A/N: Okie dokie, length preferences are noted! Enjoy the next chapter, and as always a huge thank you to all my readers, my watchers, and the biggest thank you to my reviewers for keeping me on track with updates and inspiration! There were so many places I felt I could have cut this chapter off early, but I just couldn't find the perfect spot, so we ended up with a super long one (almost twice as long as usual) instead. Consider leaving a review in return, even if it's just a simple one? I'll be forever grateful for any feedback!

-Chapter Four-

Kingdom of Isolation

"I can't believe it worked!" Heins shouted over the distance between them as they rode past the town borders, into the wild of the forest. The Southern Isles was known as a green land, one that would see occasional heavy snow in the winters, but never for extended periods. Snow deep enough to cause problems for the working man was rare, especially because most of the land lacked the expansive high mountains which were so common in Arendelle. Instead, the majority of the landscape was comprised of hills, wooded areas, and flat land, most of the mountains too short to succumb to freezing temperatures easily.

His father's kingdom was dubbed "The Southern Isles", but really, the castle stood on what people referred to as the "mainland", when the actual Southern Isles were a series of islands and connecting inlets on the verge of the kingdom of Allorin, a mountaineering kingdom to the north. It had settled closer to where the smaller Northern Isles prospered. The visit of the Princess Orion was likely a stunt from the Allorin government seeking to merge the two kingdoms under good graces as the Isles continued to expand with careful claiming of surrounding land.

Hans shed the oversized dress by undoing the buttons , draping it over Sitron's back, snug under the front part of the saddle before slowing his steed, having gotten away from the public, who only saw Prince Heins with a visiting princess and focused their rumors on their relationship. Hans flipped open the princess' fan and playfully gave it a few flaps in front of his face, letting go of his apprehension the best he knew how given the freedom he felt with his favored older sibling. "Well, obviously I was just too pretty for them to notice anything but my flattering feminine graces!"

Heins tried not to laugh but it spilled out before he could stop it, covering his mouth as it came as an undignified snort. His brother was anything but an attractive woman. "Obviously."

"I bow to your expertise in the art of disguise," Hans flashed a smirk in his brother's direction as Sitron took his rider toward a patch of green grass. "I have to admit, I didn't think we'd pull it off, but I shouldn't have doubted the greatest fashionisto in the kingdom."

"Only the kingdom?" Heins asked as he pushed his brother playfully. He felt his heart warm at seeing Hans smile, a smile rare, though not quite so rare as his father's. It wasn't so much being around the older brothers which seemed to make Hans sad at times, because, well, they were brothers. They were always going to tease him in some capacity just as they teased Heins for his interest in clothing. His brother's periods of depression, confusing personal leave, and often violent sparks of rebellion came from another source entirely, and as much as Heins hated the truth, he knew it was a source he could not heal. He tried not to focus on such grim prospects. Hans was home now, and that was all that mattered.

"The world," corrected Hans with a chuckle and a rougher push back.

"I didn't think you'd go along with it; it sounded so crazy when I first thought of it," Heins remarked, letting Kalk wander, his horse following Sitron and trying to edge him out for the greenest patch.

"I love crazy," responded Hans, giving Sitron a little pat on the neck as the horse snorted, flicking his ebony tail.

"We have an hour before Harald starts his tyranny and comes after us, likely with half the army behind him," said Heins, looking back at the castle behind them in the distance. "Where do you want to go? Unless you want to don your dress again, we should stay away from the town, but there's the woods, the grassy hills, the lakes…"

Hans hesitated before answering, his expression softening into thoughtful features which looked incredibly similar to his mother. I finally have time to myself, and it turns out I'm on a stopwatch. An hour isn't enough time to do much of anything, but… He stopped to gather his bearings, pushing thoughts of his crimes out of his head. One aged memory, soldered forever into the recesses of his mind, lingered. I know what I want to do. "You don't have to come with me," he said as he looked to his older brother, who seemed puzzled at first.

"You're my brother," responded Heins as he studied his brother's words, oblivious to the dark events which had occurred in Arendelle, "I'll follow you to the end." A look of understanding softened his features, sadness and sympathy both taking equal share in his expression. Taking stock of their surroundings, he recognized them, as would any of the sons of the king. "I know where you want to go."

"And you still want to come?"

"Yes." Heins reached over and gave Hans a pat on the shoulder. "Let's go together."

The ride into the lesser outskirts of the woods was short, and took less than ten minutes, but it was obviously untraveled by the common man. Hans guided Sitron through the occasional path of overgrown thicket and weed, until the thicker brush receded to give way to a small walkway of stone. The walkway led up to an overlook of the kingdom, dotted in wild grasses and small flowers, sparse blooms of lilac fallen from their shrubs over the stones in their way. The prince shifted off of his steed and stood beside Sitron, staring at the meager stone monument in front of him with a grim outlook. Whoever had built the tablet had not devoted enough lasting care to such an emotional project, for whatever had been written was long since worn away by a jealous environment. Still, it was clear the slab of stone meant something important, strikingly different from the naturally-formed boulders and rocks alongside it, smoothed and polished at one point, a light grey among the darker rocks outlining it.

Hans studied it for some time, noticing a small tuft of dried flowers laid beside it. He glanced over at Heins with a questioning look, who nodded in response.

"I come here sometimes. Most of us do."

Hans bent over and began to pick a few wildflowers, one after another, most of it the fallen lilac, as it was the most prevalent, until he had a fist-sized clump gathered. He set them down before the slab in replacement of the previous flowers, but the wind stirred and they began to blow away, ungrounded. Snatching the clump again before too much damage was done, he simply knelt before the monument, a thousand thoughts in his head all competing for priority, all giving way to that single dreaded picture he would never forget, set as firmly in place as the stone before him.

Heins let his brother alone at first, knowing silence was more honorable and more traditional in such cases, but kept his eyes on Hans regardless. He watched his brother's emotions soar and plummet, a cascade of personal turmoil he could not heal. Heaven knows he'd tried before... He knelt beside his brother, putting a hand on his back. Hans was silent, but his grip tightened around the flower bouquet. Heins reached around the back of his own collar, grabbing a piece of the silk black ribbon holding his ponytail in place. He pulled the ribbon free, letting his long hair down, and wrapped the ribbon gently around the bouquet in his brother's hand, tying a simple bow to keep the flowers in a bunch and offering his brother a shared sympathetic look.

Hans set the flowers before the stone, removing his gloves as he noted the grass stains on them. He lifted a hand and put it down on the rock, letting it rest there. Neither one of the brothers needed to say anything, so the two stayed quiet, letting their horses graze nearby while their thoughts overtook the silence.

It was nearly fifty minutes later when Heins stood and led their horses from where they'd wandered back to the outlook, speaking for the first time since their period of silence. "Hans. We should go."

Hans looked back at his brother, and then at the sun slowly setting in the distance. His time was coming. His father wanted to see him, and soon he would know whatever future waited beyond his sight. He felt better about things now, more resolved, more… disillusioned to whatever hate he knew would be coming from his family. "I'm ready."

Heins removed the dress from Sitron's saddle and held it out to his brother. "Princess?"

Hans managed the slightest smile as he slipped the outfit over himself for his encore performance, glancing back at the slab one last time. He replaced his gloves on his hands to help him grip the reins of his steed, focus set on the castle alone. As he rode, he could not help but notice the touch of the cold, unfeeling stone lingered on his fingertips, sinking deeper until he could swear he felt it smothering his heart with its icy grip.

#

The clip-clop of Kalk's hooves against the cobblestone slowed immensely as Heins neared the front gates, waiting for his brother, who was not quite as experienced at riding sidesaddle, to catch up to him. He spoke in a hushed tone from the corner of his mouth, eyes staring ahead to avoid suspicion. "The gates are open."

Hans thought, trying to reason the best course of action, face shadowed by his cloak. "We could try to sneak in when it's a bit darker?"

"Too late, they already see us," Heins drew his gaze upwards, Hans following, to see a few sparse soldiers manning the walls of the castle, looking at the two figures on horseback. "Get ready to act your heart out."

Hans flipped the fan outwards with a flick of his wrist, "I was born ready." He took count of the people awaiting their arrival as they neared, eyes searching especially for the one piece of the puzzle who could shatter their illusion completely- the princess. Thank God, she wasn't there. She must have given up searching and gone to spill her woes on whoever would listen to her. Hans noted two, three, four soldiers total, none of which he worried about, and then saw Harald striding up to the gates. Hans wasn't sure whether they'd fooled him or not the first time, but his worry escalated as he saw his brother's face. His posture stiff, holding himself almost high enough to be on his toes, he looked proud… arrogant… smug.

Hans furrowed his thin brows as he tried to figure out why, only to have Heins shove his side with an elbow, lightly enough to get his attention but not ruin his balance. He heard one word from his brother, "father", and his blood ran cold.

The king walked both freely and proudly towards the gates, commanding respect from everyone he came in contact with but without ever having to request it. His blue cloak just barely brushed the ground, shorter than the one Hans had seen him wear in the throne room, his eyes seeming to stare directly at Hans even through the closing distance between them. The soldiers saluted, Harald the last to do so, his smile almost too big for his face, eyes snapping to face Heins and Hans as they came close enough to see the king.

"Father," began Heins, with a nod. He gestured to Hans, fumbling to finish a sentence, "this is- that is, we were- I wanted to show… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to leave…"

Harald's eyes gleamed like a cat cornering a crippled mouse.

"But of course," the king said, turning his attention on Hans, looking past the disguise completely into his son's eyes so much like his own. His lips curved into a secretive smile. "You wanted to show visiting royalty proper consideration. Under such circumstances, your choice of action is completely understood."

Harald's jaw fell, looking from the king, to Hans, and then back.

"But, your highness, the-"

"That will be enough, thank you, Harald." The king moved his smile to face the captain, nodding once. "You may close the gates now that my son has returned."

"But I..." Harald started, closing his jaw, the grit of his teeth audible behind his pert lips. "Yes, your highness."

The king looked to the figure astride Sitron, lifting an eyebrow and extended two hands to assist with the tricky disembarkment of the sidesaddle position. "Permit me?"

Hans nodded dumbly, sweating profusely under the hood, his sideburns itching and his gloves sticking to his fingers. He held out his arms and allowed his father to help him down, reminded of times when he was too young to ride by himself and similar help had occurred. He felt his father take his hand as he was taught to take a lady's hand, with their consent, palm up, managing to look his father in the eyes only to see a sparkle of amusement. Heins followed behind them, all the way into the castle, up the stairs, and into the throne room, where the Queen was absent. They stopped in the middle of the room, before the throne, and watched as the king closed the throne doors.

He moved to take a seat in his throne, and, with a small series of chuckles, began to escalate into a bout of laughing. It was simply impossible not to join, and soon all three family members were following suit, Hans letting his hood down to allow his skin to breathe freely as he peeled the dress away. Hans could not remember the last time he'd laughed honestly with his father.

"Alright…" the king began with a breath to relieve himself, wiping at an eye tearing up, looking from Hans to Heins, "So which one of you is going to explain this to me?"

Heins held a hand up to stop his brother before he started, and stepped forward, taking a huge breath, hands tucked behind him as if he were reciting a piece from a school play. "Well, Hans wanted to go outside the gates even though he said you told him not to and I wanted to avoid Princess Orion because she's stuck up, clingy, and she desperately wants to marry me despite the fact that she knows nothing about me, and I thought that if Hans could pass for her so then Harald would let us through, and by the way, father, he was being really, really mean today, and so we left because he let us through and now we're back." He took an extra breath and released it. "And that's about it."

"Well don't leave anything out!" exclaimed the king, a few more deep chuckles resounding from him. "If you were desperate enough to dress as a woman to get outside, you must have wanted to get to your destination very badly," he said, supporting an elbow on the throne arm and gazing at Hans. "Where were you going, son?"

Son. The use of the word warmed Hans, or maybe it was the flush creeping along his neck. He could feel his father's affection with the use of that word, and it was so much better than feeling alone. "I went to visit… the gravesite."

The king's expression took on a stunned look. Then, as Hans often knew, that unreadable quality which made him so intriguing even from childhood. He closed his eyes.

The throne doors opened.

"Hans!" His mother appeared, draped in a long robe of purple silk, draped over her dress and tied by a silky sash to match, her hair a little broken as if she'd just awoken from a sleep full of tossing and turning.

"Allowyn," the king began, getting down from his throne and approaching her. Hans rarely saw his father worried, but there was a twinge of it somewhere in his face, perhaps in the wrinkles of his forehead. "You should not be up and about."

She waved a flippant hand at her husband, the only person known to quiet the king in his tracks, and went to Hans' side, gazing with puzzlement at the pool of the gown at his feet. "How can you talk about sleep, George? Clearly I've been absent during the most interesting part of the story!" she exclaimed, her smile brightening the room.

Heins took a deep breath and the king brought a hand to his forehead as the recitation began once again. "Well, Hans wanted to go outside the gates even though he said you told him not to and I wanted to avoid Princess Orion-"

"And you disguised him in order to save each other from a less than enjoyable fate," finished Allowyn, looking at Heins' gaping jaw and flashing him a wink.

"How does she do that?" Heins asked his father, flabbergasted.

George shrugged with a smile of his own. "There are some things even a king doesn't know how to answer, son…" He gestured for his wife to join his side, the sun casting orange glows over the isles as it descended. The light cast shadows over his mother's figure. "Allowyn… it's time."

Her face slackened, and Hans watched her expression grow shadowed, her smile fading. "Heins," she started, offering him a half-smile composed solely with effort, "we must speak to your brother alone. Why don't you take this dress back to its rightful owner?"

"Do I have to do it personally?" he asked, looking sorrowful.

"You may have one of the servants return it if you wish."

Releasing a breath of thankfulness, Heins gathered the dress in his arms with a few tucks and grabbles for a hold, flashing a grin at his brother. "I'll talk to you later…" He turned and raised his voice, whispering, "my lady!"

#

It wasn't until the doors were shut tight Hans faced his parents with a renewed sense of despondency. No. A prince is strong. A prince is strong. A prince is ready to accept whatever comes. A prince is capable. He doesn't give up… more importantly… I don't give up. He steeled himself against all outer emotions, determined to keep his thoughts to himself. "Father, Mother… I'm ready."

The king aligned his back with his throne, gazing upon his youngest son and releasing a single sigh. "Hans… it's good to hear one of us is..." He looked to his right, watching the sun steadily sink in the distance. Hans followed his line of sight. "Your actions, your choice of treason against the kingdom of Arendelle has affected every single person under our rule. Do you understand that, son? You've damaged the livelihoods of every man, woman, and child down there, everyone who depends on us."

"I understand," Hans said, his hands limp at his sides. Don't react. Don't think on it.

"Our people need trade, Hans. They need safety. I have to tell the kingdom what hardships may come now… I have to tell them about what crime has been committed. I will be telling them what you've done."

Panic gripped him in an unshakeable clench. Hans broke his look from the window to his mother, hoping to see some hope in her. He was stunned to see how sallow her expression looked without the light of the sun, how pale her skin seemed. Something was wrong. "I'm not afraid." True, it was a blatant lie, but even so, he felt better saying it.

His father was not looking at him when he next spoke. "The crime of murder under our law is cause for punishment by death."

Suddenly the room holding Hans seemed to grow so much smaller and suffocating around him. He felt insignificant under the grandeur of his parents, a feeling he knew oh so well beneath his older brothers. His voice came out as a squeak similar to when he'd gone through puberty, as much as he hoped he'd sound stronger. "Father..." He searched his mind for an emotion to settle on in the emptiness of the throne room, something to ground him as he lost his concentration. The only feeling he dredged up was a seething anger, but he could not place a directive, finally turning in on himself. Why had he acted so foolishly? Why had he been so determined to be king by any means necessary? What was it he had wanted? How could he have been so stupid?

"After deliberation between us, we came to the decision you did not commit said crime," his mother finished, her gaze soft, almost soft enough to be non-judgmental.

I didn't? Hans questioned, and his puzzlement must have been visible because his mother continued on with her explanation.

"You attempted murder, but you did not complete the act. It is enough for us to choose our own punishment, which we have determined will not be death."

Will not be death. Not be death. Not death. Not. Death. Hans adjusted his attention back on his mother as she finished her speech, but he'd processed little beyond the hope he wasn't going to die. He'd been so sure upon arrival back in the Southern Isles he'd receive nothing less, and after Harald's threats, and all the guilt…

"I… Hans, I…" His mother tried several times to continue, but nothing else came, and finally his father stepped in, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulder, which she leaned into, burying her face into his chest.

The king stepped forward, gesturing to the window showcasing the town below it. "For your crimes… from this moment on, you are no longer a prince of the Southern Isles."

"What do you mean?" Hans asked, looking to his mother for comfort, and finding dampness building a dam behind her blue eyes as she watched.

"… Do you remember what makes a prince, Hans?" asked his father, parting from his mother, coming down the steps. "You were all taught this truth, taught to recite it every day as a child. Think back and tell me, what makes a prince?"

Hans dropped his gaze from his father, doing as the king suggested, memories rising and falling within his mind. "… must I?"

"Yes, son… you must."

Hans took a breath and stood tall, hands at his side. He knew exactly what his father wanted to hear, and he quoted word-for-word the oath every son of the Southern Isles had learned. "A prince forgets the trespasses against him, no matter how terrible. He sacrifices for others, even to the expense of his soul. He forgives until he forfeits breath. He is strong, he is compassionate, and the sum of these things makes him complete…"

His father looked at him expectantly, and Hans sighed, adding on the last part.

"A prince I am, and a prince I will be."

The king looked over his son, his green eyes searching him so deeply it made Hans itch. "… I wish I could believe that, son… I wish I could believe."

The words cut into him with the chill of a dagger stabbing his heart.

"Until you follow those words… until you show you've earned the title of a true prince, you will not hold any of the honor associated with it. If your actions are any evidence of the future, you will never return to the castle to live under my roof… nor will you be allowed to leave the Isles. We cannot allow you to spread whatever corruption has hold of you any further. You will be escorted from the castle tomorrow at dawn."

Hans blinked, soaking in the words, searching his mother's eyes for any glimmer of disagreement, but whatever sign he hoped to find had been drowned in tears. "But… but father," he began, grasping for anything to say, "I… I live here. I am a prince, I promise you, I am."

George looked upon his son for moments that seemed long enough to fill an eternity, and suddenly came down towards him with a speed making Hans flinch. His father's great arms wrapped around him and the king held onto his son in a desperate hug as if he would never do so again. The words whispered in his ear were choked, a gasp from the man's throat between withheld waves of sorrow. "Then show me, son… show me."

#

Whatever words had been exchanged afterwards, Hans had not heard them. He was escorted from the throne room by two soldiers, assumingly to let his parents grieve their decision, and led to his room, where he was confined for several hours. It wasn't until much later Hans braved the door a crack to see if his captors were still as vigilant as ever, only to find they'd both left, likely from boredom. It made sense. He wasn't going to disappear, as much as he may have wished such a thing. And he wished it. He wished it.

He wandered the empty, dark halls, all sense of time lost to him, all thoughts stricken from his mind, his emotions askew. He felt furious at himself, his footsteps leading him to one of many halls lined in paintings. With thirteen children, his parents had plenty of celebrations to record in the strokes of a brush and plenty of yearly family portraits to make. His eyes scanned several of the portraits hanging over the hall, scenes and ages of himself and his brothers as they grew, coming to rest on a recent portrait of himself just before he'd left for Arendelle. The castle halls were full of these pictures, more than half of them false smiles never actually shown to the painter who'd been commissioned to create them. His portrait showed a young, hopeful man, a perfect smile, a perfect posture, a perfect… prince.

His hands flew to the sides of the heavy frame and he heaved, hurling it away from the wall where it clattered to the ground. "Perfect!" he shouted at the fallen figure, moving to the next portrait portraying himself, a year ago. He gripped and tore it from its place, throwing it behind him to the join the previous. He moved with a building speed, his gloves snagging on sharp edges of the frames, tearing with his efforts. It didn't matter if the pictures contained other people, his brothers, his pets, or his parents; he threw them all to the ground one after another, his hair falling in his eyes, his body heaving from the effort. "Perfect, perfect, perfect!" He groped against the wall for something else to throw, his vision blurred with hot tears, but after his storm of anger, the wall was bare. He gazed at the empty corner of the hall, so insignificant in the grand scheme of the hundreds of other pictures still hanging so perfectly elsewhere in the palace. He turned, facing the remaining eyes of his brothers, his parents, and other royal figures, staring at him unseeing, and backed away from them until he hit the wall with a gentle thump.

His breath coming in short, shallow gasps, the tears spilling down his cheeks, he sank down to his feet, wrapping his arms around his knees. He let the silent sobs wrack his body until there were no more tears to cry.

#

He had no idea how long he remained in that crumpled, pathetic heap on the floor. Certainly it must have been late at night, as there was little light in the castle apart from obligatory lamps for the servant's use. He didn't realize he was heading for the kitchens until the smell of chocolate wafted into his nose. I'm not hungry. His stomach growled in protest, and the disagreement, coupled with the fact he had not eaten yet today was enough to encourage him to trudge in that food's direction.

His hunger turned into a vague sense of confusion as he smelled the cake coming not from the kitchen, but from the family dining room, although clearly it was far too late for any sort of supper. As he neared the room, he noted light coming from within it, and a soft chorus of murmured voices growing louder as he approached. He froze outside as he recognized the voices. His brothers were speaking. Part of him instantly warned him to walk to the kitchen, get something to eat, and go, but the greater part insisted he stay to learn what they were talking about, although a sinking feeling in his gut told him he already knew.

He took a deep breath, held the lower hinge of the door leading into the room to keep it silent, and cracked it just enough so he could get the smallest view of the inner action.

A fire crackled in the fireplace, and for all intents and purposes, it may as well have been a replica of the last night he'd spent here, as all the brothers were present, and each in his assigned seat, with a spare smattering of food donning the dining room table.

"I knew something was wrong from the moment he got back," Henning said in a quiet murmur, helping himself to what was likely his second or third piece of cake.

"I think we all did… but I never thought he'd do something like this," remarked Helm, thoughtfully, hands folded in front of him.

"Stop looking like someone burned your wardrobe, Heins. I think it's ridiculous you're feeling sorry for him at all," scoffed Hugo, "he chose his path and now he's getting what he deserves."

Heins fiddled with the plate of cake in front of him, most of the food cut, but not eaten, pushed around to an almost unrecognizable pulp in front of him, his eyes downcast and sorrowful. "But he's our brother…"

Harald stood from his chair and paced towards the fireplace, eyes settled on it. "I say we should execute our own punishment against him. Would the town, or the king himself, really blame us? It would help the people take faith in their government to uphold right and wrong."

"What do you suggest?" Helm asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"I could whip him. I've only just procured the most marvelous cat of nine tails. Glass shards imbedded in the leather, guaranteed to cleave flesh with each stroke." Harken ventured, his hands at work polishing a dagger in hand, his grim smile reflected in the metal sheen.

"That is not an option," Helm snapped, glowering at his brother.

"Why not?" Dark green eyes turned towards him, pointing the tip of the knife at his figure. "Would you rather perform the honor?"

Horatio spoke, his drawl voice more emotive than usual. "The last man father placed you in charge of whipping died the next day."

"Exactly." Harken leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the table, the clay on the bottom of his shoes glimmering red in the firelight. "That should tell you how much I need the practice."

"This is ridiculous!" Helm exclaimed, standing up to join Harald. "Father would be ashamed if he heard us discussing such things and I will not hear any more of it!"

"… we should help him."

All eyes turned to Heins as he pushed away the plate of unflattering cake. Harald sputtered, waving a hand in the air. "Have you gone mad? Hans tried to murder the Queen of Arendelle! We all know what he's capable of, how can you talk about wanting to help him? We may as well hand him a throne to corrupt, pat him on the back for a job well done and be done with it!"

Heins rocketed from his seat and slammed a fist down on the table, making at least half of the brothers jump involuntarily. "He's our brother, Harald! Our brother! And I, for one, love him! Have you all forgotten what makes a prince? A prince forgets trespasses! He forgives! He sacrifices! He is compassionate!"

"Don't recite those time-old rhymes to me! God knows we spent half our childhoods reciting them back to the king whenever he asked like a bunch of trained parrots!" Gasps incited from a few of the brothers, and Harald glanced around the table to several looks of disapproval. He groaned and slumped down in his hair, sighing and shaking his head. "Fine! If you're all so obsessed with the idea, what do you think we can do to help him?"

Heins paused, drawing his gaze to the table as he returned to his own seat. With no answer, Harald set to work cutting a slice of meat and bringing it to his lips.

"We could take a formal plea for pardon to father. From all of us, it must mean something," Heins said with a slow nod as if agreeing with himself.

"It won't make a difference," scoffed Harald between chews.

"It won't if we don't try," Heins volleyed, making eye contact with his older brother. Hans could feel the ice in the captain's gaze from his stakeout as coldly as if the glare were directed towards himself.

"Alright then, if you're so keen on following up on this idea, then here's what we'll do. We'll take it to a vote between us. The proposal up for vote is this: We take a plea for pardon before the king asking Hans to be restored to prince status and his consequences forgotten. We'll begin with my vote. I vote no." Harald's eyes snapped to Helm. "Brother?"

"Yes," said Helm, strong eyes reflecting the sheen of the fire. He turned. "Harken?"

"Obviously not." The tip of the dagger made its way between his teeth, where he dislodged a scrap of food. "I'd much rather be voting on the whipping."

"I vote yes," Heins spoke up, glancing around the table, his eyes swamped with a bewildered look as if he could not believe what he was hearing.

"I'm sorry about Hans. I really am. But I vote no. The damage done to our town and the relations between our trade companies is irrevocable… and the trade… is more important to our livelihoods." Henning trailed off, and slowly placed his fork down on his plate, pushing away the cake he had left, his eyes emptily resting on it.

Harald gestured to the king's financier, his gloating smile bright behind his eyes. "Horatio?"

Horatio met his brother's gaze, brought his fingers interlacing together, and rested them on the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. It was in this moment of inner thought he heard a gentle creak. His eyes snapped open and glanced to the right, where the door he'd closed himself upon starting their meeting was open, just enough for a crack. The flash of the fire caught the figure of someone behind the crack, a pair of green eyes so very familiar before they disappeared into the darkness beyond it. "… I vote yes."

"What?" gasped Harald, face aghast. "What do you mean you vote yes? Shouldn't you, above all other people, vote no? Or maybe you don't understand what he's done to our kingdom! Our trade partners are shot to hell, our people are doubting the competency of their king, and without sufficient trade, we can't sustain this life!"

"I know very well of our financial situation, thank you, brother." Horatio lowered his hands calmly to the table. "And yes, it's true, trade partners are demanding less pay for our country's goods while our receiving stock is priced at more than we've ever paid before, but Hans is our brother. I cannot condemn our blood unfairly to a life of solitude… a life he's had his fair share of already. I share Heins' sentiments, and I have casted my vote honestly."

"This is preposterous! You're all absolutely insane!" Harald whirled to face Hugo, the only brother left to vote. "Tell me you've got sense, Hugo! Tell me you vote no! Or have you forgotten what Hans did? Have you forgotten what murder means?"

Hugo stared at his brother for several long minutes, turning his head towards Harken, who was fingering his dagger and avoiding his gaze, and then to his empty plate in front of him. He stared at his reflection for another few moments, lips tightly pressed together.

"Well, it's obvious Hugo can't express his disappointment sufficiently. We can chalk that up to a no, which means we do not approach father! Meeting ad-"

"Yes."

"…what?" Harald blinked, posture stiff.

"…Yes. I vote yes."

Helm smiled, standing up from his chair, putting a hand on Harald's shoulder. "Well, I think that solves that. We take the proposal to father first thing in the morning."

"Don't touch me!" Harald threw his brother's arm off, a sneer forming on his lip. "I don't believe you! How can you vote yes? How? He's a murderer!"

"Let it go, Harald," said Helm steadily, turning to his other brothers. "There's no use in arguing now."

Harald leaned over the fire and turned back to face them, pointing a finger at them with his gloved hand, resting it last on Hugo. "If our kingdom falls… it will be due to all of you. Remember that."

Heins stood up, taking a deep breath and releasing it as he pointed to the captain across the way. "No, if our kingdom falls, it will be due to you, Harald!" He stormed to the doors and whirled around to face his brothers, shaking his head in a bout of disbelief. "And I pray such misfortunes as have befallen Hans never befall me, because I certainly can't depend on you to come to my aid!"

He turned his back, stepped out, slammed the door behind him…and came upon the quivering figure of his youngest brother, tears sliding down his cheeks in the dim lamplight.

"…H-hans..."

Heins stumbled back as his brother hugged him tightly, wrapping his arms around him as if he would disappear without the contact. Heins placed a hand on his brother's back, rubbed it for a moment, and shushed his youngest brother as he smuggled him back to his room so the two could talk in private.

#

"…so she told me the only frozen heart around was mine, I was thrown in the ship's hold and we set sail for home," Hans finished, sitting on his brother's bed next to him, his hand trembling as he brought the mug of hot chocolate to his lips.

Heins had listened to the sum-up story without a word to interrupt, and apart from facial changes of intrigue or surprise, had not reacted. It was entirely odd, because Heins, a man who demanded detail in his life, had never been so quiet during a story before now. He took a breath and stood. "So what are we going to do?"

"…I don't know," replied Hans, shoulders sinking.

"… have you tried writing the Queen a letter?"

Hans gave his brother a look. "I tried to murder her, Heins. I doubt I'll find a way to delicately say 'Sorry I attempted to kill you'."

Heins lifted both hands palm up, shrugging his shoulders. "So you're a bit of a fixer-upper! We all have a few flaws. The way to start is to apologize to her… if you at least show you're trying to right your wrongs, Father will have to listen to the possibility for pardon. The question is… how?"

Hans leveled his gaze on the clock above his door, watching the minutes tick by, the lifeboat hand slowly moving its steady circle of travel. I am a prince. I'll show him I'm a prince. I'll show them all. But what will they say when they see I'm going back? What will Anna say? What will the people say? Murderer… villain… scum… no, no! I don't care! I don't care what they're saying! Let them say it! They'll see. Hans set the mug of steaming liquid aside, getting up and going to his closet, where he dug out a simple satchel from among other pieces of elaborate luggage and began taking down a few simple articles of clothing from his closet.

"What are you doing?" Heins asked, watching his brother and stealing a sip of his discarded hot chocolate.

"I'm going back."

"Going back?"

Hans turned to see his brother donning a chocolate mustache above his lip and couldn't help but smile. "Back to Arendelle."

"Ooo!" Heins set the mug aside in a hurry, spilling a little over the edge and rushing to the door. "I'll get my stuff!"

"You're not coming with me, Heins." Hans crossed his arms to be firm, going to his drawer and packing the last of the essentials.

"I missed the opportunity to see Arendelle fashion once, I'm not missing it again. Besides, how do you think you're getting to Arendelle alone, hm? You going to take a rowboat? You'll need someone to help you sail."

Hans stared at his brother, staggered by his reason and yet irritated by the sense of it all. He would need someone, and Heins was an excellent choice. He sighed in resigned defeat. "Alright, fine, fine! You can come. Go get food, water, and whatever other necessities you can think of. Meet me by the docks in two hours."

"You've got it." Heins grinned and ducked out the door, but for the first time Hans could remember, the shut door left him with a feeling of hope, smothering the hurt churning in his gut. He took to finishing packing the satchel with clothing, sitting down at his desk to leave a note for his mother explaining where he'd gone. A prince I am, and a prince I will be. A prince I am, and a prince I will be. It took all the chanting of the mantra he could muster to keep from convincing himself he wasn't crazy.