Author's Note: There's a popular A/U fic type in the Hans/Elsa fandom that I haven't engaged with until this story, so consider this my first go at it before I attempt it again later this summer. Started off as a short drabble at most, and metastasized into this monstrous thing. The first chapter was originally written for Day 3 of Helsa Week 2020 on Tumblr, "powers" being the theme. Hope you all enjoy.

I.

They met as children.

He was introduced to her and her younger sister when he, his brothers, and his father were invited to the girls' kingdom for something called "trade talks"—though it was nothing that he understood at the time, at eight years old.

They were brought together just before the state dinner – he led by the collar by his nursemaid after a fit of protest, the girls walking in front of their mother and father, the King and Queen, with gentle and curious looks – and after some basic introductions, they were left to play in the gallery hall with only an older servant and some guards to watch over them.

Be good, the Queen said to her children, and they curtsied and smiled prettily at her as she departed with the King.

Don't cause any trouble, the nursemaid said to him, and he glared at her as she walked away.

The children stared at one another for a while in silence; then, the younger one leapt forward until she was just a foot in front of him, and studied his surprised face.

Your hair is pretty, like mine, she said, and reached up to touch his head covered in reddish brown locks. When he backed away from her touch, she added: Your eyes, too. They're like Papa's.

He could not remember seeing the King's eyes when they had briefly met, and so he frowned at the comment, crossing his arms. I don't look like anyone but me.

The younger girl's brow furrowed at his reply. I don't understand, she said, and turned to her older sister. Elsa, why is he so mean?

The older girl held in a giggle, glancing at him before looking back at her sister. He's not mean, Anna, she said, he just doesn't know you yet. She drew the young girl in, and patted her head. Why don't you tell him about your favorite painting?

The younger girl's eyes lit up, and she bound away from her sister to take the boy's gloved hand—but on instinct, he snatched his hand back to his side, causing her to fall over.

She looked up at him with wide, unbelieving eyes, and soon after began to wail on the floor, and then into her sister's lap. The servant watching from the sidelines rushed over to comfort her, but she threw off his hand, instead grabbing huge handfuls of her sister's dress to bury her face in.

The servant sighed, and walked over to the boy, who stood stock-still with red, irritated features. You mustn't mind Princess Anna, Your Highness, he said. She is a very excitable creature, and loves meeting new people. She doesn't understand yet that not everyone is like her.

The boy stared at the two sisters with a hard look, though it dissipated as he considered the remarks of the servant. The older sister continued to stroke her sibling's mussed ginger hair as the girl sobbed, occasionally glancing up at him.

To his astonishment, however, there was no animosity in her glances; if anything, he saw understanding there.

At the same time, he noticed that she kept looking down—and eventually, he realized that she had been looking at the hand he had snapped away from her sister.

His hand clenched into a fist, and he turned redder than ever, spinning on his heel towards the doorway.

Wait!

It was the older sister who had whisper-called to him, and he turned around, curious in spite of himself. She waved to him to come back, and when he paused at the invitation, she gestured at her younger sibling, who lay completely still and snored in her lap. At his surprised look, she smiled and covered her face to stifle laughter, some of her silver-blonde hair escaping its tight bounds and falling into her eyes.

He walked back towards her, and finally allowed his hands to relax a little at his sides as he took in her appearance, seeing her as if for the first time.

She patted the floor next to her until he took his seat, and pointed to the far wall of the gallery. She was trying to take you over there to see Joan, she murmured, and he leaned in closer to hear her better. She's Anna's favorite, because she looks so strong, like she isn't scared of anything.

She stared at the painting for a while, and the smile slipped from her lips. I wish I could be like her.

He stared at her for a while, and then looked away at a different wall, his hands knitting together in his lap. Me too.

She looked at him, and then down at his hands again. Why do you wear gloves?

His face grew hot again. Because I—I'm a prince. I'm supposed to.

Her head cocked to the side as she regarded him. But I'm a princess, and I don't have to wear them.

He glared at her. Well I guess people in Arendelle don't have any manners, do they?

She frowned. We have manners. But we don't wear those all the time. Her look was keen and probing at his obstinate silence. Do your mama and papa make you wear them?

His cheeks flushed until they were crimson. I just like wearing them, okay? And I don't have a mother.

He snapped the retort loud enough to wake the other princess from her slumber, and the young girl rubbed her eyes and the drool from her mouth, squinting to identify the culprit behind her untimely awakening. She matched her sister's frown with one of her own. Hey! Why is he still here?

The older servant, alarmed by the raised voices after a seeming period of calm, came over to mediate the dispute—but by then, the boy had risen from his seat in a huff, patting down his white jacket.

I want to go, he demanded, and the servant sighed, nodding.

All right, the man said, I'll take you back to your quarters. He gave the girls a scolding look. Your parents expect you to be on your best behavior for our guests while they're here, including for young Prince Hans.

The younger princess's frown grew. We have to keep playing with him?

Yes, Princess, the servant said. So please, be kind to him—both of you. I'm sure you would want the same, if you were in a strange land and didn't know anybody.

The older princess's gaze softened, and she bowed her head in acquiescence, making her sister do the same.

Yes, Kai. We will.

The boy watched them with suspicion, saying nothing, and then left.

They observed each other in the days that followed with the same cautious interest.

She continued to invite him to join the sisters' play despite her sibling's protestations, and he remained defiant in his refusal to participate: sitting or standing a ways away, reading a book or just staring at the ceiling, pretending that he wasn't paying attention to their games and chatter.

It was not until the third day of forced interactions that he heard something which peaked his interest, and he struggled not to move from his reclined position on the chaise in the library, a book covering his face. He shifted his head back just enough for the book to dip below his eyes, which he directed through half-shut lids at the sisters in the corner of the room opposite from him.

Do the magic, Elsa, he heard the younger one plead. She grabbed at her sister's dress. Please?

Not while he's here, Anna, the older sister hissed, nodding over at him. Mama and Papa don't allow it in front of strangers.

But he's sleeping, the younger one said, and the boy quickly shut his eyes so he would not be found out. He can't see it. And Kai's gone too.

The older sister continued to protest, and the younger to whine, until finally the elder sighed and relented. The younger sister squealed.

So pretty! she exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight until her sister issued a stern shh! At the warning, the young girl put her hands over her mouth, giggling, but still loud enough to wake anyone from slumber.

At this, the boy finally reopened one eye to see what was happening—and soon after, both snapped open in shock, unable to pretend sleep any longer.

The older sister's hands circled one another in the air, and with each wave of her hand, sparkling snow and ice followed. It took the forms of whatever she imagined – bears, mountains, castles, crowns – and then whatever her younger sister desired, from deer to rabbits to squirrels. At length, she conjured enough snow for the two sisters to build a rudimentary snowman, and they giggled after they put together its body, realizing they had no carrot for the nose nor coal for the eyes.

I can make them out of ice, the older sister said, beginning to create the missing pieces.

It's not the same, the younger sister complained, swatting her sibling's arm down so that the creation was stopped midway.

As she did, her older sister frowned, glancing up at the boy; seeing his stunned features, she recoiled and fell back onto the snowman, its body collapsing beneath her weight. The younger girl shrieked at the destruction and started to cry, but the older one merely continued to stare at the boy in horror, rivulets of ice running out from under her shaking hands across the floor towards him.

He jumped up at the sight, and as he did, the book that had laid atop his chest fell to the floor with a thump and was quickly encased by her ice, frozen to the ground.

He stared down at it, and then back up at her with alarm, backing away from the encroaching ice.

Tears streamed from the terrified eyes of the older girl. Please don't tell anyone, she begged, her sobs breaking up her words. Please, Hans.

He swallowed, his fists clenching—but said nothing again, and fled the room.

He holed himself up in his room for the rest of the day, refusing meals and visitors, staring gloomily out the window at the fjord. He watched as the water turned from light to a deep, dark blue when day gave way to night, unable to sleep, his knees curled up against his chest.

When the moon was high in the evening sky, a soft knock pattered against his door.

He glanced at it in confusion, and then irritation, as the knocking did not subside despite his silence.

Go away, he hissed finally, holding his knees even tighter to him. I'm sleeping.

Hans, a familiar voice whispered loud enough so he could hear, it's me, Elsa. Please open the door.

He frowned. No, he said. I don't want to see you.

But I need to talk to you, the voice insisted. Please?

Despite his inclination to sit still and hope she would leave, he found his legs uncurling, and his feet padding towards the door. After a pause, his shoulders sunk down.

Fine, he said. But only for a minute.

The door creaked a little as he opened it, and she quickly and quietly passed through. He looked out in the hallway once she was inside, and was surprised – if not also relieved – to find no guards stationed there.

He greeted her with apprehension as he closed the door. What do you want? he asked, crossing his arms.

She stood in a pool of moonlight in the center of the room, looking down, her hands behind her back.

I just… she trailed off, and then looked up at him nervously. I'm scared you're going to tell people about my magic.

His shoulders raised to his ears, tense. And why shouldn't I? It's… not natural, he judged. Princesses shouldn't have magic like that.

She embraced herself as tears pricked at her eyes again, and she began to cry. I know, she whispered, sniffling, but I don't know how to make it stop, and… She looked up at him with despair. You have to keep it a secret. Please. A light snowfall cascaded down around them, and the boy looked around with wonder at the sight. Mama and Papa would be so upset if they found out you've seen it.

His frown wilted at her plea, and his arms fell to his sides. He looked down at his hands, and breathed; the snowflakes fell into his hair all the while, cooling his skin.

Fine. I won't tell anyone.

As quickly as it had arrived, the snow dissipated, and the girl held out her bare hand to him.

He stared at it, bemused, until she remarked: We have to shake hands on it. That's what Papa and the other men do, when they make promises to each other.

He hesitated for another moment, looking down at his hand, and then at hers; at length, he reached his up towards the girl, and grasped her hand in his own.

As they shook on it, he noticed her staring at his hand, and realized that even through the glove, it was very warm.

The next few times they were brought together, he did not reject her requests to join the sisters' company.

He remained stubborn in his refusal to engage in any activities he deemed too childish or girlish – playing with dolls and stuffed animals, for example – but he acquiesced to other games involving wordplay, or building great castles from blocks and whatever pieces they could all collect from around the room.

The younger girl had forgotten her dislike of the boy – deeming him trustworthy after her sister had informed her of his promise and subsequent handshake – and returned to her original state of inquisitiveness, though he rarely answered her questions. At her older sister's request, the girl was more careful in approaching him, and no longer attempted to touch his red hair, or the numerous freckles dotting his cheeks, without express permission from him to do so.

The boy, likewise, grew more comfortable in the sisters' presence, and even began to look forward to their prearranged play dates—though he was circumspect in not giving the appearance of this to them. He often rolled his eyes at their remarks or games, though these looks were taken less and less to heart by the girls as they grew used to his moodiness.

By the second week of his stay, the younger one even managed to cajole him into reading to them.

I wanna hear a story, she whined, tugging a little at his jacket sleeve—something which would have annoyed him to no end a week before, but now produced no reaction. Please, Hans. Tell us a story like Mama does.

He frowned at the comparison, but at her large and pleading eyes – and with an equally interested, if more restrained look from her older sister – he begrudgingly agreed to it.

Fine, he muttered, rising from his reclined position on the grass of the gardens. He plucked the book he had been reading and placed it in front of him, clearing his throat before he began. "How the People shakes itself, as if it had one life; and, in thousand-voiced rumour, announces that it is awake, suddenly out of long-death sleep, and will thenceforth sleep no more! The long looked-for has come at last; wondrous news, of Victory, Deliverance, Enfranchi—"

That's boring! the younger girl exclaimed, pursing her lips. I don't like it. Tell us another story.

His frown returned at the remark, and he shut the book loudly for effect. It's not boring, he retorted, and turned his nose up in the air. It's history.

Well it's booooring, she repeated, crossing her arms. The boy rolled his eyes and then plopped down onto his back again, placing his hands under his head.

I don't have any other book to read, he said matter-of-factly, and shrugged, closing his eyes.

Don't you know any other stories? Ones that aren't in books?

The voice of the older sister caught his attention, and he opened one eye to look at her. Plenty, he said, prideful. But I guess you'd both think they were pretty boring, right?

Tell us, and we'll see, she replied with a mischievous smile.

He paused, taking his time to draw their interest; finally, he turned over to lay on his side, propping himself up with an elbow. He rustled through the blades of grass beneath him with a gloved hand, looking at them with uncertainty, and exhaled.

Once upon a time, he started again, there was a boy who could create fire.

Like the way I— the older sister interrupted, continuing more quietly: Like the way I can make ice and snow?

Yes, like that, he replied, his cheeks pinking. His answer made her eyes widen, and suddenly, he had both sisters' rapt attention. He swallowed. He could make bears and lions and big castles out of fire, and even make them look like they were moving in the air.

Like you, Elsa! the younger girl squeaked, giggling as he raised one hand to mimic this ability. The sisters' eyes followed it, wide and entranced as they imagined what such power might look like.

His power made him different than all his brothers, he continued, his hand dropping, and they teased him for it, saying he was weird and would bring bad luck to the family.

That's so mean, the younger girl complained, looking put out. I like his powers.

The older girl said nothing, and glanced down at her hands with some discomfort.

The boy liked his powers, too, he nodded, but the way his brothers talked about them made him feel bad. And as he got older, his powers got stronger and harder to control. He paused to clench his fists, tearing up grass without realizing it. His brothers stopped playing with him. Sometimes, they wouldn't even talk to him, and pretended that he didn't exist.

They sound horrible, the older girl said, her brow furrowed with concern. Brothers should be nice to each other.

Yeah! the younger sister agreed, nodding and frowning. They're so mean.

They were scared, the boy explained, though without much conviction. He tried to stop using his powers so they would play with him again, but his fire was too strong, and they were afraid it would hurt them.

The older girl's head dropped to her chest as she stared at her hands.

He noticed, but went on anyway. So his parents told him couldn't use his powers anymore, and they made him special gloves that wouldn't let his fire hurt anyone ever again.

There was a silent spell following this part of the story, until the older girl asked, in just above a whisper: Did they work?

He swallowed again, his face tight and flushed, and rolled onto his back once more. No, he said. The boy's fire burned through the gloves, and he was so upset from being lonely and scared all the time that his fire spread and burnt down everything else. His expression was hard and stern as he stared at the clouds above. The End.

The younger girl blinked in disbelief. What? she asked. What about the rest of it?

That's the whole story, he replied.

But what happened to him, after everything burnt down? The older one asked, crawling over until she was arching over him, blocking his view of the sky. Did he escape? Where did he go?

I don't know! the boy snapped, making the girl recoil. That's just how it ends, okay? He rolled over onto his other side, facing away from the sisters. Now leave me alone. I want to sleep.

The older girl scowled as the younger one pouted, complaining as her sister dragged her away from him towards the other end of the garden.

The boy shut his eyes tight where he lay, and buried his face in his hands.

The next time they saw each other was also the last time they would meet for a long, long while.

He had been withdrawn in the days following the story, alternating between despondency and short-temperedness with the sisters when they implored him to join their games. He was intolerant of their efforts to cheer his spirits, determined to stay in the furthest corner he could from them and only moving when pressured to by the sisters' ever-watchful servant.

By the time he had started to come out of his dark spell, he was informed by his nursemaid that they were scheduled to depart the following morning. He would be given a perfunctory audience with the King, Queen, and their daughters, and then he would be gone.

And so it was on the morning of his departure that the boy found himself face to face with the sisters he had, by turns, spurned and accepted, their parents standing behind them as during their first meeting. As the King and Queen spoke to his father and brothers, who stood a foot away from him, the two girls' large blue eyes were trained on him, hardly even blinking.

His palms sweated inside of his gloves, and he looked unnerved by their fixated stares. At length, the adults' conversation ended, hands were shook, bows made, and his father, brothers, and their servants all began to make their way towards the ship.

The boy followed after giving a brief bow to the other family, and though he wanted to, he didn't turn around to look at them again—not even as he heard the little one start to cry.

Wait!

The voice of the older sister broke through his resolve, and he could not help his head from turning to see her bounding up the gangplank to him, catching hold of one of his hands.

Hans, she breathed out after reaching him, panting. I need you to—I want you to tell me—

The shouts of her parents and servants faded into the background as she pressed his hand, drawing nearer to him. He listened harder than he had to anything else in his life, leaning towards her.

How does it end? The story with the boy who can make fire?

He was startled to see tears, and even fear, in her eyes as she spoke, and added: I need to know—was he okay? Or did he keep hurting people?

The boy opened his mouth to reply, dumbfounded; but after a pause, he smiled sadly at her, and squeezed her hand back. He was okay, he told her. He escaped, and went north, and became a King of another land. He never hurt anyone ever again.

She did not look convinced. Are you sure that's how it ends, Hans?

His smile started to slip at that, but before he could attempt to assuage her concerns – before he could tell her yes, Elsa, that's how it ends – her trusted servant caught up to them, exhaling loudly as he placed a hand on the girl's shoulder.

Your Highness, you really mustn't do such things, he chided her. You know the young prince has to go.

She pouted. I know, but…

While she debated with the servant, the boy's nursemaid roughly dragged him up the gangplank onto the ship, forcing him to let go of the girl's hand. As he did, she looked up at him with consternation, and then with sorrow as he stared down at her from the ship's railing, his eyes betraying his confusion and upset at their hurried parting.

She cupped her hands together for a moment, and then blew something out of them in his direction as she looked up at him again, smiling.

Goodbye, Hans!

He followed the trail of whatever it was that she had sent to him, barely making it out in the air against a light blue sky and piercing sunlight, and caught it with both hands. Looking down, he opened them and – to his wonder – found one of her perfect ice creations in the shape of a flame in his palms.

The boy looked up, his smile matching the one the girl had worn, intending to say goodbye back—but as he raised his hand to wave to her, he felt an odd dampness on his gloves, causing him to look down again.

It's gone, he said in just above a whisper, looking around him with dismay. He thought, perhaps, that he had dropped the flame of ice somewhere close by, or that one of his brothers or the nursemaid had taken it from him. After a while spent searching, however, his attention was brought back to his hands—those same hands which had caught the flame not long ago, and held it with such reverence.

The dampness of his gloves against his skin felt worse than ever, and he sunk to his knees on the floorboards, clutching at the bars of the railing as tears flowed down his freckled cheeks.

I'm sorry, Elsa, he murmured, and stared out at the dock, realizing that the ship had set sail, and the two sisters were already well out of sight. His small body was wracked with sobs.

I'm sorry.