Extended Summary/Info: A story of redemption, forgiveness, and coming to terms with the past and present, focusing majorly on Hans "of the Southern Isles" Westergard, taking place directly after Hans arrives back in the Southern Isles. Haunted by a horrific tragedy in his childhood, Hans despairingly attempts to seek forgiveness in hopes that he will forget along the journey. But the closer he gets to Elsa, the more the past comes to light. This beginning especially has a good deal of focus on family background, Hans' brothers and Hans himself so if you want more main characters you might want to wait for later chapters (Specifically, chapter 10).

Hans/Elsa pairing is later in the story. I'm going to lean with a T rating to be safe, though you shouldn't have to worry about most of it. Another minor note: This fic is a long one. Be prepared to be in it for a long haul! Please leave me a review if you like it, it means the world to me!

*For current updates/art/etc, visit the story's tumblr at sakumefrozenheartsdottumblrdotcom

-Prologue-

The journey had been long. Too long. Bumping and banging amidst supplies, his stomach churning from seasickness, Hans was all-too-ready to get off the ship and set foot on dry land once more. Hefted from the holding cell built into one of his father's best fleets, he blinked back the glaring brightness of the sun, prodded forward to disembark by two guards he previously had control over.

So close. I was so close.

"Move along, scum," one of the two burly guards growled as he shoved Hans the last few steps off the gangplank to sprawl onto the deck.

The sweet smell of summer flowers wafted through the breeze into his nose, familiar to him. Lilac. He knew the scent well as it was used by his mother more often than not for her perfumes. Though some small part of him was glad to be in familiar territory, glad to think of those he knew, most of his body quaked from the beckoning shadow of the castle in the latter day, looming ever closer to engulfing him. A gathering of people began to approach, smiles on their faces and bright expressions lighting their eyes, welcoming the youngest prince back from his excursion to the coronation. Perhaps they were hopeful, hopeful he would bring good news, good relations between the two kingdoms, unaware he had done the exact opposite. Apparently the word had not yet reached the Southern Isles of what had occurred in Arendelle, which was no surprise considering the distance between the two lands. It took two weeks alone to sail between the seas and reach Arendelle, and that was with constant fair weather. Therefore, no one yet knew.

He positioned himself with a tall stretch, trying to look as if he still maintained a shred of dignity. His hands moved to smooth down his hair and straighten the outer cuff folds of his suit. Dirty and mangled though it was from the journey, it served a valuable purpose, giving him a place to conceal his handcuffed hands away under the wrist folds of it to hide them from public eye.

"You may look like a prince, but you are a coward," hissed the main guard who'd accompanied Hans to Arendelle, his voice similar to a snake. "And soon all the kingdom will know of your treachery."

Hans ignored the man as much as possible, steadily keeping his gaze on the people before him and greeting those who crowded nearby to get a glimpse of the escorted prince with a regal nod. He may have been under custody of his own country's royal guards, but he would use the art of deception, which he was oh so good at, to make it appear as something else entirely. He would make it seem like security, like a typical train of protection for the youngest heir of the Southern Isles. No one would be the wiser.

He let the cool breeze in the midst of the warm sun soothe the ache of his wrists and body, wondering vaguely to himself what the journey might have felt like had the weather been poor, or, in the worst case, if there had been one of the dreaded storms which so often haunted the seas between Arendelle and the Southern Isles. On his journey to the coronation he'd encountered a brief shadow of one such storm and almost lost several members of the crew. He shuddered, glancing up to see the shadow of his parent's castle engulfing him, shutting out the sunlight and leaving him with the cool breeze against his tattered suit.

As he approached the gates, opened wide in what might have been welcome in another time, he settled his gaze on a line of soldiers, one in particular approaching. Taller than Hans by about a foot, he wore a brightly-colored suit of blue with purple trimming, lined in gold buttons. A series of medals dangled proudly from the left corner, just under the collar. The coloring was similar to Hans' own royal suit he'd worn to the coronation, purple and blue being the colors of the Southern Isles, blue for the oceans and purple for royalty. The soldier came to a stop and the two guards escorting Hans on either side saluted smartly.

"Sir," they echoed in perfect unison. Why, it was almost comical how much like clockwork they seemed, Hans mused to himself, unable to keep from smiling.

"At ease." The soldier's hair remained stiff even in the breeze which ruffled Hans' brown locks, probably locked in place by some kind of gel or spray, slicked back and stern as the man's posture. He stared at Hans for a few moments, his expression set firm as stone, unmoving, even his mustache still. Then, his eyes flickered to the handcuffs Hans had been unable to hide. He turned to the soldier at Hans' left. "Soldier, you will tell me why my brother is in custody."

The soldier seemed hesitant, but stepped forward, eyes focusing anywhere but on the man's stern gaze. "Sir, permission to speak privately?"

"Permission granted."

The soldier eased himself over to the commanding officer and leaned in toward his ear, speaking in low tones. Hans could only catch words, not complete phrases, but he heard enough to know what had been said. "Queen… conspiracy… murder."

The last word lingered far after the man had spoken it, said through the gaze his brother turned on him, the awe of horror in his slackening face. "Explain this."

Hans remained silent in defiance, gazing at his brother, the captain of the guard, second in command only to his father, the king.

"Explain this!" his brother bellowed, hand moving as if to strike him, but stopping inches away from his face, close enough so Hans could feel his breath, see the wide green of his eyes.

Hans parted his lips just long enough to murmur between grit teeth. "I will not."

His brother stared at him for a few moments with disbelief, and then snapped his head to the crowd amassing just behind the open doors. He waved to the guards standing stiffly. "Close the gates!" They quickly moved to obey the order and he turned to face Hans once more. The two siblings stared at each other in silent stand off until the deafening thud of the gates shut out all noise beyond them. "Hans. You will tell me now if this is a joke. I demand you tell me the truth."

Hans snorted through his nose. "Harald…" he regarded his brother with a smirk of defiance, one he'd learned to greet near all of his brothers with over the years. It was no use playing dumb anymore, especially when the crowd outside remained shut away from the family matters. "I think you know the truth."

His brother straightened again, exhaling, his head moving to shake from side to side, his hand going to his forehead, then running through his hair, though still not mussing it much. "I don't believe you would do something so… Hans, do you realize what you've done?"

What a stupid question it was. Hans knew exactly what he'd done. The only thing more irritating than answering was the fact he knew he'd be asked the same question a dozen more times in the next hour or so. Managing to keep a rein on his frustration, he kept a level gaze with Harald, something not many people managed. "I do." Funny how the same words he'd hoped to be saying to achieve his goals were not near the same context he'd hoped to be using them in.

"How could you do… I…"

Hans had never seen this brother at a loss for words. He took some satisfaction in that he'd been the one to accomplish it. Harald straightened and inhaled deeply through his nose.

"We must inform the king and queen of Hans' return. I will follow and announce him personally."

"So formal, Harald." Hans felt the butt of the spears pushing him forward, forcing him into a walk behind his elder sibling, who led the party. He'd never heard his brother refer to the king and queen as anything but the titles, perhaps due to his rigorous training leading up to his command of the army.

His brother did not dignify him with a response if he had heard, leading the party into the castle itself, a magnificent monument to the Southern Isles. It towered over the castle of Arendelle by at least fifty feet, the foundation older, but the additions above newer, flags of the colors flying high in the wind's breeze, shining in the descending sunlight. The castle of Arendelle had not needed much expansion, with two princesses taking rooms within and little cause for visitors, but with thirteen princes, the castle of the Southern Isles had often seen the need to expand, for the constant parties and balls were always an opportunity to show off to other lands. Hans climbed the stairs up with a growing chill running down his back, wondering vaguely if something Princess Anna had said really meant anything. He'd figured out some of the magic of the Frozen Heart and how to heal it because she'd simply told him everything he needed to know. Could she have passed on a curse to him? Given him a frozen heart by just claiming it was so?

He hardly noticed when the stones of the courtyards became smooth, turning to polished marble, then arriving before the golden-trimmed doors, swinging open wide.

His father sat on the throne to the left on his perspective, a taller seat with intricate details of waves and a ship on the very top, the gold embroidery almost too delicate to believe. The Southern Isles were famous for their trade exploits with other lands and the variety of goods they could offer, from fine silks and cloth to exquisite fruits, all thriving thanks to the king's careful overseers. The king was dressed in fine white silk and black leggings, his fur cape draped about his neck. His eyes were firm green, his hair a chestnut color of brown, Harald the spitting image of his father, apart from the facial hair, the king having a full beard and his brother only a thin mustache. Hans had, like many other brothers, inherited the same eyes and brown of hair. However, his facial features, long and thin, always led the people of the kingdom to claim him like his mother.

His queen rested beside her king, wearing a long gown of blue with imprints like an ocean, the seams of waves a lighter blue color and a purple cloak wrapped gently to drape her shoulders, her long red hair in a braid interwoven with jeweled pins to look like lilacs, her favorite flower. Immediately upon seeing Hans she rose from her seat, her feet pattering gracefully down the steps leading up to the thrones, her arms open wide.

"Hans! My son… you're back from the coronation…" She halted as Harald stepped before her, giving a stiff bow.

"My queen." He turned to face his father, giving a second bow. "My king." Addressing them both, he inhaled. "We must speak."

"Hans…" the queen turned her gaze on her youngest son, her face collapsing from joy into puzzlement, her eyes following the tatters of his suit to his cuffed wrists. "What's happened?"

Perhaps the Queen of Arendelle had managed to affect him in some way he could not explain, because in the fragile few moments of innocence he had left, Hans wanted nothing more than to embrace his mother. He wanted to hug her tightly and cling to whatever happiness she had at his return, because he knew that within the next few moments of explanation following, that happiness would never exist in the same way again. And as much as he wanted to be the one to tell her of his wrongs first, he could only listen as Harald relayed the message, cold and calculated as ever, and wish he wasn't standing behind his elder brother, frozen to the spot.