A/N: …Yar, mateys. Ya'll best be sendin' me yur reviews or I'll be makin' ya regret yer readins! I be thankin' those of ye kind enough ter' favorite and follow this story! Oh, and Happy Valentine's to yer!

P.S. … fooled you. :3

-Chapter Six-

No Rules for Me

Hans awoke to a feeling of gentle swaying, a complete opposite of the turmoil he'd experienced just before he'd lost consciousness. He groaned and gazed to his right to take in his new surroundings, the sun glinting off the surface of the ocean and making him shield his eyes for a moment. When he managed to sit up and his head stopped spinning, he first saw, to his utter despair, his father's sailboat no longer resembled anything close to a ship, but rather a long pile of shattered wood buoyant enough to support some weight. There was a single barrel balanced on board in the center, a small pile of sopping wet fabrics to the side of it, and a leather pack that looked like a waterskin nestled in the middle of them.

Then, like a terrible thunderclap leftover from the storm, Hans remembered what had happened. His brother… the storm's ferocity…those last words he had spoken…

"It's what brothers do."

"No…" he groaned in despair, collapsing onto the deck and holding his throbbing head in hand. "I… I can't believe it…"

"Can't believe what?"

Hans turned towards the cheerful voice coming from behind him to see a man sitting cross-legged with long hair and a weak smile who looked exactly like-

"Heins!" Hans stumbled to his side, heart overflowing in relief. He hugged his brother closely for a moment, and then paused, pushing him away roughly, expressions darkening. "Don't ever do something like that again, you idiot! You could have died! What were you thinking? Why couldn't you have just listened to me and done what I said?"

Heins shrugged both shoulders good-naturedly, a sheepish grin on his face. "I guess because I knew you were too stubborn to listen to anything else! Stubbornness runs in our family, you know."

Hans silently agreed with the statement, but shook his head in disbelief regardless. "How is it we're still alive? Are you alright? What happened?"

"I think so," responded his brother, patting himself down and smiling at Hans. "I seem to be alright, although a little waterlogged." He squeezed the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt as if to emphasize the point, water dripping from the cloth. He sighed, tucking his damp strands of tangled hair back behind his ears. The ribbon that primly held his ponytail in place was long gone with the storm's wrath. "And this salt water has done nothing for my poor hair."

Hans drummed his fingers on his elbow, trying to be patient with his elder brother's hygiene check, merely staring at him as he waited for him to continue.

"The storm destroyed father's boat completely, apart from what you see here. I saved us some pickles in that barrel there, and some water. And… what I think used to be some of our clothes." He nodded to the pile of wet clothing.

Hans blinked once, giving his brother a bemused look. "Pickles?"

"Well, everything else was completely destroyed in the storm! You were unconscious, and I could barely manage to get you on top of the wreckage, much less make my way to gathering any of this," he gestured with a wave to their sparse supplies. "It's a little hard to salvage supplies in the middle of storm tossing you like a feather in the wind."

"You… you saved my life, then…" Hans said, eyebrows furrowing as he realized the truth.

"I guess so," Heins shrugged, though he didn't seem very impressed with the fact. "What should I have done, just let you drown?"

Hans was silent as he flashed back suddenly. A lot of people would have. He shook the memories away and staggered shakily to his feet, the wooden floor beneath him oddly moving with the bobbing of waves up and down, making him shift to keep his balance. "So our goal then, is to try and move the sh… what's left of our ship as much as we can while keeping an eye out for any land. Help me paddle," Hans bent down once more enough to churn the waters with his hand, trying to get up enough momentum to move the wreckage, though he doubted his weak paddling would be enough to move them anywhere alone. It didn't help he was beginning to feel seasick.

"Well, while you look for land, I'm keeping an eye out for my carpetbag," exclaimed Heins, bending down opposite his brother, "I had some of my best shoes in there." He tried to help with the strength of his own arm paddling, and with great effort expended, the two of them managed to turn the raft slightly to the right where the current picked their little raft up in its circling grasp.

By the end of the first day, with no sight of anything but open ocean, Hans was exhausted, sore, and frustrated.

By the end of the third day, due to the pain screaming in his muscles, he had stopped trying to paddle altogether.

By the end of the week, as he and his brother crunched their meager meals in silence, he silently swore off pickles for life.

And by the end of two weeks, the pickles he'd agreed to eat only under his current duress, the brackish water they were sharing, and his patience for his brother were all running severely short.

"… hey, Hans?" He heard his brother rasp.

"What?" he snapped, slumped against one side of the pickle barrel, his brother on the other side. It was almost lunch time, and lunch time meant only another round of dill to down with an already ravished stomach.

"… do you wanna play a game?"

"A game?" Hans shifted his back around to see his brother. Both of them were bedraggled, but Heins had somehow gotten the worst of it over the past two weeks. His once clean, youthful face had, like all of his other brothers, embraced the growth of facial hair. It started with a light sprinkling of brown scruff and was now a scraggly small beard, the curse of the Southern Isles line complete. His hair stuck out in unruly cowlicks, frizzy and breaking. The vague smile on his face was only a rumor of his former cheerful demeanor, and his eyes had a faraway look in them as if he saw something in the distance Hans did not.

Hans himself had grown bristle all the way down to his sun-blistered chin, but he didn't quite look as bad as Heins yet. He dropped his gaze and shrugged. There was simply no other way to pass the time. He'd told Heins the story of his arrival in Arendelle and the events thereafter five times already.

"Unless you want to tell me the story of how you arrived in Arendelle again?" Heins prompted.

"No! No. Let's play a game."

Typically, Hans enjoyed games. His brothers had not chosen to include him in many of their games through childhood, which was understandable, because they were older brothers. Still, that had not stopped him from chasing after them, banging on their doors, and begging his more piteous parents for attention and inclusion in "charades", "yes and no", and "hide-and-seek", which he had always been rather good at winning. But then again, his brothers had never really cared to look for him... so the game had turned more into an individual game of "hide", and winning had become natural. He swallowed, the burning pain in his throat erasing the memories. Reaching beside him, he lifted the waterskin to test the weight of the contents. Two weeks of sharing a single, meager water supply had been difficult, but peculiarly manageable. After the first week, he'd found out why.

"Heins? Heins, you're bleeding." He'd looked at his brother with surprise, moving his own hand to his lip. "Your lip is bleeding."

"It is?" Heins dabbed his fingers across it, covered his mouth with a hand and removed the hand a moment later after the blood had been cleaned off, forcing a smile. "Now?"

"Better," replied Hans, getting a closer look at his older brother. His lips were awfully chapped, and the blood had come from a crack in the middle of them due to dehydration. "Get some water, Heins, your lips are too dry."

"But we only have so much left and if I-"

"Heins!" Hans snapped, turning stern eyes on his brother. "Drink or I'll make you drink."

"Alright, alright!" Eyes turned down, Heins lifted the skin to his lips, making a few swallowing sounds and drawing it away with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Let me see your lips."

"…What?"

Hans heard the edge in his brother's voice, the nervous lilt of his words as wavering as the waves beneath them. "Let me see your lips." He gave his brother's face a good hard stare, eyes widening as what had been a theory became truth."Heins! You didn't drink anything!"

"What? Of course I did!"

"No, you didn't! I'm looking right at your lips and they're as chapped as ever! How long have you been pretending to drink?"

"I haven't-"

"How long, Heins?"

His brother bowed his head, his reply a low, guilty murmur. "A few days."

"You haven't had a drink in a few days?" It all made sense. They'd both been sharing the same skin to drink from, and Hans had expected them to run low far before now. If Heins had really been pretending to drink, then it would only be one person drinking during the spare water breaks through the long days.

"No, no!" Heins sputtered, twiddling his fingers. "I did… just… not every time."

"Why?" Hans asked, thrusting the water to his brother. "Here, drink!" Heins, under pressure, finally took a small swig, the relief visible on his face. He returned the water to Hans afterward and drew his gaze on the distance to avoid his brother's frown. "Why didn't you drink before?"

"… I don't know how long we'll be out here. I just wanted to keep your hopes up…"

From that moment on, Hans had watched his brother carefully to be sure he had his share of water. He had also promised himself he would try to be patient with Heins, because if his brother was willing to give up something as vital as water for his well-being, then he could stand to give things up, too. He set the water down, the meager contents making a faint slosh. He couldn't risk taking a drink now, not until he absolutely had to do so. Maybe playing with his brother, as ridiculous as the notion sounded, would take his mind off it. "Alright then… a game. What shall we play?"

"Eye spy," Heins croaked, crunching into his lunch, not surprisingly, a pickle.

The shadow of enthusiasm in his brother's voice made Hans smile weakly. "Fine, fine… Eye spy it is. You go first."

"I spy something…" Heins critically surveyed his surroundings of ocean, tapping a finger on his chin as he mused, dragging his description out. "Bluuue…"

"Blue." Hans tilted his head and leaned over until he could see Heins. "You're sure it's blue?"

"Hey, hey! No trying to sneak more hints! You have to guess with only the color of what I've given you, those are the rules!"

Hans scratched his chin, pretending to think for a moment. "Blue… the ocean?"

"How did you know?" Heins cried, face dropping.

Hans sighed, shaking his head. Hopeless. "My turn. Let's see… I spy something… " He took his time, too competitive in nature to pick something as simple as his brother's last choice. He heard another crunch and smiled secretively. He didn't even need to see it to know he'd made his choice. "I spy something green."

"Greeen…" mused his brother, tousling his beard with one hand, probably without realizing it. He took another bite of his pickle.

"Come on now, you have to guess," teased Hans, his smile turning smug. "You can't stall for time."

"Alright, alright! Let's see…" Heins took the last bite of his pickle and swallowed hard to force it down, looking around himself. The pile of clothes was the only thing with any touch of green to it, so he pointed, to which his brother only shook his head. After a few following moments of gathering nothing green, he turned his gaze on his brother. "You can't name things you don't see, Hans, that's against the rules!"

"Well, it's not my fault you ate the object of the game," Hans replied with a quiet shrug.

"Ate… the pickle! It's the pickle! Did I guess right? Do I win?" Heins' expression turned into one of contemplation. "I've never thought about the specifics of the rules when it comes to eating the object which the eye spied."

Hans chuckled, which turned into a cough, and shook his head lightly. "I suppose if anyone were to be called an expert on such things it would be you, Heins. Yes, you win."

"I win! I win! It's my turn now!"

"Again, Heins?"

"Just one more time, I promise. Please? This is… fun."

Heins reminded him so much of Anna in some ways: peppy, fun, and a person who clearly exhibited a lust for life. He had hoped bringing his brother along to Arendelle would be better for himself in the long run, and not worse. So far, it had turned out to save his life. He would indulge him. "Alright, one more time, so make it a good one."

"I spy…" Heins paused, squinting against the sunlight glistening on the waves, trying to spot something worthwhile.

"Well?" asked Hans after a moment of silence from his brother, which was always a moment too long when it came to Heins.

"A ship…"

The words were a breath on the wind, but it was enough to make Hans jolt a little from where he sat. "What?"

"A ship!"

"A ship? Where?" Hans stumbled to his feet, clinging to the broken mast for support, making their little raft sway dangerously. "Where?" he repeated, his hammering heart picking up pace.

"There!" Heins pointed, eyes locked on the distance. "Do you see it, Hans, do you?"

Hans squinted and followed his brother's point, desperately hoping his brother was right while similarly dreading he'd lost his mind. At first the horizon looked as it always looked, flat, boring, and hopeless. But as he stared, willing himself to see anything at all, a dark spot became visible. The more Hans looked at it, the more he admitted it did look like a ship, and the bigger it seemed to get. Bigger means closer. It's getting closer. "We need to get their attention somehow," Hans relayed to his brother, who nodded, glancing around despairingly. Their supplies were limited.

"I've got just the thing!" Heins dug voraciously into the small pile of ruined clothes the two of them had been using as blankets at night, pulling out a light crème-colored blouse and tying it over the broken mast, where the wind took it to a flutter.

"Do you think they'll see it?"

"They have to! It's the lightest thing we have, the other fabrics are too heavy, but I can hold something up!" Heins grabbed a tattered overcoat of dark green, obviously his by the colors, frowning softly as he looked it over, pouting and fingering the empty holes lining the waist. "Oh, look…it's my first suit I made strictly for coronation business… and this had hand-engraved buttons once…"

"Just hold it up!" Hans shouted, waving a red pants leg, the other missing entirely, joining his brother until the ship veered its course, heading directly for them and causing them to erupt into hoarse cheers, weakly hugging each other.

By the time either of them noticed the black flag flying overhead on the ship's mast, it was too late.

#

"Pirates! They're pirates!" Hans shouted, heart pounding under his ripped clothes. "Heins, you have to get away from here, get out of here before-" He felt a pair of hands ensnare his chest, looping under his armpits and hoisting him up into the air. He managed to bang against the side of the ship for a moment, a moment long enough to see writing on the side of the wood, no doubt the name of the ghastly brute's boat.

Rosemaling.

The name had been through rough weather patterns as only the gouging in the wood remained, but Hans could not help an odd sense of déjà vu as he struggled violently against the men snaring him. "Let me go! Let go of me!" He kicked and lashed out as he was thrown onto the deck and hands yanked behind his back where they were bound tightly.

"Lookee lookee what I caught myself, lads…" The man binding him tugged him to his feet, the ropes rubbing against his wrists, which had thankfully recovered after the return trip from Arendelle. The pirate's wild mane of unkept red hair tangled impossibly together in several places, a grin revealing the few teeth he had remaining. "Ain't much to look at, is he? Maybe I should be throwin' him back!" The man yanked Hans' head up by his hair, a gathering of his fellow pirates bursting into laughter at the panic behind the prince's flickering green eyes. With a glance to his right he saw Heins being similarly tied up by another man. If he were to act out, it would have to be now.

Hans lifted a boot and brought it slamming down on the burly man's foot, causing him to release the prince with a howl of pain and grab for the injury instinctively. Hans' struggling stopped with the singing of a blade and the feel of cold steel against the flesh of his neck.

The pirate next to him holding Hein's ropes in one hand and the offending sword in the other laughed. "What's the matter, Adolf, can't control your catch of the day?"

"Didn't expect so much fight, is all…" the man grumbled, grabbing Hans and tossing him down to sprawl next to his brother, taking hold of rope in each hand leading to the knots he'd tied around both of the princes' wrists. "Most shanghais lookin' this ugly don't put up this much fight."

The man moved his sword with a practiced flick away from Han's neck, but not so far that he could not bring it back in a single moment. "Maybe these two aren't so convinced they want to join our lovely little family, yet… what say you, brothers? Shall we hear what they have to say for themselves?" The pirate's cheers around were rousing, but Hans kept his gaze on the one with the sword, the fluent way he moved the blade which silently spoke volumes to his deadly skill.

His curly black hair twisted in tiny ringlets, spilling out messily from under the red bandana he wore. His clothes were dirty, but his face very fair, and Hans might have guessed under another guise the man could have passed for a noble's son. He pointed the sword to Hans, a smile spreading on his lips, his expression one of cool confidence. "Now then, my little castaway, tell me what you're doing out here in this godforsaken ocean with only your friend to keep you company."

"I'm not going to tell you anything," Hans replied, his eyes narrowed in a sneer of defiance, chin jutted up as far as he could manage.

"I will!" Heins exclaimed, shattering his brother's stalwart image. Hans shoved his brother with an elbow, who looked hurt. "What? All they asked was what we were doing out here…"

"Alright then, sangfagel…" The man pointed his sword at Heins. "Serenade us."

Heins smiled, opened his mouth, and took a deep breath. "We are two princes of the Southern Isles who are on our way to Arendelle because it is absolutely monumentally important that we reach the Queen of Arendelle in order for my brother to deliver a formal apology for a mistake he's made, the details of which are not actually any of your business so we would appreciate it if you could see your way to giving us a ride?"

The man holding the sword visibly faltered for a moment, until Adolf, holding the ropes acting as a leash for both princes, laughed. "What's the matter, Johan, can't control the catch?"

Snapping a glare towards the man, the pirate called Johan pointed his sword back at Heins, this time with a gaze as sharp as his steel. "You expect me to believe you are two princes? From the Southern Isles? Journeying all the way to Arendelle with only a single barrel, a small satchel, and a stack of old rags?"

Heins' eyes flared; his feet pushing him up from his kneeling position, taking Adolf off guard enough to maintain standing, the other pirates snaring weapons, expecting a fight to break out. His eyebrows furrowed into a glower of anger, his lips parting as he seethed, "they are not rags."

Johan paused for another moment, a vague look of amusement flitting across his features before he shrugged, walking towards Hans. He hesitated, flicked his sword, and once again rested it on the man's tender, exposed neck. "Get back down on your knees, unless you want him gutted like a fish."

Heins immediately sank down, looking to Hans with apologetic eyes.

I know you didn't mean anything wrong by telling them what they wanted to know, Heins… but… you could have left out the prince parts… Hans met his captor's gaze with absolute resolution shining among the green of his eyes.

"Two princes of the Southern Isles, out in the middle of the ocean, on a journey to see a Queen," he scoffed, pressing the tip of his sword hard enough to draw a tiny dot of blood on Hans' exposed flesh. "I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life." Everyone was quiet as they listened to Johan continue, his free hand giving a wave in the air as he spoke. "We've heard our shares of stories from people lost at sea before, haven't we? Storms, raiders, visiting relatives… but never something like this. Two princes would be an awfully rich ransom, wouldn't it, men? It would be unbelievable, a turn of events, a sea-shattering miracle!"

The pirates surrounding the captors began to cheer.

"There's one problem…" he grated between a full set of off-white teeth as he held up a hand.

The cheering stopped.

Johan turned back to Hans with narrowed eyes. "I don't believe in miracles." He pressed the sword against Hans' chest, hovering over the heart. He must have had some special training in fencing as evidenced by both the way he wielded his weapon and his formal stance. Hans swallowed. Johan turned his attention to Heins, gesturing to Hans with a jerk of his head. "Tell me who this man is."

Heins was quiet for a moment, debating how to answer as the man wanted, struggling to sound confident with his brother under swordpoint. "He is Hans Anderson Westergard, the youngest prince of the Southern Isles, and my brother."

"Tell me who he is!" Johan shouted, pressing the tip of the blade hard against Hans, drawing a prick of blood which slowly trickled down his chest and soaked through his light clothing.

"Stop it!" Heins exclaimed, panic breaching his features. "I'm telling you the truth! I swear on my father's throne, I swear on my honor, he is who I've told you!"

"You mean to tell me… this man before me… is a prince... of the Southern Isles."

Heins bowed his head in submission with a nod, and then turned his gaze slowly to meet his brother's, looking only at him. "A prince he is, and a prince he will be."

Johan's position remained stationary for another few moments, then his gaze wavered with an uncertain gleam. He removed his sword from Hans' neck, allowing him to physically relax for the moment, motioning to Adolf. "I want these two gagged; I'm tired of hearing the one with the beard spout gibberish." Hans tried to speak, but cloth was stuffed into his mouth and tied tightly around his head before he could say anything further, turning his words into muffled protests. "Put them below deck, in the brig, while I talk to the Captain and see whether he's willing to work with the ransom or not. Until then, we'll consider them honorary guests of the Rosemaling."

"Mmnnmmph?" A few moments later, Heins' head jerked to a point, his eyes widening as large as the helm of the ship. He started shouting beneath the gag, which smothered his words into illegitimate babble. "Mmmfphmph?" He snapped his attention to Hans, jerking and wildly thrashing in Adolf's grip, other pirates rushing to help him gain control over the captives. His desperation to speak seemed only to fuel his struggling. "Mmm-mmph! Mmmmm!"

"Get them out of my sight, I said!" Johan shouted as the princes were dragged below the hold, turning his back on them. He sheathed his sword, his gaze lingering on the seal emblazed on the hilt, that of a purple and blue anchor. He decided it was time to pay the owner of the sword a visit, going down the stairs of the cabin until he reached the captain's room, rapping on the door with his knuckles.

"What?" called someone inside.

"We need to speak; it's about the shanghais. Captain, it's urgent."

"Enter," replied a distracted voice.

Johan swung open the door, closing it behind him, approaching the man behind the desk who was reading a letter by lamplight. The fire burning among the oils at the bottom of the lamp made his red goatee seem to glow in the light, a thin pair of reading glasses resting on the bridge of his long nose, his wavy hair wild as usual, tangled around his two golden hoops, one hanging from each lobe.

"What is it, Johan? It's the day before we make port, for sea's sake. I have to make plans to ensure everything moves smoothly. What's so important about two castaways?"

"Captain… they're making… odd claims."

"What kind of odd claims, Johan? Get to the point." The man flung down the letter and snapped face his first mate, removing his glasses as he did so, his thin arms crossing over one another on top of the wooden desk.

"They say they're… princes. Both of them."

"Princes? Two of them? Shipwrecked in the middle of the sea? That's a laugh," replied the Captain, waving with a free hand as he slid the letter away and examined a sea chart spread on the polished surface of his work desk.

"That's a laugh, that's a laugh!" repeated a brightly colored bird from the corner of the room, bobbing up and down in a cage, fluttering its wings.

"You be quiet," said the man, pointing the sharpened course-plotting tools he held at it. "Is that all, Johan? I expected you to be able to deal with these kinds of small things when I made you second in command. If they're lying, they're lying. I really don't have time for this in the first place; you were the one who insisted we try to rescue them."

"It's not that, sir…" Johan trailed off, fingers dancing on the helm of his sword.

"Johan! Please! What is so important? In case you haven't noticed, we have a hit to make and things have changed since the rumors started about Arendelle! It's more important than ever we keep things running smoothly, and I can't get distracted now!"

"Get distracted, get distracted," repeated the bird from the corner.

"I swear, if you don't shut up, I'm going to eat you," replied the man behind the desk, throwing his hands in the air. "Thank God I'm getting rid of you when we make port, because I'm this close to making a parrot-pot-pie!" He shot a glare at the bird, who had become very quiet. "That's better."

"Sir..." Johan stepped forward, unsheathing his sword and placing it before its original owner. "They say they're princes of the Southern Isles."

The man stared at Johan, lips parting, drawing his gaze down at the sword on his desk. His eyes followed it from the tip, all the way to the handle, and finally rested on the insignia glimmering with faded colors burned into the grip of the hilt. "Impossible…that's... impossible."

A/N: "Rosemaling"- Norwegian for "decorative painting", applied decoration or embellishment, decorative, decorated (rosut, rosute, rosete, rosa) and "a male, a male" to paint.

"Sangfagel" – "Songbird" in Swedish