Author's Note: Pirate King Hans is a fanfic that will run concurrently to and in the same universe as Frozen: Changing Phases.

To His Royal Majesty, King Eric I of the Southern Isles, and her Royal Majesty, Queen Ariel of the Southern Isles.

It is of great sadness that I write to you of the demise of your son, Prince Hans.

It may not be to your knowledge that last July, Prince Hans travelled to the Kingdom of Arendelle to attend the coronation of the kingdom's new queen. As it was on unofficial Southern Isles business, the prince arrived alone without proper retinue or accompanying regalia. Even then, the prince was made welcome and was given invitation to all relevant functions despite the absence of any formal documentation or communication with your court. Word may have reached you of some rather, unusual occurrences during the coronation that may or may not have involved your son. Rest assured, Prince Hans left Arendelle in high spirits and in excellent health. As he had not been accompanied by an official retinue, the prince instead was taken by the Spanish delegation and was supposed to have been delivered to Copenhagen by the Spanish diplomatic envoy.

Last night, word reached us that the entire Spanish delegation met an unfortunate accident. Details have not been forthcoming, but word is that the flotilla ran into an unexpected storm. Alas, there were no survivors.

Please accept my heartfelt condolences. I can assure you that your son is now in the arms of the creator, where he most deservedly belongs.


Queen Elsa I of Arendelle.

Captain's Log, 1843 September 5th.

This marks the maiden voyage of the pride of the Southern Isles, the fastest ship in the fleet, the KDM Rød Gepard. The hold is filled with supplies, all cannons are primed and loaded, and the minimal crew has been hand-picked from the best of the Southern Isles navy. The Gepard may not be the largest ship in the fleet, nor does it carry the most men or the most guns, but it is my baby. A ship finally tailored for me, instead of my brothers. It does feel kind of strange, being in command of a single ship after a lifetime of greater responsibility. This feels like a breath of fresh air, despite the darker tone of our mission orders.

As I write this, we leave the safety of Copenhagen harbor while I leave the rest of the fleet in the capable hands of my brother, the current Flotilleadmiral. He should be able to handle whatever Weselton and Britain throws at us in my absence. With or without help from our grandfather. Which reminds me, I must stop by his palace along the way and borrow a few tools for the task ahead. I probably shouldn't ask too many questions though.

I must remain focused on our mission. Mother's orders. Our task - to scour the coastlines of the Iberian Peninsula and to discover the truth about the final fate of the Spanish barque, the Santa Ana. Something tells me there is more to the disappearance of the entire Spanish flotilla than the Arendellians have let on. I will discover the truth.

Let this voyage be fast and swift. By the grace of Triton, lord of the seven seas, I will bring my brother's body home.


Grand Admiral of the Royal Danish Navy Melody I, Princess of the Southern Isles.

Captain's Log, 1843. September.

Water. Water everywhere. I have managed to secure several planks of wood and have fashioned a rudimentary raft upon which I am to spend my first night out of the water. I find myself writing on this - the remains of the Santa Ana's logbook I found in the flotsam. As there is no ink, you can see I am writing in my own blood. I have been in the water four, perhaps five days. The sea smells and tastes different here. It doesn't taste like home. It tastes saltier, and it smells more…Southern. The tides don't feel right. It's like they're…restrained. This has to be the Mediterranean. If it is, then I am leagues from home. To my family, I might as well be dead. I may finally be free to forge my own destiny. Free to find my own place. No more doors in my face. Say goodbye to the pain of the past.

To the future. I live.

Hans of the Southern Isles. Day 0.