Returning to the castle, Michael had abruptly left the girls at the door and slipped off into his rooms to bathe and change.
Their trip to the market wasn't a complete bore seeing as how they managed to extract information from Noah. But now it's all they have, with little to no leads. All they know is that someone outside the kingdom hired the Inferno group to assassinate Elsa and Anna. Their leader is unknown as well as the buyer.
All of this is useless with no suspects or further information of their origin.
With nothing better to do, Michael figures a round of sparring will help him sort out on what to do next. He leaves his room and makes his way down to the courtyard where the guards practice.
It's in the back of the castle, where a sparring ring acts as the epicenter of it all. Bordering the outside are simple dummies – old sacks of flour emptied and stuffed with hey and with sloppy bull's-eyes painted on their chests and heads. Water buckets mimic helmets, and they have wooden swords tied to their flour sack hands.
Michael chuckles as he approaches the dummies. Still, he practices with his daggers to pass the time. He had mentored under an elderly man many years ago, and from him learned many stances and techniques. He runs through them one by one. If he's going to protect the Queen and Princess, he needs to be at his finest. His work is actually the best, according to the Captain of the Guard, who has been observing him as he works.
How many hour he practices, Michael doesn't know, but when he finishes his body is coated with sweat and his arms throb. He collapses onto a bench and gasps in air. An unnamed guard - probably a trainee – hands him a glass of water and a towel of which he takes gratefully. While he finishes, one dummy in particular catches his attention. It's about the size of a full grown man and weighs nearly two hundred pounds. As he watches one of the men spar with it, he overhears them use the name, Bob. Someone has strung a heavy wire between two poles and hooked Bob to it and while it's not the same as fighting something with intelligence, it seems to keep the men on guard.
Unable to take the heat of the summer's sun, Michael strips off his black tunic and sets it aside with the water and towel and gets up, taking his sword and walking over. After observing the dummy, Michael gives a few soft whacks before diving right into battling against it.
The dummy slides, swings, and moves with Michael's own momentum. He can run him through with his dagger, yank the blade free, duck, and spin around to bury his weapon into the dummy's back while he slides toward him.
During his sparing, Michael remembers on how his father would train him with something similar. He can't count on his fingers the number of scars and bruises he got from training with his father alone. Then when it got to the other students – his father being a somewhat trainer for the young children of his old home – and of who could think and fight for themselves, it only added more. Michael half-expected to see himself in stitches like an old rag doll he's been broken and beaten so many times.
Finally tired out, he sits on one of a few hay stacks that's lined up to act like benches. He retrieves his towel and his water of which has been refilled, and pats his forehead dry. His moves his back muscles as he feels a stream of sweat run down his spine. He pats at the dimples of his lower spine as he feels it reach the hemline of his undergarments. As he pats his forehead, he hears his name called by a soothing voice.
"Michael."
Looking up to find Elsa back in her elegant ice gown, Michael has to wonder if it's as cold as it appears, leaving her immune to the summer's heat.
"This is a surprise." he smiles. Elsa nervously fidgets with her hands and seems to be uncomfortable in her own guard barracks despite her rank in hierarchy. Too exhausted to get up, Michael simply bows his head and wipes his neck. "Did you need something, Your Majesty?"
"Actually, yes." She says.
Elsa has to fight her embarrassment as she tries not to look at Michael while he's shirtless, but the whole reason she came down here was not to avoid his gaze, but to ask him about their next move in tracking the assassins. But it's hard to do while he has his torso exposed.
Her eyes still find and gaze at the simple yet detailed designs of the tattoo he has. It curves just under his shoulder blades before it turns upwards into spirals. His muscles expand and contract as he catches his breath from sparring. The tattoo continues over his shoulders and across his chest. The ink glides under his collarbone and delicately curves just at the top of his ribcage, several swoops coil down his bicep.
He catches her eyes wandering, then realizes his shirt is still off. Fighting away a laugh, Michael drapes the towel around his neck. "What I can help you with, Your Majesty?"
Elsa still fidgets with her fingers as she rounds to Michael's front. "I wanted to know if there was any progress made about investigating who hired the assassins."
"I'm afraid I have little to go on, Your Majesty. I've yet to look through the archives and records, as we've only just received information today," he says, and Elsa has to bite her tongue has his tone. "And it has proven less than useful."
"Well, there's got to be something else we can do." Elsa insists.
"Your Majesty, things are just getting stared, and I understand your concern, but I just need some more time to think." Michael insists.
Elsa takes a timid step back as she hears the heated agitation in Michael's voice. She notices the sweat coming off his forehead and gives a small smile. "Here."
Michael looks up and finds her wafting her hands around each other. "What are you doing?" he asks.
She smiles and still waving her hands, then opens them out towards Michael and a small cluster of snowflakes and dance across a small wisp of snow and a cold breeze. They waft towards Michael and the sigh that escapes his lips as the coldness feels good against his hot skin is, interesting.
"Wow." He breathes. "Thank you."
"Of course." Elsa softly giggles. "And please, from now on, call me Elsa. I think that since we're going to be together a while that it's only fair that we address each other as such."
"Odd, coming from royalty." Michael smiles. Elsa blushes as she continues to waft a cool breeze towards him. his beautifully tanned chest expands as he inhales. After another minute of cooling off, he asks. "You know how to fight with those powers?"
It catches Elsa off guard, so much her magic falters. "Um, I did . . . or I do. But I only did it once, I don't wish to you use my powers for violence."
"So I'm guessing that one time is when you didn't have a choice?" Michael asks. He looks up to her and she stops her waving hands. She lowers her head and looks off to the side.
"Yes. I was being attacked and, I guess it's fair to say that it was in self-defense." Elsa says.
"That's perfectly fine. And reasonable. There's no need to feel bad about it. You didn't hurt anyone." Michael reasons.
"But I almost did. Back then they all feared me as a monster." Elsa says. Michael then scoots over on the hay stack, allowing Elsa to sit. An unspoken gesture that she takes; as she sits, her train falls in gentle folds; the pleats and endless ripples in the lavish garment gave the illusion of softness. The soft, sweeping lines. "I wasn't myself." She admits.
"How so?"
"I was fighting to protect myself, but . . . I almost had no regards for the men I was fighting. I had one at point and the other I was ready to push off a balcony." Elsa's voice shake and Michael looks to her to see her holds her hands tightly to her chest.
"Did they try to kill you?" e asks. Elsa nods in answer. "Then it was self-defense."
"No." She shakes her head and lowers her hands, folding them neatly in her lap. "No, it wasn't."
"Elsa, they were tasked with killing once they found you. It was self-defense. It's understandable." He scoots closer to her. "You were afraid. You knew that they wouldn't have spared your life. Instinct kicked in, and you did what you had o do."
"Yet if I were to kill them, I would've been no different." Elsa reasons.
Michael is about to retaliate, but realizes that she is right. In her own sense of reason and pacifistic nature. But to him, there is no difference as he has lost his own faith in humanity long ago, and has done far worse in his years that followed.
"I'm so scared to use my powers in fear of hurting people."
"And what if they're not afraid of killing you?" Michael questions. Elsa looks up to him, and blinks back the water in her eyes. What happened in the past two years, has really affected her. And despite the acceptance of her villagers, she still fears what could come should she be pushed to her limit. "I was always taught that if they don't care for you, you don't care for them."
"That seems rather harsh, don't you think?"
"The world is harsh, Elsa." He says deeply, taking another sip of his water.
"Or maybe that's how you see it." Elsa disputes.
"It's how I know it is." Michael counters. "That was proven to me long ago."
Elsa's eyes widen and her chest suddenly aches. He shakes his head, unreasonably aggravated again and gets up from his seat, ready to head inside.
"I'm sorry." Elsa says as she stands. Michael turns to her with a confused expression, his eyebrows narrowed still in annoyance. "I didn't know, and didn't mean to bring back old pains."
"You can't bring them back if they never went away." Michael softly says. He wipes his chin with the towel again despite his body being clean of sweat.
Elsa bites her lip as she watches him fiddle with his dagger as if by clinging to it, he can almost kill the memories that she can see flood his mind as his eyes go distant. Or perhaps clinging to the dagger, or any weapon for that matter makes him feel better, as he feels more protected; that he can defend himself now instead of being a helpless boy.
"Have you ever used a weapon before?" She suddenly hears him ask. Looking up, she finds him looking to her, his expression soft. Once again she feels her cheeks burn at the sight of his muscled abdomen and the graceful ink that flows along his shoulders to his back.
It takes a moment for the words to process. "Um, no. I didn't. It's against the etiquette of a queen."
"What kind of Queen can't defend herself?" Michael asks with a smirk.
Elsa's expression hardens slightly. "I can defend myself. We just discussed this."
"We also discussed how you're afraid to use your powers unless your life's in danger." Michael reminds.
"Which is the only time I should use them." Elsa bickers.
"But what if you need to intimidate a man with certain ideas in his head?" Michael asks. "Because I don't know if you noticed, but you and your sister attracted the attention of several men."
Elsa shivers at the reminder of the men that whistled at her. It didn't feel right, but it strangely did make her feel better. Not because he killed them; that scared her, and even traumatized her. She didn't think about killing a man, and didn't even know what it looked like until then. But it did feel better to have him protect her, demoralized at Michael's actions.
Having them cower from him made her feel more protected, but it is dangerous to have to rely on him. She looks to Michael and is surprised to find him with a gentle smile across his lips now.
"Would you like me to teach you?" Michael says. Elsa's cheeks unreasonably grow warm as she nervously rubs her arms. "It'll be a great way for you to fight, or intimidate, others as well as protect yourself, and not use your powers unless your situation is dire." He persuades.
Elsa stares at him once more and debates. She then gives a small glint of a smile and holds her head high, squaring her shoulders. She folds her hands. "I believe it will be of benefit if I learn self-defense. I accept your offer."
He gives a small smile in return. "Excellent." He says playfully mocking her etiquette. "Though you may want to change your clothes."
Elsa looks down at her gowns and gives Michael a small nod before going inside to change.
The sky turns a soft tangerine twilight as Michael waits for Elsa to come back down. Most of the guards have already left the courtyard out of shift change or by simple courtesy of leaving Michael and Elsa. Once the queen returns, the courtyard is empty and she is wearing a simple white tunic, and grey trousers and brown leather boots.
Michael raises his eyebrows and uplifts the one corner of his mouth. "Not bad." He smiles fully when he sees her cheeks redden. "Come on, we'll start you off with combat techniques."
"Really? I just assumed we would get into using weapons." Elsa says as she follows him to the sparring ring.
"You'll get there. But this is just in case you find yourself unarmed and in danger." He explains. He sets aside his daggers and swords. "So let me just say that it's an honor to be your teacher, Queen Elsa." Michael starts. "But be advised, I'll throw a lot at you. Everything I've learned from my own mentors," he flinches as he pulls up the sleeves of his tunic. "And my own bruises."
He rubs his arm and Elsa can see a purple and black bruise. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't ask. Michael tosses aside his rolls his wrists.
"Now, combat is about controlling conflict, putting the battle on your terms. You should always be acting, never reacting. Now step forward."
Elsa steps forward, flexing his fingers.
"How much training have you had?" Michael asks, taking a fighting stance.
"None." Elsa answers.
Michael raises an eyebrow in question, a sly smile on his lips. In an instant, he rushes a fisted hand towards Elsa, who blocks with her forearm, but Michael spins down and sweeps a leg, kicking her legs out from underneath her. She would've landed on the ground if not for him catching her in one arm, holding her hand with the other.
"Whoa." She says. Her cheeks near red, and Michael smiling with no small amount of male satisfaction.
"Good block." Michael says as he gives her a smile. "That's good instincts. But you need to be quicker. Try to anticipate your enemy's next move while you're fighting."
Elsa grips Michael's shoulder as he lifts her to her feet.
"What exactly do they teach you at the castle?" Michael asks.
"I told you before, we didn't learn anything. It wasn't the way our parents were raised."
"Princess, or not learning how to fight is an essential." Michael says with a gentle smile.
"Technically, I'm a queen." Elsa smiles back.
Michael snickers. "There's hope for you yet."
Without warning, he grips her wrist and holds up her hand. She flinches, and instinctively tries to pull, but he holds firm.
"People – men – usually don't hunt for women who look like they'll put up a fight. they'll pick you because you look off-guard or vulnerable. They'll want to move you to another place where they won't have to worry about being interrupted."
Elsa's eyes widen, her face paler than normal. Helpless. What is it like to be helpless to defend yourself? A shudder goes through him.
"Do not let them move you." He continues, reciting from the lessons that Lieutenant Johan had once taught him. He learned self-defense before he ever learned to attack anyone, and to first fight without weapons, too.
"Fight back enough to convince them you're not worth it. And make as much noise as possible. In a kingdom like yours, I'm sure someone will come help you. But you should still start screaming your head off about a fire – not rape, not theft, not something that cowards would rather hide from. And if shouting doesn't help, then there are a few tricks to outsmart them.
"Some might make them drop like a stone, some might get them down temporarily, but as soon as they let go of you, your biggest priority is getting the hell away. You understand? They let you go, you run."
Elsa nods, still wide-eyed. She remains that way as Michael takes the hand he'd lifted and walks her through the eye-gouge, showing her how to shove her thumbs into the corners of someone's eyes, crook her thumbs back behind the eyeballs, and – well he can't actually finish that part, since he likes his own eyeballs very much.
He then shows her the ear clap, then how to pinch the inside of a man's upper thigh hard enough to make him scream, where to stomp on the most delicate part of the foot, what soft spots are the best to hit with her elbow (Elsa actually hit him so hard in the throat that he gags for a good minute). And then tells her to go for the groin – always try to strike for the groin.
And when the sun is setting, when Michael is convinced that Elsa might stand a chance against an assailant, he shows the queen all of the available weapons he has. The different styles of bows and what they're good for, how to steal another man's weapon and how to loot another person for salvage. Elsa picks up well; she is a fast learner, just like Michael's tutor said for him.
"What's that? A walking stick?" Elsa asks. Michael looks to the side and finds one of the weapons he had brought with him.
"Of a sort." Michael then presses on the thinner end of the stick and small blade pops out.
It's is an invention made by his father. It was a test at first, and something his father didn't really think was worth finishing; just a small project he didn't think had much potential.
But Michael saw something; something . . . deceiving. It looks like a solid wooden walking staff, but one end is weighted enough to crush a man's skull, and the other conceals a double-edged blade. Michael remembers his first time training with it. It was frustrating, and since his father didn't know about him taking it until later he had to teach himself. His father only found out when Michael had used it against a gang of thugs harassing a young woman.
"Give it a try." He says, chuckling as Elsa nearly drops it when he hands it to her.
It takes hours of work before she can balance the heavier end, swing it like a mallet, and knock Bob-the-dummy flying. Even so, she's still off balance enough that if she has to deal with two foes at once, she'll find herself skewered at the end of a sword before she can regain footing, and she's yet to manage springing the blade after the initial hit without getting knocked to the ground.
After her fourth disastrous attempt, she lets fly with the most creative swear word he has ever heard any member of a royal family say, and tosses the staff onto the grass beside her.
"I can't master it." Elsa says. "Can't swing it around in time to deliver the crucial blow that could mean the difference between life and death."
She lies back on the grass, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun, and sighs in agitation. The bangs of her braid stick to her forehead, and when she fans herself, small snowflakes waft over her pale face. He's never seen someone so pale, as though she has rarely seen the sun.
Michael crosses the space between them and sits down next to her. "I had the similar issue. It's not easy, but remember the kingdom wasn't built in a day."
"It's like having two weapons at once." Elsa says as she wipes her forehead.
"Exactly. But instead of looking at it like a bad thing, use it to your advantage." Michael nudges her. "Now come on. You can do this. You're doing great."
Elsa sighs and pushes herself to her feet. She wafts herself with her ice wisps once more before grasping the staff. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.
She listens intently to him, opening her eyes as he moves to stand behind her. Loosening her stiff muscles, Elsa widens her stance, and crouches.
"Drop your shoulders a bit. You'll need the room to move." Michael encloses his hands around Elsa's as her hands start to slide together. "No, you don't. Nice wide grip. Keep it loose. Gives you balance control."
Elsa takes a shaky breath and drops her shoulders, and widens her grip.
"Alright, now, you've got a weapon on either end. You'll only have seconds to decide which one to use." Michael lets go of Elsa's hands, and places his callused palms on her soft shoulders. "Big man, sprinting towards you."
"Weapon?"
"Doesn't matter, Elsa. He's twice your size and his speed will bring him in range within seconds. Which end do you use?" Michael's fingers curl around Elsa's shoulders as if willing her to know the answers.
"Blade. No time to swing the weighted end." Elsa slides the blade free and crouches.
"Very good." He releases Elsa shoulders and walks around to stand near Bob. "Now, if you must engage an opponent who is bigger, stronger, and faster, what do you do?"
"Take him down. Make it so he can't get up and come after me." Elsa answers.
"Yes. Now you'll get one chance to surprise him. Make full use of that advantage. Where do you make the first cut?"
"Let him come in, then spin and slash the inner thigh, as I turn. Cut open the artery." Elsa draws in a deep breath, and then spins and slashes, planting her left foot to keep her balance for the next move.
"Good! He's bleeding, but the pain hasn't hit yet, and he doesn't know how badly he's hurt. He'll try to come after you. How do you stop him?" Michael encourages as he walks around her, observing her.
"Cut the tendon in the ankle as he passes me, then get out of range." Elsa spins and slashes again, Michael watches as the staff is beginning to look like an extension of her arm as she thrusts, turn, and slices in tune with his voice.
He is soon clapping, pride written on his face. "You did it. I knew you could."
Once the clock chimes seven in the evening, they sit on the ground, under the light of the architecture groins, the housemaid having brought down a small snack of cinnamon rolls, now cast off to the side. Michael had pulled out his knife collection and is showing Elsa the blades of each knife and the purposes they had. He pulls out one of his favorites, a clip-point blade. The blade was concavely formed to make the tip thinner and sharper. The sharp tip is useful as a pick, or for cutting in tight places.
"So the back edge of the clip may have a false edge that could be sharpened to make a second edge. If it is sharpened, in increases the knife's effectiveness in piercing." Michael explains. He flips the blade over on both sides and Elsa looks to it with intrigued eyes.
"What about that one?" She points to a knife that's blade shrinks down to an exquisite tip.
"This one is known as a needle-point blade." Michael says as he exchanges the knives. "It's symmetrical, highly tapered, twin-edged blade is often seen in fighting blades. Its long narrow point offers good penetration but is liable to breakage if abused. Although most people call it a knife, this design may also be referred to as a stiletto or dagger due to its use as a stabbing weapon."
After a few more samples, Michael lets Elsa pick her favorite, and shows her some techniques on how to flip the weapon from blade to hilt and how to block, swipe and pierce.
"Alright, so we'll count a solid touch from the blade as a strike." Michael says.
Elsa groans as she stands. "We've been training for hours. At this point, I'm not going to be able to move tomorrow.
Michael grins. "You wanted me to teach you, queen. So, I am. I'm going easy on you, compared to the training I had to do."
"How long did you train for?"
For a moment, his expression is somber. "Long enough that day and night bled into one."
Elsa widens her stance and rolls on the balls of her feet like Michael showed her. He walks towards her, the resolve he feels to protect her blazing into something hard and bright in the face of his courage. His blade whistles through the air, and Elsa leaps back to dodge the blow. Spinning, Michael taps her with the hilt before she can raise his arms in defense.
"My point." Michael says, not bothering to hide his smirk.
Elsa circles him. "Lucky shot."
Michael lashes out again, but Elsa's ready. Blocking him with the middle of the blade, she whirls beneath his outstretched arms and slams the hilt into his thigh.
Pride keeps him from swearing at the pain. Elsa then decides to be sneaky and extends out her hand, creating a sheet of ice below Michael's feet, then pushes him to lose his balance. He turns and rolls forward as he lands, coming up with his knife ready. The controlled grace of his movements would make any of his mentors proud.
"You're fast. That's good." Michael says, advancing towards Elsa.
"I learn from the best."
They lock, parry, and break apart. "Aw, you're sweet. You're going to make me cry." Michael teases.
Elsa is strong and quick and cunning, but he knows she doesn't know how to anticipate the unexpected. He steps back, inviting an attack, and Elsa charges forward, swinging the knife like a butcher slicing the head from a sheep.
Michael waits until the last second, then drop to the ground and rams Elsa with his shoulder. Elsa's forward momentum carries her over the top of him and she lands face-first in the grass.
Elsa spits dry blades of grass from her mouth, and swears, but a new respect for Michael in her eyes.
Michael laughs like he can't help it. Elsa is staring at him, bewildered. And for a moment, neither can he. He is actually smiling, laughing, teeth and all. Elsa stares at him, a tiny smile flitting across her lips and the affection makes him suddenly feel like the richest man in the world. When was the last time he truly laughed?
"You need to be ready for an opponent who does the unexpected." Michael offers Elsa a hand up. She takes it, closing her fingers over Michael's without breaking their gaze. "Nice work."
She smiles and the moonlight shines a silvery path through her platinum blonde hair, and his eyes suddenly slide over her pale skin and come to rest on her lips. Warmth unreasonably pools in his stomach and spreads lazily through him as he pulls her to her feet and closer to him.
What is this? Michael thinks to himself. The feeling is similar to how he would feel for his mother and father. He hasn't really felt anything since his parents' death.
The sharp edges of his parents' death flashes through his mind, and it's so sharp he suddenly feels a small throbbing behind his temple, and something inside him shatters like a harsh clang of plates. The silence inside him consumes it, swallows the loss and grief, then suffocating it into the icy silence within him.
As Elsa giggles while he pulls her to her feet, Michael can feel the empty space within him filling up and making him into more than he ever could be on his own. But he can't let her see the man he really was, he can't bear to let her see the hollow, silent man he has become.
He is just here to protect her. Ensure her safety until they execute the assassin and the one who hired him.
Elsa takes an unaware step forward, her face upturned. Michael leans in.
Behind them, someone clears their throat.