Day 7's Prompt: "Prisoner"
Disclaimer: Frozen belongs to Disney.
Prisoner
He was breathing in deeply and very quickly, his heart was hammering against his ribs that it almost hurt, and his entire body was covered in cold sweat. His teeth were chattering despite the fact that he was trying to clench his jaw tightly. His rich clothes had long turned into rags since being imprisoned in the dungeons. It served as a reminder of his failures, his disgrace and all that he stood to lose.
He was kneeling in the middle of his cell, his knees were covered with dirt and flecks of mud, his clothes were in tatters, not suited for a prince—a title he was sure that he'd soon be losing. His arms hung limply in front of him, his wrists felt heavy, shackled together the same way his legs were behind him. His entire posture was slack and his head hung low.
A surge of pride and arrogance filled him, he felt volatile, as though another speck of dust landing on his cheek would cause him to start thrashing wildly like a beast, whilst shouting away his disappointments like a madman.
His first visitor was his second brother, who was unrelenting as he jeered at the disgraced prince, "You're a failure, Hans. You always have been, and you always will be.
"I told you, didn't I? Someone like you will never be king. You've been nothing but a burden ever since you were born, did you actually think you could change your fate?"
He felt so weak and powerless in that moment. He could only bring himself to glare at his second brother. It was rather amazing, he managed to muse proudly, that I didn't retort or utter a single remark in return.
Maybe it was because he felt too weak, too resigned to do anything but back away, as pathetic as it sounded, and nurse his battered pride.
Hans was hurting all over, the physical pain served to numb whatever emotion he could have had in that moment. His rage and his desire to find a destructive outlet for his frustrations died down. Reducing his fire and mettle into dying embers.
He was covered with bruises and cuts with drying blood all over his body from the last, and only visit his third brother had paid him so far, and he could still taste the blood in his mouth. If his second brother was great at mentally and emotionally draining him with verbal abuse, his third brother was exceptionally great at talking with his fists.
His other brothers visited him as a group. Some of them were more forgiving, offering a bit of comfort and solace, while the others, unsurprisingly, rebuked and jeered at him. There were still five brothers who haven't visited yet to share a piece of their minds, although Hans knew that these brothers would be infinitely kinder than the rest, they were the only brothers who genuinely cared about who he was, his welfare and what he was up to.
They wouldn't be pleased with his scheme, obviously, and his oldest brother, who was the current king, wouldn't be as relenting as he was when Hans was a little boy—who, as a child, chewed an important document to grab his attention—now that he was in charge of deciding what would become of his youngest brother's life.
The twins would probably be as they usually were. Humorous and happy-go-lucky no matter what the given circumstance was. Hans would rather have the light-heartedness of the twins though, because even if they laughed at his current disposition, he knew the twins would never mean it as an actual insult. They're just lively that way, he thought. They always have been.
His sixth brother would most likely reprimand him for his behavior, but would end up chatting with him as though they were back in the castle, and casually chatting about the weather, or politics, or whatever devious scheme they could plan about to get back at the twins's antics and pranks.
Hans, however, was curious about what his ninth brother would have to say, or how he would react. His ninth brother was always quiet, almost brooding but with an easy smile, always calm and secretively calculating. His composure almost equalled their oldest brother's.
Through his pain and disappointment, Hans threw his head back and started laughing manically. Great so he finally lost his mind. Finished with his laughter, he started shouting, as loud as he possibly could—no one would hear him anyway, no one ever did. He shouted away all his fears, his frustrations, his disappointments, and his failures, he kept on shouting, oblivious to the tears that streamed freely down his cheeks. He shouted until there was nothing left in him, until his voice was hoarse and his throat had badly hurt.
He didn't know how long that moment had gone on. Minutes? Hours? It felt like an eternity. He brought his head down again, his chin touching his chest. Well, this is pathetic, he mentally scoffed, cursing his pathetic existence once more.
Why?
He gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly and fought against the tears that still wanted to escape, and the weakness that threatened to overcome him still.
All I ever wanted was to be acknowledge.
I only wanted you to tell me you were proud of me.
That I'm not just some accident you were forced to live with.
He didn't know who those words were for. For his brothers? Especially the oldest? For his father, who never seemed to have the time for him? Or for the mother he never met, whose death was his supposedly his fault?
I thought I could become king.
I'm so stupid.
I was so stupid.
I made a mistake by keeping her alive.
I should have just killed her when I had the chance.
I shouldn't have taken a moment too long to hesitate with the other one either.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I swear that the moment I get out of here, I will take my bloody revenge!
Even it it kills m—
"Hans."
Hans's head snapped up, eyes widening at the sight of his ninth brother, whose dark blue eyes looked down at him with pity.
Don't look at me like that!
The pity in the older prince's eyes turned into compassion when he saw the state his youngest brother was in. Slowly, with calculated grace, the prince kneeled down on one knee so he was on the same eye level as Hans, his hands gripped the bars of the cell as he stared into his brother's green eyes.
Stop looking at me like you care!
But he does care, Hans knew that deep in his heart, but he found that knowledge to be an even greater burden that he had to carry, because it would mean that his endeavors meant nothing—that he didn't need to be king to be seen, and Hans—he refused to believe that something like that could ever be possible. He grew up with the mantra drilled into his head, that he had to be king, to be someone important worth noticing.
"My god, Hans, what the bloody hell were you thinking?" his brother's gaze softened still, though reprimanding; his voice was gentle, yet with the commanding tone of a prince, of a firstborn prince actually, Hans mused, the ninth prince always had a commanding presence better than any of their brothers—younger and older, except the oldest, of course.
Hans reflected about himself next. He was stubborn, oh how infuriatingly stubborn he was. He's always been persistent, though he usually ended up failing with his endeavors.
Like the way he wanted to build imaginary castles and fortresses with his older brothers.
Or the way he also wanted his father to take him to hunting trips, or rides around the village.
Or to the way he tried to get his brothers to stop bullying him, or to notice him—
—and finally his quest to take the Arendellian crown.
He always ended up with nothing.
Always nothing.
Maybe he was born to be that way. A toy for the gods, to play with and toss around as though he had no heart and no soul. Or maybe he really had neither of those, and that's why he was casted to be the villain.
To be hated.
To be scorned.
To be endlessly tormented.
He hung his head low, his messy auburn falling in front of his face, hiding the glimmer in his eyes as he smiled. Ah well, the bad guy never has it easy.
"Hans, are you going to talk to me, or are you going to keep on ignoring me?" his brother tried again, obviously forcing an impatient edge to his voice, but still ultimately failing. He was just so damned patient and collected.
"Don't like to be at the end of the silent treatment, don't you?" Hans remarked sarcastically, finally looking up at his brother with a smug expression. "What are you doing here anyway, brother? Come to insult me like the rest?" he lifted his head up and managed a smirk.
Of course he wasn't there to insult him. He never was. Here was the man who was both brother, and father to him—but Hans could never admit how much he loved and cared about this man—not when he was invisible to the people he tried to please. How foolish of me. But he didn't care that he was foolish, he was just that damnably stubborn to a fault.
His brother's eyes narrowed, a flash of hurt passed through his blue eyes, making it even darker, before it disappeared completely, replaced with silent indignation, "I never—"
"I forgot, you just didn't do anything," No, you did everything, but I'm too stubborn to admit that you actually tried. Hans waved his shackled hand in the air dismissively, like he didn't care. Well, he doesn't. He stopped caring long ago. "It's fine, forget it," a new emotion washed over him, he felt guilt wrenching his gut at the silent agony that screamed at him in his brother's blue eyes. He hardened his resolve and commented, "I bet our good brother, the king, will decide to have my head rolling. It's going to be a bloody good show the entire family's going to enjoy. You can finally forget I ever existed," his voice was smug, but calm as though he was describing the weather.
"Hans, don't—"
"Why are you here?" Hans cut off, refusing to look his brother in the eyes and see the pain in there. For the first time, Hans hated his ability to read the emotions of people so plainly in their eyes.
The eyes are the windows to the soul, his father had once said, and no matter how good they are at lying, their eyes will always reveal a fraction of the truth and that all you need to tear down their walls.
That ability of his allowed him to adapt to society and mirror himself to how the people would want him to be. It made him cunning, pragmatic and manipulative—it also made him lose himself.
The more he mirrored himself to the standards of other people, the more he lost track of who he really was—all for a crown.
And that same ability of his allowed him to see the pain of his older brother's, despite his otherwise calm demeanor.
"I'm curious," his brother finally said, releasing a sigh. The indifference in his tone was forced, Hans noticed.
"Straight to the point, I see," Hans smirked as silence fell between them. Well, the ninth prince was never one for theatrics, when he wanted to know something he asked point blank. No point on beating around the bush.
"Why did you do it?" the older prince asked.
Hans didn't reply, instead he closed his eyes.
Why did I do it?
Hans wanted to open his eyes but found himself incapable of doing so. He was dragged back to Arendelle because of his memories.
He didn't want to admit that he was actually worried about Anna, and say that if he still could, he would really marry the chit once his was done with making her sister's death look like an accident, that way she would still trust him. The princess would be inconsolable, he knew, but it was all the better for him to be able to string her along with his plans, and easily manipulate her.
I was there, and I heard the frantic knocks on the castle's outer doors.
Yes, he was there because as said, he was actually worried, he was tempted to be there when they opened the gates, but he knew he had to watch and be patient. So he stopped himself and watched from the distance, and he hated that he was close enough to see the emotions in their eyes.
I saw how she looked at him.
He would never admit it but the way she looked at the mountain man almost, almost broke his heart into two. He felt a twisted sort of jealousy in his gut because he wanted to believe that only he held her heart, and she was capable of looking at only him that way.
I saw the way her eyes shone with so much hope and trust.
All because of him.
He envied the peasant.
And he was angry that he was envious of a man who was supposed beneath him.
But he has everything—
At least everything that I do not posses.
That was what went through Hans's head.
Any man like that who has the ability to radiate such gentleness and compassion must have it all.
Friends.
Family.
Love.
He has everything while I have nothing.
He knew he would trade his royalty for true family, and his inheritance, little as it may be for a prince, for true happiness. Hans was furious, but the eyes never lie, and he knew that. The truth always shines the brightest in the person's eyes, and he envied the honesty in his eyes for which they shone.
I saw the way he looked back at her, the way he looked so scared as though he would lose her.
He was angry because he was scared as well. He was scared of losing the princess even though he was only using her. Oh how selfish of him, and what naïveté! To think he actually believed that something like true love could possibly exist for him.
I hated the way she looked at me, begging for that kiss—true love's kiss—because even though she was desperately trying to believe that I was her true love, it was written plainly in her yes that was only trying to convince herself because even she doubted if I were the one.
That was the moment Hans knew what he was supposed to do. That he no longer had the power to save a even the tiniest fraction of his honor. That the moment he boarded the ship bound for Arendelle, no, even before that—that his fate was sealed.
So I left her there.
I let her down.
Good, I let everybody down anyway.
He supposed he should have just killed her.
I should have just killed her!
But it would have been to messy, and he would have been questioned; after all, he was expected to kiss her, not stab her.
Let her freeze.
That was the only thing I could have done.
Or was it? A little voice in his head had asked. But it was too tedious to go back to square one, everything was already in motion. So he thought against it. How convenient would it have been if someone randomly found the princess in that room anyway?
Did you want someone to stop you? That little voice had asked once more. He wondered if that was his brother's voice he had heard, and he had actually spoken in reply.
Stop me? He scoffed.
Why would I want that?
He did a double take, Did I want to be stopped?
But...
Why would I?
Maybe it's because there was one other thing that he dared not admit, not even to himself—and that was how he felt.
For the queen.
For Elsa.
He hated that she was beautiful and enchanting, it made him even guiltier that he had to be the one to spill her blood. He hated that she knew so much about him due to their previous correspondence with one another.
He hated her knowledge of him, when he knew nothing about her. She was so formal, almost guarded, in her letters, while he took great lengths and efforts to endeavor baring his soul to her and write letters to her of pure honesty—well, for the most part anyway, the only thing he hadn't included there were his desires to marry her for the throne.
He hated, or rather, feared the slightest hint that his mind could have changed if the snow queen managed to thaw his heart.
Most of all, he hated the fear and the loneliness he saw in her eyes. That fear of rejection, and the consuming loneliness that he also found in himself. He hated it because they would have understood one another, given the chance—but unlike her, I'm beyond redemption.
Brother dearest...
Why do you even bother to ask?
"Hans, why did you do it?"
You must already know the answer.
Oh, but you want to torment me even more, don't you?
"Hans, look at me."
He did.
"Answer me."
He didn't.
Not vocally, at least.
Why did I do it?
I had to be the one to do it, else somebody would have killed her in my place.
Hans wanted to be the one to bring down the blade upon her so he could relish in the moment—but what he didn't know was that even though the concept of hesitation was completely foreign to him, it still existed, hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind, as though he wanted to hesitate—needed to hesitate. Perhaps it's due to the fact that he was the villain, and deep inside, he knew that villains never won, that there was always a sort of punishment waiting at the end.
I deserved it.
Yes, he did, and he deserved all the punishment that the heavens would rain down on him—as if his mere existence wasn't punishment enough already.
I desperately wanted to be king.
There was a part of me that wanted to be noticed.
"Hans."
To be seen.
"Hans."
And be acknowledge.
"Hans! Are you listening?" his ninth brother's voice finally managed to break him out of his reverie.
But deep inside, Hans knew—
"Yes, brother. I'm listening," he smiled sadly. "I always am," yes, of course he always listened. One can only listen when one is deemed unseeable.
—with terrifying surety that choked him.
But there's a part of me...
"Why, Hans? Tell me why."
...a greater part of me that only wanted to be saved.
"Stubborn bastard, aren't you?" Hans replied with one auburn eyebrow raised.
"No more than you are, little brother," the prince replied with a smirk of his own. "Just answer my question," the smugness this time wasn't forced, he was being insulting but still with the brotherly love underlining it all. Always the compassionate one, aren't you? Hans thought.
"Because I had to," Hans replied calmly, his voice and gaze turning steely. "I needed to."
His brother stared at him incredulously. The question was there, written in his eyes though unspoken with his tongue.
Hans desperately wanted to tell the truth
But he couldn't.
The truth would make him sound weak.
Well, this isn't the first time I'm going to lie. Half truths are still truths anyway.
"I did it for power," Hans smirked sadistically. "I was sure I would have succee—"
"For po— are you insane!?"
"I believe so, yes," was Hans's indifferent reply, meeting his brother's gaze unflinchingly.
His brother fell very silent, scrutinizing him for a while, obviously not believing a word he had just said. Of course he doesn't believe that this is the entire truth, he's always been more insightful than he let's on.
Although the exact depth of his brother's insight was unknown to Hans.
The older prince finally decided to let it go, and instead he asked in a subdued voice, "Was it worth it?" Hans only shrugged, and his brother continued, "To be despised?"
"It's a small price to pay," Hans replied, looking away. "One that I've been paying for since I became Prince Hans of the Southern Isles."
What if he wasn't Hans, Prince of the Southern Isles?
What if he was Hans Westerguard, Admiral of the Royal Naval Fleet?
What if he didn't come to Arendelle to represent the Southern Isles's crown?
What of if he hadn't decided to write those letters to the Crown Princess three years ago?
What if he hadn't let his brothers' bad influence to turn him into the way he was now?
Too many "what if's" and so little time to regret.
But Hans didn't know regret or remorse. He would, instead, rise up from the ashes like a phoenix.
I will have my revenge.
"Don't do anything else that you'll regret, baby brother," his brother commented with a weary shake of his head.
It's as if he can read my mind. Hans eyes widen slightly, almost imperceptibly.
"You're not the only one who can see the truth in a person's eyes, Hans," his brother stood up. "Believe me, you're not."
The ninth prince started walking away without another word. For a moment, time froze for Hans, his brother's words echoed in his head.
"What do you mea—"
"Goodbye, little brother."
Then the chattering and shivering came back to Hans. He closed his eyes again, head hung low, listening to the footsteps of his brother against the rough stone floors of the dungeons.
"Goodbye."
Don't leave, he almost wanted to beg, but he never begged. Didn't know how to.
There was a creak and then the heavy thud of a wooden door slamming shut reverberated throughout the dungeons, signifying that he was alone again. Another closed door. Ah well, I'm used to it.
Hans looked up at the ceiling again, and in that moment, Hans knew two things to be true.
First...
I wasn't and could never be Anna's true love.
And second...
That woman.
How he hated her name. He hated the way it tasted in his mouth, the way it rolled off his tongue. It felt too comfortable, too perfect—too right. It sounded infinitely better than 'Anna', and he hated that he even felt a touch affectionate towards the person he desired to kill.
I am the monster.
Not her.
Not...
Elsa.
Not that Hans could ever believe that someone so beautiful, ethereal—almost angelic—could ever be the monster he was born to be. That was who he was. The sole purpose why he was created... was for her to be saved from being feared and rejected. He was the catalyst to ensure the happy end for her story. That was who he was, and he has finally served his purpose.
It's as though I was created to exist for her.
For Elsa.
My Elsa.
Dark laughter filled the silence of the dungeons.
My Elsa?
How dare I even begin to think to call her mine?
But still, he couldn't help it.
Not when it sounded so right.
Such silly dreams not meant for a person like me.
How does the devil even look at the angel with hopes he will not be blinded by her light?
He doesn't.
He can't.
So all the devil can do is hate and seek revenge against the angel who possesses the redemption he seeks to have.
Let the devil be condemned, and the angel uplifted.
For that is their fate.
That is our fate.
It feels cold, he realized, but oddly enough, he didn't care. He welcomed the iciness that seeped through his body, as if the cold brought a comforting blanket over him.
Maybe it did.
After all, one voice in his conscience cried out—vengeance!
"The only frozen heart around here, is yours."
His heart and soul had been frozen and lost so long ago, that even he doubted if they ever existed in the first place.
But sometimes a small part of him still wondered...
For the other voice cried out—enough!
So he kept wondering if he could still be redeemed; that he wouldn't end up a cynical, bitter villain till his last breath.
He was still wishing for a saving grace.
But that hope was slowly dying.
Yet part of him hoped desperately—
—still.
"Love will thaw."
And he wanted to believe.
So, technically, this is my first (unedited, as of now) Frozen-related fanfiction (check the first story here and see the notes below, this is the fanfic called Prince in the Dungeons)
I just deleted it though, so I added it here. So here. As you've noticed, the story focuses on Hans.
I just love Hans, and the fact that I can generally experiment with his character and his background story even if it gets ridiculous—so if you notice, I'm usually focusing on Hans. (and Hans is like on of my top three Disney villains, along with John Silver (Treasure Planet) and Scar (Lion King).
Since this is an old story, I owe you another chapter for today.
ugh... sorry. I feel disappointed with myself today.
Thanks for the support, and thanks for taking the time to read this.
This is the last iceburnsweek submission, but not the last one-shot.
Cheers!