I'm really very sorry about disappearing for so long, I had some unfortunate personal troubles I'd rather not get into. I think I'll try never to promise any deadlines on this fic, it seems to jinx things. But I didn't give up, and the fic continues! Thanks to all of you, actually, it's easier to keep on wrestling with the fic when I know people want to read it. I appreciate every comment, kudos and follow. And thanks also to my beta reader, I never had one before, exciting stuff!

I was also supposed to hold an AMA (Ask Me Anything) thread over at Reddit r/FrozenFanfics about this fic - but due to the same troubles that was also delayed. However, it's finally up now, at (remove the spaces)

www-dot-reddit-dot- com /r/FrozenFanfics/comments/3ax5hn/the_rogue_ama_thread_for_paspartuu_author_of_a/

Please feel free to pop by and ask me any questions you might have about the fic, my methods or thoughts! I'd be very pleased to answer. Also just general comments are welcome.

To those who don't know, AMA threads are sort of open interview discussion threads at Reddit, a large social interaction and discussion website. Reddit consists of tons of "subreddits" dedicated to different topics (including /r/Frozen), some notorious and most harmless, and one of them deals with Frozen Fanfics, as you can guess by the name. You need a user account to comment, but creating one takes only a couple of seconds (you don't need to verify anything by e-mail or put in any personal info, just invent a username and password and hit go) and you can easily create a "throwaway" account with a name like ficthrowawayyyyyy or asfdsgsaasjdg to use for a short while and then forget about.

I hope to discuss with you at the AMA thread! I'm a little hesitant to talk and comment too much in the reviews / comments section of the fic, but I'd be happy to discuss all questions over there!

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VII

where a prince duels twice

The letter was full of carefully crafted half-truths, peppered with some outright lies. He was quite pleased with it.

Hans sat at a small desk tucked cosily amongst the towering, ornate bookshelves at the Arendelle castle library, attending to his correspondence - writing to his lady mother, Queen Charlotta, to be exact. The desktop was littered with crumpled papers full of crossed-out writing; he'd been at it for quite some time. But it had paid off and he'd finally drafted out an acceptable letter, with just the right details and insinuations hidden between the lines.

The biggest challenge, of course, was coming up with a satisfactory excuse for his continued stay in Arendelle. Hans sighed as he went over the measured, intricate phrases once more.

Arendelle was beautiful and enchanting, et cetera. The Queen and the Princess were most charming and very generous with their hospitality, et cetera. Despite some promising flirtation with Princess Anna, unfortunately an understanding had not been reached and they had mutually decided to end the fledgling engagement. However, Arendelle held other, extremely interesting prospects he wished to explore further before returning home.

The shocking revelation of Her Majesty's magical powers had caused a massive uproar resulting in great confusion and several grievous misunderstandings, but thankfully everything had been resolved and tragedy averted. In the aftermath of the crisis, Hans wrote, he had found it in his heart to stay and aid the gentle but inexperienced Queen Elsa in restoring stability to her fair kingdom. He did it out of his personal desire to help, but also as a diplomatic gesture of goodwill between their countries, strengthening their neighbourly companionship – and, perhaps, laying the groundwork for a deeper bond between the two countries in the future. Hans laid the letter back down, leaning back in his chair.

It read like he was quietly courting Queen Elsa.

It read like he expected to succeed in his courtship, eventually.

Hans sighed again and rubbed his eyes. The sun warmed his face through the lead-light windows, and the smell of old books and dust and sunlight permeated the air. The sounds of the castleyard came from somewhere far away. Everything was still and quiet save for the heavy ticking of the massive longcase clock, and for a fleeting moment Hans had an odd desire to vanish, forget everything about the Southern Isles and his devious family, walk out through the library door as Mr. Vestergaard and nothing more and become a simple man simply doing his job.

He was fairly certain his family already knew what had really happened.

The townsfolk had seen him many times, the former prince now working as a steward under a different name. People liked to gossip, and it was probable the story had reached the ears of the Southern Isles intelligence. The dignitaries he'd held council with were probably also spreading some version of the events. The truth was out. But it didn't matter.

Gossip was just gossip, there was always some dirt going around. What really mattered was the official truth recorded for posterity in documents and diplomatic correspondence. As per her promise, Queen Elsa had muddled the particulars in the explanatory statements they'd sent around to the other countries, only vaguely referencing some severe lapses of judgement and misguided actions the involved parties were now amicably working to resolve in a collaborative spirit. Total absence of the phrase attempted treason and murder, verified with the Arendelle seal.

It made his blunder tolerable. Marrying into the offended family would fade it out completely. Thus, working towards an engagement was a worthwhile pursuit and an acceptable excuse.

Hans sorted through the papers, and another document he'd been drafting slipped out from under them. The mere sight of it made his heart thump. It was, in its own way, a white flag, his private admission of defeat.

A couple of days ago, the morning after the pamphlet incident, he'd set out to teach Queen Elsa the rudiments of riding, to cheer her up. She had shown up brimming with enthusiasm, wearing a gorgeous, flattering, very impractical ice dress. She'd brazenly morphed it into a pair of breeches and a loose shirt in a flurry right in front of him when he'd suggested a change of outfit, as if showing off. Well, he had been impressed, he couldn't deny it. Nor could he deny having been excited about teaching her. He'd been especially excited about helping her mount up.

As expected, he'd had to give a hefty push to the delightful royal bottom when she'd got stuck, hanging across the saddle like a sack of grain, helplessly treading air. She'd been blushing very fetchingly when she had finally sat in the saddle.

He'd walked Sitron around by the reins at first, instructing her in posture, movements and giving basic commands. Eventually he'd stood at the centre of the yard long-lining them around him, shouting directions and encouragements at her. Queen Elsa had been nervous, her knuckles white and lips pursed, but she'd soon got the hang of it and excitement had alighted upon her face. She sensed the rhythm naturally, Hans had noted. She'd make a fine horsewoman with enough practice, once she'd get over her fears of height, speed and accidentally killing the steed.

Helping her down, he had enjoyed the feel of Elsa sliding down into his arms far too much for his own good, held her just a heartbeat too long, but she hadn't protested. They'd discussed horses and riding to break the tension while Hans had dismantled the tack, and he'd mentioned Sitron needed to be taken for a good ride sometime soon.

"Don't you want to ride him yourself?" she'd asked.

In a moment of surprising openness, he had blurted that he wanted that more than anything, but naturally couldn't be allowed to. She'd studied him for a while while he'd fumbled with the straps.

"I could come with you," she'd stated, with a coy look. "I'll keep an eye on you, and besides, it will do me good to see what it's like to ride in terrain." It had taken him a while to understand the Queen was suggesting riding double, on the same horse with him.

Stunned, Hans had quickly agreed before she would come to her senses and retract her audacious offer. He'd re-tacked Sitron up while Queen Elsa had informed the guards, helped her up and mounted behind her, his heart thundering all the while. When she'd leaned into him, squirming to find a good position, the floral scent in her hair had filled his nose and he'd been sure it was all just one of his dreams and he'd jolt awake in his cell any moment.

But the moment had never come, the dream had gone on.

He'd directed Sitron out of the city and into the open roads, his every sense heightened by her proximity, revelling in the maddeningly tantalising feel of her body grinding against his as they moved together with the horse's pace. Hans hadn't been able to see her face, which was a blessing. He'd felt so flushed his desire would have surely been written plain across his features, had she turned to look.

When Sitron had been going in a good, swinging canter, Queen Elsa had breathlessly shouted over the pounding of the hooves that she was afraid she'd fall, and Hans had used that as an excuse to hold her tighter, encircling her with his arms. It was practically an embrace, and he had relished every sensation, her movements and scent, her weight swaying against him.

Her white neck and a bit of shoulder had been exposed, the muscles shifting with her efforts to remain on the saddle, enticing him. He'd ached to press his lips to her skin and taste it, but had only leaned closer to reassure her, so close he'd felt the warmth of her skin and almost brushed her cheek and ear with his nose, but she hadn't protested.

"Hold on to me," he'd said, and it had come out like a growl, throaty and low.

Gasping, she'd clutched his forearm with her left hand, pressing her body to him, and the urgency of the contact had sent white-hot sparks careening across his body. He'd spurred Sitron to go a bit faster, and when the horse had changed gaits, Elsa had whimpered and grabbed his right thigh for more support, her touch piercing him with dizzying want, leaving him quivering and his mouth dry, gasping for air and control. They'd ridden through the Arendelle landscape with a breathless, thundering pace, moving as one, the wind whooshing in their ears. Hans' heartbeat had pulsed through him and he'd felt exhilarating, dazzling joy at being alive and sharing this moment with Elsa, tearing through the green brightness so fast the complicated restrictions of their real lives at the castle couldn't keep up with them.

They'd finally stopped atop some hill and sat in silence for a while, admiring the vast openness of the fjord-valley, all three panting and trembling with the exercise. Hans had felt intoxicated by her, keenly aware of her hands still gripping him, of her body heaving in his arms with each breath. His palms had been tingling with the temptation to let go of the reins and touch her, caress and squeeze and find their way to her skin, but he'd resisted.

Elsa had leaned on his limbs when shifting to face him. He'd tensed at her weight, and when her hand had slid off his thigh, trailing fire through the fabric, Hans almost moaned out loud.

When she had finally lifted her face, his breath had hitched. He'd never seen her like that before, her hair windswept, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling and laughter dancing on her parted lips. She looked full of life and magic and love, so ravishing Hans felt his desire for her surge through him like a tidal wave, and he almost kissed her, almost.

"Wonderful," she'd breathed, "this is wonderful!"

"Yes," he'd managed, his mind reeling as he sank helplessly into the clear depths of her eyes. "Wonderful."

They'd gazed at each other in silence and wonder for a long while as if seeing each other for the first time, and Hans had felt something stirring in him, something immense and life-altering that had been hidden, tied down and smothered for years.

"Can we go further still," she'd asked hoarsely. "I- I don't want to go back just yet."

"With pleasure, ma'am," he'd said, and turned the horse away from the castle.

By the time they'd finally returned to the castleyard, sweaty, wired and thrilled, Hans had been almost beside himself, struggling to contain his arousal and very thankful he'd worn the loosely cut riding breeches instead of his normal trousers. He'd prayed she wasn't savvy enough to recognise his condition. He'd lifted her down, bowed stiffly, made some shoddy excuses about the late hour and the long ride and turned to give Sitron a vigourous brushing before she'd notice anything. His hands had shaken when he'd picked up the brush. When he was finally alone, he'd leaned his forehead on Sitron's sweaty flank and had let out a long, trembling sigh. Perhaps it had been a half-sob, he wasn't sure.

In the middle of the second brushing, Christensen had shown up to inform him that he was to dine with Her Majesty an hour from now. He'd rushed to finish with Sitron and hurried to wash himself and get ready. He'd almost been late, adjusting his cuffs while striding through the halls with still-damp hair, wondering what had prompted the invitation, anticipation fluttering in his chest.

Queen Elsa had been waiting for him, clad in a dazzling, flowing number that exposed her delicate shoulders and upper back, the candlelight twinkling on the ice crystals, her white skin and cascading braid. She'd glimmered in the dimness with an ethereal, sensual allure, like a star in the night sky, an icy jewel reflecting a beautiful, cold fire, and Hans' knees had almost buckled when she'd turned to smile at him.

"Since you used so much of your time accommodating me today, I would like to compensate by treating you to dinner," she'd said demurely. "I hope you find the offer satisfying, Prince Hans."

"It is a privilege to accommodate Your Majesty," he'd replied, bowing. "It was a joy to ride with you, ma'am, you don't need to compensate for anything. Dining with you is a great honour and a pleasure." Her smile had widened at that, her eyes sparkling. "I'm the one who should thank you."

"Thank me, then, with interesting dinner conversation," she'd retorted.

It had been like a scene from a play depicting his previous life, a performance where they both pretended to be different people in a different situation, but he hadn't cared. Queen Elsa had been in an exceptionally cheerful mood, full of ease and subtle quips. Beneath her dignified exterior hid a sharp, even mischievous sense of humour, and Hans had been enthralled, parrying and quipping back and enjoying every moment. The moose with lingonberry sauce had been delicious, a real treat, and the wine had been excellent as well, savoury and full. It had gone slightly to his head, since the water-only prisoner's diet had wrecked his tolerance – or maybe it had been Elsa's presence, the velvety, beguiling looks she threw at him from under fluttering eyelashes, the elegantly feminine gestures, the slow, invitingly enigmatic smiles. In any case, he'd gotten careless with his words, telling her things he'd never told anyone, his real opinions and thoughts slipping out with his eagerness to amuse and interest her.

And she had been interested; leaning her chin on her hands as he regaled her with stories from the Southern Isles court and his youth and time at the military academy and trips abroad. She had been interested in him, in his personal opinions and thoughts, listening raptly and asking for more details. It had felt incredibly good. He'd basked and revelled in the warmth of her attention like a cat stretching in a pool of sunlight.

He'd made her laugh, too; a tinkling silver bell echoing from the cut-crystal glasses, some adorable giggles behind her delicate hand, and once a hearty hoot of laughter at some of his brothers' antics. He'd been completely enchanted.

After they had taken the dessert, and the cheese, and the arrack liqueur with some final pieces of chocolate and there were no more courses to be had and the evening was well and truly over, he'd kissed her hand as he'd taken his leave, and actually pressed his lips to her cool skin instead of kissing air. Her delicate hand had twitched slightly in his grasp, but she hadn't protested. When he'd lifted his eyes, she'd been regarding him intensely, her eyes brimming with some deep emotion he couldn't quite place.

"Good night, Prince Hans," she'd said softly, nothing more, and when she'd withdrawn her hand, he'd imagined he felt her brush her fingers against his.

He'd barely registered the walk back to his cell or the cold stone surroundings as he got ready for bed, a pleasant buzz of laughter and good food and wine and her presence humming through him, the echo of her laughter still in his ears. He'd dreamt of her, as he always did nowadays, a sweet, incredibly vivid dream where they belonged together and to each other. He'd woken up still aglow with the same heady buzz, and had been doing his morning toilette smiling at his reflection and humming to himself, almost giddy with anticipation of soon seeing her again, when he'd caught himself.

He'd stood still for a good while, staring his reflection in the eye, carefully studying the brilliant, tingling emotion blooming within him. With a growing sense of dread, he'd recognised it, he'd felt something similar once before.

"Oh, no," he'd whispered to the distorted, aghast copper Hans in the mirror, staring back at him. Oh, you fool, the voice had hissed. You weak, trembly-hearted fool. You went and did it again.

It meant trouble, trouble and disaster and humiliation and great suffering.

"Oh no," he'd moaned, laying the razor down and burying his face in his hands. "No, no, no, no."

He loved her.

He was doomed.

He'd made one last desperate attempt to resist, gathered his resolve on the way to the study and told himself to calmly ignore this juvenile fancy, but when Queen Elsa had swooped in, cheerfully trilling a good morning at him, his heart had thumped and fluttered so much he'd had to admit complete defeat. The disaster couldn't be denied.

But being a practical man and never one to give up, Hans had once again set out to re-ajdust his plan of action in Arendelle, to acknowledge the situation and work with it, to the best of his abilities. That night, he'd sat awake in the quiet, stony darkness of his cell long into the night, staring at the Arendelle night sky and the endless stars through the bars in the tiny window, carefully contemplating his position.

It might have all still been mere infatuation, or part of her plot to manipulate him. Nevertheless, his affection for her grew every day at an alarming rate. Their agreement tied him to her, forced him to spend his days in her company till the unforeseeable future. If he didn't really love her yet, he soon would.

Queen Elsa was unattached at the moment, but couldn't remain like that for long. She had to marry to create stability to her reign. Single women were considered more flighty than wives, and a royal couple seemed infinitely more stable than an inexperienced, unwed sorceress. The kingdom needed an heir. And besides, nothing would prove her general non-demonic harmlessness better than a non-magical husband and child.

Elsa was at prime marrying age right now, and approaching twenty-two she had but two, maybe three years before folk home and abroad would start to whisper about the reasons behind her impending spinsterhood. In four years her singlehood would become an embarrassment to Arendelle. She would have to start the process of searching for a fiancé within a year.

And Hans, Her Majesty's personal Steward, would have to go through the torture of helping the woman he loved track down and marry some suitably noble, snooty, foreign twat. It would kill him.

Therefore, the best solution was to marry her himself.

Hans had sat in the dark, thinking of Elsa, imagining what it would be like to remain at Arendelle indefinitely by her side, while the idea had weaved its roots through him until it filled his mind and heart with the golden, warm certainty of the right decision. Finally, a new goal had presented itself, and now he only had to work towards it.

He pulled the document out from under his letter drafts and tutted, going over it once more.

After the decision had been made, he'd sat down to thoroughly assess the situation and figure out the best course of action. Admittedly, persuading Elsa to marry him after he'd tried to steal her throne and kill her was going to be very difficult, perhaps near-impossible, but didn't he love a good challenge with a sweet prize? And besides, what else was he going to do, tear at his hair, cry into his pillow and lament the cruel injustice of the world while hopelessly lusting after her? Write some dreadful, melodramatic poetry about the unnamed object of his desires forever beyond his reach? Ridiculous. Good things seldom happened in life unless one made them happen. Might as well pursue the best possible outcome.

Understanding your opponent was key to victory. In his cell, he'd carefully approached the matter from Queen Elsa's point of view, listing the various factors that might affect her views on marrying him. The document, titled Me As A Marriage Prospect, had two neat columns titled Pros and Cons.

The Pros read:

- suitable birth and status

- beneficial connection for Arendelle (a matrimonial alliance with the Southern Isles was exactly the sort of thing Arendelle needed)

- handsome, of a similar age and in excellent health (he didn't want to brag, but there it was)

- well-mannered, pleasant company

- excellent diplomatic and political ability, would benefit new homeland

- already familiar with Arendelle, gets along with the locals etc.

- already well-acquainted with the politics, used to running Arendelle's affairs with her

- already personally acquainted with herself, indispensable help in matters both political and private

- untroubled by her unnatural powers, no aversion, hatred or fear

- compatible temperaments, similar interests, easy conversation, a good match

- understands and reads her well

- greatly helped Arendelle at a time of crisis, saving citizen lives and averting disaster (leadership)

- kept her from killing people and further escalating said crisis

- helped her personally come to terms with her powers and become a better ruler

- saved her life (twice)

- personal extremely deep affection, respect and admiration (exceptional w/ arranged marriages)

and most encouragingly, though still in brackets as he couldn't yet be sure:

- (possible romantic interest from her side)

Really, he was perfect for her.

Since she had to had to marry someone, it was far better to marry a familiar, demonstrably suitable person than risk importing a new face, wasn't it? Hans was everything she ought to look for and more. They were clearly attracted to each other, as well. It was very promising.

Unfortunately, the Cons bracket was far from empty, too:

- currently a convicted prisoner

- proven traitor, tried to usurp and execute her (treason, personal attack)

- formerly engaged to her sister (emotionally messy)

- previously feigned romantic affection for personal gain, any romantic overtures now suspicious

- displayed emotional cruelty towards a love interest before (access to details, probably embellished)

- treated her sister atrociously, left her to die alone

- general dishonesty and treacherousness, possibly dangerous / murderous

- match most likely vehemently opposed by her sister (family strife)

Hans bit his lip, going over the list once more. It was pretty bad, he had to admit. The usurping and executing could, with enough time to work the perspective, be explained away, considering the extraordinary circumstances and the false information he'd been operating under. And while it made any possible romantic advances from him look highly suspect, exaggerating, even feigning affection in order to secure an advantageous match was also nothing uncommon; marriages of convenience were ubiquitous and some polite lying made them more tolerable for everyone.

But he had no excuse for his cruel treatment of Princess Anna, the Queen's own beloved sister. I told her I'd planned to arrange an "accident" for Elsa, he remembered, shifting uneasily before adding "boasted about plotting to assassinate her (!)" under Cons.

Truthfully, it had been somewhat beneath him - or beneath the man he aimed to be, at least. It simply wasn't gentlemanly, and it definitely harmed his chances with Elsa. Hans laid the document down, rubbed his eyes and let his gaze wander around the ornamental ceiling of the room.

Hadn't it been here?

He craned his neck to see behind the bookshelves and look at the large fireplace at the far side of the room. No, it wasn't the same room, this one had a large table with candlesticks that hadn't been there. He made a face. So much trouble from one sweet, fleeting moment of genuine honesty. Just went to show that most of the time, the truth was a disastrous idea.

Well, he'd messed up and had to bear the consequences. All it did was add to the challenge. And considering how Anna hadn't interrupted any of his private moments with Elsa, it was even possible she wasn't as upset as could be expected. After all, she hadn't minded being cursed to death, either. Perhaps her nature was so forgiving it bordered on half-witted, who knew.

Hans leaned back and stretched, crossing his hands behind his head, studying the painted tangle of vines decorating the ceiling. Anna could, in fact, turn out very useful. Arendelle could marry her off and acquire a suitable groom to wave reassuringly at the crowds and produce non-magical back-up heirs for the throne. It would ease the pressure on Elsa, giving him more time to seduce her. It would no doubt please Princess Anna, too, who'd been practically gasping for a romance. She'd be a royal bride, the bells of every church in the country would ring for her, the crowds would cheer and drink to her health, her gown would be the main topic of gossip for weeks and she and her womb would be the hopes of the kingdom. She'd love the attention.

All he had to do was find some poor sap to inflict her on. Preferably someone who wouldn't mind her crassness. Some Iberian or Umbirian princeling, perhaps, didn't they appreciate recklessness and wild passion more than sense? It'd be a good connection trade-wise, too. He should introduce the matter to Queen Elsa one of these days, but delicately. It wouldn't do to remind her of just how cruel he'd been to Anna. Hans felt hesitantly hopeful. Things weren't so bad. He just needed enough time to prove himself, to benefit Arendelle, to make himself seem indispensable to Elsa.

Tracking and capturing whoever was spreading the treasonous pamphlets would help. Hans had had a quiet word with Arnesen regarding that, the day before. The Royal Guard was recruiting along with the Court, and he wanted Arnesen to recruit someone very specific.

"We need a man who is absolutely faithful to Her Majesty till the end, no matter what," he'd said. Arnesen had pulled himself up.

"Look no further, sir. I'm ready for whatever is required." Hans had smiled at him.

Arnesen was a fine commander, seasoned, sharp, well-loved and loyal. His family had served and protected House Frossenskjold-Galte of Arendelle for generations, and he was fiercely proud of that. He was also fiercely ashamed of having opposed Queen Elsa out of superstitious fear, and burned with a desire to restore his family honour. (Loyalty that intense couldn't be bought.) Hans had a quiet respect for Arnesen, whom he perceived to be a honest, straightforward man who simply tried to do his duty as best he could. Commanders like that were the bedrock of a steady rule, and worth infinitely more than pretentious officers with fancy names, arrogant manners and the quiet loathing of their men.

"I have no doubt your loyalty and bravery are unmatched," he'd said, "but we need someone less known. We need someone who is unwaveringly faithful within but who, on the outside, appears to be a god-loving young man, ripe for recruitment into a movement attacking the witch-queen." Arnesen had understood. "I trust your ability to unearth such a man. Remember, he must appear to quietly despise the Queen and her ungodly magic from the moment he steps foot into the city. No-one except me, you and Queen Elsa can know the truth." Arnesen had nodded, chewing his lip in deep thought.

"I won't let you down, sir. I believe I might know someone."

•••

Hans sighed and brought his attention back down to the desk. He wished he, himself, knew someone who could tell him how to establish and run a secret service. He did know some basic principles, but the specific details in the field of espionage were, for obvious reasons, difficult to come by. He couldn't just write the governments of foreign countries and politely request they give him detailed descriptions of how they ran their secret intelligence departments.

For lack of a better teacher, he was writing to his brother Hafleikr for any advice he might have. Hans also told him truthfully his situation, hiding the real message in a letterful of seemingly mundane chit-chat with a simple cipher. They'd held a steady correspondence through the years, ever since Haffan had first gone to sea, and had learned early on to hide anything private behind turned phrases and counted words. Hafleikr was almost always at sea, and their letters had to first make it to the Naval Command Headquarters, who'd then direct it to where-ever they estimated the recipient might be able to pick it up. It was a slow process full of delays where someone in their family might "accidentally" read it and decide to "forget" to forward it out of sheer spite.

Hans skimmed through the letters he'd written to various other brothers as a ruse. He was writing to Haakon, Hrolf, Hanno (the second-youngest), and vile Hallbjørn, that prick. Unfortunately, he was their mother's darling, and demonstrating brotherly affection towards him was a necessity. Hans praised Arendelle's nature to him, urging him to go and experience the charming, gorgeous, breathtaking wilderness between Arendelle and Agdair some beatiful spring day. Hans had noted the roadsides were rich with lupine and silverwillow. Hallbjørn got severe hayfever from both.

When he'd checked and sealed the letters, Hans got up to get rid of his writing notes as usual, especially his little marriage memorandum. Queen Elsa was to join him around noon - in about 20 minutes - to look through the history books with him, searching for information about the possible origin of her powers, and he definitely did not want a paper detailing his intentions lying around, ready to be accidentally discovered. He walked to the fireplace, noticing the heavy candlesticks on the table were the very ones Agdair had gifted to Queen Elsa. Hans poked at the embers, hoping to wake the fire without having to use a match, thinking about the Agdair visit, the gravestones, Elsa in the stream; the first moments of deeper intimacy between them. The moment he'd really fallen for her. The fire flared to life and he crouched down, feeding his papers in one by one, watching his words burn, deep in thought.

Suddenly the door opened and the light steps of a woman hurried into the room. Elsa was early. Hans shoved the rest of his papers into the fire, stirring it with the poker to make sure the marriage note would burn to ashes when he heard the steps stop, hesitate and continue straight at him in a run, a candlestick scraping against the table as it was picked up. He'd have recognised the sound of an incoming attack anywhere. Adrenaline surged through him, his battle training kicked in and Hans clumsily turned mid-crouch and raised the poker into a parry.

He managed to block Anna's bludgeoning strike, though the force of it almost made him lose his balance. He scrambled to stand up as she swung the candlestick again, bellowing for the guards. Hans backed away from her, blocking her blows with relative ease once back on his feet. She was surprisingly strong, but her attack was all brutal ferocity and no form, easy to anticipate and leaving her open for a counterattack. He could easily have overpowered her, but she'd have suffered injuries, and that would upset Elsa. What the devil has got into her?

"Calm down," he shouted at her over the clangour of the fight. Anna didn't hear him, immersed in her battle-rush, her freckle-tanned face contorted with anger and effort, her braids swinging through the air with her blows. She looked wild, almost savage. Hans heard other people run into the room, but he didn't dare divert his attention from the fight.

"Anna!" Someone shouted, a man.

"Calm down," Hans called again, evading and parrying, stepping further back to show he wasn't the aggressor.

"Anna, stop!" Elsa's voice blended in with his.

"Seize him," Anna shouted breathlessly over them, "he was lurking," she struck again, "to attack Elsa!"

"I was not," he countered, finally lunging in and disarming her with a heavy gliding twirl of the poker. The candlestick clattered to the floor. "I was tending to my correspondence while waiting for Her Majesty to attend our meeting." For a heartbeat, Anna looked like she might dive after the candlestick and continue her attack, but a blonde man rushed in to stand between them, and she only glared daggers at Hans from behind him. Hans glared back. Lundh sidled over, picked the candlestick up and stood next to them, confused, looking from one person to the next.

"Liar," she hissed, "you tried to kill me!"

"You attacked me! From behind!"

"You were sneaking about! Prowling for prey!" Hans rolled his eyes.

"Anna," Elsa said meekly.

"And how dare you try to lie to my face about a 'meeting'! As if I'd ever fall for something that outrageous!" Hang on.

"How did you escape? It doesn't matter, you're going back in now. Arrest him," she commanded Lundh, who gave Hans a baffled look. A realisation started to dawn on him. Hans glanced at Queen Elsa and found her twisting her fingers and pursing her lips, pale and clearly uncomfortable. The air around her seemed to be cooling, ever so slightly.

"Anna," she pleaded again.

Oh, Hans thought. Oh my. Anna, Lundh and the stranger all shifted their eyes from him to Elsa, taking in her wretched air. Anna's eyes widened.

She hasn't told her. This was going to be interesting.

"Elsa," Anna said, hesitating, "he is lying, right?" Queen Elsa twisted her hands into a knot, opening and closing her mouth like a fish on dry land, not finding the words. Anna gazed searchingly at her.

"I," the Queen struggled, "I meant to tell you earlier, but I- I didn't know how, I didn't want to put it in a letter. And I thought I had more time, you weren't supposed to return for-"

"I wanted to surprise you," Anna said flatly. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Elsa said, miserable. "I'm glad you're back. Welcome home."

Anna stared at her sister. "I'm here now. Why is he?" She nodded in Hans' direction. "Why isn't he locked up at the Southern Isles?" Elsa opened her mouth, gesturing at him, but managed only a faint, helpless half-grunt.

"Her Majesty and I discussed matters thoroughly and reached an understanding," Hans said calmly, placing the poker back in front of the fireplace and straightening his coat. Anna and the rather quaintly dressed blonde stranger turned to gape at him as if he was a stone statue come to life.

"An understanding?"

"Yes," he replied. "We've formed an arrangement that benefits both of us." They stared at him, dumbfounded. Hans wondered briefly who the strange young man was. He definitely wasn't nobility, that was plain as day, not even middle class. His manner wasn't subdued enough for a servant, either. A peasant, delivering goods? He was certainly unkempt enough for one, but his clothes seemed strangely exotic, and there was something wild about him. And something weirdly familiar.

A sapmish, of course. He was one of those northern wandering savages, he'd heard about them, riding reindeers, wrestling bears, living in huts of snow and skins. How interesting. The young man was glaring at him with open hostility, and Hans wondered if relinquishing the poker had been a mistake. One never knew with these uncivilised barbarians.

"Arrangement?" Anna repeated, returning her stare to Elsa. "Beneficial?" Really, she was so simple it hurt.

"Indeed," he said. "I'm working for Her Majesty as her personal steward, to compensate for my, ahem, offences." Anna's mouth fell open.

"Whuh-what? Personal steward?" Queen Elsa finally found her voice.

"Anna, can we have this conversation in private? Please," she sighed. "I have a lot to explain."

Princess Anna looked like she would argue, but thought better of it and just nodded, crossing her arms and peering at Hans from the corner of her eye.

"Pri- hm. Mr. Vestergaard, I'll send for you later, when necessary," the Queen said, and he bowed smoothly.

"As you say, Your Majesty. Your Highness." Anna didn't respond. The native's glare followed him out of the room.

Lundh, who escorted him, lifted his eyebrows after the door had closed, and Hans widened his eyes as an answer. They walked for some time in silence before Hans asked if he could go spend one of his hours with Sitron, and since the Queen hadn't specifically ordered Hans to his cell, he had some hours left for that week, and Lundh himself wanted to catch a glimpse of the new kitchen maids the Cook was interviewing, he couldn't see why not.

Hans thought about what he'd just learned. Anna had apparently been travelling all this time, which explained why she hadn't bothered them - but she also hadn't known about their arrangement. Hans took his time thinking through that particular thought. Queen Elsa hadn't seen fit to inform Princess Anna, her only living family member and second-in-line to the throne, that she'd employed the same man who'd toyed with Anna's heart, abandoned her to die and tried to steal their throne. Elsa had kept him her own little secret, and had been working, smiling, riding and dining with him behind Anna's back, as it were.

Oh my, indeed. Hans had to keep a straight face while in company, but once they'd reached the stables and he'd solemnly sworn he wouldn't escape while Lundh slipped away to see the girls, he was left alone to grin as widely as he pleased.

•••

There was a reindeer at the stables.

Hans stood dumbfounded, staring at the strange animal nonchalantly lounging in the stall next to Sitron, calmly chewing hay as if it was just another horse among others. He'd never seen one before. He studied it carefully, gingerly stepping closer to get a better look at the antlers, reaching out with his hand to let it get acquainted with him. The reindeer sniffed at him with mild, friendly interest.

"Easy," he said softly. "Hey."

"Get away from him," a gruff voice came from the doors. Oh, so the savage can speak.

"Is this your reindeer?"

"I said get away from him." The man walked closer, tense, fists balled, anticipating a confrontation. Raised by wolves, truly.

"All right," Hans said, annoyed, pulling his hand back, "I won't touch him. And you watch your tone, understood?" Why does he look so familiar?

"Don't tell me what tone to take. Where's your guard?"

Who the heck did he think he was, speaking to him like an equal? Hans felt his ire rise. He wasn't in the habit of letting commoners, let alone natives treat him insolently and get away with it.

"At the kitchens. I gave my word." The sapmish twisted his mouth.

"Your word isn't worth much, from what I hear." Why was he angling for a fight? Hans studied him, and suddenly placed the brute in his memory; he'd been on the ship-deck, behind Elsa and Anna, when Hans had regained consciousness and the winter was gone. He remembered that glare.

Of course. He was probably the reason Anna had made it back alive. She'd hired him to guide her around the wilderness, displaying some sense for once. She'd thought him exciting - an exotic man with a mystical bond with the land, that sort of thing - and had kept him on as a curiosity servant. He'd seen some of those being paraded about. Great conversation-starters at parties. Hans regarded him silently, taking in his tense, outraged air. And then he understood.

Anna was probably the first woman of rank he'd ever seen in his life, and this simple soul had developed a hopeless little crush on her, imagining it was love. Hans had jilted his precious little princess, and he was probably both angry at her behalf and jealous of him.

"The worth of my word isn't your concern," he said, eyeing him up. "Why are you here?"

"I should ask you that." Infuriating.

"You're not in the position to ask me anything. And you'll address me as Sir from now on, understood?" The native's lip curled up into a weird half-grimace, almost showing his teeth.

"I'm in the position to teach you a lesson, if you don't fix your attitude."

"My attitude?" Hans let out a half-chuckle and went to brush Sitron, talking to him over his shoulder. "What do you think the Princess would think of you if she saw you now, threatening and growling like this? Is this behaviour fit for a royal court?" That gave him pause. A-ha. He was worried about what Anna thought of him. As well he should be.

"She likes me just fine," the man spat. Oh, definitely insecure. Hans smiled.

"I'm sure she does. I have no doubt she finds you interesting and exotic, so different from her usual sphere." He flushed red. Hans almost felt bad for baiting him. He was so simple he didn't hide his emotions at all, but instead allowed everything to show in his face and manner. It was like being mean to a child. "Does she know of your infatuation, by the way?" He wondered if the man would try to deny it.

"It's not infatuation. I love her. She loves me." His frankness caught Hans slightly by surprise.

"Quite the declaration! You'd better learn some manners, if you want to keep serving the Princess," he said nonchalantly.

"Serving?" His voice was so smug Hans couldn't help glancing at him. The native had crossed his arms and was smirking at him, self-assured. "I'm an independent contractor. Official Arendelle Ice Master and Deliverer, by personal appointment of Queen Elsa." An unpleasant feeling started to creep at pit of Hans' stomach. Personal appointment? "And I don't serve Anna. We're officially courting."

They what?

The shock almost sent Hans reeling, but thankfully his back was turned towards the native. Anna, Princess of Arendelle, was courting with a common-born labourer? A native labourer, no less? Good god, she was absolutely out of control. What next, would she start an affair with some disease-ridden beggar off the street out of boredom? He'd really dodged a bullet with her. Poor Elsa, he mused, it would be a real challenge to rule with an embarrassment like that for a sister.

And then the implications of it all hit him. Anna was off the marriage market, for good. There wasn't a self-respecting nobleman alive who'd touch her with a ten-foot pole after she'd been publicly cavorting about with a native reindeer-herder, travelling unchaperoned with him for weeks. If she didn't marry this foul-smelling savage, her reputation would be forever ruined. A poor, ignorant, lowborn man like him would never bring any sort of assurance or credibility to the Arendelle royal family, quite the opposite. Elsa would have to marry very well and very soon to mitigate this disaster and keep Arendelle from appearing like a doomed country ruled by incompetent barbarians, witches and lustful women.

A cold flood of desperate fury overwhelmed him. Hans was angry, blindingly angry at Anna, at this man, at himself, at everything. His already meagre chances with Elsa had diminished crucially. He no longer had the time he needed. Frustration and wrath swirled in him, black and burning, gaining strength. This bloody savage had stolen the time from him with his outrageous aspirations, daring to ensnare Princess Anna. Hans squeezed the brush so hard his knuckles were white, grinding his teeth. Control yourself. He wanted to scream, wanted to break something, to let out the powerless frustration. Don't let him see he got to you. He wanted to hurt someone. He took a deep breath, hoping his voice would be steady.

"Well, congratulations," he said lightly, his back still turned. "How sweet. I have to say, she certainly moves fast when it comes to matters of the heart, doesn't she?"

"You have no right to talk of Anna like that." The man's voice was a vicious growl.

"Why not?" Hans kept brushing Sitron. "I'm her former fiancé, after all." He heard an indignant huff.

"You tried to kill her, you dirty snake!"

"Is that what she claims? I'll have you know I did no such thing." He threw the man a smile over his shoulder. "There was nothing to be done. I merely left her to her fate." The savage was staring at him, incredulous and wroth.

"She loved you," he hissed. "You betrayed her and broke her heart!"

"Oh, did I? And how long did it take for her utterly broken heart to heal? A whole day? How very convenient that you were there to pick up the pieces." Hans turned to face the man, raising his eyebrow. "Or did Anna perhaps anticipate my betrayal with some private little betraying of her own?" At least the savage had the grace to blush.

"We never, uh, I didn't-"

"We were engaged, you know," Hans cut him short. "Tell me, how many hours did it take for her to forget her true love for me once he met you - ten, twenty, forty?"

"What? I - we-"

"It's a simple question. I got together with her after one day. How long did it take you?"

"You shut up."

"Of course," Hans continued, "when we met, she was more than available, which should be taken into account. In fact, I'm possibly the first eligible man she encountered. She was so very eager and willing for love, it was amusing. And then the very next day, she met you, her next fiancé-to-be!" He chuckled. "What are the chances?"

"Stop it." He would break soon. The anticipation for the fight was tingling pleasantly in him, the battle-lust hissing through his veins with a bright, focused clarity. The man was taller than him and seemed strong and tough, a sturdy labourer - but Hans had been fighting bigger and stronger enemies all his life, multiple ones most of the time, and he'd learned how to balance an uneven fight with a few tricks of his own. He stepped away from Sitron, supposedly focusing on the tack. He was ready.

"Considering," Hans said contemplatingly, "that despite being an ideal match and officially engaged to her, I managed to keep her interest for only, what, thirty hours once she was alone with a new, exciting man, I wonder how long you will manage, once the novelty wears off?" He turned to give a dazzling grin at the man, who had gone white and was now staring at him with sheer hatred in his eyes, breathing hard. Hans went over him with his eyes, giving his most disdainful look for emphasis. "Three hours, I'd wager." He turned his back at him to deliver the final blow. Come on, you bastard. "Seven, maybe, if you'd wash occasionally."

Hans sensed rather than heard the swing. His senses were taut and humming, and he dodged the anticipated blow with ease, countering it with two sharp jabs to the face. The first one connected nicely with the jaw, but the brute managed to get an arm up to slow the second one, trying to knock him in the face with his elbow. Hans moved away and landed a good straight punch at his ribs, but was shoved slightly off-balance and the brute followed with a blow Hans had to painfully block with his own arm. He feinted left and managed to land a hook to the stomach and another very satisfying punch right at the face, but the savage swung back with crushing strength and surprising focus despite it, forcing him to parry, and his next punch hit his face, flashing white in his vision. Adrenaline surged through him, and he managed to somewhat block the next one and hit back.

Damn, he's hardy, he thought before the fight enveloped them both. They became a snarling, growling, panting half-wrestle of punches and jabs and kicks and elbows to the face. Hans took many hits, some of which were probably serious, but they didn't feel too bad through the numbing fury, and he blocked what he could, focusing mainly on trying to hurt his opponent. He landed good hits, too, and the rush of the fight made him feel incredibly alive. He managed to grab the savage by the hair despite taking one more hit to the ribs and went to break his nose when suddenly the world went dark and cold and he couldn't move.

•••

It took Hans a while to understand that they'd been buried in snow. It meant that Elsa was there and had seen the fight. Well, shit. The coldness chased the adrenaline and the anger away, and regret and throbbing pain crept in. Hans lay still under the snow, taking stock of the situation.

That wasn't clever.

It was unbelievably stupid, to be honest. The savage was, after all, Anna's current fiancé. There'd be hell to pay for brawling with him. It was practically attacking the royal family, and in his current situation that was a catastrophic move. Hans' ribs ached sharply, breathing seemed to hurt quite a bit. He was disappointed in himself for losing control like this, allowing his emotions cloud his thinking and undermine him once again. He would look bad in Elsa's eyes, too, like an uncontrollable, violent, dangerous thug. His face was throbbing. He was fairly sure he was going to look a real fright for the next couple of weeks, which certainly wouldn't help in seducing her, either.

But still, in some small way it had been worth it. The suffocating, maddening pressure of frustration and anger had left him, and the pleasant afterglow of the fight and the adrenaline was pulsating slowly through his body. Elsa's slightly muffled voice called them through the snow.

"Stop this at once! Get up!"

There was no choice but to obey, however unwillingly.

The snow wasn't terribly heavy nor thick, but digging himself out of the snowdrift was still sheer agony. Hans' body was aching and pulsing with pain all over, and he hissed when he struggled to his feet. He'd definitely broken a rib or two.

"Sáhtána helvet," the sapmish grunted under his breath while getting gingerly up, pained as well. Hans could guess the meaning.

Both Elsa and Anna were standing in front of them, wearing curiously similar expressions of shock - though Elsa's tinged more with astonishment, while Anna's alternated between fury and worry. The men stood slowly up in front of them, silent and chagrined.

"What happened?" Elsa's voice strove for sternness but faltered, revealing concern. They lifted their faces.

"Kristoff!" Anna rushed to the bruised native's side. "Oh no! Are you okay?" She whipped around towards Elsa. "See? I told you he shouldn't be trusted," she cried out. "Look at what he did! He's dangerous!" Hans met Elsa's confused, questioning eyes, and felt ashamed.

"What happened," Elsa demanded again. "Who started this?" She alternated her gaze between them. Any moment now, the sapmish - "Kristoff", apparently - would blame it all on him, say that he insulted the princess, claim he was just defending her honour, maybe lie Hans struck first. Hans closed his eyes for a heartbeat. One of his molars hurt and felt a bit loose, and he pressed it in with his tongue, feeling thoroughly miserable, waiting for his hopes to be destroyed.

But there was only some uncomfortable, hesitant coughing.

Hans peeked at the native from the corner of his eye and found him looking embarrassed, glancing here and there, unsure of what to say. He's embarrassed he attacked me from behind, Hans realised. He doesn't want to lie and he doesn't want them to know he struck first. A chance.

"Who started this, I asked," Queen Elsa repeated, looking at Hans. He cleared his throat and felt the native look at him. Hopefully he'd follow his lead.

"I don't remember, Your Majesty," he muttered. They all stared at him. "You don't remember?" Queen Elsa looked at this Kristoff, who shrugged and promptly winced from the movement.

"He's lying, of course," Anna huffed while dabbing the blood from her fiancé's face with her handkerchief. "Kristoff doesn't start fights. Right? He started it, didn't he?"

"I really don't remember either, Anna," the native muttered. Hans almost smiled to himself, but the attempt hurt his bruised face. His lip seemed to have split. Elsa let out an exasperated sigh.

"Well then, what were you fighting about?" The men exchanged a bewildered look.

"Uhm," Kristoff said.

"Horses," blurted Hans.

"Horses?" The way the girls spoke together was uncanny. Kristoff seemed to be holding his breath.

"Well, their superiority." Hans sniffed. Come on, play along, you oaf. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but considering that animal to be a steed is a joke."

"You shut your mouth," Kristoff said. "Sven's the best mount there is." Good, he wasn't that dumb, after all.

"You really can't compare some antlered cow to a proper horse," Hans countered. "It looks ridiculous."

"Who cares about looks," Kristoff huffed. "Sven can pull a loaded sled in deep snow and carry a rider and is more loyal and intelligent than most men." Hans clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes for show. "In the wild, it's reliability that'll save your life, not some fancy, useless looks!"

"Enough!" Elsa's voice was like a whip. "What's the matter with you? Two grown men getting into a fist-fight over an argument about whose mount is better?" They both shuffled their feet in the melting snow and did their best to look sheepish. The Queen groaned loudly.

"Men! Now, shake hands and apologise to each other. Both of you! Sven and Sitron are both fine animals and excellent steeds, all right?" They muttered something to that effect and shook hands, both doing their best to crush the other and not wince from the pain, staring each other down. "And this will never happen again, is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am," they said.

"Kristoff, we have to get Dr. Gravdal to look at you," Anna fussed. "Come on."

"I'm fine," he insisted gently as his fiancée pulled him away, smiling.

Hans was left alone in the stables with Queen Elsa, who studied him silently for a good while. The only sound came from Sven the reindeer, contentedly chewing hay.

"Does it hurt," she finally asked, softly.

"A little, Your Majesty," he lied. The pain was increasing each moment. Elsa sighed.

"I'll have the doctor pay you a visit, later on," she said. "After he's seen to Kristoff. When…" her voice faded away. Hans nodded. When Anna wouldn't notice.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he said and tried to bow, but it was a pitiful attempt. A groan of pain escaped him, and when he lifted his gaze, he imagined he saw some tender worry briefly flicker in Elsa's eyes.

She waved him off without another word.

–

* Satan's hell, in North Sami (Davvisámegiella)

** Sápmi is the Sami name for the cultural region in Lapland where they live, spanning over the areas of 4 countries.

*** I feel it should be noted that I intend Hans' rather disdainful attitudes towards "natives" or "savages" indicate the general attitudes of the times, rather than his personal character. So Hans isn't particularly racist - pretty much anyone with his background, education and breeding would share the same, if not even sharper views. It's a huge deal that Anna got together with Kristoff.