A/N: Sorry this took so long, but I did have a snow day today so it finally got done! I also have a snow day tomorrow so I'll start work on chapter three. I'm sorry if this isn't that great of a chapter, I was having some difficulty with the violence. If anyone has any suggestions on have to write physical violence I'd greatly appreciate some advice. I'm much better at psychological angst which will probably be more prominent in the next chapters so stay tuned.

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, violence, and blood

Hans was brought out of his brooding when the party finally arrived in Declyn's chambers. The guards thrust him on to the cold stone floor. Hans tried to bring up his hands to stop his fall, but as they were chained behind his back he only managed to cut his wrists on the metal. His shoulder cracked against the stone with a sickening jolt that traveled through his body. He lay there for a moment, stunned. Above him he could hear Declyn giving the guards orders to leave them. He turned himself over. uncomfortably placing his full weight on his bound hands under him. Shaking his hair back from his face he stared up at his brother coldly as the door slammed behind the guards.

Declyn glanced down at his brother, his eyes were dark and cold, and only rested on him for a moment before casually sliding away, as he skirted around Hans. He went to his desk instead, sitting down at the richly carved chair and taking out papers that looked official. Hans drew in a sharp breath, not quite believing it. Again? Really? He glared daggers at his brother's back.

As Declyn's pen scratched away at the papers, Hans shifted his weight from one elbow to the other, wincing as his full weight rested on his bruised shoulder. He raised himself to his knees then from there to his feet. He puffed out his chest confrontationally. He may be dressed in rags and bound by chains like a common prisoner, but he was still a prince, should be a king, whether his brothers or those wenches of Arendelle wanted to believe it.

Utilizing the most commanding voice he could muster, he addressed his brother, "What are you going to do to me, "brother"?" When Declyn didn't respond, he laughed, gaining momentum. "Just pretend I'm not here? Again? That's very mature. A very suitable punishment, yes?"

Without warning, Declyn's chair was thrown back by the force of his thrusting himself to his feet. He backhanded Hans across the face before he could utter another poisonous word. Hans jerked back, in shock more than pain, the latter he wouldn't feel until the shock faded in a minute. Declyn grabbed Hans by the back of his neck so he could not get away from him, no matter how much his little brother squirmed. He brought their faces closer together so he was certain that he had Hans's full attention.

"No, you've made me quite aware of your presence." Something in Declyn's voice caused Hans to freeze, only able to stare back into those eyes that were dark with a barely controlled storm of hatred. He involuntarily flinched away from him, but was held fast by the firm grip on the nape of his neck. Declyn's thin lips twitched into a satisfied smirk as he saw Hans squirming.

He turned Hans roughly in his bruising grip so that Hans could no longer see him. He stiffened expecting some sort of passionate rage that his brother was known for, but to his surprise the chain around his wrists went slack. Hans jerked away, furrowing his brow distrustfully as he regarded his brother.

Declyn turned his back to Hans as he made his way over to the closet. He didn't need to worry about being attacked from behind by his brother. He was stronger then Hans tenfold. He wouldn't exert much effort at all to subdue him again. Hans's face burned with that knowledge, but still, stayed his hand. Instead, he rubbed the lacerations on his wrists. At least there wouldn't be any more chaffing.

Finally, Declyn turned around holding a tall, hawthorn walking stick. Hans raised a brow, "Are we going somewhere? Perhaps to check on your troops? You were made captain of the guard recently, yes? Maybe I'll follow you around, be your secretary."

The first blow came, unexpectedly. A loud crack echoed in the Spartan chamber. Hans fell to the floor in a heap with a sharp gasp of pain. After a moment of ragged breathing he shook himself, trying to support himself on his abused elbows as he looked up at his brother. "A beating? Like when we were children?" He laughed dismissively. Humiliating but a slap was pathetic.

The second blow crashed against his shoulder blades driving him to the ground, and the third came after in quick succession. Hans felt his right shoulder blade crack under the blow the pain shooting through his back. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, tasting the coppery taste run over his lips.

"Now under usual circumstances I would say that it was wrong to strike someone weaker than you," Declyn said, casually stepping on Hans's back, holding him down. "However, wouldn't you say Princess Anna was weaker than you?"

Hans licked his lips, but found his tongue was dry. The walking stick smacked against his back again making him jerk against his brother's foot. Declyn only pushed down harder as he knelt on his back, driving the air out of Hans's lungs. He leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Tell me did she cry when you boasted about what you did, how you never loved her?" Hans looked back to the grey floor to avoid his piercing eyes. "I'll bet she did," he continued. "So here's my bargain, I beat you, until you cry... good enough?"

The weight left his back, but before he could struggle to his feet he was struck again. The blows came at irregular pace for almost three quarters of an hour. Sometimes one would come right after the other causing a searing pain and other times Declyn would wait for a beat or two before striking again so that he would not be able to prepare and each hit brought more pain. Hans grunted after only the first twelve strokes. He tried to keep silent, but he was heard. Declyn leaned down again over him. "On second thought you may be weaker than the Princess. I hear a broken heart would hurt more than a few lashes." He laughed as he stood once more, this time pulled the shirt off of Han's back. Hans's cheeks burned in shame as he squeezed his eyes shut. He had seen others outlast this punishment before. Was he really so weak that a few blows would cause him to cry out?

After a few more lashes Hans began to scream outright, unable to contain himself any more. He squirmed with every blow and then once his back had been bruised and bloodied a final blow came across his spine. The pain was so intense as the staff slammed against his back creating a painful shudder that traveled through his whole body. Hans was sure that his spine had snapped. He was paralyzed or dying. That was the only explanation for such pain. His hazel eyes unfocused as he began to wail. He wasn't even aware that he was crying, only that he wanted it to stop.

Declyn smiled as he watched his little brother fall apart under his hand. Hans was still wailing loudly, tears flowing from his eyes. Shaking his head, Declyn pushed him over on to his back with a gentle chuckle at the hiccup in the screaming when his head hit the floor. He pressed his foot to his brother's throat until he stopped screaming, gasping sobs the only sound in the now eerily quiet room. "Shut up," he commanded gruffly. "We're only getting started."

Hans shivered, but silenced himself, not wanting to earn another lash. He would have liked to ask to get up, but he had the feeling that he shouldn't speak. He only lay there as his body shook with silent sobs. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or who had administered it that had brought him to tears.

~scene~

King Asher shrugged off his ceremonial robes, thanking the powers that he had survived this day. It had been trying to say the least. He stood before the long mirror observing himself. A new line had appeared on his brow and his shoulders seemed to carry another heavy weight. His thoughts tonight did not dwell on affairs of state, but on another matter that had not had his attention in a very long while. Hans. He couldn't reconcile his youngest brother, the one who had always seemed to be the most compassionate of their clan, with this villain who took advantage of naïve women. Maybe he should have paid more attention to him.

Suddenly, two thin arms snaked around his neck. "Where are you?" the gentle voice whispered into his ear.

He sighed, turning to his wife of eight years, Delana. She was as lovely as when he first met her, beautiful black tresses falling over pale shoulders framing deep brown eyes. She kept her arms around his neck as she studied his face. "It's Hans, isn't it?" she asked at last.

Asher nodded tiredly. "Yes." He allowed her to lead him over to their grand bed. Delana pushed him down to the bed gently, crawling around behind him. She took hold of his shoulders, rubbing slowly.

After a few moments of silence, broken only by the crackling fire in their hearth, she spoke again. "Do you want my opinion?" She sat back on her heels staring into his eyes with a wisdom that had never been granted to a man in this world. "I think you were too harsh with him."

Asher drew his brow together, perplexed. "What led you to this conclusion?"

"Before our marriage, you know that I was third in line for the throne of my kingdom. I was desperate to prove myself, if only to show that I was worth as much as my older siblings. I can only imagine how he must have felt as thirteenth in line!"

He shook his head. "He never thought of himself inferior. Even if you were somewhat correct, I must consider our relations with Arendelle more important than Hans's pride. He will be treated fairly by Declyn. It's all for the best." He turned to her with a wry smile. "And as for you, you were never inferior." Delana smirked leaning over to share the kiss he deserved for that comment; her worries had been abated.