I've Come to Kill You (Elsa x Hans)

Frozen Heart - Part 4

The black curtain of night swept over the ship, and with it came the cold. Elsa was accustomed to it, and she barely flinched as gusts of wind howled across the deck. But she could see Hans' condition worsening. His skin was now paler than ever, and though he rubbed his hands up and down his arms as frequently as he could, no color returned to his features.

"I'm starting to lose feeling, Elsa," Hans said, his voice low.

"We won't sail for Arendelle any longer." Elsa decided. She crouched down, and traced the side of his face with her hands. It was as cold as a block of ice, and she doubted he could feel it any longer. "We'll dock at the nearest port, okay?" She waited for a vocal response, but he only nodded.

Frustrated, Elsa abandoned Hans by the crates. She headed towards the bowsprit, at the very front of the ship. From there, she would be able to see any distant lights, fires, or other signs of settlement. Surely someone was out there, in the vast Nordic mountains. All she needed to do was find them. Then, things could return to how they used to be.

"There!" Elsa's heart skipped a beat, and she lifted a single hand into the air to steer the boat onto a nestled beach. The anxious queen sighted a spattering of golden lights beneath the starry canvas of nightfall, barely distinguishable in the thick, verdant woods.

"Hans?" She raced back to the spot where Hans lay. But something was off. The crates around him had not shifted since her brief departure. The blanket draped over his shoulders remained in its place. And he was silent, still as the dead.

"Hans!" She fell beside him, and shook the prince's body vigorously. To her relief, he muttered something, though it was completely incoherent. "There's land in the distance. We're going now. Right now."

With that, Elsa's mind wandered into a dream, a dream of something that could get them off of this dreadful galleon.

It needed to support Hans' full weight, and it needed to slide easily across the ice. A bleary carriage began to form in Elsa's mind, with large wheels on each side, and a roomy interior that Hans could rest in, laid out, without difficulty.  It also needed--

"Elsa." His voice brought her back to reality. She glanced at him, the question written on her face, but in a few seconds, a reply was no longer necessary.

The boat had stopped swaying. The beach was now their resting place.

"Well." Elsa sighed. "That simplifies things quite a bit, doesn't it?" 

                                                           ❅ ❄ ❆

The village had appeared more promising from a distance. Up close, it was only a cluster of shacks, with an ash-coated firepit built crudely between them. Elsa strolled up to the nearest building, and knocked three times on the door. There was a frenzy of sounds inside, from the clattering of plates to the banging of closet doors. She twiddled with her fingers until the door opened, and the portly face of a woman emerged.

"What?" She was stout in stature, and the torpor of her eyes and deep jowl of her mouth suggested that hospitality wasn't at the top of her priorities. 

"My friend, Prince Hans, is on the beach." Elsa gestured backward, struggling to appear both authoritative and innocuous. "He's injured, and he needs some shelter. And a fireplace."

The woman began to shut the door, but Elsa blockaded its path with her arm and shoulder. "Please." 

"We're not accustomed to foreigners around here." The woman admitted, though her voice maintained its standoffish tone. "There's another village, about forty miles north, where you'll be more than welcome."

With a single grunt, the woman pushed Elsa backwards, away from the house's refulgent interior. The door slammed in her face, leaving her cold and helpess. Without wasting another minute, she made her way back to Hans, though her walk resembled that of a lame dog. There was no way Hans could survive the night, without ample warmth and sustenance.

"It's over." She knelt down, and lay beside him on the rugged terrain. He offered no response, and his eyes were closed tightly, but he still managed to intertwine his fingers in hers. She sniffed, well aware that this gesture would be one of his last.

"We came so far. We fought so hard." Her voice broke. "I killed you. I'm the cause of this."

A shooting star dashed across the twinkling, galactic design, before it vanished into nothing.

Elsa dropped her fingers onto the sand, and assumed a sitting position. She leaned over until her nose was pressed against Hans' cheek, and cried for a thousand years. Then, she pressed her lips against his. He's dead. His lips have never been this cold. 

"I love you, Hans."

Several moments passed. The gentle lapsing of the waves was her only company, the sky her destination. Elsa chuckled to herself, cursing the Gods that had determined her fate, to die on the beach alongside her lover. What cruel tailors they were: the craftsmen of destinies great, and of tragedies dismal.

And then her lover opened his eyes.