This story was first published on archive on our own.
CHAPTER 1
Anna is dead.
Hans felt for a pulse, fingers pressed against her neck, but there was only silence.
Hans looked at the man who had brought him Anna's body. A mountain man, judging from his build, attire, and reindeer by his side.
There were tears in the man's brown eyes as he spoke, "The Queen accidentally struck her with a curse that froze her heart, and, long before I could reach the castle, she grew cold. I brought her to you so she could be saved through a true love's kiss. The trolls said only an act of true love could save her. But I guess it's too late for that now…" The mountain man sniffed, wiping his tears and snot with his burly hand.
Hans scrutinized the man. The trolls? Even though he came from the Southern Isles, he had heard of the existence of trolls in Arendale. But, like most magical creatures, trolls were known to be terribly elusive. The fact that this seemingly ordinary stranger was able to gain an audience with them…could he trust this man's words?
Hans looked again at the body held within his arms. Her once strawberry blonde hair had turned completely white. A layer of glittering blue frost seemed to have developed upon her skin. She was so cold, Hans was beginning to shiver just from holding her. This had to be Elsa's magic. But why would Elsa strike her own sister right in the heart, of all places? Was it really an accident?
A slow realization hit him: everything he had planned so meticulously was falling apart gloriously around him. It was like he was standing on a snowy mountain, watching an avalanche rush towards him.
Hans closed his eyes before the nightmare could consume him. When he opened them, he nodded solemnly and graciously thanked the man, turning to take the body back to the castle. it did not occur to him to ask for the mountain man's name until after the gates had closed behind him.
He walked past the entrance and down a dark, narrow hallway. His boots clicked beneath his feet, echoing slightly, the only sound that could be heard in this large, lonely castle. An eerie bone-chill followed him, an ever escalating sense of dread, even as he reached the room where most of the castle residents were, including the servants, royal advisors, guards, and dignitaries. When he presented them the body, there were shocked gasps and soon after, tears and wailing. The steward, who Hans would later learn was named Kai, looked upon the body with wide-eyed confusion. He immediately closed his moistened eyes, mouth twitching, trying his hardest to hold back the emotions rattling in his core.
A older servant, who had introduced herself earlier to him as Gerda, ran a shivering hand across Anna's pale face. She gasped, yanking her hand back. Hans saw it was covered in a thin layer of frost. Hans looked back at Anna's body, the layer of frost had thickened. He stared, mouth slightly parted in amazement. A horrible realization came upon Hans: the curse persisted even in death.
All of this seemed to go unnoticed by everyone else. Greta seemed unharmed, the frost melting away almost instantly. She proceeded to sob quite wretchedly, barely able to stand on her own, without the assistance of two handmaidens who held and comforted her to no avail. Hans felt a twinge of irritation at the woman's uninhibited show of emotion. Some restraint please.
The dignitaries, all old men, looked quite solemn and stood respectfully at a distance. As for the Duke of Weselton…Hans had expected him to put on a greater, but less convincing, show of emotion than Gerda. Perhaps he would even let his true nature slip and loudly lament how the Princess's tragic death may affect Weselton's exchange with Arendale's goods. Instead, the Duke seemed…distraught, his eyes filled with sorrow and sincere sympathy.
But Hans was too furious to be astonished.
His initial plan to woo Elsa at her coronation had failed. She had proven to be too reclusive, keeping every approaching suitor at arm's length, even declining offers to dance. No one was getting anywhere with her, so he improvised. His next plan had been to marry Anna and settle for being the first prince of a prosperous kingdom or stage a little "accident" for Elsa and become King.
He looked down dejectedly at Anna's lifeless body. That too had failed.
At best (or rather worst), Elsa was alive, imprisoned in the castle cellar and, considering what she had done to her own kingdom…and her own sister…was far far too dangerous to let roam free. And Hans wasn't stupid enough to ask for her hand in marriage now.
Of course, he showed none of this. Once he had laid Anna's body on a nearby couch, his knees went weak and he collapsed onto a chair. He buried his face in his hands. His sorrow at having his plans utterly derailed allowed for a more convincing performance.
Tears sprung from his eyes and he bit back a sob. He had no choice but to return back to the Southern Isles, back to his heartless, cruel brothers. Back to being unlucky number thirteen. His dreams of power and glory crushed between the cold, cruel fingers of fate. He was cursed.
"It's my fault," he wailed, voice filled with despair, "if only I hadn't allowed her to leave on her own." Yes, if only he hadn't.
Gerda, shaken from her own grief, fell immediately upon him, wrapping her frail arms around him. She whispered words of reassurance in his ear and added, "I've never seen Anna so happy until she met you. Thank you for letting me hear her laugh one last time."
He wanted to slap her. She really thought he was weeping over the death of an ditzy princess he had known for barely a day.
And yet, he felt a kindle of pride, his performance really was that convincing.
But there was a small glimmer of…what was this feeling? Guilt? It came quietly over him but then it rose like an ocean wave, higher and higher, until it threatened to crash upon him completely. He caught sight of his reflection in the large mirror across from him, and was reminded of himself–his true self–not the reflection that Anna or Greta or the dignitaries or anyone else saw. The feeling passed as soon as it came.
He placed a hand, still cold from holding Anna's body, on Gerda's back to reassure her. "Thank you for taking good care of her," he said, inflecting his tone with as much tenderness as he could muster. People often told others what they wanted to hear for themselves.
She choked back a sob and returned back to her position by Anna's side, wiping at her tears and even managing a smile—just for him, all for him.
Hans smiled back, but it was more of relief. He had grown quite tired of her horrible, relentless sobbing.
He shot up from his seat and straightened his back, trying his best to look overcome with stoic, steely determination. The moment of mourning had passed, it was time to act like the leader he had appointed himself as, although it was a rather useless position now. Yet, he was struck with a certain sense of pride and ecstasy whenever they all looked up at him, like they did now, faces twisted in hope and desperation. Of all the roles he had cast himself in, he fell the most beautifully into this one. People needed a shepherd to lead them, reassure them that everything was alright, lest they be forced to use their pea-sized brains to think for themselves.
"I will inform the Queen of…" he struggled to say the words, he even closed his eyes and made his mouth twitch, much like Kai, "…Princess Anna's passing."
"Prince Hans, allow me–" the Duke started.
Hans bit back the urge to clench his teeth. Go back to Weselton, you insufferable bastard, he thought.
"No," he said, firmly, biting back his venom, "Allow me."
"Prince Hans, I beg you, please do not harm her," Kai pleaded. "The Queen wouldn't–" he shook his head, "it must be an accident, I'm certain of it!"
Hans eyed him steadily and spoke, slowly and methodically, "I have no intention of harming her. She is still queen after all. I want to speak to her alone. I want her to know what she's done…and perhaps then…she will end this winter."
The winds outside howled and snow swirled, beating erratically against the windows. The castle trembled and something like the bursting of rock was heard from beneath them.
Hans' eyes widened. He quickly turned to Greta, "Stay and watch over the body!" and he grabbed the arm of another guard before he ran with the others to investigate the noise. "You as well!"
He then ran, along with the castle guards and the dignitaries to the cellar. Hans saw the broken, frost-covered iron shackles tossed on the ground and a giant hole in the cobblestone wall.
Elsa was nowhere to be seen.
Hans found her on the frozen fjord, her braided hair tousled from the strong winds and her blue gown glittering in the white blizzard. She was having as much difficulty as he was, moving past the powerful winds. It occurred to him then…could she not command the storm to stop?
"Queen Elsa!" he cried out.
She wheeled around to face him, eyes wide in fear. She thrust her hands towards him, a warning not to come any closer.
He stared, momentarily paralyzed. He wrapped his arms around his body, suddenly very very cold. He thought of Anna's frozen body. If Elsa wanted, she could strike him with the same curse, or perhaps conjure another snow beast like the one he had fought at her castle to crush him. He wouldn't stand a chance, not in this weather, where he could barely even swing a sword properly.
Summoning his courage, he said, "Queen Elsa, please end this winter and bring back summer!"
"Can't you see?" she gestured in frustration at the storm gathering around her, "I can't!" She looked pleadingly at him, "You have to let me go!"
Hans clenched his teeth. So…he really had no choice then. He seethed in anger, his facade slipping. "You can't run from this!"
"Take care of my sister!"
"Your sister?" he said, incredulously. She really had no idea?
"She was traveling with a man from the mountains. He said you froze her heart! He tried to save her but it was too late! Her skin was ice, her hair turned white. Your sister is dead…because of you!"
Her face twisted into a myriad of emotions: shock, confusion, realization, then horror. The very moment she collapsed onto her hands and knees, against the hard ice, the winds vanished and the world became silent. All that could be heard was the sounds of her anguish. He watched her in pity. It was just as he suspected, her powers were somehow tied to her emotions. What else could explain the stirring of feral winds quickly giving in to the dead silence of winter the moment she heard of her sister's death?
His heart beat fervently in his chest as he slowly approached her. He unsheathed his sword, the sound of steel rang through the air. If she heard, she did not seem to care, so lost in her pathetic sobbing. She truly had no one else to blame but herself. Running away to the mountains, unleashing a snow monster on his own men (the Duke's guards excluded), nearly killing him, and killing her own sister. What a selfish, careless queen.
If Hans couldn't be king, then he could at least become the hero who saved Arendale from destruction.
He raised the sword above her head. Yes, he'd have to settle for that now.
His face looked warped, flushed pink, ugly and raw. His eyes flashed, wet and determined, and he was breathing heavily. His trembling hand tightened upon the hilt, the muscles of his arm contracting, swelling with strength. He was ready to deliver the final blow…so why was he hesitating?
She was dangerously unstable and terrible…but great and powerful. He had seen her palace of ice. He had seen her beast of snow. A queen with the power to control ice and cast an entire kingdom into winter was worth more alive than dead.
And, in all honesty, he wanted that power for himself. He thought of her at his side, as he commanded her to freeze Arendale's enemies and turn rival kingdoms to ice. He would be loved, he would be feared, and everything in between.
And what if killing her didn't end the winter? What if her curse persisted even after her death? Was it worth killing her based on a hunch? He thought back to Anna's body, the touch of frost still upon it. Anna was dead and yet the curse continued to afflict her.
He slipped his sword back in its sheath. He would do it then. He would be the one to save Arendale from destruction…not from killing the Snow Queen but by taming the swirling storm inside her.
He took a few tentative steps toward her, so as to not startle her. Again, she sobbed and sobbed, oblivious or apathetic to his looming presence. He was close to her now and bent down on one knee before her. He reached for her hands–the same hands that conjured the beast that nearly killed him, the same hands that killed Anna–which were so terribly cold, he could feel it seeping through his leather gloves and into his flesh and bones.
He refused to let go.
For a moment, she was shaken from her grief and looked at him in confusion. Her makeup streaked with tears, her eyes rimmed red.
"Queen Elsa, if you can't end this winter on your own then let's find a way to do so together…for Anna."
Elsa's eyes widened in slow realization. She turned her head slightly from him, her mouth twitched, tears threatening to fall once more. She looked completely away for a moment, as if composing herself before turning back, seemingly changed. The eyes had gone from lost in hopeless despair to focused with a raw, angry determination.
"For Anna," she whispered.
He stood up and held his outstretched hand towards her. He was delighted when he felt her fingers grasp his own.
Years later and I'm still salty with how Frozen handled Hans' character arc.