Hans fell and fell and fell. The ocean was so far away. In a sense, it had been his home for years. Of course it wasn't really his home. No, no... he'd lost his home; been kicked out. He'd been told that he had to go and serve the nation because people were to be inspired by their princes. So, like an obedient son, he went and spent years of his young life miserable.
The wind rushed through his hair right before he hit the surf.
On a cliff-side nearby, the enchantress watched, bemused. this was not the first prince that she'd sorted out, nor would it likely be the last. Men often needed... incentive to do right. Her duty, really, was just to balance the power between royals and subjects, and men and women. She smirked at the problem Hans now faced; how could he kill the girls without staying a dog, and how could he kill them without staying in a disguised form?
Prudence instructed that she walk away. After all, observing her mark so closely sometimes led her to intervene, a storm here, a branch on the main road there... that was the extent of her interference. If Prince Hans died trying to escape custody would that be so 'wrong'?
Still, she watched breathlessly as he hit the water, silently praying to God (What? Enchantresses can't be religious? Grow up) that he survive. After all, near-death experiences often did wonders to improve the attitude of way-ward princes.
For long seconds nothing happened. The Enchantress kicked up a storm, letting the violent waves heighten the danger, and the chances that Hans would be swept out to sea. Just as she was about to give up (hope) on him, a small furry head popped above the surface for a split second before going under.
She allowed herself a small smile.
Prince Hans, on the other hand, was in a panic. In a new body, competing with a dog mind, he found himself thoroughly confused. Which way was up? Which way was down?
For a second, the chill fingers of death swept over him. They reminded him of other, nimbler fingers that were far colder...
His head burst above the surface of the water. He inhaled as much as he could, stifling the choking panic.
Get up, get up, get up and swim.
He chanted an old sea shanty trying to get his tail in gear. Hans chided himself for being so weak. Without proper shoulders, he had to go back to the very first technique he learned;
The doggy paddle.
Oh, if his ex-navy compatriots could see him now! Using such a basic form to just stay alive in such brutal weather. But, it worked. His head broke through the surface as he was swept out to sea. He took another mouthful of air, and another, and another. After climbing to the surface the tenth time, he managed to stay afloat.
His doggy mouth huffed out his breath as the adrenaline kicked in again. He paddled for all his might. If his brother or the warden caught him, he was shark chow. And so he swam and swam, and swam, for hours.
Back when he was first told he would be volunteering for the navy, his brother's were told to teach him how to swim. Their lessons always broke down to one primary goal; endurance.
He had to go and go and go and go and go and go and go.
The sky gave no indication of time, so after awhile it seemed like he'd been swimming for days. There were no rocks in sight, no pleasant sandbars where he could rest. Even with his new-found animal endurance, Hans found it almost impossible to keep going. Finally, the dog gave up. The canine part of his mind stopped struggling and let itself collapse, ready to die.
No, we have to keep going, we have to get back to her!
It didn't matter to him that he was unsure exactly what he would be doing when he actually got back to her, but he knew he would enjoy it for as long as it lasted.
Home.
The feeling in his stomach that he belonged in Arrendelle grew stronger and stronger. He used that to motivate himself.
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming... He hummed to himself. More time passed. The world boiled down to waves and weariness. Hans would paddle up one wave and down another. He was terrified that, when he turned around, he would see the shore of his prison, and that he had spent this whole time exhausting himself for nothing...
Elsa...
Hans shook his head. Why did she keep appearing in his mind? It's not as though they spent too much time together; and the time that they did have he was busy manipulating her. Still, something about her was just... amazing. Powerful, yet vulnerable.
Home...
After another eternal-seeming stretch, Hans gave up. His legs refused to budge. His human mind, as well as his dog-brain, were both exhausted. The line between reality and dreams blurred. The dog wanted food, warmth, and a home. Hans something similar, but in the background a white-haired-angel-
NO!
Hans refused to give up. Even if he couldn't keep going, he could hold his breath, angle himself in waves smartly. He tried to keep himself awake and alert, but he kept dreaming of Arrendale in spring.
Finally, after hours, and hours, and hours, and hours... he gave up.
Elsa... He finally admitted, I'm... soooorr-
The world fell away as the waves crushed him down under the surface. Fish swam idly past him.
Hooome... I want a home...
The fish darted quickly, trying to get away... from what? A shark? No, worse. A net. The rope ensnared the fish, and a bit more.
Somewhere in the darkness of the dreamworld, Hans found himself delivered from darkness into light. Freezing waves to warm sunlight.
He gasped loudly, coughing out the water. He and the rest of the catch were dropped unceremoniously on the deck.
"Well, well, cap'm," Said a sea dog, "Looky what our catch is? I heard of a catfish, but a dog fish?" He laughed wetly. Had Hans the power he once held as captain, he would have had the man walk the plank for such a stupid joke. Instead, he lay there weakly.
Someone poked him. Hans groaned at the indignity.
"Whoa! I think it's alive!"
"Nooooo!"
The captain came down and fished Hans out of the pile, "Beaut' ain't he?" Hans coughed out more water, "And a fighter!"
The dog was dropped to the deck. Hans knew that his survival depended on what happened next; any captain worth his sea salt knew a crew member, no matter the flesh he was wrapped in. As the captain returned to the helm, Hans followed him as upright as he could.
"Look at that! He's like your shadow!"
The captain laughed at that, "Yeah! Shadow! I suppose we could keep him around a bit. We could feed him some scraps..."
Hans moaned; scraps of rotting fish, when did his life become so glamorous? Still, he was on his feet... until he collapsed.
"He ain't looking too good, Cap'n. Think we should put him out o' his misery?"
"Naaaah! He looks like a huntin' dog for some nobleman..." The captain got a glimpse of the collar under the build-up of sea slime and fish guts. He leaned down and tried to remove it. No dice, "I'll just take 'im home to Sofia, tell that brat to get 'im healthy again... then sell him."
Another indignity. Hans swallowed hard. He had to remind himself he wasn't just an animal; he was a prince. And someday he would come back to these men as their king.
"Let's get home boys!" The captain, who, apart from fish, smelled strongly of liquor, hollered, "Drinks are on me!" The boys cheered.
"Yeah!" screamed the sea dog, "Home! To Arrendelle!"
A.N. Oh no!