Morning came.

The sun was still low on the horizon when Prince Hans woke from his slumber. It wasn't anything special, just filled with the usual dreams of world domination. He yawned and stretched his arms lazily, the hair on his arms rising from the chill. He retreated under the covers.

He couldn't remember much of his dream. He was sitting on a throne in a castle somewhere, being attended to by beautiful women and guarded by soldiers so loyal they'd lop off their own limbs if he told them to. His head was adorned with the most magnificent crown imaginable and on his hip was a sword of such fine steel that smiths all over the world cried tears of inadequacy just looking at it. It was a good dream.

Was.

After the thing happened, his good dreams always turned bad in the end. Whether it was getting his face frozen by a blast of ice magic or getting punched off a balcony in his own castle, the Arendelle sisters always found a way to torment him. Falling in his dreams was the worst. He never anticipated it, he had never thought of a scenario where he would fall. His dreams were meant to be perfect so when he fell, he fell into nothingness. For hours upon hours, just tumbling through the dark with giant floating freckle faced heads circling around him like vultures. Maybe he could fall forever in silence, but hearing "For the First Time in Forever" again and again (just the first line of the chorus, mind you) made it torture. He never understood why the floating Anna heads never sang the whole thing. Maybe it was intentional. The full song actually was quite catchy.

Thankfully, none of that happened this time. This time, he was mauled to death by an adorable animated snowman named Olaf.

Hans shivered, remembering the cold arms thrashing the side of his face and then ripping out his sideburns and his entire head of hair. He brought his arms up, making sure it was only a dream and that he had not, in fact, lost the things he treasured most. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"I hate snow." he grumbled, getting himself dressed. He picked out a light grey jacket from his closet. He was an outfit short, thanks to his brother. He hated burning clothes, but sometimes it was necessary to keep himself fashionably pure. He walked to the window, hoping his brother's carriage wasn't there. His heart fell when it was. Also, it was snowing. Hans banged his face against the pane. Or rather, he would have, if he didn't shatter it the day prior. A thin line of blood snaked down his forehead from where it was cut. Fan-tastic.

"Brooooo!" came a voice from the doorway. Hans turned, glare prepared. His brother Benson hopped on one foot, as if he'd sprinted down the hall and stopped abruptly. His mustache was as repulsive as ever, but at least he was well dressed. Hans looked away as his brother's eyes went to his forehead. "Woah, what happened there?" You looked at it, that's what happened. "Nothing." said Hans, in reply. Benson craned his neck to the side. "What happened to your windows?" he asked, only just noticing the broken glass. You looked at those too, idiot. "Peasants throwing rocks again." he said, instead.

Benson clucked. Hans wondered if Benson was a chicken in his former life. He wouldn't be surprised if he was. "You gotta tighten up security, little bro." The man moved up to clap him on the shoulder. Hans stepped to the side, dodging. "I could, if I actually had competent people working for me." Benson laughed, though Hans couldn't see what was so funny. "That guard still recovering from those cuts?" the boisterous man asked. Hans turned away from him, but nodded. "I wish he had just gotten an infection and died. Cutting himself on his own sword by holding the wrong end? How in the frozen hell?"

"Don't you know? Reverse sheaths are all the rage these days!" Hans raised a brow at his brother who held a toothy grin in place, as if expecting some kind of response. Oh, it's a joke. Ha. Ha ha. "Ha ha ha." Hans said.

"Well, let us not dally any longer. You have a job interview to get to!"

After the man had left to wait in the carriage, Hans turned to his mirror. His hair was immaculate, and his sideburns were trimmed to perfection. He smiled, pleased.

After an hour's ride, the village of whatever-its-name-was drew into view. Hans stuck his head outside the thin veil that hid him from the peasants' stares. If looks could kill, then he was certainly risking his life at that moment. These people have no respect for royalty, he thought, watching the young and old scutter about like mice. When a few of them finally looked his way, he gave them a smile. "Ladies." he said with a wink as the carriage lumbered by. The women swooned while the men turned away with a humph. Hans ducked back into the carriage.

"Did you bring a copy of your resume?" Benson asked as Hans patted down his shirt. "Of course I did." said Hans, giving his brother the best do-you-think-I'm-an-idiot look he could manage.

He still had a few misgivings about the whole 'getting a job' thing. It seemed a little too undignified for a Prince of the Southern Isles to be taking up work as a lowly stage hand. It would keep him out of prison, but still, his stint in Arendelle had cost him much of his reputation. You don't get to the top without taking a few risks along the way he reminded himself, as an ugly black mop head looking thing landed on top of his newly washed white breeches. Hans yelped, shaking the carriage as he leapt away. The ugly black mop head looking thing plopped onto the floor. Benson reached over to pick it up. "You gotta wear this, bro." He said, patting away the dirt with his hand. "It'll keep 'em from recognizing you."

Hans jabbed an accusatory finger at the dangling strands of black in his brother's hand. "I am not wearing that." He said firmly. "It's hideous and looks like a mop head." Benson twirled it around his finger while Hans watched with caution. He was convinced it would fly off and strike him in the face, like many things seemed wont to do. "That's because it is a mop head." he said, as if that made things better. "The store ran out of actual wigs so I asked the owner if he had something else we could use. It'll work, trust me. Now put it on."

Hans crossed his arms. "No." he said. Benson moved the mop thing closer to his face. "Put it on." Hans inched away. "No." he said, turning his head to face the veil. "I'll tell father you aren't complying with the terms of the agreement." Hans glared at him sharply, but his brother's face was serious. He sighed. "Fine." He put the thing on. He could feel his hair suffocating under the weight of ugly, betrayed in the name of not going to jail.

"Ah!" Benson exclaimed, his head sticking out of the carriage. "We're here!"

Finally, Hans thought, getting out. His brother stayed inside, much to his relief. He didn't know how much longer he could have lasted breathing the same air as that one. Despite being one of the more agreeable of his twelve older brothers, Benson was still borderline insufferable. As he walked away, Benson shouted something about an alias. Hans ignored him.

He entered the theatre, passing under a large sign that said Alpha Strawberry Theatre. The hell kind of a name is that, Hans thought as he walked over to the lady sitting at the front desk. "I'm here for an interview?" he said, trying to look dignified despite his appearance. After a quick burst of laughter, she pointed at a door farther along the wall. It was slightly ajar. He changed course, picking at the mop head on his head.

"Come in, come in!" said a brightly dressed man from within as Hans approached. Hans took a seat. The man had a stack of paper in his hands and was leafing through the individual sheets. "My name is Mr. Alpha." the man's voice was rough, like sandpaper. "You're the young man who wants to be a stage hand, yes?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the sheets. "Yes." Hans said, as politely as he could manage. "Hmm…"

After a few moments, the man looked up, taking a sip from his drink. He choked. Hans felt his face flush. This stupid wig. He cursed internally, having half a mind to rip the thing right off. Why did he keep wearing it, anyways? The man stuttered. "That's. Interesting." he coughed, taking his eyes off of Hans' 'hair' and bringing them back to the single sheet of paper left in his hand. The remainder of the stack was in an untidy pile on the desk. "Let's get straight to it then, Mr. Rock".

Hans stared. "What?" the man asked, eyes reflecting confusion. Hans looked at the sheet of paper in his own hands; the resume Benson had prepared. He scanned the page. Where his name was supposed to be, were instead the words The Rock. Hans groaned. "Is there a problem, The?" He pronounced it like 'Thay'. Hans shook his head, with a sigh. "No, sir. Just Rock, would be fine."

Mr. Alpha nodded. "Well I got good news for you, Rock." He waved the resume. "I like what I see. You're hired!" Hans blinked, unsure if he should be happy or disappointed. Before he could display either, the man stood up and left the room. Why are people always doing that? He thought, slumping. Mentally, he added kill Benson to his list of things to do before he died.