Author's Note: Thanks for all the kind comments and thoughtful observations. Glad the reunion between Hans and Elsa had a nice twist on what some of you were expecting. Consider this chapter a continuation of the last one; my apologies again for the later-than-normal delivery.

As always, you'll find some excellent fanart for this fic on my tumblr under the tag #WintersEndFrozen.

Read previous chapters of Winter's End

Chapter 11: The Intruder

Elsa lost track of time as she stood on the balcony outside of the ballroom, staring out at the wide expanse of the capitol from her vantage point up on the hill where the palace was so prominently perched.

It's funny how some distance makes everything seem . . . small.

The castle in Arendelle was so close to the surrounding town—just a bridge separating her from them—that standing there, so high above the public of the Southern Isles, made her feel uneasy by comparison.

(Made her feel as if she should think that she were somehow better than them.)

And I'm not—I'm not at all.

And that, naturally, made her think of him—of how he had stood there, absurdly dressed in that servant's uniform, staring at her so boldly from across the room, and of how perverse it was that he didn't seem sorry in the slightest for what he'd done, not even after a whole year spent, supposedly, in hard labour—and her entire body stiffened visibly as she unwittingly coated the balcony railing in a layer of frost.

Upon noticing this, however, she sucked in a deep breath, and then exhaled; as she did, the frost faded away again, leaving the stone railing just as dry as before (but perhaps slightly colder).

She couldn't afford to upset anyone at court with her powers, be it through merely mentioning them or, heaven forbid, using them—nor did she really want to use them if she could help it, since she had already attracted enough attention as it was.

Luckily, it was just her there at the moment, late in the evening. Many of the guests, she guessed, had already left after having their fill of wine, and food, and drama; and besides, most of them had had the sense to leave her alone after her little "reunion" with the traitor prince (or at least were dissuaded from following her outside with one or two harsh looks from Finn and Erik).

It was slightly absurd, she supposed, that the encounter between them had been as short as it was, considering the severity of his crimes and the confrontation she'd been expecting (which, admittedly, had been far more dramatic and prolonged in her imagination). But, seeing as she had been so caught off-guard by the way in which they were "reintroduced," she wouldn't have been able to stand the sight of him for much longer than she already had by the time she walked out.

She was still too confused, after all, by everything that had happened—and, more than that, irritated with the apparent mastermind behind the evening's "entertainment."

Therese . . . what were you thinking?

The Queen had bestowed a peculiarly admiring gaze upon Elsa as the young woman had turned her back on the "visitor" to the ball, seeming to approve of her words and actions. And though Elsa perhaps should've taken this gaze as a positive—a compliment, even, on how well she'd conducted herself in front of a man who, until recently, had terrified her—it only made her frown when she remembered it.

Why didn't she tell me he was already there?

That question had been playing on her mind since she'd stalked out of the ballroom, and though she had her theories, none provided particularly satisfying explanations.

She wanted to embarrass him.

Well, that was obvious enough from the way he was dressed, she thought, and rolled her eyes.

She wanted me to find him on my own.

Her brow furrowed. But why?

Her lips set thinly, and she glowered.

She wanted to test me.

It didn't seem that far-fetched, when she really thought about it. After all, this was the same woman who'd sent her youngest son into exile without a second's hesitation, and then brought him back to court only to put him in a ridiculous costume, probably just to see how he would react.

It would seem to follow, then, that forcing Elsa to find him and confront him there, in the back of the room, observing everything around him with those keen, green eyes—her eyes—was business as usual to the Queen of the Southern Isles, and was just another means by which she could sniff out the strong from the weak.

I guess I came out strong, by her estimation.

This knowledge hardly reassured her, since she had the feeling that Therese's definition of "strength" was not exactly the same as her own.

No . . . hers is strength through force. A force of will.

There was no love, or beauty, or empathy in that kind of "strength," Elsa thought—only a hardness that demanded respect, whether it was deserved or not.

I don't want to be strong like that.

"Oh, Elsa. You're still out here?"

She froze at the sound of the Queen's voice, and reluctantly turned around to greet her.

"Yes, sorry. I just had to—to clear my head for a while, that's all."

Elsa didn't smile as she might have the day before, not having the energy for it—nor, really, the patience to put up a front when she actually did have a reason to appear annoyed.

Therese nodded at this, and joined her by the railing, looking unexpectedly contrite. "Don't apologise—that's perfectly understandable. Really, I should be the one to apologise for springing him onto you like that." She sighed, and tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "It was really meant more as further punishment for him than anything else, I assure you."

Elsa frowned at the apology, her hands tensing. "I understand that, but . . . I still wish you had told me in advance. It would've," she swallowed slowly, "been nice to know."

The older woman's eyes locked on her then, and Elsa just managed to keep herself from shrinking under them—but, to her surprise, a gleam of amusement ran across her irises.

"I know," Therese admitted with a small smirk, "but you handled it marvellously all the same, wouldn't you agree?"

Elsa reddened at this—whether because the queen's smirk reminded her of his or because, in some strange, twisted way, she actually did agree, she didn't want to say—and her fingers intertwined in embarrassment.

"I'd thought about what I would say to him for a long time now," she said quietly, her cheeks still pink, "and what he might say back to me, but . . ." She paused, and her fingers were itching to be bare again. "I'm not sure I ever expected that."

Therese laughed a little despite Elsa's seriousness. "Nor did he expect you to stand so tall and speak as strongly as you did, from the looks of it," she returned, smiling widely as the young queen blinked, taken aback. "All the better, I say—now he knows not to underestimate you."

Elsa's lips pursed as she distractedly played with the embroidered, silver edge of her dress' collar.

There's that word again—strong.

She brushed it off with some effort, her nose wrinkling. "But he—he didn't seem sorry at all. For any of it."

The Queen leaned on the railing, her hands in her lap, and her smile faded as she regarded Elsa's apprehensive expression. "He might not be," she replied, sighing. "But, knowing him . . . I'd say he's just putting on an act." She rested a weary hand to her forehead, frowning. "He's always been too prideful, and childish, to admit when he's done wrong."

It was odd, she thought, hearing Therese speak about him as if he were her son and not a stranger—it was the first time, she realised, that she'd done so since Elsa had arrived.

"So . . . there's no chance of him being openly apologetic, then?" Elsa ventured, her brow rising.

Therese shrugged, though a grin tugged at her lips. "After a few weeks of decent food, a bed to sleep in, and clothes that actually fit? He might even be thanking you before long."

Elsa bit her lip to keep it from turning down—whatever small moment of motherliness she'd witnessed was obviously gone—and she breathed lightly through her nose, her brows furrowing sceptically.

"I somehow doubt that," she remarked, and turned her eyes back to the dim lights of the capitol.

Therese followed the look over her own shoulder, pausing. "You must miss Arendelle," she observed faintly, seeing Elsa's tired, wistful expression.

The young queen blushed a bit, looking down at her hands. "It's only been a few days," she said, embarrassed.

Therese smiled patiently, turning around to stare out at the expanse of her kingdom. "A few days can seem like a lifetime when you're not used to being away from home," she said gently. "Admittedly, I don't travel much myself, because of that—I prefer being here, with them."

She gestured towards the rows of little, crowded houses on this point, and Elsa felt her cheeks grow hotter.

She was just so . . . familiar with all the commoners.

In retrospect, her comment to Leif about Therese had sounded so elitist, and horrible, that she wondered how it had come out of her mouth in the first place. Thinking on it, she placed at least part of the blame on her adviser himself, since he'd never been overly fond of interacting with everyday people, and certainly never expressed much approval during Council meetings of her attempts to bridge the gap between herself and them.

(She remembered in particular how he'd droned on and on about her impulsive decision to create an ice rink a few months after the Thaw in the castle's front courtyard, objecting to, among other things, the lack of safety measures associated with the "stunt" and the "unseemliness" of the Queen of Arendelle participating in such "frivolities.")

"Don't think that my relationship with them is the norm," Therese interrupted her thoughts with a small grin. "I'm well aware of how . . . unusual it must seem."

Elsa bit her lip. "But I—I like that you're so close with them," she admitted. "I try to be, too, but—sometimes it's difficult," she continued vaguely, her forehead scrunching. "And I don't get to see them as often as I would like."

Therese nodded sympathetically. "It's always that way, at first," she agreed, dragging her fingertips lightly along the railing. "Just . . . give it time, and you'll do well," she said, and there was a note of confidence in her tone that surprised her companion. "Patience is an asset, Elsa. Don't ever lose it."

Patience.

The word somehow brought to mind his image again—his patient eyes, waiting, watching her from the back of the room—and she had to swallow the scowl that threatened to overtake her features.

Don't ever lose it.

Elsa found herself pondering on the exchange later, sitting at her desk, drumming her still-gloved fingers along the surface. She was purposely looking away from the mirror as Gerda tugged the pink ribbon gently from her hair, and placed her crown in its velvet-lined box on a nearby dresser.

I'd say he's just putting on an act.

The other girls were tidying up the room, though Marianne had left already carrying the huge, heavy pink gown the young queen had worn. Although it was, indeed, a beautiful dress—perhaps the nicest she had worn in a long while, as Gerda had insisted that she save it for just such a special occasion as this—she felt relieved to be free from it. Her silk chemise and cream-coloured night robe that she wore overtop then were, by comparison, practically weightless.

He knows not to underestimate you.

Her tongue clicked in her mouth absentmindedly, and Gerda's hands fidgeted over her hair nervously at the sound. "Is something the matter, Your Majesty?"

Elsa blinked, and then blushed sheepishly, shaking her head. "No—nothing, Gerda," she murmured, looking at the woman in the mirror. "I was just . . . thinking about something."

Patience is an asset, Elsa.

The older woman nodded, and then sighed. "Well, there's a lot to think about, now that he's back."

Her lips twitched with a deep frown at the comment, but she covered her mouth so her lady-in-waiting wouldn't see it. Nonetheless, the continued fussing taking place on her head only served as an irritant then, and so she turned around, attempting a gentle look.

"Gerda, if you don't mind . . . I'm really so tired," she began, and luckily, she didn't have to affect her weariness. "And I'm sure you and the girls are, too. Why don't you go back and get some sleep? I can take care of the rest."

Gerda hesitated, as she always did, for a few seconds; then, she relented, sighing deeply again, and placed whatever pins she had managed to remove from the queen's white hair into a small, round box on the desk.

"As you wish, Queen Elsa," she obeyed, curtsying, and snapped her fingers at the other girls. They promptly paused in their work, exchanging curious glances—but, seeing their queen's wan smile, they curtsied in understanding, and followed Gerda out the door.

When it shut, and the room was silent again, Elsa exhaled—deeply.

He might even be thanking you before long.

She snorted as she finally freed her hands from the gloves and then continued where Gerda had left off with her hair, though her fingers worked at a much slower pace.

As if he would ever thank me for anything . . . not that he shouldn't, she thought to herself with a slightly upturned nose, since I did change his sentence.

Considering how he had acted towards her, however—his brash words, his knowing smirk, and the way he had looked over her figure as she'd walked over to him, his green eyes practically drinking her in—she wondered if being in exile had actually had the intended effect on him at all.

She flushed in anger at the memory, pushing it from her mind as she forced her fingers to move faster, remove the pins quicker—anything to speed up the process of getting into bed, where at least she had a chance of falling asleep.

Elsa sighed a little when she felt her hair loosen as the last of the pins came out, and she dropped them in the same container as before, pulling her quickly-unwinding braid over her shoulder and running her fingers gently through her wavy tendrils.

You handled it marvellously, Elsa.

The Queen's words almost made her smile—almost—until she heard a strange, soft patter on the carpet behind her, and a familiar, smooth voice with it.

"You really should wear your hair down more often, Your Majesty. It suits you."

She didn't turn around, at first; she didn't need to, after all, to freeze the entire room in an instant.

She wasn't surprised, when she finally looked into the mirror, to see him lying behind her on the formerly carpeted room of the floor—now an ice rink—since she'd heard the thud and grunt accompanying his fall.

Even so, just seeing him there, in her room—no, his room—was enough to make her eyes flare up in indignation and fear all over again, and she stood from her chair with a piercing glare, crossing her arms protectively over herself.

"What—what are you doing here?" she hissed as he fumbled to get up again, just managing to get into a kneeling position before her hands instinctively lashed out, locking his legs and arms to the ground with chains of ice.

He grimaced at the sudden pull of the restraints on his limbs, though his lips quickly slipped into a smirk—a smirk!—as he adjusted to his new conditions.

"Nice to see you again too, Queen Elsa," he quipped, and she merely scowled in return.

"I don't know how you got in here, or why you're here," she snapped, her arms tightly crossed as she strode to the door, "but I'm sure that my men would be happy to escort you out."

He tutted at her with glowing irises. "Oh—I wouldn't do that if I were you."

She paused mid-step, her hand on the doorknob—but her head whipped around, and she sent him her fiercest look, her teeth grit together.

"And why is that?"

He rested back on his haunches for a moment, and that horrible, leering expression crawled over his features again. "Think about it, Your Majesty—you, the visiting queen, discovered alone at night in your bedchambers, wearing that," he paused for effect, staring for far too long at her robe and the chemise peeking out from underneath, "with the traitor Prince Hans who tried to kill you and usurp your throne?"

She glowered at him, wrapping her robe tighter around herself. "I'll just tell them you snuck in while I was sleeping."

He clucked disapprovingly. "Your guardsmen, of course, would believe your story, and your virtue—but everyone else?" He raised a brow, gazing at her knowingly. "After raising such a fuss at court of requesting my presence . . . if they even caught a whiff of a rumour now, your reputation would be totally destroyed here within a matter of days, if not hours—and that's not to mention how the tale might be received back home."

She didn't want to listen to him—or, more correctly, she found his smooth voice too abhorrent to listen to as those poisonous words left his tongue, which, she guessed, was probably forked inside of his mouth—but her hand wasn't stiffly gripping the doorknob anymore.

—stupid, sideburny, no-good, lying, not-even-that-good-looking—

"Even if they dragged me off to the dungeons and declared me guilty, the rumours would still be there, Your Majesty—because those never go away," he continued after a moment, and she tried, and failed, to ignore how his eyes were glued to her face, to her hands, to any part of her that might give away how she really felt in that moment.

He leaned back against the side of the bed, and his grin grew. "But I don't have to tell you that, do I? After all, you're the Snow Queen of Arendelle."

Practically a legend.

Her arms constricted painfully against her lightly-clothed figure, and she turned away from the door entirely—away from him.

Monster.

Her hands clenched as they gripped her biceps, and the beginnings of a powerful headache were forming in her skull.

You can't run from this, Elsa.

Her brow knitted at that line—did he say that?—but she couldn't bring herself to face him.

"How did you get in here?" she asked quietly, though the agitation in her voice was unmistakable.

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes behind her. "Well, this was my room, once, Queen Elsa," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

She scowled, finally looking at him again. "Just answer the question, Hans."

His lip quirked up at her irritation, and he rolled his shoulders, obviously uncomfortable in his current restraints. "Being the youngest of this delightful horde of princes had its advantages growing up," he said dryly, glancing about the room. "Mainly that I got to know my way around the palace pretty well, over the years."

He stared at her pointedly. "Including all the ways to get in and out of this room."

Her nostrils flared as she spoke. "And including all the ways to get in and out of the servants' quarters unseen, I suppose?"

An amused smile spread across his lips. "Very good, Your Majesty," he taunted her, deepening her scowl. "Yes—that's right. Not that it was particularly difficult in the first place, though, since Fredrik's men are about as useful as trained monkeys when it comes to this sort of thing."

At the dark look she cast him, he glanced down at the icy bonds that held him, and back up at her. She caught the glance, her eyes narrowing, and the room grew even colder than it already was, making him shiver.

"If you think I'm going to remove those for even one second, you're sorely mistaken," she spat, and he stretched his back a little against the bed, trying not to shudder again from the lowering temperature.

Though I'm sure he wants to, she mused, observing his current attire—nothing more than a pair of black breeches and a light brown tunic on top—but she stopped herself from automatically warming the room out of some distant feeling of sympathy for him.

Elsa's nose scrunched up. "Anyway, why come here, of all places, if you 'know your way around the palace' so well, as you said?" Her arms relaxed a little, though they did not uncross entirely. "Couldn't you have just escaped altogether by now?"

His body was tense as he fought off the cold, though this didn't stop him from looking mildly exasperated by her query. "And go where, exactly? The palace is one thing—I know where all the guards are posted, when they rotate, when they fall asleep at their posts—but outside? In the city? At the port?" He scoffed at the notion, a visible chill running over his skin. "Even if I did manage to get off Strande—which is highly unlikely—where would I go? Odens? Corona? Arendelle?"

He chuckled coldly, and the sound made even her shiver involuntarily.

"My reputation precedes me, Queen Elsa, not unlike yours—except that I'm not a beautiful queen with ice powers inspiring fear and awe everywhere I go." He sighed. "Besides, even if the courtiers don't recognise me, the guards certainly will—Mother will have made sure of that," he continued, his nose wrinkling and his eyes glowing with caution. "And once the Queen has you in her grasp . . . well, let's just say she won't let go without a fight."

She bit her lip at this justification, unsure of whether to be more irritated by the fact that she had been called "beautiful" by a man who once tried to slice her open with a longsword, or to be slightly anxious at his last pronouncement.

She settled on the first, and her mouth curled unpleasantly at him as a result.

"You didn't answer my question, again."

He looked up at her curiously, and she noted, absently, that the temperature in the room had stabilised.

"Oh? And what was that?"

Her brow twitched. "Why are you here, Hans?"

He leaned back, making a small sound of understanding. "Ah, right. That."

He paused—too long, and too dramatically, for her liking—but before she could snap at him to get to the point, he went on, gazing at the canopy of the bed above him.

"Well, I missed the old room, for one thing," he mused to himself, and then frowned. "Though I can hardly say it's my room anymore, what with all the tacky new furnishings they've put in it."

He stared in particular at the snowflake-embroidered throw as he said this, making Elsa's skin burn in annoyance—but then he continued, and whatever snarling comment she had been planning to throw at him died on her pale lips.

"But then, when I heard that our guest of honour would be staying here, well," he grinned, and his emerald eyes shined as they met hers again, "I couldn't resist the temptation to come and see it for myself."

She couldn't decide which was worse—his explanation, or that smug look on his face—but she settled on the former for the sake of getting him out of there as soon as possible.

"That's hardly a good reason to intrude where you're not wanted—and where you're not supposed to be."

He shrugged at that, and his shoulders rolled again, stiffer than earlier. "And here I thought you'd be eager to freely speak your mind—now that we're alone, that is," he remarked flippantly, and smiled wide enough to cause her blood to boil."You didn't seem like you were finished, earlier; I can imagine, after a year, that you would have more to say to me than just that."

Her face was hot at this point, though snow began to fall over her head, and around the room. Correct as he may have been, she could hardly admit as much when she was too angry with him for simply being there to be able to summon from memory whatever long, convoluted speeches she had internally prepared should the current situation ever arise.

Though I never could have imagined it taking place like this . . . or even the way it did in the ballroom.

"I don't have anything else to say to you," she lied.

He stared back sceptically. "I don't believe you."

The snow grew heavier, dusting his entire body, and she bore her teeth at him, seething.

"I don't care," she ground out contemptuously, her hair spilling all around her shoulders as it came completely undone from the wind. "I just want you to leave, now."

She was expecting another clever retort from him, since he always seemed to have one at the ready; but, to her surprise, he merely glanced at the chains of ice around him again, his expression cautious.

"As the Queen commands."

She pinked at that—somehow, paired with his calm look, it was a more effective reply than any of his pretentiously witty ones—and so she forced herself to swallow, and willed her heart to slow, and thought of Anna and a face full of truffles.

Anna.

Her eyes closed as she repeated her sister's name in her head, and her arms finally unclenched and came to rest at her sides, her fingers uncurling from their fists.

Anna.

A few minutes passed in this way, though it could have been a few hours—and all she could hear was her own heartbeat in her ears, her calm pulse in her wrists.

Anna.

When she finally opened her eyes again, the snow and ice were gone—

And so was Hans.