Author's Note: I wrote this on a whim and it ended up turning into this giant beast of a oneshot over the course of three days, but I'm actually quite happy with the results. It takes place roughly 10 years post-Frozen. And I'm sorry, in advance, to produce another dramatic Helsa piece; I guess I can't help myself, because I love the angsty-ness of this pairing.
Acknowledgments: Special thanks to my best friend, who wrote the beautiful poem below for me; she is truly a talented soul who encourages my writing and whose presence in my life I am eternally grateful for. Check out some amazing fanart for the fic by teumessian-fox on Tumblr: http://teumessian-fox.tumblr.com/post/80622187431/ugh-i-havent-done-any-fanart-in-ages-but-today
And some more by lisuli79: http://lisuli79.tumblr.com/post/80919062368/strangers-another-attempt-to-draw-the-beautiful
AND by fantasy of carrie: http://fantasyofcarrie.tumblr.com/post/81099745123/a-little-fan-art-i-did-for-calenheniels-fic
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You are master of my heart, Prince.
All of its wild storms and icy plains you can take part, Prince.
I long for your smile and your lies.
Knowing it will always keep us apart, Prince.
I have locked the doors of my life.
And through the keyhole I see you will never depart, Prince.
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She's not sure if she's really seeing him, or if it's just another phantom conjured by her memories, passing her by along the busy street.
It looks so much like him, though.
She holds her hand up, pausing the guards walking behind her; finally, she moves forward, one foot, then the other.
"Hans?"
She says his name—or, at least, that's what she fears his name is—without thinking, without blinking, without breathing.
It can't be him.
He turns around, and stares at her—stares at her with the green irises she barely remembers, but which somehow look the same as they did all those years ago.
At first, his eyes show nothing but the barest of interest; then, they slowly widen, and his mouth hangs open, and he says—
"El ... Elsa?"
"That's Queen Elsa to you, peasant—"
She holds her hand up again, silencing the guard. In truth, though, she's barely aware that he spoke at all.
It's really you, isn't it?
His skin is darker than she remembers, and it looks tougher—especially his hands, one of which is slinging a heavy bag of chaff over his shoulders—and even those look harder and wider, too.
She parts her lips to speak, perhaps; but she finds herself distracted by the sight of this man, who used to ride horses and fight snow beasts and swing swords nearly straight through her neck, dressed in the plain linen shirt and brown trousers of a poor farmer.
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Strangers, an iceburns oneshot
Fanfiction[Frozen; Hans x Elsa; 10 years post-film; oneshot.] She's not sure if she's really seeing him, or if it's just another phantom conjured by her memories, passing her by along the busy street. But she keeps coming back to him every night, to learn abo...
