Twelve
It took nearly a week for Hans to finally allow Elsa back in. She opened the door every day, but each time was almost immediately turned out. Is this what Anna felt? she thought as she trudged back from his underworld. I turned her away for years.
Upstairs was no better than down. Three o'clock tea had been indefinitely suspended by Ingvalda, who needed the room to meet with Arendelle's delegates and prepare a course of action. They'd written a statement for Elsa about the finding of the body which she delivered to a curious crowd. But she couldn't shake the feeling that these fabricated words and assurances that she copied from the paper should have been her own.
Anna reminded her every day to pen the letter to the Southern Isles. And every day, Elsa said she was working on it. Another lie.
No lessons, no tea, and a corpse that had spoiled a crate of fish. This week was turning out to be quite the opposite of what the queen wanted.
But on the sixth day, when Elsa opened the door, she wasn't turned away. There was no screaming, no yelling, no threatening. Just silence.
For a brief moment, her heart stopped.
He's dead.
The stone walls were stained black in patches, doubtlessly caused by fire's scalding. The smell of smoke punched the air. How had the guards failed to notice it? And in a space with the most charred markings sat a man with burning red hair and an empty face.
He was curled up against the wall, legs drawn in and his arms crossing over his chest so his hands could clasp together for comfort. His sleeves had been ripped up to his elbows and the torn cloth was wrapped around his hands as makeshift gloves. They'd never keep out fire, but perhaps he'd thought a placebo would be effective. Dark bags under his eyes and a blank expression might have convinced her he was dead, but those dull green circles met hers as she appeared.
Hans didn't turn her away. He didn't even move. He just stared like a dumb animal.
Elsa's own eyes held nothing but empathy. It was like looking into a mirror of the past, when she was crumbled against the wall with her own magical stains for proof of her emotions. What did it matter if the marks were of ice or of fire? They were both caused by the greatest grief.
"Hans," she said, not surprised when her voice was little more than a whisper.
He remained without emotion. "What are you doing with the body?"
"The... the what?" she asked as though she was the dumb animal.
He waited for her to process the information, not willing to repeat himself.
"We- Ingvalda- said that we should send it back-"
"Don't," he interrupted. "Please. Don't make him go back."
Elsa stood stock still, not knowing what to say. "He's the king, he should be sent back to his own kingdom."
"Don't make him go back," Hans repeated. "He was too good to have that land as his home. Just... just swear to me that you'll have him buried. He deserves the best funeral, but all I request is you bury him with dignity."
"I... I don't... it's customary to-" Elsa stuttered.
"You're the queen," he said, finally showing a hint of feeling in his voice, despite eyes that belonged to the dead. "What the queen says, goes. I don't care what you do with me. You can cancel lessons, take my boat away, you can kill me for my actions without a trial. It doesn't matter anymore. Not when the best of humanity is murdered. There's nothing else left for me."
Nothing? her mind asked. Elsa immediately dismissed the thought.
She looked to the ground, floor-length gown hiding her feet. It was deep crimson, the color of wine splashed with blood. The sleeves were tight up to her elbows, leaving her lower arms exposed. The crown on her head felt too heavy.
"Promise?" he asked, voice cracking on the last syllable.
She looked back up, watching his expressionless face break as he fruitlessly willed his mouth to not tremble and his eyebrows to not fall.
His hopeless effort made Elsa's own heart begin to shatter. The man who had tried to kill her had fallen so far. She should have rejoiced at his pain. But somewhere along the way, the snow queen had grown soft.
Turn away. He's broken now, her mind advised. Send him back to the Southern Isles. He won't put up a fight.
But heart over mind won control. She didn't trust herself with words and only nodded at him in promise.
He exhaled, breath shaking. He gripped his hands together tighter and closed his eyes. The prisoner lost control of the facade and let out a gasping sob before ramming his head into his hands. His mouth and nose were covered, muffling the cries, but his eyes were still visible. His face was repainted red from peach and tears streamed down like a leak that had never been repaired, only dammed.
Did I really look like this? Elsa wondered as she watched the display.
No. No, I didn't.
Elsa clearly remembered an existence of one overwhelming burst of sadness, and a lifetime of quiet mourning. Much different from Hans' prolonged anger and extravagant weeping. It wasn't that one way was more valid than another, but fire and ice were not the same.
He can't teach you anything, her mind concluded. It was insane to assume you could learn anything from someone so different.
She should have left him on the floor, drowning in his own tears.
But Elsa knew that the cynical portion of her brain did not correctly conclude. Different only meant it was better to learn from. To find another point of view would be to see the world in a different fashion. How boring and unproductive it would be if Hans was exactly like Elsa.
There's no better teacher than someone so different, she corrected herself. There's no better person.
Which might have been why she suddenly couldn't watch him heave anymore. She walked straight to him and dropped to her knees, the blood-wine skirts settling around her.
Hans opened his eyes, still not revealing the rest of his face. His eyes were almost as red as his hair was. He seemed surprised to see the queen kneeling by his lowly side.
His sobs came less and less as their gazes remained locked. Eventually, his shoulders became even, though they were still tensed, and he slowly raised his face from his hands. The tears still rolled silently down as his chest occasionally jolted
He said nothing, but his expression spoke everything. What are you doing? he seemed to ask. Why is the queen still here?
Elsa looked down into her hands folded neatly in her lap and separated them, holding one up as if it was a precious gem. Her sight flickered back to the man curled against the wall, who was now squinting and partially cocking his head.
"What-" he muttered before Elsa spoke.
"Take off your gloves," she said softly.
He said nothing, still looking as puzzled as ever.
"Take. Off. Your gloves," she annunciated, gesturing with her raised hand.
Hans' gaze trailed to his 'gloves'. He began pulling at them weakly, as if his fingers weren't able enough to pull the cloth away.
Elsa waited patiently until the sleeves fell away, revealing his hands. Elsa reached her own hand out so it nearly touched his, but looked to him first.
His confusion had driven his mourning almost completely away. "What are you doing?"
"Can... can I touch you?" she asked, feeling only the slightest blush as she asked.
He blinked, clearly not understanding. But he closed his mouth and gave one faint nod.
Elsa slowly reached over to him and touched his hand to hers. The heat made her shiver, but she still found the spaces between his fingers, weaving her own in with his.
If he found this strange, Hans didn't show. He only accepted her hand and held firm, locking their fingers together.
Green and blue met again, connected through sight and touch and then through word.
"Hans, I am so, so sorry," Elsa said, never once straying her attention. "I know that your father meant everything to you. And it's going to be hell before it even begins getting better."
"The... the guards," he said, clearing his throat once. "They said there was a note pinned to him. Said the note was signed by me."
Elsa resisted the urge to look away in guilt that she wasn't obligated to have.
"I wouldn't have killed him," Hans said, voice all but a whisper. "I couldn't have. Not ever. He was my father."
His hands squeezed tight, and she returned the jolt.
"I know," Elsa said, and for once, she did know. For sure, she knew it couldn't have been Hans. She let go of the instincts that told her he was the kidnapper, the killer. This man was innocent; at least, of the crimes against the king.
"I'm so sorry," he said, voice warped yet again as his eyes grew wet. Another wave of mourning was oncoming.
"It's not your fault," Elsa soothed.
"No, no, not my father," he said, finally breaking eye contact to close his eyes and shake his head. "On the fjord. I... I intended to kill you. I thought I had killed Anna, and I didn't care. I was happy."
Elsa froze up, fingers still stuck with his.
"I was so blinded..." he murmured, a tear splashing onto his shirt. "I thought I was victorious, valiant. I thought my brothers and my mother would be proud. I was so wrong."
He opened his eyes again, and Elsa noticed the tiniest tears perched on his eyelashes like dewdrops in the morning grass.
"Please... forgive me, Elsa."
He used her name casually, but she didn't care. She didn't care that she didn't care. But she couldn't forgive him.
"No," she said quietly.
He stopped breathing for a moment. "Wh... what?"
"No," she repeated. "I can't forgive you. Not for what you did to Anna. I can never, ever, forgive you for that."
He looked like he wanted to cry again, but it seemed he was all washed out of tears. Instead, he simply nodded, his face falsely brave.
"I see," he whispered. "Of course."
"But," Elsa continued, catching his attention once more. "What I can do is put it behind me."
The prince couldn't comprehend.
The queen held her other hand out. After staring at it a moment, Hans stretched from his child-like ball, spreading his legs out and rising to his knees beside Elsa. He took his other hand and hesitantly held it up. The two hands met and curled into one another
"I've seen the difference in you," Elsa began. "You came here for a ship, and now you're apologizing for your actions. But there are some things that can just never be forgiven. But I will no longer hold it against you. Not if you're truly sorry."
There was a spark in his eye, something that tore from behind the confusion and sadness. Some slight hope.
"The past is in the past," she whispered, causing him to smile and nod once. A choked spell of laughter broke forth, but easily subsided.
"I can't imagine what you must have felt on the fjord," he muttered. "Seeing Anna... the one person who loved you. Frozen."
Elsa's heart twisted ever so slightly.
"At least I didn't have to see him die," Hans mumbled, his grip in her hands becoming looser.
"Listen," Elsa said, hoping to distract his mind. "I swear to you that I will find who's taking your family. Whoever's killed your father and framed you will be found. We're going to bring the king to justice."
Hans nodded as she spoke, tears beginning again. He let go of her hand briefly to wipe one away, but his fingers returned as quick as they could.
"Thank you," he whispered as to not have his voice crack. "Thank you."
As he glanced at her, a genuine smile lit up his sad face. His lips trembled just slightly, and a short, choked laugh escaped. It caused Elsa to smile too, squeezing his hands to show that she was being honest.
His laugh subsided, and Elsa's heart stopped as he began to lean in. She could have sworn he glanced briefly at her lips.
But as her heart irrationally beat, his head passed her own, letting her hands go as he pulled her into a hug. Her face burst a hot crimson as he wrapped his arms around her body and pressed. She eventually brought her own arms up, loosely holding him.
"Thank you," he repeated with sincerity.
But Elsa couldn't stop blushing. She felt as though Hans had set her on fire. What did you think he was going to do?
"You don't know how much it means to me."
You know exactly what you thought he was going to do.
"I grossly underestimated the value of friends all these years."
You wanted him to.
Elsa pulled out of the hug, throwing a smile on her face as Hans' sorrowfully cheerful one met hers. He let go of her and she rose quicker than she should have.
If he cared, he didn't show, and stood one leg at a time.
They looked at each other once more, Hans' smile never subsiding.
"I don't know how many times I can say thank you," Hans laughed.
Elsa nodded, wanting to press her ice-cold hands to her flaming cheeks. "It's a small fee to pay for such invaluable lessons."
"So we shall continue with lessons? Two o'clock?"
"Yes," Elsa said, meandering towards the door. "I really do hope you begin to feel better. This tragedy will not go unresolved."
Hans bowed his head. "I am eternally in your debt."
And with that, Elsa left the room. She closed the door behind her to find two shocked guards who wanted to know how she'd gotten him to calm down and about what had happened. But she told them to mind their place, and they immediately let her leave, ashamed of themselves.
Normally, she wouldn't have been so harsh, if it hadn't been her need to get rid of the burning in her face. She pressed her hands to her cheeks as she went along, feeling water drip from her ice-melting cheeks.
She'd thought he was going to kiss her. And I had wanted him to.
Elsa's heartbeat spoke volumes where her head could not. And her heart was beating faster than ever.
Thus Elsa discovers the inevitable which we already knew. This was way too much fun to write, and it only gets better from here.
My continued gratitude to all you readers! Your praise gives me a reason to look forward to updating each Monday!