A/N: SO SORRY GUYS! Schoolwork really piled up on me, and fic kinda left to the wayside for a bit. As in uploading it, not writing it, cause ohhhhh did I write stuff.

Suffice

Part VI

Summary: In the aftermath of the infamous Arendelle snowstorm, the sodden kingdom quickly settles into a sort of normalcy. Or as normal as it could be with the Dragon Prince imprisoned in the royal dungeons and the Snow Queen herself secretly visiting him when her nightmares became too much. See, it's easy to love a monster when you're one yourself.

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Elsa stared at him for a bit after that.

Not sure whether it was unfamiliarity or just plain strangeness that kept her eyes fixed, caught by the way his breath would catch when she pressed her fingers close to his brow, she let him take his comfort from her cold. His eyelids flickered in a restless sleep, and Elsa wished she knew what he was dreaming about. It didn't seem to be very good.

Peculiar affair that the movement of his eyes in sleep was, Elsa almost completely forgot about the soup, remembering quite suddenly that she shouldn't let it cool any more. She realized soon after that there was no real chance of the soup 'cooling' in this dungeon.

The room was absolutely burning. To say the least. Her own skin was overcompensating just to be able to sit without flushing. Or melting—a genuine worry when your clothes were made of snow. Thankfully her dress was stronger than any normal ice, although she was forced to thicken it the longer she sat near him.

Any normal person would have long been forced out from this broiler of a cell.

Elsa bit her lips slightly as she pulled her hands away from his face. Almost delusional from fever at this point, he struggled to let them go. His strength was beastly. She tried again, swifter this time, and managed to dislodge him. His face after he realized they were gone was almost pitiful, lips twisting into agony, fingers scraping against the floor in search. She paused.

No one had ever missed her touch, not like that.

Something foreign swelled within her, making her chest clench painfully. Elsa shook it off and stood again, reaching for the makeshift bag of supplies. She supposed that it would be better to try the strongest medicine first, if he was anything like her. Her childhood, isolated as it was, had ensured that she'd rarely fallen ill. But when she had, it had never ended well.

No one had ever known what to do with her. As a small child, no regular medicine seemed to help. Trial and error never seemed an option either, since her powers were even more unwieldy when she was sick, lashing out at most anything and anyone. Most who got near found themselves frostbitten in minutes, even if they were only trying to change her sheets after she'd gotten sick all over them.

It had always been simpler to give her the strongest dose and hope it went away all the faster. Troll intervention was often necessary. She'd gotten ill a few times from it, but never too badly, and it was always a relief when the sickness passed.

Elsa could only hope that he was the same, however strange a thought that was.

Adjusting her skirts again this time, she laid the fragile jars on the seemingly unused cot. Her dress was too thin for this, and hardening it would make the entire thing unwieldy. Thinking hard, she changed its form. The ice shifted to her whim, forming trousers and a shirt, the ice thicker to compensate for the heat. Better.

He hadn't moved from his place on the floor, and she took this time to shift him into a more comfortable position. Eyeing the cot, she figured that he would prefer to wake up later atop it rather than passed out on the floor. Although that cot did seem to have a little burn and tear about it. Hmmm. She looked between him and the makeshift bed once again. It would help her piece of mind to just have him there. That way she could pretend that there wasn't a very likely chance of him burning through the stone floor as he writhed around in fever. The only obstacle now was in getting him there.

Elsa didn't fool herself thinking even with her powers she could lift a fully grown man, but she could manage to drag him a short distance. At least he wasn't built like Kristoff, or she would've given up right there. She huffed at the thought. Why did men find it necessary to be so bulky? It only made things harder.

Groaning, she held onto his shoulders and pulled. It would be easier to administer everything if he were sitting up.

Her only warning was a bitten off snarl.

He started at the cool touch of her hands on his neck, eyes snapping open, wild and green and oh, burning. Launching out with his fists flying, he struggled as if the devil itself had him in its clutches. One elbow managed to clip her stomach and she fell back with an oomph. Still shaky on his feet, he followed.

The crack of the wall against her skull was painful. Elsa went still and watched lights flicker before her eyes. That had hurt. A lot. Her body felt almost heavier now. Looking down, she noted that it might not be her body.

Well. That was a way of doing things.

Finding herself on the cot with a treacherous prince tangled around her, Elsa just signed and tried not to jostle him too badly as she sat up. Not that it seemed possible to even move him at this point, what with the death grip his arm had around her waist. She would have to do this the hard way—or the easy way, depending on how you looked at it.

With a flick of her hand, a gust of icy wild appeared and ghosted through the cell. Even in the heat, it held strong and she thanked it for that. It spun around the strange green vials, which looked uncannily like troll moss, and lifted them easily. They clanked together in the breeze.

She carefully plucked them the air, not wanting to break anything. The soup was easier, as it was nearer. Another wave of her hand and it gusted towards her. Elsa smiled. These powers did come in handy at times. Lifting the lid, she was pleased to note that there was already a ladle. Good. She had forgotten bowls.

Before anything else, she looked down again. He was still out, although the cheek he had pressed against her thigh was concerning. He was still far too warm.

Hands already iced over and ready, Elsa smoothed the hair around his face. It really was soft. His breathing began to even out. He had the beginnings of a beard growing around his jaw, scruffy and untamed. Elsa poked it once in curiosity before moving on. She traced the skin around his eyes, wondering if they were still in the draconic slits of green from previous.

He shuddered slightly as she brushed her thumb over the freckles on his cheeks. It was almost ridiculous. They were so like Anna's, like the freckles Elsa herself always wanted when she was younger. Freckles had always seemed so fun, something to count when you were bored and alone.

And now she did. Five…eight…ten…eleven…twelve…thir-

Another shiver. Oh, right. Elsa almost hit herself. This was not the time to get lost in childish memories. His hands clutched at the cool fabric of her shirt in the back, fingers almost digging into her sides. She resisted the urge to wriggle away from the strange heat of his body. She doubted he'd let her, first of all.

Second of all, this was a new feeling.

Warmth.

Things had to be very, very warm to make her feel it. Judging by the unfamiliar heat seeping through her makeshift pants, he was giving off enough to burn a regular person. Severely burn them.

Biting her lip, Elsa hoped hard that this was the first time he'd been like this. But a terrifying suspicion in the back of her mind whispered different.

With a sigh, Elsa ladled out as small a cup of soup as she could. He wouldn't be able to keep down more than that. She mixed in some of the medicine with it, knowing firsthand how vile the stuff was. Some of the cook's delicious food had always gone a long way in getting her to take it.

Lowering it to his face, she prodded his mouth open, pressing the warm metal ladle closer. He frowned and tried to move his head. Elsa held him still, a careful hand on the side of his face. As he protested again, she murmured a low reproach, "Come now…"

Finally, still looking pained, he began to drink.

The first gulp was sloppy, most of the soup ending up on the side of his mouth. The next was a little better, but only just. She massaged his throat with her free hand, trying to get him to swallow as much as he could.

Once the taste began to register, he took in more and more, until pot was nearly half gone. Elsa stifled a smirk. Now he had an appetite. Well, he shouldn't eat too much now. She doubted the guards would feed him for a while, not until she talked to them. The rest of the soup could be used when he returned to wakefulness and found himself more hungry than before. Yes, that would work quite well.

Waving her hand again, she send the jars and pot flying off the bed. Only the smallest noise signaled their touching down on the floor. It was, however, more than enough.

The prince's eyes flickered open. Elsa went very still.

They opened and closed, dazed and obviously sickly. His lips curled into a frown, eyebrows knitting together in something close to pain.

"I'm sorry."

As he groaned again, slow and dazed seconds after his exhaled exaltation, Elsa found herself blinking in confusion. Did he just—

A rough voice, but so, so young, "I-I didn't mean it, please—"

Something in her stomach churned. Despite herself, she licked her lips. Should she?

"Please. Please, I'm sorry," trailing off in the whimper of a boy who didn't even know what he was apologizing for.

She brushed the hair away from his face and said softly, "Prince? What are you talking about?"

He shuddered, right against her, cheek pressing against her lap. "My fault, always my fault."

"I," Elsa cut off, pursing her lips. Her chest was clenching again, whoops and whirls of confusion and strangeness zipping around. What was she supposed to do? To say? She fidgeted slightly as his arms tightened around her waist. She'd also never been this close to someone else, not since she was very, very young. It was an unsettling feeling.

But not bad, not exactly.

"I'm-I'm sorry," another strangled moan, one that would have never left his mouth if not for the fever. His head twisted so his cheek was pillowed against her thigh, the heat alarming. A shiver ran down her back. A temperature like that would burn a normal person. It simply unsettled her, in ways she wasn't sure how to handle.

"Prince—Hans," Elsa decided finally, brushing his head aside so that she could stare into his feverish, inhuman eyes. "Calm yourself, it's only a dream. Prince…"

His mouth twisted painfully, still lost in the nightmare. Something bitter grew inside Elsa, growing since the first conversation. No one should have to fear their sleeping mind. No one should apologize to ghosts.

No one should have to fear their own family.

So she placed a cool hand on his cheek, causing him to pause, and said, "It's alright, Hans. You're safe. You're not in the Southern Isles anymore and there's no need to apologize because I forgive you—"

The moment Elsa registered the words, she went very, very quiet.

Hans only sighed softly, as if releasing all of his regrets, and let his eyes close. He fell into a calm sleep moments later, head pillowed against her lap. His temperature felt remarkably lower now.

Which left Elsa to frantically push away any realization she had. She hadn't—she wouldn't. She had actually just forgiven the man the doing all this, no. She was—was just saying it to—but why had it just slipped out?

Her previous smile wiped itself off her face faster than she could breathe.

What was she doing?

Oh god, what was she doing?

She was going mad, monster of a woman whose mind was going the way of her soul. His weight in her lap was too heavy, her chest tight with guilt. He had tried to kill Anna. He had tried to take her kingdom. He had tried to ruin everything. He deserved—he deserved death for what he had tried to do, not her forgiveness!

As if feeling the change in her mood, annoyance flickered across his face. A noise of irritation made its way from his parted lips.

Elsa watched him. Her hand raised slowly, dangerous white shards forming on the tips of her fingers. The air around her cooled as she narrowed her eyes.

Hans felt the chill, ugly and unnatural as it was.

And he only sighed, turning his head and burrowing deeper in her lap, his warm brow strange pressed against her thigh. Another sigh, and the steam of his breath left her skin tingling across her knee. A patch on her pants melting, letting the air skirt over the open skin. Warm.

The ice around her hand flickered out of existence, all intent leaving her in a rush. Foreign pain began to clench in her breast, tight and unrelenting.

Nothing she did would be right, could ever be right.

It was with an iron will that she pulled away from him, nudging him off her lap. He resisted at first, but she refused to fall into this again. She gave a desperate shove and released her with a muted noise of loss.

Away from her, he seemed small again, a curled up figure on the same cot she slept on only days ago. She had to clench her fists at her sides to keep from reaching out when a flicker of pain traveled across his face. She clenched it so hard her palm screamed from the bite of her icy nails, reminded herself what the kingdom would think. What Anna would think.

Only when she felt the impulse fade did Elsa look around her. The walls were solid, yes, but parts seemed almost…melted. Nothing suggesting an escape attempt, but they were horrid to look at. Melted iron and smoldering stone. The floor was much the same, thick indents that almost looked like footsteps. The bed was a mess of scraps, torn and dirty sheets that seemed clawed apart. There were deeper scratches on the door, thin and dangerous. And in it all, a thick heat radiated from the room itself, clogging to the senses.

It was like standing in the belly of the beast.

Swallowing the thought, Elsa left the rest of the medicine and dregs of soup and hurried out the door, feeling like she'd trespassed somewhere where she really shouldn't have.

Her sides screamed from the exertion, but at least it was better than letting them tingle strangely from loss of touch.