Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).
Author's Note: Finally, huh? We've reached the last and final chapter to tie everything down, for real. Who could have believed that this story was once just a concept without any plot whatsoever ― what if Hans had a daughter? What if the daughter had Elsa's power? What if that was Elsa's fault? ― until it became, well, this. Endings aren't always fun, but it had to be done.

Without further ado, I give you my last work for Blue Heiress, Green Eyes.

Musical Inspiration: "Flaws" by Bastille, and "Soldier" by Gavin DeGraw.


(Princess, we're making it. We're up to the point
of no return - I'm so glad I got to know you.)

He'd been here before. He recognised this hallway, this curtain. And then there was the door, with the mighty all-too-well insignia carved upon it. He used to stare at it for hours when he was a child, admiring it. He'd always liked this carpet.

"Walk with me, Hans." A rough voice said, and he looked up — suddenly he was so small, merely a child, he must have been, what, around seven? — and there was his father, almost young, wrinkles by his eyes, grey-tinted beard fell from his chin. He said, "How are you?"

And he looked around, searching for somebody — he didn't know who — before finally giving out his answer. His small hand grasped the old man's. His fingers were rough, he thought. It was solid. "I am well, Sire."

"Good." His old father nodded his head, and when Hans looked around, they weren't in the same, long hallway they were before — he was at the Royal garden now, his Grandmother's, the old Queen, sacred place. They named it after her. Grethe's Haven. A butterfly flew across his head, and it was a blue butterfly. The kind of blue he felt all too familiar with, but just couldn't name from where. "It's a beautiful place here."

"I think so too, Father." Hans addressed, agreeing.

"I'm sorry your Grandmother couldn't join us." The former King said, still wearing his crown. Hans used to adore it.

"That's fine, Your Majesty," he answered smoothly, confidently, as if the answer was there from the beginning, ready to roll over from his tongue. He'd never knew who the old Queen was — saw the portrait, learnt of her, sure — but she died a year after he was born, and that was that. But it's almost he could see it — if he squint his eyes hard enough, angled his head just perfectly — he'd see a figure too-far away from them, beaming. She was a beautiful woman. Rich, sandy blond hair and bright green eyes. The old Queen was the fairest maiden when she was in her youth, they told. She was, Hans agreed.

The former King hummed, the butterfly landing on his shoulder. "You've forgotten, Hans."

And he said, "No, I haven't, sir." Because there was nothing to remember.

You are a dream.

This was a dream, he decided, a few seconds later. It must be. Or it was not. There had been a telling that after you are dead, you will be send to judgement, so they could decide where you'll fit: hell, or heaven. He wondered if there was somewhere in between — where it's not completely peaceful, but not entirely torturing either — and thought if he'd fit there instead. But then, no, because he didn't believe in this.

"What do you believe in then, Hans?" His father asked again, and now they were sitting by the bench where the daisies bloomed and surrounded them, and the hill stretched too far, and it felt awfully like Southern Isles, except Southern Isles had forest, and hills were not forest. He also realised he was big again — old, and worn, and broken — like he's lived for a hundred years.

"I believe in strength," he answered, his voice wasn't meek, and it echoed only in his ears. "I used to believe in power."

"Power isn't everything." The former King told, and Hans didn't object.

"So they say," Hans drawled, and suddenly he was well aware of the bruise welling up on his abdomen. It didn't hurt though. But it made him wince still. And then: "I believe in Sofia."

"I believe in love." The former King said, and it's as if on cue, the familiar shrill of laughter filled the empty void, and among the beautiful meadow in front of him, came Sofia, and she was chased, there was a smile on her face, by the Queen. The Snow Queen. "She is beautiful, your daughter."

A dream, he confirmed. If it wasn't, he'd be chasing Sofia now, wrapped his arms around her and just lie there. And if possible, he'd make Elsa join. But he didn't move. Not even a single muscle. It's like he was entranced to sit there, just observing, but it felt safe. So, he figured it was safe.

"They've been waiting for you. Quite a while now." His father told, a gentle smile appeared on his old face, his eyes fixed on the scene where Elsa caught Sofia from behind, and she dipped her head down to plant a kiss on the four-year-old's forehead.

"I think they would be okay without me." They sure look happy now. And plus, he seemed to be okay with this. In fact, he was.

"It's not your time," The former King was suddenly kneeling down, his face close to his, and he realised he was back to being a boy — this time younger, maybe around five — and they were at the hallway, but it's like they've been there all this time. The Southern Isles insignia didn't change, and it caught his tiny eyes. "Look." The old King pointed out, a gentle smile on his face, at something behind him and Hans turned around.

Elsa was sitting at the large window, and she was reading a book. He couldn't see the title — he wondered momentarily if it was her father's journal — and he didn't exactly know how, but he was suddenly standing a few feet away from her, and he was a man again. She looked up. "Hans." She said his name like a prayer, with a kind smile.

"Here," she passed him something — perhaps it was a locket? — across the table, and he can't remember how they got here. Weren't they just by the window? This dream is weird. "Take it. Someone gave it to me... It's not really what I like to keep."

"Perhaps you shouldn't accept it in the first place," he suggested, but took the locket anyway. He examined it.

"Do you remember this locket?"

He lets a second passed. "My brother stabbed my arm with this when I was eleven." It wasn't a particularly deep injury — he remembered clearly of his brother's cries consisting of too-many I didn't meant to hurt him! and that locket sitting covered with splattered of his blood, on the table next to him, as his arm was patched up by his caretaker, Åse. Weird. How did this suddenly became his property? "I don't like it."

"I don't like it either," Elsa told, her fingers enveloping hers, and she finally took the locket back. "We could bury it away. Or throw it in the sea. Whichever."

He'd like that. "That would be nice, thank you."

"You're cold, Hans," she touched his forehead, brushed her hand over his hair and he leaned into it. This is a good dream, he decided. He usually didn't have dreams like this. It was always something terrible, or nothing at all. He'd like to wake up and remember this.

"Will you?" Elsa asked, and he opened his eyes up to her. "Will you remember this?"

"I want to," he whispered.

"I don't have good dreams too, Hans. Not always." She said, and smiled ruefully, pulling her hands back. "But maybe I can. Maybe we can, together."

He thought of this. "Would you like that?"

"You could take me sailing sometimes." She hummed happily, and then her fingers are clasping with his, across the table, and she'd changed her hair-do — it was in the bun when he'd first saw her, five years ago — and there's a glint to her blue eyes. It seemed that she liked this idea. Maybe it's even true. "Or just a day out in the town. The folks were very lovely, weren't they? Sofia was so happy."

She was.

"I was very happy too. I'd like to see the sunset again, with the two of you. Will you take me to see the sunset again? I won't let any fancy prince took me away this time." She smiled brightly, and he grinned. "Just me and you and Sofia."

"Okay," he said, and thought — well, what if I did. Would you truly like it? We could eat more ice-creams,we could just walk around, we could do whatever you want. Would you like that? Would you be happy if I'd do it?

"Are you happy?" She asked instead. "Are you, Hans?"

I am. "I want to be." Forever.

She laughed, and not just some shy giggling or chuckling. Elsa actually threw her head back and laughed. A full-on, from-the-core, type of laughter that you couldn't help from grinning at it too. She wiped a tear of joy away, and she said, "Happy can't be forever, Hans. I want to be sad too, and sick, and healthy, and bad, and good. Everything. Like in the books."

"Like in the books," he echoed, grinning wider. "That sounds perfect."

"Sofia's going to wake soon," Elsa suddenly mentioned, standing up. "We don't have a lot of time left."

She's right. He could feel it too. "Must you go?"

"Will you remember this, Hans?" She asked, coming towards him, and suddenly she was wearing a heavily-Southern Isles influenced gown. All green and gold and chrysanthemum blooming. "Good dreams are hard to come by."

"I'll remember."

"When you wake up." Her eyes flickered up at him. "Will you?"

"I will." He promised.

And she said, "Grethe's searching for you."


"Wake up, Hans." She started walking away, rushing, running. She smiled, but there were tears. And then she disappeared, and flew a blue butterfly in, in front of his face. He followed it and spun on his heels. The old Queen was still a figure far-away, and she was still beaming, and she waved. Goodbye.














He waved back.














Hans woke up with the sun streaming warmly on his skin.

The second thing he woke up to was a terrible ache to his head. And then his chest. And then, his whole body. Well, to sum it up: pretty much everything. The third thing he woke up too though, almost made all those horrible sore disappeared ― because what he saw was stray of platinum blond hair, sprawled everywhere on the space next to him, mainly her daughter's, and of course, there was her.

Sofia had his back to him, and she seemed to be cradling in the Queen's arms ― the Queen was wearing an elegant gown, and still had make-up on her face, her bun left messy as he assumed that she must have accidentally slept here, in their (Sofia and his) room ― and both looked calm, peaceful. Tired.

He cringed when a ray of all-too-bright sunlight hit his eyes, and grunted. God, his head hurts.

As a matter of fact, his whole body felt numb ― like somebody had opened him up, redone everything to his veins, organs and system and stitched him up and left him to re-adjust, perhaps, everything that was left of him ― and he sighed heavily. At least he could conclude that this wasn't a dream. Huh. What happened?

In the next three minutes, Hans stared at the ceiling and replayed everything that happened, from scratch. He thought of his old father, his mother's plain expression, his taunting brothers, Haakon, Arendelle, banishment, Sofia's mother, Ingfrid, Sofia, Kristoff, Olaf, The Terrors, Emmanuel, Anna, kidnapping, his failing heart, his daughter's tears, the Queen's cries, the dream. He groaned out a cry of pain when the ache seemed to much.

Fuck. He reached for his head, for the first time ignoring his screaming muscle that clearly disagreed on his act to move any part of his body, and rubbed his throbbing temple. He didn't realise a stir came from his right side. "Hans?" murmured a sleepy voice ― half-shock, half-aware.

He turned ― and though he felt worn and a thousand and a year old, he smiled. The sun behind her suddenly had no impact on him whatsoever. With a raspier voice than he'd ever had before ― he wondered when was the last time he'd have water, because by the way his throat was feeling he might be estimating forever ― he said, sounding weak, "Good morning."

"You're awake," she jolted up now, her bun no longer stood firmly, in fact it sagged and more than just a few strands of hair fell down her back, like waterfall. Her eyes were wide. And blue. He blinked as the sun hit his eyes again, but he avoided it because ― when was the last time since I saw that blue? It felt like eternity. "Oh God," she pestered, "How are you feeling?"

"Elsa? What―" What do you mean? What's happening? "What―"

"You must be thirsty. Here." She crossed over the room to his side of the bed, to the table, and there was a plain water in a jug and a glass, as if it had been reserved for him, just there. Maybe it was. She took the glass, her fingers were skinny and careful, as she brought it to him. He tried to sit up, but she had put the water away just in time to help him did that too, before she grabbed the water again and sat by the edge of the bed — not too close to him to be inappropriate, but not too far that he'll fear she will fall down — and made sure he could hold the glass by himself. When he was done, she asked again, her eyes blinked in disbelief, her lips letting a shuddering breath out, "How are you feeling?"

Like a building has been dropped on me. "What happened, Elsa?" he asked instead, his eyes frowning, before he caught himself. "I meant, Queen Elsa."

A pain beats across her expression. "Please," her tone was low, and she took his empty glass, their fingers brushed, "Don't call me that." She finally held the glass, and her gaze dropped to her laps, before she shook her head, like she's shaking herself out of a thought, and forced a smile, "I uh, I apologise." She gestured towards her whole appearance, hastily pulling a fallen hair behind her ear, "I must look... like a complete―"

"You look―" he interrupted her, and swallowed. Beautiful. "Fine."

She gave him, what seemed to appear, a nervous, quick glance, before she shifted uncomfortable. "I was... I was comforting Sofia last night, and I must have fallen asleep. I didn't—" Her lips quivered, but she dropped her chin too quick for him to point it out, or just, generally took it in — to just acknowledge it — as she stared at her laps, her fingers playing with the glass, "I didn't mean to—"

"Hey," his voice was hoarse, and he touched her shoulder — his fingertips trailed over his clothed-shoulder blade like feathers. "I understand."

She chanced him a sad look.

"Elsa," he pressed on, clearing his sore throat — wincing as he did it — and let his hand fell back to his sides. But she's avoiding his gaze again, and it felt weird, strange, so he dipped his head lower, refusing to play this little game, whatever it may be. "Tell me what happened." It came out like a whisper, and as soon as it did, her blue eyes flickered up, at him, and he swore there was more to her gaze than what he used to see her as — cool, calm, collected.

"You were asleep," she blurted out, a little too quickly, cringing as if the word caused a slight pain. And then she shook her head quickly, mouthing a silent no, before: "Comatose, to be precise. You... you didn't..."


"Wake up," she looked hurt, her brows saddening, and her lips quivered again. She looked away quickly, yet again, exhaling heavily and clasped tighter on the glass, "I'll get you more water." She stood, and walked to where the jug was, and he watched her carefully, calculatingly.

"How..." He swallowed thickly — his bile suddenly tasted so sour — and his eyes moved to the sleeping form of his daughter, only then noting the dry tear-stained cheeks. He felt his stomach hollowed out. "How long was I out?"

"We waited for you," she answered instead once she poured the plain water from the jug to the glass, her voice was clip. Fake-like. As if she's covering something behind.


"Of course," she turned, the glass almost-filled to the full, and brought it to him. "Sofia, Anna, Kristoff..."

How about you? A voice asked quickly, but Hans rejected that idea and accepted the glass. He drank it until the amount of water was just a quarter of the glass, and stared at it. He pondered, paused, and decided on: "I was supposed to die." He finally looked up to her, and though she was already pulling up her all-too-serene facade, he saw the small flinch at his words. "I was shot — right? — that's what they said, I meant, the troll said. At least, I think it's a troll."

Elsa waited for a few moments to pass. "It was a troll."

"Right," he confirmed — guess I wasn't hallucinating when death visited me. "And, um..." He swallowed again, "The shot, it — it triggered something, didn't it? I felt as if something was attacking my chest— my heart — through my arteries and veins, and- and— I was supposed to die." He licked his dry lips, "I didn't."

"You didn't." Elsa nodded, her reply a meek.

"Tell me, Elsa," his patience was running thin, honestly, and he gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders. "What happened?"

"You were dead, okay?" She bursted out, her teeth gritting together, and her expression suggested as if she'd holding herself from crying. Like that's what she's been doing for the past hours, days — could it even be years? "Your heart was failing, and you weren't breathing anymore. But... I asked Pabbie to delay it, and Anna transferred blood into your system because you needed blood, without the magic DNA, to delay it even more. Basically, we were just..."

"Keeping me from dying." Why didn't you just leave me to die? His bile thickened.

"I couldn't afford losing you." Elsa murmured, then raised her stare. "Sofia couldn't afford losing you."

He glanced at his sleeping daughter. Elsa did the same. "Your pulse was so weak. Everyone was—" She sucked a breath of air in, brushing her nails across her cheekbones. Hans waited. "I called my cousin in. Rapunzel— Princess Rapunzel of Corona. She, uh, she had this healing abilities, and uh — she was the one who saved you."

"Healing abilities?" He squeaked.

"Yeah. Magic healing abilities. You might know of her — she was the lost princess."

Ah, yes. Now it rung a bell. Hans nodded. The lost princess of Corona. His seventh and eighth brother was there at the ball, hosted as a celebration for her return. He didn't go then, he remembered. He was nursing his old stallion — stayed up all day and night to make sure Sitron would be up and running for another day — after all, the horse was a gift from his father. Hans sighed, and put away the glass by his bedside table. "She patched me up."

"She did more than that." Elsa avoided his eyes. "I should probably inform Gerda. Everyone's been worried sick about you."

"Daddy?" A meek voice drew both of the adults' attention, and Hans watched as his daughter stirred. The four-year-old fluttered her eyes open, pushed herself into a sitting position, gave out a yawn and rubbed her eyes. "Daddy?" she asked more urgently.

"Sofia." He breathed, his hands reaching out to her. Gosh, maybe he had been sleeping for years. Everything seemed so different now, although, from what he could see, nothing's changed. The little girl squealed and collapsed into his arms, hard, like she'd been waiting to do that forever. Hans took in her scent, and despite his whole was in crucial pain, he hugged her tighter.

His daughter's body shook, "I thought―" she began to sob, "I thought you were going to die."

"Sofia―" He pulled her away, grasping on her messy face, clearing out all the hair that's stuck to her cheeks.

"You didn't wake up! You didn't wake up!" She cried, hitting hard on his chest. "Everybody waited for you. The Queen and I waited for you. I waited for you, Daddy... but you won't wake up..."

"Sofia, Sofia―" He only scooped her closer, bringing her in. "My Light."

Sofia eventually settled down, pressing her face into his shoulder, whimpering. "Why won't you wake up?"

He swallowed, guilt itching on his skin. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he answered instead, his lips feeling dry. "I'm sorry, Sofia. I am."

Sofia hiccuped, and snuggled. "I don't want you to do that, okay? You can't sleep like that. You slept for days and nights, Daddy. Everybody thought you were going to die." She sniffled, "Your hair was so white, you know. Like mine. And Queen Elsa's. But I didn't like it one bit." She pushed her little chin up, her small hands reaching to the tip of his hair. "It's red now, and you finally wake up. It must mean something."

He took her small fingers, and kissed it. "It means I'm staying. For good."

"I'd like that," Sofia murmured, "Don't ever leave me, Daddy."

"I won't," he vowed, and brought her closer.

When he looked up, the door was shut ― the Queen was gone.

Now that the feeling of reuniting with everybody back again seemed to wash away, Hans once again realised how it was not as fun, or joyful as he hoped to be, with all the pain started to make itself known. He grunted and yanked his arm when Gerda pressed with a little more force than he'd appreciate for, at the bruise on his back. Gerda scolded him before he could say anything ("You big baby") and kept his mouth shut. It was minute later that he found out he was unconscious for three weeks. Three weeks.

The Snow Queen didn't see him for the next two days.

On the third day — also the day Sofia was finally able to allow herself to be away from her father — while Gerda was applying ice on the bruise on his arm (yeah, he's got a lot of those), he finally let it out. "Gerda." He called, frustrated and tired and God that hurts.

"Hm?" The old woman hummed questionably.

"Is—" Hans stuttered, pondered and sighed. "Is Elsa mad at me?"

Gerda lets a beat passed. "I think the Queen is just upset."

"Upset?" He wondered aloud. "But why?"

"I think the Queen is just... She's just tired is all. Confused, perhaps."


"You were unconscious for a long time, Hans." Gerda moved on to check on the scar under his bicep. "Maybe she's started to realise things."

Realise? Hans questioned, and studied the older woman's face. As expected, Gerda didn't wear any of her answers on her face, and for that one moment, he praised her for it. He didn't particularly appreciate it, since it didn't give him the advantage he needed, but nevertheless — the old woman was impressive. "What is there to realise?"

Gerda made some clicking sound with her tongue, frowning. "She just needs her time."

"Time?" He framed her expression and pulled his lips into a frown too. "Have I done something wrong?"

"That isn't a way you should see things." Gerda warned, wiggling her forefinger at him.

"Is this one of your little, riddling game, Gerda? Because I apologise, but I don't have time for them. I would appreciate it much so if you would just— OW!" Hans yelped, and snapped to glare at the old woman — who's wearing an expression that defined her satisfaction — and Hans squinted his eyes up at her. "Did you just pinch me?"

"Did I? My hand must have slipped."

Slipped, my ass. Hans grunted.

The door suddenly bursted open, and both of them lifted their heads up at it. Princess Anna stood there, her cheeks red and rosy and full and healthy, and she was panting, as if she had been running to get there. Were she? A few moments later, Kristoff came, panting too, "An— Anna!" and Hans tilted his head in confirmation. Poor guy. Sometimes it must be hard for him to just keep up. Hans watched how Anna chastised Kristoff ("Oh, you'll be fine!") while he tried to catch his breath ("You... you damn woman. Why am I marrying you again?").

Hans smiled warmly.

"Hans! We've got some exciting news!" Anna jumped, coming forward. Kristoff, after patting his chest and tested if his whole system were still able to collect oxygen, followed suit. "Yeah," the ice harvester breathed out, "You'd like this one."

Gerda passed him a curt, genuine smile. "I'll excuse myself, ma'am, sir."

"Thank you, Gerda." Anna beamed, kissed the old woman by the cheek before she went. Hans rolled his sleeve down and exhaled, later on leaning back against the headboard, waiting.

Kristoff came by his bedside, a friendly smile on his face. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," he grunted, shook his head as Kristoff chuckled, and tried his best to hide the small grin which threatened to come up by the corner of his lips. This was good, he decided. Kristoff and him had been... better since he woke up. He liked this feeling. It wasn't threatening, for the first time. "But I'll live."

"You better." Anna pressed, now taking back his attention as she strode over. "Guess who's coming to visit you?"

He furrowed his brows. Who?

"Who?" He echoed his thoughts. As far as he was concerned, the only stranger that had a reason enough to visit him was, God forbid, Abigael, Sofia's biological mother. And that was not a news someone should be eager about. He frowned even more.

"Guess, you idiot."

"Anna." Kristoff gave her a side-way glance.

"Fine." The princess lifted a letter, cocking her head in an arrogant fashion. "Your brother. Haakon. Straight from the Southern Isles."

"What?" Hans stared at her, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. What. He must have heard her wrong. There was no way— unless...

"Yup. I knew you'd be excited." Anna giddily jumped, throwing a large smile at her fiancé before thrusting the letter up to his chest. She leaned in against Kristoff as Hans gingerly picked it up. When he glanced at the couple, Kristoff was smiling somewhat proudly at him, his long fingers around Anna's waist. "Read. Go." Anna pestered, a grin lighting up her eyes. "That's his reply letter."

Hans scanned over the yellow-ish paper, feeling the rate of his heart sped up. Every word swallowed him up, every second passed eating him in. "He's bringing Mother with him."

"And some of your niece and nephews." Anna nodded, scrunching up her nose. "I know you're not in the best terms with your brothers, but..."

"It's not your fault," Hans swallowed, dropping the letter.

"Are you... okay?" Anna's tone saddened.

"Yeah, do you need us to call somebody in?" Kristoff chirped in worriedly.

"I'll be fine. I just... This is a lot to take in, honestly." He drawled, drew a breath out and brushed his fingers through his hair. "I can't remember the last time I saw my mother. She... uh, she wasn't there when I was banished and had my title taken from me. So, it's just — it's hard to believe she'll show up. Along... with some of my brothers, of course."

"Are you... sad?" Anna finally sat down on the bed, and Kristoff landed a hand on her shoulder, his expression was one of concern. "So it's not a good news after all?"

"No, it's wonderful news." Hans smiled up at them. "I think... I think it's time Sofia meet them. My family. It- It won't be easy, I suppose. But— hey, Haakon's coming and I..." God. He looked away quickly as a tear stung his eyes. Damn. He inhaled slowly, "It's been so long since I saw him. Them. This is nice." His green eyes flickered up to them, "Thank you."

Kristoff snorted lightly, "Don't thank us."

Hans looked on confusingly. What?

Anna appeared as if the whole world was still and at peace — and maybe it was. "Elsa was the one behind this."

"E-Elsa?" He hits a pitch.

"Yup." The princess answered without any hesitation. "She knew how much Haakon meant to you, so she wrote him a letter of what happened. She was the one who invited Haakon over. We just didn't expect your mother or... your brothers to show up though."

"She- She made this happened?" He gestured towards the letter.

Anna stood up, suddenly guarded. "Are you mad?"

"No... I'm amazed. Truly." Hans' felt his lungs expanded, his smile's broadened, before it collapsed. "Where is she, anyway?"

"She's around. She's..." Anna looked down, dragged her feet across the carpet. "She's extremely busy."

Yeah. Busy avoiding me. Hans nodded his head nevertheless. "Thank you. Honestly. For everything."

Anna beamed, glanced at Kristoff and nodded. "My pleasure."

Hans smiled — but didn't feel any lighter.

...complete relief. If all goes well, we should arrive approximately two weeks from now.

Hans ran his thumb over the line. It's been two days since this letter arrived. Three days since he knew of its existence, and kept it.

So, ten more days to kill. That was, if all goes well.

Hans hoped it does.

Sometimes Hans thought he saw — or felt — the Queen's presence by the door, one hand over it, holding, hovering, like she's trying to grasp something she knew she can't reach. Sometimes he wanted to flung himself out of the bed, opened the door, looked her in the eyes and told her to give him her best shot. But it made no sense whatsoever. Because the Queen wouldn't do that, and who was he to wish something such as that would happen? He was no one.

But even a no one dreamed.

So, he dreamed her, at the other side of the door, and him, right in front of her, and when they looked at each other, it was as if everything was finally revealed. Of what? He wasn't sure. But it was clear, and obvious, and real. She was real. And he'd say —

"C'mon, Elsa. Just try."

And sometimes, she did.

On the seventh day of his recovery, Kristoff had bursted into his room right after he skipped breakfast — once again — and threw him a cloak right at his face. Literally. "Get up on your ass," the other man said, a tone of authority ran deep in his voice — both hands by his hips. "You're gonna take a walk today."

"I suppose there's no way out of this?" He murmured, picking up the fabric of his clothing.

"Not a chance. You're supposed to be in shape when you're meeting your family. And I took it upon myself to make sure of that." The blond man announced proudly, puffing his chest out more.

Hans narrowed his eyes, "Were you paid to be here?"

Kristoff didn't answer immediately. "No comment," he ground out, and spun on his heels. "I'll meet you at the shed in the next ten minutes. Be there."

He wasn't there by the next ten minutes, or the next fifteen, or the next twenty — and so that was why Kristoff came back into his room, angry and fuming, stomped to his bed, grabbed his ankles and ripped him away from the bed. He fell to the floor with a loud thud, and the blond rambling out his anger in the background. And to think he was getting better.

He found himself staring at Sven five minutes afterward. "This is not how I imagine spending my day."

"Well, I don't imagine you spending the rest of your life in that room — so, tough luck, buddy." He tied a rope angrily, still mumbling incoherently under his breath.

"Buddies? Enemy one second, frenemy the next, buddy afterwards. I wonder what we'll be next — lover?" He replied dryly.

"Look." Kristoff hung the rope aggressively, "Don't be a jerk alright. I'm not here to pick a fight. So, don't start one."

"I'm not—" He guffed out, and gazed away. "I'm not picking a fight."

Kristoff scoffed, probably rolling his eyes backward. "Could've fooled me."

Hans waited. And re-thought everything. He watched the blond worked from the corner of his eyes, raising his brows when the man seemed to be whispering something to his pet, later on chuckling all by his own. Weird. And then he remembered them: Kristoff, Sven, Olaf, and him, galloping through the forest, their breath (or lack thereof) in sync as they raced to the Large Rock, where the terrorists held Sofia. And he remembered the weight of the sword by his hip, on his hand and the unwilling trust in the other man's eyes, the way he resigned, for the sake of everything he thought was good, to just trust Hans. Hmm.

And he thought they were better.

"I'm sorry." Hans found himself saying, pushing himself to face the blond. "I wasn't— I wasn't being fair. I shouldn't — I'm sorry."

Kristoff squinted his eyes questionably — just stared down at him — in a way that appeared as if he was figuring out what Hans was scheming about, if this was apart of a plot. He looked clueless. Truth be told, Hans was too. So they remained where they were, with him sitting on a stool, and the other man by his pet. It wasn't until Sven nudged its master that Kristoff cleared his throat, and shook himself out of his trance, "I, uh — o...kay."

Hans frowned. "Okay?"

"Okay." Kristoff nodded, looking unsure while he waved a carrot to Sven. "You're forgiven."

Nice. He held his tongue, and then: "And thank you."

Kristoff raised a brow. Hans continued, "For Sofia. I knew you were taking a big risk when you gave me that sword, but you gave it to me anyway. That was... a lot to ask from you. So, thank you. For taking a faith in me."

"The sword..." Kristoff slowly drawled, his eyes sketchy, and Hans waited while Sven chewed on the carrot. "The one Anna stole from you in the battlefield."

Hans flinched. "She was sneaky."

The blond finally broke out a grin, chuckling lightly. "That, she is."

Whatever. Hans chose to stare at a pattern somewhere on the floor, feigning interest, until Kristoff spoke up. "Look. I don't want us... to be like we were before, okay. I'm actually trying to make this work — between us — Sofia. With the way things are working now, I don't think you two are leaving this place anytime soon. Might as well try to establish a compromising relationship between us, right?"

Hans stared at him, puzzled slightly.

Kristoff drew a heavy sigh, brushing the back of his head roughly. "It's not going to be easy, okay, both on your and my part, but at least, I don't know— it's not like I'm pushing a friendship over here or anything, because I don't want to hurt your pride or anything—" Hans raised a brow, and the blond paused. "What? I'm not good at this, alright. Geez, give me a break, will ya?"

After long last, Hans finally sighed. For the hundredth times probably. "You're right."

"I'm— what?" The other man looked on, wide-eyed, shocked. "I'm what?"

"You're right." Hans snapped, licked his lips, and stood. "We should... at least try to get along. For everyone's sakes."

"Yeah. That." Kristoff nodded, and brushed Sven at the back of its ears. "So, what?" He wiped his right hand against his grey-colored pants, and extended it towards him. "Friends? Acquaintances?"

Hans stared at his hand, and swallowed. His green eyes flicked at the blond's, the air hung in suspense. Acquaintances. He knew of that word, had a handful of them in his past years, some he trusted, some he grew tired of trusting. Friends. Now that's a new whole word. The concept was almost foreign to him — because he never had one. But, what would it feel like...

Hans shook the other man's hand. "Sure."

Kristoff curtly smiled out of satisfaction, shook it once and released his grip. "Good."

Hans hummed, and walked over near a dark horse.

"So..." Kristoff started awkwardly.

"So..." Hans echoed, and reached out to touch the horse's dark mane. "You were raised by trolls?"

He could almost feel the way the blond narrowed his eyes up at him dangerously. Hans smirked. "That's a way to start a conversation," Kristoff commented dryly, now stalking up to the stool and sat in a huff.

Hans shrugged his shoulders simply, flicking a dust near the horse's eyes. "I like to call it curiosity." Kristoff only narrowed his eyes further, forcefully, and Hans cocked his head to one side, raising his brows. "Are you going to provide me an answer, or am I going to wait and eventually find it out by myself?"

"The answer is—" Kristoff hissed, and then smiled mockingly. "Yes."

Hans nodded — he heard rumours of it before, and now that he knew the truth... — and patted more of the horse. The horse responded to his touch, and Hans smiled. In a gentle whisper, he asked, "What's your name, boy?" The horse, as he expected, didn't respond in words, it just moved in its place and let out a sound. Hans smiled some more.

"So, what—" He heard Kristoff went on behind him. "You're not going to... mock me, or just— make a snide remark?"

Hans wondered about this. "Why would I? The trolls are part of the reason why I'm not dead. I'm not going to insult them — regardless how now it seems so much clear why is it you look so much uncivilised."

"There you go," Kristoff waved.

"That was not a snide remark," Hans retorted smoothly.

Kristoff rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, and Olaf's my biological mom. Whatever."

Hans actually grinned. "Well, why not — you certainly got its nose."

"Hey, the nose is off-limits." Kristoff warned, though there was humour there in his eyes. "It's a heavenly sign of my heritage, and I'm proud of it. At least I don't get your big ears."

Hans frowned immediately. "My ears are— they're not big."

"Yeah." Kristoff seemed to agree, smirking. "They're enormous."

"Funny." Hans remarked and bit his inner cheek from grinning as the blond laughed, his pet deer coming towards him and there's also a sign of amusement in its eyes, sharing the humour. The former prince continued to pet the horse, ignoring the ice harvester completely.

Once the laughter died down, Hans could hear the rustling of hays behind him, suggesting that Kristoff was moving. "So—" the other man started, "What's with you and Elsa?"

That's a loaded question.

Hans stopped petting the horse, and turned side-way to him. Kristoff didn't seem like he's backing out of the inquiry anytime soon, so Hans resigned and pressed his lips together, thoughtfully. "What do you mean?"

"You don't actually think I'm that dumb, did you?" he said. "Wait, don't answer that."

Hans hummed.

"It's just— I know you two have been getting closer with Sofia and all, and I'm not judging you or anything, although of course it's weird and kind of fishy because you're, well, a former villain who wanted to slay her head off once upon a time ago, and now you're not and— I'll get to the point," Kristoff cleared his throat, and scratched the back of his neck. "It's just — are you two, like, I don't know, okay? Right now?"

Hans considered this, opened his mouth and closed it. He wanted to answer that it was fine, that the blond had nothing to worry about, that everything was within his control, but the truth to the matter was — it wasn't. At least, he thought it wasn't. "I'm not sure," he answered honestly, his shoulders dropping.

"Do you like—" Kristoff went off, "like her?"

Hans scrunched his nose confusingly. "She's avoiding me." I think. No. I believe.

"Why?" asked the ice harvester, picking up another carrot.

Like I know. "I have no idea," he answered instead, watched as the horse, after a minute without any skin-to-skin interaction, made itself comfortable, paddling away. Hans drew out a breath, and rubbed his arm - the one with the bruise. "She— she just— she doesn't see me, you know? Visit me, I mean. Or just, come and talk to me. I don't— I don't know what I've done wrong." She's so frickin' complicated.

"That's weird," Kristoff muttered. "Before you woke up, she was usually the one who never left your side."

"What?" Hans asked, drowning in more confusion, but it came out nothing more but a very slow whisper.

He watched as Kristoff's eyes searched the ceiling, maybe for an answer, and nodded, like he's seen it and confirmed that he was correct. "Yeah. Besides from Sofia, of course. She was always there, waiting for you. Do you know how many times Anna and I caught her sleeping with Sofia besides from your comatose body? Still in her Queen attire?"

Hans frowned. Then, why...?

"Maybe that's it, you know." Kristoff said instead. "You've been sleeping for too long, that she's gotten used to it. And now that you're awake, she's all messed up. She just, I guess— she doesn't know how to say she misses you."


"I don't know. Maybe." Shrugged Kristoff, standing up and stretching. "Apparently, I'm too uncivilised to judge a human character. Just saying."

Hans rolled his eyes, grinning slightly. Kristoff didn't hide his smirk, "C'mon. Let's go for a ride."

Hans pulled a frown, and looked at him. "Are we allowed to do that?"

"Nobody would mind, I'm sure. And it's around the palace's compound anyway. Maybe we can even stop at Sofia — she's at the garden, right?"

Hans blinked. "Yes, she is."

"What are you waiting for?" Kristoff began to hop on top of Sven. "Let's go."

And go they did.

When he finally caught the Queen a few days later, she excused herself too early.

"Elsa—" he called, and his fingers touched her elbow — softly, gently — and she spun around, and he realised her bangs are braided at the front. She looked different. She looked, as usual, beautiful. He smiled — softly, gently — and took his arm when he knew he's gotten her full attention. "Queen Elsa. I meant to talk to you."

"Hans," she said, standing straighter. Gosh, how long was it since he's heard her voice — directly speaking to him? Too long. She smiled, a little, looking at him in full view. "I'm glad you're in a better shape."

Formality. His tongue clicked. What's going on here? "I wanted- I wanted to know if you're alright. I've never gotten around to—"

"Hans." She cut him mid-sentence, her face stern.

He paused in his speech, and watched her. She smiled — fake — and pursed her lips. "I apologise, but I do need to go."

"But I—"

"I'm sorry." She told, and began to take a few steps away. From him. "Tell Sofia I'll resume the lesson as soon as I can. That's a promise."

No. I need you to talk. Spend time. With. To. Me. He opened his mouth, "Elsa, please don't—"

"I'm sorry," she said again, like a chant, a curse. "I truly apologise Hans."

But I miss you.

A lot.

(There was never a pause in her step, he counted.

And it was not soft.

It was not gentle.)

"Gerda, I don't feel so good." Hans murmured and winced at the afternoon sun. Afternoon.

The older woman hushed him down. "You're tired, is all. Worn. Tomorrow's a big day."

Right. Haakon. Mother. Basically— the whole freakin' family.

Joy to the world.


"She won't talk to me," he slumped on his bed, and frowned at his hands. "I tried. I tried, Gerda but—"

"Hush. Don't worry too much. You already got so much on your plate."

"I wanted to thank her, you know. For— keeping me alive, taking in Sofia, keeping her safe. But she- she won't listen, and—" He lied on his bed, pressed the base of his palm against his eyes. Hard. "I don't know how I'm going to get through tomorrow."

"You will be fine," came Gerda's soothing voice as she took the used glasses away. "You will get through this. You've been strong for too long. You can't give up now. Not now, oh dear."

"I won't." An image of Sofia popped up, and his determination burned. "I won't."

Though he denied her request, Gerda made him a cup of tea anyway.

(He had to remember to thank the old woman. Buy her a flower, maybe.)

"Hey, listen to me." Hushed Hans, through the darkness of the night, and the slow breaths exhaled and inhaled by his daughter. She was sleepy, but she hummed in respond. Hans kissed her on top of her head. "Whatever happens tomorrow. We'll stick together. You and me. Together. Alright?"

"Together," echoed Sofia sleepily, snuggling closer to him. "You and me, Daddy. And Olaf. And Queen Elsa. And Princess Anna. And Sir Kristoff. And Sven. And Gerda. And Kai. And—"

"That's an awful lot of people, love."

"Well, I love all of them now." Sofia smiled through her half-lid eyes, and pressed her cheek further against his collarbone. "Whatever happens, Daddy. We'll always stick together. I don't want to lose you again, okay?"

"You're not losing me." He confirmed, shaking his head. "And I'm not losing you."


"We'll get through it, alright? Together."

"Together." She repeated and yawned.

And they will get through it, because he won't lose her. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not forever.

He won't.


One sleeve in through the jacket, he turned around. There, by the door, was the Queen. She had her hair braided down long her back, like she had, when he first saw her at her Ice Palace after the winter curse was casted. Although now she bared a different gown, similar to the one she wore on her coronation day, except it was more red-striken than it was anything else. Okay. Maybe not red. Maroon. Either way, she looked stunning. "May I come in?"

He took a moment to realise she was talking to him, but when he did, he quickly collected himself. "Of- of course. I apologise, Milady."

"You look handsome," she made note once she was in, making sure the door was closed. After all, he was not properly dressed. Not just yet. She frowned, but only slightly, "Do you need any help?" She gestured towards the fact he was only wearing the jacket with one sleeve in, the other dangling on helplessly.

"I— no— it's," He locked his jaw and shut his eyes. He can't do this. He can't believe it — he couldn't even come up with a simple excuse. Perhaps he had underestimated this day. He's going to screw it, didn't he? "I can't get my arm in in the second sleeve. My back — it still, it hurts."

"Oh." Elsa nodded, and slowly walked over. "Let me just—" She grabbed the dangling half of the jacket at his back, brought it up to his other side and guided his hand through. He watched her fingers while she's at it, but later on moved to stare at her face. He felt his throat tightened up. What happened? And he meant, between them. "There you go," she said when he's done, patting on the breast pocket. "Now you look handsome."

"You think so?" He nervously smiled, looking down. "I mean- don't you think it's too shabby? I might offend them, or something, or send a wrong image that I'm still the same—"

"Hans, Hans." Elsa called, laughing, giggling. "You look fine. Dashing."

He squinted his eyes playfully, munching on his lips. "Honestly?"

"You look—" She shifted her blue eyes up at him gleefully. "Charming."

He laughed.

"Well," he smirked, "You don't look too bad yourself."

She glanced down, and he did too — and only then did he realise she was holding something in her hand — before she looked up at him, her blue eyes held a small amount of fear, and, could it be, anxiety? He wasn't sure. "Thank you," she breathed out, and gripped on the thing in her hand, "I- I got you something."

"You've been giving me a lot of things lately." He whispered out, looking at the stuff in between her hands. Just not your time.

"It's a pair of gloves. Just like you had five years ago. It's— it's not Southern Isles, of course, but-" She dropped it in his hands, glancing around nervously. Her cheek revealed a tint of pink. "It's yours."

"I—" His fingers ran over the white glove, feeling the texture. And then he saw it — a pattern of snowflake at the bottom. It was small, almost could went unnoticed. But there it was. And it was all he could see. "I don't know what to—"

"You don't have to say anything," Elsa interrupted, a content smile on her face. "I'm just glad you like it."

"Like it? I love it." He murmured, his thumb still running along the snowflakes.

"Try it. See if it fits." She told, and he did.

"You know," he began when his fingers filled the void inside of the glove, and his fingers adjusted to it. "I never got around to say thank you to you." He lifted his chin up, dared himself to look at her in the eyes, and kept her there. Just to hear him out. He could see she was about to brush it away, and acted like it was an insignificant matter, but he didn't give her a chance. Not even the slightest. Frankly, he was kinda pissed. "So, thank you."

"Hans, really—"

"No, don't say anything, please. Just this once."


"Just this once, alright. And if you ever decide not to talk to me afterwards, it's alright. I'll understand. It'll be something hard to get to used to, but I will. Just— let me talk, alright? I need to talk." With you. To you. Just, you. In general.

She inhaled sharply, and clammed her mouth shut.


"Listen. I don't know if you know this, but you've done a lot for me in the past few months. Helping me. Helping Sofia. That was a lot to ask of you, to take Sofia under your guidance when it did, but you took her anyway. Despite who her father was. And you didn't try to separate me from her, which was more than I could ask for. And you continue to help us— gave Sofia a friend, gave us clothes, feed us, a place to sleep. I mean, not a lot of Queens are willing to do that." Hans took a shuddering intake of air. "I'm glad you're not most Queens."

And he did.

"And you didn't stop there. You were willing to tolerate my presence and my rude comments and everything. Just... everything. And then, Sofia was kidnapped. And though I was blind then, I'm not now. I can see how much the days when Sofia went missing was killing you, just like how it killed me." He stared at his gloved-covered-knuckles, still bearing a scar from the glass wound. "You went out for her, risking your title, your whole Kingdom, for her."

When he gazed up, Elsa was looking away, her shoulders are shaking slightly. He swallowed. "And then there was me. You waited for me. I know you did. Every night and day. You comforted Sofia and stayed by her while I was... I was gone. And you waited, and you did everything you can to keep me alive. You... you did that, Elsa." He licked his dry lips, rubbing his suddenly-cold nose. "And I want to thank you."

"Hans, it's—"

"And I'm sorry." He cuts her off, his voice definite.

She stared at him, glassy-eyed and mouth opened. "W-what?"

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I'm sorry you had to go through all those days and nights wishing that would be the time I would wake up, but finding out that I won't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I left you. Alone. With Sofia. I'm sorry I was away for so long. You know I never meant that to happen."

"Stop... stop..." Elsa shook her head, her lips began to quiver as she held her hands up to stop him.

"Elsa, no, listen to me. I'm sorry, alright. I shouldn't leave you like that. I shouldn't done a lot of things. I should wake up earlier, but I didn't. I'm sorry."

"No— stop— please..." She sobbed, wanting to look away, but he was quick to grab her hands, firm but gentle, and shook her to look at him. This once. Tears ran down her cheeks and Elsa shook her head vigorously, her eyes saddened as it fell on his face. "Please."

"I'm sorry, Elsa. I'm sorry." He said, and finally pulled her into a hug. She tried to fight it, but his hold was too strong, and eventually she gave in, her hands clutched at the back of his jacket with strong forces. It seemed like she didn't want to let him go. And he didn't allow her to. So he held her, like that, for the next few minutes, as she sobbed and sobbed, until she ran out of tears.

She seemed to press her face harder against the nape of his neck as she managed out, "I'm- I'm sorry too."

"It's not your fault." He hushed her, moving his head a little to the side.

"I shot you."

"You thought I was attacking you. It's a natural defence."

"No," she pressed on, shaking her head. "You saved me. That man was going to kill me."

"It's not your fault, Elsa."

She didn't reply for a while — just stayed there, in his arms — until she finally moved, and pushed herself away from him. But not too far because he still had his arms around her, making sure she was fine. The Queen sniffled while she wiped a tear away, "You're right. I waited for you. For hours. Days. You were gone for so long."

He nodded lamely. "I'm sorry."

She took a breath in, and held his stare. And then she smiled. "I'm so glad you're awake though."

"I'm glad too," he responded, pulling a smile of his own.

"Gosh, I'm such a mess." She pressed her hands against her face, shuddering out a chuckle. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to wait for you to get done so we could take Sofia from Gerda and went on to meet your family. Not this." She held out her now-damp hands. "Olaf, Anna and Kristoff are already waiting for you downstairs." She told calmly, "You should go first. Inform them I'll be down in a few more minutes. Can't have tear stain as your make up, now can you?"

"Wait, Elsa—" He caught her arm. "You look fine. Honestly."

"Hans, you don't understand. I need to set a good impression and I can't—"

"We should go sailing sometimes," he blurted out and observed her reaction. She looked confused mostly, and gradually, he tried again. "Or just a day out. We could just walk around and talk about nothing and eat ice-creams. Sofia loved it the first time, remember? The folks were so lovely. And you could catch the sunset with us. I won't let any fancy Prince took you away this time. I promise." He chortled nervously, glancing once at his feet. "Just you and me and Sofia. What... what do you think?"

She blinked, and tilted her head to one side. "I..." She started, "I'd love that."

"You would?" His face broke into a grin.

"Yes." She answered with a proud, beaming smile. "Yes!"

And then it happened. He was pulling her in and one hand settled on her lower back and the other held her chin — and he was kissing her. And the force of the kiss was hard, firm, solid — but she was surprisingly warm. And fresh. And he liked the taste of her. So he took the chance and kissed her harder, cupping her face and knew he was doing the right thing when her fingers ran up along his neck, up to his jaw, before it grasped forcefully on his skin. God, she tasted so good.

His hand that was cupping her face was trailing down her neck now, felt her pulse for a second, before he touched the fabric of her gown and he went on. He touched her shoulder, down her arms, until he got a firm hold of her waist. He kissed her desperately, his mouth slanted over hers in a rash manner and a hunger he didn't know existed anymore. She made a sound at the back of her throat that sounded an awful lot like moaning, and Hans couldn't help but to groan.

It wasn't until oxygen was needed that they both pulled away.

"I'm sorry..." He panted out, his misty eyes searching for hers. "I just had to do it."

"No- no—" She tried to swallow a lump of air, now rubbing her flushed cheeks. "It's okay."

"Is it?"

She watched him — carefully, thoughtfully, before: "Yes. It is."

"I..." He grinned, smiled, beamed. "I think I'm ready to see my family now."

"Okay," she nodded, a smile of her own began to form. "Okay." She started to turn, "Let's go, then."

The picked up Sofia by the end of the hallway, where the four-year-old flung herself into his arm with the strongest force she could summoned, and went on to meet Olaf, Kristoff and Anna downstairs, by the steps. Anna beamed at them, while Kristoff nodded his head in short greeting. "They're here," informed Olaf once they stepped onto the solid ground, flinging its thin wooden arm around, obviously all giddy and excited and nervous.

"Your niece and nephews are so cute, Hans!" Anna squeaked, practically jumping.

"Calm down, Anna." Hushed Elsa with a serene tone. Anna hid her smile behind Kristoff's broad shoulder, nodding. The Queen turned to Sofia and him, her eyes questioning. "Are you ready?"

Sofia chanced him a look, and he stared back at his young daughter. "Together, Daddy. You and me."

"Together," he nodded firmly, agreeing.

"Well then, I guess— let's get this show started!" Olaf cheered, leading the way.

And they fell into step. Together.

"Hey, is that lipstick on your lips?" Kristoff nudged.

After the day was done, Hans kissed her again. For good measure. The Queen didn't complain.























And he felt, you know, good.





















#1 End Note: Fuck. I never expected it to be this long. It was just supposed to be short, and sweet, and simple, and all fluff and cute and— what happened. This chapter practically wrote itself up. I'm serious. Oh, and just as future references, this chapter contains 10,348 word count. I know the dream sequence (the first part up there^) didn't make much sense — but isn't that the point of dreams? It kinda doesn't make sense, but at the same time, it does. I mean, I don't know. I just felt like I wanted to write one. The dream sequence was, originally, an addition — and then I extended the Haakon's letter, and I added some Hans/Kristoff bromance (because I wanted to and I can) and then I just have to add the moments in between, and I actually enjoy writing Gerda/Hans motherly-son relationship, like, I think Hans needed someone like that in his life okay (at least, he does, in this fic). Please don't judge.

And as for Sofia, she stood as my only regret in this chapter because I didn't write her more! I know, I know. I screwed up. Ugh. Still though, I'm pretty pumped about this Final because it's actually good. At least it is, in my eyes anyway.

#2 End Note: Shout out to everyone who was here from the beginning, or who supported me along while this fic was in progress because without those reviews and encouragements, I wouldn't be here right now, writing this to all of you. I treasure all of you so much and it has been such a good time to share this Iceburns love all around. We're all here because of our faith for this couple, and I'm glad to see that we're all here, sticking it 'till the end. I'm proud not only of myself, but also to my readers. I need you to know that I love you. I really do.

If you guys want to check out some of your rad cool responds to this story (and how people just grew in love, in general, I think), it will be on my fanfic profile. There are fanarts you could check, and if you want to pass your time, check out some of the tumblr ask I received regarding Blue Heiress, Green Eyes [also will be posted on my fanfic profile]. You guys are absolutely bunch of lovely people — I just want to cry because of it okay. Thanks again, everyone — it has been an incredible journey.

Don't forget to check out: a postscript of Blue Heiress, Green Eyes, which followed a one-shot 20-years-later post the final chapter of BHGE. A warning before you go and read this though — if you're satisfied with this chapter, I don't recommend you reading it. It is a very exaggerated future of what I thought Hans and Elsa would have, and mainly for my muse. So, if you don't like that, don't read. It's fine. Posted on my fanfic profile.

Also, I have a new project: an AU!Iceburns that I've been working on for the past week. Please check out the introduction on Tumblr [posted on my fanfic profile]. I've also had opened up an AO3's account, so I'll be posting this fiction at the same time I'll be posting it here, on . This fiction will come out within the next 60 hours (hopefully).

If you don't get any of the links, please ask me. I will be happy to assist you. And if any of your fanart went unnoticed by me, please inform me. Thank you.