Frozen belongs to Disney

Anna stood in the doorway of the hearing room and looked around in dismay. Nearly every seat was taken. This morning's meeting of the Nasjonsting's Governmental Affairs committee had already been relocated once because of the larger-than-expected attendance. She and Agdar had arrived early and gone to the originally scheduled room, only to learn a few minutes ago that the hearing had been moved.

"I thought you said this was just the first committee reading?" Anna said to Agdar as they edged along the back wall of the room, looking for a place to sit. She shifted her small laptop case from one hand to the other, rubbing her palms on her black pencil skirt.

"It is." He pointed out two empty seats on the far aisle and led her toward them. "But remember, this is the first Proposal of Succession to be introduced in the Nasjonsting in almost fifty years. So I'm not surprised that there's a lot of public interest."

Anna thought that if there was any more interest, the reading would have to be moved to the Nasjonsting main chamber. She knew she shouldn't be surprised – the news had been full of stories and speculations about Hans Westergard, the latest claimant to the Crocus Throne. There had been a few previous claims, but Hans' was the first one to actually be turned into a formal succession proposal.

Which says a lot more about the quality of Hans' scheming than it does about the legitimacy of his bloodline.

She looked around at the crowd again, her stomach flip-flopping at the number of press credentials and cameras that were present. At least Agdar would be the one doing the talking. The last thing she needed to do was embarrass herself before the whole country with her word vomit.

"And it's also the first one in over a hundred and fifty years that's not just a formality," Agdar was saying.

"Formality?"

They settled into their seats, and Agdar dropped his voice to just above a whisper. "Yes. When the reigning monarch has children, our Laws of Succession state that his or her children will inherit, in absolute birth order. So the Proposal of Succession is normally just a formality, a routine vote in the Nasjonsting to recognize and affirm the heir apparent."

"What if there aren't any children?"

"Then the nearest collateral line inherits." At Anna's puzzled expression, he explained, "In other words, if His Majesty had a sibling, that sibling would inherit and be followed by his or her children."

"So since King Haldor was an only child whose only child died, there's no automatically recognized heir?"

"Correct. And His Majesty's father, King Olaf, was himself an only child. The Queens of Arendelle have not been particularly fecund, and there have been some hereditary health issues. Add in a few wars and the restrictions of the Traktat av Norge amendment, and we find ourselves here, on the edge of losing our sovereignty."

The door opened again and Anna clenched her fists in her lap as Hans strode confidently down the aisle, followed by a gaunt, gray-haired man with hatchet-like features. Cameras flashed, and Hans looked around at the crowd with a satisfied smile as he and the other man settled at the witness table in the front of the room. Just the sight of him sickened her, and she glared at him as though she could burn holes in the back his head with her eyes.

"With a murderer and pretender grasping at the throne," she hissed.

Agdar's eyebrows shot up at the venom in her voice. Hans was now turned around in his seat, whispering with Weselton, who sat in the spectator row directly behind him. He patted the briefcase on the table beside him and grinned before turning back around. Anna ground her teeth, and pondered again how much trouble she would get in if she just punched him in the face.

Whatever trouble I get in would be worth it.

A hand patted her gently on the arm. "Don't worry, Anna," Agdar whispered. "We're not letting that happen. There's no way he will ever become King."

Anna took a deep breath and nodded. This could end up being the darkest scandal in Arendelle's modern history. Corruption, lies, extortion, murder – if it had been a movie, Anna might have dismissed it as being too far-fetched. The revelations were going to shake Arendelle to its foundations.

Anna wasn't sure if she was thrilled or horrified to be involved in it.

In the end, it doesn't matter, as long as Elsa is safe.

The door behind the dais at the front of the room opened, and the members of the Governmental Affairs committee filed in, taking their seats at the tables on the semicircular dais. The committee chairman, Councilor Lars Brunsvold, rapped his gavel to open the session.

Hans glanced around the crowded room once more as he turned away from Weselton, elated satisfaction filling his chest. Despite his confidence, he was still a bit amazed at how well his plan had played out. Sure, there had been some bumps along the way. He'd had to lie and manipulate and maneuver, but that was all part of politics, whether it was being practiced at a village council or inside Arendelle Castle. There was blood on his hands – literally, in one case – and that was regrettable, but it couldn't be helped. After all, hadn't death, like manipulation and maneuvering, been integral to royal politics for time immemorial?

The only black mark so far was the inability to find Erikksen and Anna. While they no longer posed any real threat, that small failure lingered around him like a bad odor. Hans hated loose ends. At least Elsa Kjarensen was dead; everything they'd been able to learn pointed to her having died of her wounds at the hospital in Gjoheim.

Movement at the other end of the witness table drew his attention. A small, slim woman sat down and put her attache case on the table. Hans studied her for a moment. Dressed in an impeccable dark blue skirt and jacket, her brown hair coiled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, she looked vaguely familiar. He leaned toward the man seated next to him. "Who is that?"

Klaus Froland sniffed in disdain. "Idunn Fjelstad. The Chief of the Royal Archives."

"What is she doing here?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

Hans pulled back, suppressing a slight scowl. Froland was Weselton's man inside the Chancellor's office. Hans tolerated him because they needed someone from the Castle to introduce their Proposal of Succession to the Nasjonsting, but Froland gave him a serious case of the creeps. He wasn't sure if it was the haughty self-righteousness, or the predatory looks that he'd caught the man casting his way, but Hans always felt like he needed a shower when he left Froland's presence.

He has to go as soon as I become King. He can retire nicely on the graft Weselton has funneled his way for the past twenty years.

The Governmental Affairs committee entered the room. Hans stiffened his back just a bit as Brunsvold opened the meeting, projecting what he felt was the perfect mix of attentiveness and easy self-assurance. It wouldn't do to appear too eager – this was his birthright, after all, and he expected this committee to move his case forward, not to question it.

Still, there were customs and procedures that had to be maintained. This was merely the first step.

Brunsvold rapped his gavel again and said, "The business before the Committee today is a Proposal of Royal Succession, brought by Assistant Secretary Klaus Froland of the Office of the Chancellor."

Froland rose and was sworn in as murmurs swept through the room. Then he steepled his fingers in front of him. "Mr. Chairman, on behalf of His Majesty, King Haldor V, we introduce a Proposal of Succession to name Hans Frederick Christian Josef Westergard as heir to the Crocus Throne."

"Do you have the written proposal for the committee, Mr. Secretary?"

"Yes. Signed and sealed by the Chancellor, in the name of His Majesty." Froland stepped around the table and handed the chairman a leather-bound portfolio.

Hans knew that the presentation of the written proposal was just another part of the custom. All of the committee members had already received an advance copy. A copy had also been leaked to the press, along with the reminder of what would happen to Arendelle under the Traktat av Norge if no heir was found.

And exactly as he had expected, several talking heads had begun whipping up panic, denouncing the "arrogance of our elected leaders" and "their critical failure to tend to our country's future." Despite the fact that historic relations between Arendelle and the Southern Isles had been lukewarm at best, more than one commentator had demanded immediate affirmation of the Proposal of Succession and the proclamation of Hans as the rightful heir.

Yes, everything was coming together perfectly.

"Mr. Westergard, are you prepared to present your claim?" Brunsvold asked.

Hans stood up and gave him a slight nod. "I am, Mr. Chairman." He raised his right hand and was sworn in.

He then launched into his presentation, a convoluted explanation of the Westergard genealogical tree and its historic ties to Arendellian royalty. Like so many other Continental nations, the Southern Isles had been rocked by popular uprisings in the mid-1800s, its monarchy deposed and replaced with a parliamentary republic. However, its royal family had escaped the violent purges that had decimated the noble classes of many other countries, and had remained in the Southern Isles as a sort of landed gentry. The Westergard personal fortune, separated from the national treasury, had been invested in several business ventures, eventually becoming the conglomerate known as SI Shipping and Trading.

The Westergard connection to Arendellian royalty was quite distant, the most recent common ancestor predating the ruling Frostahl family by over a century. Even then, it wasn't direct – the link was a Southern Isles princess whose half-sister had married an Arendelle king. But as tenuous as it was, the link was there; given the undercurrent of fear gripping Arendelle right now, Hans was sure that remote connection would be enough to convince the Nasjonsting to affirm him as heir to the Crocus Throne.

And if it wasn't, well, they had enough dirt on enough councilors, including several on this very committee, to make sure that the vote went in his favor.

Either way, I will be the hero who saves Arendelle from disaster.

Hans wrapped up his presentation with a brief thanks. Then he gave the committee staffers portfolios with copies of the documentation supporting his claim to the throne, including genealogical charts and references to relevant birth and marriage records. The staffers distributed them to the committee members.

"An impressive presentation, Mr. Westergard," one of the committee members said, looking down at the portfolio in front of her. "However, I see that you are the youngest of thirteen sons. It seems to me that your father would have the strongest claim to the throne, and even if he chose to abrogate this responsibility, you have twelve brothers ahead of you. I assume that at least a few of those brothers have children of their own, which would put you well down the line of inheritance."

Hans took a deep breath; he'd anticipated this, and it was going to be the trickiest part of his plan. Flashing the woman his most charming smile, he said, "Madame Councilor, you are correct. I am the youngest of thirteen. However, the Westergards have been out of the business of governance for more than 150 years, and my father has no interest in taking on this obligation. He feels that Arendelle needs someone young and dynamic to lead it forward. Of all my brothers, I have spent the most time in Arendelle, by far. I have lived here for the past five years, and I have come to love this land and its people. I consider it my home. And so my father has entrusted me with the responsibility, the honor, of leading Arendelle."

He took a paper from his briefcase and held it up. "If you look through the documentation in your portfolio, you will find a legally signed and sealed edict from my father, indicating that he has passed this duty to me."

This was technically true. The document his father had signed had granted Hans control over the Westergard interests in Arendelle. But a few digital tweaks here and there, some careful rewording, and a few thousand kroners directed to the proper bureaucrats, and Heinrich Westergard's routine business edict essentially became a Statement of Abdication.

It was risky, very risky. His father would find out what he had done, and his wrath would be terrifying. But by then, the news would be out and it would be too late for his father or brothers to interfere without a public loss of face. Hans was betting on the Westergard clan's tendency to close ranks against anything that could potentially embarrass the family. Heinrich Westergard might rage about it in private, but he would sooner die than admit that one of his sons had outfoxed him.

He'll probably convince himself that the whole thing was his idea in the first place, and that I simply carried out his brilliant plan.

That suited Hans just fine. He would rule Arendelle, restoring glory to the family, and bask in his father's approval while his brothers fumed in the background. He couldn't suppress a smile at the thought as he took his seat.

Councilor Brunsvold said, "The Proposal of Succession is officially submitted for consideration by this committee, to be passed to the full assembly of the Nasjonsting if the claim is found to be worthy."

He eyed Hans thoughtfully, his gray eyes piercing beneath bushy black eyebrows. Then he cleared his throat and continued, "Arendelle finds itself in a situation not faced in recent memory – the imminent passing of a monarch with no clear successor decreed. As such, it is the solemn duty of this committee to carefully assess any claim to our country's throne. This includes the hearing of objections to the claim or presentation of evidence as to why the claimant is unfit or should otherwise not be named as heir."

Hans stifled a smug grin, keeping his expression guileless. Who could possibly object? Arendelle would cease to exist if not for him.

Brunsvold continued. "We do have witnesses here this morning to testify as to why this claim should not move forward. Ms. Fjelstad, are your associates present?"

Hans whipped around to look at the woman at the other end of the table. Caught up in the brilliance of his own presentation, he had completely forgotten she was there. He had not anticipated objections during the first committee reading. Debate, certainly, but not outright opposition. Then his bewilderment turned to shock as Agdar Erikksen strode down the aisle, trailed by a young woman. Erikksen didn't even glance Hans' way as he and Fjelstad stood in front of the table to be sworn in.

"Please state your name and position for the committee," Brunsvold instructed as they were seated.

The woman leaned forward, speaking into the microphone on the table in front of her. "My name is Idunn Fjelstad. I am the Chief of the Royal Archives, but I am here today as the personal representative of His Majesty, King Haldor."

Shocked whispers rippled through the room. Fjelstad took a paper from her small attache case and handed it to the young woman, who pushed her tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of her nose. Hans did a double-take.

Anna?

Dressed in a black pencil skirt and crisp white blouse, her hair up in a businesslike bun, Anna looked almost nothing like the girl he'd once charmed. She met his eyes briefly, giving him a look of utter disgust, then carried the paper to Brunsvold. The chairman propped his glasses on his nose, his eyes widening a bit as he read it, and he shot an odd look at Hans and Froland.

"What's going on?!" Weselton hissed at Hans.

"I don't know," Hans replied from between clenched teeth. "Just sit back and let me handle it." He turned to Froland. "What is this?" he whispered harshly. "I thought the Chancellor's Office spoke with the King's voice!"

Froland spoke up. "Mr. Chairman, this is highly irregular. To the best of my knowledge, His Majesty has delegated this matter to the Chancellor's office."

"Apparently not," Brunsvold said dryly, brandishing the paper before passing it along to the other committee members. "Very well, Ms. Fjelstad. What is the nature of your objection to this claim?"

Fjelstad pulled another document from her case. "There are several, Mr. Chairman, the first of them being that Mr. Westergard, despite his impressive family tree, is not eligible to inherit the Crocus Throne under the provisions of the Traktat av Norge."

What? "Mr. Chairman, I'm afraid I don't understand," Hans said.

Brunsvold raised his eyebrows. "That is surprising, Ms. Fjelstad, I was not aware that the treaty specified any terms of succession. Could you clarify, please?"

Fjelstad handed Anna the second document to take to him. "This document was recently declassified. It is an amendment made to the Traktat av Norge in 1830, signed by King Agðar II, as part of sovereignty negotiations between the nations of the Northern Realms. It is believed that Agðar signed this amendment under duress, to protect a family secret, and he ordered it sealed in the Royal Archives. Now, we all know that the Traktat states that if there is no heir to the Crocus Throne, we will cede our sovereignty to Norway. This amendment makes that provision even stricter – it states that the heir must be of the Frostahl line, in direct descent from Agðar himself."

More murmurs through the room, louder this time. "Quiet, please!" Brunsvold instructed the audience.

"So you see, Mr. Chairman," Fjelstad continued, "without a complete renegotiation of the Traktat, a foundational document of the Northern Realms, Mr. Westergard cannot lawfully inherit the throne."

Hans just gaped at her. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. If what she said was true, then all of this had been for naught. All of his hard work, planning and maneuvering. He could almost feel the crown slipping through his fingers.

No, I'm not letting it go that easily. There has to be a way.

He pulled himself together and spoke up. "Mr. Chairman, it is my understanding that His Majesty is the last of the Frostahl line. Surely he knows what that means for Arendelle's future. I will request an audience - "

Brunsvold cut him off. "You'll have your chance, Mr. Westergard. Ms. Fjelstad, we all know His Majesty is ill. Is he aware of our predicament?"

"Yes, he is. That is why Mr. Erikksen is here. There has always been speculation that there was a secret collateral line, a remaining Frostahl heir. He was tasked with searching for whoever he or she might be."

Froland slapped his hand on the table. "That is utterly untrue, Mr. Chairman! It is the responsibility of the Chancellor's office to conduct the search. Obviously, Ms. Fjelstad did not provide us with all of the necessary information. There was never any mention of an outside investigator being used."

"Mr. Erikksen, can you explain?"

"Yes, Mr. Chairman," Erikksen said. He folded his hands on the table, leaned forward, and spoke calmly into the microphone. "When Ms. Fjelstad first asked me to search for the rumored Frostahl heir, I was naturally curious as to why. After all, I'm a private citizen, with no official connections to the Castle bureaucracy. But I do keep my ear to the ground, and I had heard that there was …anxiety in some quarters about the prospect of a new monarch. Ms. Fjelstad was justifiably concerned that the search would be…compromised."

"Compromised in what way?"

"To put someone that could be controlled on the Crocus Throne, to ensure that certain powers and privileges would be maintained."

Brunsvold's bushy eyebrows shot up. "That's…an extraordinary assertion, Mr. Erikksen."

Erikksen nodded. "Indeed. About eighteen months ago, I was approached by a prominent businessman. He was familiar with my consulting firm, was aware that I knew many members of the Nasjonsting, and that I was, in fact, good friends with a number of them. This gentleman wanted me to help him with a special project."

"What sort of project?" Brunsvold prompted.

"He wanted me to help gather information about the councilors that could be used to blackmail them."

Hans froze. He heard Weselton's sharp intake of breath.

"Blackmail? How?" Brunsvold asked.

"He knew of my dedication to environmental and economic sustainability, and my efforts to convince our lawmakers of the benefits they would have for Arendelle."

"I think we're all aware of your efforts in those areas."

"It can be a tough sell in this building, for a number of reasons. I've used up most of my own money for this cause, and this man knew that, too. He believed I was desperate. An easy mark."

The committee members listened, enraptured. "How would this scheme work, Mr. Erikksen?" one of them asked.

"I would approach councilors – and certain bureaucrats – who could help influence environmental regulations, and also those in a position to approve funding for sustainable infrastructure projects. I would approach only those with…precarious…personal finance situations. If we're quite honest here, many, if not most, councilors need money. It's not a high-paying position, and living in Arendelle City is rather expensive."

There were grunts of agreement from the committee members.

"If they agreed to help me, they would be compensated after they left office. A retirement package of sorts. These 'retirement packages' would be funded by this gentleman. He also provided me with a specially-equipped briefcase to take covert video of incriminating conversations that I had with councilors. The man would then use the video to blackmail the councilors."

"To what purpose?" Brunsvold asked.

"Many of the people I was to target serve on committees overseeing policies that directly impact the business community. For example, two members of this committee, Councilors Eide and Pedersen, also serve on the Labor and Social Affairs committee, and thus make policy on wages, benefits, worker's compensation, and the like. His plan was to blackmail them – and others – into using their committee positions to create what he felt was a favorable business environment. Lower taxes, less regulation, weaker labor laws, that kind of thing."

"He's cut a deal!" Weselton hissed in Hans' ear. "Look at Eide and Pedersen! It's obvious they're backing his story. Brunsvold too!"

Hans had to agree. The politicians wore perfect expressions of righteous indignation. It wasn't like Weselton could just jump up and yell, "It didn't happen that way, he was already bribing them, I just caught him and used him for my own ends." At any other time, he would have found it amusing.

"And what did you do?" the chairman asked.

"I went to the councilors on the list at once and told them what happened, including Councilors Eide and Pedersen. We decided to set up a kind of sting. I would pretend to go along with the scheme, and they would pretend to be part of it. I would gather evidence, and once we felt like we had a strong enough case, we would take it to the National Police."

"Risky business." Brunsvold dangled his glasses from his fingers. "As interesting – and shocking – as this all is, Mr. Erikksen, what bearing does it have on the matter of the Proposal of Succession?" Brunsvold asked.

"It provides some context, Mr. Chairman. Not long after His Majesty fell ill, the focus of the scheme changed from specific committees to the Nasjonsting as a whole, and the gentleman became more vague about his goal. Then, several weeks ago, I became aware of the involvement of another man. He said some things that made me think we were working toward the same end – a new monarch – but with very different outcomes in mind.

"In the meantime, my associate, Elsa Kjarensen, became suspicious of me. I obviously couldn't confide in her. She went to the National Police on her own, and they started an investigation. The businessman and his associate found out about this, and arranged to have Ms. Kjarensen killed. She escaped, thank God, but the NP agent with her was killed."

The entire room started buzzing at this. Brunsvold and the rest of the committee stared at Erikksen in disbelief. Finally, the chairman cleared his throat and said, "You're saying that a prominent businessman is responsible for the murder of a National Police agent?"

"Yes. He arranged for the hit on Ms. Kjarensen to stop the investigation. He missed the first time, but his men caught up with her at her safe house in the mountains. You see, he couldn't have the NPs interfering with his plan, which was to become a kingmaker. He would use blackmail to get the Nasjonsting to put an heir of his choosing on the Crocus Throne."

The chamber erupted. Cameras clicked all over the room, an undertone to the babble of confused and outraged voices.

"Quiet, please! Quiet!" Brunsvold banged his gavel. "Can you tell us who these men are, Mr. Erikksen?"

Erikksen turned. He met Hans' eyes and gave him a slight smile before pointing directly at him.

"Eckbert Weselton and Hans Westergard."

Weselton exploded from his seat, waving his fists in the air. "That is a lie!" he screeched. "This man was in my house a few nights ago, with that woman!" He pointed at Anna. "She held a gun to my head! They threatened me, told me this same crazy story! They said they had evidence of it, but they ran away when I called their bluff." He jabbed his finger at Erikksen and Anna. "I demand that you place them under arrest at once!"

"I have proof of everything I've told you," Erikksen said.

He gestured to Anna, who pulled a laptop from her attache case and booted it up. A few clicks later, and her laptop was mirrored to the monitors at each committee member's station, as well as to the big TV mounted behind the dais. Everyone in the room watched breathlessly as the screen came to life.

In high definition, the TV showed Anna and Erikksen leaving Weselton's study through the French window. Weselton went to his desk and picked up the phone, then put it down and reached into a drawer to take out a mobile phone. The view split, and Hans closed his eyes as an image of him in his own study came up to share the screen with Weselton.

Oh, shit…

Their entire conversation played out before the rapt audience – the blackmail scheme, the killing of the NP, ordering the murders of Anna and Erikksen. Hans' revelation of his plan to take the Crocus Throne, and how he would go about proving it, including the altered letter from his father. The look of triumph he wore on the screen was the polar opposite of the defeat he felt right now.

The screen went black and the room was absolutely silent. Hans ran a hand through his hair and resisted the urge to slump his shoulders. Froland stared at him with a mixture of anger and contempt. Weselton collapsed back into his chair, staring slack-jawed at the TV.

Brunsvold leaned forward and spoke. "Since you've admitted that Mr. Erikksen was in your house a few nights ago, I'm guessing you're not going to dispute this evidence, Mr. Weselton? Mr. Westergard?"

Hans just stared at Erikksen and Anna. Erikksen's head was on the table, his hand on Anna's. The two were clearly exhausted. Fjelstad leaned over and whispered in his ear.

Erikksen raised his head and said into his mic, "Mr. Chairman, there is one more thing. My search for the Frostahl heir bore fruit." He took a thick leather-bound portfolio from his briefcase, and Anna carried it to Brunsvold. "This report details my findings. Your committee should expect to hear another Proposal of Succession very soon."

Hans watched as Brunsvold opened the cover and glanced at the first page. The chairman's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Hans' stomach lurched; not only had the crown slipped through his fingers, it had clattered to the floor, out of his reach.

He glanced around the hearing room and swallowed hard. At some point, several uniformed members of His Majesty's Own had slipped in and were standing sentry by the doors. The men who should have been his bodyguards might well become his jailers.

"Elsa Kjarensen survived the second assassination attempt as well," Erikksen said. "She was gravely injured, and is still in intensive care. Her survival is of the utmost importance, because Elsa Christianne Katarina Kjarensen is the last of the Frostahls."

The crowd gasped. Hans jaw dropped. Brunsvold just looked at Erikksen for a moment before he spoke.

"So you're saying…?"

"Yes. Elsa Kjarensen is the heir to the Crocus Throne."

Anna watched with a slight smile as Lieutenant Helga Sinclair intercepted the Weasel at the door and snapped a pair of handcuffs on him. Hans turned to leave, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of Kristoff Bjorgman and Colonel Markus Gunnarsen advancing on him with murderous looks. A pair of cuffs dangled from one of Kristoff's hands, while the other rested pointedly on his sidearm.

"Let's get out of here before we get swarmed," Agdar said, jerking his head at the crowd of reporters pressing relentlessly toward them.

Anna stuffed her laptop in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Then she, Agdar, and Idunn rose from the table and made their way toward the aisle, ignoring the insistent shouts of reporters. She brushed by Hans without speaking or even glancing at him, but a hand grabbed her arm and swung her around.

She found herself looking into Hans' olive-green eyes. She shuddered. How could she ever have thought that she loved this beautiful monster?

"How?" he asked, bewilderment all over his face. He took a menacing step toward her, but Kristoff grabbed his arm. "How did you do it? The throne should have been mine!"

Anna just stared at him for a minute, quivering with anger. I'm the bigger person, I'm the bigger person, be the bigger person, she chanted to herself.

She turned on her heel to walk away.

Fuck it!

She dropped her laptop case and spun back around. Her mouth curled up in a huge grin at the flash of terror she saw on Hans' face right before her fist connected with his nose.

A/N - Now you can't tell me you didn't see that coming... *g*

Much gratitude to grrlgeek72 and vesfarhloc for proofing, correcting, and generally not letting me off the hook.