The Worth of a Soul

Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen or any of its characters!

Notes: Anything in Italics is a dream, flashback, or inner thought. Or even just emphasis. (EMPHASIS!)

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Author's Foreword: Oh friends I don't even have anything to say. It's been far too long and I am ashamed. Anyway, here we go.

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Chapter Three: The Return

I have always borne an affection for the ocean, oddly enough. The sea herself is like a fire, uncontrollable and devastating. She still calls me, in my dreams, whispering a soft swan song. Some days I wondered what it would be like if I were to walk into her silken embrace and never emerge.

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Never have I slept more soundly than aboard a rocking ship, and the same was true on the voyage to Arendelle. Daylight stole through the opened hatch as footsteps approached my canvas nest. Though I had slept well and deeply on the rolling waves the second night of the journey, I woke instantly to the sound of the ambassador's walk. It is hard to un-train a soldier.

"Landfall comes shortly, Hans. Are you... well?"

I nodded, and opened my mouth to speak before I remembered that I really didn't need to. And that I should choose such occasions more carefully, as today I would be meeting my keepers and learning my place. I pressed my lips together and nodded again. Sore from the night's toll on my long list of injuries, I retrieved my two items from their place near the back of the hold before moving to head above deck, but Percy's hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"Hans... You needn't fear her. Not all monarchs are so... ungracious. She is a just queen."

Amongst all of the things I feared, she should have been chief, as my owner. And yet... Still gasping from the unexpected weight of the trunk on my abused shoulders, I answered him.

"I will serve and obey."

Five

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Percy and I sat opposite each other in a nondescript carriage. He smiled at a letter from his wife while I watched dust motes swirl in the sunbeam that pierced through the black-curtained windows. I lifted an edge of the silk and peeked at the streets. Fall was overtaking the city; the people wore light coats over their summer clothes, the autumn perennials were poking through every inch of free soil, and the sun drowsed behind a faint layer of clouds.

Two children ran past, shouting and laughing, until the younger stopped. He stared open-mouthed at me until I chanced a small smile. A dala horse tumbled from his mittened hands as he shrieked and ran away. It clattered on the cobbles, a forgotten dash of blue and red. I let the curtain fall shut, afraid of what else I might see. Or who might see me.

"I frighten children."

Eight

Percy simply raised an eyebrow as he folded his eyeglasses.

"You tried to kill their queen. I think it's to be expected."

We passed the rest of the ride in silence.

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The carriage deposited us before the great doors of the palace and rattled off to its keep. With a firm hand on my shoulder, Percy directed me toward the dancing hall where Elsa's coronation ball had taken place.

"She hates the ceremonial throne room. Thinks it's too stuffy and formal," the ambassador murmured as he steered me to a spot some feet in front of a plain wooden chair on the dais at the head of the room. He stepped into a side hall for a moment, the hushed voices of others drifting from the doorway.

I stood alone in the great room then, so very aware of the last time I was in this hall. The music of ghosts floated around my head, and its spectral attendants danced and whirled past me. I watched as I waltzed with Anna, the two of us merely shadows spinning and smiling. People entered the hall, and the spirits faded before me, their laughter and cheer draining into nothingness.

I could feel her presence long before she even entered the room. She was no longer attended by fear and anger, but by the feeling of sunshine and crisp air on one's skin, by that breathless feeling of being alive on a brisk winter's day. I closed my eyes, drawing great lungfuls of the sensation and desperate to commit it to memory.

Percy's hand on my shoulder jerked me from the reverie. "Kneel, Hans. She comes."

Slowly, achingly, I sunk to my knees, hands clenched against my thighs and spine curved in obeisance. My body strained to hold such a position, as beaten as it was, but only a few moments passed before her silvery voice chilled the fire in my muscles.

"Please, Prince Hans. Rise."

I struggled to one leg, and wobbled on the other, near to falling, yet the ambassador's strong hand pulled me upward. I managed a creaky bow.

"Your Majesty, I am a prince no longer. Just Hans, your servant."

Twenty

"Of course. Hans. Now, at what sorts of tasks are you capable?" she inquired gently, leadership and poise evident in her tone.

"Whichever you need me to be, Majesty."

Twenty-seven

She considered me for a few long moments, her eyes soft but electric. She was every bit the sort of ruler that all kings and queens should be: firm, purposeful, and judicious; but thoughtful, kind... Understanding and empathetic.

I hung my head, so suddenly ashamed of her suffusive gaze, my skin seemingly sparking with the sensation of undeserved mercy.

Punish me. Don't give me your kindness. I don't deserve any of it. Punish me. Punish me.

"You will go directly to Reike, the house mistress. She will simply give you whatever jobs need doing, since you are so ready to work. Percy will show you to your quarters. I must be off; I have an audience with my sister and the counselors."

I shrunk back into a kneel, head still bowed. The rustling of fabric announced her exit, yet she stopped.

"Hans... I hope you know that you're not to be a prisoner here. And I hope you find whatever it is that you're searching for."

And then she was gone, and the air was duller.

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"Since this summer, we've brought the palace staff back up to a standard, but the servant's rooms are entirely empty, as they all prefer living in the city square with their families. I suppose, then, that you have your pick. The doors are all open already; we don't keep many rooms shut anymore. She hates closed doors."

The long, vacant hall stared back at me, doors gaping wide. Though it was tidy and well-kept, the hall radiated that particular un-lived-in feeling that empty rooms tended to adopt after many years of little to no habitation. The silence was comforting.

I looked through the entryways of each abode. They were much the same in layout and furnishing, but some seemed dimmer than others, as though still containing little remnants of old, unremembered histories. As though they were still-lifes, painted just before the twilight of the evening.

At the very end of the corridor, however, there was a room slightly smaller than the others, but so much brighter. The entire west wall was overtaken by expansive windows, underlined by a cushioned bench and allowing the immense benefit of an unobstructed portrait of the sea. A thick quilt was spread over the little bed in the corner, which was bookended by a carved writing desk. Next to the secretary, a stone fireplace filled an alcove in the wall and stood sentinel before a thickly cushioned chair. On the wall opposite there sat an old, ornate upright piano; atop it lazed a large gray cat, swishing its tail against the antique wood. Faintly, the air clouded the room with the scent of sandbukkels.

"No one lives here?" I queried, puzzled by such personal furnishing for a supposedly unoccupied servant's bedroom.

Thirty-one

"Ah. Well, not anymore. When the queen and the princess were younger, as a matter of course they had a governess. She lived here until about six years ago, when she took ill and went to live with her children. But she left a good deal of her things here, and no one wanted to remove them. They're just as much a part of the room as Fjodor over there is."

In response, the fat feline stretched and left his perch on the piano, only to curl himself against the window in a sunbeam.

"Essentially, choose this room and you choose the cat too."

"Perfect."

Thirty-two

"Mistress Cook will have a supper for you in a few hours. Then, Mistress Reike will give you work for tomorrow."

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Quiet shadows crept into the room and into my mind as soon as I was left alone. In a haze, I wandered about the cozy chamber, uncertain about allowing any of my possessions to upset the old governess's comforting equilibrium. Finally, I dropped my satchel on the armchair and pushed the trunk underneath the bed before carefully lowering my aching self on top of the quilt.

There, I closed my eyes and listened to the complaints of my body. My chest seemed to be little more than a crumbling log, gnawed upon by the flames and broken up by the poker; my limbs merely piles of ash, the afterthoughts of an exhausted blaze. Yet still hot coals glowed in my head.

How can I possibly pay for my wrongs in a comfortable room, at simple palace work, under a gentle queen?

How could she have looked me in the eyes without hatred or fear or revenge in hers?

How do you rework so many years held together with jagged, clumsy stitches?

As much as I hated my brother, the thought grumbled at the back of my mind that at least he would have punished me thoroughly, for years and years.

On the window seat, Fjodor cleaned his paws before making a graceful leap to the floor. In that particular manner that only cats possess, he disinterestedly picked his way across the room and jumped onto the bed. He kneaded my stomach, sharp claws furling and unfurling into my flesh, and then settled atop me, purring loudly. We stared at each other. The cat's great green eyes glowed with such regal feline disdain as he considered his new roommate.

"You might be the only creature in this kingdom that doesn't fear me in some way."

Forty-eight.

It is no small thing to compress one's self into one hundred simple words, so easy is it to daily take for granted the luxury of self expression.

I bit my tongue to admonish myself for wasting sixteen precious words on a cat, but soon, grudgingly, the two of us fell asleep in the waning sunlight

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The castle kitchen was tidy and well-kept, but not uncomfortably so. It was a lived-in sort of place, the kind that was warm and bright not just because of the ever-working ovens and stoves, but because of the sort of people that made their lives here. Shiny pots and pans hung above the old oak table that ran the room's length. The legs were etched with the names of children and drawings of favored pets, and flowers in mismatched vases sprawled along the table cloth.

I occupied a chair by the window and watched as Mistress Cook floated between counters, grumbling about making a second dinner for only one person when she should be getting her evening pastry on her way home. The kitchen was nestled against the western wall, allowing great swathes of light to soak the polished tiles, and I settled back against my chair, grateful for the clarity of the setting sun.

Suddenly a bowl of stew was spinning beneath my nose and a plate of bread clattered by my hand.

"Here. Take care to wash your dishes. I'm off for the evening," she huffed while she untied and hung up her apron.

"Thank you, mistress."

Fifty-one

Over her shoulder, she met my eyes before leaving. "What a disgrace to have such a criminal within these walls."

"Quite so, mistress. Good evening," I replied, staring into the depths of my dinner.

Fifty-six

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Mistress Reike was an entirely different sort: efficient and close-lipped, thin as a rail but with the air of command that often accompanies war-hardened generals. She gave me one look from head to two, furrowed her brow, and began tossing palace liveries at me.

"Tonight you haul the laundry to the washerwomen. They need it before 9. Tomorrow you work with the lumbermen in the morning, with the gardeners in the afternoon, with the dish girls in the evening. You'll meet them at 4 outside the gate, after lunch along the east wall, and at 8 in the kitchens."

"Yes, mistress. Thank you."

Seventy-two

The fewer that remain in the upper chamber, the faster the grains pour through the hourglass.

"You'll have two pairs of work-boots and one for indoor work, and you will be responsible for washing and fixing your uniforms and the like. Three meals a day, in the kitchen. I will expect you to be ready to receive your assignments each morning at six o'clock on the dot. Do not be tardy. Questions?"

"No, mistress."

Seventy-four

"Good. Now get to work."

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That night, I fell into my bed, literally word-less and exhausted. I opened my mouth, able to form words but unable to give them sound. I gave up quickly, knowing just how true the work of an enchantress was, and closed my eyes, eager for sleep. Yet I was plagued by the sidelong glances and hushed whispers of the washerwomen, floating in and out of my thoughts. Eventually, with Fjodor humming on my stomach, my mind fell silent, and I slept at last.