Sehnsucht, an iceburns/helsa one shot

   The clacking of the chains were the only things that accompanied him through the night. Even the faint light of the moon was snatched away from his fingers, leaving him with emptiness and darkness. Not a torch was lit through the halls, not even a blanket was tossed to keep him warm. He could hear their distant guffaws and talk that wrenched out the bitterness his heart could only offer. The cold nipped his skin as the wind howled its calls, calling for him. Insensibly he longed for his freedom, for the feel of ground and dirt under his feet, the feel of cold air backhanding him right in his face. And although he knew he wanted the liberty, he didn’t find the strength and the will to escape. Not a word was muttered since he was thrown in jail, not a thought to harm the rulers of the kingdom ever crossed his mind. His thoughts were a blank slate as for his stomach – although empty – was always full, the words he had spoken to them months ago feeding him. He knew he was slowly tipping at the brink of insanity, but it didn’t bother him, just like the cold didn’t bother Elsa. He never wondered if he would see the sunset again; never awake to be welcomed by one. He was always busy staring at the moon as if they were sharing a conversation no one knew. He was a puzzle to the men who guarded him throughout the days and the nights and a pity to the sight. Even the blind would pity him. He was bone and skin, and to no one’s dismay, the living dead. People had refused to take care of him; servants even asked the fair queen for another task for the stench that radiated from his body was tear-jerking and unbearable for that matter. And nevertheless, the late prince whom was stripped off from his title cared less and often, quite as often engaged himself in a dreamless sleep.

   The moving light had forced him to turn his back away from the window as he heard the click-clacks of someone’s foot on stone. He didn’t dare to flick his auburn hair away from his gaze, didn’t bother to straighten up his posture he was accustomed to. He let his body hang low and his hair hover on his bony face like a thick veil. He watched the light stop at his cell, but hope never dared to snake back through his thoughts. He remained silent, as silent as the dead as he watched whoever it was open the cell gates. The cold then grew, enveloping his body in a tight squeeze, but it didn’t bother him, not now that he grew used to being numb.

        “Hans,” Her voice was calm, but there was a stray of pity in them. She scrunched up her nose as the stench wafted around her, making her stay unbearable for her. She swallowed the urge to step away in disgust. “Look at me.” She adjured as she folded her shaking hands against her chest, trying to suppress her worry.

   He didn’t bother to look at her, not when the sight of her reminded him as to why he was left here to rot. He only nodded as he shifted his head away from her.

         So be it, Elsa thought. “Tomorrow’s the day.” Although it was quite ill of her to bestow, the punishment was still a must. What he had done was unforgivable, and he has to pay the price. “Say your prayers tonight and ask for forgiveness from God, only he could forgive you for what you have done.” She sneered as she assured herself she was doing Anna and Arendelle a favor and what she was about to do was not of cold revenge but of justice. She swallowed the knot inside her throat before she turned and left him in the cold to pray for forgiveness.

   He let out a sigh as he shifted himself on the farthest corner of the cell, the pain from the shackles suppressed by the weariness he had suddenly felt. He closed his heavy eyes as he prescribed himself the sleep he had grown used to be with. He didn’t bother to take Elsa’s advice for he believed that God would never grant him the forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

   The night sailed in silence, not a light lit to protect him from the dark. However, the cold was replaced with warmth he was not accustomed to since the night he was thrown in the cell. The scent of smoke lingered through the confinement of the tiny cell, confusing him and bothering him at the same time. He convinced himself it wasn’t worthy of his attention, until he felt a thick cloth placed above him. He pondered whether he should stir or if he should stay immobile as the dead he was. He was just imagining things, he mused. He was just trying to make the memory better for him to remember before the sun sets.