The Torn Prince: Part II

The King Is Dead

A/N -

Thank you all for your reading and your wonderful support. I've had a lot of fun writing this, and I have been excited to get onto my own more creative part that doesn't parallel the movie. I am excited to see where this goes! Please review!

The disgraced Prince Hans scratched the scruff around his neck and chin incessantly, annoyed with its presence. He hadn't shaved in four weeks, the entire passage from Arendelle back to the Southern Isles. He wasn't used to the lack of grooming, nor did he like it. However, being a prisoner instead of a passenger had a lot to do with his inability to clean himself up. That was a luxury he was no longer allotted, prince or not.

The tiny brig held only him, a washbasin, a cot and his daily meals. His legs ached from not being able to walk or run, his pale skin becoming nearly translucent from the lack of proper sunlight. He was miserable, and he owed it all to himself.

And Lars.

And Elsa's ice powers.

And Anna coming in and complicating everything.

It was only be a matter of hours now before they arrived back in the Southern Isles, he estimated; he'd kept a tally of the days on his wall, something he'd seen other prisoners do in his time but had never understood. Why even bother counting the days? All it did was remind yourself that your freedom was stripped of you for so long, with so much more time to go.

He wondered what his father would do, what he would say to him. He'd had the time to concoct a story, especially without Lars here to discredit him. He would let Lars take the fall, after all, Lars did have significant bearing on what had happened in Arendelle, but it was Hans left holding the bag. If he ever ran into Lars again he'd…

Well, it wouldn't be pretty.

He heaved a great sigh, his back propped up against the wooden wall of the cell. He hadn't thought about the events in Arendelle too much since the beginning of the voyage; that was when the reminders of his failure had plagued him the most. The thoughts seemed to dissipate the farther they sailed away from that miserable place, and he liked it that way. Hopefully he'd return home, receive his slap on the wrist and hide out until his brothers got bored of tormenting him over his failings.

The hard part, however, would be looking his father in the eyes, especially after his instructions to Hans over what he would do in Arendelle seemed sincere, heartfelt, even. He hated that once again he was a disappointment. Something he had a hard time wrapping his brain around was that a lot of his actions in Arendelle were to keep word of his disgrace from getting back to the king in the first place, and yet it didn't end up mattering anyway. At least before, it would have been that he couldn't woo the queen. Now it was not only that, but that he tried to murder her and take her throne as well.

Not to mention getting engaged to the princess and leaving her for dead.

He could hear yelling from the crew, instructions to port. They were home, and he would really have to face the music, now. He stood, stretching as best he could in the small living quarter. He was just relieved that he could leave the ship finally, even if the circumstances were less than ideal.

A guard approached the cell, keys in hand.

"Home already?" Hans attempted to joke, his voice cracking and low from lack of use. The guard raised an eyebrow, his face unamused.

"We're about to port. I'm to take you straight to your chamber to clean up before you face the King for your sentencing," the guard said matter-of-factly. Hans was thankful he would be able to shave the monstrosity of a beard off before he had to face his father, at least he wouldn't look like a prisoner.

Or smell like one, for that matter.

"Oh, goody. Do I get supper before or after the sentencing?" Hans quipped arrogantly. The guard didn't entertain the comment with a response, rolling his eyes and unlocking the door. It creaked open, and Hans began out, grabbing his admiral jacket.

"Not so fast," the guard said happily, stopping Hans in his tracks. He held up the metal shackles that Hans had hoped he'd never see again in his life.

"Are those really necessary?" Hans asked meekly, embarrassed at the idea of trekking from the ship to the castle, through the town with everyone watching. The guard answered with a cuff tightly locked around one of Hans' wrists, then the other.

"Probably not," the guard shrugged. "But you never know, with a dangerous criminal like you…" Hans gave the guard a dirty, displeased look and the guard shoved him forward. "After you, your majesty."

Hans stood in his bedroom chamber, heavily guarded of course. He didn't even care that he didn't get any privacy, the sheer happiness he felt from a clean shave was enough to endure the stares of the guards. He wiped his freshly shaved face off with a hot rag, so elated to be rid of the beard. He'd even gone as far as to shave off most of his sideburns as well, simply because the freeing feeling of nothing on his face made him feel human again, refined.

He bathed, changed, slicking back his still-damp hair and relishing in the comforting, delightful feeling of clean clothes. He was actually happier to be home than he'd expected, perhaps it would not be as bad as he'd thought. In fact, with years of torment, how could it possibly be any worse? He hadn't gotten to the hard part yet, but as soon as he faced the king he could begin to move past this little setback.

"Time to go," one of the guards instructed, walking towards Hans to recuff him. Hans backed up slowly.

"I am in my own home," he said quietly. "I insist you don't cuff me, we are only walking down the hallway."

"King's orders," the guard said back, in a way that was slightly sympathetic, as if to say 'just doin' my job, kid.' But King's orders? His father insisted on him being cuffed? He must be taking the news worse than he thought. He gulped, nodding, placing his hands out in front of himself without further protest.

Together, the guards and Hans ventured out into the hallway, the corridor looking longer than ever. Wait staff walked by, butlers watching him as he walked, he looked towards the parlor and noticed a black cloth shrouding the family portrait that usually hung over the fireplace. As a matter of fact, Hans couldn't help but notice the castle help they had passed were all draped in black, the guards included. This was quite a change from their usually green and golden attire.

"What's going on?" Hans asked aloud, one of the guards looked back over his shoulder at him, wordlessly. They passed another sitting room where he noticed his sister in law, Princess Adelaide whom was married to his brother Felix, crying into a handkerchief with a nursemaid on the sofa. Her puffy, sad eyes looked up at Hans for a brief moment before she broke into sobs once more. Hans felt instantly worried. "H-hey, I demand you answer me!" Hans insisted. They entered the throne room, where his brothers all stood lining the walkway. Hans looked at his feet, refusing to make eye contact with them.

The throne sat empty.

The guard led Hans to the foot of the throne, pushing him down to his knees roughly. His heart began to race, his palms becoming sweaty. From the door beside the throne walked Elias III, Hans' eldest brother. He slowly approached, standing between Hans and the throne.

"I've just read the charges," Elias spoke, shaking his head. "Treason. Conspiracy of murder. Fraud. Quite a list you wracked up over there, Hansy." Hans flinched at the less than endearing nickname. It was what his mother would call him out of love, but his brother's had adopted when mocking or teasing him. He refused to look at his brother, seething below him.

"I want to talk to the King," Hans said defiantly. Elias reached down and grabbed Hans' face with his gloved hand, forcing him to look at him.

"Oh, Hans," he cooed. "You already are."

Hans' eyes widened as he looked around the room, portraits of the king shrouded, his brothers all in black, their eyes tired and sad. Hans tried to stand, but Elias shoved him back down, turning and walking to the throne to sit.

"Where is he? Where is father?" Hans said, becoming distressed.

"Father passed away this morning," Elias said, somberly. He sat tall, more regal than Hans had ever seen him before. His black hair was slicked back, his nicely trimmed goatee and mustache groomed to perfection under his cat-like, green eyes. "I am just grateful he passed away before he had to hear what an utter failure you are," he spoke coldly. Hans felt involuntary tears forming in his eyes, wiping them away quickly with his sleeve. The last thing he wanted was to see his brothers get the satisfaction of watching him cry.

"I want to say goodbye," Hans spoke out. Elias scoffed. "I demand to see him."

"You will demand nothing," he shouted. "Do you understand what a mess you've made? You've soiled our namesake, our kingdom! Arendelle has cut us off, they refuse to do trade with us any longer. Our kingdom will now suffer because of you and your antics, you will not demand anything from me."

"What were you thinking?" Prince Edvard asked, clutching his rosary, his voice more soft spoken and caring than that of most of his brothers; Hans had always preferred Edvard, as years of religious conditioning had made him softer and more loving than the rest.

"Hansy? Thinking? Ha!" Prince Sedak spat, hiding behind his long, dark hair and black eyes. "Now, there's a laugh," he growled. Hans could hear some of his brothers snickering.

"Silence!" Elias bellowed, the brothers all standing at full attention once more. His eyes fell back upon Hans. "What do you have to say for yourself, Hans?" he asked. "Why should I spare you the punishment as suggested by Queen Elsa?"

"Wh-what…did she suggest?" Hans asked curiously, nervously.

"Death, of course," Elias said nonchalantly, after all, it wasn't his life hanging in the balance.

"Surely, you cannot kill me," Hans laughed nervously. Elias simply stared back at him, an eyebrow slowly raising. "You can't kill me!" Hans reiterated, more desperately. "You weren't there, none of you were there!" he shouted. "The storm was killing the villagers, the castle was on the verge of collapse, something needed to be done!"

"And the part where you left the princess to die?" Elias asked. Hans winced; he had hoped that wouldn't come up.

"That was…personal," he swallowed, hard, remembering her cold, terrified body clinging to life as he simply stepped over her. He shook the thought off immediately. "Elsa had frozen her heart and she needed her true love's kiss to save her. I am not her true love, therefore my hands were tied. It's not against the law to not love someone, is it?" Hans asked, earnestly.

"No, you're right," Elias began. "It is not against the law to be a disgusting, deplorable human being." Hans bowed his head, unsure of what to say to that. "It is, however, against the law to conspire murder, fraud fellow dignitaries and kingdoms, attempt to assassinate a neighboring kingdom's ruler…" he began to list once more.

"Those are all crimes against Arendelle, and they sentenced me to be exiled from their kingdom. I have done nothing wrong in the eyes of the law in the Southern Isles, have I?" Hans mused, hoping he'd figured out a loophole.

"Well, that depends. When you went to Arendelle, our kingdom's name was resting upon you. You made us look like monsters, you didn't have our best interest in mind, and you severed our relationship with our most important trade partner…I think I would classify that as treason against our own crown, wouldn't you say?" Hans said nothing, scowling at his pompous brother before him. "And what is the sentence for treason?" he paused, watching the indigent look in Hans' eyes switch to fear.

"I didn't act alone!" Hans yelled, franticly. "This was Lars' plan, which I executed…badly. But I did not act alone, it wasn't how things were supposed to go! I was coerced," Hans insisted, trying to wriggle free of his shackles. Guards hurried towards him, holding him down as he struggled. The new King Elias rose, walking towards him menacingly. His cold, angry eyes peered down at Hans.

"You have been an ugly smudge on our namesake from the moment you were born of that commoner. I have no qualms of ridding this world of you, right here and now," Elias spat, hardheartedly.

"Elias!" Prince Edvard yelled out in disgust. "He is our brother!" Hans shot a thankful look in the holy man's direction, but Edvard did not avert his pleading eyes from the King. At least for once in his life someone stood up for him. Elias never took his eyes from Hans' as he backed up towards the throne once more.

"Please," Hans pleaded to his brother. Elias cleared his throat.

"You are to be placed on house arrest until the trial, then we can prepare a more fitting sentencing," Elias announced.

"Trial?"

"Yes, a trial. You are to go on trial for your crimes against the Southern Isles, to take place when our witnesses arrive. Meanwhile, if what you say is true, we are sending men scouting for Lars. If he had something to do with this, he will serve his sentence as well."

"Witnesses?" Hans asked, echoing his brother.

"Yes, we are to request that those involved in the Arendelle debacle attend, although I highly doubt anyone from Arendelle will come after all you've done." He motioned for the guards to unshackle him. Hans brought his hand to his wrist, rubbing where the shackles had irritated the skin. "In the meantime, you will are restricted to the castle grounds, as well as attending to various chores and duties around the palace. You will work from morning until dusk, without leisure. You are forbidden to ride Sitron or any of the other horses," Hans listened quietly and unchallenging at his brother's orders. "And I certainly wouldn't plan on running, if I were you," King Elias warned.

"I-" Hans opened his mouth to speak, to say anything in his own defense. He looked around the room at all of his brother's disapproving glances and decided he'd better not. "Thank you, your majesty," he said, defeated.

"You're dismissed."

Hans stood with the rest of his eleven remaining brothers in the castle cemetery. As if he wasn't morose enough, the usually bright, sunny Southern Isles was cold and wet today, raining down upon them.

How fitting.

They stood together, unified in a way they had never been before, watching their father's royal casket lower into the damp, cool ground. Elias was right; at least the king had died without having to hear of his mess. But Hans was devastated; his father had died before he got a chance to prove that he was worth anything.

Prince Edvard led the brothers in prayer.

Hans hadn't even noticed that a tear had escaped from his eye, hidden by the drizzling rain. Hans couldn't help but hope that one day he would be redeemed, one day he could make his father proud, wherever he was now.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Hans realized that he was now a social pariah, the guests at the funeral avoiding him like the plague. He turned as the groundskeeper began shoveling dark, wet dirt upon the casket, passing through the neighboring dignitaries that had made it in time for the funeral, some of which whispered to one another, pointing at Hans.

'That's him, that's the son that went to Arendelle,' they seemed to say, with the wide eyes and gasps coming from the person they'd whispered to.

The only person who'd even talked to him informally since he came home was Edvard, whom he assumed felt it was his Godly duty to bring Hans back from the darkness. He had to admit it felt nice talking to someone, however. But any time Edvard tried to steer the conversation towards Arendelle, towards redemption, Hans wavered and ultimately found another task he should be doing instead.

He never realized how much the servants really did around the palace, and there was always so much more to be done. He'd done the laundry, he'd cleaned in the kitchen, he'd cleaned the stables. Helping with the castle duties gave him a lot of time to think, to reflect back on the occurrences. The busy work was actually a nice change; his days before used to consist of reading, lessons, getting lost with Sitron. At least now he could go to bed each night with a feeling of accomplishment.

Hans tracked mud into the castle behind him, only noticing after he was a few yards in. He sighed, surely he would be mopping it up and cleaning the rugs. He couldn't ask any of the servants to do it; Elias had given them full control over Hans and he had to do everything for himself now. He no longer had the rights of a prince, not until his name was cleared once more. He thought back on his punishment for the time being, relieved that Elias hadn't killed him.

Would he have really done that?

Hans wasn't sure.

He walked into the portrait room, a fire burning nicely in the corner. Dusk had fallen, the room was dark, save for that blistering fire. He removed his coat and his filthy, mud covered riding boots.

What's the point of riding boots when you can't ride.

He wanted nothing more than to dress Sitron and ride off as far as he could, escape the sadness. Arendelle was supposed to change everything, and although so much had happened, it changed nothing. He was still utterly, desperately alone.

Hans walked toward his favorite spot in the whole castle, the bench seat in the window. He hadn't sat in that spot for so long, he was instantly overcome with nostalgia. Like old times, he glanced over to the Arendelle portrait, the two young princesses staring back at him. It wasn't the same as it used to be, their vacant, stony expressions so different than he remembered before.

The sun had set over the trees, painting the room and all its surroundings blue. The popping and crackling of the fireplace serenaded him, and let off just enough glow that he could clearly see the parchment paper in front of him as he began to pen another letter of apology to Arendelle; it would be his third in the short couple of days he'd been home. He was hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would encourage them to change their mind about trade and hopefully help drop the charges against him from his own kingdom.

Wishful thinking, he thought to himself. He knew there was no way he would ever hear from or see Anna or Elsa again. But it didn't hurt to try.

Was he really sorry? He wasn't sure. It was something he'd played around with in his mind for the couple days since he'd been home.

Would he have done things differently?

Absolutely.

Was he still heartbroken?

No, most assuredly not.

Three Months Later…

"Hansy! Pass me that pot," Marguerite, the head of the kitchen servants insisted; her cheery, round face was pink and flushed from running around the kitchen as usual. Hans reached above her, much higher than she could reach even on her tiptoes, to fetch the deep, metal pot. He lowered it down to her, placing it gingerly in her awaiting hands. "Oh, thank you dearie," she cooed, reaching up and pinching his cheek. He smirked, then realized quickly that he needed to pull the bird from the oven.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Something's burning," he called out, and sure enough, he pulled the hen from the oven to see it more than lightly singed. Marguerite peered over her shoulder at him, flattening dough with her bare hands.

"You'll get it next time, Hansy. I am sure of it!" she feigned comfort, giggling to herself again. Kitchen duty was Hans' favorite duty to have, simply because he loved spending time with Marguerite. She was short, plump and cheery, but mostly she was motherly, and she doted upon Hans in a way he'd never experienced before. She had been the head of the kitchen staff for as long as Hans could remember, but he'd never taken the time to get to know her until beginning kitchen duty. In fact, he never realized just how many friends he could have made through the years from servants alone if he would have just taken the time to get to know them.

"But it's-" he paused, studying the overcooked bird. "It's still edible, right? I mean, you'd eat that, right?" he tried to garner up some sympathy. Marguerite glanced at it again, nodding happily.

"It's a lovely bird, dear," she attempted, wrinkling her button nose at him. Her eyes grew big, as they usually did when she remembered something. "Oh, do tell me, have you heard back from Arendelle?" she asked, referring to the letters. Hans couldn't believe that it had already been three months since he returned home, nonetheless that they weren't even close to arranging a trial. For all he knew, he would be part of the wait staff for the rest of his life at this rate.

"No, nothing," he sighed, although he hadn't expected a response anyway.

"Such a shame," she said sadly, beating the dough with her fists. "You've sent so many letters." Hans leaned in, whispering in her ear.

"Well, Marguerite, when you try to kill a queen of a neighboring kingdom and take her throne, they tend to avoid you afterwards." She smacked him in the stomach, laughing at his candidness. He couldn't help it, he laughed a little too. To be honest, this simpler, humbler life not as bad as he thought it was going to be.

Suddenly, two guards entered the kitchen, looking serious as usual.

"Prince Hans," one called out. Hans was taken aback, he hadn't been called by his royal title in quite some time. Hans stared at them, wiping his dirtied hands on his apron.

"Yes?" he asked.

"The king would like a word with you. Several, actually," the other guard informed him.

"He usually does," Hans sighed, taking his apron off and handing it to Marguerite. "I'll be back," he told her, before hurrying off with the guards.

When the made it to the privacy of the hallway, Hans took a deep breath.

"Hurry along, your majesty," the guard said.

"Do you know what this is about?" he asked. As usual, they didn't answer him, just led him forward towards the royal throne room.

He entered to see King Elias upon his throne, talking to a messenger. He held a long piece of parchment paper with a seal he recognized as Arendelle's at the bottom. His stomach dropped; it was a response.

"Prince Hans," his brother called out to him, Hans bowed, humbly.

"Your majesty." It still bothered him that he had to address his brother in such a way, but he was beginning to get used to it. In the time since he'd gotten home, he'd really not spoken much more to the new king; he hoped that Elias would just forget about him and the trial eventually.

"We have some news from Arendelle," he announced, his deep voice echoing off the palace walls. Hans wrang his hands, slightly nervous.

"And?" he asked.

"They've captured Lars," the King informed him. Hans let out a sigh of instant relief. Perhaps now the heat would fall onto Lars, who'd abandoned his duties after trying to coerce Hans into taking the crown, perhaps now his name would be cleared.

"That's great…I think," Hans said. The King nodded. "Since Arendelle severed trade ties with not only us but also Weselton, their economy is flailing. They have arranged to send not only Lars home to receive his sentence, but a royal diplomat to discuss trade."

"That's wonderful! So they are forgiving the Southern Isles then? Does that mean that I am no longer being tried for treason?" Hans asked hopefully. Elias smirked.

"I have to say, it's been wonderful watching you cavort with the wait staff, running around and serving us like the commoner you truly are," he began, rolling the parchment paper in his hands. "But, unfortunately for you, the Princess also agreed to come and testify as a witness for your trial."

Hans' mouth and stomach dropped.

"Wh-what?" he asked, utterly sickened. His knees felt weak.

"She wants to see that justice is served."

"But-but…I'm being punished. I'm serving my time!" Hans declared.

"Apparently, the Queen and the Princess think we've been too lenient on you. They are insisting on real time in the prison, or no trade. So, Princess Anna of Arendelle will be here in a fortnight to see to it." Hans felt like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks; as if those women hadn't destroyed his life enough! Why couldn't they just leave well enough alone?

"I-I..." Hans stammered, visibly upset by this new turn of events. Elias looked up from his letter.

"Oh. You're dismissed."