#my P is heavily leaning on Motivity because I love to STAB STAB STAB STAB STAB

[pixelpaladin24]

Other players: oh use this big sword or that huge axe to defeat the strongest enemies-

Me: ...I defeated Laxasia the Complete using the Salamander Dagger.

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {17}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 16. Oh Brothers

17. Never Again

Hans knew it was ill-advised-- because everyone told him so. Still, he was a determined man, and doubly determined to make sure that he made himself useful. So after a few weeks and Hans could pick up his sword from the bureau, he had someone fetch him a cane, and walked out of his room escorted by Captain Kristofferson, to meet the guards they had wrangled up. 

 "Gentlemen," He announced, as he arrived, setting down a stack of papers he had brought with him. "I am Hans, and I have had many titles. Prince of the Southern Isles, Admiral of the same, treasonist, prisoner, fool, and advisor; I'm sure I'm missing a few. To you I am 'trainer' or 'teacher'. I'm here to ensure that people like me can't get past people like you again, so we don't have another raid like what happened a few weeks past. When I'm back in form after having been stabbed in the recent raid, I'll teach you all how to run to catch those who would flee, to fight those who would attack, and to stamp out any cowardice or fear of pain you have. At the end of training we will all have bruises, we will all want a heavy drink, and some of you may hate me, but you'll be a good set of guards in the end." 

 "Some of you were thwarted by a snow-child specifically meant to be kept out of a room you were guarding, and others had no problem letting a prince from another country casually take control of a kingdom. I had better not see abject failure to perform your duties like that again. That you now have a treasoner standing before you telling you how to do your damned jobs is a disgrace, and you need to be aware of that." He paused, looking over the guard staff, standing tall and speaking with the authority of the Commander of the Navy that he had once been. 

 "So, it's a very good thing that we're wiping that slate clean." He gestured to brush his hands off, leaning on his cane as he did. "From here on out, your motto is 'never again and never before'. You will never let that happen again, and it never happened. When you get hit in sparring, it has never happened before and it will never happen again. When you fail to complete physical training, it has never happened before and it will never happen again. When you fail, it will be a unique experience and you will learn from it or by god I will make you learn from it. You are here to guard the Queen of Arendelle, not to protect a sweet-shop in the market square from children. If you don't have an excuse from the doctor, you will train daily. If you aren't mourning a family loss or having a baby, you will be at work, and if you make a mistake you will own up to it and you will deal with the consequences like a man, and carry on with life as normal. And if we're all good at what we do, and we're all alive and well, we might even have a bit of fun with it. I've never been a man of the lash, I've always been more for drinking with the men, but I will bring it back if I have to. Now, everyone, pick up a paper and a pencil. I need to know where you're all at. I'll never have anyone do anything I wouldn't do, once my wound is fully healed I'll train right alongside the rest of you, and I'll challenge you to best me at every step. For now, let's get to know you and your experience." Hans was, and it was easy to forget, a military man. He knew how to command men and how to motivate them, both positively and negatively. 

The papers asked a number of questions. Name, Age, rank, years of experience; but it also included questions about travel, how many languages one spoke, personal hobbies; strengths and weaknesses, that sort of thing. Some things were intellectual questions about math or logic, some were morality questions. It was a strange hodgepodge of all sorts of questions, almost at random. ~~*~~

The majority guard consisted of men from their late teens/early twenties to mid-forties. There were a few outliers of course, but it's seemed like an accurate representation. The age differences seemed to split the men into two categories: the seasoned members that had been serving since before the Coronation and the new recruits who started serving after, many of them joining recently after the raid. So there were a lot of old dogs and new blood in the mix. There had been some murmurs among the men. Mostly among the new cadets, as well as some of the stubborn old men. A lot of them had been taken aback, when they found out the infamous Hans of the Southern Isles would be their training teacher. The newest recruits had only heard rumors of the Prince's return to Arendelle, they had not witnessed him taking charge during the raid nor understood why he was no longer a prisoner. Even if they were supposedly wiping the slate clean and having a fresh start, there was still some notable doubt among them, yet none of them spoke up to voice their concerns. They did as they were told and picked up a paper and pencil, at least they were good at following orders.

Hans adjusted himself to sit on the desk a while, to give them all time to work. 

 "When you're done, turn in your papers up front. If for whatever reason you can't complete a question, come to me and ask. I'm a bit of a bastard, yes, but I'll never tease you for an affliction like not knowing a word or not knowing how to read entirely. Indeed, if any of you know anyone who can't hear and needs a job, bring them here. Deaf people are oft good guards, and unfortunately overlooked. Hell, a few particularly ambitious women wouldn't hurt the guard staff either. We're a bit short staffed, by the look of things." He looked among the room. It was packed tight, but the room was already fairly small for the kingdom's guard staff. "Perhaps things are done differently in the Isles, but I don't understand how a kingdom can exist so readily with so few guards. I suppose I should be glad we lasted as long as we did, during the raid. It isn't the fault of any one man, nor even the group of you, I suppose. I cannot fault a fisherman for not catching fish, if none taught him how. At any rate, this is not a graded test." 

 He waited patiently until the tests were turned in, then stood up again. He moved more slowly, but hid how much pain he was in. "I'll look at these tests a bit later. If you have concerns, feel free to bring them to me privately, I'm sure you know where I'm staying." He offered, leaning heavily on his cane. "Now that that's done, let's clear the air a bit. You all have questions, I can see. I have answers, and I'm not opposed to giving them. Go ahead and ask, I can't do much physical training with you yet, after my own injuries, but I can train your minds, and I've precious little else to do while I'm healing. So, give me your best shot. Ask your questions, 'what did this son of a bitch do to deserve this job'?" He was still a sailor, and there were no royals around. He could curse if he damned well pleased. He waited to see who had questions to ask.

It was rather quiet, with only a few hushed voices murmuring among each other. It seemed no one would be brave enough to question Hans, then all of a sudden the silence was broken. 

 "What did you do?" one of the new recruits boldly asked. Surprised, everyone turned to look at the young man. "'Cause last most of us have heard, you were the traitor of Arendelle, tryin' to take over the throne." There were gasps at the cadet's audacity to ask. Even with all the eyes on him the boy stood tall and not sheepish about what he'd just asked. Hans had offered after all, everyone was thinking it, so why not dare to ask to get the answers they wanted?

Hans chuckled a little. "Brave boy, I'll teach you how to lead. It takes guts to ask those questions before others, guts that leaders need and followers need to learn to use." He observed. "I was the traitor, yes. I had my reasons, reasons I'm sure I'll tell you all about at some point, but rest assured they weren't very good. I came back to tell my side of the story and make amends. For more reasons, I was in the castle at the time of the raid. Because the castle rooms aren't built as a prison cell, the doors were left unlocked and guards left, under the assumption that they would be able to stop me if I tried to leave. I won't postulate about whether or not that's a correct assumption, but I never tried the door until I heard the sound change in the hall, and the guards understandably gone. Then I went searching for a sword, to help fend off the attackers. By the time I got to the Queen's side, even Captain Kristofferson was down, so the Queen and I held off much of the attack until Anna's boyfriend -Lord Kristoff, I believe?- came in with bow and arrows. The fight wasn't fun, but we managed against nigh impossible odds. I got stabbed in the process and caught a pommel to the face, the Queen got a slight scratch to her face and an injured arm." He explained. "As it turns out, the pommel truly is the way to 'end them rightly'." That was a very niche and obscure joke he didn't expect a single one of them to understand. As if to illustrate his point regarding wounds, he raised the hem of his shirt so they could see the unpleasant wound to his side, stitches gone, but the wound still red and warped. "It's not my first, nor my last scar, in battle or otherwise, and I was already healing from the lashes one gets for being a traitor in the navy, if you'd like to see those scars, too." He gestured to his back, but didn't show them immediately. He looked more amused than bothered. "Does that answer your question? I'm afraid I do love to ramble, feel free to ask more."

"Yes, sir." The young man answered with a nod. There was a brief silence yet again. 

 "Question," someone else spoke up. This time it was one of the older men. "About the paper we just filled out. The questions made sense, for the most part, but some of them seemed rather arbitrary, for example asking about our personal hobbies. I don't understand how exactly knowing that information has anything to do with training?"

Hans smiled a bit and shrugged. "Whom do you send to learn tactics for battle-- the man who prefers swordplay, or the man who prefers games of skill? The answer is games, for tactics are just strategy games with a risk. Who do you send to battle, the gambler or the logician? The gambler, because he understands chance. Westergaard ways are old ways, I prepare for sieges and swordplay, as well as modern diplomacy. Does anyone know why Deaf guards are so very useful?" He asked, and glanced between them, to see if there would be answers. "A Deaf man on a ship cannot be fazed by cannon fire around him, a Deaf guard in a castle chamber cannot spill secrets. Every man has his use and every hobby has its useful applications, if only we can find them. We in Arendelle have the unique experience of living in an era under which ice is our greatest tactical advantage, so if any of you happen to enjoy ice-skating-- you'll be the finest swordsmen we'll have by the time I'm through with you. If you have good aim, archers. If you favor brute strength, zweihanders and door-breakers, if you prefer to run, we'll have ammunition runners and recovery men. Everyone will have their uses and be able to be dispatched at notice. I will get to know your names and your stories over time, as will Captain Kristofferson, so we will know where to send you at a moment's notice when you're needed. We'll see who's the best not by bragging, but by practice, and everyone here will be the best in the squad at something." He paused, and rolled his neck, to pop it and let the silence hang a moment. "Every man has his use. Does anyone know why a cat is a necessary crewman at sea?" He waited patiently, to see if anyone would answer.

"Vermin," answered one of the men. "To keep rats from eating everything," added another. "They've got nine lives," one remarked more humorously.

Hans laughed. "Yes I am, but what about the cat?" He joked dryly. "For the mice, precisely, but their luck doesn't hurt either! If the ships had mice, the mice would eat the food, and the men would have no food to eat. Thus, we would have a dead crew and a dead ship, all for the lack of one hungry cat. Who among you will be our hungry cat? Someone will be the lynchpin of success, and it could be for any reason, in any event. Who will be Fletcher, the young man in the crow's nest who could point out pirates in a fog too thick to see the fore from the aft? Who will be the cannoneer Grym, with perfect aim? There is a niche for each of you to fill, in order to make a perfect crew, and without the right ones, we may fall. So, I will find you your niche, if you don't find it for yourself." He assured, already getting excited about the prospect. "And as soon as this damned wound heals, we are going to have ourselves a hunt." He rubbed his hands together, already excited at the prospect. "For now... who wants to try some sword fighting? I'm reasonably confident I can take any one of you injured, and I'd like to see you bastards prove me wrong." He grinned playfully, clearly just trying to get them in the spirit of the game, and get them geared up to beat him at sword fighting.

The men's laughter rumbled throughout the room. Hans had managed to boost the troops' morale to start their training and him opening up for questions had seemed to ease some of their doubts. 

 "I'd gladly oblige to your challenge Westergaard, just to try to prove you wrong, I like seemingly impossible odds. Though it's highly likely you're still able to kick my hind, even in your current condition, I don't think the Queen would be to thrilled if she found out I returned you more scratched up than you are now, that is if I managed to surprise even myself by beating you," chuckled Captain Kristofferson. "I'll also take you up on your offer, for real, once you're in peak condition, even if that means the odds are against me. It'll hurt my pride to lose, even if it's just in practice and 'it never happened', but if it helps me improve myself in any way to better protect Arendelle I'll do it in a heartbeat. I hope you're all committed to do the same." He declared, taking the lead trying to set the example to his men as is to be expected of a Captain.

Hans rubbed his hands together. "Excellent, let's show the men a good sporting game, shall we? Out to the yards then, tell me you've got some good practice swords? I expect to have to order you all a whole new armory, but practice swords should absolutely be standard. I don't know whether I'll be more disappointed if they're falling to pieces, or if they're new." He warned. He still leaned on his cane somewhat as he moved. "Luckily my injury isn't on my sword-arm side. You might stand a chance if I had to operate left-handed." He teased. In spite of the cane, he moved quickly enough. He moved out to the practice yard, and claimed himself a practice sword closer to a navy cutlass than his own bastard sword, with a few practice swings. "This'll do." He then went about checking the space to clear it out, and used the point of it to hack a few rings into the space. 

 "Who was present during the raid?" He asked, when he was done, moving himself to the center of the rings he had made. "Who, if any among you, recalls what direction I shouted as I passed by to find the Queen? What advice did I give? And, why am I asking?" He loved to challenge them with questions, in between making them laugh. He was glad to see they had a sense of humor about them. That was more or less how he led ships, too.

There were various voices that answered: 

 "Press in!"

 "Repel them back!"

  "Hold the line!"

 As Hans was having a teaching moment, the Captain was choosing his sword, he decided to go with a standard arming sword.

Hans clasped his hands over his wooden sword-hilt and looked so proud. 

 "My god, you actually listened." He seemed genuinely touched at the idea. He took a moment, then cleared his throat a little. "Now, today we're going to see what I mean by that. We can all see where I'm starting, yes? Bulls-eye." He gestured down, standing in the middle of the field. 

"Captain, drive me as far from this point as you can, and I'll try to defend without moving from the bulls-eye. Then we'll switch, and see who can press the other back furthest. You know the rules, only thieves try to hit family jewels, ey? And I'd like my head as un-cracked as possible while I'm still recovering from my two recent near-death experiences. Otherwise, do your damnedest, or I'll never stop giving you shit about it." He flourished with his wooden blade a little, and readied himself. The Hans who trained men was certainly a different man from the Prince Hans who was all 'Your Majesty's and 'Good Sir's. He suspected this Hans was the one the men would learn from best.

"I won't go easy on you just because your wounded Westergaard, I know you won't hold back either, and I'm quite aware I'll never hear the end of it if I don't give it my all," affirmed the Captain with a nod, holding his sword with both hands in the ready position. Once he saw Hans was ready he charged him with all his might.

"Good, because you'll never hear the end of it when you lose to a wounded man, either." Hans teased. He proved to be an agile fighter, in spite of his cane, which he seemed to have forgotten about, fallen to the ground. He defended and parried skillfully, using short thrusts and sharp raps about the shins to force the Captain to back up as best he could, stepping to one side or ducking or even turning -into- attacks to avoid being forced back. He didn't hit hard, because that wasn't the purpose; nor did he aim to disarm, because that would've gone against the point. He simply aimed to hold his ground. While injured, of course, this was no easy task. Being limited to a circle was a difficult business, and this was certainly the challenged position to begin in. He was forced back once or twice by attacks to his weak side, which he was forced to defend more carefully against, but he regained his position by stepping in close and aiming for weak parts of the abdomen, or careful strikes near the neck. He said he wouldn't attack the head, but he'd never said anything about the throat. He was all business during the fight, perhaps entirely because he had to be, as he was recovering. He kept his free hand over his wound, to protect it from getting any worse, but he never flinched from a blow, even if it did make one of his many injuries hurt.

  "I think we've quite made our point, Captain? We never did specify an endgame, my fool mistake, but if I reopen any of my wounds, my doctor may simply stitch me up with a burlap like a sack-doll, so I ought to be careful." He chuckled a little, clearly wearing a little, himself. He would be the first to admit that he wasn't in full form, and he doubted the Captain was, either. They had proved the point, that was the necessity. The battle was short, but illustrative. "Shall we switch?"

" Of course," agreed the Captain. "Wouldn't want to get an earful from the doctor and much less displease her Majesty by being the one responsible in completing your transformation from man to hessian." They switched places, and the Captain was trying to prepare himself for Hans swordsmanship as the one charging, he knew the younger man was far more experienced in swordplay than he and the only he could really do was try to stand his ground as best he could for as long as he could manage.

 "I'm tempted to say you think far too much of her Majesty's opinion of me." Hans pointed out. The first time he said it, it was an amusing aside. Now he was beginning to wonder what exactly their reputation in the castle was. "You're not implying anything, are you? About Her Majesty or I?" He seemed genuinely thrown by that idea. It took him a moment to think about that, before he began his assault. He started easy, throwing a few attacks, defending a few others. Then as he got back into the rhythm, he took his own message-- Press in. He stepped into the Captain's personal space, ignoring the lines, shoving the other's sword away to get as close as humanly possible. He was also not above throwing in an elbow or a knee. Swordsmanship was one thing, but in close combat, a dagger was more useful, and an elbow would do in the meanwhile. Again, he didn't do it painfully, he was illustrating a point. His goal was not to hurt the Captain, nor to disarm him, but simply to push him out. That was the advice that he gave to the Arendelle guards-- push forward.

"Not at all, I'm not implying anything," the Captain retorted, stern shake of the head. "Just indicating the Queen's compassion, and that it wouldn't look good on my behalf as her Guard's Captain if I mistreat an already injured man." The Captain was just calling it like he saw it, Elsa clearly cared about the Prince's well-being that was undeniable, he wasn't insinuating anything about their relationship, he would never presumptuously speak ill of the Queen. 

 The Captain had not expected Hans to get up so close and personal in his combat, he was finding it quite difficult to continue to roll with the punches. Hans was good at using him as a dummy to demonstrate the tactic.

"Oh good, I might've been a little thrown, then." Hans teased gently, sounding much less bothered now. "My brother Eduard was always much better at this tactic," He admitted, even slipping past the Captain, only to turn and hook his throat with an arm. Harmless, no blade contact, but enough to halt the defense. "But he was good at getting into men's personal spaces for much different reasons." He let the insinuation be playfully scandalous for the men to ponder over. He twisted to kick the Captain's leg out from under him and bring them both down-- though Hans came down on his knee, and grunted a bit as his wound moved painfully. "Ah, and there's where my doctor yells at me." He huffed, cringing at the pain he inflicted upon himself. The landing for the Captain would have been softer, all on the grass, nothing contorted or twisted, just uncomfortable. 

 "Alright then, well done, Captain." He stood back up, though struggling a little with his wound, and offered a hand to help the other up just the same. "Now then, lessons: See how far we moved?" He gestured down at the ground. "I gave the Captain no choice but to retreat, by getting into his personal space. It limited my opportunities, but I am familiar with one of my favorite rules of swordplay: Swords alone are for duels. Wars are won by teeth and pommels, sand in the eyes and dirty tricks. Use your elbows, use your knees, use your god-given wits before you lose them. Hell, use your head if you fancy it's hard enough. Watch your environment, know your opponent. Are they chatty? Wounded? Favoring their left? Do they excel at power or balance? Lord, I think I'm done with demonstrations for the afternoon." He laughed somewhat painfully and used his sword to pick up his cane, to use that. "Don't let me catch any of you using a sword as a cane either, wood or no. Else I'll teach you what a sword is for the way we do in the Isles." He huffed a little, leaning on it. He really needed to be more cautious.

 The Captain took his hand and stood up quickly, not wanting to weigh him down. "We might have been a bit too ambitious. How about we --and I mostly mean you-- don't do anymore physical demonstrations ey, Westergaard? At least until you manage to heal that up well enough not to damage it again, lest you wish to keep the injury there indefinitely. I'll handle the physical training myself until you're up to the mark, you shouldn't worry about anything other than writing up guidance or giving out orders before that time comes. Don't worry I'll be as rigorous as you intend to be, can't cut them any slack. Got to give it our all from the set about else they're bound to rout later, once you're finally ready to train them for real. You might be in charge of retraining, but it's still my job to command the troops."

 Hans chuckled dryly. "Ah, but it's just not as fun for me." He joked. "A little pain never stopped me from a damn thing, but you are right, her Majesty would be vexed by me hurting myself, so I'd best not do that again for a bit. I wasn't really planning to do that, to be frank I was expecting the written test to take longer." He glanced at the sky to check the time. He didn't exactly have a watch, as a prisoner. "I'm just showing my pains now so you'll keep me honest." Why else would he? Pain was useless to him. "I'll see about writing up some simple physical fitness goals and exercises for you to train them with. I may start borrowing men periodically to speak to them about these tests, get to know a few." He looked over at the men pensively.

  "So then, that, my dear boys, is what we call a Pyrrhic victory, something I'm quite prone to. Is a win still a win when you've lost as much as you've gained? That's a philosophical subject for you to decide. For me, as long as whatever I do improves the chances of her Majesty surviving another raid, I'll take my pains and be glad about it. Pain just means I'm still alive enough to suffer it, but maybe that's just a philosophy one gets with twelve older brothers. So, what do we think of me? Hm? Am I good enough to train her Majesty's guards after my wound is properly healed?" He wanted to see, was the murmuring and skepticism still there? Had he won them over? Or were there yet holdouts who hated him? They were the ones he wanted to speak with first and longest.

The men all silently looked at once another for a moment. Then some voices started to spark from the crowd.

  "Yeah!"

  "For Arendelle!"

 The voices all got louder and echoed among the men, they all seemed rather animated, cheering and raising their fists in a sign of support, if there were still any embittered people among them they surely didn't seem to stand out anymore.

Hans seemed, not just surprised, but genuinely touched. In a way, it was bittersweet. They believed him so readily, they genuinely thought he wanted to help Arendelle. And, he did. But god, how did they believe it? What had he done to deserve that same loyalty that he got from his crew. 

 He fixed his usual confident look to his face, with a wry smile. "Excellent. Keep that spirit, men. And do come to visit me if you want to talk about anything. God knows I'm bored, healing. I'll take these papers, and leave you to it, returning to my... room?" He looked at the Captain, almost raising an eyebrow. "I'll be perfectly honest... I'm still not used to not calling it a cell." Did that say more about him, or what he was used to?

 "Anyway, I should be off, before I do some other demonstration and accidentally kill myself." He laughed dryly. In truth, he was leaving so he could get to his room and try not to cry again, this time with, what, relief? It was a good feeling, whatever it was. Bittersweet.