#maggiethemaid

[westergardheiress]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJ-q3_b3dkI)

[firelordhans]

(strawberryshortcake) Maggie rolled over and gently tugged on Hans' sideburns. She was awake, early of course, and someone was missing from their bed. She hated these long ice harvesting trips, but at least her lovely king was still there.

@maggiethemaid & @anonkristoff

{♔} —- Even half asleep, Hans knew those hands, and he knew that if he didn’t wake, Maggie would keep tugging on his facial hair until it was completely out of shape. His sideburns were impossible to smooth down once Maggie got a hold of them, so he rolled over and wrapped both arms around her.

“Mmm. Good morning,” he sighed, his eyes still closed. For a moment he simply lay there, enjoying the warmth of their bed, but like Maggie, hans could not help but notice how empty it felt without Kristoff’s broad shoulders or steady breathing.

Three weeks he’d been gone, and still there would be two more before Kristoff returned. Three times, Kristoff’s letters had reached them, and three times, Hans and Maggie had sent a message back. Today the postmaster would come again, and with him, word from the King and Queen’s husband.

“I finished my half of our letter,” Hans said, still tangled in Maggie’s limbs. “And I saw the gloves you made! Kristoff will love them… Though I’m not sure that’s quite what he meant when he complained about the cold.”

Hans propped his head upon one flat palm, his brows furrowed and thoughtful.

“I want to send him something too, but I’m useless at handmade gifts. Do you think he’d like a bottle of brandy? A little taste of home… It would help keep him warm, too!”

[firelordhans]

Psh, the kings dolls are nothing to the Queen Magda ones! I swear all the toy makers are having a competition on who can make the most luxurious dress!

{♔} —- “I’m hardly surprised!” the King laughed. “I have a daughter, and I know full well what toys she likes best! She wants dolls who have long hair that she can brush and style to her heart’s content, and beautiful gowns that she can dress and undress all day long. Maggie has bountiful curls and a wardrobe that no child could resist–and though I’m sure that his facial hair is glorious, a doll of me simply can’t compete!”

Hans raised his hands as if to surrender. He was clearly outmatched, but not at all upset. If anything, he was amused.

“I wonder if Jacques has seen his work reproduced in miniature, or what he must think of it! He makes all of Maggie’s gowns, you see, and anything the toymakers design will have been inspired by his work. I’ll have to order a Queen Magda doll to show him… Maybe I can find a matching pair, of Maggie and me in our wedding clothes! Now that would be something to see!”

[firelordhans]

So you intend to have another? Maybe try for another little girl?

{♔} —- Hans laughed again, deeper and richer than before, his shoulders shaking and the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth.

“Don’t let Maggie hear you say that!” he warned. “She worked in the castle long enough to see how my sisters-in-law were treated… They would give birth to one baby only to have another take its place. She might not realize that you’re joking! At least, I hope you’re joking.”

Hans thought about it for a moment, but it was difficult to imagine how another child would fit into their lives. The baby was too new–he wasn’t quite sure how they were going to manage their third child, nevermind a fourth.

“I really do think our family is complete, for now. But no one can see the future. Maybe, someday… Another little girl wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

[firelordhans]

Dont you worry about his birthdate? They say April 1st babies are April's Fools, they can be horrible tricksters!

{♔} —- “Not at all!” the King laughed. “He’s such a sweet little thing, so bright and alive. He really is our little flame, or happy ray of light.”

Hans looked so proud, so completely satisfied and content. He’d worn this look only a few times in his life; when he married Maggie, and when each of his children were born.

“He was born on the first of April, but he’s not the fool–I am. To think of all the time I wasted, fretting about his birthday, worrying that his life would mirror mine… All the grief and pain I gave to Maggie, and for what? We could have truly enjoyed her pregnancy, but I robbed us of that chance, too focused on the past to appreciate the present…”

Hans shook his head, at first to admonish himself, but then to shake away the doubt.

“But I can’t dwell on it. That was my mistake before–I won’t make it again. My family is whole, complete, and I intend to enjoy it.”

[firelordhans]

@maggiethemaid​ // continued from [x]

{♔} —- A vision came over Hans as Maggie clamped down upon his hand, a memory from very long ago. Quite suddenly he was four years old--one of the twins shoved him to the ground, and the other trod upon his fingers. Hans’ childhood self cried out in terrible anguish just as Maggie was screaming now, only there was no one to comfort him, or to press a kiss upon that aching hand.

Oh, sorry Hans. Didn’t see you there.

In the memory, a great heat surged through him, a fire that he would not understand for many years. For a long time, that was all it was--a heat in his veins, the taste of ash of his mouth. Hans didn’t conjure flame until he was nearly eight, playing war with tin soldiers. With a wave of his hands, the toys scattered, blown away by imaginary cannons--and fire burst from his palm, real fire. The flames vanished just as quickly, so sudden that Hans almost thought he’d imagined it, but there, on the floor--the ugly, twisted remains of his soldiers, their faces molten and black.

“Push, girl!”

Maggie screamed again, and Hans pressed yet another kiss to her hand. He spoke words of encouragement while his magic ensured that Maggie would not overheat, because he was there, in the room with his wife--but he was also in his childhood nursery, kindling a flame in his palm. His heart raced with excitement, uncertainty and joy. He was special. He was magical. He was so much more than the weak, pathetic boy his brothers refused to see.

And yet, he also far worse. He was a monster, a freak. This was why Mother had died, and why Father hated him. If not for this fire, maybe his mother would be alive. Maybe his brothers would love him, play him--or if not, at least he would have had a chance at it. Instead, he’d been cursed since his first moments of life, and now, in this room with Maggie, on the exact same day his curse began, another child was coming into the world. A child with the same curse, but not the same life.

Maggie would not die. Hans knew it beyond all doubt, for they were connected, Maggie and him. Hans could feel her heartbeat, a flame all its own, and it was strong. Like the life laid out before him, Hans could see his child’s life stretching ahead--they were mirror images, but distortions of each other, exactly the same and yet completely different.

His son would have fire, glorious and terrible and bright. He would have a loving mother, an accepting father, and siblings who could not wait to hold his hands in theirs.

And then... There he was. An infant’s wail filled the room as Maggie’s own cries turn to joy. Hans looked from his wife to child, but he could not yet see the babe, only a mess of blankets and white cloth. The future and past quite neatly fell away, leaving only the wonderful present, and this time Hans’ pressed his kiss to Maggie’s damp, exhausted brow.

“He’s here!” the King laughed. “He’s here! You’ve done it!”

[firelordhans]

The midwives bickered in the hallway, the doctors no where to be found as Maggie cried out in pain in the room. Svy was being surprisingly gentle with her niece, being the one to hold her hand and dab her forehead with a cold cloth. "She's burnin' too hot for this." She muttered, "Easy now, breath into it. You got a long while to go still... Where is that damn boy and your husband anyway?" She scoffed.

{♔} —- In fact, the King was in his dressing room, desperate to find clothes that did not smell of sweat and baby sick. Though there was little he could do to help his wife, or even his children, Hans could at least put on a clean shirt. Maybe wash his face. Comb his hair.

One door over, Maggie let out a terrible cry of pain. Hans paused at the sink of his washroom, his entire body still and alert, as if the cry would only worsen if he moved. It faded in time, however, became the muffled, distant sort of tears that Hans could almost ignore. He set aside his gloves and dipped both hands into the washbasin.

As his palms touched the water, white steam curled towards Hans’ face. It fogged the mirror before him, and when he lifted his hands for examination, they soon dry, every droplet evaporated. Gone.

Had he been this hot when he attended Hilde? No wonder she cried so earnestly. Her father was a furnace, filled was ash and coals.

It was affecting more than his family now. If the rumors were to be believed, the entire kingdom had been stricken with unseasonable heat, a day of bright sunshine and stagnant winds, more fitting midsummer than spring. His fears and frustrations were poisoning the very air–it was only now that Hans could appreciate how truly terrified Elsa must have been on her coronation day.

Still, it was remarkable what a washcloth and brush could do. The reflection staring back at Hans was much more like himself; exhausted, yes, but clean, and so dreadfully handsome.

It was time to stop indulging his fears, to stop feeding the pyre inside of him. This ended now.

At last, Hans left his dressing room and stepped into the hall. A dozen nurses and midwives turned at the sound of his footsteps, and bowed their heads quickly to show respect for the King.

“Someone, tell me what’s happening,” Hans said, his back straight in the perfect imagine of confidence and control. Again, Maggie cried out from behind the bedroom door–but Hans did not blink, did not show emotion.

A remarkable thing happened then, one the midwives could not explain. As the King approached, the heat seemed to part before him. A cool night’s breeze followed in his wake, and they all breathed a little easier.

The fire, of course, was Hans’ to control. It was his to consume, his to swallow down. In this way, the Dragon King became an odd source of comfort.

“I want to see my wife.”

[firelordhans]

{♔} —- “Your Majesty-”

Hans lifted a single hand, bidding the servant to hold his tongue. The little princess in Hans’ arms had only just gone to sleep, and he would not risk waking her.

The servant closed his mouth at once, his back ramrod straight and arms pinned as if standing at attention. He was clearly new to the castle, and terrified to address his King--though Hans could hardly imagine why. Right now, he looked nothing like the monarch from his portrait, so proud and tightly laced, but rather like a spool of thread come undone. His limbs were heavy and his edges frayed, his hair disheveled and cravat long discarded. Gone too was his waistcoat, now covered in baby sick, and his bright, green eyes now ringed with dark circles, for Hans could not recall when last he slept.

But Hilde, at least, was finally calm and still--though more from exhaustion than anything else. Her tiny head rested upon Hans’ shoulder while her hands clutched at his shirt, and her breath came steady but ragged, hoarse from a full day of wailing.

She’d cried from the pain of her fever, and for the mother who could not come to her aide. She’d cried for her father, in the brief moments when he left her side, and she’d cried and cried from the blistering heat, still thick and heavy in the air.

Hans lay the child into her bed and dabbed a dry cloth across her brow. When he was quite sure that she was comfortable, he bid the servant to follow him from the nursery.

“What is it?” he asked, softly of course. Hans was careful to leave the nursery door open just a crack, so he could hear if his daughter should wake.

“It’s the Queen, Your Majesty,” the servant replied. “Her labor has begun in earnest. The wi... The old healer, Michelle, is with her, and her aunt too--”

Hans’ eyebrows rose at that. Svy was in his castle?

“But she’s dismissed all the other midwives.”

“She’s what?”

If possible, the air seemed to grow even warmer. Beads of sweat began to form on the manservant’s brow, though perhaps more from nerves. He visibly shrunk at the King’s shout.

What was the point of hiring midwives if Maggie was just going to send them away? They’d all trained for this day, studied all the modern medicines to give Maggie her very best chance of survival. What if one of them knew something Michelle did not, something that could save the Queen’s life?!

“Send them back at once!” he demanded. “If they fear the Queen’s wrath, I’ll escort them into the room myself.”

Hans glanced over his shoulder, but his harsh words had not woken Hilde. He looked back to the manservant, arms crossed.

“Go.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the servant bowed his head, clearly grateful to be sent away--but he didn’t flee as Hans expected. “Of course. Right away. B-but, I just... That is, I wanted to say...”

Hans blinked. His patience was in short supply today, and this boy seemed just about ready to wet himself with fear.

“You haven’t been out of the nursery, so no one’s had the chance to tell you...”

Spit it out, already!

“Happy Birthday!”

It was a genuine, well-meaning gesture. The servant gave him a hopeful smile, as if that small recognition of his birthday might brighten the King’s gloomy mood.

But Hans was silent. That smile fell away, quickly replaced once more with terror. Hans had no doubt that this man was the victim of a prank--Oh, don’t forget to wish the King a Happy Birthday! the other servants must have said, and he’d fallen for it headfirst.

“Thank you,” Hans said at last, if only to break the silence. “Now go.”

He’d never seen a man run so fast.