Chapter 6:

The Shamed Prince

Hans stood outside the double doors of the council chamber. He had to take a moment, get himself prepared to tell the visiting dignitaries and castle guards that Anna had not only perished, but had left him a widower. He didn't have to search too deeply to find a well of emotion within himself; he really did feel a vast, dark melancholy about the way things had ended up. He thought back on the last whirlwind of a day and couldn't believe that so much had happened in such a short period of time. He stood, his head bowed, arm and hand extended out towards the door, leaning against it. He sighed, his heart heavy with failure.

Plan one, his father's plan: Marry Elsa, rule Arendelle and live happily ever after. He'd thoroughly failed that one.

Plan two, Lars' plan: Marry Anna, dispose of Elsa, rule Arendelle and live happily ever after. He'd failed that one even worse. Anna was dead and Elsa was destroying the kingdom he was set to rule.

Plan three, which was never a plan at all but the circumstances he'd found himself in, regardless: Dispose of both Anna and Elsa and rule Arendelle by default, a throne that did not belong to him, a throne that never really would.

But what was his plan? The tiny but grand glimmer of an idea he'd seen in the beautiful eyes of a hopeful, sweet princess only a day ago. The plan in the back of his mind as he kneeled on bended knee, warm from champagne and giddy from a sugar high as he asked her to be his bride. The plan that didn't solely focus upon power or thrones, just the hopeless sliver of an idea that maybe, just maybe, Hans was capable of loving and being loved, and that maybe that was enough.

He thought of his brothers, specifically the ones who had opted for more modest lives, the ones who married for love, or the ones who never married and found their vigor through their hobbies and pursuits. He thought about how it just never mattered to them like it did to him and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to want so desperately to rise to the top because all he'd ever known was the bottom.

So, in turn, he let what little bit of the good in him die along with her on that parlor room floor, cold and hard like his heart. But mostly, alone.

He heard the wooden floorboards beneath him groan once more, the freezing castle walls beginning to ice over from the inside out.

It was time.

Hans took in a sharp breath and pushed the doors open, his face somber and his hair slightly disheveled.

"Prince Hans," one dignitary said, all eyes falling upon him.

"Princess Anna is…dead," he announced, his voice distraught. He went to move towards them but stumbled along the way, his legs shaky and weak. The men hurried to him, comfortingly leading him towards the solace of a chair. He didn't have to put on a façade of being exhausted, he was so far beyond that now that it came naturally.

"What happened to her?" the Duke asked, the men leaning in intently, trying to piece together this tragic puzzle.

"She was killed by Queen Elsa," he informed, riddled with grief.

"Her own sister," the Duke gasped. He looked from face to face of the saddened men, confused at how such a joyous occasion could end in such tragedy.

"At least we got to say our marriage vows…before she died in my arms," he said, bowing his head. Hans brought a hand to his face, shielding the men from the dead givaway; he could not cry. In a way, he wanted to. He wanted to have that release, to shed a tear of remorse for the what he had done, for what he was about to do. But try as he may, the tears would not come.

"There can be no doubt about it now; Queen Elsa is a monster and we are all in grave danger," the Duke insisted, finally giving Hans the clearance he'd been waiting for, but had in the past hoped it would never come to.

"Prince Hans, Arendelle looks to you." It was too late to go back now. Anna was dead, the castle moments from collapsing upon them. He'd come this far.

"With a heavy heart, I charge Queen Elsa of Arendelle with treason and sentence her to death." Silence and sadness filled the room, it was a choice that none of the men had wanted to make but now there was nothing they could do. Their pending king had ordered it, and whether they wanted it to or not the stark fact was glaring them in the face:

It was either her or them.

The castle moaned once more, in the distance they could hear the faint sounds of glass shattering, most likely a window bucking under pressure somewhere close-by, to remind them that no more time could waste away.

"Well, let's get on with it, then," the Duke sighed. "We must carry this out immediately, before we all die."

Hans stood silently, turning away from them and walking out the double doors, the men following closely behind. They passed the room where Anna lay, dead upon the floor; Hans tried not to look at the door, he didn't want to think about it, anymore. He just wanted to get this over with so he could sleep, mourn, think, anything other than this. One of the guards approached the door to the library, his hand reaching for the door, most likely going to take Anna to her bedroom chamber until burial arrangements could be made. Hans turned to him quickly, his heart racing.

"Don't go in there!" he shouted. The man stared at him, his dark eyes wide and his mouth agape. Hans calmed himself, adjusting his coat and fixing his glove upon his hand. "I-I mean…let her rest in peace, give her a little dignity," Hans stammered, more collected. The men stared from one to the other, quietly continuing on their way towards the dungeon. After all, who would protest a man who'd just lost his wife?

Hans led them down the winding corridors, trying to memorize the layout. This was his home now, his castle, and he needed familiarize himself with it. Yes, after this was all over he would rest, let the kingdom recognize this as a time of mourning and get his head on straight.

They approached the doors leading down into the dungeon, the men staring at him nervously.

"This is where we leave you, your majesty," the Duke said.

Good, he thought to himself. Less witnesses. Hans swallowed hard, turned to the guards and motioned for them to follow him down the ice-riddled stairs.

It was slick, Hans almost lost his footing more than once. They congregated outside of the cell, shivering. Hans set his hand upon his sword, unsure of what to expect. The last thing he needed was being blasted by Elsa's magic, although at this point he sincerely doubted he even had a heart left to freeze. He nodded at the guards, it was time to get this over with.

"She's dangerous," one guard yelled through chattering teeth, "move quickly and with resolve." They began towards the door, suddenly blown back by an icy blast, the walls beside them crumbling. They hurried to their feet, Hans pushing through them to see what had happened. The back wall was blown open, the icy storm raging in through the gaping hole and Elsa was gone.

Hans glowered, of course it wasn't going to be simple. What during this entire catastrophe had been? He marched forward, it was time to end this once and for all.

"Your majesty! What are you doing?" a guard yelled.

"I am going after her!" Hans bellowed back, jumping through the hole in the wall and landing up to his knees in white, powdery snow.

He could hardly see because the wind was so strong and sharp, stinging snowflakes nipped at his face as he searched for her cowering silhouette in the distance. He could hardly make it out, but sure enough about a hundred feet in front of him stood Elsa, the eye of the storm, stumbling and desperate to find somewhere to run. He forged onward, trying to catch up to her.

This was it.

Too late to turn back now.

He was at the finish line, he'd already done too much. For a moment, in that windy, turbulent storm, Hans felt calm, collected. He could hear nothing, not the snow whipping by nor the yells of the guards behind him, nor the pained cries of Elsa trying to find her way through.

"Elsa! You can't run from this!" he yelled out to her, approaching her carefully, stumbling over his own feet in the treacherous weather. She began to back away, slowly, scared.

"…just, take care of my sister!" she instructed.

Anna.

Another mention of the woman he'd left to die only moments ago. He let that sink in for a second, the pain he was trying to portray to her becoming slightly, if not increasingly, authentic.

"Your sister? She returned from the mountain, cold and weak. She said you froze her heart!" he told her.

"What? No…" The pain in her eyes was almost unbearable to witness, even for Hans.

Especially for me.

And he wished that story could be true, that it wasn't riddled with his lies and ulterior motives. Why couldn't things have just gone to plan?

"I tried to save her, but it was too late. Her skin was ice. Her hair turned white," he watch Elsa's face sink as she took full responsibility for Anna's death. "Your sister is dead…" and for a brief moment, Hans wanted to stop the charade, turn himself in. But what good would that do? It would get him a one way ticket to the end of a short rope, that's what. "Because of you," he added.

He watched as Elsa dropped to her knees, utterly devastated at the news. Hans watched in awe as the swirling wind around them ceased, the snowflakes freezing in midair. She put her head in her hands, her spirit crushed, her heart broken. The silence was completely deafening.

He'd finally found her vulnerable, unable to defend herself. It was time to end her misery, and with it, end his own. He thought about all those years as he slowly, carefully, unsheathed his sword. He thought about the time he'd spent alone, the way his brothers hated and taunted him his whole life.

No more torment. No more hurt. No more loneliness. No more heartache. No more disappointment. No more disrespect. No more anger. No more fear.

For either of us.

He drew the sword up, every bit of emotion and aggression building up to this one moment where he could end it all. With all of his remaining strength, he brought to sword down.

"No!" He heard a yell, and instead of the satisfying feeling of sword to flesh, he felt a ting of metal clashing with something even stronger. The sheer impact blew him back, instantly knocking his head onto the ground and everything went black.

Hans opened his eyes, groggily making sense of his surroundings. The landscape, instead of cold and hostile was warm and clear, the sky the first thing coming into focus. The sun shone brightly down upon him, and he instantly realized he was vastly overdressed for such warm weather.

His head throbbed, his mouth was dry. He could taste the metallic tinge of blood on his tongue. He rubbed his jaw, which ached, trying to find his footing. He stared down at his boots to see wooden planks below his feet, standing on the deck of a ship. He glanced around to see people conjugating, celebrating.

The winter was gone.

Had he done it? Was it over? Did he kill Elsa and end the storm?

His answer came quickly and he saw a familiar woman close by, embracing her sister, both of which were very much alive. He felt instantly sick to his stomach. It was over, and not in the way he had planned.

Once again, proving to himself and his family and everyone in the world that he was as useless as a leader as he was a lowly, 13th-to-the-throne prince.

He noticed that Anna was standing close to a huge, burly man with blonde hair and a stocking cap. Their eyes met, the man suddenly marching towards him with a deep anger in his eyes. Anna stopped him, turning to Hans, her eyes burning into him. He was shocked, but slightly relieved in a way as well, that she was alive. At least he could rest easy without her blood on her hands; he was so exhausted.

"Anna?" he asked, puzzled. "But…she froze your heart," he remembered suddenly. She folded her arms, her face hard, a way he'd never seen her before. The love in her eyes was gone, replaced with complete, justifiable, disgust and hurt.

"The only frozen heart around here is yours," she said, obviously proud of that witty remark. Hans was slightly surprised that that is all she said, considering all the things he'd done. But that wasn't the end, in one swift movement, Anna whirled around, her fist hitting Hans so hard and quickly, he didn't even see it coming. Surprised by the blow, Hans lost his footing and toppled over the edge of the boat and into the cold bay water.

As he reemerged from the water, he couldn't help but instantly remember that this was like falling into the bay only a day ago, only this time the situation was much different. How could so much have changed in a matter of 24 hours? He rubbed his cheek, taken aback by the stinging sensation and the realization that a knot was already forming. She'd got him good.

Hans swam to shore, kicking his legs fiercely, hoping to get back to his ship in once piece. He realized, quickly, that that was more than likely not going to happen. He glanced up at the dock to see four castle guards, all bearing the seal of Arendelle, waiting for him.

One held shackles.

She didn't sentence him to death. The look in her eyes said that she wanted to.

Treason.

But the look on Anna's showed some kind of lenience, softness even after all that had happened, as if she'd had some kind of bearing on this decision.

"In most cases, the sentence for treason is death," Queen Elsa had explained before him. He knew that. "However, given the fact that you claim you did not act alone, I am exiling you back to the Southern Isles to await your proper sentencing there." Her icy cold gaze was chilling. "I don't need your filthy blood upon my hands."

"I didn't act alone," he'd reiterated, not at all phased by the fact that he had only narrowly evaded death. In fact, death would have been a more humane choice for one in his position. Facing his father and brothers was a fate worse than death.

"Well, where is your accomplice? Lars, you say?" Elsa asked. Hans' eyes moved from sister to sister, Anna purposefully avoiding his glances. She'd cleared her throat and stared at her sister, ignoring him.

"I-" he began. It didn't matter. He had no idea where Lars was, probably hiding out, knowing the plan had gone awry and he was jeopardy of taking the fall right along with him. Instead of facing what he'd done, he had ran off somewhere.

Like a coward.

And that was that.

So, the cell was a welcome sight to him, simply because it had a bed, and he so desperately wanted to hide away and lick his wounds in peace. It didn't matter that half of the castle's dungeon was in ruins; there was an entire other half of the dungeon left untouched. That was where they took him to await repairs on his ship.

In all honestly, Hans felt nothing at first as a guard roughly shoved him into the cell, the loud clanking of the lock sounding off behind him. He was numb. All he wanted was to sleep forever, he'd deal with the consequences later. Sleep was a gentle, wonderful escape from the horrifying realization that not only had he failed, shamed his father, and shamed himself, but now he had to go back to the Southern Isles and face what he'd done. He'd have to face his brother.

The guards didn't let him change out of his still-wet clothing; he'd removed his cloak and boots, socks and other small articles of clothing to let them dry.

He lay upon the cot, his arm draped across his face to finally, finally, get some rest and collect his bearing. He let out a deep, long sigh.

"How's your face?" he heard a quiet, but familiar, voice chime. He lifted his arm a bit, peeking out to confirm what he already knew; Anna stood, staring at him with wide eyes and an unsure look on her face through the bars of the cell. She spoke as though she, herself, knew that she shouldn't be there. In fact, he wasn't at all certain why she was there, nor did he care. He scoffed, falling back into his original position.

"You punch like a girl," he antagonized.

"Well, then you take a hit like a girl," she retorted, huffily. They sat in silence, Hans just praying she would go away. It was bad enough he had failed so miserably; her face was literally the last face he wanted to see right now. Although he hated to admit it, it was partly because he felt ashamed, partly because he hated her, and partly because she still made his stomach flutter.

He hated that part most of all.

"I just want to know why," he heard her weakly say, her voice breaking at the end of the sentence. He didn't have to look at her to know her eyes were most likely brimming with tears at this point.

"You know, I don't really want to talk about this," he peered at her through a raised eyebrow.

"I don't think you're in a position to be telling me what you want and don't want to do," she observed, her eyes scanning the deplorable cell conditions. Hans sighed from the annoyance, let alone the questioning, bringing his arm down and sitting up slowly. He sat, his legs parted, elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands together, wringing them together.

"I don't know," he finally said, exasperated. He looked up at her once again; her face spoke volumes. That answer wasn't good enough. He stood, nearing her, slowly. His eyes were intense, narrow. She took a step back from the bars, timidly holding herself.

"That's not an answer," she spoke, her head high, her voice commanding. Scolding. He smirked at her; she was trying to look brave, strong in her convictions, the way a child looks when they play dress up in adult clothes.

"Power. Admiration." he began listing. A stony, cruel look in his eye flashed as he spoke the last, the most poignant of all. "Love," he dared. She stepped towards him, her face flushed, tears reforming, angry ones this time.

"Well, how does it feel to have nothing?" she asked, bitterly. He waved a cavalier hand, ignoring her question. "Hey, I am talking to you!" she said, presumably frustrated with his lack of empathy.

"More or less the same, I guess. I'm used to it by now," he said, his voice dripping in sarcasm, shrugging his shoulders uncaringly. She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. "Look, if you thought you could come down here and get to me, come down here and get all your heartbroken aggression out and be able to walk away from this all in peace and friendship, you were sadly mistaken," he informed, coldly. "Being forgotten, ignored, hurt? That's nothing new to me. I've been dealing with it my whole damn life. My life before Arendelle was a prison cell, this is no different to me."

"How could I have been so wrong about you?" she asked, rhetorically of course, she didn't expect him to answer it. His eyes widened, his mouth agape.

"Oh, I should say the same about you, princess!" he spat indignantly. Her face twisted into a look of disgust, her nose wrinkling, her brows furrowed.

"What are you talking about?"

"How was your little adventure and sleepover with your little boyfriend?" Hans asked. Pure confusion painted her face, she thought hard, trying to figure out who on earth he was referring to. "You know, the one you sleep in stables with?" he coaxed.

"Kristoff?" she asked.

"Oh, I see it has a name," Hans scoffed, turning from her and walking back towards his bed. "And not even a good one," he mumbled under his breath.

"Hans, nothing happened with Kristoff, I love you." She spoke the words slowly, deliberately, her eyes burning into him. Her saddened expression pained him, but only slightly.

"Love?" he mocked, nearing the bars once more.

"Well, loved," she clarified quickly, her eyes darting away from his, holding out the "d" to accentuate the past tense. What did it matter now, anyway? Too much damage had been done. He took hold of the bars, his face peering through at her, only inches away from hers.

"You didn't love me, you just met me first. I could have been anyone. You ran off with the next man you came across. That isn't love, Anna." Not that he was an expert on love, he clearly was incapable of loving himself, let alone anyone else. That didn't keep him from calling a spade a spade.

"You are delusional, Hans!" she fumed, enraged once more. "I do know what love is! Unlike you, who left me to die, tried to kill my sister and take over my kingdom! A-and at least Kristoff knows what it means to be selfless. He came back for me-" she sputtered off quickly, her voice shaking.

"Oh, oh really? Seems like a great guy," Hans baited.

"He is!" she insisted.

"So, then you and this Kristoff…are you together now?" Hans asked, she paused, instantly knowing where he was going with this.

"Well-" she choked, her cheeks pinkening.

"A mere two days after our engagement?" he gasped in fake surprise.

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't say we're…together…" she said meekly, her words trailing off and losing their confidence. She squirmed under his gaze, awkwardly tucking a piece of lose hair behind her ear. "What is your point, anyway? I am not the one in a cell, here. I didn't do anything wrong other than love you," she spat.

"My point exactly," he said, his voice low. He reached his hand out through the bar, the same hand that had only a short while ago had clutched the handle of a sword high over her sister's head, the hand that had doused a flame as she lay dying. She flinched at first, but didn't move as he gently pressed his hand against her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He was surprised he even attempted to touch her, let alone the fact that she let him. He stared deeply into her eyes, suddenly overcome with a forlorn longing that he wasn't quite sure what to do with. But he didn't let it last long.

"And that is?" she found herself inquiring.

"You don't even know what love is." She took in a deep breath, this wasn't a conversation she was going to entertain anymore. Anna moved her hand up, pulling his away from her face.

"Well at least I know what it isn't," she said, standing tall, her words concrete. "You broke my heart," she added, almost in a whimper. A slow, wry smile crossed his lips, his chagrin returning to the cold, heartless Hans she'd met in the parlor.

"Oh Anna," he sighed. "You broke mine first." She stared at him, her gaze unbreaking, undoubtedly trying to piece together how the master manipulator had turned this around so quickly. He turned away from her, retiring to his cot. He didn't look at her as he uttered, "You'd better go. Kristoff's waiting."

End of Part I