Four

Over the course of a few days, Elsa discovered that thirteen was the loneliest number. She'd never meant to really listen to his excuses, not after what she intended to be her last visit. But in hoping to wear him down and finally confess where the ship was, she found herself empathizing with more than one of his situations.

Her visits were rather... long. Longer than she always expected, at least. After three o'clock tea with Anna, Elsa would return to the cell holding a ragged, history-rich prince that most people thought had drowned. Anna reminded her every day they should be sending off a letter to the Southern Isles, and Elsa assured that today would be the day when he finally revealed where the ship was.

Which he never did. It was infuriating how he always dodged the question. It was even more infuriating how Elsa always fell for it when he threw a new story out instead. But, she reasoned with herself, he'd run out of stories eventually. And if he didn't, then she'd know more than enough about him to estimate how the ship had disappeared.

"Wait, which one got you a horse for your birthday?" Elsa asked, sitting on her newly accustomed stool.

"None of my brothers," Hans clarified. "My father got me the horse. It was Campbell and Charles who set him free in the middle of the night."

"And he still returned to you?" Elsa asked, a small smile growing unconsciously.

Hans shrugged, his own smile fully intentional. "Yeah. Next morning, I see Citron cantering across the hill. Had himself a nice midnight run, but the looks on my brothers' faces were priceless."

"They weren't even punished for letting your horse loose?"

The smile fell. "Only slightly. Shoveling my stall for one day. Which to the queen, was a pretty harsh punishment to her sons. And, of course, I never heard the end of it from them."

The sunlight fell through the window and splattered across the floor and walls, letting the summer heat soak just a little longer before night fell and cooled the air. Hans was propped up against the wall, sitting on the cot with his legs extended, one knee bent to keep his balance, and arms loosely crossed. If he was bothered by the heat, he didn't show it.

Elsa, however, wore a dress with only ribbons for sleeves and a cut that had just one layer to let her legs breathe. She tried rubbing her icy hands over her arms, which cooled them instantly, but she could still feel a bead or two of sweat trickle down her forehead.

"I've never been riding before," Elsa confessed. "I've ridden a horse, once or twice, but never truly went out and just... rode."

"Really? Well as future queen, I'm sure you were busy studying most of your time," Hans said, gloves still on. Elsa wondered how his hands could stand the heat.

"Yeah," she said, looking down at her own, bare hands. She supposed she only noticed the gloves because they were such a big part of her daily life. She had to wear them when touching the numerous books she had studied. Though there was no real danger in studying law or history, if she felt too passionate about a story, then she'd accidentally freeze the pages. It had happened on enough occasions for her to never touch a book without her gloves again. "Lots and lots of alone time, that's for sure."

"Riding horseback, I was alone most of the time," Hans said. "I never wanted my brothers to come along, and my father always had an excuse. The only reason he'd never come is because he knew I'd race him and win."

"You liked your father?" Elsa asked, crossing one leg over the other and wondering at how easy it was to talk to Hans. Strange how she could never speak up when conversing with Ingvalda, someone she'd known at least three years, but with Hans, it was as if the impossibly tall barriers were just ignored. She shivered a little, confused and a little angry with herself.

"My father is one of the only people I've ever felt close to," Hans said, abandoning his position and swiveling his legs so his feet rested on the floor. He looked out the window, staring into the golden sunshine of dusk. "He never made me feel like I was the unlucky thirteenth. I wasn't a number to him like I was with the queen. I was his son."

Elsa fidgeted with her hands, diverting her attention. She felt like looking at him was somehow invading privacy. Hans looking out into the sunlight and talking about his dad seemed somehow... intimate, and she felt like she wasn't welcome to share the moment.

He looked away from the window, the golden light fleeting from his face. Elsa felt her fists unclench, something she wasn't aware had been tensed. Something about the light on his face had made her slightly short of breath.

He began to speak again; "Citron was my 18th birthday's gift, but on my 16th, he got me my own boat. Taught me a little bit about sailing. Nothing special of course, just how to read the stars as well as a map, how to tell when a sunrise predicted good sailing, the care and maintenance of a vessel."

"Didn't take very good care of the French ship, did you?" Elsa said quietly.

"What?" Hans asked, nostalgic smile wiped away.

"Nothing," Elsa said quickly.

"No, you said something," Hans said, eyes narrowing.

"Well, if you must know, I was trying to refer back to the ship that you so carelessly lost," Elsa said, looking pointedly at him.

He rolled his eyes and sank back against the wall. "That again? I thought maybe you'd forgotten."

"The only reason why you're still here and not on a ship back to the Southern Isles is because the fate of the ship remains unsolved," Elsa said, realizing too late that she'd revealed a motive she hadn't intended to share.

Hans caught it, green eyes sparkling with interest. "Is that so? Well, then I shall never have to go back to that dreadful place, since I won't speak."

"I'll get the story eventually," Elsa said, holding her head high, faking confidence until she felt it.

"You wouldn't really put me back on a ship to the Isles," Hans said with a small chuckle that could have been humorous or not.

"I could write them a letter any time," Elsa said, simultaneously reminded of Anna's not-so-subtle suggestions to just get the man out of their kingdom.

"Oh, but you wouldn't," Hans said, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied smirk. "You know all about my brothers. How they treated me, what it was like growing up. You wouldn't send a man back to torture like that."

"A man like you deserves torture far worse than that," Elsa shot back, but caught a glimpse of what she felt the other day. The vision of his brothers hauling him back on the boat in chains. Those sad, pleading green eyes...

"Besides," Hans broke the vision with a word. "You are too fond of my stories to let me leave."

Elsa sat in silence a moment before putting her hands on her hips. "I am not!"

"Yes, you are."

"No. I'm only waiting to hear the story of the boat."

"Maybe, but you're interested in the other stories just the same."

"I am not!"

"You were leaning forward on the stool!" Hans gestured to her posture, which was now still leaning forward just a bit. Elsa was quick to slump her back against the wall and slouch, crossing her arms.

"You'll tell the story eventually," Elsa mumbled, mostly to herself. She felt something that was like anger, but was gentler. Irritation. Hans was the smiling embodiment of irritation. Because just when Elsa didn't want to feel for him, she couldn't help but laugh or empathize or even feel slightly angry. She was irritated at her inability to not be an effective interrogator.

On another occasion, three days later, Elsa's interest was especially perked. He began to speak about the gloves that her eyes were always strangely drawn to.

"My mother had them made," he said quietly, as if it was a secret. "Whenever I outgrew a pair or burn- well... ruined them, she'd always have another fitted pair handy. Said it was the right thing to do, wear the gloves."

Elsa felt too at home with the words. It was as if she was telling the story herself. How many times had she accidentally shattered her gloves when she attempted to chip the ice away from her hands? How many times had her father said, "Now, be more careful with this pair. Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show." Her hands grew colder at the very thought of her father's calm voice, but frightened eyes.

It wasn't his fault he was so scared. He didn't know how to handle her powers. None of them did. But her mother and father did what they thought best, even if Elsa realized all this time that Anna would have loved her no matter what. They did it to keep her safe, don't be so selfish.

"Why... why did she want you to wear gloves?" Elsa asked, shaking her head lightly in hopes of deterring the poisonous voice in her mind.

"I, uh... I guess she had a thing with dirt..." Hans said strangely. Maybe on another day, Elsa would have caught his shifting eyes that looked anywhere but at her, the way he wrung his hands together softly. She might have caught that the liar was lying exceptionally badly, having been caught off guard. But on this topic, Elsa was too preoccupied with her own hands and personal memories of gloves.

"But the gloves have been a habit ever since," Hans continued after clearing his throat. "They don't really bother me in the summer. They're just kind of like a second skin. A security blanket, if you will."

"Yeah," Elsa chuckled a little. "A security blanket."

"You'd know, of course," Hans said lightly, surely aware that he was treading into deep, dark waters.

"Yeah," Elsa said again, but didn't chuckle. "The habit was hard to break for the first few weeks, but I like the gloves off. I feel... free. So long as I'm in control, of course. But it would be easier for you, since you don't have ice powers to hide."

Hans laughed, almost forced and uncomfortable. "No ice here."

On and on the days went, a week easily passing since Hans was caught trying to steal the ship. On the twelfth day, he spoke of the boat, but not in the way she thought he would.

"... but of course, Jørgen would always complain that my boat was better than his. Being the seventh, he always thought he was something pretty special. Complained that our father hadn't gotten him a boat for his sixteenth birthday, that he had to acquire his ship in other ways." Hans rolled his eyes, something he did a lot when speaking of his brothers.

Elsa felt her lips tug up involuntarily. It seemed too much work to pull them down again.

"He hardly did any work. All he had to do was bat his eyelashes and ask for a boat, and the queen responded by asking whether it should fit a hundred or thousand."

"Which one did he get?" Elsa asked, full well knowing the answer.

"What do you think?" Hans responded with a scoff. "He would've been insulted with anything less than a thousand. And yet, when he was tasked with coming to Arendelle, he used Francis' boat because it had better-"

Hans suddenly stopped, green eyes shining with all the secrets he had yet to spill.

"Wait, Jørgen has been to Arendelle?" Elsa asked, her smile falling as quickly as the tension in the room had risen.

"He..." Hans tried to begin, but gave up and let out a long sigh. "No, he's never been to Arendelle."

"But you just said-"

"Forget what I said," Hans ordered coldly.

Elsa had almost forgotten who Hans was. Why she hated him so much. That she hated him so much. She'd grown much too comfortable just chatting the hours away with him, telling herself she was trying to get to the story of the ship. Obviously, these talks had clouded her judgement.

"I see," she said, matching- if not passing- the icy tone.

It was strange. Cold words were exactly what should have been appropriate for two people in their positions, but it seemed too foreign to be natural. Even Hans must have noticed, because his rock hard mask crumbled slightly.

"Elsa, I-"

"Queen Elsa," she corrected instantly. "I don't know how you acquired the foolish idea that you could address me so casually."

She didn't look at him. She couldn't. And she didn't know why. After all, she was the queen. Why should she feel guilty after snapping at him?

"Of course, your majesty," came his response eventually. It sounded too formal, too forced, but Elsa would never admit it.

She left on those tense terms that reverted back to square one. It bothered her that she thought about it during dinner, thought about it while signing a few documents under Ingvalda's request, and still thinking while lying in bed trying desperately to fall asleep.

Elsa stared out her window, thinking back to the night when her life changed, over half a lifetime ago. The sky's awake, so I'm awake, so we have to play!

There were no lights in the sky now. Not so far into summer. In a few months, the skies would be lit with pastel purples and glowing greens and the softest, most gentlest blues. She missed the northern lights. Missed the warmth they made her feel amidst the chill of winter, the chill of herself.

Not foreseeing sleep anytime soon, Elsa pulled the covers back and wandered to her balcony. Lightly, she unlatched the lock and stepped into the warm summer night.

Light pink nightgown dragging just slightly across the ground, Elsa walked to the edge and leaned on the railing. It wasn't quite the view that she'd had from her castle on the north mountain, but it was still beautiful. She could see to her left a portion of the village and the fjord, lit up by a few lanterns and candles of the never-quite-asleep townsfolk. To her right was a view of the wall of earth that flew upwards for what seemed like forever. She'd often wondered what lay beyond the wall of earth, beyond the walls of Arendelle, but had never actually cared enough to escape.

Maybe I should escape now, a daring thought emerged. But no, she'd tried escaping before. And no matter how much fun it had been for a brief moment, reality would always come tear her castle of ice apart.

Her conversation with Hans repeated in her mind, about how she'd never really gone out riding. Something in her heart ached to go ride into the distance and just explore. But not a horse. She'd ride the wind. Use her ice to propel herself forward until she was locked in a dance with the air, flying as free as a bird without anyone to hurt or any duty to fulfill.

She sighed, not sure if it was out of longing or out of pity that it would only ever be a dream. Likely both. She stayed like that a while, leaning on the rail and watching the waterfall pour down. She wondered about riding and flying and about the northern lights and about why she always stared at Hans' gloves until she finally grew tired and climbed into bed with the color green stuck in her head.

The next day was different, however. Everything proceeded normally, with documents to be overlooked, meals to be eaten, and a bouncy sister to entertain. It all changed, however, when they finally discovered the fate of the French delegate's boat.

Elsa didn't miss the irony of it being the thirteenth day since Prince Hans was thrown into Arendelle's prison that the survivors washed ashore. She thought about that unlucky number while nearly dropping her teacup.

Kai had come in, interrupting three o'clock tea, to breathlessly give the news; ten or so men had come into town, demanding to see the queen. They were rugged and thin and just as scraggly as any other nomad, but a few of their official badges proved them to be what was left of the Westernland ship's crew.

Anna and Elsa immediately abandoned their tea and sandwiches, running to the parlor where the men where being taken care of. Elsa's heart beat fast, a combination of running and the adrenaline of finally figuring out the fate of the ship. So Hans wasn't keeping the boat and its passengers for ransom. That theory could be checked off the list.

As she breathlessly arrived in the parlor, she counted all ten men, who looked very sunburned and not very happy. Anna got to work immediately, asking if everyone was all right and if she could do anything, but there were already maids tending to the worst of them.

Heart finally slowing to a slightly normal pulse, Elsa sat down on an empty seat, Anna standing beside her.

"What happened to your ship?" Elsa asked the French delegate, one of the only men to survive the year.

"Oh, it was horrible," the man said, face sunburned redder than the scarlet chair he sat in. "One moment, it's smooth sailing, and the next, the ship is in flames!"

"Flames?" Anna asked.

"Oui. The ship caught fire, and was sunk within an hour," the delegate said, shaking his head. "It took days to reach land, and we've been wandering a year to arrive back. We had no map and had to follow the faulty direction of peasants. Only the ten you see survived the sinking and the journey."

Elsa's head spun. So the ship had caught fire. That's why it never docked in Westernland or the Southern Isles. But how...?

"But how did Prince Hans survive?" Anna asked, voicing the question Elsa wanted so badly to ask.

"Prince Hans?" one man repeated, his voice something between a choke and a laugh. "There's no way he could have. The fire started from the prison area. I'm afraid he didn't have a prayer."

Anna's eyebrows furrowed, taken completely to shock. "Then how come he-?"

"Anna," Elsa mumbled, nudging her sister slightly.

The redhead said no more, but looked at her sister funny, in a kind-of-panicked-but mostly-really-really-really-confused sort of way. Elsa pursed her lips, hoping her sister received the intention to not alert them of Hans' survival, much less his presence in the kingdom.

Luckily, Anna seemed to understand. She didn't look very happy about it, though.

Anna cleared her throat. "I'm... I'm so sorry."

"Bah, don't be," one of the saltier men said, a permanent scowl etched into his face. "Rest in peace, ya' bastard. If you ask me, the man started the fire himself."

It was as if Elsa suddenly couldn't breathe. Started the fire himself. The words hadn't intended to mean much, but they suddenly meant everything. Hans told Elsa he had escaped. He'd never mentioned a fire. A boat fire is something usually worth mentioning.

Started the fire himself. He'd have no access to a lamp, to matches. He had nothing but himself. His hands, always covered. The gloves of course the gloves. The room that was always hot when she entered. The blazing red hair that seemed almost too red to be natural. The reason that green always burned, always reminded her of flames.

Started the fire himself.

Elsa stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over her own dress. Everyone turned to her, disrupting all conversation and losing the element of subtlety. Anna jumped forward to help her sister.

"Are you okay?" Anna asked, eyes only for her sister. "What's wrong?"

"I...I..." Elsa couldn't speak, couldn't think. He couldn't be.

Anna's concerned blue eyes beat down at her and Elsa couldn't take it. There was too much happening. Her mind was spinning. She had to talk to him right now.

"Excuse me," Elsa muttered, avoiding Anna's gaze guiltily. She knew if she looked at Anna, she'd feel even worse than before. But she couldn't tell Anna right now. There was too much to explain, too much that Anna could try to understand but would never be able to empathize with.

For now, Elsa was hurrying to the prison chambers, a beeline made for Hans of the Southern Isles. There was too much happening at once, everything was spinning out of control, and yet Elsa felt strangely... happy? It was something akin to happiness, where her heart leaped in her throat and something sadistic compelled her to smile. Was it possible that she might not be the only magician? Oh yes, she smiled because she knew Hans' secret.

The gloves were off now.

And everything begins to come together. Next week we get to hear the douchebag talk a lot, but that's what everyone's here for, right? ;)