#when im in a staying calm cool and collected challenge and my opponent is [say it]

[footballshowrot]

intricate rituals etc

[calenheniel]

Queen of the Ashes, a frozen fanfic | Part VII

Frozen | Alternate Universe | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Drama | T+

They meet as children, each with a secret. Plagued by tragedy, their paths cross again many years later, and their secrets are unraveled.

Follow updates: #QueenoftheAshesFrozen

Read below, or find links to AO3/FF.Net/Wattpad on my Tumblr.

Author’s Note: I see recovery from any kind of trauma as one step forward, two steps back - and I envision Elsa's recovery in the same sense. I'm not making her regress or retreat purely for plot reasons, or to throw up false obstacles for drama. It's very much, in my mind, a natural, human reaction to resist change, especially when it comes all of a sudden.

I have many, many other thoughts and ramblings I would love to share with you all about the writing process for this fic, but I'm saving it for the end. I want you all to form your own impressions and ideas of what's happening before I tell you mine.

»»————-　❈　————-««

VII.

The queen was swept up in a procession of meetings with various delegations for the rest of the evening into the following morning, with hardly a second to breathe between bows and curtsies to people she hoped she would never see again.

As her steward announced each successive appointment to her, she avoided making eye contact with him, keeping her expression cool and indecipherable.

By the time she was able to slot in a brief return to her room to regroup, he informed her that she was expected in the courtyard for an afternoon of lawn games with her guests. She met the news with a deep and unbroken sigh, half-tempted to call off the rest of the week’s events and remain secluded in her room, undisturbed. But in the warmth of the sunbeams as they washed over her bedsheets, recalling her conversation with the prince from the day before, the queen yielded to her obligations.

She was welcomed with polite bows and smiles when she arrived outside, and she returned the gestures with her usual vague pleasantries, observing her surroundings. Large spaces had been demarcated in the grass for games of bocce and kubb, with some others she did not recognize introduced by the foreign visitors.

“Your Majesty,” a man in fine dress bowed before her, gesturing to one such game, “would you do us the honor of playing a round of croquet?”

She followed the direction of his arm to where several noblemen and women were bent over with wooden mallets, trying to strike colorful balls through arched posts, and suppressed an eyeroll.

“Perhaps later,” she answered with a forced smile.

Others soon followed his example – from the Netherlands, Germany, Portugal, Spain, and Weselton (the last of which she had never even heard of until that week, when its Duke had proposed a trade agreement so outrageously unfavorable to her country that the man had almost been laughed out of a meeting with her council) – but she rebuffed each in turn, her eyes seeking out the prince.

She found him standing alone, a few feet from where the princess played horseshoes with the French ambassador and his wife, the game surrounded by a circle of onlookers. They applauded and cheered as she hooked one shoe after the other onto the stake.

“It’s all in the hand-eye coordination,” the younger woman remarked as they released a collective “ooh” at her success in the latest match, and she curtsied to her opponents with a grin.

Seeing her older sister approaching them, she waved at her. “Elsa! Will you play a round?”

The queen’s smile wavered for a moment. “I’ll sit this one out, Anna,” she said, “since it looks like many of our guests would like a go at playing against you.”

The crowd laughed at her comment, but the princess frowned. The queen drew closer to her, murmuring: “I have to speak with Hans. I hope you don’t mind.”

The princess’s frown converted into a wide, bright smile. “Of course not,” she whispered, though her pitch was higher from excitement. She winked. “Go get ‘im, sis.”

The queen refrained from rolling her eyes as she stepped away from the participants, raising her voice so that everyone could hear her again. “I’ll be rooting for you, and praying that the rest of you don’t get defeated too badly.”

The ambassador and his wife chuckled along with the other competitors, watching as the queen left the game area. The princess coughed to refocus their attention, and announced with a grin:

“All right, so who’s the next victim?”

This challenge drew their interest away from the queen, who slipped out to the back until she was standing next to the prince. Their proximity did not go entirely unnoticed, as she noted a haughty scoff from the neglected Duke of Weselton in her direction, but her thoughts did not linger on it.

The prince smirked. “What did you say to Anna?”

“Nothing that should concern you,” she replied, though without any particular rancor. She kept her eyes focused on the game, but could not make out much between the huddled bodies of the spectators. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know that I should never quarrel with your sister,” he quipped as the princess scored another perfect ringer. “She has the aim of a hungry hawk.”

“The squawk of one as well,” the queen observed as her sister shrieked with glee at her victory.

The prince stifled a laugh. “You surprise me, Elsa,” he said, smiling at her sharp glance. “Not because you’re capable of making a joke, obviously. Rather…” He paused, looking down at her, and then back at the game. “You’re standing quite close to me, right now.”

She reddened. “And? What of it?”

“I just thought… never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He glanced at her hands. “Are those gloves new? I don’t remember you wearing them before.”

Her blush spread until it touched every corner of her face, her hands knitting together in front of her. “I was busy, and forgot to have mine washed.” She looked down at them, her nose wrinkling at the pure white fabric. “These were my mother’s.”

His brow softened at the comment. “I used to have a pair like that. They’re well-crafted.”

“Right. Back when you used to wear gloves,” she remarked.

A strange smile flitted across his lips. “Yes, back when I used to do that.”

She shot him a cautious, but curious, look. “You’ve never told me why you stopped wearing them.”

He shrugged. “I only wore them before because my father told me I had to. But once he died, I didn’t see the point in it anymore.” He simpered at her. “It seems to bother you that my hands are bare.”

Her nose scrunched. “I’m just not used to it, that’s all. And besides—you used to be very attached to yours. I wouldn’t have guessed that you were wearing them just because someone told you to.”

His smile slipped. “I learned the hard way what would happen if I didn’t behave, from an early age.”

She stared at him for a while, her hands glued together with discomfort at the plain and cold answer. “I see,” she said, and fell back into silence, sensing the sensitivity of the subject.

Don’t feel.

Her stomach constricted at the thought, and she suddenly turned to him.

“Walk me out of here.”

The prince blinked, but bowed his head in acquiescence. “Where to, my Queen?”

She frowned at the intimate form of address. “There’s an archway leading out of here onto another, smaller courtyard in the northeast corner,” she replied, nodding in that direction.

His eyes widened. “Are you sure? The path there goes right through the center of the games, and everyone will—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “I won’t ask again, Hans. Now offer me your arm.”

After a moment of hesitation, he did as commanded, and she looped her hand through until it rested atop his forearm. He led her away from the games area with calm, confident strides, the crowds of spectators parting for them in waves as they passed.

The queen ignored each new look of astonishment and gasp—including the grave expression of concern from her steward. She held her chin high and kept her expression indifferent as they finally reached the archway, though she could not keep her hand from gripping his arm until her fingertips turned white.

Once they had passed through it and were protected by the surrounding stone walls, she exhaled through her nose, her features relaxing. The inner courtyard was quieter and grayer than the main quad, the only hint of color coming from the trees planted on either side of stone benches and the blue, cloudless skies above them.

“Elsa,” the prince said and glanced at her hand, still clutching his arm.

She removed it with flushed cheeks, turning her back to him as she made her way towards one of the benches.

He joined her after a moment, looking at the entryway to check for prying eyes. Finding none, he turned his gaze to her, somewhat uneasy.

“What’s wrong?”            

She sighed, closing her eyes, and then leaned back until it rested gently against the stone wall behind her. “I’m tired of being told what I can and can’t do. I didn’t want to think about it, for once.”

“Did something happen?”

Her eyes reopened to shoot a glare at him. “You ask as if you don’t know.”

He leaned back, copying her. “Are you saying this is my doing?”

“No—and yes,” she replied, crossing her arms. Her forehead wrinkled at seeing the white gloves upon her biceps. “I suppose your impertinence inspired something in me.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, earning another glare from her, and his eyes darkened. “I’m happy to be of some use to you.”

Her blush deepened. “It’s an inconvenience,” she snapped. “I can’t be like this. Not in my position.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am queen, now, and I can’t just do whatever I want, whenever I want, like Anna. I can’t storm out of official dinners, or refuse meetings with ambassadors, or—”

“Walk away from games held in your honor, and be seen alone with dishonorable gentlemen?”

She grew quiet at his interjection, and his look became more serious. “I’m aware how much my public reputation plays on your mind, and theirs, so it’s impossible for me to put into words how much I have appreciated your hospitality in allowing me to stay for so long.” He held out a hand to her. “So thank you.”

She stared at it for a time before she finally relaxed her hand, placing it in his palm. His thumb pressed the top of her hand, slightly pulling down the fabric of the glove upon it.

He continued to pull on it after she offered no initial resistance, until the covering had come off completely, and her bare skin was once again touching his. He raised her hand closer to his face, as if to kiss the top of it; but when she noticed the scars from the rose thorns still embedded along his fingers, she jerked her hand from his, and looked away.

“None of this is for you.”

“I know,” he acknowledged. “I wouldn’t think that for a second.”

“Then don’t look so pleased,” she said, her look skeptical, and relaxed back against the wall again. She eyed his hand after a beat. “Does it hurt?”

He held it up, inspecting the red lines along his skin. “Not really. I’ve had worse.”

“From roses?” she mused.

He wore a hollow smile at the question. “No. Not from roses, Elsa.”

An awkward silence settled on the pair for a time, the noises from the games echoing faintly from beyond the tall border wall that separated them from the main lawn.

At length, the prince spoke. “You said something strange yesterday, in the garden.”

She frowned. “What?”

“It was before I pricked my hand. You kept saying over and over again, ‘conceal, don’t feel,’” he recounted in a careful way, “and it was hard to hear you properly after that, but I think it ended with—”

“Don’t let it show,” she murmured, and he blinked in surprise.

“Yes, that was it.” His brow furrowed. “What is that?”

The queen was quiet for a minute, her hands – one gloved, the other bare – gripping the fabric of her dress. Her fingers twitched along a seam.

“It was something my father taught me to say whenever I felt like I was losing control,” she said, pushing out each word with effort. “We used to recite it together, when I was a child. It still brings me some comfort to say it.”

“It brings you… comfort?”

The incredulity in the prince’s voice forced her gaze to meet his, a glower working its way into her features.

“Why do you sound so confused?”

“Because it’s—it’s…” He scoffed, shaking his head. “What in the world was he thinking, saying that to a child? Telling you ‘don’t feel, don’t let it show’?” He repeated the mantra with bewilderment. “To think of the hurt he inflicted on his own daughter in doing so—”

“Hurt? You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hans,” she snapped. “My father loved me, and tried to help me—”

“‘In his own way’—wasn’t that how you put it before?” he interrupted, earning a scowl from her. “And what kind of help was that, Elsa? Covering your hands, keeping you locked away, and giving you empty words to say over and over again until you’d grown to fear and despise your own power? Until you’d shut out everyone, including Anna?”

“You talk as if my father were a uniquely cruel and horrible man, but what of your own?” Her scowl twisted on her lips. “To abandon his youngest son to the malice of his older brothers for so many years, their brutality unchecked and unpunished? What kind of ‘love’ is that?”

“None at all,” he agreed, taking her aback. “But that’s the difference between us, Elsa: I don’t pretend otherwise. I don’t know what my life would’ve been like had he chosen to be a better, kinder man, because he didn’t make that choice. I’ve had to live with the consequences of that, for better or worse. And so have you, with your parents’ choices.”

She was silent after that, and her hands and shoulders visibly trembled when she next spoke.

“They loved me,” she whispered. “I know it.”

“Maybe they did,” he said in a gentler way, “but love… isn’t always good.”

Her voice was hoarse when she addressed him, her eyes tinged red. She wiped any trace of tears from her face.

“What are you saying, Hans?”

He paused to take in the tree branches that hung above them, their leaves long and narrow. “These are apple trees, aren’t they?” he asked, not looking to her for confirmation. He plucked a fruit from the branch, holding it up at eye level for closer examination. “Fine things, apples, when they’re ripe like this. Beautiful, even—your mouth waters just looking at it, thinking about how sweet or tart it might be. But then…”

He turned the fruit in his hand, revealing a small hole in the opposite side. “You see something like this, and even though you want to take a bite out of it, you think, ‘well, I’d better just check.’ So you take out a knife and cut it open,” he said, and dug both of his thumbs into the side where the hole was. “And what do you find?”

She watched as if possessed, and her eyes widened when the apple came apart easily under his ministrations. “Nothing but a rotten, brown core,” he continued, a sigh escaping his lips as he gazed into the fruit’s ruined interior. “The handiwork of a hungry worm, no doubt.”

The queen pulled herself out of her trance, shaking her head, and glared at him.

“And so what? ‘Love is like an apple’? I’ve had enough of your insipid analogies,” she said, rising from her seat. She reached to grab her other glove from his side of the bench, but as she did, he placed his hand on hers, holding her there.

Their noses were nearly touching, and his breath was hot against her cheek. “I know that the memories of your parents are precious to you,” he murmured, his grasp soft, “and I don’t mean to deny you them. I only ask you to question what happened—to ask yourself what good it did you to be kept inside all these years, separated from your sister. And all because of what? You hurt her once, when you didn’t know any better,” he said, “and they made you pay for it, for every moment after. But you shouldn’t have to anymore.”

The juice from the putrid core of the apple oozed out from his fingers onto the back of her hand, and she grimaced, the sensation causing her skin to go cold.

When the prince released her, her lip quivered, and she pressed the other glove to her chest. “It’s not that simple. They were trying to protect me, and Anna.”

“And themselves,” the prince countered, and retrieved a handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe his hands. “But that’s acting out of fear, not love. You know that.” He laid the used cloth across his lap, and then leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, looking up at her.

Her breath was visible against the air, her mouth contorting as she tried to respond. “I—”

The sound of footsteps caused both of their heads to swivel towards the entryway, and the queen’s eyes shined with alarm. “Anna,” she whispered, and ran to the entrance, bracing herself against the stone wall as she peered around it.

She caught sight of the hem of the princess’s dress as it stole away back to the main lawn, her breath stopping in her chest as she whipped back around, pressing herself against the wall. Her body began to quake, wisps and curls of ice spidering out along the walls and the ground below from her fingers and feet.

“Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show,” she said, shutting her eyes, “conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it—”

“Elsa, stop.”

The ice shattered into pieces as her eyes reopened, finding the prince mere inches from her, her hands clasped in his. She gasped at how hot they felt, and at how tightly he held onto her despite the cold.

Her breath came in short bursts as she tried to gather her wits. “Hans, she saw us, and who knows what she heard.” Her eyes darted back to the entrance, widening with anxiety. “Perhaps there were others, too, that we didn’t notice.”

“There weren’t—I would’ve seen them,” he said, and pressed her hands to reassure her. “Anna didn’t hear anything. She was probably just dropping by to see if her ‘scheme’ was working—nothing more.”

“How can you be sure?” Her breathing was still disjointed, and tears welled in her eyes. “If she found out about my powers, or about her stolen memories, just when we’re starting to get along, I… I couldn’t bear it.” She released a half-formed sob, and pushed him away. “I can’t lose her again.”

“Elsa…” the prince began, but she shook her head.

“I need to go,” she said, and left, ignoring the long look from the prince behind her.

»» —— ««

She returned to her quarters that afternoon with no explanation or parting gesture to her guests, who watched her brisk retreat from the games back into the castle in huddles of hushed voices.

Their whispers and stares seemed to follow her even as she laid upon her bed, curled into a ball, and she swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. Nonetheless, though she had long since deposited her mother’s gloves atop her dresser, her magic remained contained by the memory of the prince’s hands on hers—which she presently sunk into her mattress, hiding from view.

Just as her heartbeat had begun to slow down again, her cheek nestled comfortably against her pillow, a knock on her door roused her from her waking sleep.

“What is it?”

“It’s me,” her sister’s voice answered, soft but insistent. “Can we talk?”

The queen sat up in alarm, staring at the door. “I—I’m very tired, Anna,” she stammered. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

She heard a sigh on the other side of the door. “I’m worried about you. You looked so upset when you left.”

Her expression relaxed at the reply, though there was still some caution in her gait as she rose from her bed and approached the door, placing a hand against it.

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I was upset.”

“…was it because of Hans?”

She opened the door just far enough to come face to face with her sister, taking the younger woman by surprise. “I think you know the answer to that,” she drawled, “since you were watching us.”

The princess cowered with embarrassment. “I really didn’t see much, I swear. You two were gone for a while, so I was wondering what happened, is all.”

The queen’s look was suspicious, but a little more patient than before. “Right. Well, I—yes, he upset me,” she conceded, and paused. “I don’t feel like myself when I’m with him.”

“What do you mean?”

Her brow crinkled. “He annoys me, and makes me say and do and think about things that I wouldn’t, normally.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” the princess asked with a half-grin.

The queen’s frown returned. “Yes. I know you may feel otherwise, but I don’t think his influence is a good thing. Not for me, anyway—and probably not for you, either.”

“What are you talking about?” The princess retorted, and planted her hands firmly on her hips. “I don’t know what he did or said to you tonight, but I’ve spent enough time with Hans to know that he really cares for us, Elsa—especially you.” Her brow rose. “But someone probably gave you ‘the talk’ about him, right?”

At the queen’s silence, she continued: “In my case it was Gerda, so I guess you got Kai. He probably told you the same things she told me: ‘he’s suspicious, he’s after the crown, blah blah blah.’ Even Ambassador Dubois lectured me about it, but it was in French, so I missed almost everything except ‘ce n'est pas un homme bon,’ which means—”

“I know what it means, Anna. I used to take French, too.”

“Yes, I know,” the princess said, waving away the interruption. “Anyway, as I was saying: I’ve heard the same stuff from just about everyone, and I’ve seen the way they look at me and him together, and how they looked at you two today. As if we haven’t asked him about the fires and the rumors—it was practically the first question out of my mouth on the night of your coronation!”

The queen stepped back, blinking. “You… asked him about that?”

“Of course!” the princess exclaimed, though she still managed to keep her voice at a hushed volume. “You think I’d let him get within an inch of you if I thought he was some kind of criminal on the run? I made sure to vet him, the same way you’d do for me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But Kai, Gerda, and those fancy nobles we’ve been hosting at court the past couple weeks? They don’t know him like we do, and they haven’t even tried to get to know him, so they still assume the worst. But I can promise you that he’s a good apple, Elsa.” The princess’s gaze grew more hopeful. “You can see that too, can’t you? Even if it’s just a little bit?”

Her older sister made no reply for a while, disconcerted by the analogy, and then answered.

“Sometimes, yes. But…”

“But what?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t feel as though I know him very well at all. Not compared to the way you say you do.”

The princess crossed her arms. “Then what’s missing for you?”

The queen looked down at her uncovered hands, her fingers still thrumming from his warmth—and still slightly sticky from the decaying apple’s residue that he had dripped onto them.

Her eyes tightened. “I don’t know, exactly. It’s just a feeling.”

“Well, he’s almost at the end of his two weeks here,” her sister remarked, “so if you don’t figure that ‘feeling’ out soon, there’s a chance you never will.”

The queen’s pulse quickened at the reminder. “Has it been that long already?”

“Yes,” the princess replied, and added with a slight smile: “Are you considering letting him stay for longer?”

Her sister blushed, and raised her chin. “No, I’m not.”

The princess’s grin twitched. “If you say so. But I know a certain prince who’d be very happy if you were.”

“Anna,” the queen warned, and the younger woman made a gesture of surrender.

“I’m just saying—it might be nice.”

“For him, maybe. But I can’t be responsible for the well-being and happiness of a stranger. Neither of us can.”

The princess smiled sadly as she regarded the queen, reaching up a hand to touch her shoulder—and then retracting it before it could land, holding it against her heart.

“I’m not asking you to be ‘responsible’ for him or his feelings,” she said, her head bowed. “I’m just asking you to consider what it would be like if you listened to your own, for once.”

The queen stared at her sister for a long time, unable to form a reply, and swallowed.

“I think that it’s time for you to go, Anna.”

Her sister frowned. “That’s it? You’re just sending me away, like I’m a child?”

“No,” the queen replied, growing taller. “I’m asking you to leave.”

The princess’s spine twisted up to match her sister’s posture, and she shot her an unhappy look. “Fine. Then I’m leaving. Goodbye, Elsa.”

The queen said nothing in return, watching as her sister turned tail and stomped back through the hall to her own bedroom.

She sighed as she closed her door again, plodding over to her wardrobe and pulling out another dress. She laid it neatly on the bed before undoing the bodice of the one she had been wearing until then.

As it dropped to the floor, however, she began to notice a strange mixture of smells waft up to her nose – iron, rot, and sweat – and her gaze was drawn to the gloves she had used that day and the other pair from the day before, still unwashed, laying atop one another on her dresser.

The stench caused her to gag as she gripped the side of the wardrobe, trying to collect herself. Covering her mouth with one hand, she carefully picked up the offending objects between her index finger and thumb of the other, and dropped them into the washbasin on the opposite side of the room.

The gloves floated on the surface, and on instinct she submerged her own hands into the water with them. She rubbed her palms together vigorously, scrubbing off the remnants of the apple, hearing the prince’s voice in her head with every twist of her fingers.

You hurt her once, when you didn’t know any better—and they made you pay for it.

Her jaw clenched at the memory, scrubbing harder, and she did not notice the water growing colder.

For every moment after.

By the time she was ready to withdraw her hands, she found them stuck in place; frowning, she looked down into the bowl, and gulped.

The water was frozen.