Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen or anything else recognizable in this work belonging to Disney. This work is purely fictitious and any characters resembling recognizable, real persons both living or otherwise is coincidental and unintentional.

Author's Note: Back again! As always, this plot is dark. Just a warning.


Cloak and Dagger

"Ah, I wouldn't do that."

Hans knew that, had the feeling of irritation come over him like it would before, he would've rolled his eyes at the remark from his "traveling companion." But as it was, he just ignored the comment and continued to snake his way through the sea of people brushing past him in the bustling, panicking crowd in the costal city in the Duchy of Weselton. The salt-tinged air nipped at his scarf-covered face as he trudged through the streets, his companion trailing close behind him.

"If you try to stop whatever they're doing, there's no way they'll let you get close to them later. You're just going to get hackles raised," his companion continued to badger. "Don't tell me you're just going to waste the many months of traveling we've done by throwing it all away now. Have you no sense of subtlety?"

"So says the man that flirted ostentatiously with the Queen of Arendelle," Hans pointed out. Should he have laughed after saying that? Growled in anger? Jealousy? It was hard to tell, considering that he wasn't able to feel any stirrings of emotion ever since he fled Arendelle after having his heart frozen.

While an obvious cause for worry (were he able to do so at the moment), he considered it a blessing to not have to deal with a mind in turmoil over his involvement in the destruction of Arendelle. The frozen heart curse had affected him differently than when Anna was once endangered by it – and while he had his theories yet he wasn't quite sure whyit allowed him to just continue on with business as usual instead of being immobilized by the crippling grief and fear over his new… "lease on life," so to speak.

If what he had could be considered "living" at all. Numb. Frigid cold, too, which is why he refrained from casting off his cloak and scarf in the balmy summer weather of the port city; but internally, he was numb.

And everything in his mind and guts told him that was wrong. It was like he was losing his humanity.

While he could no longer feel the ache in his heart, the land still pestered him about sacrifices, so he knew he wasn't quite off the hook on that end of the accursed deal he unwillingly made with the pixies. Heavens, in fact it was ever more difficult to keep the precarious balance between killing for "the right reasons" and ensuring the land was kept satisfied when he couldn't tell how close it was to experiencing another earthquake.

Because of this, there were quite a few that followed him around, but fortunately not as destructive as the one in Arendelle. It was hard to tell if the land was still able to possess him, nor was he willing to find out, so he decided to err on the side of caution and... "dispose" of a few people – in self-defence, of course. Mostly. It probably didn't help that with putting himself in such dangerous situations, there would be moments where he could feel the adrenaline coursing through him. In those fleeting moments, the chill that threatened his well-being would recede and he could finally feel again.

How gruesome that the means to convince himself he was still alive was to kill. Disgusting.

Another problem, though a comparably smaller one, was his travelling companion. Count Mikelo, though the nobleman likely had a hand in endangering Hans' family along with his friends (if he were allowed to call them as such) in Arendelle, the prince couldn't deny that the nobleman had better use to him alive. Just like that first Order member he happened upon after fleeing Arendelle had said: Mikelo knew too much. Knowledge was power, was it not? Besides, the count was happy to change alliances, claiming that the Order never really treated him well and had a deep-seated grudge against them.

While the count grew flustered and withheld information regarding why, Hans knew that Mikelo wasn't lying. And the many instances of using the nobleman's connections to secret their way into Weselton helped the prince to somewhat trust the count.

That man was just... too friendly whenever Hans even so much as spoke to him. It wasn't normal.

Seriously, if a person knew that you were cursed with the means to destroy a kingdom, you threatened to kill that same person, and went ahead to kill everyone else in the same room; why would you automatically act like you were friends? Wasn't the normal reaction supposed to have more distrust and suspicion? Mikelo acted as if he was friends with Hans before, which was impossible because the prince was never one to allow friendship to form in his life. Well, besides the strange friendship he had with Kristoff, of course.

Regardless, the nobleman had become someone Hans had reluctantly depended upon. Any source of information he would use to bring down a secret society was much too precious to toss aside. Or kill.

"Steloj!" Mikelo exhaled. "Did you not remember the plan? This is where the heart of their organization is! You can't just waltz around like you own the place, or else you're just going to spook them into hiding, and then we have no chance of infiltrating them!"

"I remember," Hans stated, continuing to part his way through the crowd, its density thinning the closer he got to the carriage the people were fleeing from. "I just need to see if anyone needs help."

"Aĉ, is this really necessary?"

"Depends on how you look at it."

Mikelo stretched his mouth into a thin line and visibly huffed, his shoulders rising and falling in acquiescence. "Fine, I'll just hide in a squalid alleyway and try not to get my pockets picked. As per the usual." He wasn't testy or argumentative in tone, in fact, the count seemed disappointed or shocked at having to "stay out of the way as Hans did his dark magic business" for the umpteenth time.

While the nobleman appeared close to an explanation for this… peculiar behavior throughout the whole journey by foot to Weselton, Hans wasn't going to press the issue. After all, it bothered Mikelo more than it bothered Hans, so the former would be the one to do it on his own timing.

And heaven knew how little anything bothered Hans nowadays.

...Like trying to pull a likely-flaming carcass from a burning carriage.

Hm… Yup. Nothing. Not even a hint of disgust at the thought of it.

Not even the charred remains of what once was a living, breathing person would stir you to emotion, a side of him spoke. You really are losing your humanity.

Was that his conscience? It was hard to tell without the feeling of guilt accompanying it.

"I'm still waiting," another voice within him said.

That voice, however, was unquestionably the land.

"I'm taking your scythe with me," the count said over his shoulder as he gave the burning carriage a wide berth into a nearby alleyway. "So I can make sure you're not going to blow our cover, alright? Just investigate, nothing else."

"Whatever you say," Hans said impassively, scanning the wreckage.

So, this was the work of the Order of the Lynx. What once was an exquisite, highly-decorated carriage (some of the rubble was what appeared to be gold trim) made to pull six horses had been reduced to embers and still-flickering flames. An ornate dagger was embedded into the wreckage, its pommel molded into the head of a bobcat. A lynx.

Hans yanked the blade out, hopping away from the fire's heat. He didn't step completely out of its reach, however. Though inside he was numb, he still needed to ensure his fingers freeze over like they did from time to time.

He turned the dagger over in his rag-covered, chilblain-ridden hands, looking for any other distinguishable markings, namely the one who made the weapon.

Just so that he could make a… "visit" in the future, if need be.

A friendly one, possibly, if the blacksmith was working for the Order in a similar capacity as Mikelo if they had family on the line should they refuse. Then again, Hans wasn't going to completely rule out killing the count when he was finished. It was difficult to tell where that man's loyalties laid.

There was no maker mark on the dagger, but there was a small inscription: "With blood and iron and smoke, our victory shall be won. Death to all who oppose us." An Order member was definitely responsible for the destruction of the carriage. He had found a similar one on the body of "Madam Huntswoman," as Mikelo had called her. The count had said that such ornamental weapons were often given to "decorated" assassins and used as a signal for a call to action, if seen in public.

"Curious how you run toward danger instead of away from it like everyone else has," a raspy, masculine voice croaked behind Hans. The prince turned around, ready to call the scythe from wherever it was hiding with Count Mikelo should the need arise. Now that it no longer brought him pain to summon it like before, he found himself doing it more often. And much like the many new developments that arose after fleeing from Arendelle, he tried not to think about their repercussions.

Hans locked gazes with the origin of the voice: a rough-featured, burly man with a crossbow strapped to his back. He supposed it was a good thing the man didn't have a bolt nocked and aimed at him.

"Curiosity can make cowards swell with bravery once in a while," Hans replied.

The man smirked, amused, and held a hand out. "A friend of mine left that dagger. I'll be taking that back now."

Hans' hands twitched slightly around the dagger upon realizing that this man was possibly another Order member, having half a mind to stab him in the face with the dagger. When the female assassin said that there would be "associates" and "business" in Weselton, Hans never realized how involved they happened to be, namely the chances of coming face-to-face with another member. They were, of course, considered to be a secret society after all.

That meant they were getting either too cocky about whatever they were trying to accomplish in Weselton, or they were getting sloppy. Good news for Hans if either was the case.

Bad for the citizens of this place, his inner voice chided.

Right. He needed to think of others. That's what good people did, correct?

…was he considered good?

It was moments like these where he missed the feeling of guilt. Right and wrong were so hard to figure out without it, at least for a reformed man like Hans. Supposedly reformed. Once-reformed?

"…it's corrupting you," echoed the warning Elias had given him in Arendelle's dungeon in Hans' thoughts.

No. No it wasn't. Not anymore.

But could something that was once corrupted be reversed?

One thing was for certain: once Hans was done with whatever he needed to ensure his loved ones' safety, he was going to have a long chat with the eleventh-born brother. At least with the lack of emotions, Hans would be able to stay calm during the confrontation next time.

If there would be a next time. Hans was still mortal, after all. At least he thought so, since he attributed each survival from a near-death experience to either his quick thinking or some form of intervention from the land, not to some inability to die. Infiltrating a secret society of assassins was possibly the most dangerous act a person could aspire to accomplish.

But strangely, Hans was hopeful. It was touch-and-go for a few times ever since being cursed by that pixie, but he still held onto hope. The source varied throughout, as well, but this time he knew its current source would stay with him.

He hoped to see Elsa again. Alive and well. The only way to ensure that was to eliminate the danger that threatened her all the way in Wesleton. To see her, he needed to stay alive, too.

"Fingers frozen solid, or something?" the burly man before Hans said, gesturing to the dagger still in his hands and breaking the ruminating prince from his thoughts.

With a motion Hans hoped conveyed a feeling of distaste, he tossed the dagger to the man. The man chuckled at the small display of defiance and reached behind himself, pulling a quaking Mikelo into view by the scruff of the nobleman's neck and shoving the black-haired man to the floor between him and Hans.

The scythe was no longer with Mikelo. Hans' eyes narrowed in suspicion, not liking the new turn of events.

"This whelp here says you had a run-in with my wife," the man spat.

"I've come across many women in my travels," Hans replied coldly. "Care to refresh my memory?"

"This is the Huntsman," Mikelo whipsered, earning him a swift punt in the ribs from the stocky intimidator.

Huntsman. Mikelo mentioned the assassin he killed was called "Madam Huntswoman." Oh, what a coincidence.

"Liked to wear a dark cloak, kept a short sword hidden, preferred weapon a stiletto?" Hans listed off. The Huntsman huffed affirmatively in reply. Hans pulled out the sword the woman "lent" him, letting the steel blade gleam in the sunlight to allow the man to inspect it closely. He pointed its tip to the man's chest. "What's it to you?"

The Huntsman laughed heartily, "Ah, she gave you her sword, eh? So you're the new recruit that she wanted to vet, huh? Seems like the yarn this starving artist here tried to spin me turns out to be true."

Hans flicked his gaze to the panicking Mikelo, who gave him an intense look that warned against saying anything otherwise. Another look, this time to the sword Hans held in his hand, signaled him to lower it. He obliged.

So he wanted him to lie. Alright, nothing too hard, then. He was growing tired of having to fight all the time, anyway.

"Yes, she gave me an interview, seemed to like what I had to offer for your organization, and directed me to make my way to Weselton," Hans said, using the base of truth to make himself seem more believable.

"Hmph. You don't seem one of those classy types," the Huntsman scrutinized. "What kind of questions did she ask you during your interview?"

"Mainly just my ability to wield a sword."

"And what did you tell her?"

"I said I was trained."

"And you have experience with the fancy etiquette stuff?"

Hans furrowed his brow. What did etiquette have to do with anything? "Depends. I'm a bit infamous when one speaks of me in the royal courts."

"Infamous enough where you hide your face, eh?"

Hans remained silent.

"I'm just joking with you," the man said warmly, mirth gleaming in his eyes. "If my wife thought you're good for the job, I won't question it. Times are tough, and we could use all the help we could get. It's hard enough trying to find assassins who know how to blend in with rich people." He waved them over. "Come, I'll get you situated with a team, and then we can get things started."

###

"There's still no word of his whereabouts?"

"None, Your Majesty. There have been vague rumors cropping up ever since he frightened his pursuers away a year ago; but each time someone goes out to investigate their veracity, no traces are left."

A disaster. That's what Arendelle and Queen Elsa's rule had become. A disaster that looked to be irreparable.

And what good deed could she even boast that evidenced her ability to do so, to fix whatever damage Arendelle had experienced? She allowed a treasonous prince into her kingdom – against the behest of her people, no less – despite the dangers that surrounded him. Never mind that he wanted to change, never mind that they were only working under the suggestions of the trolls' foresight, never mind the nuances the public didn't see.

Because it was all cause-and-effect in the end. Invite a dangerous individual in, expect danger to follow. That is simply what happened. That is why her people grew distrustful of their queen, disillusioned at best.

The good reputation of the crown, years of work and diligence her parents and ancestors did to maintain it – crumbled into shambles just like the ruins that surrounded her castle.

All was not lost, fortunately, and it certainly could have gone a lot worse, since King Pieter and the rest of his brothers helped in Arendelle's rebuilding efforts. They even helped to repair whatever social schism had manifested itself between Arendelle and its queen by diverting much of the blame to themselves. Some distrust still remained, but it was enough for her subjects to follow her orders and listen to her assurances that things were working in the people's favor.

She should be glad. Grateful, at minimum.

But she couldn't. Not when her heart felt… shattered.

Upon hearing the bounty hunter's news – yes, bounty hunter; she'd stooped that low, fallen to be that desperate; and not only had she hired one, but a whole team of them – she new that her heart wouldn't piece itself back together anytime soon. Not when Prince Hans was out there, somewhere. Not when she didn't know if he was safe, or when she didn't know if others were safe. Was he even still alive? She froze his heart, after all. What act of true love had he done to survive for this long? There was no word of another being cursed as Hans was by the pixies to suggest that he perished and was replaced.

She didn't even get to see him leave. She didn't know what state he was in, to know any hints to how he might be conducting himself without her good influence – once-good influence – around. Just that thought alone tormented her every waking moment.

So many questions, so many things she didn't know. There were too many things that could go wrong.

If they hadn't already.

If only a few of her questions were answered, maybe the nightmares would finally end. Heaven knew how many sleepless nights she'd had to worry through for the past year. That was probably where a good portion of the blame for her irrational decisions came from as of late. The servants around the castle never pointed out how fatigued she looked, but of course she didn't escape it when it came to Anna.

Considering that the princess had lessened such remarks in the past few days, well… maybe Elsa was doing better instead of getting worse?

That was a lie, and she knew it.

"I see," Elsa said disappointedly to the bounty hunter. "Where will your team search next?"

"Weselton, Your Majesty," she answered, inclining her head slightly. "I know the place isn't within the likely areas he may wander, but considering the duchy's recent state of unrest, my team and I might be able to do our searches without much notice. It wouldn't hurt to check."

"Alright. And you would like a quarter of the payment before you leave as usual?"

"Yes, Queen Elsa."

"Stop by the treasury, they're aware of your visit."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

As the bounty hunter left the throne room, Anna entered in, staring in disapproval at the armor-cladded woman's back as the door swung closed behind her. The princess turned to the queen, a frown on her face.

It felt like Elsa was receiving a lot of those lately.

"I really don't like that you're having business with those people," Anna stated.

"It was either this, or have the citizens go on a manhunt on their own volition. This is better. Safer. For everyone," Elsa explained.

"Is it really?"

"Anna, we've talked about this countless times in the past."

"I know, I know. I just… I hate how forcing him to leave is destroying you, Elsa. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have made that call when you weren't able to. I shouldn't have made that decision when everything was tense. I ruined everything."

"Anna, please. We've discussed this already. We can go on for hours, talking about who was to blame for what, where everything went wrong, if it was better to do one thing over the other; or we can take our losses as they come and try to work with them, try to move forward."

Anna turned away, half-attentively tracing a nearby picture frame with her eyes. She murmured in a low voice, "Everyone is moving forward except for you. You're stuck."

Elsa knew Anna wasn't trying to instigate something, or at least not intentionally. There was something else, some other reason that the princess had to visit Elsa in the throne room. Anna was a lot more on edge than usual.

"Anna… what happened?" Elsa asked. But she already had a feeling. It was about Kristoff.

"It's been a year," Anna said softly, staring at the ground. "He gave up. They gave up."

Oh no.

"There isn't anything they could do?"

"No, but he's adjusting. He's Kristoff, remember? I just… hope I can be as strong."

"You are, Anna. You risked everything just for me, once, remember?"


Author's Note: Things are getting pretty busy in my life right now, so I might not be able to update this as quickly as its precursor. However, this is also the only thing keeping me sane during this holiday season, so that might help hasten each update. Hopefully. I mean, working in retail during the holidays? Uh… yeah, not doing this again, hahaha.

And about that plot summary... Umm... *chuckles nervously*

That's a scene near the end. Really sorry about having everyone's hopes up if they want to see the context of that event anytime soon. I wanted to be a bit more descriptive with an overall summary of this plot but I didn't want to give too much away. But fret not, dear readers! The theme of "things aren't always as they seem" will come up a lot in this story.

Yeah... I think I didn't really help out matters in saying that. Whoops.

(Sssssso mysssssterioussss, wooooooo...)