Chapter 1: Prologue


February 1789

The air bit and howled like a mad wolf. Though not nearly as deeply or treacherous as a real one. The Hunter knew what that had felt like.

The carriage was now lopsided. Looking down at the wheel, sunk in the mud, he angrily looked back on his error. He thought the ice filling the dip in the road was thick enough to hold his entire load, but seeing as it was now sunk so far in, that was clearly not the case. He cursed gently to himself, before turning his view to the way that he had come, leaning against the wall of the carriage. In peeling painted letters, the sign on the side of the carriage read "Rictavio's Carnival of Wonders". Around his feet, The Hunter could see mists as tall as two feet gather on the ground. He grabbed a bit of his black leather coattail, and wagged them away; he had seen enough mists of that kind for a lifetime.

It had been just after the Solstice when he arrived in the town. Almost a moon and a half ago. He was leagues from the coast, and the people of the town said that it would be a long journey westward, as well as North if he meant to find his destination.

Some looked at him as though he was a demon when he arrived in town that night. It may have been the scar, deep into his face and still fresh after a few months, running up the length of his cheeks and over his right eye to turn it a sickly red and white. But they looked upon him with even more judgement when he told them where he was heading.

He hadn't been given much to act on when he started the next chapter of his Odyssey. All that he was given was the name of a kingdom he was to come to: Arendelle. That, however, had been enough for him to go all this way. He had to find him. He had to kill him.

But there had been a sort of coup or invasion that had occurred months before he arrived. Their queen and princess were now dead, and the Princess' husband from the Southern Isles now sat the throne. Those of the village spoke of him with kindness. Years ago, he had fought tirelessly to save them from a terrible snow that had come in the summertime. He had earned their trust, and they saw a true king in him.

It might have been with this King Hans that The Hunter was needed. All he had been given was the name of the realm, and now he was on his way there, with the harshest winter that he had ever felt in his life.

The cold was reaching his fingers. He folded them together as if in prayer, his hands clutching each other to cling to their own warmth. He slowly blew into them, then rubbed them together. The sun had been down for hours, and now he would need some light.

Walking back to the front of his carriage, he heard Drucilla whicker quietly. Steam rose high from the snout of his companion, as he pulled the torches and tinderbox from under the seat on the carriage.

"I know it's cold, girl." He said. "But we gotta keep goin'."

She replied with another whicker.

"Get us another league or so after I get this bastard out of the muck, and I'll give you a whole sackful of apples." He replied, still looking down at the torches as he flipped open the lid to the box.

They had only been with each other for six months, after the old man had been killed. But The Hunter always seemed to know exactly what she meant to say. It surprised even himself, who could no longer feel the touch of fear, or who showed no real gift with animals before.

He looked through with the tools in the box, taking out the dagger, flintstone, and twigs. The carriage lurched lightly as he did this.

"Settle down back there." He whispered, knocking on the wall of the carriage as he took the torch out.

He tried to light the torch. But it wasn't until a few minutes of trying had passed that he realized the flint was too wet. It had gathered frost since he had left the village three days ago, and now it had caused whatever potential sparks it could have brought up to be snuffed out for the time being.

"Oh, for feck's sake..." He snapped, dryly.

He felt the frustration hit him hard, but then he got an idea. He hadn't tried it before, but it might work. He leaned out from the carriage, looking up and down the road. Nothing to be able to see through the mists. Arendelle was still leagues away, and he had not come across any other soul going the other way. No one would notice. Would anyone even care here if they did?

He took the dagger out, and laid the torch down, he stuck his thumb out right above the torch, and began to chant.

"Thrak avhe zajar ro deaavh." He said, closing his eyes, and feeling the grasp of the darkness around him.

He slid the dagger over the tip of his thumb. Crimson blood began to flow out from the prick he gave himself, and he let it drip down onto the torch. In amazement, he watched as the torch instantly caught up, and began to burn brightly. The shadows that had begun to amplify around him suddenly receeded.

"Why didn't I think of that before?" He chuckled, picking up the torch, and sliding it into the sconce beside his seat.

The carriage suddenly lurched even more than before. Frustrated, The Hunter grabbed the torch and jumped back out onto the road.

"I told you to settle down back there, boy!" He snarled. "I'd let you out if I could, but in this realm, I doubt you'd let us get on with the whole 'element of surprise' shit. You'd look more in place in Chult!"

The carriage stopped lurching for a moment, and The Hunter could only hear the growling.

"We still got a long road ahead of us, and I can't have you running about around here. I'm sorry, but it's gotta be this way."

Suddenly, The Hunter began to hear something. The clopping of hooves. Creaking of wheels, and a pair of voices to go with it.

"Settle your arse down in there, alright?" He said. "I gotta go see if they can help."

Walking out onto the road, he raised his torch high.

"Halloooo!" He called. "Help for a fellow traveller?"

The other carriage was coming toward him, heading southwards. Someone who sat atop it raised a torch as well.

"Are you friend? Or foe?" A voice called.

The Hunter nodded. "I would like to think that I am a friend! I seem to have gotten into a bit of trouble here. My wheel's stuck in the mud and I need help lifting it out."

There was low murmuring from the one who held the torch, as The Hunter could see him lean over to another figure on the cart, in the mist.

"Are you armed?" The other's voice called.

The Hunter nodded, then realized that they likely wouldn't see that. "Aye. Only my crossbow and sword." He lied. They need not know about the rest.

The cart pulled closer and closer in the fog. Before long, The Hunter saw the strangers. They were two men in thick winter clothes, one unshaven and unkempt with thick brown hair and a beard. The other had a lot less hair, but had dirt all over his face.

The Hunter was about to walk for their cart to ask for help, when the bearded one, who was without the torch, drew a rifle at him.

The Hunter raised his hands, dropping the torch to the ground. "There will be no need for that!" He cried, trying to fake any sort of fear in his voice. He felt it once before. How could it be so hard to feel it, now? Was it his journey through the Mists of Dread? Had they given him some sort of unholy shield?

"You're armed." The rifle man said. "That means you're a bandit. They're all over these roads since the Southerner prick took the throne! They're thriving out here."

The Hunter looked around the forest. It was dark, and cold, and nowhere near harvest time for any realm, or even this one. He had been heading North all this time, and it was only getting colder with each passing hour.

"Who the fuck could thrive all the way out here?" He asked, still with his hands raised.

"My apologies, sir." The torch man said, putting his hand on his companion's rifle, pushing it down. "We've only been able to squeak by three gangs on our way South. The last thing we need is to be set upon by anyone. We just mean to get as far South as we can. Corona, or even further."

The Hunter nodded. "Aye. Drucilla and I have our headin', too." He nodded to his horse. "I just mean to get to my destination as soon as I can, and the bloody carriage has gotten stuck in the mud."

"Certainly." Said the torch man. "Lorris and I can help."

"Throw your weapons away." The other snapped, raising his rifle again.

The Hunter expected such an order, and did so without hesitation. They were still green. Maybe they had killed before, but not another human. They were green as spring grass. He could smell it on them. If they tried to kill him, he would show them true agony.

They both jumped from their cart, the torch man still holding the torch to lead them through the mist and frost. The Hunter led them around his carriage to the wheel stuck in the mud.

"This carriage is old, too." He admitted. "I just had it remade on the inside, but the outside could use some work, too."

"Aye." Said the torch man, looking up. Lorris kept his rifle out, clearly on edge. "And a new paint job while you're at it."

"Hey!" Lorris snapped. "I said throw your weapons away! What is that?"

With the barrel of his rifle, he poked at the artifact on The Hunter's belt: A tarnished platinum sword hilt, with a sapphire of deep blue set into it's crossguard. A loop at the pommel let it easily strap it to his belt. There was no blade present.

The Hunter looked down at it. "It's a sword hilt. There's no blade to be found on it. Can't hurt anyone." Another lie.

The torch man raised his hand. "Lorris, enough. He's thrown all his weapons down." He looked back up at the sign. "Yeah, this carriage is missing a bit of Tender Loving Care."

The Hunter understood what he meant, with all the peeling and chipping that had happened to it. It did need some work, but that gave the carriage part of it's camouflage. No one would give it a second look with the state that it was in; old, but not enough to warrant judgemental glares to a negligible owner.

Lorris held tight to his rifle, opting to help push the carriage from behind while The Hunter and the torch man lifted it. With three sets of hands pushing the carriage out, it was done much easier and faster than they could have imagined. The Hunter was even more pleased that there were no noises coming from inside.

"So where are you headed, Mr. Rictavio?" The torch man asked.

The Hunter slapped his hands on his trousers, brushing off the dirt. "Eh?" He asked.

"Rictavio? That is your name, right?" He pointed up at the sign.

The Hunter shook his head. "No, it's not, actually. He was the previous owner of the carriage. Left it and Drucilla to me before he died."

"Ahh." The torch man said. "So, what can I call you?"

The Hunter hesitated for a moment. It would be dangerous to use his name if it was the wrong person. He had seen what the demon he had followed here was capable of. What if he was listening to the conversation that he was having with these two travellers?

He shrugged to himself. If he was, he would know that he was here. But that's what he wanted, didn't he? He had lured The Hunter here, after all.

"Thayer." He said. "Lord Thayer of Dupree."

"Milord." The man suddenly said, giving a bow.

"Enough of that." He said. "No one's under any obligation to bow to me outside my lands."

Lorris suddenly raised his rifle again. "He's a fucking noble?! He's in league with Hans!"

The Hunter raised his hands. "I don't know what you're talking about!" He cried. "I am only coming to Arendelle to meet with him!"

The torch man stood between them. "My apologies. But as long as you promise to let us go, there will be no trouble."

The Hunter nodded. "Aye! Of course! What sort of trouble?"

If they were running from this King Hans, he could grab them and throw them in the carriage. Fetch a good bounty on them and make a friend with the King. But why were they even running from him in the first place?

"My name is Ivan." The torch man said. "This is Lorris. And well… there has been an incident involving people like us. We were welcome under the reign of Queen Elsa and her sister, but with them dead, and Prince Hans taking the crown, he's labelled us… undesirable."

The Hunter eyed the two of them with suspicion. What was undesirable about them? Why were they unwelcome? He had to really look closely at them and what made them different. But it wasn't until he saw a look that the two of them gave each other in a split second that he realized exactly what it meant.

That sort of desire that their kind had was widely accepted in the part of the world he came from. It seemed beyond him why anyone else would call it "undesirable". People loved who they loved. Nothing could change that, even if others said it was a choice they made.

"We're hoping to reach Corona before long. Lorris and I just barely escaped a group of soldiers sent to take us away, so forgive him for being on edge."

The Hunter nodded. "I have no quarrel with you." He agreed, changing his mind. He would have a thing or two to talk to the King about when the time was right. "If you leave me be, I'll do the same."

Ivan raised his hand and covered the barrel to Lorris' rifle. The Hunter felt some bit of relief to come back to him as he lowered it.

"This is not how we wanted everything to go. We honestly thought we were far away enough from Arendelle that none of Hans' people would come for us. But we're still within the boundaries of the kingdom."

"So, how far away am I from the town?"

"You're looking at another two days of riding, friend." Ivan said, pointing down the road. "Just keep heading in the direction you were going in."

Lorris grabbed The Hunter's weapons and passed them back to him. "Sorry. We've had too many close calls."

The Hunter could sense it on them. They reeked of the fear. Despite how far they were from the King, they still had a long way to go. He had a way to get them away even further, even faster. But he needed that gem to go home. He needed it, and that negated any and all reason to help them any further than letting them go.

"I respect that." He replied. "You're right to be on edge if there are bandits in these woods. Why would they be coming out if this King Hans has been pressing the law hard on folks like you?"

Lorris looked at Ivan. "It's because we're… different. That makes us unworthy of his love and care, while the rich and powerful can live in peace. Meanwhile, bandits are finding that their days of looting and pillaging have become a lot easier with the Southern Isle forces in occupation here."

Ivan nodded. "It was no secret the prince shits let crime and scum thrive under the guidance of King Elias. But from what we hear, it's only gotten worse down there. Some parts of the kingdom are under complete and total control, while others are where laws and gods mean next to nothing. No man's lands."

The Hunter began to take note of this. He was not going to approach this King without understanding all the dirt on him. It was just as important that he knew what the public thought of him.

"You're a lord, and a white one at that. You'd fit right into the asshole's court. As for us, we're running." Lorris said. "And it would be in all of our interests that this meeting never happened."

With the kind of stuff that he was carrying in the carriage, The Hunter would have almost asked the same thing of them if they had even bothered to search it. But if they had, they would have been dead. Without them even knowing, they were the luckiest souls alive that evening.

"I never saw yah lads." He said. "Might as well get goin', then."

Lorris nodded, then he and Ivan headed down towards their cart, and took off, leaving The Hunter. Once again, alone in the misty woods.

But then something began to come out from the mist. Snow. And The Hunter knew that he had to find shelter for the night. Or at the very least, stop.

Instead of heading over to his seat at the front of the carriage, The Hunter took Drucilla and led her and the carriage off the road. He squinted his eyes, looking out into the mists before finally seeing some trees he could hide the carriage behind.

He stopped Drucilla right there, then headed for the back of the carriage.

"Stay calm, there." He called into the carriage. "It's only me. Getting some blankets for our girl."

Mitt stayed down on the ground, not a peep to be heard from him as The Hunter went into the carriage. Unlike the outside, the inside was very well furnished, and appeared to be much larger within. He was thankful that those enchantments had not been deactivated when he came to this land. That might have meant the defenses he had put in place were still there as well.

He had found wealth of a strange sort from his last journey. Spent a good part of it to redo the inside of the carriage. He was a Lord by birth. It was about time that his own home reflect that, even if the outside of it could not. Scarlet carpeting adorned much of the floor. His bed had been made specially with chicken feathers. Along every wall lay nearly every weapon that he had been taught how to wield, some of which he couldn't even pronounce their names right.

And the books. The books that contained just as much potential for danger and tragedy as his weapons. Some of his teachers from the Order had given him the books, but he had also found that the best of these books had come from the houses of his own prey. And if not, he had been writing journals to be able to be passed on to the other Hunters like him. Journals on how to kill the monsters that only he had seen within the Shadowlands.

The blankets were in Mitt's corner. While he had torn up a few of the cushions when they first started travelling together, The Hunter had him trained quick enough. That had let Mitt earn enough of his trust to let him near the silks. He grabbed few of the cotton quilts, then headed back out into the cold.

Drucilla was whinnying enough to tell The Hunter what was wrong. He patted her mane.

"Easy, love." He said. "I know it's cold. We just can't keep going tonight."

She looked at him, and he shrugged.

"Yes, yes, I said we were gonna hurry. But I didn't know it was going to take another two days for us to reach Arendelle."

He looked back down the direction the other two were going.

"I could have gotten a sizable reward if I took them in. We need this Hans on our side if we're going to find our little friend." He shook his head. "Ah. Something else will come up. We don't have enough to feed them, anyways."

There was a noise, suddenly. Drucilla whickered, startled by it.

The Hunter chuckled. "Sorry, girl. That was my stomach. Lemme go get supper."

He came back with three apples, carefully feeding each one out of his hand to her. Her tongue ran down the scar on his palm, which tickled much more than he was expecting it to hurt.

"Heh. The old man raised you well." He chuckled. "Even if he was a right old shite."

He threw the blankets over her. "You'll be okay. And tomorrow, we'll cut that two day journey down, and reach this King Hans."

He turned, headed down to the back of the carriage, and went inside, closing and barring the door behind him.

Mitt was obviously hoping for the steak the old man always gave him. But he had eaten the last one they had, this morning. All The Hunter was able to give him was some of the hard salt beef.

"That's all we got." He said, when he got the look from him.

He took a large handful of the salt beef and took it to his desk, munching on it as he sat at the desk. It was food meant for rations for soldiers on the battlefield. Yet, in a strange way, The Hunter actually liked it as much as a good chicken. It was cheap, but he could carry it easy enough, and it wouldn't go bad as fast with it being dried out as it was. He ate it all the time.

Truly, someone of his name and stature would have had much finer tastes. Much more desire for the finer things of life. But The Hunter had made several vows to himself the day he left Aeskrow Hold. He had seen what the desire, what the hunger for fine things had gotten other people. The hunger for fine clothes, fine wine, everything to show one's social status only made the hunger feel more and more. Ironic, really. One could try to satisfy the hunger for the finer things. They could try. Oh, but that was not possible. It only makes the hunger deeper and bigger. He had known a life of luxury, a life of comfort before all of this. But he would turn his back on it because of what the hunger had done to his life. What it had done to his brothers and parents.

He had a few fine things. The carpeting, the gold that he had put into changing and decorating the carriage. But in fairness, it was more for function. When the old man had the carriage, it was only meant to carry Mitt and keep him out of harm's way. It was a rolling stable for the bastard. It was not something fit for anyone to live in with the kind of animal he now had living there with him.

Now it held many things to serve him. His arsenal of weapons lined the two walls on the sides of the inside of the carriage. The many books that he had gathered over the years on his prey took up a large shelf in it's own corner near his bed. Finally, his desk in the corner, where he wrote his findings and his journals. It was not a very eventful day, yet he had a routine that he hated breaking.

Brushing his coattail to his lap, he pulled up his chair, and sat at his desk. Taking out his phoenix feather quill, and inkwell, he took a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote.


"Day 2324

Still stuck on the road for the day. No settlements since the first town that I arrived in when I came through the portal.

The carriage had a bit of trouble with a muddy pothole, but I met two lovers on the road who helped me lift it out., before I stopped for the night. One of them was rightly on edge. Almost like he could smell the cursed blood that runs through me. The fear that came off of them reeked like a cow pie. He ordered me to throw my weapons aside. Both of them are lucky that they didn't catch me on a bad day."

He paused, looking up at the wall in front of him. It was the only part of the carriage that held a blank space. He knew exactly what he wanted to hang there all this time, and would keep that space open for as long as it took to find the painting.

"I don't even understand why he has led me here. He gave me the clues, and he gave me the keys. Now I hear that this King Hans has taken over the kingdom of Arendelle, which had been previously ruled by a Queen and her sister, neither of which he had any real relation to from what I have heard. Those he is claiming to be 'different' are now labelled as 'deviants'. I may just have to meet him if it means that he can lead me to the Devil. He knows. Somehow, someway, I know that he knows. And when he tells me where I can find him, then I will bring the end that this crusade has brought me for so long. Bring the end to my pain and suffering."


He had his family name. He had the seal and the ring. But he never sealed any of these journal entries. As he realized in his first days with the Order, his family name didn't mean shit to them. He was simply Thayer to the rest of them.

Rubbing his eyes, he pulled his leather coat off, and slipped out of the leather armor he wore. Down to only his sweater and pants, he pulled his rings off as he climbed into bed, dropping each one into the bowl

His family's signet ring. The precious gold ring he had been holding onto for months. And finally the silver ring with the red cross, which labelled his allegiance to the Order.

He wished he could say that the last part of his nightly routine was the journal entries. But he had something else that he had to finish. Feeling under the lip of his nightstand, he found the switch which opened the secret door, letting him pull the book out.

He had many books on the kind of monsters he dealt with. But this one was one of unmatched rarity. It was written right in the hand of the last beast that he had killed. He had been dead for months, and yet, The Hunter felt the need to read the book over and over. Nothing that he had read in the book could truly see him understand the kind of hate and misery such a… thing was capable of. He was dead, but he had left behind so much death that The Hunter wondered if it would have made any difference to the people of that valley. He felt the need to try to understand what went on in the freak's head if he were to stop the next monster like him. But so far, all he could see was a cruel, tortured soul, even when the bastard was still among the living. He had found no answers, and he doubted he ever would. But if one monster gave him no solution to their enigma, then perhaps he could find one to the one he had been chasing his whole exile before he killed it.


March 1789

Light flooded the eyes of The Heretic as he woke. He instantly shut them again, but it hurt more to close them than to open. Every morning, this happened. And every morning he said the exact same thing to himself.

"Fuck…" He wheezed, almost gurgling bile at the back of his throat. "Never again…"

The floor felt cold and hard. Dark hardwood. He had fallen face first into it before he could reach his bed in the night. He sat up, legs extended straight out as he planted both his palms onto the floor to get himself up.

"Ugh…" He groaned, feeling his head for the source of his aching. "I can't take this shit."

He shivered, but then remembered the snow outside, which was continually sweeping itself inwards from the missing wall in his house. Grabbing the shovel propped against the wall beside his bed, The Heretic got to work.

It was said that this winter was one of Arendelle's coldest in recent years. Even with the unexplained "Deep Freeze" that they were talking about. It wasn't until traders from the kingdoms far across the ocean like Agrabah and Camelot arrived, that they explained how long time had passed. For thirty years, Arendelle, the Southern Isles, and most of Corona had been frozen. It was wide spread, and no one could explain where it had come from. The easy answer would have been Queen Elsa, but she was dead. The new King, Hanssaid how he would claim the crown with a "heavy heart" as Princess Anna's former fiancé. He sent birds out to the whole kingdom, one of which had somehow reached the village. The Heretic knew it gave him no concrete right to the crown, but he, his Master, and his Mistress had stayed here for so long. There was nothing to gain from going South.

After shovelling what snow had reached the inside of his house back outside, The Heretic grabbed his satchel and rifle, and headed out.

The village was one that lay at the heart of Arendelle's far North. Last stop before the realm of Everwinter, where only snow, ice, and death thrived. For only four months of the year, the village was free of all snow and ice, and became quite lovely in it's short summers. But that would be the time to work. To plant and grow as much food as they could while they still had the chance.

Truly, it had surprised The Heretic and his masters when the raven arrived. The village no longer existed officially in Arendelle's records, and the last encounter it had had with the outside world had ended with The Heretic nailing eight dead bodies against trees along the road to the village. Bodies that had long ago decayed into skeletons.

The Heretic walked among the empty shells of the village buildings. His house laid right at the edge of the village. If bandits, or soldiers were to come back here, they would have to get through him first before trying after his masters. And even if they somehow got past him, even in his nightly drunken state, they would be bloody fools to try their luck with the lord and lady of the land.

The village inn and pub had taken the worst when they came. Fires had burned everywhere, taking almost all of the village, but now it had practically been reduced to four pillars and what could barely be called a roof. The Heretic could easily close his eyes and picture the screaming villagers. No one had been spared by them, and he never knew why. Bandits or soldiers, his master never told him what they wanted or who they were.

"No questions, Jerred." He had ordered. That was rule number one.

Or rather, those were The Heretic's self-imposed rules. His masters never told him that he owed them a life of service. But he had seen what they were capable of. What they were. It would be to ask for death if he tried to ask them to be free of them or ran away.

Much like his own house, the walls were completely missing from the inn. Some of the furniture was still there, and The Heretic walked in to sit down at one of the chairs. He remembered he hadn't counted his shots in weeks.

Setting his rifle down on the rickety table in front of him, he dumped out the shots in his pouch. Moving each bullet to the other side of the table as he counted, it took him a moment that he had counted one of them twice in his bleary, hungover state. He was down to nine bullets, remembering he had wasted three trying to shoot a buck he had seen in the woods a few months back. That's what he got for seeing it after he had been drinking.

He looked up from the table, to the other side of the pub where the other walls had fallen down as well. It was a clear, crisp dawn. Golden light came from the east that morning, and The Heretic could feel most of the warmth leave the fingers of his right hand as he swept the bullets back into his pouch. His left hand was a different story. He walked out as he entwined both his hands together to try to pass some warmth from his left to his right. They looked like the hands of two people. One clean and uncorrupted. The other touched by something dark… black slash marks all over the back of his hand.

To this day, the one thing he barely could understand was the mark. That night, in his dreams, a boy appeared in front of him, close to his own age. He had dark hair, wore a leather jacket and several rings, and whispered things in his ears in the darkness. He saw utter nothingness, an abyss, a void of sorts in this place that he had been taken to. Then the boy, who's eyes were filled with a similar sort of darkness, grabbed his left hand. It hurt deeply within it, but then he felt something different from it. He felt power, and what he could do with it. He found himself able to do things others couldn't. Cover short distances within the blink of an eye. See the paths that the scoundrels took. He used the Gift to find where they went. Then he slaughtered all of them for what he did. They took his family… Kris…

Whatever the boy had given him, The Heretic was not like others. He was right at home within the ruins of the village. No one knew who he was. No one knew he existed. He had been content with that for ages. This corpse of a town was just the place for outcasts like him and his masters.

He spotted the mistress standing on the porch, clearly waiting for him. He had been told by the master that she was incredibly beautiful when she was young. Even after what she had been through, she was able to find happiness and keep her spirit alive. But now they were both aging relics, and all they had to take care of them was The Heretic. The drunken, pathetic Heretic. The only good day was the day before, and the best years were behind all of them. That included The Heretic. Here he was, a man of eight-and-twenty, and even he felt like his soul was that of an old codger's.

The mistress looked angry. But she always was. That was nothing new.

"Where were you?" She snarled.

"I don't understand, Madame." He replied. "It's dawn."

"I mean last night. He had an episode while you wandered off."

It seemed The Heretic was always the first to disappoint or anger the mistress, no matter what he did. He lowered his gaze. "I beg your deepest pardons, Madame. He told me I was dismissed for the night, so I went to go check the southern perimeters and the beach."

"Puh." She snorted. "You are dismissed when I say you are. You and I both know that he is in no condition to give coherent orders. Whatever the case, he's anxious to see you."

The Heretic shrugged. While the mistress was stricter than her husband, he was equally scared of them both.

He walked carefully through the house as he felt the mistress walking silently behind him. When he was a boy, people seemed to frighten him all the time if they came up behind him. He was the most jittery of deer, easily startled. But after the boy visited him, nothing truly startled him anymore. He was ready for anything to jump out at him.

The ancient floorboards creaked beneath his feet. The manor hadn't been touched in the attack years back, but The Heretic was not gifted with the hammer and nails. Neither were his masters in their old age, so they had little choice but to let the house rot around them along with the rest of the village. Only a matter of time before the three of them would be taken by the cold, and the village return to the dirt from whence it came.

The master was indeed anxiously waiting for him. The Heretic had never seen the ghoul look so lively. He didn't even know how old he was, or how he could possibly be alive with the state that he was in.

"Jerred…" He groaned. "I've been waiting all night for you."

"My apologies, sir." He said, straightening up.

The master was more than two-thirds dead, but that made no difference to The Heretic. They both frightened him.

The master looked out the window at the rising sun. "It is a beautiful winter, is it not?"

The Heretic shrugged. He didn't sleep well that night because of the beautiful winter. Oh, and the whole bottle of whiskey.

"I heard many stories about our kingdom. People said that there was a winter that lasted a whole year, almost a whole generation ago. We couldn't tell the difference, so far North. But out of that winter bore a babe to the King and Queen."

He coughed, expelling a wad of phlegm from his dry and wrinkled mouth. If one were to glance at him, they would have thought him to have died, dug up from his grave, and then repeated thrice over.

"Our Queen Elsa." He murmured. "I never met her, but I wished that I had before I died."

"She's dead, sir." The Heretic replied. "Do you not remember? The raven told us so."

He spun around furiously. "NO!" He snarled. Then he grinned. "No… no… can't you see, Jerred? You remember the winters! You remember the snows and frosts. They're the same! They're the same as they've ever was. She always brought the cold with her presence! She must be alive! This winter has been no less cold or warmer than for the last twenty-two years. It is a sign. Ah, I am an old miser, but I know a thing or two about these things, aye I do!"

The master never seemed to notice or remember that it had been thirty years that they had been on ice. The Heretic had tried to get him to remember that, but he kept forgetting.

The Heretic shook his head. "Begging your pardon, master, but you are letting your head go up in the clouds." He turned to the mistress. "Right? He's joking." He walked into the room, kneeling down. "You and I read the same letter from the same raven. That Southerner shit Hans is now King."

The master glared. "Aye." He replied. "He is. But not for long. There are those who would see our rightful queen sit on the throne work now. In the shadows."

Jerred looked back at the mistress, who had still been silent. "He must be joking. Madame?"

She shook his head. "He left his bed and kept raving on about this all night. I would have come down to get you, but it was too cold."

The Heretic nodded to himself, then turned back to the master. "What are you asking of me, sir? Do I seek her out? Do I help her retake the throne?" He shook his head. "No. We've stayed as safe as we could by staying here, no contact with the outside world. The last time you sent me south was to wipe all traces of this place from Arendelle's records. That was eight years ago. No one's bothered us since then."

The mistress nodded. "This King Hans hasn't changed anything that has affected us. It would be a big mistake for us to head South to fight him, my love."

The master scowled. "Not us. We send him!" He pointed at The Heretic. "I was told so! He must leave us! He must head south and find the resistance!"

"Told by who?!" She snapped. "Leprechauns?"

"The boy!" He replied. "The black-eyed boy!"

The Heretic looked up, feeling his hand itch. "Who?"

The master glared at him, pointing to his arm with a quivering finger, stricken with arthritis. "Don't pretend that those are just simple tattoos over your arm, Jerred! You can do things no one else can! And you waste your time away, drinking yourself unconscious, and taking care of us!"

"Beloved, that's being pretty generous, saying he takes care of us."

The Heretic ignored the mistress. "I don't know what you are talking about, Master." He said. "These are just tattoos." He pulled his sleeve back. While the back of his hand held the Mark, he had a friend hide it by adding more slashes and similar marks over the rest of his forearm.

The master looked at him with despair.

"I can't do what you say I can." The Heretic said. "You tried to teach me to fight, years back. You remember that? I was unconscious for three hours when you punched me in the face."

The old man leaned back in his chair. "Yes, I remember that." He moaned. "Then why did I see the boy last night?"

The Heretic looked back at the mistress. "I'm sorry, Madame. He's going senile."

Despite his bluntness, she nodded. "He's been that way for years. It's not your fault, Jerred."

"No!" The master cried. "He has to find the Assassin! He has to find Asgeir!"

She rolled her eyes again, closing the door. "Asgeir is dead!"

She looked down at The Heretic. "Take no notice to his words, Jerred."

"Will do, Madame." He replied. "What am I to do today?"

"Take these from the cellars and leave them in the kitchen." She said, holding out a list. "Then check the perimeters and the beach as you did last night. Can never be too careful."

"Aye." Jerred replied. "Anything else?"

"I'd tell you to stay away from the whiskey until you're dismissed, but I already know that you will just disobey me."

The Heretic didn't reply. He felt shame. Shame and anger that she would say that about him. She didn't have to do the things he did to ensure no one else would come back here. He never found the way to carry on. Nothing here to do besides taking care of two walking corpses. No one else to talk to. What else did he have to turn to besides the bottle?


The cellars were a collection of sheds near The Heretic's house. While the entire village was in it's state because of the attack, The Heretic also ensured it to look in it's state of disrepair to keep others away. Best people believed what they believed this place was: desecrated ground. A place where demons thrived and haunted. As long as the rumors still circulated throughout the kingdom, they were safe. Truthfully, those who came to this village and looked hard enough would find plenty of treasures.

The support pillars that kept the shed upright groaned like a sick hound as The Heretic ducked inside. The shelves inside were shattered and knocked over, but he looked downwards and began brushing away the snow from the trapdoor. The latch opened easily enough, but it was a bit of a struggle to lift it up with all the snow and ice making it inside the hut; there was a large hole in the roof that accounted for that.

The Heretic found everything that he was looking for in the hut, no problem. Everything that the mistress wrote down on his list, he swept into his pack and got ready to climb back up to ground level.

But unfortunately, the mistress accurately predicted what he would find. Right in the corner, behind a small sack of potatoes at the bottom of one of the shelves, he found an unopened bottle. Yanking it right out under the shelf, he uncorked it, clamped his jaw over the top of the bottle, and tipped his head back as he let the firey liquid flow down his throat while he climbed back up to the surface.

The Heretic had a serious drinking problem. He was not afraid to admit it. Rather, he was very open in admitting what was wrong with himself. There was a lot that was wrong with him, and this was the best place in this cruel world for him to live out the rest of his days, drinking himself to death. After he closed the trapdoor, and locked it, he headed back out into the snow, swigging away at his bottle.

The beach was over a kilometer down the hill from where the village sat on. The Heretic had left the skulls of some of the attackers impaled on spikes along the beach, more and more to repel intruders. But so far, everything kept people away. All but one, and hopefully, he had come.

Sure enough, as he walked down the path to the beach, he could make out the dark shape of a rowboat coming up against the tides. Dark snowclouds were forming against the morning light, and The Heretic blew against his hands as he struggled on, before taking another big gulp of whiskey.

The rowboat sliced through the waves, clapping loudly against the water. The Heretic was just reaching the top of the beach when it hit the sand and snow, and its passenger jumped out, grabbing a rope to drag it up.

"Help me with this?" He called.

The Heretic nodded, running down the beach and helping the rower get the boat from the water.

"Good to see you, Jerred." He said, holding his hand out.

"Aye." The Heretic replied, taking it. "You too, Sam. Anything good for us today?"

"The works." He replied, rolling back the blanket. "I have beef, I have bacon, I have bread."

"Well, you know what we're running out of. I'll take the lot." He said, reaching into his pocket.

"Good. That'll be two hundred Vytropi this time."

The Heretic coughed. "Seriously?" He cried. "Two hundred?"

"You heard me." Sam replied as he unloaded the sacks of food from the boat. "It's that fucker, King Hans. I was never a fan of nobles to begin with, but this asshole's made everything harder for us smugglers. I had to pass through three different blockades to get here." He noticed The Heretic's reaction. "You know about him? Good King Hans?"

"Yeah." The Heretic replied. "He sent ravens out to the whole kingdom the very week he claimed the crown. One of those ravens found their way here."

"And you're not worried anyone will find their way here?"

"I doubt they knew where the raven would end up when they sent it this way." He said. "There's nothing to be concerned about as long as you keep the rumors flowing."

"Fair enough." Sam said. "That's been easy enough for me before."

"So now you're going to bleed me, and the two geezers dry for these supplies?" The Heretic said, getting back on track.

Sam shook his head. "Of course not. I know how much gold you have after the harvest you sold me. I made you good money for that when I sold it before… all this." He beckoned out to the sea. "You and I know each other in this business. One where many things factor my prices. There is no fixed cost. This includes supply, demand, and above all, risk. Two hundred gold is nothing to you, and the lord of the village. And I am not going to Sript for bringing down produce and not giving a dime of what I make to His Majesty, King Sideburns. But you wouldn't believe the amount of close calls I had on my way up here. There hasn't been a greater risk for decades."

"Fair enough." The Heretic grumbled, pulling out his whole purse, and handing it over. "How long will this last us?"

"Another six months, I reckon. As long as you keep the meats on ice. Upside to living so far North." Sam replied, shivering as he took the gold.

"And…" The Heretic reached into his pocket, feeling around for what silver he had left. "You have what I asked for?"

"Always." Sam replied, taking the extra coins from him. "They're with the onions."

"What news you got from down South?" The Heretic asked.

"Well, Arendelle's now a whole occupation state, if the raven didn't tell you that. Truthfully, the rich, white bastards hardly even notice the difference. I know I've had to keep my head down and not be seen by the guards. They tell people of color that they are being brought down to the Southern Isles for 'work opportunities', but my buddies down there tell me different. It's prison."

"You mentioned Sript?" The Heretic asked. "What's that?"

"Prison camps." He said. "Or, 'liberation' as they put it. They built them right on Sript, the coldest of the Isles. Then they say that you're free to go, but of course that means that you're dead if you try to brave the freezing cold. That's where all the bad people go. You know, the colored ones, the ones who sleep with someone of the same sex, the usual business."

The Heretic scowled. "Why isn't anyone speaking out about this bullshit?"

"He's made life a living heaven for anyone who's shown enough devotion to him." Sam replied. "And even if the citizens were to realize how shoddy his claim to the throne has been, he's got armadas, armies, navies backing him up. It'd be the rich vs the poor. That attack plan would be about as effective as a bee's attack on a window."

The Heretic cursed.

Sam looked curiously at his friend. "What does it even matter to you?" He said. "You've done all you could to keep the outside world from coming here. I spread the rumors about the demons to make sure it stays that way. Nothing has changed, really."

"Everything has changed." The Heretic replied, looking off towards the sea. "People down south are suffering every day, and most of them are letting this Southerner arsehole do it to them. And the old man was going off about something earlier this morning."

"Anything you need me to check in on?"

The Heretic gave it some thought. Sam was a friend he trusted with the secret of the village, but only because he had known him since they were kids. But if the mistress was so dismissive…

"Yeah. Where's home for you, if they'd send someone like you down to the camps?"

"Molrum." Sam replied. "It's close to the Corona border, and it's where all the smuggling was routed through Arendelle even before Hans choked it up."

"Then it might be worth it to check there." The Heretic replied. "I only have a first name: Asgeir. The old man was going on about how I need to find him."

Sam nodded. "Sure, I'll look into him." He replied. "What happens if I find him?"

"Then let me know, the next time you come up." The Heretic said, as though that was obvious. "Whatever I need to do when I find him might be obvious when that happens." Then he realized something. "Or better yet, bring him here. The master wants to see him."

Sam agreed as he headed back into the boat, grabbing his oars. "Will do." He said, pushing the boat back into the water. "I'll be seeing you, Jerred. Good luck!" He started to row against the crashing waves of the beach as snow began to fall.

The Heretic grimly waved back to Sam as he took what few sacks he could carry, and started back up to the food sheds.

He never told the master and mistress about Sam. He lived here in the village years ago, but left before the attack to join up with the smuggling business. Good men doing bad things, moving in contraband under Queen Elsa the Kind, as she was known. When he came back to find the smoking ruins, The Heretic quietly put in an agreement. Sam and he would help the master of the old village and his wife in the manor. He would bring supplies and sell the harvest they made every year, and spread the rumors about ghosts and demons haunting the ruins. Ensure that no one else in Arendelle would know about the village still existing. It gave Sam work, and The Heretic news about what was happening in the outside world.

All honesty, he knew that the only reason Sam had not up and left them for good was that he was like family to him. Their produce was not enough to live forever, even though the amount of produce they grew could feed a whole village. The Heretic was at least thankful that the village farm was still well enough to be used after the attack.


The rest of the day's work went on as normal. Indeed, he found more booze grouped with the onions. He brought up the rest of the sacks of food to the cellars, then brought in what was needed to make dinner that night. Afterwards, the mistress ordered him to check more of the perimeter and clearing out some of the snow.

Before long, it was nighttime. He had been dismissed for the day and now sat on his bed in the dark, sipping away at his third bottle of the day. Cold winds were blowing from the missing wall, but he huddled under his coat, pulling his ratty quilt up.

But it began to grow colder still. And darker. So dark that The Heretic could no longer see the room around him in his own house. No, before long all he could see was utter darkness all around. Then a flash of light, and he could hear a voice.

"I can't say that I am surprised with you, Jerred. Nor am I impressed. What else can there be for a man with no family left living in this world, and only his smuggler friend on the outside to help you slowly to the grave? All you have to comfort you are two Masters who think of you as more of a burden than a servant, and whatever you hope to find at the bottom of your next bottle."

The boy stood before him. The one who had offered him the chance for vengeance years ago, and gave him the scars on his hand. Everyone always talked about his eyes. The eyes of utter blackness, with nothing beyond to see. A Void of sorts.

"There has been a disturbance in the tides, recently. Though you and your Masters haven't felt it yet, they will soon reach your domain in the tallest of waves, and there will be no way to escape it. After all these years of staying out of the fight, forces from one side or another will find their way here.

"You are the first person to have received my Mark, after so many centuries of watching the world from the darkness of the Void. I gave it to you to test your worth, and in return, you took over a dozen lives to save a dead town. To avenge those taken from you. What will you do now, with a usurper on the throne of Arendelle, and the talk of angry spirits in back alleys and ruined villages? Will you strike first, knowing there is no way to stop what will come?"

The Heretic sat up, rubbing his eyes. His entire arm itched with that familiar energy throughout his body. The Envisioned One existed only as a fleeting image in the eyes of a select few. Those who spoke of him were deemed insane, and the Abbey chose to brand him as their mortal (or to be more precise, immortal) enemy. For whatever reason, he was the only living soul to have seen him as much more than a rapid blip of a dream. He was a chosen soul. And if he was returning to taunt him again, then it was serious. There was no hiding from it. Especially with the master having seen him the night before.

The Envisioned One grinned. "Take this…" He said, pointing at his hand. "And use it well. It holds a power unlike any other…"

The dark clouds that surrounded them evaporated, leaving The Heretic alone. Alone, but with something in his right hand that the Envisioned One had left behind.

He looked down at the object. It was a sword made of bronze, but the shape of it was very strange. Instead of a single blade out of the sheath, two blades came out of it, sort of like the shape of a tuning fork.

The Heretic moved the blade to his left hand, where it was more comfortable. Suddenly, he felt searing pain hit it. Energies from the marks on his hand seemed to react to the blade in his hand. The bronze of the sword suddenly blackened, and he felt twitches coming from the blade itself.

"What the-?" He gasped. It felt… alive, almost. Like some sort of demon was inside, clawing its way to get out of the double bladed sword he now held.

And suddenly, he knew what he could do with the sword. What he had to do.

He got up from his bed, and walked hurriedly over to his pack. He began to shove his things into it, taking little care to keep it organized or anything else that he would have cared about if he were sober. He was smashed beyond relief, but there was no mistaking it. What he saw was indeed the Envisioned One. The boy who had branded him all those years ago. First the master saw him, and now he did. He had to head south. He had told Sam to find this Asgeir person himself, but now it was clear. He had to seek him out, instead. He had to take Asgeir here for whatever reason, and he had to help him fight back.

In his nightstand, he yanked the drawer out, tossing it across the room. He had buried it behind the drawer, under an old blanket. Spreading it out, he felt crispy, blackened edges to it. Burned edges. A massive hole had been scorched right through it.

The Heretic understood what had burned the blanket as he felt around and found the charm. It was old, and made of bones… whale bones. The boy had shown him how to do make it, and it only took one to give him the strength to take them all down… It helped him harness the energy he possessed.

Wearing one like this would be forbidden by the orders of the Overseers. He looped it through the chain he had it bundled with, then slung it over his neck, and shoved it under his shirt. He hoped it wouldn't burn him like it had the blanket.

The blanket also held a disc of a kind, also made of bones. He had found it, with the help of the boy. Right in the center of the face, someone had carved the same marks on his hand into the face of the disc. The boy had told him that the only way to unlock its secrets was to break the disc, but The Heretic still hadn't done it. He would wait until he really needed it.

Lastly, he grabbed the bottle of…

"Shit." He groaned. It was nearly empty. And even if he had enough bottles to keep him going for the rest of the winter, he realized that that might not be the best course of action.

"Urrrrh." He growled to himself. "Fine." He took a long swig of the last of the drink, then tossed the bottle aside. It broke with a loud crack as fell in the corner, but did not shatter. He could go without a few drinks on the road south.

He looked around his room, then clenched his fist.

Breathing deeply, he was suddenly in the warm darkness of the master's manor. The mistress had quarters of her own. He wiped his mouth as he took a step across the creaky floor.

The master stirred instantly. "Jerred?" He blearily yawned.

"I'm leaving, master." He whispered. "I'll find this Asgeir."

He sat up in bed. "Thank you." He whispered. "My beloved Rina wouldn't allow this, but it must happen. I'm too old to fight back against the madness that Hans represents. But I could pass on what I know to another. Find him, Jerred. I beg you. Find Asgeir Cormac."

Jerred nodded, clenching his fist again. He felt the searing energies, like a hot poker pushing through his hand. "I'll do my best, sir."


March 1789

"And now the River!" The Dealer called.

Everyone looked uneasily at the last revealed card. Six of hearts.

"Let's hear it." She said.

"Check."

"Yeah, I check too."

"Check."

The Dealer grinned. She wasn't gonna get much out of them this hand, but she was satisfied. "I'll check as well. Flip 'em."

Callista showed hers. "Flush." She declared, showing two hearts. With the six, the queen, and the seven on the table, it indeed gave her an edge.

Dizzy groaned. "Dammit." She flipped her cards to show a five and four, clubs. "Straight."

Finally, Ace showed hers. "And here I thought I had won. Three threes."

The Dealer chuckled. "You would think, but no dice."

"Oh yeah?" Callista challenged. "Can you do better, Levonne?"

The Dealer nodded, showing her sixes. "How does a full house sound?"

"Oh man!"

Callista shrugged. "You win."

The Dealer swept the gold to her corner. "Next time, ladies."

Ace stood up. "Yeah, I'm cashing out. Got a gig in a few minutes."

"Alright." The Dealer smiled up at her. "Have fun."

"Like I got a choice." She groaned.

Dizzy looked up at the clock, then to The Dealer. "Maybe we take a break here?" She asked.

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Dizzy." She said. "I'm a little hungry, myself."

Callista shook her head. "Forgot something in my room." She said. "I'll catch up."

Dizzy grinned. "I'll go get some of the stew Luca cooked up. I hear he's trying onions in it tonight."

The Dealer laughed as she followed her sister into the pub. "Now he develops some taste." She chuckled.

The pub wasn't nearly as busy as the brothel. Legally, it was actually an inn and pub. But in this part of Karnard, the capital city of the Southern Isles, it made no difference. An establishment was an establishment.

"Luca?" Dizzy called.

From behind the bar, a warm face leaned into the pub from the doorway.

"Aye? Get you girls anything?"

"Yeah, Levonne and I will have two bowls of that stew you were telling me about."

He grinned. "Coming right up, ladies."

The Dealer and Dizzy took their seats at their usual table, near the bar, but by the window. The Vanishing Sparrow had a great view of the sea from the mountainside Karnard was built on. The capital of the Southern Isles, and also right at the southernmost tip of them.

Dizzy got up, vaulting over the bar table and grabbing a bottle. "Want anything?"

"Wouldn't mind some pear soda." She said.

"Ah, right." Dizzy said, remembering.

Luca came out, carrying two bowls in each of his big, burly hands. Despite his size, The Dealer always knew him to be the big, soft teddy bear he was. He, Dizzy, and all the rest of the members of the Sparrow were family.

"So, what did you try in this one, Luca?" The Dealer asked.

"I put in some onions, some carrots, celery, and a few other things. Can you guess my very secret ingredient?" He asked, crossing his fingers.

The Dealer chuckled, taking a spoonful. It was very good, which didn't surprise her.

"Isn't that…" Dizzy took a moment. "Garlic?"

"Gah!" He exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Foiled again!"

"Ah, don't worry, Luca. You'll find something that we'll never be able to guess, one day."

"And I look forward to that day with all my heart, Levonne." He replied, bowing as he backed into the kitchen to start again.

This game had been going on for over a year. Luca had decided to take his passions of cooking to a new level. He wanted a speciality dish, and one with a secret ingredient that no one else would be able to guess. But so far, The Dealer and Dizzy had guessed them all.

"Well, good business tonight." Dizzy said, taking another spoonful.

The Dealer's gaze went out the window, towards the western side of the city. They had a clear view of it, despite it being many miles away. The Palace of the Southern Isles.

"Things are good in our own realm, Levonne." Dizzy said, patting her sister on the shoulder. Not bound by blood, but bound by fate.

"Those fuckers still thrive at our expense." She replied. "With that… oh, whatshisface… the youngest prince?"

"Hans."

"Thank you. With him heading North on some mission to Arendelle, things haven't really improved for us. I even saw our expense reports. Ace reckons there'll be a big climb in taxes when the clerks come knocking once more."

"Still, we have a good life here." She replied. "And there's no reason for us to worry about those asshats until they come knocking."

The Dealer shrugged. "Fair enough." She admitted. "Let's finish this up, quick. I wanna start another hand."


Soon enough, they were back at the table.

The Dealer was just beginning to shuffle the cards and pass them over to Callista, when they heard hooting from behind. The door slammed open.

"C'mon!" A voice slurred.

"We're comin', man!"

The Dealer turned around, seeing three young men stumble into the foyer. Behind her, Dizzy and Callista stood up from the table. The men were nicely dressed, clearly either noble, or well-off. The Dealer had seen men like them before. They all looked the same to her, in her experience. Wealthy, and if she was lucky, stupid.

"Welcome, sirs." Callista said. "May we help you?"

"Yeah, we're-" He stopped to laugh to himself. "We uh… think we might be lost. Is this the Vanishing Sparrow?"

"One and the same." The Dealer said, curtly. She could deal with all sorts of clients, but her patience for drunks had worn thin after her time in the business.

"Oh, fantastic." He giggled. "Then we will like three rooms for the night. And girls to go with them."

One of them who hadn't spoke yet smacked his friend on the back. "Now, hang on, friend. I'd like to take a few hands with The Dealer."

She stood up. "What do you want with her?" She asked.

"I recently came into some gold, and thought I'd double it at her expense." He smirked. "Friend of mine tells me she's the best in Karnard, even after he beat her."

She nodded. If he lost, she would wipe that pathetic smirk off of his face. But if he won, then… well, she would very much enjoy this, either way.

"The Dealer doesn't play just anyone off the street, gentlemen." Dizzy said, as their routine went. "First, you win a hand against Levonne, here. Then you play our lady, The Dealer."

The rich boy chuckled. "Easy enough." He said, taking a misstep in place. He chuckled from dizziness. "Her tits as fine as yours?" He said to her.

The Dealer ran her middle finger over her neck, greatly distracting him while subtly flipping him off. "You'll need to win a few hands against her to get the answer to that question." She cooed. Then she gestured to the table. "Please."

Laughing, the shit and his buddies stumbled over to the table, her and Dizzy sitting beside each other. She would watch, but not play.

"Step aside, boys." He bragged. "I'll take care of this little lady, myself."

The Dealer pulled out her deck, and began to deal her and the snob out.

"Big blind is four gold, small blind, two." She said, dropping four gold down.

He shrugged, dropping two gold pieces down.

"So, who told you he beat The Dealer?" She asked.

"Lord Walter, sweet thing." He said. "Came in last week and beat every one of you by the time the sun came up."

The Dealer looked down at her hand, sliding her 'card mask' on. Indeed, she remembered hearing the Lord Walter bragging loudly throughout the whole night while Ace filled him up with wine. Clearly his pride was bigger than what he claimed his… thing was. He lost all his gold within two hours of playing "Levonne".

Queen, Ace in her hands. Good. Maybe worth it to check what the flop held.

The nobleman laughed. "I'll call you." He said, winking to her.

The Dealer tapped her fingers down on the green felt tabletop. "And I'll check."

She dealt out the flop. Queen, eight, ace. When she was a little girl playing her first few games under this very roof, she stupidly screamed with joy when she flopped a flush. She had learned much since then, and at least Madame Price was kind enough to teach her without punishment at that age.

"Twenty." The man said, his friends watching with glee. One of them in his drunken state looked down at his hand, and laughed out loud before slapping his hand to his mouth.

It was good. But was it as good as Two Pair on the flop? She might try to up the stakes a bit.

"I'll see you, and raise you five gold." She replied. Hook them in, but not scare them. This was fishing on the land.

The shithead shrugged again. "I'll call you."

The Dealer laid out the turn. King of clubs.

Not much to add to her going hand. A queen or an ace would do her marvellously. But the man across from her was chuckling with glee. He must have had a king in his hand. Fair enough. If he won, she'd give this one to him.

"Twenty gold!" He said, again, his friends hooting with laughter. They clearly didn't understand the table rules.

Dizzy looked uneasily at her friend. But The Dealer calmly placed twenty gold Vytropi pieces in front.

"Call you."

She was bluffing, but she had her plan.

The River was nothing better than a seven. But the selfish prick still hadn't taken enough from her. "Fifty Vytropi!" He cried as The Dealer saw Callista come up behind, dropping glasses of rum in front of the three men.

The three of them howled with laughter, and The Dealer heard a slapping sound. Callista grimaced, and The Dealer knew what one of them had done. This was an establishment where behavior of that kind was routine, but the fact that they hadn't paid a copper to them angered The Dealer enough to make her decision.

"Fine." She said, taking out a "fifty" wooden chip, and placing it on the table. She flipped them. "Two pair."

"Hah! As stupid as you are a sight!" He slurred, reaching for his glass. "Three of a kind!" He flipped over his cards to show a pair of kings.

He rudely lunged over the table by his belly, sweeping all of The Dealer's money from her as his friends threw back their drinks. Callista looked to Dizzy, who nodded to her. These guys wanted to mess with the Ladies of the Sparrow, so they would get a scrap from them. Callista obediently refilled their glasses as The Dealer took the cards from him.

"Now, I get to play The Dealer!" He declared.

"Not yet, sir." The Dealer growled under her breath. "How bout you deal this one?"

He shrugged again, just proving his carelessness. "Fine. I beat the shit out of you last hand, and I'll gladly do it again." He loudly coughed up a wad of phlegm, spitting it near Callista's feet as she went to go get more rum.

Dizzy passed a large coin purse to The Dealer, who pulled out two gold pieces. Then the nobleman dealt her out.

She looked down at her hand. Shit… Nine and four. But she didn't want to let this asshole's attitude get the better of her. Either way, she had won this game the very moment that he and his friends had walked into the brothel.

"No weaseling your way out of this one, love." He sneered. "I will play The Dealer once I finish you off, and not a minute later."

She placed two more gold Vytropi over her blind. "You seem to be the demanding sort of man." She said.

"I'm of the Royal Family's court. I always get what I want."

So, he was a nobleman. Good. This would teach anyone in King Elias' court to think twice before coming to her corner of the city.

Lazily, The Dealer ran her fingers over the edge of the cards in her hand. Then she noticed something, and grinned.

"Something funny?" He said.

"No." She said. "I just know now that I'll win this game for certain."

"Good luck, sweetums." He chuckled. "I'll raise you thirty."

"I call." She said without hesitation, taking the pieces from the purse.

He dealt out the flop. Seven, eight, and king. Nothing to help her, unless she could somehow count on a straight by some miracle. She was getting pissed by this fucker.

"Check." She tapped her fingers on the table.

"I don't think so." He taunted. "Another thirty."

"Call you." She replied.

The turn was another King. There was no chance for a straight, now. But she didn't want to back down.

"Check."

He laughed loudly. "Fifty."

She eyed the cards that he had pinned down to the table. She wouldn't be able to tell from this distance, but she would be dealing out, next hand. There was plenty of Vytropi to go around with her and the girls.

"Call you." She replied, tossing the coins down.

The river was a lousy Ace. Maybe that would have helped if she had two of them in her hand. But she still had to see what he was so confident in.

"Check." She tried one more time.

"Seventy." He sneered. "If you think you can beat what I have, then you will call, bitch. Or are you too scared?"

Refusing to take off the mask she wore at the table, she grabbed a heaping handful of coins, not bothering to count them. She slammed them on the table.

"Flip them." She ordered.

He laughed, showing a pair of Kings. "Four of a kind." He sneered. "Beat that."

She shook her head. "Nope. Not gonna cut it." She admitted, showing her hand.

All three of the men howled like rabid hyenas. Dizzy's face was enough for The Dealer. She didn't know what The Dealer did.

"Now, I'll be taking all that…" He said, swiping the pot. "And playing The Dealer."

The Dealer sat back in her chair. "Alright boys." She said. "You may." Then she grinned. "But can you really beat me again?"

They looked confused. "Huh?"

"I am The Dealer." She said. "But I was obviously holding back. You won't win another hand."

The nobleman laughed. "You?! Clearly you were holding back with such effort like that."

"Then I promise to make the next hand… memorable." She said. "Beat me in this hand, and you may tell your friends how you won so much gold from me."

"Hahah!" He leaned back. "Alright. Deal me in, Madame Dealer."

She nodded, sweeping the rest of the cards to her side of the table. Quickly, she ran her thumb over the edge of the kings from the nobleman's hand. Right into a neat pile she laid the cards, rubbing the same thumb and her forefinger together. They were completely dry. She smirked.

With masterful grace and speed, she fanned the cards out, shuffling and throwing the cards through the air around her.

The nobleman's friend to the left whistled. "At least you have some skill with the cards. Even if they are just pathetic parlor tricks. I might just enjoy the rest of this night in my room with you."

She glanced at him. He had big talk for not playing her in this game. They didn't even bother to realize how high the stakes had been risen when they challenged her "Dealer" persona. She was two people under this roof. "Levonne", the whore, and "The Dealer", the very proprietor of the establishment.

"Madame?" Dizzy meekly asked, understanding her act was over. "Shall I leave?"

"No, Dizzy." She replied. "You may stay."

The other buddy of the nobleman's laughed. "The hell sort of name is 'Dizzy'? You dizzy with the amount of blood rushing through your cunt?"

With precision she hadn't shown the fuckers before, The Dealer quickly shot the cards out, dealt within seconds. She carefully looked at her hand, smirking. King, Queen, spades. Exactly how she planned it.

The nobleman was shaken for a moment, but he quickly shook it off, looking down at his hand, holding his cards quite close to his sleeves. He laughed.

"It's a true disappointment to know my expectations have fallen quite short of your reality, Madame Dealer. I'll be sure to tell Prince Alex and Grant about this place. You should be honored to lose to nobility."

And he would be disgraced to lose to lowborn women like her and her sisters.

"Two hundred." She said, dropping the whole purse onto the table from her lap.

He could not stop laughing all this game. "I will absolutely call you." He said.

She dealt out the flop. Jack of spades, five of diamonds, three of hearts. A flop of absolute randomness to most people, but exactly what she wanted.

"Three hundred." She said.

He grinned, and slapped a large handful onto the table. "Yes ma'am."

Then came the turn. Ten of spades. Brilliant.

She looked him dead in the eye. This was his last chance to back off and walk away.

"All in." She didn't say how much that was, but Dizzy knew. It meant the whole establishment's reserves.

But he only scoffed. "You're bluffing. You can't win, sweetie. I call." He pushed all of his gold into the pot, including the wooden fifty chip he had won a few hands back.

Finally, the river.

The Ace of Spades. A classic river card.

The Dealer had won. She smirked. There was no way for him to win, now.

But he laughed again. "Well, pleasure doing business with you. I have a Royal Flush."

He flipped his cards. King and Queen of Spades. The exact same cards that The Dealer held in her own hand.

She smiled, and flipped her cards. "So do I."

The three nobles looked down in confusion, when suddenly, The Dealer made her move. She grabbed the deck, kicked her foot up to the bottom of the table, flipping it into the air. Gold coins flew through the air as she grabbed the rest of the cards right from the table. She lunged for the nobleman, and fanned out the deck, swiping it across his throat.

Instantly, the nobleman began to choke up blood as his friends watched in horror at what they saw. He tried to hold his hand to his neck, but The Dealer firmly wrenched her hand onto his wrist.

"Now, what do we have here?" She said, running her hands down his sleeves. Indeed, she found what she was looking for. He had been switching the cards from her deck of steel-edged cards to his own. The back of them had the same pattern, but there was no fooling her own eyes.

"We got ourselves a little cheater, here." She sneered, pulling out her own Ace of Spades from her hand. She began to lower it to the nobleman's wrist, honed and ready to cut through, when his buddies spoke up.

"No!" One of them cried. "Please, ma'am! We won't tell anyone, we swear!"

"We was just having a bit of fun!"

"Fun that included speaking rudely to Dizzy and touching Callista when she didn't invite that. I never once saw any of you pay a copper to me, so you are not clients. And if you are not clients, then you have no right to touch my sisters." She brushed the Ace's edge to the noble's wrist, him still choking up more blood. "And then you steal right from under my nose when you thought that you were dealing with a little 'sweetie'. I am not one to be trifled with, and your friend, Lord Walter, should have known better than to send you here."

"Please!" The other said. "Just let us go!"

"I wish I could do that." She said, sighing as she stood up. Dizzy and Callista came up behind her, taking their positions at her sides. "But you clearly forgot rule number one: The house always wins."

She fanned out the deck, and tossed the King and Queen right to their throats.

Callista and Dizzy stood by in awe, looking over at their sister. The Dealer triumphantly stood over their bodies, blood spilling out across the dark mahogany floor.

The sound of footsteps came from the top of the staircase. Ace suddenly came around the corner, and looked down at the bottom to where all three ladies stood.

Ace looked at the bodies. "Cheaters?" She asked, tying her hair up behind.

The Dealer nodded. "Let's get this mess cleaned up." She knelt down to their bodies, taking out their purses, and sweeping up some of the scattered gold coins off the floor.

The Dealer looked down at the coin in between her fingers. Blood had begun to coat it before she picked it up. One side of the coin showed a ship. The HMS Cubitt, where King Elias led the charge against Misthaven invaders. The ship had been retired after that battle, but His Majesty claimed it to be immortalized forever on the coins.

The Dealer turned the coin over in her fingers. There was more blood covered on this side, but even she could make out the distinct profile of His Majesty. He was a prideful King from what she heard of him, but that did not mean that he was immortal. Spokepeople for the King and the Royal Family had been talking for months about how ill he was. It was only a matter of time…

Dizzy and Ace took the body of the cheater first, taking him out to the back. He wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last. No one could beat The Dealer at a game of poker, and no one could sneak a card past her, either. But she secretly looked forward to the day that a worthy opponent would find some way to sneak an extra Ace past her. One day.


February 1789

Nothing was growing this time of year. Even this far south, all of Arendelle could feel the cruel stroke of the winter. But that didn't meant preparations could not be made. With his wheelbarrow creaking loudly against the cobblestone street, The Gardener found a perfect place to sit down, and get to his work.

Even with his change in landscape, The Gardener had never fought so hard to ensure his routine stay unbroken. He was a creature of habit, and everything had to happen as it had to him for the last seven years.

He took out his knife, and began cutting through the cuttings in his wheelbarrow. No better place than ever to harvest his seedlings.

Truthfully, it wasn't the luxury that he missed from his old life. It was just the position. He was proud of his work as the Royal Gardener. All of the work put into the gardens every spring was because of his passion, and his commitment.

But all the same, the Southerner bastard dismissed him.

He slid the knife down the dead stem of the tulip in his hand, wishing it was Little Miss Muttonchops.

The whole week was one of grim tension. There was a message being passed throughout the palace staff. Some woman named Ingrid had made her way into court, but Queen Elsa's Spymaster, Connor, suspected something. Next thing he knew, citizens of Arendelle were being sent south to Corona, gathered up in the ships and being brought down the coast.

But then, within a day of them landing in Corona, ships from the Southern Isles landed to escort them back up. It greatly confused the citizens of Arendelle, but The Gardener was glad to head back. Winter was coming, and that meant he had to begin his plans for the Spring festival next year.

A guard approached him on the ship the day before they returned.

"Are you Terej?" He asked.

"One and the same." He replied. "Royal Gardener of the castle."

"King Hans will want to speak to you when we return." He said.

"King Hans?" To say The Gardener was confused would have been to say a mouse facing a lion was frightened.

"What, you didn't hear?" He asked.

"No." The Gardener said, fearing the worst. "They're not telling us anything."

"Queen Elsa is dead. 'er sister, too. Rest their souls, as His Majesty takes the crown."


The Gardener angrily stormed into the meeting hall, answering on the summons Hans had given him. He sat at the head of the massive table in the hall. The table was the exact same that Queen Elsa had held her councils at, but he himself was never present at those meetings. He was only the gardener, after all. Not a general, nor an admiral, not even the mysterious Spymaster who had come into her court only a year before.

The first thing he saw about the King was his face. It had been badly cut by something, with a deep wound now present on his face. It looked to be scarring. Before then, Terej had only seen Hans a few times from a distance, the week of Queen Elsa's coronation. He seemed a nice enough Prince, caring for those affected by the snows Her Majesty brought. But then he showed his true colors when he tried to drive a sword through her back. The snake…

"Terej." Hans said, standing up. The men who stood behind the king eyed him as The Gardener stood at the other side of the table. There was a chair, and a goblet of wine present there, but he didn't take either of them.

"Your Majesty." He said, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice. He remembered only too well what he had tried to do to those poor girls, two years ago.

"It has been a troubling time, sir." Hans said, clearly trying to offer some courtesy in his voice. "I'm certain you heard about the Deep Freeze."

The Gardener shrugged, shaking his head. "Something about us being frozen for thirty years, I heard. Your guards told me as much as they brought me up here. Honestly, I just felt very cold for a few minutes, one night."

"Indeed. Tragic, that Elsa would show her true colors at this time."

"Yes." He replied, still showing his anger in his face and voice. He wasn't buying what this Southerner shit was selling.

"Tragic that she would also allow traitors in her inner circle. The Assassins murdered her and her sister."

"Assassins?"

"Anarchists. Rabble rousers. Murderers, thieves and rapers who play by their own rules. And your queen let one of them into her council as her Spymaster. Then he killed them both."

Connor? The Gardener had seen him a few times in passing. Maybe Hans was telling the truth, but he would trust a literal rat before he would trust the snake who tried to murder both of those girls before. He very seriously doubted the intentions of Connor if it was murder for their fair queen. That was a lie.

"What does this have to do with me, Your Majesty?" He said, coldly.

"Elsa's inner circle was tarnished and full of corruption." Hans said. "The standards set for this kingdom have been put to an all time low, as well. It's disgusting. But thankfully, I am here to save this kingdom from itself."

The Gardener looked around, then noticing the two servants standing by the table, out of view of the meeting.

"Where are Kai and Gerda, Milord?" He asked.

"Please, Terej. You will address me as 'My King', or 'Your Majesty'."

"Alright. Where are Kai and Gerda, Your Majesty?"

Hans sighed, a little smirk on his face. "As I said, there has been corruption in this court for far too long, and I have come here to fix it. Every mechanism needs to be cleaned, and the useless pieces removed."

"What did you do with them?" He snarled.

"Please." Hans said, raising his hand. "This is a courtesy call, Terej. The staff who I granted an audience told me that there hasn't been a more faithful and loyal servant to the Crown. But I can't make exceptions with traitors among the last council. So…"

He clapped his hands. They were gloved, only adding to his aristocratic profile. The Gardener thought they made him look like an asshole.

One of the servants fetched a chest in the corner, carrying it over to the table. It seemed to be quite heavy to her, and she placed it down a little too fast in front of The Gardener.

"I'm so sorry, sir-"

"It's fine." He replied, waving her away. He was worried what was in the chest. Something he had a gift in was predicting how most conversations would go. This chest had one of two things hidden right under it's lid.

He flipped open the latches, and lifted it to find… coins. A whole chest filled with gold Vytropi, and silver Tryrins.

"What is this, boy?" He snapped. Most people would be happy to see a chest full of gold. But The Gardener, who worked every day of his life for the love of flowers and his ability to make things grow, knew the gold for what it really was: severance.

"I have heard that you listen to orders well, Terej." Hans snapped. "So, I will only give you one more chance to remember: You are to address me as 'Your Majesty' or 'My King'."

Almost as soon as he was beginning some sort of childish tantrum, he stopped, calming down, and regaining his composure.

"You've served Queen Elsa faithfully. She would owe you thanks for your… services. But if she was so blind to let a murderer into her inner circle to kill her, who's to say another one of her old staff would so easily betray their new King?"

The Gardener reeled in fury. "I am no traitor!"

"And I believe you." Hans said. "But I cannot make any exceptions. We're making a fresh start with this occupation. The Southern Isles will bring it's order to the North, and the first steps are to rearrange the council and my advisors."

The Gardener looked around the room. Every one of the men surrounding the prick were not familiar faces. Likely members of the royal court in the Southern Isles.

"But, am I not without generosity? Six thousand Vytropi. One thousand for each year you served Elsa."

The Gardener also noticed that every man in the room was armed with at least one sword and pistol. If he even tried with this stuck up bastard, it would end very badly for him. He could only guess that whoever gave him the scar was now rotting in the dungeons below the castle. Or dead.

"This is not over." He snarled.

"No, I'm afraid it is." Hans sighed. "I cannot take any unnecessary risks so soon into my reign. My father would be disappointed."

The Gardener grabbed the chest, shoving it under his arm.

"Oh, and I expect you to be gone from the castle town by sunset." Hans added.

The Gardener spluttered. "Then where the hell am I supposed to go?"

One of the generals beside Hans stepped forwards. "The people of Arendelle have nothing but gratitude for your service to them. We have arranged for lodgings in the town of Molrum to be put aside for you, and your accommodations for the next two months have been covered."

The Gardener shook his head. He was a lowly servant, and this brat still saw him as a threat because he served the last queen with loyalty and honor. He was just a gardener, yet they spoke of his services as if he were some knight defending his land. As if flattery was what he really wanted. All he wanted for all of his life, he had had for six years under King Agdar, and later Queen Elsa: to spend every one of his days tending plants and flowers, watching them grow in the beautiful kingdom of Arendelle.

He took great pride and love in his work with flowers. Crocuses were his favourite. They were the flower Arendelle was best known for, and he felt that he had a part to play in it's widespread fame. Nobles from all over the realm had heard of Arendelle's gardens, and came in droves to see it. But he never took credit or spoke to them for his work. His pride in his accomplishment was enough of a reward. Besides, he was low born. Unfit to speak to those above his stature.

Turning for the door, The Gardener loudly coughed up a wad of phlegm, leaving it behind him on the floor as he walked out in fury.


That was almost four months ago. Now, he was slowly chipping away at the gold that had been left for him, with his two months coverage gone.

While The Gardener stayed in the village of Molrum, he did what he could to try to find work. Nothing that paid with the skills that he had. Not at this time of year. And even then, the occupation pressed too much gold out of the citizens of the kingdom. Here they were, paying more gold to finance the massive amount of soldiers patrolling the streets that were not wanted, or needed with no one to oppose King Hans' claim.

Shopkeepers who had seen their flowers die quickly the last year sold The Gardener their clippings at a bargain, giving him work to do himself. Finding seeds in the stems, planning on planting them in the abandoned beds when the frost melted. But even this close to Corona, winter would still find it's touch to the Sapphire of the North. It always did. It would be another few months before he could plant the seeds that he had harvested.

He deeply missed those two girls. There were a few occasions that Anna came to help him with his work. She was an eager girl, very excitable. He admired that in her, with nothing letting her spirit down. He started working for the family a year before the shipwreck. It was the first time in over a decade that King Agdar had hired new hands to the castle. But he was never allowed to see Princess Elsa until after the coronation. And when he found out why, he understood.

She was much melancholier girl than her younger sister. It was only after her coronation that she began to really interact with servants other than Kai and Gerda. She took time to learn all of their names, and The Gardener even received some personal help in the gardens a year after her coronation.

But regardless of how he felt about them, they were both now dead. Whether from these "Assassins" Hans spoke of, the shithead prince himself, or some unknown demon, those girls were gone. And the paranoid fucker couldn't stand the idea of keeping anyone close to those girls within his castle. So, he forced the choice on them all: leave with dignity, or die.

After a few hours of extracting the seeds from his cuttings, The Gardener had a full bag of them. He placed the bag in with the cuttings, and began to push it back home. The cuttings would be kindling for his fires for the next few nights. The sun had long set, and now the nightly frost was beginning to come in. It was time for him to head home.

It was a claustrophobic regime he now lived under. King Hans laid more and more and more laws down before the people. Molrum was one of the two places that felt the most from his rule, the other being the castle down.

"Over there." He heard someone say.

Stopping his barrow for a moment, he looked over to see a large group of guards hauling three people by their legs, dragging them across the icy stone streets. There were bags over their heads, so he could not see their faces. But he could hear the sobs coming from them.

It was no mystery what they were guilty of, though. Again, the regime was felt the hardest here, being so close to the border. Hans felt some sort of hunger to press hard onto his subjects, but people here knew how lax and safe it was in Corona. There were bandits, and there were some dangers, but it was safe. Here, the people here felt scared by the people that were supposed to protect them. And yet, these people, who The Gardener had been hearing called "Sprinters", were guilty of the greatest crime of all in Molrum: trying to run for the Corona border.

The guards pressed the Sprinters up against the wall. It was a massive brick wall, which was now part of the colossal fortress between Molrum and Corona. Southern Isle troops had been working on it night and day since the occupation started, and it was still not finished. The Gardener heard that when it was, it would be three hundred feet tall, and span the length of seven miles from the town. Patrols along the rest of the borders between the two kingdoms would ensure no one would reach the safety of Rapunzel. For the most determined to reach the border, one could attempt to swim to Corona; if they could somehow make it past the blockade of over two dozen ships patrolling the waters.

The captain of the guard squad stepped forward. "That was an admirable attempt to cross the border. I swear, I think you guys broke the record for distance. Still doesn't mean you can escape us."

"Please. Let us go." One of the Sprinters sobbed. "Queen Elsa would have let us leave!"

"Elsa is dead!" The captain snapped. "And she is not your queen anymore."

"Then that Southern shit Hans isn't my king, neither!" Another voice replied.

The captain gave a wave with his finger. "I guess not." He said.

A torrent of shots struck the Sprinters, blood and bullet holes covering the wall behind them. The whole wall itself had it's share of both of those, with the amount of people who had tried sprinting since the occupation began.

The captain turned, then noticed The Gardener.

"What are you staring at?" He growled.

"The Southern Isles' finest." The Gardener growled back.

The captain stepped forwards. "We are Arendelle's finest now, friend. And I suggest you keep moving before things end badly for you."

The Gardener shook his head. He had kept his head down ever since he arrived in this shithole town. He could keep it down for the rest of his days, and beyond. It was hopeless, anyways, with the number of guns aimed at him day in and day out.

He grabbed his barrow by the handles, and trundled off. In truth, he always felt the eyes on him. It was painfully obvious to him that Hans had sent men to keep an eye on him as he booked passage down the coast, and took up his residence within the town.

The streets were completely empty that night. Curfew was established on a few nights a week, but the bulletin boards gave the posting that week. Tonight, would not have nearly as strict a curfew, and The Gardener had a few hours before he would need to be inside his home, or shot.

Everything about what he was doing, and why he had come here angered him to no end. And whatever claims Hans had made about his citizens, about how his plans and his vision for Arendelle would fix it for good, it was only making things worse. He saw that in the eyes of those citizens he watched from the street, looking out the window and shutting their curtains to him, only passing by with his wheelbarrow of dead plants. The guards were supposed to protect the citizens of Arendelle, not kill those who tried to leave. Did the southern fuck know about what his troops were doing? Or was he truly blind to the evil that his family was committing? Neither would have shocked The Gardener.

His home was close by to one of the only taverns that was still operating after the occupation: The Twelve Spades Pub. He almost considered going inside to have a drink after the day that he had had, but decided against it. Drinking didn't solve the kinds of problems that he had. Nothing he could do seemed to make much of a difference. The only thing he could do was what the rest of those in their home did. Keep his head down, and hope that the best would come one day. Though he was losing hope fast, even if there was close to none of that to begin with.

He felt more eyes on him. From the corner of his eye, he saw a guard walking across a nearby rooftop, away from where he stood. The Gardener only kept walking down the street, turning the corner to where his little flat and the tavern stood.

The door was a fine wooden one, chipped in a few places, with a triangular window at his head's level. The Gardener took his key out of his pocket, also pulling out his identification paper with it. Shivering as he felt a few snowflakes coming down, he unlocked his door. He looked up at the surrounding rooftops for guards, and when he saw none, he opened the door, and went inside to the warmth of his new humble abode.


Indeed, there were eyes upon The Gardener. There had been for close to a month, but they were not eyes under the orders of Hans. The eyes belonged to two figures wearing simple merchants' clothes from a stand that they were just closing down, nearby. Something that they had been doing to raise what little Vytropi they had.

The shorter one had long black hair, tied back in a bun behind his head. His face would not have been a welcome sight if the guards came. He had darker skin than those who Hans still considered to be his loyal subjects. It was grim news for them to discover this, and more so grim when they found out what day it had been when they arrived in the bleak town of occupation.

The taller one had a grim expression on his face. It fit him like the stick that he had kept strapped to his belt. His hair was shaved close to his head, in an effort to hide his name and his face. But if they both wore the garb which truly hid their identities, it would send every troop in Arendelle and the Southern Isles to where they stood. Here they had hid, and here they would continue to hide until the time was right.

"He'll do." The taller one said.

"Elsa told me he was the strongest man she ever knew." The shorter one whispered. "You think he'd be willing to make a stand against those assholes?"

"This won't be a stand in the bright of day, Zar." The taller one said. "We made grave mistakes in our recent years in this kingdom. We must evolve for the better. Keep to all three tenets, and think of little else."

The shorter one nodded. "Alright. So, this guy, Terej, first?"

"Yeah." He said, rubbing his stubbled chin in thought. "We'll find a few others. And rebuild our branch from the hole that we've fallen into."

With their stand closed down for the night, the shorter one began to carry some of the boxes for the tavern. The taller one meanwhile, began to walk in another direction.

"Connor-"

"I'll be fine, Zar." He said, beginning to climb the side of the building he stood beside.

The shorter one shrugged, then headed inside to the tavern.

Four months. Four months of an occupation where the Templars were already beginning to crush the life out of every Arendelle citizen under their boots. The news only got bleaker and bleaker with each passing day, and he realized that it may have been too late for him to relearn the Creed. Everything he had heard only confirmed the worst. Arendelle's castle town was under total lockdown, no one coming in or out, aside from supply deliveries. Those shipments were of the highest security, with no inch of any shipment left unchecked. No way for them to get in and try to kill Hans.

Killing Hans wouldn't even solve anything, anyway. He was there as King with the support of his own father, King Elias. They had learned that another one of his brothers was dead, and Hans had used this death to only discredit the Assassins further. Their hopes to try to do everything that they were planning on fighting so hard for had failed miserably.

But they had to act sometime. And the first steps were small ones that they were taking. Raising funds, slowly but surely, and watching this man, Terej, from a distance. They would strike, eventually.

Soon, the man reached the top of the tower, looking out at the town. The night air was chilled, and he could see the light of the moon reflecting off the water. It would be the full moon that night, giving Anna and Elsa the job of keeping Red in their rooms.

It was all fallen apart. The pieces of the puzzle lay scattered on the floor in front of them. But they had to start somewhere. And they had to send some sort of message to the people of Arendelle: Their Queen was alive. Their liberation would come. The Isles would fall.

There would be a war. It would be fought hard, but it would have to be fought.

The Assassin knelt down on the edge of the tower, and looked out at the town. At dawn, their fight would begin.


Ubisoft Presents

In Association with ABC-Disney Studios

Kit Harington

Assassin's Creed: Resurrection

Starring Elizabeth Lail as Anna

Carlos Valdes as Zar

Georgina Haig as Elsa

Scott Michael Foster as Kristoff

Meghan Ory as Red

Conor McGregor as Thayer

Jerome Flynn as Matthew

Daniel Portman as Torren

Cary Elwes as Keif

Sean Dagher as Kevan

Iwan Rheon as Jerred

Travis Willingham as Terej

Laura Bailey as Levonne

With Tyler Jacob Moore as Hans

John Barrowman as General Tobias

And Sam Worthington as Daniel


A/N: I am so proud to bring the next chapter in this long, ongoing series that I have been working on for the last few years. If you are just joining the story here, I highly recommend you read the first installment, Assassin's Creed: Faith. Otherwise, you'll have no idea who Asgeir or any of the Arendelle Assassins are in this original story set after the events of Once Upon a Time's first half of Season 4. But to all my veteran readers, I give the warmest of welcomes. I have a schedule planned for this new story, with new chapters planned to be released near the end of every month. Sometimes it will be one chapter, other times it will be more. But I will do everything I can to bring new updates at the end of every month, starting now. This is one story that I have had planned for years, and I am so excited to have finally reached this point in the story. I hope you deeply enjoy this story which I have declared my love letter for Assassin's Creed.