III
where a prince becomes a commoner
It is always a pleasure to start the morning with a particularly good cup of coffee, Hans thought, inhaling the delicious aroma.
He appreciated a well-made cup any day, but after some time in a cell on sparse prisoner's fare, it was a real feast. Hans closed his eyes and delighted in the moment as much as he could. The sun was warming his face quite nicely through the big glass doors. He was alone in the room – well, apart from the guard by the door – and everything was slow and calm. In his current situation he couldn't be sure when next he would be able to enjoy a peaceful breakfast of acceptable quality, so he intended to make the most of it while he could. Granted, he was supposed to officially become Queen Elsa's personal steward as soon as she deigned to show up, but the situation was so thoroughly outlandish he didn't dare to trust their deal just yet. It was fully possible it was all some devious ploy of retaliation, coaxing him into believing things were looking up for him - and then pulling the rug from under his feet, just to see him crumble and despair. Hans wasn't that gullible, though, not after having grown up in his family. He knew everything could be snatched away at any moment and that nothing was certain, except perhaps for the present moment. And the present moment, delightfully, held a nice cup of good coffee in comfortable surroundings. He took a sip and looked out across the smallish palace garden.
He'd gone from a visiting foreign prince to royal fiancé to acting regent to usurper to prisoner to a witch's apprentice in the short span of a few days. It was a real whirlwind ride. Arendelle was turning out to be quite an interesting place, he had to admit. Maybe I ought to recommend a visit to Hallbjørn the next time he whines of boredom, he thought, briefly relishing a vision of his supremely annoying brother being chased by magical snow monsters. Arendelle, the perfect holiday destination for the adventurous, where you never know what the deuce will happen next.
So far, absolutely nothing had gone according to his expectations. He'd tried to react to everything to the best of his ability, changing and re-changing his plans after each new turn. It was the battle tactic he'd learned — against an unknown foe in unknown waters, never fully trust anything, never get too attached to a fixed plan, question everything and always be ready to adapt if new information arises. It had almost worked, he'd almost come out on top, but something had gone wrong in the last, critical moment. Apparently, it had to do with Anna, who had mysteriously made a full recovery instead of dying.
Hans frowned at the enthusiastically blooming bower of lilacs in the garden. He just couldn't comprehend what had happened. He'd been knocked out by some burst of power just when he'd struck at the Queen, and when he'd come to, the winter was gone, poof, and Anna and Elsa were both alive. Alive and cordial, even though Anna had been at death's door mere moments ago. Apparently she didn't at all mind being cursed to death. And apparently, the Queen had been able to control her powers after all. Had she lied in the cell, then? Why the heck would she have done that? It was all a damned mystery. Hopefully I'll be able to winkle some answers out of her.
When the Snow Queen had paid him a visit, he'd been sure she'd come to threaten and gloat. Hans himself had been bristling with frustration and anger. Both of the royal sisters had messed up disastrously, and without him Arendelle would have been utterly doomed. Admittedly, he'd tried to seize the throne, but that was only when it had seemed to be otherwise left empty. It was only what every sane man of any ambition would have done in his situation, really. Besides, he'd been a far better ruler than either Anna or Elsa, the only one who actually thought of the realm. He'd done all that he could to save it, and for all his troubles he got locked in a cell and called a traitor. Hans had had a dozen poisonous remarks on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spat out at the witch, but he'd swallowed them down and assumed an air of cool courtesy instead. She was, after all, a dangerous sorceress and he was her prisoner. It would have been madness to provoke her when she might explode with magic, freeze his heart or curse the kingdom again. Or just sentence him to death.
He'd been greatly surprised when Queen Elsa had professed her gratitude instead. He hadn't thought the witch would be perceptive enough to recognise what he'd done for her country. He'd assumed she'd be boiling over with vengeful outrage at the attempt on her life and her throne. But evidently, despite her faults, she had the capability to think like a true ruler and see the wider picture. He'd been even more surprised when she had actually offered him a reward; a request. He'd nearly not believed his ears. A dozen wild suggestions had flashed in his mind, just to see her reaction; to ask for a game or a duel for his freedom, a chance to escape, a kiss... but sense had won and he'd just asked for some time to think. In his dire position he needed to make the most of this small morsel of chance.
When the Queen had told him he would be shipped back to the Southern Isles come morning, all traces of playfulness had vanished from his mind. He dreaded his family's reaction, the cold, crushing disapproval, the suffocating weight of the silent, immense disappointment, the barely hidden snickers of contempt. He would never rise from this fall in his family's eyes, the embarrassment was too shameful. He would forever be the inept, useless weakling, the last accident, incapable of anything other than failing and dragging the family name through dirt. It stung. Such a blunder. Utterly botching a coup in the last stretch because of a soft heart! Some navy officer he was, foiled by a dying girl almost too weak to move. That's what all that fabled honour and honesty will get you in real life, he thought bitterly. Loose ends, sloppy unpredictability and failure. If I'd suffocated her, I'd be sitting on the throne now. But somehow he still couldn't really regret it. Murdering an injured girl who trusted him, his own betrothed - it just wasn't right, even if it would have been prudent and thorough.
And that's why you'll never be taken seriously like the mains, the sharp voice hissed. You're too damn soft, too pathetically sentimental. Do you think Hendrick would have wavered? Do you think he could have triumphed like he did, if he'd started dallying and pussyfooting around critical moves because of some abstract notions of honour or morale or because he felt uncomfortable about them? No, he has the guts to do what must be done, to follow through all the way till the end, and that's why he's still personally toasted by father at the Christmas dinner and you're a disgrace and a bloody failure.
Winning at battles as well as politics required a clear mind, drive, ambition and the strength to do whatever was necessary. It was a hard game where the ends justified all means. All that mattered was the outcome, what was marked down in the history books after the dust had settled. Trying to usurp a ruler was condemned only if it failed, because the winning side always dictated the narrative. Failure became vile treason, success a glorious triumph. When you finally revealed your cards and openly went for it, you were expected to win. That was what the men of their family did, they won and conquered and succeeded and acquired. Failing was embarrassing, it created political strife and unpleasant whispers and made the family look clumsy and weak, and that was dangerous and unforgivable.
Hans tried to swallow down the bitter lump in his throat. He truly did think he was better at ruling than most of his brothers - Hendrick, for example, for all his victorious ruthlessness, was lousy at managing a realm's affairs during peacetime, whereas he fancied himself to be rather apt with balancing all the different variables and circumstances. But none of that mattered if he couldn't play his way to a throne first. So he'd tried to play, and he'd lost. He'd almost been sent back branded a loser and a traitor. A sickening feeling roiled inside him.
He wasn't sure what they would have done with him, but it wouldn't have been pleasant. Nothing too dramatic, though, he was sure of that, they wouldn't want to draw attention to the shameful cock-up with a spectacle. That ruled out execution, disowning or official banishing. Instead, they'd probably have tried to quietly sweep him and his very existence under the rug, or at least distance themselves from him. Some years locked up somewhere, certainly. Maybe he would be placed on indefinite house arrest in one of their more remote estates or even sent abroad. Permanently, perhaps? Sent him off to some territory dispute somewhere far to lead an aggressive acquisition, hoping that either the battle or the Iberian influenza would take care of him? That would probably be the best outcome in their view, he thought miserably, him falling on some front, so that the small honour of dying in the line of duty would wash away at least some of the stain. He had wondered if he'd ever see Hafleikr again, and if he did, would even the kindest of all his brothers look at him with disappointment and scorn? What would you say, Haffan, would you, too, finally turn away? Hans closed his eyes against the stinging feeling in them and held his breath to push the nausea back down. He put his cup down and turned his face towards the window — and his back to the guard – and exhaled slowly. He opened his eyes and determinedly studied the patterns on the window-frame, wavering between familiar and foreign, so close yet different from the styles of his homeland. He was still in Arendelle, for now. Focus on the possible and the present, Hans. In the last moment, the situation had changed yet again.
The game isn't over yet after all. The Queen had opened a new door of opportunity for him in his dead end, and he'd rushed through it into a whole lobby of doors hiding new but yet unknown options. He just needed to wait for them to present themselves. At the moment, the best thing to do was lie low, listen and learn, gather useful information and act humble, regretful and obliging. I have to find out what she wants to see and show it to her, whatever it is.
He supposed heartrending, teary-eyed remorse would be quite high on that list. The Queen had seemed very emotional about his actions, especially concerning Anna. Peculiar, that. She hadn't been nearly as upset about the attempted coup itself as she was about their hurt feelings. And the fight had gone out of her so quickly when he'd explained his point of view, it was most interesting indeed. He'd assumed her to be a cunning manipulator, a dangerous, vengeful foe who didn't shy away from murder, but the timidly polite woman in front of him hadn't fit that picture at all. She tried to present a haughty and regal picture, but behind it she was insecure. Easily led and persuaded, maybe? And open, amazingly open about her feelings and thoughts. She did try to control herself and hide her true feelings, at least, but wasn't shrewd enough to cover them up by presenting artificial emotion in their place. She simply tried to repress them. And when she slipped, they whispered and flickered in her face, subtly giving her game away. It was almost charming in it's artlessness.
She wasn't the only one who was recklessly open, though. Hans shifted uncomfortably in his seat when he remembered how carelessly he'd aired his own thoughts. He'd said private things he'd never before admitted to anyone, just like that. He'd also lost his temper without meaning to, and that hadn't happened in years. It bothered him. There was something singular in the presence of the Queen, something that made him forget himself. I need to be more careful around her. Their encounter at the cell had been very odd, the air thick and crackling with some strange tension that he'd never felt before, some force that made them both imprudently candid. Granted, for him it had partly been exhaustion. He'd been so sure he'd lost everything that he simply hadn't bothered with the front anymore. Hans had thought it wouldn't matter, that he would be shipped off anyway no matter what he said, that he didn't have anything more to lose, and had simply let go. And maybe, on some level, he'd wanted Queen Elsa to understand him, see him, see why he'd done the things he had. He flexed his sword hand, deep in thought.
Thinking about how close he'd come to unnecessarily slaying her filled Hans with a nameless unease. He remembered her on the ice, crushed under her despair in the unnatural stillness. In the solitude of his cell, he'd gone through the events over and over again in his head, trying to see where he'd gone wrong, where he might have chosen differently, but every path he took ended up in swinging the sword. Had he been more passive, some of the Arendelle citizens would have died, and someone else would have decided to kill the witch. I tried to avoid it, but I was fumbling in the dark. There was no way he could have guessed that something apart from herself could control her magic.
Hans frowned, he still couldn't fathom what it was and who had found it out. Some forgotten magical artifact, perhaps? Was there a way to control her? Was there a way for him to control her, and how could he get hold of it? He sighed, found his coffee empty and absentmindedly poured himself another cup under the keen eye of the guard. Maybe he thinks I'll somehow tamper with the coffee and try to poison Her Majesty the Snow Sorceress. He didn't much care for being treated as a suspicious low-life, but there was nothing he could do. He stirred his coffee a bit too forcefully and tried to assume an air of light detachedness. He certainly couldn't afford to sour the situation by appearing haughty or arrogant. He couldn't afford to displease Queen Elsa in any way, actually. So everything depended on Her Majesty and her royal whims, and all he could do was wait for her and then try to react to her moods and fulfil her wants. He wasn't used to being so infuriatingly passive and helpless. Maddening, he thought, staring at the swirling, dark depths of his coffee cup.
Who knows, maybe it will turn out to be pleasant.
He'd really enjoyed his brief stint at power, though the emergency hadn't allowed him the time to make the most of it. But it had been inspiring to finally shoulder some actual responsibility and make weighty decisions. It was what he'd been trained for, even though he was too insignificant for a position of true authority in the Southern Isles. The Queen's praise had felt gratifyingly flattering. His ideas had been quite insightful, if he said so himself, and it was very nice to have some recognition for one's efforts, for once. Hans' mood started to lift. Their mutual political enthusiasm had been pleasantly stimulating. He recalled the sudden sparkle in Queen Elsa's eyes, the excitement in her voice. It had pulled him in. She has a taste for the game, he sensed, the thirst for victory through subtle manoeuvres. And she was very lovely. It might turn out to be delightful indeed to steer Arendelle by her side. Hans closed his eyes and dwelled on her image, a pale, almost ethereal vision in the dank dimness of the cell, her magic effecting even the air around her. The exceptional alternation of strength and fragility in her body language. Her enchanting little laugh. She was bewitching, really, and becoming more so the more time he spent around her. Isn't that fitting? The bewitching witch. He wondered distractedly if it was a trick, some spell to make him fall for her and then crush him. He was sternly telling himself to keep his guard up, when he heard the guard shift to attention. Hans turned around just in time to see Queen Elsa enter quietly through the doors, carrying a small folder and looking slightly nervous. Here we go. He plastered a smile on his face and bowed deep.
To his surprise, she dismissed the guard as soon as they'd got past the appropriate mundane pleasantries. When he lifted his brow at her, she glanced demurely at him.
"I think it's best to sort out the particulars of our little understanding privately, don't you think?"
"Oh, absolutely, Your Majesty. The less curious ears the better," he agreed, furiously trying to interpret her mood, "I just didn't expect you'd be eager to be left alone with a prisoner accused of high treason, ma'am." Ah, don't remind her, idiot. Queen Elsa raised her chin and gave him an arch look.
"I'm quite sure I can deal with you myself, in case you'd be foolish enough to try anything, Prince Hans." In the soft sunlight filtering through the windows, her skin resembled flawless alabaster and the simple, becoming blue-grey dress she wore enhanced the startling depths of her eyes.You could deal with me, no doubt. "Don't forget, I can do magic."
"I'm sure I could never forget how magical you are, ma'am," he slipped out, far more softly than was proper. Oh, damn. Her eyes widened in shock, and he dearly hoped she hadn't taken offence. Vexing her with brazen flirting could be disastrous for him, he had to be more careful. She cleared her throat and gestured towards the adjoining small study.
"Shall we, then?"
Queen Elsa had come prepared. The folder contained a meticulous draft of their agreement, detailing the terms of his servitude to her. He was to act as Her Majesty's private steward and advisor in matters of state while remaining a captive, he would answer only to her but would be privy to the affairs of the crown only at Her Majesty's discretion, he solemnly vowed to do all in his power to benefit Arendelle and it's ruler, et cetera. Success would lead to a reduced sentence, while any hint of deceit or sabotage would result in an immediate termination of the understanding, an increased sentence and a full reveal to his family, and so forth. Very thorough, Hans noted appreciatively, going over the document. She certainly wasn't stupid or inept. It was a good sign, managing the realm with her would be that much easier if she had some sense in her pretty head.
He only had a couple of minor additions to request. First, that the promise of keeping the truth from his family in exchange for his co-operation was explicitly marked down; second, that they would officially agree on the exact lengths of both his sentence and its promised reduction after a trial period; third, that he would have some leisure time outdoors for five hours per week minimum, at least two of them in the presence of his horse; and fourth, that the true identity of Her Majesty's new steward would be kept secret not only from his family, but also from the world at large. The Queen very strongly objected to the last point, as he'd anticipated.
"You can't presume to keep your immoral treachery completely under wraps! Why would I allow you to hide your crimes from the world and pretend nothing ever happened? It's outrageous," she fumed, the temperature in the room dropping significantly. He countered her anger with a well-practised reply, taking great care to appear sincere.
"Surely Your Majesty understands that word travels, and as soon as my, ah, interesting situation becomes general knowledge, it will reach the Southern Isles as well? That would render all of my excuses or explanations useless," he implored. Her lovely features were set in a stubborn scowl, and he continued with a worried tone, "and I fear the confusion would affect Arendelle unfavourably, as well." A flicker of hesitation flashed in her face. Ah, yes. That gets to you.
"The official stance of Arendelle outweighs any petty rumours," she stated, superficially confident, but he caught a tinge of doubt in her voice. Careful now.
"Of course, ma'am, but if I will sign official letters and documents with my own name, it will be plain fact, not rumours, that the stance of Arendelle will contradict," he explained, "and that might be damaging, Your Majesty, for the reputations of both your realm and yourself." She bit her lip, mulling it over. Easy, easy, make it look like it's best for the kingdom. "It might call the reliability of Arendelle's official statements into question, and if you'll permit me to say so, ma'am, after the recent, uh, stormy events that have no doubt sparked plenty of wild gossip already, we really can't afford to have any more going around," he said, furrowing his brow in mock concern. The Queen shot him a sharp stare.
"We, is it now?" Hans looked at her evenly.
"I swore to advise you to the best of my ability and do all I could for Arendelle, Your Majesty. This is me advising you." She sighed and gazed past him into the middle distance, trying to make up her mind. Hans pressed on. "In the current delicate situation, it's really best for the realm to keep matters clear and simple and try to minimise any scandalous talk. A foreign prince serving a sentence for treason as Your Majesty's private steward would surely add buzz to the swarming gossip," he stated in a grave tone. "But an unknown commoner would be of no particular notice." I'm pushing her too hard, I have to back down. "However, the decision is yours, ma'am, and I'll happily submit to your will," he said humbly. "After all, I'd rather not be reduced to a commoner," he sniffed, as a final touch. Queen Elsa looked up at him, contemplating his face, weighing his words. Hans answered her stare and stayed silent, waiting, focusing on keeping his expression even. Finally, she reached a decision.
"Very well. Perhaps it is indeed best to have you assume a less noble identity," she sighed. He'd won the fist round. It was a good start. Queen Elsa eyed him, still wary, but with the tiniest whisper of playfulness behind it.
"What shall we call you, then? An adaptation of your full name, I think." She realised something. "Actually, I don't think I know it," she admitted.
"Does Your Majesty mean to tell me you can't name the family ruling one of your most influential neighbours?" He hoped slight teasing wasn't too much so soon after coaxing her into letting him hide his shame, but he wanted to make her comfortable around him. It was a gamble, and he very much hoped it would pay off. Peering at him, she took the challenge.
"All right, give me a moment. Uh, Southern Isles - it's a multi-barreled name, four, isn't it – ah, wee-Westergård, Hallsten, um, Aldenborg- no, burg, berg?" she looked to him for confirmation, but he just twitched his eyebrows. "Oh, fine. Westergård, Hallsten, Aldenborg, aaaand, ah, something-bjerg, wait, luck- Lyksbjerg!" She smiled, pleased with herself. "There! Did I get it right?"
"Almost, well done. My family name is Westergård-Aldenburg-Halsten-Lyksborg, Your Majesty." He grimaced. "I know it's a mouthful."
"Four bloodlines of royalty, most prestigious," she chuckled. "And your given names? I'm sure you have more than one, to balance out such an impressive family name."
"Oh, indeed I do, madam, I have four." He gave a seated parody of a flamboyant court bow and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, I present myself to thee as your most humble servant; Prince Hans Christian Frederik Gustav Westergård-Aldenburg-Halsten-Lyksborg of the Southern Isles, at your service," he stated in an exaggerated, quivering voice. She giggled suddenly behind her hand, her eyes sparkling with mirth, the sound a bell dancing in the brightness. It was captivating.
"You have plenty of options to choose from, then," she said in a sombre tone, trying to appear serious.
"Yes, it's very convenient." The odd lightness in his head spread to his tongue. "I can choose from a variety of identities and still claim them all as my own. I may have limited means in some respects, but when it comes to names, I have more than enough." The corners of her mouth twitched.
"So, what will it be? I must say I hope you will keep your first name, it would be too confusing for me to start calling you Prince Gustav", she smiled.
"I prefer the name I'm used to, as well, ma'am," he said, admiring her. "Perhaps then it would be easiest to just pick the first names, adapted to a humbler birth. Westergård is the blueblood version of Vestergaard, which is a common name at the Isles."
"You'd like to become Hans Vestergaard, then?" There was something in her tone that he couldn't catch.
"With your approval, ma'am. "Hans Vestergaard" sounds unremarkable and insignificant compared with the blatantly royal "Prince Hans Westergård-Aldenburg-Halsten-Lyksborg of the Southern Isles" that I'm saddled with in reality," he said, confident that the quip would amuse her. It did.
"Hans Vestergaard it is, then." She held out her hand, mockingly solemn. "Since we've reached an understanding, I welcome you into my employ, Mr. Vestergaard."
Not thinking, he brought her hand almost to his lips before catching himself.
"It is an honour, Your Majesty."
•••
They hesitantly embarked on the venture.
At first, the atmosphere crackled with stiff awkwardness, neither of them not quite knowing what to do or say. Where to start? Hans tried suggesting that they begin by drafting out some very general political guidelines, or some order of importance for matters to be dealt with – and that reminded her that in fact, she already had his first assignment in mind.
The Weselton High Council had approached her with an excessively grovelling, honeyed letter, dripping with shameless flattery and extravagant lamentations on the behaviour of the Duke, trying to cajole her into re-opening the trade relations. The Queen wanted to shape a suitably sharp, yet proper letter of definite termination of all diplomatic relations. Plainly put, she wanted to tell them to sod off, but was too regal and well brought up to do so. Instead, she wondered if prince Hans might have the verbosity to compose a superficially polite response that would nevertheless make very clear just what she thought of them? Her Majesty had picked the right man for the job. Hans took great delight in bringing his full arsenal of courteously poisonous quips to the table, especially so for Weaseltown. However, he felt it his duty to warn the Queen off from completely torching the bridge to her biggest trade partner, which tragically limited the amount of scorn and hints on bald midgets he dared to stuff between the lines - but it was a joy, in any case.
When they'd finished the draft, she went to transcript the missive herself. Hans politely stopped her, gently explaining that a letter by Her Majesty's own hand ought to be a particular, rare honour. Everyday communications, let alone cool refusals, should be written by the steward, in her name. Slightly embarrassed at the gaffe, she quickly agreed. After he'd carefully finished the letter, Hans hesitated for a heartbeat before signing it Hans Vestergaard, Steward to Her Majesty Queen Elsa of Arendelle. He contemplated the title while the ink dried. So this who I am, for now. He wondered idly what sort of man this Vestergaard would turn out to be.
The Weselton letter had cracked the ice, and they slowly eased into a delicate, tense balance, becoming immersed in going through Arendelle's general condition and drafting vague plans for the future. The most pressing matter was getting the country in shape to last through the incoming winter and everything that entailed. When the clocks of the palace sounded noon through the halls, Hans was genuinely surprised the day was already so far. The Queen suggested a small break for lunch, and he suddenly realised he was famished. A light lunch had been laid out in the room where he'd taken coffee, and after hesitating, Queen Elsa somewhat stiffly invited him to join her.
That was unexpectedly gracious. Her Majesty was proving to be fairly interesting, definitely much gentler than he'd assumed. Timid and fragile yet regal and strong-willed, and with the faintest undercurrent of mischief. Very interesting indeed, he thought, watching her delicately open the door and leave the room, each movement a display of graceful poise. He found himself to be quite intrigued by her.
Hans' own experience with women in politics had been rather limited. In his understanding, women were mostly fickle, emotional, simple and vapid creatures, interested mainly in gossip, gowns, romance and other such frivolities. This view was shared by most of his brothers, and their collective experiences seemed to prove it right.
Their lady mother, Queen Charlotta, was more interested in her pet dogs, the petty scandals of the court and triumphing over her ladies-in-waiting in the battlefield of fashion than the affairs of state – or her sons. Hans remembered her from his childhood as a distant figure, occasionally dropping by the nursery to see how her little darlings were doing, appearing and vanishing again in a rustle of silks like an apparition, the scent of perfume trailing after her the only proof that she had really been there. She was always accompanied by a flock of powdered, giggling and fussing ladies-in-waiting, exclaiming fashionably in Galterrean and pinching his cheeks, reminding him of exotic, loud and annoying birds. Chère maman was not to be touched without permission, at least not by him, he'd learned that early on; it might ruin her dresses. You were never supposed to bother Her Majesty with anything unpleasant like a tedious squabble between the brothers, she only wanted to hear nice things, only wanted to see her sons behaving perfectly, like picturesque little angels. Show them off like her prize dogs, he'd sometimes thought rebelliously. She would occasionally pet their heads and kiss their cheeks and inquire after their education, and then look absolutely disinterested with a distant, glazed look in her eyes when they recited their accomplishments to her. Granted, Her Majesty did have more affection for her older sons, the main heirs. And Hallbjørn, of course, darling little Hallbjørn who could do no wrong. But the younger princes seemed to be of very little interest to her.
Then there was Helene, though Hans didn't remember her very well. He had been so young, his sister was just a faded memory now, a distant muddle of hidden pinches and insulting rhymes, the echo of a voice, a dusty portrait on the wall. But he supposed Helene hadn't demonstrated any dazzling political ability, either. From Her Majesty's frequent lamentations and the few other mentions he'd overheard, it seemed that the Princess of the Southern Isles had been expected to become a great sensation in court, beautiful and enchanting, with a voice like a nightingale, stars in her eyes and wings on her feet on the dance floor. And sometimes he'd caught shadows and insinuations in between the lines, whispering that perhaps her lovely eyes had wandered a little too freely and her delicate feet lifted a little too high, but he couldn't know for sure. In any case she was dead now, long dead.
When it came to other women, they all seemed to be alike, flirting and giggling and swooning with determined intent around the princes, especially the mains. Throwing them suggestive looks and handkerchiefs and locks of hair and other such silly romantic knickknacks, tittering at their every joke, no matter how stupid, competing for their attention and gloating at each other over every fleeting sign of affection the mains bestowed on them – as if any of it meant anything. Catty, shallow and vain air-heads, the lot of them.
When he'd been younger and still a foolish child, he'd believed that women had strong hearts and that they meant the sweet things they said, but he'd seen time and time again it wasn't true. The words of women appeared to be weightless; empty niceties or outright lies. They promised and pledged and swore with every appearance of genuine sincerity, whispering their wows with tears in their eyes, but all of them chased after prestige, rank and money, in the end. The Princes had turned it all into a sport, trying to snatch women from under each others noses, keeping a running score through the years and boasting of their conquests, and he'd seen almost every one of all the mistresses and special little friends and even fiancées throw their promises and virtues to the winds when the hunt was on. He'd had some experiences himself, of course, he wasn't too bad looking and he knew how to flirt - but his chances weren't that high when his brothers were around. Showing interest in any particular lady was like sounding the horn to mark the start of the chase, and they always, always eventually fell prey to the older princes' advances. That one pesky memory tried to lift it's head again, and he briefly felt the familiar hollow sting before determinedly pushing it away. I learned that lesson from the first, didn't I? And when he was on his own, he did quite well. Hans followed the Queen to the next room, contemplating her delicate neck, its tufts of white hair escaped from her hairdo and the hint of her shoulder blades the dress showed.
He'd thought all women were made of the same stuff, deep down. Anna definitely was. She was frivolous, giggly and superficial like the rest of them, thinking mainly of herself, romance, sweets and silly games, incapable of serious thought or long-term thinking. He almost frowned with ire. She'd thrown herself into a romance with a virtual unknown without a thought for her duties or reputation. Hans was certain that she hadn't cared all that much who she fell for, as long as they were there, handsome and royal enough. It was more about having a fabulous, heady romance with a dashing prince than about the actual man in question. If his elder brothers had been there, Anna wouldn't have looked at him twice, he was absolutely sure, despite all her noise about falling in true love with him. True love! It was laughable. She hadn't even known what he was really like, and didn't seem to care.
The few bits of himself he'd shared with her hadn't seemed to register at all. Hans had told her that his youth had been painful, that he was desperate to leave the past behind - and she'd smilingly told him that she wanted to bring his past in to live with them. Anna had instantly forgotten the most important thing her "true love" had revealed to her about himself. She simply wasn't interested in who he was, not really. She only cared for what she wanted, and the vision of a pack of princes constantly keeping her entertained had been more important than her fiancé's feelings on the matter. Hans felt his teeth grind together and had to consciously relax his jaw. No, he couldn't take the Queen's accusation about breaking Anna's heart seriously. The way she'd been going on, it was only a matter of time before someone would have broken her heart, taken advantage of her and most likely taken her maidenhood, too. He, at least, had been honourable enough not to go so far.
Queen Elsa, however, was different. She seemed to be genuinely interested in politics and ruling and was mindful of the best interest of her realm - so much that she was able to put her personal feelings aside. She wasn't simple, ignorant or frivolous, far from it. She appeared timid and insecure, but also had determination and strength in her, he'd seen it. She was many different women merged in one, full of opposites, vulnerable and incredibly dangerous, timid and stern, proper and playful, ice and fire, flickering. It was absolutely fascinating. Hans found himself actually looking forward to working with her. That and lunch. Two decent meals already, I could get used to this again.
The table held different breads and butter, pickled herring, almond-roasted cod, potatoes and some roasted vegetables, meatballs, various cold cuts, cheeses and a variety of seasonal fruit. For sweet there was an assortment of pastries. It was a good selection, simple but tasteful and mouth-watering. When they went to sit down, Hans saw the Queen suddenly give a tiny start and hesitate before seating herself. It was an informal little luncheon and there were no servants present, so he had to serve her. Queen Elsa hesitated again before gripping the serving utensils and quickly spooning each course on her plate with a curious, pinched expression on her face. By the time he'd also served himself and sat down, she was visibly tense. He wondered what on earth was suddenly bothering her so. His company, maybe? But why did she invite him to join her, then? He waited for Her Majesty to commence eating, so that he could start himself, but she sat unmoving, staring at her fork, her dainty little hands balled to fists. Her dainty, ungloved little hands, now that he thought about it. At that instant, Hans remembered the scene at the coronation, the Queen's shrill panic when Anna stole her glove from her, her desperation to get it back, right before her power broke free. Oh, no. He watched her open her right fist, reach out and then falter, her hand hovering over the fateful fork. She held her breath and grabbed it, her lips pursed together in what he now recognised as concentration. She looked up, flashing a shaky attempt at a polite smile at him and started to eat in small and measured bites. He returned a pleasant smile back, pretending that nothing was amiss.
They ate in silence, but his mind was racing. What is she afraid of? Afraid to touch things, but why? It had to do with her power, most likely. Was she afraid of it breaking out again? Can't she control it, after all? An unpleasant tinge of apprehension started digging at his gut. Hans wondered if he was in danger, if there was a chance she would erupt with magical force and freeze his heart or skewer him with icicles. He carefully peeked at her from the corner of his eye. She was focusing on her eating like her life depended on it, radiating tension. Hans imagined the air felt cooler, too. Were they both in danger? And why hadn't she been like this when they'd been working? Had she simply forgotten about her power then, her mind occupied by their conversation? Maybe I can distract her with banter. Hans cleared his throat. What the heck do I say? He searched around for a suitable topic of conversation. Weather, flashed in his mind. The weather is always safe.
"Ahem. The summer has been very lovely here, hasn't it," he uttered, realising already as the words were leaving his lips how bad it sounded, considering the disastrous false winter she'd unleashed. The Queen dropped the bit of roast cod halfway to her mouth, staring at him with wide-eyed bewilderment, trying to figure out if he was mocking her. Ah, drat. He scrambled to patch it up. "I mean, apart from the disa- ah, I mean to say, I have never been in this region before, and the, the, the disappearance of, ah, night, the darkness, is quite fascinating! Yes, the white summer nights this far north, the light - it's magnificent, I've never seen anything like it before." He managed to keep his tone even and light, and flashed her the best attempt at a conversational smile he could. She seemed to relax the tiniest bit, licked her lips and drew breath, forming a response.
"Yes, thank you, the white nights are indeed very lovely. I've always found them somewhat magical," she replied politely, with a slight smile.
"More magical than anywhere else, ma'am?" She squared her shoulders a fraction, he'd made a misstep.
"I have not had the pleasure to travel, unfortunately," she said stiffly.
"Ah, I see, of course. Your Majesty's royal duties must have kept you very busy in Arendelle." Her expression closed up.
"Yes, my - my duties." There was something there, something big hidden behind her suppressed tone. Was she about to say something else?
Hans thought of her more closely, of how subdued she was in company, how her own subjects had seemed to be completely unacquainted with their new Queen, how the castle - the country - had been closed up and how her powers had been kept a secret from everyone. Hans stopped chewing when it hit him. She can't control her powers, but no-one knew about them, not even Anna. How was that possible, actually? Elsa just shut me out, Anna had said, and he'd assumed the Queen had just turned distant and cold or ignored her - but had she meant it literally, with an actual door involved? Had the Queen shut everybody out? Or shut herself in? He swallowed and mechanically continued eating for appearances' sake. The mustard-pickled herring was very good, just the kind he enjoyed, but it tasted like cardboard to him now. The more he thought about it the more it fit together.
Her powers were dangerous and frightening and beyond her control. Hence, interacting with other people presented a terrible risk and was best to be avoided. Arendelle had been shut off from the outside world save for the essential trade connections for the long period between the late King's death and the new Queen's coronation, an unusual decision sparking rampant rumours no-one had officially contradicted. Queen Elsa was very green and inexperienced with the rule, sorely needing his assistance, but she should already have been the de facto monarch for years, settling into her reign. Instead, the crown affairs had been neglected for a long time - three years, perhaps, ever since King Agdar died? Hans had assumed the Queen, in typically irresponsible female fashion, had simply not cared about politics, but what if she hadn't been able to rule, being isolated? It was enormous, if it was indeed true. And if it was, since when? Hans felt queasy, dizzy at the precipice of the reveal. Impossible. The very idea was ridiculous. The crown princess, locked away like a prisoner, hidden away from the world instead of preparing to take her place at the reins of Arendelle? What the deuce has been going on in this kingdom?
Hans knew that it was very important for ascending rulers to be acquainted with their realms and their people before seating the throne. It smoothed the transition of power and created a comforting sense of stability. The new monarch should overlap with the old in the minds of the people, so they always felt that their ruler was the natural and familiar figure of authority. But if Queen Elsa had been in hiding until the coronation... No wonder the people of Arendelle accepted - no, welcomed my command so willingly, he thought. Their own queen was a stranger to them. He sneaked another sideways look at the Queen. Has she truly been in hiding for most of her life? The curiosity burned him, but he didn't dare to ask her. It was far too intrusive, far too soon, the subject was plainly too sensitive. It would only unnecessarily rile her up and complicate things for him. Maybe, if she got too upset, she might even attack him with her magic, like she'd done with Anna. No, it would be total, dangerous folly.
And yet, he knew he had to ask.
It was something he really should know, as her steward, Hans admitted to himself, with a hopeless, sinking feeling. It affected the way she dealt with the world. Through her, it affected the way Arendelle functioned and dealt with the world. He needed to know if the Queen could be trusted to be in public, or if she might set off another accursed blizzard or impale some ambassador on an icicle at the slightest provocation, for heaven's sake. He gathered his courage. Cut straight to it, before you chicken out. The question had to be presented diplomatically, but how?
"Your Majesty, I hope we might clear some practical things. As your steward, I will occasionally need to address matters that are displeasing to you, and even disagree with you, if it's in Arendelle's best interest, am I correct?"
"You are," she said, surprised at the direction of the conversation. "I want you to clearly state your opinion when needed, even if it clashes with mine."
"And if I need to ask about sensitive, unpleasant things, which are still crucial information needed to manage the realm? How would Your Majesty like me to breach those vexing, more distasteful subjects?" He kept his tone pleasantly conversational.
"Just be direct with me, Prince Hans," the Queen said plainly. She picked up her glass, swirled it thoughtfully and gave him a dry little smile. "I think that you and me, we don't need to beat around the bush too much when it comes to distasteful things any more, what with the attempted decapitation and all." Oh, she's joking about it now? The weight on his mind eased slightly.
"Very well, Your Majesty." He drew a deep breath and plunged in headfirst. "Exactly how well can you control your powers?" She gave a start, and the wine glass in her hand erupted into a glittering bouquet of sharp icicles, reaching into every direction from where she touched the glass. It was amazing to witness, amazing and very unnerving. Not well at all, then. Hans felt his gut tighten with fear. Queen Elsa almost threw the glass on the table as if it burnt her and snatched her hands away from it. She shot him an alarmed look full of distress.
"That is none of your concern!" Her voice bordered on shrill. The air cooled significantly, underlining her ire. It was bad, he had to placate her somehow. Hans went with being matter-of-fact, choosing his words carefully and presenting them in as calm and dominant tone as he could, like soothing a frightened horse.
"Your Majesty, I'm afraid it is. As your steward, I must know exactly what the circumstances are is in this matter, to better help you manage the realm. It is essential information that affects everything, and it has to be taken into consideration. Your powers cannot be allowed to accidentally get out of hand again, ma'am. I have to know if people around Your Majesty risk being frozen solid if you get upset. Surely you can see that." The Queen flinched, and the air chilled further to the point of sharp crispness. She looked hurt and pained, withdrawn in her thoughts while some small snowflakes started to lazily swirl through the air around her, and suddenly Hans remembered her on the fjord, begging him to take care of Anna. And then he identified the pain in her face, it was guilt, guilt mixed with deep fear and terror, and all of a sudden he realised with a whoosh that it hadn't been an intentional hit at all, that Queen Elsa had almost frozen her dear sister to death by sheer accident. His fear grew and skittered through him, and his mouth felt ashen. Good lord. If her own sister isn't safe around her, who is?
Suddenly, the Queen snapped out of her thoughts and looked straight at him, frightened and frantic like a threatened animal. Their eyes met before Hans had the time to fix his expression and she caught his fear, he saw the shift upon her face, felt the wave of even colder air start to prickle his cheeks. He expected her to get enraged - but she made a small sound and tried to get up, and the tabletop broke out in icy flowers at her touch. She drew back, breathing heavily, inching away, holding her balled hands to her chest, he recognised the pattern, she was going to try to flee like she had done at the coronation ball. Through the haze of fear rushing through him, Hans felt an echo of the desire to protect and comfort he'd felt then. I can't let her go, not again. Calm her down, break through to her, come on, man, think. What did she need to hear? She was hunched, afraid, ready to flee. Security, he realised. Safety. Control. She's panicking, she needs some-one to tell her what to do.
Hans fought to subdue his own fear. He had to take control of the situation, appear calm and in charge. Appearance was everything when it came to authority. When you behaved like you had it, it often followed. Hans loaded his voice with all the calm military authority he could muster, hoping it was enough to hide his nervousness from her.
"Queen Elsa, if your powers are not fully under your control at the moment, we will simply have to learn to control them," he said slowly and emphatically. She twitched and shot him a look of desperate misery.
"I can't! I've tried, tried so hard to shut it out and not to feel, but I just can't, the fear is too strong, it keeps coming back!" Not to feel? Fear? Was it all somehow tied to her emotions? Can it be – is she afraid of herself?
"Calm down, Your Majesty. I will help you," he stated, holding his hands out. "Surely it's just a matter of practice," he tried, absolutely not sure at all. She was incredulous.
"Help? How? What do you know about practising magic, Prince Hans?" Her tone was still distraught, but she'd stopped inching away. He sensed that she wanted to believe him, wanted to believe he could somehow know what he was talking about. Hans chose his words very, very carefully.
"About magic, not much, ma'am, but I have practised my way into many skills, like swordplay, riding, some languages, warfare and several ridiculously complex court dances, and frankly I can't see why magic should be any different. They say practice makes perfect, repetitive practice, and I have plenty of experience in that." He forged out a confident smile. "You will learn to control it, ma'am, I am sure," he lied, holding her with his eyes. Queen Elsa stared at him with an unidentifiable expression, clutching her hands at her heart, fragility and need written plain across her being, her mesmerising sky-blue eyes brimming with some unidentifiable, deep emotion. The coldness started to ease. I have her now, he thought. Keep talking, convince her, quick. "We simply have to approach the matter analytically, start from the very basics and work our way from there, and I am confident that with enough time and practice, you will learn to fully master your gift, Your Majesty," he coaxed with a low, persuasive voice.
She was hanging on his words now, he saw, desperate to lean on someone, her lips slightly parted as she listened to him, captivated, ready to follow his lead. What more to say? I have to lead her away from the fear, make her comfortable.
"I saw the breathtaking palace you created on the mountain, ma'am," he purred, "and if you have enough control over your power to create something that beautiful and detailed, you have it in you to control the rest of it, Your Majesty. There can be no doubt about it. It is only a question of finding the right method." He tuned his demeanour to give off an air of reliability. I have to make myself seem indispensable to her. In charge, Hans, come on. "Together, we will find the way, ma'am, I promise you," he lied smoothly, a picture of dependable certainty. The Queen drew a long, shaky breath, and the coldness finally evaporated from the room. She lowered her hands from her heart, more relaxed now but still wavering. Hans aimed his final strike with care. "You mentioned fear, ma'am. Am I right to assume that strong emotions, particularly fear, propel your powers beyond your control?" he inquired, painstakingly lightly. She hesitated and then gave a quick, bashful nod. He radiated agreeability at her as hard as he could. "Well, there's absolutely nothing to fear now, Your Majesty, unless you're afraid of me," he grinned, risking a tease. "Are you?"
"No," she said, quietly but firmly, staring deep into his eyes. "No, I'm not afraid of you."
"Good," he said softly. "Sit down, Your Majesty." He gestured at the table. "Let us finish eating, and then we'll begin your training. Ma'am." It was a command, masked behind polite etiquette – and she followed it. He'd managed to seize control, the authority was his for the moment. What a stroke of luck, to hit upon something she needs so badly on the first day. Hans almost felt bad lying to her.
But was he really fully lying? He bore her no real ill will, in all honesty she had been quite gracious towards him considering everything. It felt very good to see how she needed him, relied on him, he couldn't deny it. He was flattered by it. Her vulnerability and need awoke in him a faint but genuine want to deliver on his false promises, be a man worthy of her trust, helping and protecting a woman in distress. Who knows, he thought cheerfully. Maybe it'll all turn out to benefit us both.
•••
They ended up both being too tense to properly finish the meal, and simply took a plate of cheese and fruit with them to the study after finishing the main course. While he'd been eating, Hans had frantically tried to come up with a functional method for learning to control a seemingly uncontrollable, unheard-of magical ability. He intensely hoped he hadn't promised too much. It was crucial to look like he actually knew what he was doing in order to keep the mental upper hand he'd gained over the Queen.
The only thing he could think of was to start with analysing how her powers behaved on the most basic level; when did they manifest, how did it feel in her body, what seemed to affect them and how, was she able to control them at all, if so, when and how, how did that feel and so on. Hans figured that there had to be some consistency. She'd created an intricate palace straight out of a fairy tale and a murderous snow giant to guard it, so she had some control. And where there was some control, there could be more, with proper cultivation and disciplined practice. At the very least, they had to find some way for the Queen to cope with her powers, even if it turned out she couldn't gain complete control. If they're truly tied to her emotions, she might never fully master them, he thought dryly, remembering the endless remarks his brothers had made on the uncontrollable sentimentality of women. Oh well, they had to try.
It was clearly new and awkward for Queen Elsa to talk about her powers so openly, at first, but he kept asking questions in a neutral tone, writing her answers neatly down on a sheet of paper, hoping that he would spot some pattern when all of the information was systematically marked down, and she soon got used to it. It was somehow surreal to hear her flatly describe exactly how it felt when magic tingled at her fingertips and talk about a magical childhood. She'd been born with it. Her parents had accepted and guided her. Her powers acted mainly through her hands, hence the gloves. They'd steadily grown in strength as she grew. They were tied to her emotions, and fear made them especially strong, stronger than her. That made her more afraid, and her powers more volatile in turn, and so forth. As a child, she'd had better control, but some shocking incident had happened, and she'd been locked in her room ever since to keep her powers hidden. After that, she'd interacted almost only with her parents, until her coronation day.
"So that I wouldn't hurt anybody," she said, staring somewhere into her memories with an anguished expression. Hans guessed that must have been the "shutting out" Anna had mentioned. He had a hunch the incident was related to Anna, her not remembering Elsa's magic and her strand of white hair, but he didn't want to break the rhythm of their questioning.
However, he couldn't resist asking how old she had been, and was slightly shocked when he calculated that Queen Elsa had been almost totally isolated for over 13 years. No wonder she's a bit clumsy with social trivialities. Hans felt vaguely embarrassed when he remembered how breezily he'd chalked her social rigidity up to being haughty and proud. She simply hadn't been able to hone her social graces like other people had. Hans didn't think his own childhood a very happy one, but he, at least, had been allowed full reign to roam free, to interact with people, to watch, listen and learn, to experience and see and do. He thought of his adolescence, the stormy transition from childhood to adulthood, of all the painful lessons he'd had to experience to learn to navigate the murky, rocky shoals of social relations. It had taken him years to learn to properly interpret people's behaviour and gestures, expressions and silences, how people said one thing and meant the other and how to decipher the truth behind the performance everyone put up. He thought of how experiences slowly wore the wide-eyed naivety of youth off everyone in court. All those years, he thought, contemplating the Queen, alone. How did she manage it? The more he thought about it, the more sympathy, even pity, he felt for her. It's like a prison sentence. Except that prisoners usually did something to earn being locked up. Queen Elsa had simply been born with something she couldn't help.
He inquired how she'd tried to control her powers, to gauge what did and didn't work, and was astonished when she explained she'd mainly tried not to feel anything, to repress all her dangerous emotions that made the powers manifest. Instead of dealing with it, she's tried to pretend it's not there, hoping that it will just go away if she'll lie absolutely still and play dead, he realised. But it hadn't gone away, far from it. Her powers had kept growing, and her fear with them. Of course, she's only human. How could anyone expect a young girl to freeze herself up from the inside, suffocating all feelings forever? He looked at the exhausted, miserable way the Queen stared at her hands and felt ire bristle faintly somewhere at the back of his head. It was incredibly stupid, he thought, to stubbornly keep trying and failing at not feeling anything, year after year after year. Why hadn't they tried any other way? Why hadn't they accepted the realities and tried to control what was there, instead of sealing the Crown Princess in her room to live in fear and desperate self-loathing, demanding her to succeed at the impossible or perish? King Agdar, rest his soul, may have been the kindest and gentlest of men, but he was a bloody fool nonetheless.
Still, Queen Elsa had obediently kept trying - and failing. It had mostly been all right when she'd just been in her room, but venturing out - even thinking of it - had triggered her fear and the power with it. The memory obviously pained her. How did it feel, Hans wondered, to helplessly witness your body act up with a frightening, alien force, growing stronger every day? To imprison and isolate yourself in order to protect other people, because your presence might accidentally kill them; how does it feel, he thought, to fear yourself for so many years, to see yourself as some hellish abomination? I can't even begin to imagine it, he realised.
And yet, she'd gone ahead with the coronation.
Hans couldn't understand why. With all her crippling fear, her crushing lack of social experience, the risk of superstitious backlash from her people - why on earth had she not abdicated? She must have understood that failure was inevitable. Yes, of course, she admitted. Then why go on with it?
"It was my duty," she stated simply. "I was the crown princess, and I would not run from my responsibility." She pinned him down with her eyes, daring him to disagree, emanating regal determination with every fiber of her being. He stared at her, trying to think of something to say.
Perhaps the ridiculous stubbornness runs in the family, he thought. Apparently she's just as bloody mule-headed as her father. But still, he couldn't help respecting her sense of responsibility. She walked straight into the fire with her eyes open and her head held high. He looked into her eyes, seeing hints of the same resigned determination he'd seen on the faces of men accepting missions they knew they would never return from, and realised that Queen Elsa had fully expected to go down in the line of duty, so to speak. It was stupid, impractical and unnecessary, but it was very admirable. She has guts, I have to give her that. Truly, she was an exceptional woman.
However, wallowing on the horrors of the past was pointless. Hans shook himself out of his reverie. They were supposed to find out how to control her power and not marvel at its strength.
"It's very tragic Your Majesty had to go through so much, but eventually, you found some way to control your power, didn't you," he inquired. "How did you manage to thaw the kingdom, or Princess Anna's heart, in the end?" Who kissed her? What the heck happened? He struggled to keep his voice and expression neutral, but he was dying to know just what could control her astonishing power. Careful now, keep your cool. He had to try appear nonchalant. The Queen looked vaguely uncomfortable.
"Yes, well. She threw herself in front of, ah, your sword, out of love for me - and that turned out to be the act of true love that melted her heart, in the last possible moment. Luckily." She gave a very deep, shuddering sigh. "And then I was so relieved and happy that Anna was alive that I forgot the fear, and I realised that it's not kisses but love that thaws, my love as well, and I was able to find the right emotional state of mind to thaw the frost. So, it was love." She sighed again and took a grape from the plate, popping it in her mouth.
Well.
At least there's no way I could have guessed that, he thought, vaguely disappointed. In a way, then, he had been behind the act of love that saved Anna after all - or at least he'd provoked her into it. She picked a fine moment to finally think of someone other than herself, didn't she, he thought sulkily. Hans scribbled "love thaws" on the note and scowled at the words, thinking about what might have happened if he'd held on to the lie of his love till the end, or spent just a couple of moments more talking to the Queen, hesitating just a little while longer. He closed his eyes for a while. So close. Ah well.
"What do you think?" Queen Elsa's voice was quiet, but it snapped him out of his musings.
"Hm?"
"Of me – of my situation." She looked nervous, shy, even. "Do you think it's hopeless? Is it monstrous, am I monstrous, Hans heard in her tone.
"No, it's not hopeless at all," he said, gathering his thoughts. She was scrutinising him intently.
"Be honest with me," she said unexpectedly. "What do you think?" Hans felt she was asking something else, something more. He took his time, deliberating on his words.
"I think it's very unfortunate that you haven't actively tried to train your gift before, but only tried to suppress it. I think you might have been spared some great distress and suffering if it all had been approached differently." He was silent for a while. "Bad things don't disappear when one pretends they don't exist, ma'am," he said, quietly. "Enemies have to be faced to be conquered." She was still staring at him inquisitively.
"You were afraid of me, just now," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Hans admitted. An obvious lie would do nothing but damage. "I hadn't understood before that your powers were so far beyond your control that you struck your sister by accident, ma'am. The realisation shocked me." She looked stricken.
"Did you think I meant to freeze Anna's heart?" He nodded. "B-but, why? Why would I want to harm her," she demanded, alarmed.
"It's what she told me, Your Majesty," he said, skirting the question. She opened her mouth, but only managed a small grunt of disbelief. "She told me simply that you froze her heart, nothing more. I never thought it could have been an accident." The Queen seemed to shrink in front of him, looking so pitiful and wretched that sympathy arose in him. "I didn't know you then, Your Majesty," he blurted out. She buried her face in her hands. "I was afraid your power would get out of hand again, just now, but it didn't. You brought it back under control," he tried to soothe her.
"I didn't," she mumbled after a while. "It was you."
"We brought it back under control together, then," he said. She peeked at him through her fingers. He smiled at her, reassuringly.
•••
Practising her powers in the main rooms was too impractical and risky. The ice might damage the rooms and unnerve the servants, especially if they saw the Queen struggling with it. It was imperative that no gossip would start to circulate of how Her Majesty couldn't control her own powers after all. They needed a discreet, sturdy place, so out of the way that neither sound nor the cold would carry to the living quarters. The cells were a natural choice. Aside from him, no-one was held there, so they could be alone. Hans felt weird walking past his cell. At the end of the corridor was the cell that had held the Queen herself and that was still under repair, and next to that was the one most solidly encased in rock, one wall consisting of the very bedrock of the island the castle was built upon. They picked that one.
They stood silently in the dimness while he tried to think of where to start. The Queen was looking at him expectantly. You didn't think this through at all, did you, the voice whispered in his ear. She'll see through your facade. You'll fail. He pushed his nervousness back and cleared his throat. In charge, Hans.
"Well. The basics are the first thing in learning anything. We'll start with simple exercises. Could Your Majesty, uh, freeze something?" She blinked at him. "Anything. Maybe create some snow," he tried. Queen Elsa breathed deep, focused, reached out with her hand - and pure magic sprang forth from the palm of her hand, supernatural sparkles dancing in the air and turning into swirling snowflakes. A smallish snowdrift manifested on the floor.
Hans felt his heart skip a beat. It was one thing to know of magic or to see it's results, but actually seeing it happen in front of his own eyes, from such close proximity, was breathtaking and surreal. He let out a small gasp, excitement tingling in him. Look at you, getting giddy like a child at the sight of some snow. He suppressed his awe, forcing himself to appear stoic.
"Good. Now, melt it, and pay attention to how it feels in your body while you do. Which magical muscles do you use, so to speak." The Queen puckered her eyebrows in concentration and moved her hands upwards, and her graceful gesture seemed to lift the snow into the air, where it evaporated. The air cooled markedly.
"Do you need to focus harder to thaw it, ma'am? Does it feel different?" He hesitated. "How do you do it?"
"Yes, it's different. Creating it is so much easier, I just - I just feel it, imagine it, and it happens. But thawing requires more effort, I have to consciously force it away, and it's tricky. I have to, in a way, embrace it, and feel happy and love it, and then I can sort of feel the individual ice-flakes and move them around," she explained slowly and shyly, looking for the right words. Hearing her describe doing something that should be impossible felt very curious, he felt something not unlike wonder. What am I doing? How did I end up training a witch in the use of magic? And how on earth would he keep being believable at it? He faintly suspected he was in way over his head.
"Then, again, create some snow, paying attention to how it feels, and then thaw it, ma'am."
"I already did that, Prince Hans. I just showed you," she said, confused.
"All skills are honed into perfection the same way, Your Majesty, through repetition. Even though one already knows how to do something, true mastery is achieved through repeating the basics over and over and over again, until they become almost natural reflexes and can be performed perfectly without thinking – and repeated further still to keep the skill supple and alive. For example, when I was learning the sword, I practised the very basic moves every day, so that performing them became as natural as breathing. I still practice, as often as I can. In the heat of the battle, one cannot afford to have to think of how to parry or strike, it has to be instinctive," he explained. "The same goes doubly for you, ma'am. Thawing anything has to become so natural, so instinctive to you that you can do it almost without thinking, in any situation. Even if you're afraid, under attack or filled with grief." He felt himself grow more confident as he spoke, he was back on familiar ground. "You have to learn to be able to control your powers in very emotionally distressing situations, Your Majesty. No matter the emotion, you must be able to remain in charge through it. You will remain in charge. You will practise your way into that level of mastery. It may take time, but you will reach it, ma'am. I will help you." He spoke to her in a calm voice laden with authority, with the tone full of certain victory he'd heard captains use to encourage the troops before a skirmish. Queen Elsa stood shimmering in the darkness. The hem of her dress was glistening with frost-flowers and her eyes were sparkling with battle-will and excitement as she raptly listened to him. The faerie mistress of winter, Hans thought suddenly. She looked radiant and otherworldly, and Hans felt her enthusiasm spread to him, binding them together in their endeavour. "Now, do it again."
–
* I have no idea if "lilac-pavilion" is the correct term. (EDIT: It's called a bower, I changed it. Thanks, suburbanbeatnik!) Around here, people sometimes have large lilacs grown in a circle, so you get a "pavilion" where you can take tea or coffee in the summer, in the middle of leaves and flowers, they are very nice. I think they were considered "fancy" in Scandinavia around that time, so I'm guessing the Arendelle castle garden would have one. If anyone has a better term, I would love to hear it!
A picture, so you might get a better idea:
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** I have very little imagination, so I based Hans' family name on the actual name of the Royal family of Denmark. It's house of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg. Apparently when great noble or royal families unite, they don't want to give up on the prestige and history associated with either name, so instead they just slap them together. Especially if a house is very powerful for a very long time, they ally with other powerful families through marriages, and over the centuries you get such impressive multi-barreled names. It's a subtle way of underlining how very noble and old and well-connected the family is. To use a Game of Thrones analogy, Hans might have a family name of "Lannister-Tyrell-Baratheon-Stark", or "Ser Related-to-Everyone-Who's-Important-and-powerful".