The room was a pool of darkness and the aroma of mold would make even the flies sick. The only sound that had been heard for months on end was the rhymic leaking of water as it fell to the ground. A figure sat in the middle of the darkened room, its wrists chaffed from the metal shackles that it had adorned for too long. It had spent too much time in its cell. There were 596 tiles in all. There were twenty links in the chains that suspended its arms above its head and twenty-five in the chains on both ankles, Hans had zero tolerance left for all of it.

He scratched his hair constantly, like a dog swatting at fleas. His sewage-like odor kept even the mice away from the dark, hellish dungeon. Months ago, he would have been on higher ground, wearing lavish suits, dancing with beautiful women. Eating only the best meals their servants could make. And now, he was the lowest of the low, left to rot away in a single cell. He'd waited for his sentencing. After what had happened in Arendelle, he was told he would be dealt with. What that meant, he didn't know, and when he would be dealt with was even more of a mystery.

He'd just wanted to get ahead. He'd wanted to do something with his life instead of rot away uselessly in a castle that would have never been his. He may just have been born a peasant. His brothers all off to bigger and better things. And here he was in a dungeon cell, waiting for the people he hated, the people who, at their core, were worse than him, and unfit to judge him for his crimes.

His ears perked up when he heard the sound of footsteps. At first, quiet, creeping, but then, monstrous as they drew closer. It hurt his ears, having heard nothing but silence for quite a while. The footsteps cease, and the jangling of keys outside his door. The lock clicked, and the door swung wide open.

The light stung his sensitive emerald eyes, and every blink was a challenge for him. He forced his eyes shut, unable to get them to adjust to the sudden light. They slowly fluttered open, centimeter by centimeter. He was vaguely able to make out the silhouette of a guard, who, every time he blinked, came closer.

"You're lucky his Majesty is getting you out now." The guard's footsteps came closer to Hans, and the keys clinked together once again as he scrambled for the right one "He was thinking of letting you just die in here. That would have been fine by me."

Hans felt the release of the shackle on his right arm. His wrists had never felt so good. Although they stung from the skin that had been torn off, he could move it at least. The same release was then done to the left. Both hands sunk into Hans's lap, and his eyes finally adjusted to the light in the hallway. He looked at the back of his palms that were black with soot. He clenched his fingers, the movement now unfamiliar to him. Months ago he had used these hands to almost murder the queen. To almost have his throne. The shackles on his foot fell to the ground, and the guard pulled Hans to his feet, pushing him towards the door. "Move." He commanded.

Hans looked up at the guard, at the white and red of his uniform, and the golden badge on his chest. This was the captain of the guard, which meant this was also his longtime friend. "Roman," Hans began, his voice quiet and coarse. "Nice to see you too."

"Move." The guard reinforced. Hans limped slowly out of the cell, his legs hadn't yet gotten the strength to walk fluidly again, and when he got into the light, specs of red had formed on his feet. Each time he took a step, the same red would be left behind him in blotches, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His feet ached from the blisters he could feel underneath. Each step was agony. He almost wanted to go back into that cell.

Hans climbed slowly up the spiraling staircase, biting the inside of his teeth. By the gods, he was in pain, and he knew that was what his father and his brothers wanted. All of this was punishment. Everything they had done to him from the moment he'd returned from Arendelle was torture him. They made him shovel the dung from the stables. They made him kiss their boots after long hikes in the rain. They degraded him. Embarrassed him. They made sure he knew he was beneath them.

He emerged into the hallways of the castle, and the fresh air was enlightening. It gave him a high of relief. He was glad to be out of that rotten place. He stopped to take a deep breath, but the guard took that moment away with a shove from behind. Hans growled and clenched his fists as he continued to walk towards the large double doors that led to the throne room. To his place of judgment. He gulped as they came closer, and a fear came over him. A sinking feeling in his chest. He could be sentenced to death for his crimes. His mind racked with all the worst possibilities, all the worst punishments he could think of. He didn't have time to calm his thoughts before the doors of the throne room opened for him Roman shoved him inside. Hans stumbled forward, the pain in his feet causing his knees to buckle, and he kneeled in the middle of the room. His head hung low as he tried to cope with the pain, and when the stinging in his feet and head subsided, he looked up.

There, on top of a dais was a scarlet throne with lavish whorl designs, and in that throne, sat his father. Large, but only with muscle, and the signature strawberry blonde Westergard hair. He had a well-defined goatee, one that he never bothered to shave, and he wore the most extravagant red suit and cape Hans had ever seen. He was a picture of elegance and rage all in one. To both sides of the king, were his brothers, six on each side. Perfectly balanced, and each was dressed in a white velvet suit lined with gold and red.

"King Charlemagne," Roman announced, kneeling before his king. "the prisoner."

The King sat with one leg crossed over the other, his cheek resting in the palm of one of his hands. He looked bored, but mostly, he looked disappointed. Hans couldn't bring himself to look into his eyes. "Hans..." The king began, shaking his head. "I don't know where to begin with you." He said, anger leaking into his tone by the end of the sentence. "Disgraced." He hissed. "You disgraced us!" The king yelled, his voice filling the whole of the large room, and Hans was pretty sure his voice reached the whole of the people in town as well.

Hans kept his head low in shame. He wouldn't argue. There was nothing he could say. He just let his father speak. "Do you know what the what the Terminal Accords are, Hans?" He asked curiously.

Hans didn't look up at his father as he answered. "It's the treaty signed by the rules of Arendelle and the Southern Isles to prevent conflict between the two kingdoms." He answered.

Charles chuckled at his answer, rubbing his temple. "I sent you there to make connections, Hans." Charles began, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope. Hans watched him as he opened the paper, spotting a familiar crest. A flower silhouette.

The crest of Arendelle.

"I sent you there because I thought you could handle the responsibility." Charles glared into the prisoner's eyes as he pulled out a thin piece of paper from the envelope. "But instead, you return, and I get this."

He held the letter up so Hans could see, and then he unfolded it and began to read.

"King Charles, your son has violated the terms of the Terminal Accords signed by the rules of Arendelle and the Southern Isles and has violated more than fifty of Arendelle's laws. His actions are inexcusable, and I suggest you take action and punish Prince Hans Westergard of the Southern Isles to the full extent of your Kingdom's laws. If not, then the court of Arendelle will oversee his punishment. "

Charles looked at Hans as he crumpled the letter in his hands. "Signed, Queen Elsa of Arendelle."

Hans clenched his jaw when he heard the queen's name. He wanted nothing more than to reverse time and finish her off.

"You don't seem to understand the implications of this, Hans." Charles continued. "That woman is the most powerful being on this earth." He growled. "Do you know what could happen if she got mad? All our food would be gone. Frozen. Dead. Our trade could be stopped in a matter of seconds. We could be rendered useless with the simple snap of her fingers, and you had the audacity to go and try and kill her!?" Charles leaned forward in his throne, sneering. "Fool." He hissed. "You've always been a useless fool."

Hans looked up at his father, baring his teeth in anger. Charles simply glared back, daring Hans to challenge him. And when not a single word escaped from Hans's mouth, Charles spoke again. "You will be exiled, Hans."

Hans's eyes went wide. "What?! But I-"

"You cannot stay here any longer." Charles interrupted, slamming his fists on the arms of the throne. "You have put a stain on our family's reputation. I cannot harbor a traitor."

Hans's heart pounded with rage. His fingers curled inward, making a fist as Charles spoke his final words. "Throw this disgrace into the ocean. Let him die if you wish."

Hans's mouth went agape as Charles rose from his throne, beginning his descent out of the room, and his brothers, all in pairs of two marched out perfectly behind their king. Each of them gave Hans glares and snickers.

"Wonderful job, brother." One of them voiced. "I knew no one could be worse than you."

Hans raised his head, meeting the eyes of the redhead that walked passed him. He was tall, slender, and his hair was cut and groomed to perfection. Every strand was even, and it framed his rectangle fact perfectly. His sideburns overpowered the stubbles of facial hair on his chin. "Shut up, Jehan." Hans hissed.

The man shook his head and continued off with the rest of the precession of his siblings, and Hans was left to grovel on his knees before the empty throne. There would be times he would sit on it when no one was around, pretending to be what he knew he never could. He was jolted away from his thoughts by a tugging on his arm. "Up," Roman commanded, forcing Hans to stand on his aching feet. "Move."

Hans walked slowly, limping and trying every minute to shake Roman's hands off him. There was nothing left inside of him other than fear. He couldn't believe what his own father had said. Throw him into the ocean? What kind of a father was he? "Roman, please," Hans begged. "You can't do this to me. I'm begging you."

The officer scoffed and pushed Hans forward aggressively. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this, Prince Hans." Roman spit out his title, just like his father had just spit on his entire existence. "It's about time you got what you deserved."

Hans raised a brow as he strained his neck to look over his shoulder at Roman. "What in the world does that mean?"

Roman chuckled, glaring into Hans's eyes. "It will be humbling for you, I think. Death." Hans paled at the word. "How do you think they felt, Hans?" Roman whispered hauntingly. "Do you think they felt what you were feeling now? Fear? Pain? Suffering? Do you think that they just wanted it to be over?"

Hans tried harder to rip his arms out of Roman's grip, the officer holding onto him tighter than ever. "Shut. Up." Hans demanded.

Roman laughed as he grabbed a handful of Hans's hair, causing the Prince to wince in pain as Roman pulled his back, forcing their eyes to meet. "You wanted them dead." He whispered. "And you'll be what you always should have been. Dead."

Hans gritted his teeth. He had always been nonexistent. He had always been dead, at least in the eyes of his father. The only thing that man cared about was power, and Hans had none of that. He could have just been a picture on the wall. It was something people looked at, but it wasn't useful. His other brothers had so much going for them. And what did Hans have? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Roman and Hans had pushed quickly through the halls of the castle, their arguing seeming to pass the time. Hans gulped as he saw the large, wooden boat that awaited him. A crew had already been assembled, getting the boat ready for departure. Hans tried one last time to rip away from Roman's grasp, but it failed, and even if it had been successful, he wasn't sure where he could have gone. Roman pushed Hans up onto the deck and smirked as Hans was put in the hands of another man, dressed head to toe in a white uniform lined with white, silver, and gold. His hair was chocolate brown, and his eyes were an emerald green. He looked like an angel to anyone else, but to Hans, this man was the devil incarnate.

"Welcome, Prince Hans." The man chuckled sinisterly. "To your death march."

Hans growled as the man took hold of his arms. He bared his teeth at Roman who gave the man a salute, and Hans looked to his holder. "Are you the captain?" He asked.

The man shook his head. "No. I'm your executioner."

Hans gulped as the captain pushed him into the arms of two others. They were burly and big. Hans had no chance of escaping their grasp, so he simply watched as the captain gave orders to his crew, directing them every which way until the boat finally began to set sail. It moved fast as if they wanted to get this over with just as badly as he did. Hans looked down at the wooden deck. The last time he had been on a boat, he'd been heading to Arendelle. The last time he'd been on a boat, he'd been planning to send two people to their deaths, and this time, this boat would be the death of him.

He couldn't help but smile softly. Karma had certainly caught up with him this time around, and god was he mad it even existed in the first place. His eyes shifted upwards to the sky. the ice blue sky and rage flared inside him. His teeth bared, as he could see the Queen of Arendelle's face in the clouds. He could see her smug face as he would be thrown overboard at any moment. He wanted to thrash and scream. He wanted off this damn boat!

Hans tried to move his arm even the slightest inch, and he immediately felt the shifting of the burly man behind him. One was beefy and his hair was a chestnut shade, and his eyes were hazel, ambiguous. This man was a mystery. His jaw was chiseled and hard. He was someone you didn't want to mess with, and Hans took note of that. He turned his head to the over his shoulder to see his other holder, and there couldn't be a bigger difference. The man's face was round, and his jaw... well, it was simply fat. The man was large and round, nothing intimidating about him other than his size, but his eyes. His eyes were an icy blue, and he forced himself to look away. He couldn't bear to see that color. Luckily, he would never have to see ice ever again after a few more hours, but he couldn't help but turn back to the man.

He opened his mouth to speak, but someone else spoke instead. "So, Hans." The prince looked forward to where the captain stood. "We're here."

Hans raised a brow, and he looked around. There was nothing but ocean. How had they gotten so far already? He didn't know where he was, and he cursed himself for not paying attention. The captain then chuckled. "You won't know where you are." He said, a man coming up from behind him, drawing a sword, and Hans's eyes went wide. "We'll make sure of it."

Both men gripped Hans tighter, feeling that he was about to resist, and he did. Hans thrashed around, kicked and screamed. He did everything he could, but it was no use. The grips of the two men were too strong for him. No. No this couldn't be happening. He couldn't be getting thrown overboard off his own ship. "You can't do this!" He shouted. "You can't do this to me! I am your prince!"

Hans continued screaming, trying to assert authority he no longer had. He saw the captain nod at the man holding the sword, and Hans went quiet. It was as if death ws coming closer to him, taunting him at a snail's pace. The man smirked as the sword's blade glimmered in the light. It was only when the man was inches in front o fhim did Hans let out one more final scream. "YOU'LL PAY!"

Pain ran through his head, and his eyes flashed a variety of colors until the only thing he could see was black. He felt arms wrap around him, lifting him up into the air, and he felt himself falling, and then he felt his back make contact with something wet, and then, he felt nothing.

/

Hans's eyes shot open, and he quickly sat up, coughing up all the water that had been forced down his throat. The sunlight was too powerful for him to keep his eyes open, so he relied on his hands. He moved them around, and he instantly recognized the material. He blinked more than a few times before his eyes finally got adjusted to the overpowering sunlight. Around him was sand. Ocean. And nothing else. He stood up, looking down at his arms legs that were covered in sand. He quickly dusted himself, looking around. Behind him, there was forest, and in front of him, there was ocean. There was only one way to go. He turned to face the trees that towered over him, taunting him, mocking him like his brothers had done all his life. He took limping steps into the depths of the trees, his heart pounding with anticipation and fear.

It was just as he'd expected. Nothing but green. Nothing but trees. He wandered for what felt like miles. His feet longed for rest. His throat yearned for water. Everything was in pain until he came across a clearing. A clearing that led to a cave. Curiosity overshadowed the pain, and he slowly moved towards the source of the voice. Into the cave he went, his only guide was the torches that lined the walls, barely lighting the way for him. The voice grew louder.

Aren't you a beautiful make.

He heard the voice say. It cackled, barely sounding human. Hans continued forward, his legs shaking with fear and exhaustion. The pounding of his heart intensified as he grew closer to an area that seemed well lit by flame. And each step he took, the voice grew clearer.

I make beauty.

I make fire.

I make all that you desire.

Hans stopped in his tracks when the walls of the cave came to an end, and he peeked around the corner but saw nothing. He took another, small step, and then his ears perked up at the cracking of wood. He looked down and saw the broken twig underneath his bare foot. When he looked up again, he made eye contact with a haggard old woman whos eyes were black like hell. And then, she smiled.