The Talking Cure, a frozen fanfic

The Talking Cure

Summary: "To be perfectly candid, I don't have much faith in this new, ahem, medicine. Conversation over tea? How is that supposed to be a remedy for the mind; at least bloodletting did something." The royal family finally gets around to addressing their issues. (Pierced Hearts universe. Content warnings inside.)

Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.

WARNINGS: Rated T for mentions of antisemitism, violence, fears of violence towards children, mental health problems and anxiety attacks.

A/N: As you guys have probably noticed, my timeline for my Pierced Hearts stories is sort of the 1800s put in a blender, although nominally set in the 1860s. This story deals with the "talking cure," a term first used by Josef Breuer to describe his form of verbal therapy and later adopted by the Austrian neurologist Sigmund Freud in his techniques of psychoanalysis in the 1890s. Psychoanalysis had an important early influence on psychotherapy. That being said, the therapy techniques here are more reflective of modern therapy than of Freud's techniques.

On the other end of the 1800s, this story also makes reference to the antisemitic Hep-Hep riots of 1819; these riots began in Bavaria against the Ashkenazi Jews and eventually spread throughout the German Confederation, leading to many deaths and the destruction of a great deal of Jewish property. To learn more about the Hep-Hep riots, please reference here: https: [double slash] en. wikipedia. org[slash]wiki[slash]Hep-Hep_riots

She brought the news in with a cup of coffee and a breakfast roll, and the morning copy of the Herald. Hans was so absorbed that he didn't even notice she was delivering his breakfast instead of one of the maids. "Were you up all night? Again?"

The king shook his head and took the plate absent-mindedly, adjusting his glasses. "No– pass me that form, will you?"

Elsa did so and crossed her arms. "I fell asleep before you got back last night. And the bed was cold when I got up this morning." Hans hummed. "And you have your readers on, which means your eyes are strained…"

He waved her off. "I got up early. Had to read by lamplight."

"How early."

"Ehm…three." At her expression he spread his hands in exasperation. "This has to be finished before the council meets next month! What else was I supposed to do?"

Pawn some of the work off on me, obviously. But of course she didn't say that; even after three years, her husband still insisted on them doing research for budget proposals separately. It was a silly waste of time in her opinion, but she knew he felt he had to prove to her council and people that he hadn't slept his way into the crown, so instead of fighting it she pressed a kiss to the top of his hair and sat down with her own breakfast roll and paperwork. Hans glanced up, pen pausing and saucer of coffee halfway to his mouth.

"No coffee?"

She shook her head and sipped her tea. "The doctor says it's not good to have too much caffeine in my condition."

"I see…"

He went back to writing. The queen glanced at him, weighing her options. The gray early-morning light was playing off his auburn hair and the gold on his pen. "Speaking of my condition…" He hummed in response. "The new doctor has arrived from Cölln-Bärlin. That specialist Queen Malwine told us about?"

"Specialist?" Then he paused and looked up. Elsa met his gaze. "You mean the head-doctor."

"The mental analyst, yes."

"I'm not seeing him," Hans said flatly, going back to the proposal and punctuating a sentence rather harder than necessary.

"You don't have to," the queen said calmly, setting down her saucer. "I'll go on my own. Although I wish you would give this a chance; I think it could be very beneficial to both of us."

"To be perfectly candid, I don't have much faith in this new, ahem, medicine. Conversation over tea? How is that supposed to be a remedy for the mind; at least bloodletting did something."

"Yes, it took away people's vital fluids," Elsa mused. Hans rolled his eyes. "What about confession?"

"That's different. Priests forgive sins; what's a doctor supposed to do for my soul?"

"Well, Bishop Willum swears by this new medicine, however, ah, unconventional."

"I've heard they only want to talk about sex," Hans said frankly, signing the form and opening the drawer for his wax. "And that apparently, their head man thinks we're all lusting after our own parents. On top of that they're certain to think I'm mad, which I'm not, and they won't believe me when I tell them that. Thank you, I'll pass."

"Hans. Please. I think this could help with my…episodes."

There was a pause, and then he looked up. Elsa had rested a hand over her swelling belly.

"You really think so?"

"What do we have to lose?"

She had a point, and he had to concede it. "And you're certain you want me to go with you?"

"I do." And she took his hand. "This can help. It will help."

The king sighed. A "talking cure." Nonsense and quackery. But still…if it could help his wife, he would run to the ends of the earth and back.

"Alright. If this is what you want, then I'll go."

Doctor Abraham Herschel. Elsa had first become interested in the man while on a visit to the Southern Isles, where Queen Malwine had mentioned the rising star of a physician—if, Hans thought, they could even be called that.

"They work with the mad?" Elsa had inquired, as she and the new Queen of the Southern Isles had talked over dinner.

"Mad," Queen Malwine had mused. "Isn't everyone a little mad? You Scandinavians, you believe in the—how should I say it?—the wholesomeness of the world, but I think we Germanics see a touch of madness in everything."

Hans had hidden his dry smile behind his glass, while his wife had frowned. The Southern Queen, Teutonian-born and cousin to one of the most powerful statesmen in Europe, had a habit of not sugaring her words. "I do hope, your Majesty, that you are not implying we are naïve?"

"Naïve? No. Though maybe you put a touch too much faith in the sanity of men." Queen Malwine's smile had seemed to turn down slightly at the edges at that. "Though perhaps we Teutonians believe too little in it. The air and the philosophy in Cölln-Bärlin can be so stuffy; we could use a breath of fresh Scandinavian air—but I digress. Mental analysis is a growing field, and I have personally found it very useful."

"You've seen an analyst?"

"Oh, ja—an excellent young physician by the name of Abraham Herschel. He's a brilliant mind, already published several papers. Now, you do not think I am mad, do you?" Elsa blushed as Queen Malwine smiled triumphantly. "There you are, then. Shall I put you two in contact? I think you will find his ideas fascinating."

That was where the trouble had all begun. Hans regretted that he had ever insinuated to his wife that she might be "neurotic and repressed," even if she was, because she had gotten it into her head that the best way to deal with the problem was to talk about it with some stranger, just because he had a fancy degree from some university in the Weiss-Österreich. Hans didn't care how many degrees the man had, he had read enough on mental analysis to know he wanted nothing to do with the matter, thank you, and he liked his sex life well enough without bringing his mother or, sanity forbid, his dear dead father into bed with him. But he knew that once Elsa had her teeth sunk in something, it was only a matter of time before she started persuading him to participate, too.

They had scheduled a meeting with Dr. Herschel for the first Sunday of the month. Hans had done everything in his power to put it off, going so far as to make a confession, usually an unpleasant activity in itself. When the clock-tower chimed three, however, he knew the jig was up. He sighed and stood. "I suppose it's time, then."

"The Queen has invited me to attend as well, as it happens," said Bishop Willum, rising to his feet with his perfectly tranquil face. Hans mistrusted that face.

"Tell me, Willum," he asked as they made their way across the castle green to the door. "What do you know about this Dr. Herschel?"

"I know he is a brilliant young scholar of the mind. I have heard his papers discussed with some interest by other members of the clergy."

Hans gave him a doubtful look. "I didn't think the Church would be too keen on this sort of study."

"Mental analysis is a young field," Willum answered judiciously, "and I don't mind telling you that I have some reservations about many of its base presumptions. But which man knows his own heart to its very depths? Good discussion is a mirror which we can hold up to ourselves; perhaps this will help give the Queen and yourself some peace of mind."

"At any rate, I've looked into the man. Apparently even his colleagues consider him unconventional."

"Yes," Willum mused. "That's because he's too conventional." They had reached the castle door, and he held it open for the king. "After a fashion."

"Oh?"

"Yes; he tends to question some of their more, ah, controversial theories-"

"Like people wanting to-"

"Yes, yes. But their methods are sound, and he is well-versed in them."

"I see…"

Dr. Herschel was waiting for them in the library, which was full of warm summer sunshine from the stained-glass window and the occasional swirling dust mote. Elsa was there already, drinking tea, while Anna hovered at the edge of the couch, interrogating the man with questions.

"And then, the duck said to me that it was snuggly, and then all of a sudden the duck became Kristoff! What do you think that means?"

The doctor laughed and set down his cup of tea. "I think it means you visited the duck pond earlier in the day." Anna's mouth formed into a little o as she thought back. "But as to the rest of it, in my field we consider dreams to be a subconscious expression of desire or fear. In this case, I think it probably symbolizes your love for your absent husband."

"I guess that makes sense," Anna sighed. "I've been dreaming about him ever since he went north."

"There you are, then. Ah!" The physician rose to his feet and gave a bow as he saw Hans and Willum in the doorway. "Your Majesty; your Excellency. It is an honor."

"Thank you." Hans felt obliged to enter; the doctor took his hand and shook it smartly, and the king took the moment to look over the man. He was the wiry sort, in a sharp-cut black frock coat, with a neatly trimmed black beard and wire circle-framed glasses. His eyes twinkled when he smiled, and the king was momentarily thrown off his guard.

"Please, call me Willum." The bishop shook the doctor's hand as well. "And welcome to Arendelle."

"Danke schoen, it is a beautiful kingdom. Well! Shall we get to business then?"

"I should probably leave," Anna said, giving her sister a hug. "Are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Of course."

Anna left, and the four sat down on the sofa and assorted chairs, the king and queen side-by-side. Elsa felt Hans's arm lounge protectively over her shoulders, and she gave him a smile. Dr. Herschel took a leather-bound notebook out of his black case and opened it to a fresh sheet, gleaming in the afternoon light from the windows.

"So," said the physician with a smile, "allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Dr. Abraham Herschel; I am by trade a neurologist, and studied under Dr. Sieghard Friedt at the Universität zu Vedunia–"

"Yes, we are aware of your qualifications," Hans said shortly. Elsa pinched his knee, and Dr. Herschel glanced at him with a sudden keenness in his eyes.

"How flattering; truly, it is an honor to be known among such ranks, and so far from home." He smiled. "And of course, I know who you are. Their Majesties the King and Queen of Arendelle—blessed, so they say, by Heaven itself."

"They say rightly," Willum confirmed. Dr. Herschel's eyes lit up.

"How fascinating! I would like to hear more about that—but! Some other day, yes? I believe I am here primarily on the Queen's request; your Majesty, do explain."

Elsa glanced to Willum, who nodded encouragingly, and then to Hans, who, despite his dislike of the situation, squeezed her hand. She took a deep breath. "Well, ehm, as you can see, I'm expecting a child."

"Congratulations. Do you have names chosen yet?"

"Henrik, if it's a boy. Annelise for a girl."

"How wonderful; do go on."

"I…well, I'm not sure how to put this…I know I'm being silly."

"Oh, I very much doubt that," said Dr. Herschel. "You do not seem like a silly person."

Elsa smiled, but it was a nervous smile which faded quickly, and her hand convulsed, clutching the fabric of her dress over her belly. Willum spoke up:

"My Queen, we have discussed on many occasions your more anxious and scrupulous nature." The Queen nodded uneasily, shifting in her seat. "Would you be willing to explain that a little for the good doctor?"

"Oh– I suppose, certainly. Well I– when I was a little girl I used to worry about, well, everything. Hot stoves, candles, accidents–"

"Accidents?" The doctor made a note. "Could you elaborate?"

Hans fully expected her to say, "That I would hurt someone with my magic," but her response instead was almost airy as she waved her hand: "Oh, you know—that the servants would fall off the ladders or that Anna would trip down the stairs."

"I see," Dr. Herschel hummed, writing as she spoke. Elsa paused, and he waved his hand. "Please continue."

"When I was old enough to attend confession it used to take me half an hour, sometimes more. Eventually Willum and I developed a system of sorts, which helped; he thinks I worry too much."

"Do you think he's right?"

Elsa flushed. "Well I– I don't know. Isn't it better to prepare for the worst?"

"Hm. And how has this worrying affected you recently?"

"Well I– I've always worried about my magic." She looked down at her hands, which were sheathed in silken gloves. She had taken to wearing them again recently, ever since the episode during which she had accidentally frozen Hans's hands. That had resulted in an argument with Anna which had escalated to an outright screaming match when the king had stepped in and told Anna to lay off. "It's so powerful…for the last several years I've had more control over it, but recently…" She faltered.

"Please, go on. You're quite safe here, there is nothing to be anxious about."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "Recently, I've been having… episodes. I've started worrying again, and when I worry the magic seeps out, and when the magic escapes I worry even more. So you see, it's a vicious cycle."

"And how do you feel, during these 'episodes?'"

"A storm feels...trapped, inside me."

"A storm?" Elsa nodded uncomfortably. "Of what? –I presume you don't mean snowflakes."

The doctor's weak joke elicited a jolted laugh from the queen, and the tension eased a moment. "Fears. Thoughts. Bad–" Her voice jumped, "Bad thoughts."

"I see. And could you...describe, some of these thoughts?"

Her eyes flew to the bishop, and Hans glanced over, studying her pale face. There was terror written in every line. "Of course," the doctor amended, "you don't need to discuss anything with which you're too uncomfortable."

"I worry that I'll hurt–" Her eyes flickered to Hans's, for just the barest moment, "–someone. Someone I love. My family means everything to me, if I ever hurt them—I don't know what I'd do. Anna—she's already been struck, twice. Both times it almost killed her. I don't want to do that to anyone else I care about, ever again."

"You are afraid you will hurt someone you love?" She nodded jerkily. "Does your husband have the same fear? I know he possesses similar power."

"No. Hans has more control over it; I thought maybe– but if he can control it, then that means there's something wrong with me, doesn't it? I'm the one who can't handle it. I thought I could—I had a chance to give up my magic, but I didn't, and lately it's so much more difficult, almost as difficult as it was before—if anything happens–" Hans squeezed her hand again, and she made a valiant effort to pull herself together. "–If anything happens, it will be– my fault." Her hands were still vicing and knotting themselves in her lap. "It's– I know it's silly– well, it's not, I could, but–"

"Please, go on."

"I could hurt somebody– with my magic. I could kill someone." Her hands were locking together now. "I've done it before. It would be easy. I c-could hurt them–"

"And the baby?"

She sucked in a sharp breath, and Hans stood. "Sir, that's a step too far," he said sternly.

"Please, excuse me. It is all part of the process. Although, my Queen, if you would like to do this alone–"

"No!" The word was almost wild. "He deserves to be here; he has to know–"

"Why do you feel he has to know?"

"Because I could hurt him!" The words burst out of her like a sob. "Because I could kill him, I could kill the baby, if I lost control, I could freeze it, I could kill it–"

"Elsa, calm down!" Hans tried to take her shoulder only for her to flinch away violently, her fingers suddenly jumping up to clutch at her face in distress. Her eyes had shut tight.

"What if I did it?! I can see myself– I want to, or a part of me wants to! To hurt people! I see it in my head– no, no, you have to get out of here, please, all of you!" Frost was crystalizing across the room as her figure hunched over in the chair. "I can't control it!"

"Yes, you can," the doctor said soothingly. Hans wanted to hit him, but something staid his hand. "You already are, right now. Take a deep breath. In through your nose…" She obeyed, her eyes still shut, hands grasping at her hair. "Good. Out through your mouth. Counts of three. And in…"

The frost began to dissipate. "And out…" When at last the queen was breathing normally again, tears were rolling down her face. She sobbed quietly into her hands.

"Sir," Hans said coldly, "I will give you half an hour to get out of this castle, and then so help me I will show you a madman."

"Your Majesty, please," the bishop said calmly, surprising the monarch. "Dr. Herschel will explain." Still mistrustful, the king sat down beside his wife again, putting his arm back around her shoulder. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Queen Elsa." She had taken out a kerchief and was mopping at her eyes. Dr. Herschel had leaned forward, his expression kindly and sympathetic. "Was this just now one of the episodes you described?" She nodded miserably. "Then, your Majesty, I think I can say with confidence that your condition is quite treatable."

She looked up. "W-what? But you saw–"

"You are afflicted with unwarranted feelings of guilt and fear where other people are not, and so you prepare for every eventuality of disaster you can imagine. But it is never enough. These anxieties, they are like an itch from an insect, when you scratch them they grow only more inflamed. Have I accurately described your sensations?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, perfectly."

"Perhaps you find yourself reviewing your work repeatedly for the slightest of errors? Unnerved by feelings of environmental or corporeal imbalance? Fixating upon certain numbers or dates?"

"Yes, all of those—but how did you guess–?"

"You have a good bishop, and a clever one, to recognize the root of the trouble so early. But scrupulosity is not merely a spiritual malaise, but also a mental one.

Elsa's mouth fell open as she thought back. "Scrupulosity…"

"It is a common ailment, characterized by an abnormal amount of anxiety and habitual actions aimed at soothing the fear which, ultimately, are fruitless. Perhaps," he said gently, "you find you have certain rituals you must perform, without which you feel endangered or exposed?" Elsa was staring down at the gloves, brows narrowed. Gears seemed to be turning inside her mind. "Those gloves, if I might ask, when did you start wearing them?"

"My father gave them to me," she said slowly. "When I was a little girl. Papa...papa acted somewhat similarly. He worried, all the time—he worried about everything." She shook her head. "I always thought it was what made him a good king. He was always prepared for anything…"

"I am not surprised. The affliction often runs in families."

"Then this didn't come from my magic…"

"Your fears over your magic may have exacerbated it, but no, I believe they are unrelated phenomena."

"And you can treat it?" she demanded, gaze shooting upwards. "You think this can be fixed?" She had a hungry look in her eyes, and Hans felt his hope rally. A determined, even dangerous Elsa was far easier to talk down than a scared or guilty Elsa.

"There are methods we can try to help alleviate some of the anxiety, and more importantly, help you learn to manage it." He leaned back in his chair, hazel eyes glittering with ambition. "Well? What do you say, your Majesty? Shall we give this a shot?"

The arrangements were made. Dr. Herschel would remain in Arendelle for the next six months, until Christmas, during which time he would have "sessions" with the queen three times a week. In return, the castle would pay for his room and board at an inn in the town, along with a twelve-month research grant, for which Dr. Herschel was most appreciative. Out of concern for international security, Dr. Herschel would strike any identifying information from his notes and release no papers based on his research in Arendelle for three years. It was all very polite and professional, and it still left a bad taste in Hans's mouth.

He expressed as much to Elsa that evening when they were turning in for bed. "I still don't trust him," he grumbled as he lit the lantern. Elsa was unlacing her braid.

"You don't trust him because you know he's as smart as you," she said frankly, picking up the brush and running it through her pale hair. She paused. "Possibly smarter." Hans scoffed. "It's true. You don't like that you can't fool him."

"I can't fool you, and I like you, don't I?"

"You didn't like me at first. 'Nobody was getting anywhere with me,' wasn't that it?" When he didn't answer she looked over her shoulder to find him watching her with a somewhat wounded glare. "I'm sorry."

"That was low."

"You're right, and I'm sorry." She sighed and sat down on the bed. "Why are you so against this?"

"Because I don't want some stranger looking at you like some–" He gestured vaguely. "Like some hysterical pre-partum goose. You're not mad, and you don't need a doctor. You're just a little–"

"Anxious."

"High-strung. You're high-strung. Most of the greatest rulers in history were high-strung; why should that be treated like a bad thing? The Francian Emperor, he's the one who needs a doctor, and nobody questions it because he's a man–" She was giving him a wry smile. "What?"

"You should see him," she declared, tossing open the covers. Hans scoffed. "I'm serious."

"Why, so he can tell me I'm criminally insane?"

"No," she said tartly, rolling over so her back was to him. "Because you're high-strung."

Hans sat quietly for a while after that, looking at the little candle-flame jumping and flickering in the glass flute of the lamp. Then he sighed and lay down. "I love you."

"I know."

"I mean it."

There was a smile in her voice with her last sleepy reply: "I know."

He still didn't trust the doctor. He trusted him a hell of a lot less when Dr. Herschel suggested Elsa start attending sessions without him or the bishop present.

He stayed behind after that meeting, until Elsa and Willum had gone and Dr. Herschel was packing up his notebook into his black leather case. "Why do you want to speak with the Queen alone?" he asked flatly, causing the Teutonian to stand up, surprised.

"I'm sorry?"

"Elsa. Why do you want to speak with her alone?"

"Because I sense she is less willing to talk freely with other people present. Why do you ask? Do you not trust your wife?" the doctor remarked, and the king colored at the insinuation.

"I am not some chauvinist imbecile," Hans said sharply. "I trust Elsa with my life; it's you I don't trust. The Queen is the most powerful person in Arendelle, and as a citizen I think I have a right to know what kind of influence you'll have over her."

To Hans's surprise, the doctor took a step back, and he saw a sudden wariness behind those spectacles—and not, to the king's confusion, the wariness of a guilty man. A somewhat bitter smile crossed Dr. Herschel's face. "You say you have heard of my credentials?"

"I have."

"Oh? And how much have you heard about me? Who I am, where I come from? What sort of background I have?"

"I–" Hans faltered. He hadn't, in fairness, looked much into the doctor's personal life, and he wasn't sure what the man was getting at. I don't even know if he has a family back in Teutonia. "...Not much, in truth."

"And yet you do not trust me. You think I am here to influence the Queen. Of course." The smile had grown painful, and he picked up the case and headed for the door. "If you wanted me to leave, your Majesty, you could have said so." His hand was on the door knob, and Hans spoke before he could lose his nerve:

"No, I don't want you to leave."

Dr. Herschel turned back.

"...My wife says you've been helpful. I…I've been impolite. I'm sorry." He gestured vaguely. "To be frank, you're right, I don't know much about you. It's this new medicine I'm wary of, not you personally. Please, don't punish the Queen on my account."

Dr. Herschel paused, then let go of the doorknob and turned back. "So…then it is mental analysis you mistrust? Not myself?"

"I'm not too interested in sharing my—what was it that paper said? My darkest fantasies, my twisted nightmares, my half-conscious thoughts?"

"You know something about mental analysis, I see." Hans tilted his head with a shrug.

"I've looked into the field. Your colleagues find you unconventional; your work on the Liddell case is famous."

The doctor shrugged. "Everyone wrote her off as mad and wanted to bundle her away to an asylum. She wasn't harming anyone; little girls have big imaginations, nothing wrong with it. Granted, someone needed to have a discussion with her on keeping one foot in the real world, but fantasy is a perfectly valid way of doing so."

Hans nodded distractedly, looking around the room. The doctor gestured to the sofa. "Would you like to sit down? I think there are some krumkake left."

Hans knew what he was doing, but acquiesced nonetheless. He felt ashamed for having been so rude to the doctor, it was the least he could do. And besides, he liked krumkake.

"I suppose you think I'm a very convincing madman," he said ruefully, as the doctor took a cookie himself and retrieved his notebook. "You know—the sort who goes around killing beautiful women at crossroads but looks sane and charming by daylight."

The Teutonian chuckled. "Nein, nein, your Majesty. I don't think you're a madman."

"What a relief."

"No, I think you're a narcissist."

Hans raised his eyebrows.

"A recovering narcissist," the doctor corrected. "Uncommon, but not unheard of."

"Thank you."

"But I'm curious. What caused such a change? Usually, forgive me, people do not change for something as easily obtained as romance."

Hans smiled painfully. "I didn't change for the Queen, and you're right, that wouldn't have caused me to do so. But I...realized what I really wanted."

"Oh? And what was that?"

"Isn't it obvious? I wanted to be able to love myself."

The doctor chuckled at the pun. "I see. And you realized that you were…"

"An unlikeable bastard. To put it mildly."

"Ah."

"And I…didn't want to let down someone who was important to me. More important than a paramour could have been, at that stage in my life."

"I see." To Hans's surprise, the doctor didn't press further. "How was your childhood? Pleasant, unpleasant?"

He shrugged. "A hellhole of maltreatment and neglect. I'm afraid you won't find many mysteries, doctor; rotten trees produce rotten apples."

The doctor nodded and wrote down a note. "Tell me, do you consider yourself humorous?"

"I beg pardon?"

"Humor, jokes. Do you enjoy using them?"

"I suppose," Hans replied, bewildered. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Well, yes. But you're trying to entertain me, and I wanted to know if you were the comic type, so to speak, or merely nervous."

There was silence for several moments. The king's mouth had fallen open, and he stared at the Teutonian. The man peered back mildly through his glasses.

"...Hellfire, you're good."

The doctor smiled. "Danke schoen."

Hans sighed. "Yes, I'm nervous. Of course I'm nervous; I don't enjoy having people poke around inside my head."

"What are you afraid I'll find?"

Another long silence, this one considerably more pregnant. At last, the king shrugged, eyes wandering to the window. It was another nice summer day outside.

"Something I'll be afraid to find."

The doctor eyed him, but didn't press it. "I see…You mentioned you have nightmares? Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"Only when I'm stressed."

"I see. And do these dreams worry you?"

Hans pointed a finger at him. "Ah. You're not getting me that easily."

"You were the one who brought them up; I presumed you are troubled by them and wished to discuss them. Are you?"

The doctor watched the king bite his tongue, as if weighing a risk. "...They're somewhat violent. Towards my family."

"Oh?"

"Towards the queen in particular." He gave a sarcastic smile. "Well, are you going to tell me what that means?"

"It's perfectly obvious what it means; you feel guilty about trying to kill your beloved wife. I do not see much mystery in this."

"Aren't you supposed to tell me there's something sexual about it?"

"She is your wife; of course there is something sexual about it. Forgive me, your Majesty, but if you are trying to shock me I am afraid you will have to invent something a little less, ah, predictable."

Hans laughed despite himself. "So I'm predictable, then?"

"Thoroughly." The doctor smiled kindly. "Why don't we talk about what is really troubling you? Unless you merely sought me out to question my methods, that is."

Hans gestured with an exasperated half-smile, half-grimace. "...The Queen wants me to start seeing you."

"Oh?" Dr. Herschel raised his eyebrows.

"But I don't want to."

"Are you sure? I will not bite." Hans didn't answer. The doctor leaned forward. "Why are you so averse to it?"

The king didn't answer right away, his eyes instead wandering once again to the window. The analyst made a mental note of that and watched him placidly.

"You said you think I'm a narcissist. Not a madman."

"That's true." Hans didn't answer. "...But perhaps you are not as certain as I am?"

"Just what makes you so sure?"

"To be perfectly candid, your Majesty, I was not when I first arrived," said Dr. Herschel frankly. "But then, I heard you mention your horse."

"Sitron?" The king was surprised; he had mentioned the horse off-handedly in an earlier session with Elsa.

The physician smiled. "Yes—a lovely name. Why did you choose it?"

"His coloring; he has a yellowish coat."

"How long have you had him?"

"Fourteen years now. I raised him myself." Hans smiled, his eyes crinkling reminiscently. "He was born too early, very sickly, but I nursed him back to health. I never had to break him; he trusts me completely. I know it's stupid, but sometimes I think he can read my mind." He returned to earth and saw the doctor smiling. "What?"

"You like horses, your Majesty?"

"Very much. They're excellent companions. Better than most people, but don't tell my wife I said that."

"And there you are," said Dr. Herschel simply. Hans blinked. "It's rare for a true madman to have empathy for animals—more often they maltreat them—but you say you nursed your horse back from the brink of death. 'Companion,' you called him, my my. No, sir, you are no madman."

"Well, having empathy for animals doesn't count for much if you can't be empathetic to people," Hans said dourly. But the doctor shrugged.

"I am not so sure. People can be terribly cruel. It is not always easy to feel sympathy for them."

"Aren't we supposed to?"

"In a healthy mind, yes. But which of us is healthy? And who of us is always moved to sympathy for those around us? Very often we must reason ourselves into it, use our minds to do what our hearts will not. And then it is a matter of what we choose to do with that information. Are we kind to others when we do not feel like being kind? Do we care for them when we do not feel care for them?"

"That doesn't change the fact that I can be a cold-hearted bastard."

"You adapted to the environment you were in to survive," Dr. Herschel said simply. "You were young; you were scared. You became what you are before you could truly make those decisions for yourself. Now, you are in a new environment." He spread his hands to indicate the sunny library around them. "You will learn new ways of being, new means not to survive, but to thrive. It will take time. A river does not carve a canyon overnight. But you must be willing, must want to change. Even if the desire is only in here," he tapped his head, "and not here." He tapped his chest.

"I want to change," Hans said honestly. "I do. I have been. But after all these years I still feel stuck—trapped inside myself." He sighed. "I know that sounds insane."

"It sounds thoroughly sane to me."

There was a long silence. Then the king leaned back in his chair.

"So. What does this entail? How do you fix me?"

"Ah. Your Majesty, I think you have misunderstood my purpose for being here." He adjusted his glasses and peered at Hans through his spectacles, hazel-brown eyes watching him. "I do not 'fix' people. The mind cannot be repaired with a scalpel and a few stitches, or some new tincture."

"Then what is it we're paying you for?"

"To help you learn how to change your way of thinking. To help you discover new habits, new means of coping with reality."

"Sounds like you think my case is terminal, then."

"Your brain may have problems; I do not know. I am not here to cut open your skull. Most people, not all, but most, are sufficiently self-aware to choose to change their own behavior when it is made apparent to them. I am merely here to point out to you thoughts and behaviors which you do not yet fully recognize. From there, you can discover those new ways of being."

"And how long will that take?"

The physician raised his eyebrows. "Your Majesty, personal growth is not a process which ends." He chuckled abruptly. "But if you are asking how long your staff will have to stock up on tea and krumkake, I usually see a client for around six months to a year, longer upon their request."

He watched the king mull this over, chewing on his bottom lip. At last, the man sighed and rolled his shoulders.

"Alright." He gave a half-smirk. "How does this start?"

"Tea?"

"Ah! Thank you, you are too kind. Cream, no sugar, please."

She tossed a smile over her shoulder and then poured the saucer full of the fawn-colored liquid. The sunlight from behind the lattice window gleamed brightly off the edges of the porcelaine; the room was calm, warm. Pleasant.

So why are you so nervous?

Dr. Herschel wasn't watching her as she returned with the cup, rather flipping through his notes with a mild frown that indicated he was trying to find his page. She set the teacups down on the table and sat down on the sofa. "Well!" Dr. Herschel said with satisfaction, apparently having found his page. "How are you today, your Majesty?"

"Ah– alright. I suppose." She tried for a congenial smile, but it felt too nervous to be real, and folded her hands politely in her lap. Dr. Herschel glanced at them.

"Are you still feeling nervous?" She hesitated to answer. "That is quite understandable, but please, do not worry; these sessions will look very much like the ones with the King and the bishop present."

Elsa nodded again anxiously. She had initially requested to meet as a group out of apprehension, but when the doctor had suggested meeting alone she had followed his expertise. Now she wasn't sure if that had been a good idea. She gestured awkwardly to the sofa. "Shouldn't I lay down?"

"If you wish. I personally find it makes most of my patients more nervous."

That eased the tension a little, and she decided to remain sitting, picking up her teacup. Dr. Herschel sipped his. "Ah. Excellent stuff."

"Thank you."

"So. How are we feeling today?"

"Ah… well, I– I had another one of my… episodes, yesterday." Her gaze fell to her knees, ashamed.

"Oh? How did this one go? Was it better or worse than the others?"

"Better, I think. I'm not sure." Well, it was certainly better than some of them had been. "I didn't freeze anyone this time."

"Hm? Ah, yes." He flipped back in his notebook to one of the first pages. "You mentioned in our correspondence last month that you had accidentally frozen the king's hands during one particularly difficult incident?"

"Yes; he'd been trying to comfort me…"

"That was the one which convinced you to invite me to Arendelle, as I recall." She nodded. "What do you think went differently this time?"

"I-I'm not sure. I think just…knowing that this was normal, or at least not uncommon…" The doctor made a note, and she felt compelled to add: "But I still wasn't able to prevent it."

"Prevention, my queen, is not the goal; dealing with them in the moment is. Perhaps you could identify what triggered this episode?"

"I was walking with Anna and her children, down by the fjord. Little Hildá had picked a flower for me, but when Peder started crying—it startled me, and I froze the flower."

"I see."

"All of a sudden having them all so close to me, it didn't feel safe, and I was afraid for the baby–" She took a deep breath, trying to slow her rising heartbeat. Dr. Herschel was watching her, head tilted. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be; you have nothing to be sorry for. My queen, I suspect you are afraid of what you do not know because you do not know it. You fear what is unknown, what is uncontrollable: the future. But when has the future ever been as bad as you imagined it would be?"

"I froze my sister's heart," the queen pointed out. "I nearly killed her. Twice."

"Have you done so since?"

"No—but a baby is so fragile, so much more fragile than a grown person…" Her fingers closed compulsively as the images assaulted her head: the little fingers frosting over; the tiny face turning blue, blue as bruised berries—

"Your Majesty?"

She started. "I-I'm sorry; did I drift off?"

"You were quite absorbed." Her eyes flickered away as he studied her. "Those must have been some thoughts." Elsa nodded uneasily. "Could you describe some of them for me?"

Her tongue felt stuck to the back of her throat. "…Do I have to?"

"No. But it may help."

Somehow she summoned the courage, and in slow, halting fragments she began to explain. As she did so, the tension in her chest grew until at last she exclaimed: "–I try to stop thinking about it, I do, but I can't! What's the matter with me? Why can't I just be normal?"

The queen looked so distressed and angry that the physician felt his face soften with sympathy. "My dear, nothing is the matter with you—other than a little excessive worrying, anyway."

"But I–"

"–You are a good and kind-hearted soul, and unfortunately your condition feeds off that kindness. You cannot protect everyone, your Majesty, and I know that burden must weigh more heavily on the shoulders of a queen than on an ordinary woman." She nodded with a sigh, shoulders slumping. "You must remove the burden from yourself of feeling obligated to prevent any harm from befalling those around you. And you must try to stop banishing these thoughts; this will never work, no. The mind's nature is to think!" He clapped his hands. "And so it will think. What you must do instead is accept them."

"Accept them!" Her face paled. "But they're horrible; I don't want to–"

"You misunderstand. I do not mean to morally accept; rather, you must receive them, let them approach you, and then allow them to leave. Have you ever stood on a bridge looking over a river in the fall?" The queen nodded uncertainly. "These thoughts, they are like leaves which flow under the bridge. They will come, and they will pass; your task is to remain on the bridge and let them come and pass, without leaping down onto any particular one of them. Does this make sense?"

"I suppose…"

"And, your Majesty?" She looked up at him, and he smiled kindly. "You are not morally obliged to dwell upon them. Neither worrying nor not-worrying will make you a better or worse mother, or queen. I will not say either that you must do your best; what is one's 'best?' Such an unhelpful sentiment, 'best.' No, all you can do is what is reasonable; who can ask more of you than that?"

There was silence in the library for a moment. Then the queen let out a shaky breath and nodded, mopping her eyes.

"I hadn't even realized I was thinking that." She bit her lip. "But what if I miss something, neglect something? If my people, o-or my child, is endangered and I don't realize it–"

"You cannot possibly think of everything. Moreover, your Majesty, children are resourceful, and remarkably durable. And already you adore this child, no? Then you will be a good mother. And good is good enough, I think." He chuckled. "I have yet to meet a perfect parent, but if I do I promise to write down all their secrets and share them with you."

Elsa giggled despite herself and nodded, leaning back against the couch with a hand rested over her belly. "But what if I…what if there's a part of me, that wants to hurt someone with my magic?"

"And why would you think that?"

An image of crossbows and golden ice glittered in her mind. "...Because the one time I nearly did, it felt good."

She explained the memory, shame-faced. When she had, the doctor gave a thoughtful nod. "That is not surprising. You were defending your very life; you were emotionally excited. The heat of battle is a strong intoxicant, or so I've heard."

"But I see it in my head, all the time. It would be so easy, if I got angry, to hurt Anna or Hans or…"

"Even if that were true," Dr. Herschel said gently, "you have never done so, have you?"

"No, but…"

"And I daresay you have matured a good deal since that day. I do not believe you wish to harm anyone, your Majesty, but even if you did, a wish is not reality. A thought is not reality. You are in control of your own decisions."

"I don't feel in control of this." She looked down at her gloved hands. "I thought I'd mastered this, but now…"

The doctor watched her silently for a moment, trying to hit upon the right thing to say. At last, turning his gaze to the library around him, an idea bloomed in his mind.

"They say you were quite a recluse before, your Majesty." Elsa looked up again. "During your father's reign, your people never saw you, and even after becoming regent you rarely made an appearance beyond the castle gates."

"I was afraid of hurting someone with my powers. The castle was the only place I felt safe."

"Yet now, the gates are open. You meet with your council, greet your people, welcome foreign ambassadors." He gestured to himself. "You invited a total stranger into your home." She smiled despite herself. "You have made much progress. Yes, you wear your gloves. And so? I do not think you need them, but if they make you more comfortable, then wear them for a little while longer. In time, you will take them off again. What you have accomplished besides them is much more significant."

"But Anna says–"

"Anna," the doctor said gently, "is not you. She does not know your needs. She reacted quite strongly to seeing the gloves, yes?" Elsa nodded. "I suspect that has more to do with her than yourself. Perhaps if you reassured her you won't be cloistering yourself behind closed doors again, she may feel less afraid."

"I hadn't even considered that…poor Anna…"

"But," Dr. Herschel added, "you must also realize that Anna's happiness is not dependent upon you. She is a grown woman; she must be in charge of her own life, her own emotions. And you must stop taking that responsibility onto yourself. Does this make sense?"

"Yes… yes, I think so. Thank you, Dr. Herschel."

She sat Anna down that evening in her sister's bedroom and explained herself. Elsa had been afraid that Anna would fly off the handle again, but instead, after some initial pushback, the princess burst into tears upon being reassured that her sister had no intention of shutting her out again.

"I guess I didn't realize it," Anna said, after thoroughly soaking the queen's dress with tears, "but those gloves kind of came to mean something to me too, you know? I just got so scared I was going to lose you again…"

"I'm not going anywhere. I just…need a little space to breathe, sometimes." Anna nodded, and Elsa smiled sadly and brushed a lock of red hair out of her sister's eyes. "It was hard on both of us, being separated like that."

"Yeah, I just… I'm sorry for taking it out on you. I guess part of me is still angry with you, even though I know it wasn't really your fault…"

"Anna, I'm–" Sorry. But no. She'd apologized enough times, and besides, what was it Dr. Herschel had said? Anna had to be in charge of her own emotions. "I'm grateful you told me that. I love you, so much."

"I love you too." And then Anna threw her arms around her sister and very nearly squeezed the life out of her.

Three days later, Elsa saw Anna serving the good doctor tea and krumkake in the library, and discreetly closed the door with a smile.

"Uh, sorry. I don't really bake, so…no krumkake, I guess."

"To be quite honest, your Highness, I presumed that the castle staff had done the baking."

Kristoff laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nah, that was all Anna. She likes baking; growing up all alone locked in a castle gave her a lot of time to learn. But I guess she probably already told you that."

"I'm not allowed to discuss what I may have learned in other patients' sessions."

"Oh, sorry."

"So." Dr. Herschel leaned back. "You've just returned from the north, yes? That must have been quite a journey."

"You could say that again. Jeez, I've been away so long I was starting to forget Anna's voice– sorry, I'm rambling. I'm not really sure how this works."

Dr. Herschel gestured for him to continue. "Talk away."

So Kristoff did. With a little prompting he explained in summary most of his childhood and how he came to be a prince, while the analyst nodded and took down notes. "Ah, so you were adopted by a family in the forest, yes?"

"Yup. Good folks, raised me right, looked after me. They love Anna and the kids to death, too. Ma's over the moon about being a grandtr—uh, grandmother."

"They seem like a very loving family, very respectful of your choices. Not exactly traditional."

"I mean, they are, for where I come from. Money's got its downsides, ya know? Jeez, you should see the way some of these other aristocrats stick up their noses at me, the way I raise my kids; say I'm 'too soft' on my boy. Well they can shove their money and 'social respectability' where the sun don't shine."

Dr. Herschel smiled. "It sounds like you face a lot of judgement, in the circles you run in."

"I mean, yeah, but that's the job, right? I'm not one to complain…"

"Why not?"

Kristoff blinked. "Sorry?"

"Why not complain? In private, at the very least. A listening ear can be a real benefit, I've found." When Kristoff didn't reply, the analyst added gently: "That was why you came here today, wasn't it?"

"...Yeah," Kristoff said slowly, as if testing waters of an uncertain depth. "Yeah, it was." Dr. Herschel gestured to continue. "I mean, if you don't mind me getting some things off my chest?"

"By all means. I think it is important that we acknowledge the emotions these stressful situations cause in us, and recognize them as valid, before returning to the outside world to address them."

"Valid. Yeah. I like that." Kristoff hesitated. "So long as you don't think I'm overreacting…"

"Overreacting. Now, that is a burdened term indeed," Dr. Herschel mused. "Overreacting for whom, your Highness? Of course, we all have obligations to respond appropriately and rationally to how we feel, but merely to feel is no crime, no." He leaned forward, brows pinching slightly as he studied the man with a knowing look. "Your family seems to be a very safe environment for you—a place where you can express those emotions freely, yes, without judgement?"

"Oh yeah, for sure. They're big talkers, big huggers. Gets a little on my nerves sometimes, to tell you the truth."

"Ah, how wonderful it is, to have such a family. But the outside world, well, that is a different story, I imagine…"

"Well yeah, but it's like that for everyone, isn't it? Gotta keep your head down, let things roll off your back. It's just how the world is; no sense in complaining about what you can't change. You've just gotta be the bigger man, you know?"

"Ah. You are, as I understand it, a prominent member of the Northern Tribes?"

"Uh, sure, you could say that. I'm not a village leader or anything, but yeah, most of them are in my duchy so I represent them on the Queen's Council."

"What would your younger self have thought of that? Could he ever have imagined himself where you are now?"

"Oh, no, definitely not. I mean when I was a kid most Arendellians sorta pretended we didn't exist, right? Still do, in some parts. I tried to hide it as much as I could, if I'm being honest, but that didn't always work too well. Plus me and my family didn't have much money or really any sort of standing, so…"

"That must have been difficult."

Kristoff shrugged. "It was the way things were. Life isn't fair; plenty of people were worse off than I was, and I was grateful for what I had. No point in being envious over what I didn't."

"Hm. 'Life isn't fair,' you said. That is true. But shouldn't life be fair?"

"Sure, but wishing for something doesn't make it happen."

"So then who did it benefit, I wonder, to tell you not to complain, not to express unhappiness? Certainly not you. Why should you have to– what was the phrase? 'Let things roll off your back?' Didn't you have the right to be angry, that life was not fair?"

There was a long pause, and then Kristoff sat back a little in the chair. "You know," he said, raising his eyebrows with a nod, "you've got a damned good point."

"Do I? Please," Dr. Herschel picked up his notebook, "do go on."

"I see. And you say these hallucinations have mostly stopped now?"

"Yes, except for the nightmares."

"And those seem to be confined to periods of extreme duress?"

"For the most part."

Hans watched the physician nod and scribble down something in his notebook, and felt a prickle along the back of his neck. He cleared his throat. "In any case, it goes without saying that my time in the dungeons were in some ways formative and in others…less so."

"Indeed. This guard you mentioned, Bertram, he sounds like a good man."

"He is. One of the best. I wouldn't have made it through alive without him."

"Friendships are so valuable, are they not?" Dr. Herschel mused. "They allow us not only to engage with one another, but also to understand who we ourselves are."

"I suppose, yes."

"And how have you liked life here in Arendelle? Have you enjoyed it?"

"I've never been happier. The Queen is the closest companion I've ever had; my brother- and sister-in-law-" He broke off suddenly, a look of discomfort crossing his face. Dr. Herschel raised an eyebrow.

"Did something happen with your sister-in-law lately?"

Hans sighed. "We had an argument, several weeks back, over the queen's gloves."

"Ah, yes."

"I said things I didn't mean. I don't know how it got so out of control." He paused. "She called me 'infuriating.'"

"What prompted that, I wonder?"

"I'm not sure. I must have said something that really set her off. In my own defense that isn't difficult; Anna's got quite a temper."

"I see." Dr. Herschel nodded and wrote down another note. Hans bit the inside of his cheek, watching the pen move. He wondered if he could learn to read upside-down. "Has there been any resolution to this argument?"

"She came and apologized to me yesterday. I did the same."

"But you don't feel that it's resolved." He wrote down another little note. Hans bit his tongue.

"It's as resolved as it can be."

"Hm. And how is your relationship with your sister-in-law? Forgive me, but your history is somewhat–"

"If it's all the same to you, that's not really your business," Hans said, more sharply than he meant to. Dr. Herschel glanced up, surprised.

"Oh. Well, if you wish to discuss something else–"

"Yes, yes, I suppose." He ran a hand irritably through his hair and glanced to the window again. It was a bit cloudier and cooler today, and he could imagine the nice breeze off the fjord…

"What about your brother-in-law? Prince Bjorgman, I believe his name is?"

"Kristoff? He's a good friend of mine, a good man. No, we get along just fine."

"I see." Another note. What did he need all these notes for? Hans could see he'd started a new section, but there were several notes from the section on his argument with Anna. Of course, that would be of interest to a scholar of the psyche, their whole sordid little affair was probably rife with warped meaning for an analyst–

"Your Majesty?"

Hans blinked. "Sorry? Did you say something?"

"Yes, I– forgive me, your Majesty, but is anything the matter?" The doctor was frowning at him now. "You seem like you're elsewhere; if something is the matter–"

"As a matter of fact, yes, something is the matter. I think it would be best if we cut this short, doctor." Even as he was speaking the king was standing up; Dr. Herschel watched in bewilderment. "Perhaps tomorrow–"

"If it's anything I've done, please, do tell me–"

Hans chuckled under his breath. "Of course, you'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"Your Majesty, begging your pardon, but this is not the first time we've encountered this sort of block," Dr. Herschel said, rising to his feet as well. "This process will only work if you trust me, and I can sense that you do not. I think I have a right to ask what I have done to earn such mistrust!"

"Oh I don't know, maybe it has something to do with those judgements you write down in your secretive little notebook," Hans said coldly.

At his words, the doctor's indignation faded, and his mouth opened into a silent little "ah." "I see. Well then, that is easily remedied. Here." He flipped open the page and handed it across to the king. He watched as the man scanned the notes.

"These are…just things I have said."

"I keep notes to help me remember what we discussed in our meetings. On occasion, I use them to make a diagnosis or recommendation." He saw the king stiffen. "You used the word 'judgement.' In my line of work we call that a 'Friedtian Slip.'" Hans didn't answer. "Are you afraid of my judging you? Looking down on you?"

"…"

Dr. Herschel eyed him carefully, and then drew a breath and held out his hand. Hans returned the notebook without meeting his eyes.

"Your Majesty, I am going to do something rather unprofessional." Hans glanced up at him, still mistrustful, the physician noticed, and not a little humiliated. From the look in his eyes, the Teutonian gathered that embarrassment rankled the king. "Generally the analyst does not discuss himself in these meetings, but I think it may help you feel more at ease if you knew why I joined this profession." He gestured to the sofa. "Please, sit."

Hans sat down warily, watching the doctor. The dark-haired man adjusted his glasses and steepled his fingers, eyes distant.

"Although my accent does not indicate it, I am not originally from Teutonia. My family was from a village in Munichen, but we had to leave our town when I was a boy."

"Had to leave?"

The doctor gave him a thin smile. "For being of, how you might say, a different confession."

Hans flushed badly. "Oh, I see." And I called him secretive— Oh, hell. I accused him of trying to influence the queen. He fumbled for words: "I'm sorry about earlier– I certainly didn't mean to imply–"

The physician waved him off. "Nein, nein. I can see from your reaction that you did not know." Hans was so mortified he could have sunk through the floor, but Dr. Herschel continued his story. "At any rate…we moved to Cölln-Bärlin, where it was safer, and my parents found work there. Before we had been living in Teutonia a year, however, a plague swept through the city. It took both my mother and father within a month. I was nine."

"I'm sorry."

"It caused a great fear in me. There I was, alone in a new land, with neither mother nor father. We had fled Munichen to seek a better life, only to have that life snatched away by disease. Danger seemed to press me on every side. For three years, I did not speak. People thought me mad, or simple. I was not simple. I could read and write quite well, but to speak felt too unsafe. It was not until the wealthy family who had adopted me—out of pity, to tell you the frank truth—sent me to an analyst that I found someone with whom I felt my words could be trusted. Eventually, I decided to return the favor."

"I see…"

"So you see, I have no right to count myself as superior to you. And it is not weakness, your Majesty, to ask for help when you are in need of it. Rather, it is a sign of great courage and self-respect."

"Perhaps. But it is a weakness to need help."

"And what makes you think you're so special as to be the only man who has never needed help?" Dr. Herschel watched as the man's eyes flickered anxiously across the carpet—never up. He softened his tone. "Everyone needs help at times. There is no strength nor manly honor in refusing to admit it. The mind is no less sensitive an organ than the lungs or liver, and you would not admire the man who refused to see a physician for coughing fits, would you?"

"Of course not; that would be foolish."

"Then be wise, and seek the health for the mind that you would advise to the sick man for his body. You have nothing to fear here. And you are not as hopeless as you believe."

There were several long beats of silence. Then the king drew a shaking breath and ran the back of his hand across his eyes. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

"Certainly." Dr. Herschel smiled. "So! Onto this argument between you and your sister-in-law, yes? Perhaps we may consider how it could have gone better…"

"Elsa, please, just let me help–!"

"No, no, get out, you have to get out-!"

"Elsa–!"

"Out!"

The blast of cold air knocked him backwards and out the door, which then slammed abruptly in his face. Half-panicking, the king reached for the knob, only to see it freeze over as icicles shot out from under the door. "Elsa!"

No response from the other side of the door. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and turned—to find Kristoff and Anna watching him from further down the hall.

"Did she shut the door again?" Anna asked quietly as he approached. He gave a short nod. "Hans, she just needs time–"

He brushed past her without reply.

"Elsa?"

He hesitated, and then knocked on the door. The wedding band on his finger glimmered bright in the tangerine sunset pouring in from the window. "Elsa, I brought cocoa from the kitchen."

There was a pause, and then the click of the doorknob. He tilted his head as the door opened a crack and he saw her blue eyes peering at him anxiously.

"Hey."

"I'm sorry."

"Can I come in?"

She stepped back and opened the door. As he entered with the kettle and the mugs he saw that papers had been scattered across her desk and the bed. Elsa shut the door and crossed her arms uncomfortably. "I was getting some work done…"

"I can see that." He fixed the kettle to hang over the hearth and snapped his fingers to light the fire.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and he turned with a sigh.

"I know you were just trying to protect me." She nodded, looking away. "But when you–" shut me out, no, he wasn't going to manipulate her like that, "–push me away like that…I feel so helpless to help you." Another nod. "I wasn't angry, I was afraid. Not of your magic but of how little you trust me around it."

"You know I trust you with my life."

"Then why can't you trust me with this?"

"I will. I want to, but I… I just can't, Hans. Not yet."

There was a pause as he wrestled with this, and then he sighed through his nose and nodded. "If you're not ready, you're not ready."

"Thank you." She wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. She was still wearing her gloves, he noticed, as he ran his fingers through her hair. He'd stopped wearing his almost a year ago now.

"You know, Dr. Herschel told me I was a recovering narcissist."

She chuckled into his shoulder. "Did he."

"Mm." A pause. "…I'm sorry for making this about myself."

Her arms squeezed tighter. "We'll do better next time."

"So you did not panic? That is good; I think you handled the confrontation very well."

"Thanks," Anna chirruped, picking up another cookie. "What do you think of these, by the way? I added some almond flavor along with the vanilla."

"They are delicious. Though I think I prefer the vanilla alone, to tell you the truth."

"Yeah, I think you're right. So." She pointed the cookie at the doctor. "Elsa."

"How did it make you feel, seeing her shut the door like that?"

"Well it sucked, obviously. But Hans looked pretty torn up about it, and I didn't want to scare him more, you know?"

"Hm." The analyst made a note. "Do you do that often? Put other peoples' needs or emotions before your own?"

"Me? Nah, that's more Elsa's thing. I mean, she only hid behind that door so long to protect me, right?" The princess stopped and peered down at the cookie, brooding over it. "She always does that, putting me first. Drives me crazy."

"Forgive me, your Highness, but I cannot help but see that the two of you are not so different."

"What do you mean?"

"You have brought up several occasions where you have put the needs of your sister or kingdom before your own. Heading out into inclement weather to search for her, maintaining an engagement you intended to break off so as to not worry her…you and your sister have both made great sacrifices, for each other and for your country. That is admirable, of course, and I am not condemning your love. But you also need to take care of yourself, or you will not be able to help others; in my own profession, an unwell physician cannot take care of his patients."

"Yeah," Anna said slowly. "I guess you're right. I do do that, I just never thought of it in the same way… I guess Elsa and I really are a lot alike in some ways, huh?"

"Your love for each other seems boundless," Dr. Herschel said, smiling. "And that is a good thing. You have also reestablished modes of communication that lapsed over your years apart. But to continue to progress, you will both need to express your needs and wants to one another, with honesty as well as generosity—especially now that you are both adults with families of your own."

"I mean, I'd love that, really. But I'm not sure Elsa will go for it."

"And why do you think that?"

"Well you've seen how she is, she always tries to handle stuff on her own. Honestly, I'm used to it, but our relationship isn't the one I'm worried about."

"Oh? How do you mean?"

"She and Hans are terrible communicators. Don't get me wrong, they try. But they both try to take on everything by themselves. Do you know they still write budget proposals separately?" Dr. Herschel hummed. "They're both way too stubborn and when they argue they don't always really listen to each other. If they keep on going the way they're going," Anna said frankly, popping the krumkake into her mouth, "trust me, they're headed for trouble."

It was the worst fight of their marriage yet.

Arguing had devolved into personal attacks had devolved into shouting had devolved into screaming, until she was as icy and cutting as the north wind and he was red and hot in the face. The room was getting too hot or too cold and there were sparks flickering in the air and frost creeping across the walls, and dammit but his head hurt and she was teary-eyed with fury but he wasn't going to let her win this, she had so much over him and he wasn't going to let her win this. And then she left ("Ran away!" his mind sneered) and he was alone.

Hans dropped his head into his hands. He didn't even remember what the fight had started over—was it the budget proposal? No, there had been something before that. What did it matter, it wasn't about where it had started but where it had ended.

She'd brought up the fjord. He felt sick and furious. She'd sworn not to do that again, she'd promised. Not that he'd been any better. He'd brought up her running away after coronation. Hell, he'd brought up her striking Anna.

Now you've done it. What happened now? Would she hate him for the rest of their marriage? They couldn't get divorced, they were monarchy, and Traditionalists besides. No, they'd spend the rest of their lives in a quiet, cold hatred, hatred over coffee and rolls, hatred over the morning paper, hatred over council meetings and church services and public festivals and…

She didn't come back. The long hours of the night passed and he watched the clock and she didn't come back. He took off the gloves and watched the fire burn in the hearth for a while, creating ephemeral figures out of the flames. Eventually he fell asleep curled up on his side, and the bed felt too warm without her.

"She hasn't spoken to me in three days. She's not going to forgive me."

"The queen is a reasonable woman–"

"The queen holds a grudge like lovers hold a candle. She's not going to forgive me." He stopped his pacing at the window and turned back sharply, with a glare. "And don't tell me to apologize, not unless she's willing to do the same!"

"I wasn't going to."

The king continued to pace for several more moments, and the physician watched him. He was looking at the window again, and running his hands through his hair. At last the king sighed and said shortly: "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"I am not the one you are angry at."

"I know."

"So, who are you angry at?"

The man gestured irritably. "Her. Myself. Both of us, I suppose."

"Both of those people are to blame…"

Hans sighed and leaned his hands against a table, looking out the window. Beyond the glass he could see people walking up and down the streets of the town. "Why can't we argue like adults?"

"Are your arguments always this explosive?"

"No—but I usually act like an ass anyway."

"And the Queen?"

He chuckled grimly. "They don't call her Ice Queen just for the snow."

"I see. Your Majesty–" Hans turned. "–If I might be blunt, neither of you argue, as it were, 'like adults,' because you never witnessed adults arguing properly."

"Ah, of course. Our 'childhoods,'" the king said, somewhat sarcastically.

"You have admitted it was a 'hellhole of maltreatment and neglect.'" The doctor's expression was firm but kind. "If you wish to progress, my King, you will need to address it. I can understand your resistance–"

"You don't understand anything." He'd turned away again. "You have no idea what it was like."

A silence. Then, the doctor gave a small nod. "You're right," he said quietly. "I do not."

"But it doesn't matter. It's over and done with, it left its damage and now I need to fix that. Wallowing in self-pity won't do that."

"'Damage' is not a monolith, your Majesty. Diagnosing the illness is the swiftest means of discovering the proper course of medicines." After receiving no reply, he added: "Perhaps if you would like to sit down…?"

The king seemed to fight with himself a moment, and then did so grudgingly. "May I pose a question?" Dr. Herschel asked. Hans gestured for him to proceed. "Though you say you want to change, and I am not doubting your sincerity, you have been very resistant to this process. I do not believe it is because you're unwilling to put in the work, but I admit that I am left baffled." The king sighed. "Why do you resist the very thing that might help you?"

The clock ticked quietly out in the hallway; outside the windows there came drifting the sound of the waves on the shore and the town children at play beside the water.

"…What if this doesn't help?"

Dr. Herschel blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't trust this field, you know that. I haven't since I first read into the matter. I want this to work, but if we get to the end of this process and nothing has changed, then I am out of chances."

"Out of chances? Chances for what?"

"To fix this. To fix what I am. I'm becoming a father—already am a father." He exhaled a weak laugh. "Elsa is afraid of being a mother, but her fears are entirely irrational. Whereas I…"

Dr. Herschel watched the man pinch the bridge of his nose. "Whereas you?" he gently prompted after a moment.

When the king spoke, it was slow and deliberate. "…You say I developed my…more unpleasant mannerisms, as a means of surviving my childhood." Dr. Herschel nodded. "I don't know how to be a father. I had a wonderful mother, but to be a good father—I have no idea what that means." He grimaced, brows furrowing together behind his fingers. "I've tried, but even the people I love most in the world, the people who make my life worth living—I can't even treat my family with the respect they deserve." He sighed. "I'm going to ruin that child just like my father ruined me."

"No parent is perfect. You will make mistakes; that does not mean you will be a bad father."

"I'm a petty, narcissistic, manipulative bastard." His voice was jagged with guilt. "I try, I do, but I can't change. I don't know how."

"Yes, you can. You already have. And 'change' is such an unhelpful word; what is 'change?' The sun rises and sets every day; is that change? What we seek to do is grow, and that, your Majesty, is a continuous process." Hans didn't lift his head. "You know this is self-pity, not your good sense," the doctor said gently. "Come now man, chin up."

He heard a weak chuckle as the king straightened up a little and dropped his hands listlessly over his knees. "Well, somebody has to feel sorry for me. If no one else is going to do it…" It was a poor joke, but it broke the tension, and the doctor smiled.

"You will be a better father than your father. From what you have told me, you are already a better husband. And you will become a better father as you live and grow." He tilted his head. "Your family seems to love you—not merely tolerate you."

"But I'm-"

"A good man," the doctor insisted, before adding, "with, I admit, some unfortunate habits. But you can make progress. Everyone can. It just takes a little hard work and someone to help you see clearly."

"Oh?" The king gave a wry smile, his eyes a little red. "I suppose you mean you?"

"Ja, your Majesty. And that," said Dr. Herschel, leaning back against the sofa. "Is why you pay me so very well."

Hans chuckled. "Do you have a family, Dr. Herschel?"

"No, not yet; I am engaged to be wed at the beginning of next year."

"Oh, I see; congratulations. –Ah, mazal tov?"

The doctor laughed. "Very good."

"What about your adoptive father, then? Was he a good man?"

"Ja, a very good man, and a good father. I learned from him several habits I hope to impart to my own sons."

"Oh?" The king was feigning disinterest, but the physician could see that this was the real reason he had asked the question. "What sort of habits?"

Dr. Herschel shrugged. "He always treated his children with respect. He never belittled us, never made us feel foolish. He was firm but not harsh, always kind, always generous. His patience I valued above all else; he always made time for his children—and then, he did not always have the best-behaved children!"

"He sounds like a pretty unconventional father." Hans couldn't imagine what it would have been like, to have been spoken to by his father like a real person—like an equal.

"He loved his children and taught them to respect themselves and others. Is there any higher praise for a father?"

"I suppose not. Still…" He shook his head, anxiety and frustration in every line of his face. "I thought I had more time. To change who I am, to…to become a better man. The pregnancy happened so suddenly; what if it's too late, to become the sort of person who could be a good father?"

"The fact that you are asking that question at all is a real reason for hope, my King. And you have done the most important thing."

"Which is?"

"You've asked for help."

"I know he's upset with me."

"Well, not speaking to someone for three days can send the wrong message…"

"I know, I know I do this. I wish I didn't, but I do." The Queen pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "Why do I push people out? Why do I always try to solve my problems alone?"

"Hm." Dr. Herschel flipped back several pages in his notebook. "You mentioned in an earlier session that you feel you 'run away' from unpleasant situations." Elsa lowered her hand and nodded. "Do you think the two may be connected?"

"I don't know. Isn't that your job?"

The physician chuckled. "Allow me to rephrase: I believe the two may have a common root."

"What do you mean?"

"Oftentimes we acquire coping mechanisms by copying our primary caregivers as we grow older," the physician explained. "How did those around you handle conflict or uncertainty when you were a child? How were you encouraged to handle it?"

'Fear will be your enemy.' 'No. We'll protect her. She can learn to control it, I'm sure.'

'Elsa, what have you done?'

''Until then, we'll close the gates. We'll reduce the staff.'

'The gloves will help. Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show.'

'We will limit her contact with people, and keep her powers hidden from everyone…including Anna.'

The memories flickered away, and Elsa found the doctor watching her intently. She took a sip of her tea, slowly, processing what had just happened.

"...Father became king of Arendelle at the same age I did, twenty-one," she said at last. Dr. Herschel nodded. "But he had been regent since he was eighteen, when his father died during our war with the Southern Isles. We had thought the Isles were an ally, but they betrayed us the moment we turned our backs."

"That must have been incredibly difficult for him."

"He married my mother to gain naval assistance from Corona; they were a good match and came to love each other in time, but it was a thoroughly political marriage. The war ended when he was twenty-three; he spent his first five years as ruler of Arendelle at war with one of the most powerful militaries in the North Sea." Her face set itself, steely, as she descended into memories that belonged more properly to an earlier generation. "Arendelle had to fight smart, not hard; tactical retreats, civilian control and careful rationing were the staples of our victory. In the end it was the land itself that saved us; the mountains were too difficult for the Isles to overcome on foot, whereas we could fight by guerrilla warfare in the conquered southern duchies."

She paused and set the teacup down on the saucer. "His instinct whenever troubles arose was always to batten down the hatches: close the gates, enlist more men, store more food…" She saw in her mind's eye the candlelight spilling through the crack in the library door, and her father hunched over his desk, face gaunt in the dim glow, scribbling away with his quill. "He was a good king, and our people loved him. But after the war, he was afraid of the whole world."

"Tactical retreats," Dr. Herschel repeated, "Civilian control, careful rationing." Elsa nodded. "As I understand it, foreigners are not allowed to carry firearms in Arendelle to this day."

"They aren't. Hans carried a sword for a long time; he still does, along with his pistol."

"And your mother? How did she approach these difficulties?"

"She tried her best to balance him out," Elsa recalled. "She was calm. They worked well together. But when it came to my powers, neither of them really knew what to do, and she followed his lead."

"So." Dr. Herschel leaned back. "You have learned this habit of 'tactical retreats,' even when it is not so tactical." Elsa chuckled ruefully and nodded. "Rather than trying to handle difficult times alone, what are some methods you could try differently in the future?"

"Why do you always assume I'm going to despise you until the end of time?"

His fingers grasped the fabric of her dress-jacket. "I don't understand why you put up with me," he half-teased, but his voice hesitated with uncertainty on the end, and she abruptly pulled back, holding him at an arm's length. The wind off the fjord was in her hair, pulling it in platinum strands against the blue.

"I do not put up with you."

"Elsa-"

"Do you put up with me?"

He shrugged. "You have your foibles."

"But do you put up with me?"

After a pause, he shook his head. "No. I– this is the happiest I've ever been, in my life."

She smiled at him in fond exasperation, eyes twinkling. "And why do you think I keep you around?"

"For my dashing good looks, I assume. And to do half the paperwork."

Elsa rolled her eyes. "Obviously." She grew serious again. "I was upset; I needed some time to myself. But I shouldn't have given you the cold shoulder. I'm sorry."

"I'm–" The word stuck in his throat, but he managed it, "I'm sorry, too. I am. I was– bringing up Anna, that was beyond the pale–"

"So we're agreed then? Wipe the slate clean?"

"I–" He paused, considering what she had said. Clean slate. A part of him wanted to refuse, to nurse his grudge, and he knew that she probably wanted to as well. But no. The larger part of him, the wiser part, knew what he really wanted: to be happy, and for them to live happily together."Yes. Thank you."

And somehow, just like that, it was over. He always marvelled at that; when it was over, it was over. They knew better than to try to keep score between them, which was a stroke of good luck, because if they did she would always win. What do you know. I guess we aren't completely hopeless, after all.

Elsa took his hand, and he glanced down. "No gloves," he said, surprised. She shook her head.

"Not today."

They began to walk along the shore towards the castle bridge. "I've been thinking," the queen mused aloud. "What would you think of putting the baby in our room, when it's born, and moving into my parents' room?"

Hans glanced at her sharply. She wants to talk about the baby? And to even suggest moving into her parents' old bedroom… she met his eyes, and he saw the determination in her gaze. She was making an effort.

He squeezed her hand, felt the cool of her palm against his own. "I think that's an excellent idea."

The New Year's ball was a massive success. The whole kingdom was in celebration not only for the turning of the year but for the happy news of a new royal heir: the Queen had given birth to a healthy baby boy, who was to be christened on the first day of the new year. The gathered nobles and dignitaries swept through the throne hall, admiring the frosted decorations and garlands of icicles, while outside the town was alive with dancing and festival booths selling hot cider and roasted nuts and, of course, plenty of kransekake, with promises of a spectacular fireworks display at midnight

"The fireworks were an excellent touch," the queen murmured to her husband as they made their rounds. They had already made their acquaintences with the Francian ambassador, much to Hans's chagrin, and Elsa had greeted her old friend princess Masoumeh; it seemed the well-wishers were finally giving them a moment of peace.

"Hm. We'll see; I've never done this before."

Elsa squeezed his hand. "I promise to be ready with a small blizzard on hand." He smiled, and then titled his head, concerned, as Elsa conjured a small fan of feathery snow and hid her yawn behind it.

"Are you alright?"

"Honestly? I wish I were back with Henrik. And I could do with a lie-down…"

"You're still recovering, and we have the christening tomorrow. I'm sure I can handle the fireworks on my own."

She hesitated, and then nodded gratefully. "I'll stay another hour and do our address to the town, and then I'll turn in. That should be enough to satisfy the crowd."

"Good." Hans raised his head. "Dr. Herschel is over there; we should wish him a happy new year before he leaves tomorrow."

"Good idea."

They made their way over to the punch bowl, where Dr. Herschel was talking with a pretty young woman about his age, with elegantly coiffed dark hair and a beautiful Teutonian-styled dress in shades of rose and cream. He looked up as he saw them approach and bowed, beaming.

"Ah, your Majesties! A very happy new year to you, and congratulations! My Queen, if I might say, you look positively magnificent." Elsa laughed and smoothed down her self-created ballgown of glistening eggshell-blue frost.

"Dr. Herschel, happy new year." They toasted, with the exception of the queen. "Forgive me, madame, but I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting," Elsa added, nodding to the woman at Dr. Herschel's side, who curtsied.

"How do you do, your Majesties"

"If I might introduce Freyde Cohen, my betrothéd."

"The wedding is soon, isn't it?" Hans recalled.

"Next month, yes," said Miss Cohen, as she took Dr. Herschel's hand and the two shared a head-over-heels expression. "We're terribly excited."

"Your Majesties are invited, of course! We would be most honored if you could attend…"

Arrangements were made and promises exchanged, and then the royal couple was obliged to greet more congratulators. As they were about to leave, the analyst added: "Queen Elsa? A word?"

"Oh– certainly."

They stepped aside. "I just thought I would inquire; how is the baby?"

"Fine. Wonderful," Elsa said, smiling. "Healthy, a good weight—no magic, either."

"Well, I suppose Heaven couldn't give the boy everything." She laughed, and he smiled. "And how are you?"

Her smile softened. "Fine. Truly." She glanced down at her hands, eyes crinkling. "No gloves."

"Ah, yes. I did notice. Well." He extended a hand. "If I may?"

She laughed and accepted it, and he kissed the top of her hand respectfully. "It has been an honor to serve her Majesty."

"You are welcome in Arendelle, at any time."

"Ah, thank you. Teutonia is my home, but I must admit I have enjoyed my stay here immensely."

Elsa glanced to her husband, who was still talking to Miss Cohen, and then said in a slightly conspiratorial whisper, "I'm not really supposed to be telling anyone this, but the Crown is looking to establish a proper university here in the town within the next five years." Dr. Herschel's eyes widened. "We'll have to start small, of course, with the more basic subjects, but in time we were hoping to add a professor in mental analysis. We were wondering if you would be interested, when the time comes."

The good doctor had flushed with embarrassment, but his eyes glittered with pride behind his glasses. "Your Majesty, I would of course be honored."

"Excellent. The king and I," she glanced up and saw Hans grinning at her, "believe that it is a most promising field of study."

A/N: I posted this in honor of the feast of St. Dymphna. I can't tell you how much therapy has helped me over the last few years; it has benefited me in almost every area of my life, especially my relationships with friends and loved ones and in coping with stressful situations.

Especially in these difficult times, please, make sure to take care of your mental health, and if you need help consider reaching out to your local mental health resources to see what assistance may be available to you. If you are in America, to speak to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, dial 1-(800)-273-8255; to learn about mental health and substance abuse treatment services in your area, contact the HHS Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration at 1-(877)-726-4727, or contact your local chapter of the National Alliance on Mental Illness at (800)-950-6264 (or in a crisis text "NAMI" to 741741).

Finally, in case it wasn't clear, Dr. Herschel is Jewish; I have done my best to portray that aspect of his character accurately, but if I have made any mistakes I would be grateful to talk about it over PM.

Pax et bonum!

-FFcrazy15