Despite his aching muscles, Michael is enjoying himself as he walks with Kristoff through Arendelle's Square, the salty air of the fjord whispering through his hair and into his nose. The sun it still shielded behind some of the roofs, but Michael can already tell it's going to be a rather humid day.
Perfect.
He tries not to think about it too much, focusing more on the cool ocean breeze. As they stroll throughout the neighborhood, Michael casts his glance towards the clock tower set down an avenue. It's almost eleven; they've only been out for half an hour, the soreness in Michael's legs having been warmed from the bloodflow of walking.
He dropped off his letter at the post office, eager to see how long it'd take to get to his comrades with the magic enchantments he'd written. Basic messenger spells written around the border of the paper in invisible ink that'll guarantee it getting to them faster than any courier on foot or by horse.
They turn down a corner into Arendelle's shopping district, he can't help but admire all the bits and pieces of the window displays that built the personality of the businesses beyond. This avenue is where all the fine things in the world are sold and bartered. Jewelers, hatters, clothiers, confectioneries, cobblers among many other things. Elsa had told him businesses stay open all year round, as vibrant as they are in the summer. Still, Michael felt a small sympathy for those who had to shovel away any snow that would fall – with the slick sidewalks and slushy cobblestone streets.
For now, all the citizens poured in and out of the various shops and studios, some perched on ladders to string up drooping garlands and banners of sunflowers between the lampposts, some sweeping gathered clusters of dirt and pebbles from their doorsteps, all eagerly preparing for the princess's birthday.
Part of him is baffled at the bustle; as if the demon attack at the ball didn't happen. Didn't matter. He supposes it's a good thing, how no one dwindles on such things in this kingdom, but at the same time . . . it gives a perception of naivety. How some people can be so calm, and still so free in times of fear and peril.
Michael takes a sharp inhale through his nose, the salty air tickling his nostrils.
Kristoff is quiet at his side but smiles with content as he watches Michael take in the sights, sounds, and smells. He attempts small talk as they crossed the bridge into town, but he took one glance at Michael's wandering eyes and just shrugged.
It didn't occur to the rouge until now that this is his first time browsing the city without his leather armor; without the mask and cowl. Let alone on the streets and not on the rooftops. He didn't realize what he'd been missing, but the roofs still provided a better viewpoint, better navigation.
Which also means he isn't ashamed to browse the many shops they pass, pausing in front of every one that interested him – which was many – and Kristoff, thankfully, didn't seem to mind.
Kristoff did seem to mind, however, how almost every woman they passed seemed to admire Michael.
And frankly, the rogue rebel agreed.
As they pass by another trio of young women, of whom gave Michael shy waves and schoolgirl giggles, Kristoff mumbles to him, "I see why you wear the mask."
Michael can't help but grin. "A blessing and a curse."
He was always aware of his looks and trained charm; it was another weapon in his arsenal, one he kept as honed as any blade.
In fact, for so long he only viewed it as another weapon for so long, outside of its use, none of it really mattered to him. And it wasn't one of his better skillsets, among the rebels. It still sickens him to this day; how he had to seduce a duke's daughter, or flirt with a noblewoman to get information. Most of the time they were single, but there was always one who wanted a reprieve from her 'selfish and pompous husband.'
The way his hands had to grope their body, trace his tongue along their skin.
It's not something he's proud of, and never will be. He felt as dirty and as low as any courtesan.
Sven huffs at their side, drawing Kristoff's attention away while Michael stops in front of a jewelry store window. The bull had crossed the street to a vegetable stand, eyeing a large bunch of carrots tied together. The eager bull licks his lips.
"Sven! No! You can't eat that!" The iceman hollers as he runs across the street to stop the reindeer.
Hands in his pocket, he peers down at a gorgeous necklace resting upon a velvet display bust. It has three diamond-shaped charms of blue topaz pointing downwards, a polished amethyst connects the precious gems to a diamond-accented chain. The design reminds him of the bottom half of a snowflake. Angling his head, he admires the sparkle the necklace gives, so similar to Elsa and her many gowns and, even herself.
There's movement behind the glass and Michael peers up to see the jeweler setting out a velvet T-bar filled to the rim with pearl bracelets. The stout balding man spares a friendly wave to Michael, of which he returns with a dip of his chin, doing his best to smile in return.
Most of the vendors and shop owners of his old kingdom – especially the ones in the wealthier districts – were pretentious, chasing away potential customers if they weren't planning on buying anything on the spot. Michael waits for the man to point to any of the items with an eager nod, and when he shakes his head no, readies to see the man sneer and scowl at him to move on.
But the man never does. After Michael gives his nod, simply slips back behind the curtain and into his shop. Michael blinks for a second, baffled. This kingdom is so different.
He hears the breathing before he feels the clap on his shoulder, and he turns to find Kristoff with an arm over Sven's shoulders, the bull still peering at the pergola of food. "Hey!" Kristoff chirps with short breath. "Sorry about that. What are you looking at?"
"Oh, just window shopping."
"Looking for something for Elsa?" he asks as he tugs Sven closer. The bull groans with yearning.
"Kind of." He admits. It was the first thing he thought of when he laid eyes on the piece.
"Are you going to get it?" Kristoff asks, elbowing Sven hard enough to get him to focus.
Michael shrugs. "I have to see how much it is."
"Elsa paid you, right?"
Indeed she did. More than he would've ever expected. She delivered the payment the night before the suitor's ball; it was heavy enough that Michael knew the majority of the coins were gold. He tried to turn her down, insisting he was just doing his job. Then she insisted a job must be paid and slapped the coin purse into his hand without further argument.
She knew he was never into a job for money, it was a last thought. And he didn't expect to get anything . . . he never did.
Though he didn't say it to her, the gesture was sweet, and appreciated.
Even so, Michael was never one to spend his money freely. With the rebels, or even with his parents, he never felt the need to spend on himself, his father always telling him to buy for the family – primarily food and clothes, occasionally a wood axe or spoon.
They weren't poor, but they were country folk, relying on his father's hunting to trade and make money. They only bought what they needed.
"I'm sure Elsa wouldn't mind you spending the money she gave you on something for her." Kristoff drawls.
"Maybe, but she may also say to spend it on myself." Michael laughs.
Kristoff smirks. "You do know that they're well-off, don't you? You could fill a bathtub with those things"— he jerks his chin toward the egg-sized sapphire in the window of the jewelry shop — "and barely make a dent in their accounts."
Michael knew. He'd seen the lists of assets after curiosity urged him to see how much he was getting from the whole sum. He still couldn't wrap his mind around the enormity of a royal's wealth. It confirmed to him that Elsa was overpaying . . . by a lot.
It didn't feel real, those numbers and figures. Like it was children's play money.
"You think I should get something for Anna? Her birthday is coming up." Michael asks.
Kristoff nods with a confident grin. "I've already got something planned. But I know she'll appreciate the gesture."
No need to mention that it would be nice to have something to establish the level playing field between them. He knew it probably took her a lot to approach him and apologize, so a small present for her wouldn't be too far out of the question. But Michael also knew not to get her something too over-the-top; god forbid he outshines Kristoff.
"Any idea what she'd like?"
The shrug Kristoff gives is near defeated, but the assured light didn't leave his eyes. "Not going to lie, it's hard to shop for her and Elsa. What can you give them that they don't already have?"
"An age-old question." Michael laughs. He's already moving for the glass front door, a silver bell ringing merrily as they enter.
The shopkeeper is wide-eyed but beaming as Michael points to the piece, and swiftly lays it out on a black velvet pad. She makes a sweet-tempered excuse to retrieve something from the back, granting the men privacy to examine it as they stand before the polished wood counter.
"For Elsa." is all Michael says.
"It's perfect," Kristoff assures, the stones of the necklace fracturing the light and burning with their own inner fire.
Michael runs a finger over the cool silver settings. In his periphery he can see Kristoff furrow his brows. "Why do I get the feeling you don't do this very often?"
Michael shrugs, not taking his eyes off of the glittering piece. "I've just never felt the need to buy anything . . . for myself, or for anyone else."
A bit of an understatement. They had a small farm, nothing too big beyond a couple crop plots and his mother's herb garden. But they made do, and they were happy. His father never really enjoyed city life: the noise and the smells and the people. And Michael didn't really blame him – even if it was a small pain to travel to the town to trade in addition to bartering with anyone. Once he was old enough to learn how to hunt and start pitching in, he earned a small allowance from whatever they earned.
He never spent any of it, always kept it just in case they needed it. It felt so selfish to spend money on himself when it could be used to better the family.
"I get it." Kristoff says, his tone softening. "I didn't really get Anna anything the first birthday I spent with her."
Michael's eyes cut to him. "Why?"
"I didn't know what to get her. And with what I could afford . . . even as 'Ice Master,' even with Elsa writing me checks . . . it felt, weird."
Fair enough.
"All I really did was tell her that I love her, and she liked it." Michael chuckles. "I think it was one of the first times I told her, so it was special in that regards."
Michael hums to himself. The jeweler returns a moment later, and Michael hands over the total in gold coins, trying not to cringe at the enormous sum of money that just disappeared with a stroke of a golden pen.
"Well, I don't think she'll appreciate it if I tell her I love her," Michael says as they strode into the crammed Square and edge around a red-painted cart selling cups of ice-cold pink lemonade, "so do you have any idea what she might like?"
Kristoff ponders for a moment, running his fingers through his sandy blonde hair. "She likes sandwiches."
Michael snorts. "Okay, look if you're not going to help –"
Suddenly, shrill incessant ringing fills his head.
One minute, he was walking down the busy avenue with Kristoff. One minute, he was just trying to ignore his aching muscles and throbbing head. One minute, he is trying not to drown in the weight of his magic that threatens to drown him in that too-familiar black sea.
The next, his hears hollow out, the ground rips from beneath him, chunks and pieces of cobblestone rain down, people scream, blood sprays, fear scents the air, and he is twisting, lunging for Kristoff –