Past: I Beg Your Mercy

Hans paced back and forth in his room restlessly, mind whirling a mile a minute. There had to be a way out of this. Justic and Moren were searching the library, but if Justic didn't know of a loophole off the top of his head, it probably didn't exist. Goodness knew the man had spent enough—cough, cough, countless—hours up in the library researching enough laws. Back to the problem at hand. His own life. He was not going to be cut down like some dog. He looked out the window towards Arendelle. A pardon from the queen, a plea for the sparing of his life, or an offer of a delayed and possibly moved trial was all he would need; but he couldn't go to her for it. At least not personally. However, through the mouth of one of his brothers…

He clicked his tongue against his teeth then turned, quickly going to a writing desk and pulling out parchment and a quill. He sat down and thought. How to phrase this? Nothing of him could slip into it, at least not without being hidden well. He rose and went to a letter in his room that had been written by Moren. It wasn't much, but it was all he would need to forge his brother's writing style and make the letter convincing enough to sound like the brother king. Not that Queen Elsa knew King Moren at all, but better safe than sorry. One of her advisors or servants might. He had no clue what Moren got up to half the time. None of them did. Moren just wasn't around that often. Or was hiding from or avoiding them. Hans read through the letter then nodded to himself. Laying it down, he turned attention to the blank parchment and put the quill to the paper. He suddenly felt more content and at home than he had for a long time. He almost got sidetracked before telling himself to focus.

Most Esteemed Queen of Arendelle:

I write to you to thank you that you did not have my treacherous brother executed for the distress he brought to you and your fair sister. I pray you are well, and Princess Anna also.

I cannot apologize deeply enough for my good for nothing sibling's power grab. I promise you we will punish the whelp accordingly, only please, my queen, do not ask for his death. I beg you. Not at our hands.

When you sent him back to us, I have no doubt you saw it as an undeserved mercy, but Queen Elsa, your mercy has become our agony and lamentation. Now we are to be punished for our brother's wrong, for though you meant well, you know not what you have done.

Most powerful ruler, the anguish and torture you suffer us to face is worse than had you cut all ties to the Southern Isles from the start, or had had his head there; for you well know, your majesty, that the punishment for treachery is death and that there is no other option. You have spared our brother his life at your hand only to give the task to his very own brothers. His brothers who now must pass the judgement upon their youngest sibling and who must now watch him hang or be beheaded or stoned before their own eyes. You may see him as a good for nothing man, but he is still our brother. Have we offended you in some way as well, that you would leave us to witness his demise?

I beg you, noble queen, take this task from us. Remember your own sister and how it felt to lose her. Lift that punishment from us. You need only ask we spare his life and our brother will live another day. We will not have to watch him die. Please. And if you do not spare him, let him at least face trial in Arendelle. I beg your mercy. Do not make me do this.

With all respect and honor,

King Moren Westergaard of the Southern Isles

Frozen

Hans checked over his handiwork carefully. It wasn't perfect, but it would perhaps be enough to fool Elsa and her advisors. Or if they saw something wrong, it could be chalked up to something like stress or pain on Moren's part. Right now, though, this was his last chance. Did he believe for a second Moren would actually write something like this in his behalf? Probably the thanks to her for sending him back, and the insults, but not the rest. Elsa didn't know that, though. He pursed his lips. The question was how to send it swiftly. Wait. Carrier pigeon! He quickly slipped out of the library, taking the letter and going to where they kept the carrier pigeons. They were only to be used in emergency. As far as he was concerned, this constituted an emergency.

He tied the letter onto one of the birds of Arendelle, and released it out the window. Only then did he heave a sigh of relief. With luck, another would be back with Elsa's response. If not, he'd have to buy time somehow. He could figure that part out later. Right now he needed to get back to his room before he was missed. He turned with a self-satisfied and conniving smirk, then straightened his clothes and started to walk out.

"Are you insane?" Jürgen's voice suddenly said from outside the door. Hans froze.

"He is our brother," Caleb's voice answered. Hans frowned and went to the door, listening. If the brother king sounded this dark and serious, things were going to get really heated and probably a little scary. You did not provoke Moren. It did not ever, ever, ever, end well.

"He is our source of shame!" Jürgen snapped. Hans started, mouth dropping, and looked at the door in a mix of hurt and anger. Anger because he knew it was true, hurt because knowing it didn't make the direct statement any less painful. Transported him right back to childhood.

"What would you have me do?" Moren asked.

"Traitors die, Moren. Hans must die!" Jürgen shot.

"Kelin-Sel will take his place," Moren answered.

"Forbid him! This is Hans's crime to face up to. It's high time he took responsibility for his actions," Jürgen said.

"Do you think this is like getting him to clean a slate or getting him to mop up after he made a mess? Do you think this is getting him to take a prison sentence for stealing something from an ambassador of a neighboring nation? Ahem, Jürgen," Moren retorted. Jürgen twitched but said nothing. "This is death."

"This is what happens. If we let him off and word gets out, we will be accused of favoritism, rebelled against, who knows what evil would come from it? And in the center would be Hans and whole new grief and sorrow because you had to spare him!" Jürgen shot. "You are still a new king. This can't be risked!"

"He is our brother!" Moren shot.

"He is a traitor!" Jürgen shot.

Hans scowled and threw open the door. Both older brothers gasped, startled, and spun. They stiffened on seeing Hans. Hans fixed Jürgen with a murderous glare. "I find it ironic you're the one preaching about treachery, Jürgen," Hans spat, eyes flashing.

Jürgen was quiet, eyes narrowing into slits. After a moment he replied, "I would face my death with bravery if ever I committed something like this and was stupid enough to get caught. I'm no coward, Hans. Like you. You've always been a snivelling stain on the Westergaard name."

"You bastard!" Hans snapped.

"Who are you to talk, Jürgen?!" another voice demanded. The three turned. Justic. He was there now. So were the others, having heard the commotion and come to investigate.

"What have I done, brother?" Jürgen practically sang in response to Justic. Hans started. What had he done? Probably plenty, but the second eldest hadn't been stupid enough… Hans's thought trailed off. He hadn't been stupid enough to be caught… The youngest prince bitterly chuckled. It disturbed him how much he found himself thinking like Jürgen suddenly. Especially in regards to himself. Jürgen turned to Moren, whose eyes held a tinge of warning in them. One that probably should have been acknowledged. "Look. Hans can't even defend himself. You're right. He's our brother, but to let him off because of that would be political suicide. He may be our sibling, but as I said…" He looked scathingly back at Hans. "He is our source of shame." He turned back to Moren. "Execute him now and get this nightmare over with."

"At least you have the decency to call it a nightmare," Duach darkly said as Jürgen was passing him by. Jürgen paused, biting his tongue.

"So you don't like this any more than us after all," Franz Neb added.

"Au contraire," Jürgen answered, glaring back. He looked at Moren and Mael. "Put the whelp down like the dog he is. It'll save the more deserving sibling. Though to be fair if you, Justic, offered to take Hans's place, I wouldn't complain.

Lars, Mael, darkly and bitterly chuckled. "You are a bastard. It seems Hans is a good judge of character after all," he remarked.

"But not good enough," Jürgen sneered. "Which is typical of Hans. Good but Never. Good. Enough."

Hans tried to lunge at him. Duach seized Hans, holding him back. "Enough, both of you!" Moren shot. Duach threw Hans back and stepped aside. Moren's patience had reached its limit. Now it was best to get out of the way. "Hans Westergaard, you are sentenced to death!" Moren commanded

"What? Moren, you can't…" Hans began.

"Silence!" Moren roared. Hans backed up in fear.

Jürgen cringed and looked away. "About time," he murmured.

"Not so fast, Jürgen," Moren said. Jürgen froze and turned. Moren drew his sword from its sheath and threw it into Jürgen's hands. "You will be the executioner."

Frozen

Immediately shocked murmurs went through the rest of the brothers. Hans's eyes widened in stunned horror. "Moren, this is madness," Iscawin began, stepping forward.

"Back!" Moren commanded. Iscawin fell back, eyes wide in fear.

Jürgen was frozen, looking at Moren in shock. "What?" he finally asked.

"You have condemned him, brother. Therefore it is only fitting you execute him," Moren answered, standing back. "We will not interfere. Not this time." He looked at the others. "That goes for all the rest of you." Turning again back to Jürgen, he said "Have at him."

Jürgen didn't move. Nor did Hans. Suddenly Hans seemed to realize the peril he was in, as he gasped and drew his sword shakily. He had to focus. Right now he was not fighting his brother. He was fighting a deadly enemy… Not that Jürgen had ever been much of a brother to start. Or any of them for that matter. "What are you waiting for, Jürgen? For though he is our brother, he is our source of shame," Justic darkly said to Jürgen.

"It seems history repeats itself in you, brother…" Mael murmured almost inaudibly to Hans. Hans tensed up, feeling beads of sweat forming.

"A trial by sword. Hans dies or Jürgen yields. Should Hans be victorious, he lives, and none of you will ever question my judgement so grossly again," Moren declared. The other brothers quailed, cringing and backing a little ways away.

Jürgen shifted, scoffed, then said, "Fine. I have beaten, humiliated, taunted, and tortured this little brat in the worst ways. Killing him will be my pleasure. A trial by sword it is." He suddenly lunged, blade drawn, and slashed at Hans. Neatly Hans parried it and swung at him quickly and determinedly. He would kill Jürgen if he had to! He would kill him! He'd be doing everyone a favor! Hans and Jürgen danced back and forth in a frenzy of clashing and flashing and singing swords, desperately fighting one another to get the upper hand. Well, Hans was desperately fighting. Jürgen had a good 14 years of experience on him, though. That he could think he may have stood a chance was foolishness and arrogance to the highest degree. He knew Jürgen was playing a game. Hans was one of the best fighters of the thirteen brothers, somewhere in the top five… Unfortunately Jürgen was in the top three. Enough said.

Hans leapt back as a slash nearly cut his stomach open. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening! "You're crazy!" he freaked at his brother.

"Stand still and die!" Jürgen yelled. Hans ducked, barely ducked, under another slash. He lunged upwards and drove his sword into Jürgen's thigh! Jürgen screamed in pain and fell immediately back, eyes wide.

"Jürgen!" Calcas gasped, trying to move to his sibling. Franz put a restraining hand on his brother's shoulder and gravely shook his head. This was how a trial by sword worked. They had no place interfering.

Jürgen held the wound in shock and look up in disbelief. This little twerp had actually landed a hit on him. Wow he was out of practice… Or Hans had improved greatly since last he'd fought him. When had he last fought him? God that must have been five years ago. Wow. He hadn't thought it was so long. Hans lunged. Jürgen dove to the side, rolling. He stood quickly up and charged. Hans blocked the first strike. Jürgen seized his wrist and spun Hans around, quickly tripping him and getting his baby brother on the ground. Without a moment's hesitation he took his sword and he drove it down. His intention was to pierce the heart for an instantly fatal blow. Hans was swift, though, and moved just enough. The sword instead buried itself in his midsection! Hans shrieked in pain, doubling up.

"Hans!" Coth cried out, trying to lunge. Quickly Iscawin held him back.

"No, we can't," he whispered in reminder. They had no place in this now… As much as they wanted to…

Hans's shriek startled Jürgen, shock springing to the elder brother's eyes as if he couldn't believe what had actually happened. Hans seized the blade and pushed the sword out of himself, and action that sliced his hands horribly, and stumbled out of the way. Staggered. Staggered like a dying insect impaled with a thorn, fighting to live another hour, another day, another minute…

Jürgen watched after his brother in shock. Hans backed himself against a wall and choked in pain, covering the injury and trying to stop the blood.

His brother had stabbed him. His brother had stabbed him. His brother had actually stabbed him with intent to kill…

Numbly the youngest prince looked down at the injury, then up at his brother in shock and disbelief. He…he'd actually done it… "You win, Jürgen. What are you waiting for?" Moren's stoic and cold voice said. "His execution is at hand."

Jürgen didn't move. To his own surprise, in fact, he didn't move. Just looked wide eyed at the thirteenth prince.

Suffering eyes, so much blood, such pain…

Hans choked out a cough and cried out in pain again, leaning his head back against the wall. Oh god, he was dying, Hans realized. He was going to die! Hmm… Now that he was thinking about it, it seemed much more peaceful than he had thought it would be. Beautiful, in a tragic sort of way. His eyes flickered open. They had closed? He scowled darkly at Jürgen, who had yet to move. Finally, though, the other approached, swinging his sword in a circle. Oh how Hans hated him. He could have spat at the man. Spat at all of them. Most of all he wanted to spit at Moren, though. For being weak enough to back down from his values to appease this creep. Moren was always weak like that. He thought he could be king? Hah!

"This ends now, Hans," Jürgen said, drawing back his sword to go for a final stab. But he hesitated. This brother was weak too, Hans told himself. Though he knew that wasn't so. After all, he had to admit a grudging respect. Jürgen was the only sibling who had had the guts to pull something like this off.

"Thank you," Hans gasped out. Barely. Jürgen paused. "Thank you for proving to me beyond all doubt that everything I believed about you and them was true. Thank you for showing me just how much the life of a sibling is worth to the Princes of the Southern Isles! I could have killed you all in your sleep and no one would have even despised me for it," he sneered scathingly. "If only I'd known then what I do now, huh Jürgen?" Jürgen was silent. Hans closed his eyes, offering his throat. "Get it done. I'll meet you all in hell. We can burn together. Doesn't that sound like 'fun'?" Coldly he laughed. The laugh, though, became choking gasps. Oh god, it hurt so badly…

Frozen

Jürgen was pale. The others were watching. Waiting. There were tears in the eyes of some, in others no expressions whatsoever. Jürgen took a breath. One strike. That was all it would take. He moved to drive the sword through Hans's neck, but suddenly he stopped, the sword tip literally against the youngest brother's throat. He willed himself to finish it, he wanted to finish it so badly. Oh it would be so, so easy to end his brother's life… But he couldn't… He suddenly gasped back a sob, pulling the sword away and looking down at Hans. Hans's eyes flickered weakly open. He processed what this meant. The other didn't have it in him. Pathetic. Bitterly Hans shook his head then went limp as darkness came. Jürgen caught the other in his arms automatically, not by choice. He looked at Hans a long moment. "Get him help," he suddenly said to his own disgust. What was he doing? None of the others moved. "Get him help!" he roared at them viciously.

Mael stepped forward. Historian, torturer, and doctor. Torturer and doctor… Ironic, wasn't it? He bent, scooping Hans up into his arms and bringing him away. The others followed until only Jürgen and Moren were left. "Not so easy, is it brother?" Moren questioned.

"You knew," Jürgen hissed. "You knew I wouldn't."

"No… In fact for a moment I genuinely thought you would…" Moren answered. He looked at Jürgen. "You and Hans believe, and many of the others, that it is valiant to take a man's life and cowardice to stop… Tell me, Jürgen. What was harder to do? Take it or spare it?"

Jürgen was quiet, looking at his sibling. "Take it," he defiantly answered. Was it really, though?

"I could sentence you to death here and now, for not carrying it out. Here, sparing the life of one set to die by a trial of swords means that the one who spared him must take the criminal's place. You know that," Moren answered. "You know and knew that by law you should die…" Jürgen was quiet. It would have been so easy to take his sibling's life... Taking it had not been what he had balked at… Or maybe in part it had been?

"If I die I die," Jürgen finally answered, quickly walking away from the eldest sibling.