October 30th, 1840
Kesselburg, The Southern Isles
It was a foggy fall morning when Hans stepped onto the dock with his entourage, which was hardly an unusual phenomenon wherever you were in the Southern Isles, as the rocky islands naturally drew in mist and clouds. What was a nostalgic return for the young industrialist was the smell. Whereas Kurzheim's small dock of Forladtnr carried the strong smell of Salt, wet rope and netting and fish; Kesselburg had become industrialized. Smoke, coal, and metal smells overtook him, reminding him of one very simple fact.
He was home.
The bittersweet moment didn't last long as Border Guard troops quickly moved to meet them. With their blue great coats slick with ocean mist and collars turned up, the waterfront based troops hardly would have impressed any officer's inspection. But Hans knew better than to trust them by their appearance, as some of his past ventures caused him to learn that their eye-sight was sharp, and their pens unforgiving.
The leader of the pair of Guardsmen, a Corporal with brown stubble and weathered skin hinting at a lifetime spent by the sea, produced a black ledger. "What's your business and cargo, Mister…?"
"Westergard. I have a party of six, including myself. We are here to participate in the Royal Ceramics Contract, and our cargo consists of personal luggage and two hundred and fifty sets of fine china. Here's my paper work."
The Corporal took the parchment, flipping through the pages quickly as he scanned the vital sections, looking for any obvious discrepancies. It was obvious when he got to the part involving his name. "Huh." He spent a moment or two finishing scanning, before looking back up at the former prince. "Your paper looks to be in order, Mister Westergard. Though I didn't need to know what proper papers look like to determine you're legit."
"How so?"
"Because only a fool would pretend to be you. Between Arendal and your factory, there's a number of pretty powerful people who would love to see ill of you."
Hans nodded. "Well, that sounds about right."
"It says here you brought your wife and her lady in waiting, as well as a bodyguard and two servants?"
"Yes. That's true." Well, it was true technically. Hans knew that he was unpopular at the moment, so his two 'servants' were really mercenaries hired to do the job, given that he was only permitted one bodyguard when he was in the Capital. Both had been given crash courses in etiquette over the past few weeks, so they would perform their duties as expected. As for his actual bodyguard, Schwarzkopf had picked out the current man, a recently discharged soldier who stood well over six foot and had excellent bearing.
The border guard didn't show whether or not he fell for the ruse (likely not caring even if he didn't) before returning his paper work to Hans. "Move on to the main building, Mister Westergard. There your paperwork will be inspected while we offload and inspect your cargo and luggage. Good day."
Hans nodded and stuffed his parchments into his suit pocket, before turning to his entourage. The two servants had stayed behind to assist with the cargo, leaving just Johanna, Kristina, and the bodyguard. The bodyguard was naturally in a sentry's posture, while interestingly enough Johanna and Kristian stood close to each other, relaxed and familiar, as they had before the sorceress's secret had come out.
Hans smiled. Good. Now they are back together and the schism has been averted.
"Let's go Ladies. We have a long day ahead of us."
…
October 31st, 1840
Kesselburg, the Southern Isle.
It took almost an entire day for Hans and his group to make it through customs, leaving only enough for them to arrange for the ceramics to be secured. Luckily, the Customs service was handling that, as King Frederick had stipulated that all the contestants would keep their ceramics in one common warehouse, to ensure a balanced playground and to prevent sabotage. After all, no-one dared kill the King's men, and risk the entire trial being cancelled. After that, it was to Hans' apartment building.
Now while Hans had liquidated as many of his holdings in the capital as possible, some he simply couldn't for a variety of reasons. In this case, it was because it wasn't his to sell. As the Southern Isles wasn't a big or particularly wealthy nation, that meant that overly upgrading the Royal Castle wasn't truly an option. As such, there was only so much room to go around, and so many rooms for the children of King Frederick. And by the time Athena and Frederick had become grown, there simply wasn't room for them to be granted a suite suited for their status. As such, they were granted apartment buildings nearby as permanent guest lodging. So while the apartment was all to his own, he didn't have the deed to actually sell it.
So it was a little weird as he entered his old home for the first time in months, the smell of dust entering his nostrils as he looked upon all the sheeted furniture, what little of it remained.
Guess I should not have dismissed the maid after all. To be fair I wasn't expecting to return so quick…
Johanna entered, taking in the view. "So this is where you lived?"
"Yes, this was my evil lair, back in the day."
Johanna sniffed in derision. "Doesn't have a lot of flair to it, does it?"
Jumping in, Kristina added as she looked about the apartment. "Yeah, it almost looks like a normal place."
Smiling slyly, Hans added. "Well, I wasn't exactly advertising back then. But if you wouldn't mind, I have a number of ideas to make Kurzheim look all manners of sinister."
Nice to see their snark is back. It's almost as if they are their old selves again. Let's see.
As Kristina gravitated back towards Johanna, as she normally did, Hans picked up his personal luggage and moved towards his old bedroom. "Now if you'll excuse me I'll be in my room, with the double bed."
Johanna raised an eyebrow. "Wait, double bed? Where is Kristina staying?"
"In the guest room. I have two with nice single beds, one for Kristina, one for the Bodyguard."
There was an awkward pause, before Hans followed up to his own statement. "Don't worry, I'm sure you and Kristina will have plenty of room to make love to each other on her bed, as I'm sure you are both eager to reenter your relationship."
The two women looked at each other and blushed before looking away.
"That's what I thought. Now I'll be in my room, unpacking." He walked over to his door, before pausing. "Oh, Johanna, if you have trouble sleeping, by all means, feel free to join me in my double bed."
Johanna scoffed, her face swelling in anger. "And what makes you think I won't simply consign you to the couch and take the bed for myself?"
Hans gave a low, guttural chuckle. "And if I don't you'll what? Not sleep with me for a few months? That wasn't on the table to begin with, so I think I'll enjoy stretching out as compared to letting the two of you ruin my bed. Goodnight."
...
Hans laid alone in his twin sized bed, working on some paperwork when he heard a knock on the door. Based on the sound, it was a taller, stronger man. Likely his bodyguard or servants, but as always, he made a mental note of where his pistol was stowed. "Come in."
The door opened, revealing his servant flanked by a uniformed Army messenger, carrying a sealed parchment. "Message for you, M'lord."
"Thank you soldier. You are dismissed."
The soldier clicked to attention, responding with a quick "Sir" before turning to the door. The servant then passed off the parchment to Hans, before stepping back. "Is there anything else you need, M'lord?"
"That'll be all, Svensen."
The servant nodded, and left as Hans inspected the parchment. Inspecting the sealing wax, the signet was a dead giveaway, as it was the very familiar seal of his father. Opening it at once, he flipped the parchment about to inspect its contents.
Hans,
You are hereby invited to a private dinner at the royal palace tomorrow evening at 6 PM sharp. It is to be a personal family dinner, so come alone with this document. Dress sharply.
Signed,
King Frederick of the Southern Isles.
Hans nodded, before neatly folding up the parchment and placing it on his nightstand. "Better tell Svensen to prepare one of my suits first thing tomorrow, then."
…
November 1st, 1840
"Right in here, M'lord. The King will be here to see you momentarily."
The servant bowed and left closed the door behind Hans, leaving him alone in the old stone room that served as the dining room in the old castle. Unlike the bright sunny ballroom that dominated the main floor of the castle, this room was smaller and more personal, dating back to a time that a respected Christian Jarl only needed to seat a few dozen courtiers at his hall. Frederick found it to be snug and Spartan, so he made it to be the family's dining hall.
It always seemed smaller than he remembered. It always did.
Hans walked into the old dining room of his childhood castle home, the history of it all washing over him like a wave. While he had nostalgia for the royal apartment that was his first real personal space, it was in these halls that he was formed, for better or worse.
It was here that he yearned for a place all of his own.
As he approached the table, he noted the table had three sets of silverware placed, which piqued his interest. One was for him and one for his father, but who was the third person? His older brother Alex was not in town, and just about everyone else had disowned him. Who still cared to dine with Hans?
At the far side of the room, away from Hans, the door opened to reveal the court's chamberlain. Stepping to a place to the side and snapping to attention, the man carried out one of his many daily duties.
"All rise for the King!"
Hans suppressed a snicker as he was the only one in the room, but good discipline had him click to a position of attention. Still, he cast his eyes alone to the entrance, where his father entered as expected. The old war horse motioned for Hans to carry on, before turning about back towards the door. As Hans relaxed his stance, he thought who or what could be following, when the answer was revealed to him.
Through the door at a slow, crawl of a walk, came his mother, Queen Melody.
A cold chill ran down Hans' spine as it occurred to him that this would unlikely be some random familial get together if his mother had left his sick bed to see him. After all she had been stricken with Polio, and while she had been recovering, she was still all but paralyzed. And yet, down the stairs she came. Slow, yes, but steady and not one hint of the pain that must have racked her.
And thus lie another well regarded truth of the Westergards. While their Grandmother Ariel was a menace they all feared, Ariel was nothing compared to Melody when their mother was wrathful. For Melody made of much, much harder stuff.
Everywhere their father had been, their mother had been too. From the meat grinder of Iberia to the killing fields of Germany and Belgium, their mother was in cannon range of the battlefield, living no better than any other impoverished officer's wife. More than once she went in after dark to the often still active battlefield to find her love when he was wounded, and during the battle that cost Frederick his arm it was Melody that found him and brought him back to the surgeon.
But yet despite having living a very hard life, Melody was the model of charity and kindness, at least against those that had not done her wrong. For those that had, well, she was the model of bearing a velvet glove, iron hand approach to social interaction.
Ariel may have been made of iron, but it was Melody who was the true steel.
…
Hans quietly ate his food in silence, as not a word had been spoken in the period since they had sat down at the dinner table. That had been over half an hour ago. Working up a bit of courage, Hans looked up from his plate, to his parents. His father ate his meal in feigned innocence, clearly avoiding stepping on his wife's toes, clearly indicating who the mastermind of this whole plan was. So it was no great surprise that Melody's steel gaze was waiting for his, causing a momentary panic and forcing his eyes back down to his plate again.
Another brief moment of silence followed, before Melody decided that the ice needed to be cracked.
"So Hans, I see you have chosen a suit as compared to your uniform. I thought you loved that uniform."
Hans paused, thinking up a proper response. "I… did. But it no longer suited me."
Melody put down her fork. "How so?"
"Well, with my transition into capitalism, I am no longer a model officer of the nobility, am I?"
Melody gave a kind smile, which with her could mean a great many things.
Hans paused, shame nagging on him to be truthful to his mother as he had always been. "Also, Arendal may have something to do with it."
Still smiling, Melody responded. "Yes, It may have had something to do with it." She shifted to a more somber look, staring deeply at her son. "Why?"
Hans was taken aback by what perceived to be the obviousness of the question, stammering a response. "Well, naturally the nobility doesn't respond well to regicide, so-"
"No Hans. I'm not asking you why you think the nobility found your actions questionable. I'm asking you, why?"
Hans' lower lip quivered. "I…" He thought back at when he decided to go after Arendal, and what exact thoughts drove him. At least, he tried. "I… don't know why exactly. I wanted to be King and to have my own place. And well, I never stood a chance here. One day I decided to marry into a Royal Line, the next it seemed I was in Arendal doing what I did."
"Was being just our son so bad?"
"No! It's just… I knew I could be greater than what I was. I Knew I could be a King in a way to make father proud. I figured if I was King, then I would have escaped his shadow. I would be my own man. Anything less than that would be riding father's coat tails, regardless of whether I joined the Military, the diplomatic service or government."
Silent but attentive, Frederick grimaced as his suspicions had been confirmed: that he was partly responsible for the actions of Arendal. He suspected, and was all but sure, but hearing from the horse's mouth was a kick to the stomach.
Melody for her part shook her head. "Tell me Hans, when you planned all of this, what did you plan of the Royal sisters?"
"I was informed by spies that Anna was secluded, lonely, and desperate for companionship. So I determined she was my way in. Upon marriage, Elsa would have to be removed from the picture. Abdication would be preferred as it would be less suspicious but…" Hans felt deep shame now that he was confessing to his mother, similar to the way one felt if you were to curse in front of your grandmother. "… but I had plans in place to arrange an accident."
"If this was all to earn our respect, did it occur to you that we may have been similarly disgusted once you became King?"
"It did. Firstly, that would have come into play only if the plan had gone so far awry, which as foolproof as I made that plan, I didn't consider to be a major possibility. And secondly, even if I did, I guess I would have followed Machiavelli. I wasn't craving admiration; I was craving respect."
"But it did go awry, Hans. And now you've lost our admiration, and our respect."
"Well, to be fair, I don't think anyone saw magic coming. After that it was all on the fly, and my schemes failed. So yes, I guess I have lost your admiration and respect."
"You seem awfully calm about it."
"I do. Perhaps it was more about the test than the prize, after all. I wondered If I could fly on my own. Now I know." Hans chuckled to himself.
"And yet here you are, entering into the ceramics trial. If you've knew that without your father you couldn't fly, why test yourself again?"
"But mother, who said I knew I couldn't fly?" His appetite sated, regarding both stomach and closure, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and tidied up his setting at the table. "Now if you'll excuse me, mother and father, I shall return to my ceramics."
Neither Melody or Frederick spoke as their youngest son stood and turned for the door, waiting until he reached the door when Melody responded. "Hans… your father and I have discussed it before this dinner and we both determined that magic is what doomed you in Arendal, and you've never been one to repeat mistakes."
Hans froze in place, responding tentatively. "Yes, that is more or less true,"
"Well, Arendal taught you respect for magic, as I'm certain it did for a good many people." She paused, before carefully continuing. "So we must ask, you wouldn't happen to be using sorcery to win the ceramics trials, are you?" Despite her tone, Hans knew it wasn't a question.
A chill ran down his spine as he turned about and gave his most genuine false smile. "Of course not, Mother."
His mother also smiled, reminding Hans that she never quite mastered a fake smile "Good. That's a relief to hear, Hans."
Still smiling, Hans left the room.
…
November 2nd, 1840
As scheduled, the trials proper began the next morning, with the contestants gathering in the Castle's ballroom along with a number of courtiers. The official reasoning was to ensure all the contestants would be gathered in on place to ensure the winner, though just about everyone knew that the second reason was to take an additional step to prevent sabotage as the entire official party was required to attend. As such, Hans, Johanna, Kristina and their entourage waited quietly in the ballroom for the official ceremony to start.
Despite the rocky start, the three were back to a relatively good relationship, at least as good as the three got. Now that the two women were back in each other's arms thanks to Hans taking the blame, Johanna and Kristina seemed to be adapting a 'no harm no foul' attitude to the whole debacle, with all parties' tensions relaxing even in the hustle-bustle of the capital and the less than ideal arrangements of Hans' apartment. So while the sarcasm and bickering still carried on, things were relatively back to normal.
So as it was, Hans stood appearing calm and relaxed in the ballroom scanning the opposition, while Johanna and Kristina made merry and took the opportunity to partake in foodstuff that was simply not available in Kurzheim. For Hans, keeping mentally busy distracted him from the one thing that bothered him- his parents' comments the previous night. They knew he used magic, there was no way around it. But so far the hammer had not dropped on him… yet. Hans didn't like the wait, he rather they just come out and announce who won or disqualify him then and there, because at the moment he felt completely without control of a situation.
The last time he felt this way was in the dungeon. Before that, Arendal.
Needless to say, he did not like this feeling. So once again he distracted himself by looking about at his rivals. First and foremost was Royal Copenhagen, the Danish giant in ceramics. At least they used to be. While they were hardly dead yet, their goods were no longer guaranteed to beat the smaller shops.
As for the smaller shops, the second largest in the competition was Lillesand Glassworks, an Arendaler company that while was primarily a glass producer, had recently begun to manufacture fine china. Now while Royal Copenhagen represented stagnation and decadence, Lillesand was the energized underdog. Untouched during the Tryggvason revolt, the industry represented a well needed economic break for the still troubled Arendal. They would have certainly have given it their all, plus it was currently an open secret that Queen Elsa had decorated some of the China with her magic, to give it some extra flair. Not enough to threaten him, but a bonus to be sure.
All that was left was the small workshops that were scattered across the Southern Isles which also entered into the competition, many of them having painstakingly produced a surplus of ceramics for months to meet the requirements of the competition. They prayed that luck would land them the patronage, or at the very least a contract or two.
For that was the other major group in attendance, was prospecting buyers of fine china, who came to the Southern Isles to make a good deal, as after the ruling had been made, samples would be displayed of all of the competition so that buyers could browse and possibly buy the various sets of china. For the best would walk away with numerous contracts and orders to fill. For the less lucky, at the very least they would at least get some Krone for all of the china they made.
All in all, Hans had little to worry about thanks to the magic, assuming his goods weren't dismissed for that very reason. It was going to be a long wait.
…
King Frederick had waited patiently in an adjacent room for the results of his handpicked inspectors for over an hour when finally, the chief of the endeavor entered the room, bowing slightly after closing the door.
"Well?"
"Your Majesty, I must report that without a shadow of a doubt, Kurzheim Ceramics is the winner of the competition."
King Frederick's face remained calm, with a twinge of disappointment upon hearing the news. Knowing the King had wished to look impartial, the Chief began to explain.
"I know this was not the desired result, your Majesty. But from an unbiased perspective, his goods won. I personally checked it out for myself to confirm, and his are just better, sire. More durable, more vibrant colors, a better sheen, even better heat insulation. If you must know, Lillesand is the second best, and Royal Copenhagen a close third if you wish to disregard Kurzheim, your majesty."
Frederick thought for a moment on his courses of action, none of which were great to him personally. The first was to go with the actual best ceramics, that of his son. While he was the best, he was certain he cheated with magic, plus there was the fact that it would appear to be favoritism no matter what he did. It wasn't the end of the world, but still. Second, was to pick Lillesand. While Arendal could use the contract, ethically it didn't feel right to deny his son the win for using magic when Lillesand had all but confirmed that Queen Elsa decorated the china produced there with her ice. Which left the third choice: Royal Copenhagen. He had no desire to deal with them again, as he was working to shed the long standing subjugation of the Southern Isles by Denmark. A key part of that was economic independence.
Thus, he decided. "No, we'll go with the best china. We'll go with Kurzheim."
"As you wish, your Majesty."
Frederick sighed, already mentally trying to figure out how to do damage control.
Why couldn't have Arendal just won outright?
…
"…And thusly I am happy to announce the top contestants in this competition."
Hans stood with bated breath, as he had since his father emerged from a door a few minutes prior to announce the winner of the patronage. Of course first he had to thank everyone involved as well as praise the spirit of the entrepreneur, as after all, without the cooperation of the trade guilds, this was all impossible. Now he was about to mention the honorable mentions, in which included the winner. This was to steer business towards the runner-ups as well as soothe hurt feelings.
"The top ceramic producers are as follows: Lillesand Glassworks."
A highly respectable round of applause was heard, as everyone loved a noble underdog, and Arendal was certainly that right now. Win or not, Hans had a feeling they were to have a lot of business steered their way.
"Royal Copenhagen."
This was merely a polite, but very unenthusiastic round of applause. Nobody loved Royal Copenhagen, but nobody wanted to step on the toes of the Danes either.
"And Kurzheim Ceramics."
Silence, for a good several seconds. But just when Hans had accepted their petty insult, a number of men began clapping. Turning to look, he recognized them to be a number of Capitalists and Industrialists who had come to do business. Likely they saw Hans as an ideal ally, a dream come true: an industry friendly noble.
"And finally, the winner of the trials and the recipient of the Royal Patronage… is Kurzheim Ceramics. Congrat-"
Hans gasped a massive sigh of relief, his pent up anxiety lifting off of him like a shed rucksack full of sand while the gathered noblemen reacted with disgust to the news that their black sheep had won. A number left in disgust, and more beginning to boo the news altogether. It took but for a moment for Frederick's steward to tire of it.
"SILENCE, YOUR KING SPEAKS!"
The stern voice startled them, and before any could protest any further, a number of Royal Guard stepped up, clearly there to forcibly escort any further troublemakers from the room. Back in control, Frederick finished.
"As I was saying Congratulations to the workers, managers and owners of Kurzheim Ceramics for their auspicious win, and I wish them luck in the future. Good Evening."
As King Frederick left the proverbial spotlight, the ballroom once again milled with activity as clients immediately moved to make deals and earn money. A good many went to Lillesand's representatives, likely out of either charity, diplomacy, or good old fashioned spite. Most of the rest went to Royal Copenhagen. As such, Hans found only a small number of Capitalists making their way to him, hands outstretched. A little numb with victory, he was a little slow to outreach his own hand.
The first to grasp his hand was an elderly man, who spoke with a Northern English accent. "Good show, lad."
"Thank you, Mister…?"
"Mister Sean Archer, owner of a number of textile mills across England, based in Yorkshire." He paused, letting go of his firm handshake. "And you've just became one of us now."
"Pardon?"
"You're an industrialist now, probably one of the most hated creatures in the world. But don't worry, we take care of our own."
Hans smiled knowingly. "From what I've heard that's less than true."
"Well, we amongst our own regions it's true that we can be quite cutthroat. But at the end of the day, we're all in the same boat. And you my friend, are more than welcome aboard. You see, we need a noble to be our spokesman and man in the ring politically. To represent all of us, at least in the Southern Isles"
Hans chuckled. "I'm hardly the most loved Prince at the moment, in case you haven't noticed. And I don't exactly have much power either."
"Oh don't worry about that, Lord Hans. You support us, we support you. And Lord Hans, money talks."
…
Bit of Notes-
And finally the chapter from hell comes to a close. For months, I had intended this to be the last chapter before I went on a Hiatus for this fanfic, only to find it becoming three chapters eventually. But it is finally complete. Yay for me.
As of now, the focus goes entirely into aftermath in an effort to finish that story for good, and from then on, who knows? I have a basic idea for the next bit of Hans Fate, but it may be a while before I work on it again. So to those of you following me, don't expect much for a long, long while.
O7,
Dragunov