking at her gloved hands, and exhaled. "I have to figure it out on my own."
"But that's just the thing, Elsa: you don't," her sister pleaded, moving closer to her until she was on the edge of the bed. "You have me – and Hans – now. You don't have to keep your distance anymore."
The queen smiled sadly. "I know that—really, I do, Anna," she replied, sounding tired. "But these things don't happen overnight. You have to let me do them in my own time."
The princess leaned back at the answer, her mouth twisting. "Thirteen years isn't enough, huh? Fine. Take your time, then—as long as you need," she snapped, "but don't expect us to wait around for that to happen."
Her older sister threw her a long, mournful look at the comment, but the princess ignored it, crossing her arms and glancing at the door.
"You can go, now. You probably have some work to attend to anyway, right?"
The queen's hands, tense in her lap, crackled with anxious, cold energy—but she quickly clasped them together, her father's words whipping across her thoughts like a harsh wind.
Don't feel.
"I'll see you later, Anna," she said, her voice even and formal, and stood from her seat.
She paused once upright, staring at her sister one last time; when the princess refused to return the look, she finally turned and walked to the door, her fingers shaking as they made contact with the doorknob.
A small spark of ice alighted from them on the metal, and the sight caused her to swiftly open and close the door behind her in a panic, breathing unsteadily as she pressed her hands back at her sides.
Thirteen years isn't enough, huh?
Tears welled in her eyes for a moment – but no longer than that – as the queen faced the endless corridor again, walking back towards the solitude of her bedchambers with heavy footsteps.
The queen took her breakfast alone in her room later that same morning, declining to answer the curious look her servant had thrown her at the request.
Chastened by the discussion with her sister, she stared blankly at the food when it arrived. By the time she managed to eat a bit of her scrambled eggs, they were already cold; after several more disappointing bites followed in the same fashion, she pushed the plate away, feeling ill, her fingers tapping along her desk.
Trails of ice followed them until the edge of the wood was fairly frosted over, interrupted only by the knock and subsequent entry of the steward.
Her hand snapped back to her lap as she greeted him with indifference. "What is it?"
"You asked me to remind you a few days ago when our guests would start departing," he said, not meeting her cold stare. "This is the reminder, Your Majesty."
Guilt stung at her when she noticed his lowered eyes. "Ah, yes," she said in a gentler way, rising from her desk. "I'm ready. They're in the throne room, I take it?"
He nodded, finally looking at her. "Yes, Your Majesty." He handed her a note. "Here is the list of the ones leaving today, for your reference."
She came to stand at his side, forcing a smile onto her lips, and took the note from him. After scanning it quickly, she handed it back to him, and nodded towards the door.
"Let's go, then."
The steward bowed and followed her lead as she walked out, keeping a respectful distance between them, and in a few minutes they arrived in the throne room. A hush fell over the chattering queue as the queen took up her position at the front of it, standing a step above ground level by her throne.
Her smile was still in place even as she noted the looks of apprehension that some of the visitors leveled at her, and she motioned for the first diplomat to approach.
"Queen Elsa," the Spanish ambassador began, bowing, "it's been a true honor to stay with you over the last two weeks. We look forward to continuing discussions over the terms of the trade agreements with you and your council in the coming months, and in the meanwhile, I hope you will pay us a visit soon."
His smile was as smooth as his speech, and she returned it with a strained version of her own. "Thank you, Ambassador. I hope so as well. I bid you farewell and a safe return journey home. Please pass on my regards to Their Majesties."
He bowed again, moving to kiss her hand out of habit—but, seeing her gloved hands firmly clasped together in front of her, he merely nodded and was escorted out with his retinue.
She hid a frown as the next man came forward, bowing and beginning in a similar way.
"Your Majesty, thank you kindly for your hospitality and generosity in hosting my countrymen and I. We are only sorry that we could not stay longer to see the fireworks this evening, for I am sure they will be spectacular…"
As he droned on, the queen's attention drifted back to the conversation with her sister.
Why is it so hard for you to believe that I could be right?
Her well-practiced smile dipped, hearing the princess's voice echo in the room as clearly as it had that morning. The sound drowned out all others.
…that him being here is a good thing for us?
Her lips curled reflexively, causing the man in front of her to blink in surprise.
"Your Majesty? Have I said something—"
Take your time, then, as long as you need—but don't expect us to wait around for that to happen.
"No, not at all," she interrupted, her hands sweating inside of her gloves. Her cheeks were hot as she realized the line had grown shorter in her distraction, and she did not recognize the diplomat and his family who stared back at her. "I just—I have to go. I'm sorry."
"But Your Majesty—"
The protest was no sooner heard than it was forgotten by the queen, who stepped down and walked away from the scene as if held in thrall by a spell of somnambulation. She did not manage even a parting nod or curtsy on her way out, nor did she pay heed to the offended grumblings and whispers of the snubbed nobles and their entourages still waiting to be received.
The alarmed expression of her steward was similarly ignored as she drifted towards the exit, her fingers twitching as her body perspired.
Conceal. Don't feel.
The words grated on her as she passed through the long hallways and up endless stairways, and she pressed her hands to her ears, wincing.
Don't let it show.
"Stop it," she hissed, panting. Seeing the confused look a guardsman shot her, she realized she was already in front of her bedroom door, and reddened.
"You can go, Haakon."
The older man's brow furrowed. "But—"
"Please," she said sharply, her teeth baring with the request. "I won't ask again."
He bowed and left his queen, who watched until he turned the corner to burst back into her room in a flurry of uninhibited wind and snow, the doors rattling shut behind her.
She breathed in great gasps and swallows of cold air, trying to calm herself down; at length, the wind quieted to a soft hum, though the snow remained intact.
The queen grimaced at the sight, and attempted to turn her thoughts back to the rest of her schedule for the day, the endless council meetings that awaited her, the books left on her reading list, or anything at all that wasn't related to her furniture and shelves and window and carpet, all kissed by winter.
But nothing dispelled the chill in her heart, and as she sat upon her snow-dusted bed, she watched with resignation as ice crawled out from under her tired feet and hands and coated the peaks of snow piles.
She kept to her quarters through lunch, refusing even a tray of food to be brought to her, croaking through the door that the steward should inform her expectant visitors that she was unwell and should not be disturbed.
One effort after the other to occupy herself failed miserably, and she was left either to pace in wide, furious circles, or to wallow on her mattress, her clothes, hair, and hands long since soaked through with sweat.
Every so often, she would pause by the window to watch the guests as they walked through the gates to the docks, boarding their ships, and sailing away. As they faded into the distance over the horizon line, she would return to her pacing, and another crackle of ice would crawl along the floor.
When the call for the final dinner of her coronation celebrations came, she dismissed it, ignoring the pleas from the steward and her maidservant. The queen gathered from their pleas that the guests had, by then, heard of her erratic display in the morning, and were displeased by her long absence since.
In contrast to her usual embarrassment upon hearing such news, however, she was utterly apathetic to it, and stared with a mix of fascination and dread as her ice coated the door, threatening to freeze over the handle and trap her inside.
She had not experienced her powers in such an uncontrollable state since she was a teenager, after learning of the death of her parents. Even then, she had had a measure of restraint in curbing the spread of the ice from going under her door, so that her sister would not catch a glimpse of it on the other side.
At present, she had no idea if the ice remained contained within her room, or if it had crept out into the hallway beyond. Although a part of her wanted to pretend that she did not care if it had, and accept the consequences of her secret being discovered, the sound of the door handle rattling as the ice drew closer caused a twinge of instinctive panic to run through her.
Don't let it show.
She rose from her bed with a start, a wild look in her eyes as she cleared a footpath through the snow to the door with a burst of icy wind, and then cracked it open, peering into the hallway to make sure she was alone.
Conceal.
Still drenched from sweat, the queen dragged the hem of her dress along the ground as she broke out into a half-jog, her thoughts jumbling to the point that she did not know where one ended and another began.
Don't feel.
She winced whenever she reached a corner, looking over her shoulder to check for any unfriendly eyes that might witness her frenzied state. However, when she remembered that all of the guests were out on the lawn waiting for the fireworks to begin, she slowed to a brisk walk, becoming less careful in her wanderings and even grabbing a candelabra off the wall to help light her way.
After some time had passed – how much, she could not tell – she came to a stop in front of a tall, dark door, her breathing short and quick.
Conceal.
It was her father's voice that had said it, it seemed, and she blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the door.
"The study," she drawled, her left hand absently slipping into the pocket of her dress. It pulled out her keyring a moment later, still moist to the touch, and she held it up at eye level, fingering through the keys until she reached the one desired. She slid it into the keyhole of the door without so much as a jingle echoing in the hall, and entered the dark room just as discreetly.
Inside, the queen peered into the darkness, eyeing the familiar trappings of her father's private chambers without her customary hesitation. She rifled through the papers on her father's desk, creating creases and tears and piles on the floor as she went; took off and examined old, dusty swords from the walls, then sent them clattering to the ground; and pulled out every drawer from every table in sight, allowing them to topple over when she deemed them useless.
Finally, she turned her attention to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and to these she paid greater reverence, merely brushing her hand along the spines. She squinted at their titles, blowing off dust from the oldest tomes in order to make their text legible.
At times, she would remove one from the shelf, and gently peruse its contents—only to put it back in place after a few minutes, increasingly dissatisfied and anxious.
Don't feel.
"I know, Papa!" the queen snapped at the empty air; several snowflakes followed the echoes of her voice. She sighed, tucking strands of her matted blonde hair behind her ears. "Let me alone. Please."
The air became still again, and she resumed her search.
As the minutes dragged on and she grew no closer to discovering what she sought, she leaned her head against the shelf in defeat, her body slumping down until she was sitting on the floor, staring up at her grandfather's portrait through the flames of the candelabra on the desk.
"There's no use for it," she murmured, closing her eyes. "I will never be free of it. Papa, Mama, I'm sor—"
Her back suddenly prickled at the sensation of a book pressing against it, and then sliding backwards into the shelf. Her eyes reopened, glancing behind her; shuffling to the side, she rubbed the small of her back with one hand, and pulled out the offending book with the other.
It was thicker in size than the ones around it, and its color a deep red that stood out even in the darkness of her shadow. She propped the book up on her knees, staring with surprise as she realized that, even with her many years of language studies, she could not fully translate the cover text comprised of ancient runes.
Opening the book, she found that everything was written in the same archaic script, and she frowned as she skimmed the pages, only able to make out basic words and phrases. There were a few illustrations included, mostly of natural landscapes. She came to recognize some as ancient maps of her kingdom, wondering at the images of old forests and lizard-shaped fire spirits that no longer inhabited her world.
At length, she came across a picture that provoked her to gasp, her heartbeat slowing to one, long thump.
It was an illustration of an old king lying prone upon a stone slab, his red cape draped over the side and his eyes closed. A small, dark, menacing creature stood behind him with yellow eyes, its strange hands lifted over the king's body as if in incantation. Smoke billowed out from the king's forehead and joined a foreboding cloud or aurora borealis above them of green and blue and purple, framed on either side by tall, black, leafless trees.
"Anna," the queen whispered, still breathless. Her eyes darted all over the page and its accompanying text, and she rose from her seat, laying the book flat atop the mess of papers she had created on her father's desk.
As she scrabbled and splayed her hands across the pages, another paper slid out from behind the picture—and as she retrieved and unfolded it, the sight within caused a small smile to break out on her lips, her throat choking on a triumphant laugh.
She barely kept her trembling hands from tearing the page in two.
"I—" she said, her breathing quickening, "I have to tell him."
Without hesitation, the queen refolded it and tucked it into the book to mark the location of the illustration, pressing the tome under her arm as she grabbed the candelabra with her other hand, and fled the room.
The queen stood in front of the prince's door, out of breath, her hand raised to knock on it—and then withdrew it to her side, struck by the thought that she had no idea if he was even inside.
Embarrassed, she took a step back, and then another; when her foot moved backwards for a third time, she bumped into the door behind her with an audible thunk from the heavy book under her arm, and she jumped at the sound.
His door opened in the next moment, and his eyes widened upon seeing her.
"Elsa?"
She swallowed, turning halfway towards the hallway. "I'm sorry, I was just going—"
"No—please, don't," he said, and opened his door wider. "Do you want to come in?"
She stared with trepidation at the dimly-lit interior, her eyes darting between it and the empty hallway to her right. Eventually, her posture sank a little, bowing her head as she entered.
Inside, his quarters looked like any of the other guest rooms of the castle: a mixture of light and dark blue bedsheets and rugs, and plain white furnishings and walls otherwise. She looked around with a touch of the same interest she had at her sister's room that morning, noting that the décor had hardly changed since the prince's first visit to her country, when he was still a child.
The notion caused her face to pale.
"Are you all right, Elsa?"
Startled by his voice, she whipped around to face him, nearly dropping the book. "I—I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," he remarked, drawing closer and inspecting her disheveled, sweat-licked features. "What happened?" He glanced at the book. "And what is that?"
Her mouth grew dry. "It's nothing," she mumbled. "I really shouldn't be here."
"It can't be 'nothing' if you've come to see me, alone, in this state," he countered, his brow rising.
Another drop of perspiration beaded on her forehead. "Shouldn't you be out with the others?" she asked, glancing behind him at the window. The first firecracker had just been released, whistling through the sky and popping, causing her to wince. "What are you doing here?"
"I've never liked fireworks—they're too loud," he replied, and crossed his arms. "You're trying to change the subject. Why?"
She grimaced as the weight of the book seemed to drag her entire body down. "I'm—" she paused, and sighed shakily as she held it towards him. "I didn't know who else to talk to about this."
He took it from her gently, examining the spine and cover. "Younger Futhark," he said, his fingers tracing the embossed runes.
She blinked. "You can read it?"
He shrugged. "Not well. I assume it was the same for you?"
"Yes. I only managed a few words here and there, but…"
She trailed off as she watched the prince find her bookmarked page, his eyes wide – and then intent – as they stared at the same illustration that had taken her breath away only a few minutes earlier.
"Is this…?"
"Yes," she replied, and pointed to the loose paper tucked in the centerfold. "I found that behind the picture." As he opened it, she explained: "I think it's the map my father used to find the Valley of the Living Rock, where the trolls live. The ones that changed Anna's memories."
He studied the picture, map, and runes for a time, and then turned to her. "Where did you find this, Elsa?"
"My father's study. It was tucked away on a bottom shelf, out of plain sight. I only found it by accident."
"And what were you doing in there?" he asked. "It didn't seem like a place you spend much time in, the last time we spoke in that room."
Some color returned to her cheeks as she frowned. "It's not, but—" Ice pricked at her fingertips, damp and bare, and she closed her hands into fists. "Between our last conversation, and everyone talking about us afterwards, and then this morning, when I upset Anna by accident… I haven't been able to control it, Hans," she confessed, her voice dropping to a whisper as snowflakes began to fall around her. "It's just getting worse and worse, and I keep pushing everyone away."
The queen's gaze alighted on the tome with renewed determination. "I thought that maybe I could find something in the study that could help me. And I did, in this book." She plucked the map from him, holding it up. "With this, I can go back to the Valley, and tell the trolls what's happened. If they changed Anna's memories, then surely their magic must be powerful, and they could even help rid me of mine."
The prince's expression became unreadable. "Then… what's stopping you, Elsa? Why come here, instead of going straight into the mountains?"
Conceal.
Her mouth went limp. "I—I just…"
"I'm sorry that I've made things difficult for you—truly, I am," he continued. "I never intended to cause you this kind of distress or pain. And I can assure you that no matter how upset Anna seemed with you this morning, she would forgive your trespasses, because she loves you."
He paused. "But none of this justifies what you're planning on doing."
The queen's jaw tightened. "How can you say that? If you really understood how 'difficult' things are for me here, you would be offering to take me to the Valley yourself."
He frowned. "If they couldn't take your powers away the first time, what makes you think they can now? Or that they would?"
"It's worth trying, anyway," she said, flustered. She gestured at the snow, which fell interminably. "Anything is better than this."
"I'm just asking you to think about it, Elsa," he implored. "Did they help Anna by altering her memories? Did they make your life easier, or better, by leaving yours intact?" His frown relaxed as his tone grew gentler. "Don't you ever think they might have left you with your powers, and your memories, for a reason?"
She was struck silent by the questions, and looked down, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Don't feel.
He stepped closer until he was just hovering over her. "Even if it somehow all worked," he said softly, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze, "don't you understand what it would mean?"
He tilted his head towards the window, where one firecracker after the other exploded into shades of red and green and pink against the night sky, the applause and "ooh's" and "aah's" from the crowd audible from inside the room.
"You'd be just like everyone else."
She slapped his hand away from her face, pushing him back as her eyes sparked with rage. "And that's all I've ever wanted," she snapped, her ice streaking out from under her in jagged lines along the floors. "To be like them—to be normal."
He watched the ice warily, shaking his head. "You just think that's what you want, because you've never been allowed to see your powers as anything but a curse."
Don't let it show.
"You don't know anything!" she cried, snow thrashing around her in a furious squall. "You could never understand what this has been like for me—what I've done, or what I am capable of, still. You say you're not afraid, but I can see it plainly right now, in the way you're looking at me—"
"I'm not, Elsa," he insisted, and drew closer to the queen, even as her ice began to surround her in thick, tall walls. "If you would just stop this, and listen—"
She thrust her hands out in front of her to keep him away, and her ice followed the movement, shooting out towards the prince in spikes as sharp as knives.
She screamed at the sight, clutching her hands back to her chest and closing her eyes, her chest heavy with terror; but in the same instant, the ice that surrounded her was obliterated, and she was blown back onto the floor by an powerful, pulsating hot wind.
The queen saw black for a moment, her head lolling on the carpet.
"Elsa."
It was a voice she knew, but it was distant, calling to her as if from across an ocean of fire.
"Elsa."
It was closer, then—close enough that she knew it was the prince's voice, and not her father's, as she groaned, sweat dripping from every pore of her body. She opened one eye, and then another, with herculean effort, propping herself up on her elbows.
She squinted through a haze of dark shapes, feeling the same hot wind as before sweep across her skin, and the scent of burning wood enter her nostrils.
"Smoke," she murmured to herself as the room came into focus, her eyes widening.
The ice and snow she had conjured were all melting, as if the sun had just returned after a long winter, and she scrambled up until her palms were on the floor, keeping her steady.
"But how—"
"Elsa."
Her head shot up and found the prince standing in the center of the room, wreathed in flames.
She watched with her mouth agape as his hand reached forward and retracted the fire and smoke through his outstretched hand, standing calm and still all the while. When they were gone, no part of him seemed harmed, for not even a single hair on his head or thread of his clothing was singed—nor was there a single sear or mark upon the walls or furniture in the room.
He approached her with that same, quiet force, crouching down to her level once he was only a few feet from her.
She recoiled from his nearness, pressing herself up against the wall by the door, her knees instinctively curling in towards her stomach. Sweat still beaded on her skin and trickled down her neck in long lines, disappearing below the collar of her dress, and her mind raced.
"I—I knew it," she stammered, her lip trembling. "It was you, wasn't it? The boy from the story."
"Yes, it was."
She shook her head, her features growing wan from shock and horror. "Why didn't you tell me?"
The prince paused. "I thought I was waiting until I had gained your trust, but I can see, now, that it was the other way around." He grimaced. "To be honest, I didn't think there was ever going to be a good time to tell you. So I didn't."
The queen's mouth contorted as she swallowed bile. "Because you killed them—your father, your brothers," she rasped, licking her lips. "Those were no accidents."
His brow furrowed. "No, they weren't; not all of them, anyway. But I can explain—"
"Explain what, Hans? Regicide? Fratricide?" She dragged herself up from the floor to stand, scowling darkly at the prince. "There is no defense for murder, whatever your reasons might be."
His gaze narrowed at the queen as he stood. "You say that without knowing anything about it—and isn't that exactly what you've been accusing me of, all this time? Judgment without understanding?"
Her ire swelled, though she was too exhausted to summon even a single snowflake as she struggled to stay upright. "Don't try to turn this on me," she spat, seething. "You've committed criminal acts for which you should be—"
"What—tried? Convicted? Hanged?" he finished. "I showed those bastards mercy with a death by fire, compared to what I endured at their hands."
"Immolation is 'mercy' to you, Hans?" she asked, and shuddered. "How can I believe you, after seeing this? You've been lying to me since the first moment you stepped foot in Arendelle, fifteen years ago."
He grew quiet at the accusation, his hands clenching at his sides; then, they reached up and began to untie his cravat and unbutton the top of his shirt.
The queen flushed. "What are you—"
The prince parted his collar to reveal a deep black scar on his skin—a scar, she realized, which continued down his chest as he undid one button after the other.
He paused a few inches above his lower ribs, and his hands dropped back to his sides. "It goes all the way down to my navel," he said at length. "One of my oldest brothers, Antoni, snuck up on me while I was asleep and pressed a hot poker against my chest. He said I shouldn't feel any pain, since I was a demon sent from Hell."
His hand hovered over the scar, but did not touch it. "As it turned out, I did feel pain – tremendous pain, actually – which came as a surprise to me, but not to him. After all, what did I know, at ten years old? Maybe I was a demon."
A rueful smile played on his lips.
"Though it was hard to imagine Hell being any worse than the Southern Isles."