A/N: Back to the future! Erm- wait… past? Present? Who knows where we'll end up. Thank you all my new followers/favs and most of all, you know who you are, reviewers! I was so happy to see new faces to join the old ones who keep me encouraged. I'm sorry about the longer-than-usual wait, but you're always welcome to check out my tumblr/pm me during down times.

Chapter Seventeen

Too Much Of a Good Thing

"I didn't forget about our snowman…" Hans said in a soft exhale of breath, blinking as he stared at Elsa in an entirely new light. "Or maybe I did forget… at least for a little while…but now I remember."

"It's you," she breathed, a smile lighting her face, her eyes bright. "I do know you… you came to our castle when I was a little girl. If I think back, I can barely remember how we played."

Hans felt snatches of his own memories come racing back, and he could see a brief flash of himself in an unfamiliar place, with his old stuffed horse, and a very young girl sharing her toys. He could remember her picking flowers and handing them back to him as the two presented the bundle of rumpled blooms to their mothers. He was so bewildered by the rush of memories he didn't feel the little nudge against his leg, until it became a persistent tug.

He looked down to see the face of the snowman, who looked eerily similar to the stuffed one in the past, only much more… alive. A normal person would have panicked, and perhaps run screaming from the ballroom to spread the chaos. Hans, however, had faced a much more terrifying snow monster on the mountain in the past, when he'd searched for the missing Elsa, so seeing Olaf's friendly, jovial grin did little more than intrigue him.

Bending down, Hans examined the floating cloud over the snowman's head, snowflakes sifting from behind the wisps of white as if it were flour or powdered sugar. He dipped a hand through it, lifting it to find his glove a bit moist.

"It's my own personal flurry," the snowman exclaimed cheerfully. "Elsa made it for me so I can see summer for myself! Oh, summer is so warm and so bright and beautiful! Have you ever seen it?"

All Hans could see when he looked at Olaf was himself as a child, squeezing the stuffed version Elsa had owned. He got back on his feet, unable to focus long enough to give him an answer beyond a brief nod.

"He's just like the one we played with as kids…" Elsa murmured, folding her hands in front of her and pursing her lips. "If only I could remember more… maybe if you tell me your name. No, no, don't tell me. Take off your mask. Let me see if I can remember for myself."

A chill shot down Hans' spine. She doesn't recognize me… she doesn't remember who I am beyond the unnamed little boy in her past. I can't let her see me… not yet. Planting a smile firmly on his face, he took a step away and shook his head, a hand held out towards her. "I'm afraid I can't do that, your majesty."

"Why not?" Elsa asked, her blue eyes twinkling curiously. "Are you shy..." she asked coyly, "or just ugly?" she added with a giggle.

"You might say that, your majesty." Hans answered vaguely and gave a brief appreciative smile. It was as good an excuse as any, so it would have to do.

"Elsa," she stated suddenly.

Hans blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

She smiled at him, walking over to him and taking his extended hand in hers. "We're childhood friends. You can call me Elsa."

#

Helena could not recall the last night she'd had so much fun in such a short time. The music, the colors, the laughter, the magic seemed to assault her senses from every side. And the most overwhelming part of the change had to be her amazing partner, Hamish. Not only was her escort kind, thoughtful, and exceedingly attractive, he was a gregarious talker, almost beside himself with excitement. She noted with surprise that he was a fantastic dance partner, too. He must have had lessons at one point; there was no doubt about it. Staring into his eyes, she felt like a princess straight out of a fairytale. He seemed light enough to float over the dance floor with those polished boots she'd given him; she'd been whisked away for more songs than she could remember, instinctively following his guidance. She was overcome with sensations when she felt the tender touch of one hand on her waist, the other linked with her fingers. The voices of the background faded away and she felt like they were the only two people left in the world as she studied every nuance of his face and expressions.

It's a good thing you're here for me. I don't know how I'd be able to be so graceful without you. I've never danced before and now look at me! Here, among the royals and the people who must attend this sort of thing all the time. She was amazed how, despite the gorgeous ballgowns and beautiful girls surrounding them, his eyes never strayed from her face."Whoah," she laughed, gripping his shoulder for tight support as he dipped her back, making her arm clench a little around his neck, her balance thrown. "Take it easy, Hamish. This dancing may come naturally for you, but I've never done anything like this before. How many of these kinds of parties have you been to, hm?"

"Not… an exceedingly large amount," Heins ground out behind his guilty smile. He'd been trained, like all of his brothers, in the art of dancing starting at a very young age. After the first party he'd attended, the countless festivities and frivolities all seemed to blur together. Not to say, of course, he didn't enjoy each one in its own individual way (particularly the things people wore to said parties), but the fact was he could not have given Helena an accurate number if he'd tried. This reality bothered him, because, as much as he hated to admit it, the higher he tried to build the wall to hide his true persona, the more it seemed to crumble. Now it was quickly becoming clear to him, no matter how he might try to evade her, eventually she would find out who he was, and when she saw the truth, she was going to hate him.

"You've been lying to me," she accused suddenly, staring him deliberately in the eyes.

Heins felt his breath catch in his throat and he coughed to the side, avoiding her eye contact as he gave her a little spin. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Helena smiled at him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "You're just too good of a dancer. You've been to these kinds of celebration- I mean, extravaganzas many times, I'll bet." He visibly sagged with relief at her reply, but to Helena, the sudden slackness gave the impression he was tired. "Are you alright? Do you want to take a quick break? Guiding a klutzy novice like me through all these dances must be exhausting for you…" Her face smoothed over in sympathetic lines.

"You? Klutzy? Exhausting?" Heins repeated, managing a half-smile. Wait a second. A break might be just the thing I need to get things together. A moment away, just a moment, long enough to get it under control. "You know what sounds good?" he burst, craning his neck over her shoulder.

"What?" Helena asked, raising her eyebrows playfully.

"Something to eat! I bet you're hungry, aren't you, Helena? Let me get us some food!" He slid his hand from hers.

"Actually, I'm fine, thank you for the thoughtful mention, Hamish." She tried to slip her hand back into his, but to her puzzlement, he avoided it. He'd been mesmerized with her all evening, what could be the problem now?

"T-thirsty, then!" Heins stammered enthusiastically, backing away. "I'll get us something to drink!"

She couldn't catch him before he'd already slipped between some people, heading rapidly for one of many tables piled with refreshments. She watched him go with the puzzlement deepening into the slightest sense of worry, leaning from one foot to the other as she debated whether or not to follow him. "Okay… bye."

Get it together, Heins. Get it together. She's having a great time. She's not even thinking about who you really are. You've got to get a hold of yourself; conceal it, watch what you say. Make one wrong move and she'll figure it out. Absent-mindedly, he took two glasses of the burgundy-colored drinks neatly aligned on trays, bringing one to his lips and sipping. The taste of the rich, smooth wine reminded him of home and calmed him, his shoulders sagging a little. The drink slid down his throat, and the next sip he took was slower, more appreciative than trying to quench his thirst. Fine wine had a way of leading him from a sip to a swig without a second thought. That's better. He took another drink, letting his mind wander for a few moments.

"I thought you were getting us something to drink," teased Helena, coming up beside him and shooting a confused look to the two empty glasses in his hands. "From here it looks like it's just you."

"Oh…" Heins dropped his gaze with an accompanying flush of his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I-"

"It's alright," she quickly forgave him, viewing the spread of fancy foods stretching from one end of the room to the other, drinks placed sparingly on tables nearby and servants busying themselves rotating appetizer trays. "Wow. I don't think I've never seen so much food in one place before." Her gaze settled on the neat row of pristine crystalline glasses filled with the dark red liquid and she leaned over to inspect it. "Punch?" she questioned.

"No, wine," Heins answered, setting the empty glasses aside and picking up a new, full one in each hand, offering the crystal held in his right hand to her. "It's a good year, I can tell."

"O-oh…" Helena faltered, accepting the glass, but not drinking from it, her gaiety deflating as she watched as Heins downed his with little effort.

Finishing his glass, he set his third empty drink aside, noticing Helena's hesitance. She hadn't even tasted her refreshment. "Is something wrong?" Even without asking, he could already tell his date was troubled, her forehead deepening in lines of thought, eyes focused on the drink in her hand.

I'm surprised you don't remember. She paused a moment, and shook her head as if reconsidering. "No… it's nothing."

"Are you sure?" Heins asked, gently pushing the subject. Does she suspect something? What if she knows already? "You know you can tell me if anything's bothering you."

"It's just… I don't drink." Her fingers drummed along the glass, her eyes drawn to the contents. "Not after what happened with my father," she added under her breath, a sentiment lost to the voices of the people around them.

"Oh." Heins moved and took her glass back, offering her an understanding smile. "That's alright. There are other lots of other things to drink. This looks like lemonade, and there's fruit punch. What would you like? If they don't have it, I'll even make it for you!" She drew her eyes to face his exuberant grin, watching him taking a sip of her glass. He finished and let a little sigh of satisfaction come from his lips. "It's even better the fourth time around." He set the glass down to join the other empty ones on the table. "Do you know how you can tell a fine wine?" he asked distractedly, picking up a new glass to give it a little critical swirl, placing it back down. "I can tell you! I know everything there is to know about it. You name it, chardonnay, champagne, scotch, with just a taste, I can tell you nearly exactly how old it is and how or where it was made."

"That's quite impressive," she commented in a flat tone. Though Heins was becoming aware of a tingling sensation in his fingertips and a slight feeling of dizziness, he was still lucid enough to catch the unhappiness in her voice.

"It's something I can do that none of my other brothers can," he faltered, shaking his head to clear it.

Helena paused, looking confused as she questioned, "brothers?"

"Hm?" Heins stiffened.

"You said brothers. You have more than one? I've only seen your younger brother. How many brothers do you have?" she asked.

Oh no. Heins' heart began to hammer in his chest as he weighed his options. His thoughts seemed to argue with one another as he tried to make sense of them and choose the proper response, but his reasoning capabilities seemed to be slower than usual. Tell her you have a few more, it won't give you away! But I can't purposely lie to her! If you don't her the truth, you are lying! Think fast!

"Oh, my God!" He gasped suddenly and pointed a shaky finger towards the end of the buffet table.

"What?" Helena asked in astonishment, following his point.

"They have chocolate fondue! Have you ever tried it?" Say no. Say no!

"No, I can't say that I have," Helena said, looking relaxed once more, a sparkle of amusement behind her mossy green eyes.

"Boy, have you been missing out!" He took her hand in his and dragged a giggling Helena towards the melted pot of chocolate delicacy. "Wait until you taste it!"

#

"Do you still have Olaf?" Hans asked, a half-downed glass of champagne in one hand, walking beside Elsa as they spared brief greetings with party guests. "The toy one, I mean." Elsa had taken a brief moment to introduce him to the live version and sent the over-excited snowman on a very important mission of counting the stars in order to make doubly sure the proper amount were shining on the night of the party.

"Yes," answered Elsa with an added chuckle, "but he's in dire need of some re-stuffing and a good, long wash." Nodding her thanks for a compliment from a guest, she faced Hans. "And you? If I remember right, you had a stuffed animal, too. What was it?"

"A horse," answered Hans after a moment of thought. He remembered well enough, but he'd taken extra time to recall where he'd put the childhood toy. It was safe in his room, he assured himself. Somewhere tucked among his personal belongings in his closet, where he'd put many of his treasures from the past.

"That's right!" Elsa exclaimed brightly, bobbing her head up and down in excitement of the recollection. "Now if only I could remember the name…"

"Sitron," he helped again. Hans often wondered how well his horse, who was one of his closest friends, was getting along without him. He made a habit of trying to visit his animal companion at least once every day when he was in the Isles. In the past, if Hans had ever stopped visiting, even for one day, Sitron became nervous and agitated, prompting the stablemaster to ask for help. Hans had now been gone far longer than one day. "And like your Olaf, I have a real version of the stuffed animal. The two even look alike."

"I'd like to see him once," Elsa remarked thoughtfully. "I'm fond of animals."

Smiling and nodding, Hans felt pleased with how well the conversation was going. Honestly, after being confronted with their shared past, he hadn't given his apology much thought. He'd didn't devote his attention to Elsa as she talked reservedly about her icy magical abilities and the impetuous Olaf, instead letting his mind drift. She thought she was sharing her magical talents with an old friend for the first time, while in reality, Hans knew very well about her powers and her capabilities. Suddenly he realized Elsa had asked him something and was now watching him with a questioning expression. "I'm sorry," he apologized, dropping his gaze for a moment to regain his composure to the present. "I was lost in thought."

"That's alright," Elsa easily forgave him with a wave of her hand, "I was asking about the real Sitron. I feel like I've been monopolizing the conversation… it's only fair you have some say. Friends share, right?"

Hans smiled. Elsa's secrets seemed far more personal and revealing than discussing Sitron and where he'd come from, but he shrugged it off with a quick shift of his shoulders. "What do you want to know?"

"When did you get him," she began, and then held a hand out with one finger. "No, wait, tell me this… when was the first time you saw him? Was he always yours?"

"Not always," Hans said under his breath, "he belonged to Kris." He didn't think he breathed it loud enough for her to hear, but a sudden lapse in the dance music allowed her to catch it.

"Kris?" Elsa questioned, looking puzzled. "Who's Kris?"

The sounds and sensations of the party around him were swept away as he drowned in a flood of unwanted memories.

#

Hans leaned sideways, careful to exhale softly in the night, peeking around the corner for another quick look. A few people were crowded around the stable, and two were inside the pen, all unaware of the youngest prince of the Isles, who was currently absorbed in his act of spying.

Just outside of the pen, George looked on at the unfolding event with a quiet understanding of a man who was accustomed to seeing newborns. After all, he'd been blessed with more than his fair share of children, and, although slightly different with animals, for the most part, the birthing process was the same for all living things. His hand drifted to rest on his son's shoulders, who was also watching the event unfolding, but had a small sneer curling his lip.

"Is it almost done?" Harald complained, glancing up at his father and crossing his smaller arms obstinately. "We've been here for half an hour. If we have to wait much longer, we're going to miss dinner."

George put pressure on his son's shoulder, quieting him. "Be patient, son. Kris has been here for hours caring for her mare." He shifted as Harald unleashed an exaggerated sigh of impatience. "Helen? How is she doing?"

The royal doctor of both animals and people glanced up from her position near the hindquarters of the horse, the lantern flickering, sending her shadows scattering across the wall. "It shouldn't be much longer. I do have the best assistant I could ask for," she commented, glancing behind her to see a boy with a mess of black hair, curling around his ears in unruly fashion. In his hands he held the doctor's bag of tools, close enough to hand them to her through the spaces in the wooden pen.

A slender, teenage girl kneeling by the horse's head smiled wearily at the doctor, hay sticking out at odd angles from her rumpled clothes. She tenderly stroked the horse's mane, watching her enlarged belly heave with short, labored breaths. "Good girl, Kumquat… you're almost there…" she soothed, watching her horse's tail flick back and forth uneasily, her back hoof stretching out as another contraction hit. "Push, girl, push."

Helen took hold of the pair of hooves extruding and pulled as the horse groaned, her body quivering with another squeeze. "Head's free," Helen commented, reaching out to the boy behind her. "Give me a towel, please, Johan."

"Yes, ma'am," the boy dug into the bag beside him and fished out a fresh towel from the supplies, passing it to her through a gap between the wooden planks.

Helen rubbed the foal's nose, encouraging it to draw its first breaths of fresh air. "Looks like it's going to be a small one," she commented, readying to pull again as Kumquat grunted. Suddenly, the foal came into the world with a gush, a slippery, tan-colored baby with hints of black and white lining its mane. "There we go!" Helen rejoiced, freeing the baby from its amniotic prison and rubbing the rest of its lanky body down as it shivered, smiling as she stood to her feet and gave the new mother some space. "It's a colt."

"And of very nice coloring," added the king, watching the girl near the horse's head flop back on her rump with a deep sigh. "You've been awake for some time, Kris. Why don't you head inside and get some rest?"

"Isn't he perfect?" asked the girl, flashing a weak smile to the king as she turned back to face the shivering colt. "Look at him, he's beautiful."

"That he is." George looked to his side and tried to gauge his son's response. Unable to read anything but displeasure from Harald's puckered expression, he questioned it. "Something wrong, son?"

"I don't want it." Harald faced his father and frowned stubbornly.

"What do you mean, you don't want it?" the king repeated, stunned. It had been tradition in the family for his children to get their first horse at the age of twelve, but he'd made an exception for Harald, who had been begging him for a steed of his own for the past months. The promise of a purebred Fjord from the royal stables had seemed to satisfy him, so the boy's sudden change of mind shocked the king. "You've been asking about it for months."

"It's too small," Harald grumbled, shaking his head. "I don't want it. I want a big horse, like the one Harken got to have… only better," he added on, turning his nose up at the scene before him.

George gazed with exasperation at his son, sighing. He was too tired to deal with Harald's demands for impossible perfection, but like any parent, he hated to disappoint his children. He'd dealt with having brothers of his own and knew what it felt like to want to be special. "Harald…" he began, the tone of his voice deep enough to draw his son's attention, "this is your horse. You were promised this horse and you wanted the responsibility to take care of it. It is even more special than if you were to go into town like your brothers, as it was bred from Kris' own mare. If you want to have a position of leadership when you get older, you must understand you cannot just abdicate from whatever situation you please if you don't like the outcome. So what do you think we should do with it, hm?" Hoping his words would get through to his son, he waited for a response.

"I don't care," Harald scoffed, "poison it, drown it, bash it on the head."

Suddenly the company became very silent. The king bent down to his son's eye level and put both hands on his shoulders, eyes darkening with a focused intensity. "Who taught you to say such horrible things?"

Harald shrank under the imposing stature of his father. His voice grew soft. "H-Harken said so… he said that's what they should do with runts…"

"Well, he's wrong," exclaimed the girl inside the stables, fists clenched at her side as she clambered to her feet. Her eyes smoldered in anger and her cheeks were as red as her strawberry blonde hair. "Your brother doesn't know everything he thinks he does. Don't you ever say anything like that again; that talk is cruel and heartless! You should feel lucky that this beautiful horse is yours and that I'm giving it to you! If you don't want it just because it's a little small, then you're a selfish, spoiled brat, and no prince at all!" she finished, pursing her lips.

Harald's eyes shifted guiltily to the side, and then back, to face the disappointed expressions surrounding him. The adult's expressions didn't bother him so much, after all, adults were always condescending, and always thought they knew better. But when he saw the glower from Johan, a boy closer to his own age, a surge of fury pulsed through his veins. "Don't look at me like that! You think you're so special just because my mother and your mother are friends! I can do anything I want with this stupid horse and if I say I don't want it, I don't want it!"

"…I do." An unexpected soft voice came from the darkness beyond the glow of the lantern, surprising them all.

George turned, stunned to see his youngest son emerge into the light, hands held behind his back, the boy bowing his head guiltily at his father's frown. "I'm sorry, daddy….I know I'm supposed to be in bed. But I never saw a horsie borned before, and I…wanted to see." He looked up with tears in his eyes and stared at the new foal struggling to its feet, with an expression of gentle awe and appreciation on his face. The colt shook his head and sneezed.

"Bless you!" Hans exclaimed, sticking a hand through the posts and giving a little wave.

The foal staggered a few steps towards Hans before it collapsed in the hay, close enough where he could reach through the posts and touch its soft muzzle. "Please…" He looked up at his father with innocent, pleading eyes.

The king smiled, a feeling of honest appreciation for his young son's reverence flooding his heart. How long had it been since he himself had experienced amazement at one of the miracles of nature? Life seemed so full of pressures, and kingly duties left him little time to appreciate the fragility and beauty of the world around him. Looking at Hans, he realized that in many ways, his youngest son provided a glimpse into that world, so sweet and innocent. Although George knew it would be years before his youngest son would be able to take the responsibility of caring for the horse, Hans was obviously already enamored with it.

A mocking laugh suddenly exploded from Harald. "You shouldn't even be here. You'd never be able to take care of it; you're only four years old! You're as much of a runt as it is!"

Hans bowed his head, but Kris spoke up defensively, leaning over the pen railing and stroking his hair. "You really like this horse, don't you?" Hans just nodded once, and the king rubbed his chin thoughtfully, regarding his youngest son's humble attitude.

"Father," interjected Harald, puffing out his chest. "I'll take it." Kris shot him a dark glower, frowning, to which Harald shrugged. "I changed my mind."

The king stared doubtfully at Harald for a moment, and then turned towards Hans, nodding decisively. "So have I."

Harald blinked a few times, double-taking from Hans to his father. "W-wait, Father, I-I want it! I do!" His eyes could not conceal their scorn for his little brother as they snapped towards him.

"… Daddy," came the soft interjection from nearby. Kris reached out a hand which George took. She squeezed it hopefully. "I want Hans to have him. Please? I'll help him take care of the baby until he's old enough to do it by himself."

"But that's not fair; he's only four! I'm ten! He can't get a horse before I do; everyone will make fun of me," Harald shouted, glowering at Hans. Looking around at everyone's faces, he realized any argument he might try was futile. Kicking over a nearby water bucket, he pushed Hans back as he rushed out of the barn with a cry of frustration.

Leaning down, George picked Hans up, brushed the stray hay pieces off of him, and guided him towards the opening of the pen. "Lesson number one, Hans… you need to spend time touching and talking to your horse, so he'll bond with you." Linking his arms under Hans, he lifted him up and over, setting him gently down beside Kris. "Five minutes, young man, and then it's back to bed where you should be."

Hans gently petted the horse, hugging it tightly around the neck while Kris reclined by the mother. The mare turned and gave a soft nicker; the foal stumbling to its feet, wobbling over to the mother. It searched out its mother's milk and was soon nursing happily, greedily yanking on the udder in a vain attempt to make the milk flow faster.

Hans approached Kris and crawled into her lap, sticking his thumb into his mouth and watching as his eyelids drooped. She stroked his hair back from his forehead, humming chords from one of his favorite lullabies. "Have you thought about what you want to name your new horsie?" she asked, nuzzling her nose against the nape of his neck.

Hans took a deep breath of the citrus perfume she typically wore. "Sitron," he murmured sleepily, knowing that he would never think of his colt again without also thinking of his sister's kindness.

#

"Hello… Hello?" the repeated sound of a concerned voice resuscitated Hans from the memories that were drowning him.

Grudgingly, his mind refocused to the present and the concerned face of Elsa became clear. He swallowed hard and stammered, "I-I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Elsa shook her head in exasperation. "Where did you go? I just asked you to tell me about the first time you ever saw Sitron. You mentioned someone named Kris."

Hans closed his eyes and opened his mouth, determined to start being honest. He would tell the story, despite the pain it brought to his heart. And after that, he would tell her everything… and he would beg her forgiveness for what he had tried to do. Even though he doubted she would be able to give it, it was enough to know this terrible burden of shame would be lifted.

Just then, a ripple of commotion from nearby interrupted. There was a crash as a tray of appetizers tipped over and a figure bounded towards him, smiling brightly and dragging a flushing young woman behind him. Hans heard his name yelled loudly over the voices of the crowd.

"Hans! Hans, have you tried this chocolate fondue? It's amazing! It will change your life!" He pointed to the woman beside him and brought her hand to his lips. "It certainly changed mine. I've never been in love before, but after tonight, I couldn't be more sure of it!" Rooted in dismay to where he was standing, Hans had no time to react before a giddy Heins threw his arms wide open and gave him a big hug, swooping him briefly off the ground. "Are you having as much fun as I am? This party is fabulous! And this must be Elsa! Your majesty, you've planned the greatest extravaganza ever!" Trying to bow and kiss her hand, Heins took the opportunity to stroke the sleeve of her gown, feeling his material from her wrist to her shoulder. "Your gown is amazing, do you like it? The color completely compliments your eyes, oh, and your comp…complexion, it really does fit you so well… can I touch your shawl?"

"Heins! You idiot!" Hans hissed in a whisper between clenched teeth. "What are you doing?"

The commotion caught the attention of nearby armed soldiers, and they responded instantaneously. One of them grabbed Heins by the shoulders, pinning his arms behind him. As he struggled, they began to drag him away from Elsa while the other hastily made sure she had not been harmed. "Hey, ouch, that hurts! Watch my suit; I just made this! It's a Heins original! Don't rumple the satin!"

"Your majesty, are you hurt?" the man inquired urgently. "What happened?"

"It's an attack on the queen!" someone else yelled, and chaotic, confused cries began to spread like wildfire across the ballroom floor.

Hans lifted his voice to be heard above all the commotion. "No, wait, your majes- Elsa! It's just a misunderstanding! An accident! Please, let me explain!"

Elsa straightened as he grabbed for her hand. She looked down at him, and suddenly her grip turned as icy cold as the stare she gave him. "Hans?" she whispered in disbelief and horror. "You… are Hans?"

Hearing her, the guard turned and ripped Hans' mask away, revealing his face for all to see. The whispers of fear spread even faster than before, and Hans heard accusations springing up from all directions.

"it's another attempt on the queen's life!"

"Once wasn't enough for him! He's trying it again!"

"Arrest him! Quick, before he has a chance! That man there, he's an accomplice; I saw them come in together! He attacked her first!"

The captain of Arendelle's guard arrived on the scene and quickly assessed the severity of the situation. He pointed to those under his command, gesturing outside the ballroom. "Take both of these men down to the dungeon and lock them up for now; the queen will want to question them later to get to the bottom of this!"

Though he struggled, he was quickly overcome by the men taking him under custody. He wildly twisted as he was forced away from the party, catching one last look behind him. Etched into his mind was a picture that would continue to haunt him for days to come: two women standing side by side with shock, horror, and disbelief painted across their faces, Elsa's lips forming the word "Hans" and Helena's the word "Heins".

A/N: Small note: Fondue often was mixed with alcohol. If you didn't know before, I bet you know Heins' weakness now.