Wow, this story has great reception! Thank you all very much for the feedback! The beginning is going to be formed of a lot of explanation and background of the Southern Isles/Family, so I hope you'll all stick with me through it! Still, I've put some thought into developing the family members so I'll hope you'll enjoy! Thank you so much for your reviews, I really appreciate them.

-Chapter One-

Numb

As he stood in silence behind Harald, ironically living up to his name and bringing his parents the all-important news, Hans could do little more than watch and think in silence. His parents were taking the role of their youngest son plotting murder against royalty rather well, actually. They stood as still as statues, listening. At least they weren't pulling the decorative swords from the wall and attacking in a fit of overreaction. Even if he had wanted to say something in his own right regarding the incident, Harald seemed hell-bent on explaining it all himself, likely hoping to add another medal to his already blinding barrage, Hans suspected. His brother spoke in a big, booming voice as if he were telling the entire kingdom, standing at attention the entire time with arms snapped to his sides, the picture of a perfect soldier.

"So far the kingdom of Arendelle has not shown the Southern Isles any ill will in matters of relations between the kingdoms, your highnesses," Harald said with a nod to the king and then the queen. "The Queen Elsa seems open to continued discussions of trade. The lack of response from the department of commerce suggests that their hesitation has nothing to do with the incident. From what I understand, the kingdom is still recovering from a strange weather pattern which has damaged a portion of their crops and the merchants will be resuming communications shortly."

A strange weather pattern. Hans had to smile inwardly at that statement. Was that what Queen Elsa and Princess Anna had decided to tell all the other kingdoms while they figured out what they were going to say, or was that only the rumored word? Eventually the truth would win out, of course. People could hold up blockades and fool others for hours, for days, for even years at a time, but as with all things, there would be a slip, and someone would notice.

As Harald finished his message, silence took hold over the throne room, but Hans heard his heart beating loud enough to make up for all the silence in the world. He kept his gaze down, level on the ground, his posture straight, his face clean as a blank slate, wiped of all emotion. His father was the first to speak.

"… does our kingdom know of this treachery?"

Treachery.

Mother had always told him words could never hurt. It had seemed important advice to remember at the time, with twelve older brothers, many of which constantly calling him every name popping into their minds. As much as it pained him to admit, Mother had been wrong. She'd been wrong about many things, but this in particular struck Hans in the heat of the moment. The word spoken by his father stung as fiercely as the cold of Elsa's winter.

Don't think on it.

Hans tensed his body only slightly, shutting out the word and all the feeling associated with it. Scum. Villain. Murderer. Let them call him what they liked.

"No, your highness. None of the citizens are aware of the events that occurred. The guards have been sworn to secrecy on their honor."

"Good," replied the king, his head bobbing down in a simple nod. It had always fascinated Hans how his father managed to look so majestic doing the simplest things. He'd spent time as a child just watching the man interact among his people. Now he found himself feeling like that little boy again, facing his father as fully vulnerable as he had been then. The king extended a hand. "Harald, give me the keys to your brother's handcuffs." Obeying, Harald stepped forward and dropped the ring with an exaggerated clink into his father's hand, flashing Hans a sickening smirk of satisfaction with his back turned to his parents as he returned. The king dismissed him with a gentle wave. "That will be all, Harald. You may wait outside until I call you to return. I want to speak to my son alone."

The soldiers escorting Hans did not need to be told twice when they saw the look on Harald's face. They scattered without word, nearly tripping over each other to get out of the way, exiting. Harald himself waited a moment longer, disappointment apparent in his silence, and then bowed deeply, pausing just long enough to stare at Hans with a glower powerful enough to darken the room, the doors slamming shut behind him.

Love is an open door…

Hans glanced behind at the gold-embroidered doors shut tight, and then back at his parents, who both rose before him. He swallowed, his knees begging to tremble. His mother he knew would not be the one to act first, but that was fine, because he feared her as much as he feared a lamb. His father, however, was an enigma to him, a puzzle he could not solve. He had no idea what the man could be capable of when faced with something like this. When neither of his parents spoke, Hans cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and sighed through his nose. This confrontation would be like a game of chess with invisible pieces. No matter where the pieces moved, he would be unable to counter because he didn't know where his opponent planned to go or what they wanted to hear. He would start the game politely, gracefully.

"… I'm back."

"Oh, Hans…" his mother gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth as if to stifle something rising in her throat. He could see her eyes moisten even with the distance between them, and a part of his gut hated him for it.

"Hans. Come before me." The king's green eyes gazed at his son, as strong and sharp as flint. It was not a request. He obeyed, stepping forward, respectful of his father, head tilted just slightly downward in a sign of this reverence. "Is it true?"

It had been one thing to act callous around his older brother Harald, who he harbored a natural dislike for, but when faced before his father, one of the only people he'd ever really respected or felt love towards, he could not keep a tightening in his chest from stealing his breath. He swallowed, trying to think of what to say. It could be the last time he ever spoke to his father, or anyone, if the sentence were as serious as it could be.

"Is it true?" his father repeated, unlike Harald's accusations earlier, the words calm, but stolid.

Hans took a breath and forced the words out as emotionless as possible. "Yes, it is true."

"Hans! No… no, not my Hans… not my baby! No!"

Although Hans had predicted his mother to act this way, he did not deny her as she came floating down the steps and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. She did not mind the dirt staining his clothing, nor the smell of his own body gone unwashed for two weeks in the cargo hold. She simply held him, generating a warmth he could not explain.

"The only frozen heart around here is yours."

The warmth sank into him, deeper than a fire, deeper than the sun or any clothing insulating him. An act of true love melts a frozen heart. Do I truly have a frozen heart? Do I have a heart at all? "Mother."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek tenderly, bringing with her embrace both a comfort of knowing he was still loved and a sinking feeling of guilt tugging his heartstrings too hard for comfort. "Hans… my baby…"

"Mother, please," Hans murmured, soft enough for her to see through his plea, to know he did not truly mind the affection.

"Allowyn."

The queen turned to face her husband, her arms still clinging to Hans, wrapped about his neck. She met his gaze and her hands slipped down to Han's collar, which she gently smoothed, then cupped his cheek, thumbing it. Her smile ever present, but eyes burdened in heaviness, she let her hand slip away and backed up, her hands cupping in front of her and hanging at her waist.

His wife now at rest for the moment, the king switched his attention to his youngest son. Hans blinked and stiffened his posture.

"Hans…" The king's face slackened in a moment of sorrow so rare it could hardly be described. His years seemed to pile on with creases in his forehead, his hand going to knead his forehead as if to rub them away. He walked away from his son, towards one of many windows lining his throne room, looking over the kingdom on the left side, and the famous harbor on the right, where ships almost constantly came and went as the sun. He came to a stop on the left, his dark blue cape not dragging behind him, but almost drifting as if made of liquid. "What am I to do?" There was no response for the king, no answer from his queen or his son. "The laws for the crime of murder are clear…"

"No, George," his wife gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth in shock. "How could you even think such a thing?"

"Allowyn…"

"No! I will not see my son walk to the gallows, I will not!" As if protesting the very thought, she crossed in front of Hans. "I would rather take his place before I ever see the day!"

Mother… you would defend me if I'd murdered one hundred people… Though he was touched by his mother's actions, he knew pleas would not protect him when it came to his father's decision. He took a breath and used the momentum to make his voice louder, to make himself heard. "Father."

The king looked to his son, one hand resting upon the windowsill, only half-turned to face him, some of his face hidden in the shadow as the daylight faded.

Hans knew it was always best to be honest with his father, although the same was not true with all people. He'd lied to many people in the past, but he could not stomach the idea of lying now, especially not to the only people who'd shown him kindness the past two weeks. On board the ship he'd been treated hardly any better than the livestock in the cargo hold, but he dared not complain for fear of worse. "I will take whatever punishment you give me. I've… brought disgrace upon the family name, I know. I cannot explain or atone for my actions."

The king watched his son from the shadows, lifting a hand to his chin and brushing his beard thoughtfully.

"I will do as you ask, all you have… is to ask it of me." Hans could not think of more to add to his speech, nor could he think of what awaited him in the future. He lifted his hands to stare at the handcuffs, imagining what his return would be like if he had not acted on his plan. He would be welcomed back with open arms, and there would probably be a feast in his honor.

If only he had never tried to take over the kingdom so quickly, if only he had gone with the original plan and wooed the now-Queen Elsa slowly, over time, he would have married into the throne and been done with this all. But he had found the younger princess Anna so quickly, and discovered, to his surprise… he had enjoyed his time with her, from the first time she'd bumped into him. His affections may have been exaggerated, and the proposal was fake of course, but when they'd spent those hours together that night, the time had felt like weeks, wonderful weeks all snatched away from him when he'd said those words to her.

If only someone loved you.

How could he have said something like that? The more he thought on it, the more he wondered if he'd had a nightmare about the whole thing. No… the handcuffs were tight, and his wrists were raw. He wanted to think more on it, but his father began speaking, leaving Hans to stop the train of thought with one last thought: Why.

Why had he enjoyed his time with the Princess Anna so much? Why had it seemed so much longer, and his smile had seemed so natural… why had it all felt so… real?

"My old eyes could never have seen the day when I would be witness to my son before me like this... the Southern Isles need the trade opportunities only available with neighboring countries in order to prosper, and my youngest son's actions have seen that our country's very livelihood may be at stake." The king walked back to his throne, collapsing in it and giving a long sigh as he kneaded the bridge of his nose, his words firm and powerful, though softly spoken, clearly a father's words to his son under the guise of royalty. "Until I decide what the punishment for such actions must be, the Prince Hans is confined to the castle. We will close the gates as I deliberate. There is to be no contact with the citizens of the Southern Isles, audience or otherwise. We cannot risk the consequences of the people knowing before the judgment is handed."

Hans nodded dumbly, struck into silence more so by the sheer regality of his father than the words themselves, which he only partially digested. Confinement to the castle would mean little to him, as he spent most of his time within the gates as it was. The fact that his father postponed the judgment meant a better outcome than he had expected, but Hans suspected it had to do with his reputation. He'd never been known to cause trouble or make waves in the kingdom focusing on foreign travels, but something of this magnitude would certainly give his father second thought. He slowly bent on one knee, supporting his wrists while managing to look regal. He opened his mouth to speak, but had hardly begun when the throne doors flew open with a bang.

"Is it true?"

Hans blinked and turned around, stunned, his mouth still hanging open from his last word he'd never gotten out.

A young man, clean-shaven with long straight brown hair tied neatly back in a ponytail stepped forward in a hurry, his black boots squeaking on the marble floor, both polished to a reflective shine. The tailcoat of his suit flailed out behind him, an olive green color with golden highlights along the outside of it. His gloved hands extended towards Hans in a wide manner that implied embrace. Suddenly, the boots skidded to a stop and his gloved hands flew to his mouth, his face aghast, sparkling green eyes widening in shock.

"It is true!"

The king looked to his wife with a sidelong look of half-amusement, half-understanding, clearing his throat. "Heins."

"My suit! Look at my fabulous suit! What have you done to it, Hans?" The man immediately swooped in on Hans and began inspecting the tatters, getting down on his knees, pursing his lips as he moved from one tear or rumple to the next. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to design this piece?"

"Heins," the king repeated.

"The material alone, Hans, the material alone took me weeks to gather, and we're not even talking about the sewing … and don't even get me started on the embroidery or the fitting- which you never stood still for, naughty you, and-"

"Heins!" the king boomed, fists at his side, forehead crinkled.

"Yes?" the young man replied, seeming to notice the king for the first time. His face resembled a cherub, smiling, innocent, and bright with energy and cheerfulness, clearing away any spots of age there might have been and making him look younger than he was, as if he were just on the cusp of twenty, when it reality the age had already been passed several years ago.

"Now is not really a good time, son…" Hans noted a twinkle in his father's eye and a quirk of a smile on his lips.

"Why not?" Heins asked with an innocent blink. His gaze shifted to his mother and he dropped the tasseled piece of Hans' shoulder, his voice falling to a rather loud whisper, his hand cupping his mouth so it did not face his father. "Did I interrupt something?"

Allowyn smiled lovingly, giving her husband an understanding look, which seemed to soothe any frayed nerves in the room, and pinching two fingers together. "Just a little, Heins."

"Oh… sorry! Pretend I was never here…" He slowly backed up, his boots squeaking with each step against the marble floor, coming to a stop and posing comically like one of the decorative suits of armor lining the wall, straight and tall, hands behind his back.

"Heins," the king said, sharing his wife's smile, "you're still here."

"You mean I can't even eavesdrop? Gee whiz, you're absolutely no fun at all, father!" Heins said, crossing his arms. "Everyone is already talking about it! The mysterious arrival of the thirteenth son back from the coronation, silently herded into the castle without a word! Isn't it enough to give you chills?" He waved his fingers menacingly as he neared Hans, and then crossed his arms again with an added pout. "And he comes back looking like something the dogs dragged in! After I put all that work into the suit! He can't even bother to wave and smile and linger long enough for anyone to soak it in!"

Well, it's not like I was about to reveal what I did to everyone present the instant I got off the boat! Hans frowned, eyebrows furrowing, wondering what the people would say when they found out the truth.

Heins did a double-take of his brother's gaze and his face softened, taking on a smile. "Hey… don't let it worry you so much, little brother… I'm not angry. A little elbow grease and some new fabric and I'll have you looking fabulous again in no time!"

Hans felt his apprehension lift as Heins squeezed his shoulder, helping him up to his feet. He'd spoken to Princess Anna with a tone implying he disliked most of his brothers, and that was true, but most did not mean all. Heins was one of a few people who had never fallen once from his favor, and, though Hans wouldn't have said so out loud, was without question his favorite brother of them all.

Somewhere between the youngest brother and the middle aged, Heins acted more often like the youngest simply because of his charming naivety. Many of the brothers had chosen an occupation either providing a significant boost in testosterone, becoming soldiers, like Harald, or a job like financial officers, able to brag to those high in stature. When asked one day as a child what he wanted to take over in his father's kingdom, a cheerful Heins had thought, finger in mouth, then responded brightly, "fashin cordinater!"

Everyone had laughed, of course, for what little boy would grow up with an interest in designing clothing for a living? But as time passed and years performed their ever-moving dance, Heins' interest in the fashions and designs of the kingdoms only grew, and with it, his talents. Soon he began showing the royal seamstresses better ways to show the gowns off at the waist for the women, and ways to make men look taller and slimmer by changing the coloring of the outer ridges of suits. He exceeded their skills and began designing not only clothing for his brothers, but for his own parents. The Southern Isles began to be known for its magnificent ball gowns and extravagant suits, including a range of wearable fashions affordable to the common man. It had been rumored for many years a true piece of clothing designed by Heins bore a special mark to designate it as such, but try as they might, no one could specify what the mark was.

Heins had never left his profession, and had taken the time to design a special suit for Hans to wear to the coronation, the same suit which was now water-damaged, smelly, and stained impossibly well with a multitude of dark colors. Hans sighed softly with a vague smile toward his brother's quick forgiveness. It felt so very good, even if it were for such a small detail. "Thank you, Heins."

"Of course! I always love a challenge! And this sure looks like one!" Patting Hans on the shoulder, he seemed to notice the metal surrounding his brother's wrists for the first time. "Why are you in handcuffs?"

Hans paused, unsure of what to say. Before he could speak, his father came down the steps. "It's not important. Why don't you help Hans back to his room? I'm sure he wants to get settled after the long trip back." Hans gave his father a searching look, trying to imagine what he might be thinking, but came up short. His father gazed into his eyes with a sense of disappointment and hurt, but there was love there, too… love that could almost be felt as his wrists were freed. Hans stifled a grunt of pain which came as a gasp, the metal leaving behind ugly marks of strained, bleeding and crusted flesh, darkened from pressure bruises. The king's lips parted, showing a glimpse of white teeth. "… Heins, before you help Hans back to his room, please visit the castle doctor. Have her help him with his wound."

"Yes, father!" Heins chirped, putting an arm around Hans' shoulder.

"Don't worry, Hans, we'll talk later, I promise you, we will," his mother ensured, pain fresh in her voice, choking it, probably from seeing her son's raw wrists. The handcuffs had remained on since he'd left Arendelle, and would be sore for some time after the doctor's help.

Hans nodded, turning with Heins, his perception of reality at battle with the belief it was all a dream, replaying the events in his head like a never-ending carousel. He allowed his brother to lead him gently out of the throne room, past the people waiting outside, never making eye contact, his gaze perpetually set on the emptiness before him.

"Harald!"

Expecting congratulation or an articulate stream of compliments from his father on a job well done, Harald strode into the throne room and saluted, pride swelling in his chest. "Yes, your highness?"

"The men who escorted Hans from the land of Arendelle in custody, are they here?"

Harald blinked back stunned surprise, vaguely nodding. They were just outside the throne room. "Yes, sir?"

The king took a seat in his throne, reaching a hand over to give his fretted wife a gentle stroke over her daintier one. He met her eyes and ever so slightly nodded, removing his hand and straightening, his eyes hardening and his jaw tightening with protective force only a parent would feel. "Bring them inside and leave me with them alone."

Harald nodded dumbly, struck by his father's sudden sharp edge in his voice. The two guards who'd attended to Hans, in the loosest of terms, were led back into the throne room, where they stood side by side.

"You were the soldiers who escorted Prince Hans back from the coronation?" The taller one looked to his partner, and then returned his gaze to the king.

"Y-yes, your highness."

"Then you will tell me, in exquisite detail, why you saw the need to treat him as you did."

The soldiers exchanged looks with one another and swallowed, the sound mute under the thud of the throne room doors closing.