Elsa had messed up.

She knew she did! Incredibly!

She doesn't know what came over her, or what could've possessed her to reach out and touch him!

At first, she thought things were okay, the way he leaned into her touch; how his warmth seemed to seep into her fingers . . .

But she just had to lean in just those two inches, and he immediately retreated as if a plague had befallen her.

And then he left her; just left her there in the music room, not once looking back. The way he ran his fingers through his hair, she couldn't tell if he was aggravated, or still embarrassed, or giving himself his own mental throttling.

Elsa couldn't stop herself from tearing up after he left.

She stayed at that piano for another twenty minutes, hoping he would come back, but he never did.

She doesn't know what she expected if he did come back, and the more the dwells on it, the more distinct the red in her cheeks would become. These thoughts occupied her as she finally left the music room and forced herself up the stairs into her rooms that felt way too big for her after that night.

And she confessed this much to Anna, as she sits across from her now on the sofa in the library. The low-lying wooden coffee table set in front of the couch holds their set of tea they were having as well as a large silver tray of desserts.

The grandfather clock posted in front of a column chimes that it's ten o'clock in the morning. Anna's hair is still looking like a chicken's nest, but she quickly awakened when Elsa had near barged into her room this morning, begging her to wake up, that she needed to talk to her, and meet her in the library.

Still dressed in her pale green cotton nightgown, Anna it would seem, didn't even spare the time to braid her hair before meeting Elsa down here. Elsa can at least smile at her sister's loyalty.

"So, wait, you tried to kiss him, or he tried to kiss you?"Anna clarifies as she sets her cup down on its sunflower painted saucer.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! It's about whoever makes the first move! That's how you know they like you." She chirps.

Elsa shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know; it seemed like we were both toeing around the bush, at the point. I half expected him to stay behind the piano for the entirety of the conversation."

"Well, it shows he's somewhat comfortable around you. And you said he sat down without you insisting?"

"Verbally, at least."

Anna purses her lips as she rests her chin on her knuckles, her legs folded beneath the skirt of her nightgown. Elsa can't help but snicker. Here she is, nearing twenty-four and here she is gossiping with her sister about men. Although, she would be lying if she said some innate, feminine part of her was enjoying it. And, indeed, her sister's cheeks were just as red as Elsa's, her smile just as wide.

"But to reach out and to touch him?" Anna shrugs, indifferent. "Well, I guess it's a good sign that he didn't just smack your hand away. That would've been a clear signal."

"But you don't think I did anything wrong?"

"Oh, of course you did?"

Elsa pauses. "What?" She furrows her brows at her sister, another apology already forming inside her head if she sees Michael again. At least, if she ever gets brave enough to see him again. They might not have the biggest castle, but there are places she can avoid him.

"Look, Elsa, Michael clearly doesn't seem like the kind of person to easily open up to people. Especially if it involves intimacy."

Elsa pouts as she crosses her arms. "And how would you know this?"

"Because I see some similarities between him and Kristoff. He wasn't the warmest person when we first met. But with trying to find you after setting off that eternal winter years ago – along with some other life and death situations – we got to know one another."

"Well, if I have to have some deadly situations to get to know him, I think last night was a pretty good start."

Now it's Anna's turn to pout. "My point is that it seems like it would be a personal marathon to try and get Michael to open up. He seems to have had a rough life."

"Well, Kristoff was about as cold as the ice he sold, and yet he warmed up to you. And we still don't know much about his life – at least I don't."

"That's different."

"I fail to see that difference."

"At least Kristoff wasn't involved in any violent, or criminal activity. And especially after he showed me to the trolls, and then they told me how sweet and nice he is –"

"Anna what is your point?" Elsa interjects.

"Michael not some odd commodity that you can gawk at!" Anna snaps, setting her saucer down before she spills her remaining tea. "He's not some carnival exhibit, and you won't use him as part of some unfulfilled desire for adventure and excitement! Which is undoubtedly why you chose to go see him yesterday."

Elsa's mouth falls open and she fiddles with a pillow squished between her arm and the couch. "Excuse me?" is all she manages.

Anna sighs in aggravation as she sprawls along the couch, her back resting against the arm. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't realize why you went to see him last night? As someone who gave him The Flame and the Flower to read, which suggests a rather fanciful mind that yearns for adventure?"

"I'm not looking for adventures," Elsa mutters.

"Oh? The castle offers so much excitement that the presence of some rogue hero is nothing unusual? Nothing that would entice a young queen who's been confined to her room all her life? And what does this 'job' suggest, for that matter? He's already at your disposal as a personal guard. You think he'd want the entire kingdom to gossip about him, or worse, gossip about you and who you're bedding?"

Elsa blushes, hugging the pillow to her chest. "Who I share my bed with isn't anyone's business but my own. And even so, that's – that's not what I want."

"Elsa," Anna states. "you were alone with him in the music room. A room that is in its own hallway, with one way in and one way out."

Elsa tries her best to square her shoulders and hold her chin, but she ultimately fails in her voice as it comes out a mumble, "It's not like that at all."

"Then what else is it?"

"Anna, what point are you even trying to make? As far as I see it, Kristoff and Michael have some similarities – in that they were both off-putting in the beginning until we get to know them. But the only difference is that Michael has had a rougher life than him; even worse than us, if I'm being completely honest."

"And I'm trying to say, because of that, he might not even want to open up to anyone at all." Anna says, leaning over to place her hand over Elsa's, the queen completely unaware how white-knuckled they've become from gripping the corners of the pillow. "I just don't want you to get hurt, or, exhausted trying to chase after him, when he doesn't want it, for one thing, or he might not know how to treat you right. I admit, Kristoff wasn't easy to understand, but he was still raised by good people. He never had to kill a king, or break his own hand, or . . . watch his parents die."

To that, Elsa can't argue. Though she doesn't know the full story, Anna had told her about how Kristoff claimed it was only him and Sven for a long time, until he'd gotten adopted by the trolls. Before them, he wandered and worked with the ice harvesters. Though they seemed to depict him as more of an apprentice than a son.

"Look," Anna yearns. "I don't have much of a problem if you decide to pursue him. I just, don't want you getting hurt because he doesn't know to love anyone in return."

Elsa nods. "I understand. I mean – if I even choose to pursue these, feelings. But this is all very disconcerting."

Another shrug from Anna. "I won't lie, it'd be nice to see a different side to him. Maybe see him smile."

Elsa nods with a hum. "Do you think he meant what he said? About not having any friends?"

Her sister contemplates while grabbing a strawberry from the tray. "I don't know. I'd like to think not. Why would anyone want to be alone, especially if you've just lost your parents? Being alone is the last thing anyone should do."

The words strike Elsa harder than either of them imagined. She blinks and the velvet couch before her is replaced with the carpet of her old rooms; of a frozen floor and snowflakes suspended in the air. She blinks again, and she is back in the library. Anna seems to take notice, as she scoots herself closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I know what you meant. If anything, it's just all the more reason to at least befriend him."

The doors to the library open as Anna is about to say something, and in comes Olaf, still wearing the berry colored throw blanket from the solarium in Michael's suite. He's humming to himself, skipping and hopping his way along until he notices Elsa and Anna. "Oh! Hi guys!" he chirps.

Elsa and Anna separate themselves, giving the snowman the space between them. "Olaf, what are you doing here this early?"

The little snowman hops up onto the couch, plopping himself atop the blanket. "Well, Sven is still sleeping, as is the rest of you, so I've decided to dedicate myself to joys of reading!"

"You have been getting better at it." Anna says with a smile.

"I especially love the trivial facts! Such little things we never think about; like did you know high heeled shoes were originally created for men?!" Olaf giggles, snuggling himself into the blanket.

Elsa bites her lip in contemplation, but then she asks. "Olaf, I've been meaning to ask: What do you think about Michael?"

Olaf blinks at her twice before answering, "Well, speaking as a completely objective third-party observer with absolutely no personal interest in the matter, I think he's a nice man. He really has a mastery over the smolder expression. You know, it is a very difficult to master."

"Do you think he's a nice person?" Elsa asks.

"I think so. I mean I also think that he can be a dangerous man with a lot of emotional trauma, but his heart is in the right place. Even if it seems to be hard."

"How do you mean?"

"Not like, a stone-cold killer man, but just something he uses to shield his heart from further emotional pain that could send him into a spiraling depression with so little hope of ever getting out."

Elsa and Anna can only blink for a moment. Baffled.

Then the little snowman adds, "But bright side: he's probably very protective, and if someone does manage to break past his icy façade, he's probably just a big bundle of love that needs cuddles."

As if to emphasize his point, Olaf twirls and cocoons himself in the throw blanket, flopping himself onto Anna's lap with a giggle. Both sisters join, unable to resist the charm of the little snowman.

"So what do I do now?" asks Elsa.

"Don't worry. After everything that's happened, I've got the perfect person to help get Michael back into the spirit of things!" Anna says with an assuring smile.

When Elsa gives a questioning expression, her sister only waggles her brows.

"I'm telling you, it's the perfect chance to just get out, stretch your feet, and we can have a little guy-time together!" Kristoff assures as he leans back, draping an arm across the back of the couch.

He is sitting next to Michael, having one cushion of space between them in the solarium. He was studying the runes from the temple, and the crime scene, going through old tomes and other scriptures to see if any matched. This one didn't; but it is one of many scattered before him on the coffee table, spread between two tall stacks of books he pulled from the library earlier in the week.

This next morning, after his world nearly got engulfed by fire, needless to say Michael doesn't feel like going outside, despite autumn's breeze starting to waft its way into Arendelle.

His body had given a collective burst of pain when he attempted to sit up in bed a couple hours earlier. From his ears to his toes to his teeth, everything aches.

It's like he's been pummeled by a thousand iron hooves. His muscles feel so tender, his head throbbing.

He had intended to stay in his rooms all day as means of recovering, as well as spending time trying to find the origin of the runes that were at the temple.

That is until Kristoff came knocking on his doors, inviting himself him and for some reason insisting they talk a walk around the kingdom today. Get some fresh air.

"What brought on this sudden want?" Michael asks as he overlaps his notes with an old alphabet from a more eastern culture. They didn't match.

Kristoff shrugs a little too nonchalantly. "I mean, come on, we're two men against two women, and even before you came here, it was just me. It's nice to have another guy around the castle. Know what I mean?"

Michael nods, setting down the paper and pulling a book from the stack. This one about an ancient alphabet from a southern continent. He thumbs through the pages until he finds the one that had the translation of the alphabet into the common language.

"So, what do you say? Let's go, take a stroll. No mask, no cloak, and just wander the city." Kristoff adds a friendly pat on the shoulder, stirring a grunt of pain from Michael. "Oh, sorry. Sorry. What do you say?"

Michael sighs, rubbing his shoulder. Gods, he feels so tired today. He doesn't want to do anything, but at the same time, staying inside the stuffy castle almost makes him want to vomit again. He doesn't know how he'll make it through today, let alone Anna's birthday party. Of which he still needs to ask about the official date. He makes quick work of rinsing off before climbing out of the tub.

Looking to Kristoff, the man still holding that silly smile, he just smiles and nods with a raise of his brows. Michael can't help but chuckle. "Alright. Fine. Let's go." He says, clapping the book shut around his paper to hold his place.

He tosses the book onto the table as Kristoff jumps up with his fists saying, "Yes!"

Michael stifles more grunts as he pushes himself up from the couch, his legs aching like he'd ran a hundred miles. "Let me just wash up first."

"Yeah, no problem. I need to go and get Sven anyway. I'll see you in the courtyard!"

With that, he hurries himself out of the room, thankfully shutting the door behind him. Sighing to himself Michael runs his fingers through his hair, stiffly walking his way towards the bathroom.

He lost control of his magic yesterday, but that isn't the source of his pain. No, the pain that has settled deep into his muscles . . . this is from the uncontrolled shifting he'd done. The gods know how many times he shuddered between one and the other.

Gods, immortality . . .

He'd felt it.

But it wasn't like he had imagined. Perhaps it would've been different had that woman not overdone it with the runes, of which Michael is still salty about (and will stay salty about) for however long he wants.

Where did it come from?

What is he . . .?

He doesn't let himself think about it as he closes the door to the bathroom. Bracing his hands on the sink, he grimaces at his reflection. He looks like shit, and feels like shit. Next to the sink, he notices his filthy clothes from yesterday. At least he seemed to care enough about not having the vomit on the carpet, seeing how he just left them in the garbage. Maybe he'll just spare everyone the trouble and just burn them. Gods – he soiled himself.

He doesn't let himself wallow in the humiliation as he draws a bath. Taking the sponge and lathering it with soap, he gently rubs it along his aching arms and legs.

Barely drying himself off, Michael walk over to the dresser with dripping hair, towel around his waist. Rummaging through, he pulls on a dark green tunic and brown pants, then pulling on his slippers. He's about ready, until there's a gentle knock on his door.

He can't help the annoyed groan that escapes his lips as he slowly steps his way over. Placing his scarred hand on the gold handle, he tries to suppress his anger at Kristoff's insistency, ready to assure him that he'll be down shortly.

Pulling open the door, he instead finds the Snow Queen running her fingers down her braid, facing the opposite direction. A gift bag hangs at her elbow. Upon hearing the door open, she whirls around, about to say something, but she takes one look at him and gasps. "Great Mother and all her children."

Michael's smile, though weak, is genuine. He shrugs his shoulders. "I look worse than I feel." A lie. His head is still pounding, and his face must be gaunt.

Elsa takes a step closer, and the stillness in it puts him on edge. Something in the way the queen is assessing him, the way her eyes travel up and down his body, seeing within him.

"You seem different." She starts, the small flakes of snow in her hair twinkle in the light of the sconces.

Still he gives another nonchalant shrug before heading inside despite the heat of his cheeks protesting otherwise. "I suppose."

Elsa follows on heeled feet, closing the door quietly behind them. "No, the way you walk and stand. That look in your eyes." Michael continues to walk back towards the wardrobe, but the queen continues to follow and persists. "Are you okay?"

"Trying to be." He says flatly.

Elsa gives him a long stare. Michael watches as her nostrils flare delicately while a belt of two daggers about his waist. But to his surprise, Elsa says nothing as she walks around the bed and sits on the divan at the end. She runs her hands along her thighs before folding her hands in her lap. "Where are you going?"

"Into town with Kristoff." Michael says as he pulls his boots from the wardrobe.

"Oh! Wait." Elsa chirps as she stands up. She walks over and hands him to bag. "Here. I noticed how your boots looked, and you kept complaining about your feet."

Though touched but bewildered, Michael reaches into the bag and pulls out a shoe box. He can't help but smile towards the queen as he tosses the bag onto the bed, sitting with the queen on the divan. Opening the box, he pulls out a fresh pair of black leather boots. The soles were thick, likely made for a working man, though nothing like the boots he wore with his suit. Those had been specially made for him back in the rebellion, and he planned to wear them until he couldn't anymore. They're one of a kind, in their own way.

The laces were thick, the leather near reflective it's so shiny. He knew these boots weren't made for stealth, and he had the distinct feeling that Elsa knew that too. Still, the gesture is much appreciated.

"Thank you, but how did you get my size?"

Elsa shrugs. "I took a gamble. Anna said that Kristoff was a size twelve, and with the different builds between you two, I just went down one size."

Michael notions her to scoot over, which she does, sitting next to her on the divan. He tries not to think about last night – about her cool fingers against his skin, still warm like a candle beneath his skin. He could feel it breathing inside him, slumbering with deep, even breaths.

Slipping his feet into the boots, he lines up his heels and secures the laces. Standing up and flexing the toe, he hums with pleasure. "Not bad."

"They fit?" Elsa asks with a surprised tone.

Michael shrugs his shoulders. "A little loose but it's not the worst thing."

Indeed, he's worn those too-tight boots for so long he's surprise himself that his toes hadn't changed shape, or that his toenails weren't ingrown.

"Are you sure? I can take them back and get a different size." Elsa says, springing up from her seat.

Michael walks over to the full-length rosewood mirror and examines the boots. In the reflection, Elsa walks up behind him. "They're fine. I promise." He turns around and pats her shoulder. "Thanks, I really appreciate it."

Elsa nods, her cyan eyes briefly scanning him from head to toe before she clears her throat. "So, what are you going into town for?" she asks as she turns around and sits back on the divan.

"Kristoff came to me and just suggested we take a walk outside. Fresh air, he claims."

"Ah," the queen says with a grin. "And you agreed?"

"I did. If only to fulfill a brief errand I need to run."

The queen straightens. "What errand?"

Michael pulls on a cotton jacket over his tunic, having seen the way the trees were bending at the wind today. "I wrote a letter for two of my former, rebels. They're more educated on magic than I am."

Reminding himself, Michael walks over to his desk and plucks the letter from where he left it at the center. He tucks it into the inner pocket of his jacket and heads for the door.

Elsa follows close on his heels. "You asked them to come here?"

Michael opens the front door to his suite, motioning Elsa outside. She complies, whirling around the meet as he steps after her. "No, I didn't ask them to come to the castle specifically, just if they could come to Arendelle."

He begins to walk, Elsa falling in line next to him, matching every stride despite her heeled shoes. He makes sure not to make it seem like he's rushing to get away from her, he was actually planning on telling her about it – if she deigned to see him. "How do you know them?" she asks.

Michael stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket. "We were part of an elite group, back in the day. Just the three of us."

A heartbeat of silence. "Were they your friends . . .?"

Michael ponders, keeping his gait casual. He purses his lips, his mind thinking back to the rainbow-haired shifter and the red-eyed shadow walker. The wild smiles and drinks shared, the many occasions they saved each other's asses. It only hurts his heart more when thinking about how he hasn't kept in contact with them. He wonders if they'll even bother to answer his letter.

"In a way, I guess. They were certainly the only people I trusted out of the entire company." He admits. His brows twitch for a moment when catching the queen's face flick between envy and reprieve.

"Were they magical, like me?" Elsa asks, lacing her fingers together, her thumb rubbing along her knuckles in that way she does when nervous.

They reach the stairs. "Yeah, they were. One was a shape-shifter and the other was a shadow walker."

The queen's eyes light up and a tone of urgency overtakes her voice. "What's that?"

Michael knows what she means and shrugs a little too casually himself. "It's hard to explain, but he sort of had this way of, merging into the shadows – even the thinnest sliver of them. He actually taught me everything I know about stealth."

"I've never heard of such a thing."

He notices how her shoulders seem to relax at the mention of the 'he.' "Not many people have; being among the rebels, you get exposed to all kinds of magic. I've seen a lot, and yet I'm not even sure I fully saw or understand what else is out there. The kinds of magic and where they derive from."

They reach the bottom of the stairs, heading into the entryway. Elsa is quiet long enough for him to cast a glance at her. Her eyes are wide, her breathing seemingly fast.

He places a hand on her shoulder, near startling her from her trance. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Oh, yes, I – um, I just . . ." She shakes her head and takes a deep, steadying breath. "You don't know what it means to me to hear that there are others like me, out there. That I'm not the only one."

No accusations, just stating a fact. Pure jubilance at the life-changing statement he just dropped at her feet. He might not fully understand magic itself, but what she fails to realize is that he does understand where she's coming from.

To be locked in your rooms for years, thinking . . . wondering why you're different. How you haven't met someone else that's like you? Wondering if you're truly the only one in the entire world?

Not having someone to understand. Someone to talk to. That he can understand. Probably more if he were to dig deep enough. But she still seems on edge about last night, not that he blames her.

Before he can stop himself, he says, "I do understand."

Those beautiful cyan eyes look up to him. "Do you?"

Michael finds himself taking a step closer to her. "Yes. It might not be from the same root, but it branches to the same meaning."

They're close enough that her snow-covered lilac scent reaches his nose, a gentle caress to his mind.

"Where do your roots come from?" she asks quietly.

With equal quiet, he says, "Loneliness." The queen only stares at him, blinking with those long-fanned lashes. He can't stop his eyes from wandering to her lips. "That constant wondering if anyone will ever love me, if I can ever love in return."

Something shifts in the queen's eyes, her eyebrows twitching for a second, but they stay in their place. They're close enough now to share breath.

"Or if I'll just be alone and wandering for the rest of my days."

"By choice?"

"By force."

Elsa blinks, taking a half-step back to wring her fingers again. "So, if you were given the choice, would you stay? Would you, settle down?"

Michael looks out the windows peering into the courtyard, to the open castle gates and across the stone bridge to the town beyond. "Yeah. I would. I would love to, actually. But it'd be a hard habit to break."

"How do you mean?"

As the queen steps up to his side again, he looks down at his scarred hand, at the callus spots peppering across his palm and knuckles. "After we won the rebellion, after we were disbanded, some of the soldiers were able to settle down, to just stop their trained habits, their routines. But there are others, like me, who just can't let it go. Who can't sit still." He looks to the sky, to the fluffy clouds. "I've been moving for the last eleven years; never sleeping in the same place twice and carefully covering my tracks. Not because I was being pursued but, because it's all I know."

"You never went back to your parent's home?" Elsa mumbles.

Without taking his eyes off of the horizon, he says, "Why? There's nothing left . . . nothing for me there."

"You've never really had a solid home?"

Leaning his hip against the sill of the widow, he leans on his palm. The full weight of the thought, of the fact hits him harder than a ton of bricks. He stumbles slightly, as if he actually got struck, blinking with the realization as he croaks. "No."

The queen must've seen something in his expression, because her hand suddenly lays atop his own, as gentle as a moth. He looks to her, her big round eyes twinkling. "You could have a home here. There's a place for you . . . in Arendelle."

He chuckles, a low and quiet sound. He couldn't help himself.

But he blinks back the sting in his eyes. "I've never been offered that before."

Now the queen holds his hand in hers, giving them a soft but reassuring squeeze. Her eyes have suddenly become so serious it sends a chill spidercrawling up his spine. "I mean it, Michael. There's a place for you here."

Another chuckle breaks past his lips, the very last bit of it choked on a breath. His wraps his arms around Elsa and he presses his forehead to her shoulder, his body trembling slightly. She strokes a hand through his silken hair – the gesture so easy, so natural.

"Thank you." He whispers into her shoulder. "Thank you so much for that."

"Of course." She states. As if there's no room for debate on the subject.

Michael pulls back sniffing and laughing to himself as he wipes his eyes, if only to fight the embarrassment. Elsa's cool, smooth fingers grasp his with that gentle touch, tugging one hand away from his face, the other wiping away the moisture with her thumb.

It felt like the caress of a winter wisp. She leans in, brushing her mouth against his heated cheek. He closes his eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravages him in its wake, that might ravage Arendelle.

A sound draws their attention out the window once more, and they find Kristoff walking with Sven towards the door. They're completely unaware of the two, allowing them to create a respectable distance just as Kristoff pops open the door and peers inside.

"Oh, there you are!" he tweets. "I was beginning to think you fell back asleep. Hi Elsa."

The queen spares a smile and wave as Michael turns to the Ice Master. "No, but I was certainly thinking about it. You mind if we stop by the post office? I need to mail a letter."

"Yeah, no problem. I actually know the perfect route that'll bring us right by it, with a ton of sights."

Kristoff continues to talk as Michael follows him out the front doors. Elsa it a couple of steps behind them this time, her heels quieter on the wood. "You two be careful." She says as Michael takes the first step down.

He turns around and looks to her with a genuine, if still small, smile. "Aren't we always?"

The smile she returns is so beautiful.

Michael spares her another wave before jogging to the inner most set of gates to meet with Kristoff. The doors close soundlessly behind them.