She felt the rumble of the explosion from the study on the third floor.
Before she knew what she is doing, she is sprinting down the hallways and stairs, the skirt of her tangerine dress fisted in her white-knuckled hands.
Michael and Kristoff were in town today.
Where is Anna? Did she feel the explosion too?
Elsa reaches the main floor, bursting through the doors into the courtyard. Only to be met with Kai and several other servants and guards ordering her back in. Elsa orders them to release her, pushing her way down the steps and into the throng of villagers crowded in the courtyard. The divide seems even between those who are injured and not.
Casting her glance around, her heart trembles at the sight: of the guards escorting dirtied and bloodied citizens, of medics running about with supplies – of which Kai gave them permission to use what was available in the castle – of the smears and puddles of blood spotting across the yard.
Above all that, Kristoff and Michael are nowhere to be found. But she does find her sister sobbing with Ida under one of the alcoves. Ida notices her first, then Elsa watches the servant woman direct Anna's attention behind her.
The sight of her little sister crying hurts more than any dagger. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks flushed. Elsa couldn't stop her own eyes from stinging as she hurries her steps to embrace her sister.
"They're not here, Elsa." Anna's voice trembles.
"I know. I know, Anna, but they will be." Elsa tries to assure as she pets her sister's head. She also didn't add on that Kristoff is with Michael. A former rebel, a former soldier. He has to be used to situations like this.
Has to be . . .
Her own heartbeat is starting to sound like a distant war drum in her ears, but she doesn't allow herself to sink into her own rising hysteria. If she does, if the citizens see their own queen unraveling at the chaos, then she'll lose everyone.
She can't afford to lose herself, not yet.
Elsa looks to Ida, the servant woman's gaze hardened and focused. As Elsa continues to hold her sister, she asks. "How many do we have?"
"I counted over forty people being injured. And that's just the ones here in the courtyard. There still could be people out in the city."
"Have we already tapped into the castle supplies?"
"That, and some of the local doctors and physicians are bringing supplies from their homes, their offices."
"Good." She says, but her heartbeat is on a crescendo. Her eyes are constantly looking around the crowd, hoping and praying to see a pair of antlers, and two men next to him.
"Guys!" Olaf calls behind them. "What's going on? It's not raining, where's the thunder coming from?"
Anna manages to gather herself for the snowman, wiping her eyes and cheeks. Elsa has no idea where the snowman came from, or how he managed to get to through the courtyard without managing to see all the bloodied and injured. Anna still isn't able to talk much, so Elsa kneels down and takes the snowman's hands.
"Olaf, listen to me. Something bad, and really dangerous just attacked us and our people. Right now, everyone is really scared, and we have to do whatever they can to help them."
As Elsa is talking, her eyes flick down to the snowman's little stubby feet. She swallows back the tightness in her throat as she finds his right foot stained with blood. He must've stepped into a puddle of it and not realize.
Elsa throat tightens, enough that she has to cough, pretending she has a tickle before waving her hand. The blood-stained snow gathered in Olaf's foot slips from it like a drop of an icicle. Elsa flicks her hand to her right, the snow dropping into the stones of the courtyard. Another red-stained puddle.
"Where are Kristoff, Sven, and Michael?"
Behind her, Anna stiffs and chokes on a sob. Elsa takes a deep breath, clinging to that hope like a raft in a thunderous sea. "They were in town today, and we haven't seen them come back yet."
The snowman's eyes widen, hid molded eyebrows furrowing. "Can't we go and look for them?"
"No, Olaf." Her voice hitches and takes another steadying breath. "We can't. It's too dangerous out there." As she watches the snowman's expression fall, she pinches the tip of his carrot nose. "Hey, but they will show up. They're touch guys. They can make it."
Olaf nods, but the smile he gives her doesn't reach his eyes.
Elsa stands as Anna blows her nose in a handkerchief Ida offered her. She steps up to Elsa's side and mumbles, near pleads, "We need to go find them."
"We can't just leave these people here, Anna. Besides, at this point even our own guards won't let us go."
"You're the queen –!"
"And I made an oath to always do what's best for Arendelle. And that right now, is helping take care of the wounded and help the people who are scared."
Elsa turns to Ida, the woman's eyes scanning the crowd; marking every bloodied face and stained clothes. The woman senses her gaze and looks to her, her chocolate brown eyes brightened with focus.
"Bring your supplies from your quarters, help the doctors make a list of who's priority and who can be fixed with simpler procedures."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"We move all the uninjured into the ballroom, provide food and some blankets."
Ida nods and gives a quick curtsey before she hurries to her rooms with swift feet. Elsa turns to Anna, still wiping her nose and her eyes, Olaf hugging her skirt like a child. Elsa embraces her sister again, starting a new wave of sobs as her sister buries into her shoulder.
"It'll be okay, Anna. They'll be okay."
More sobs and sniffling.
"Anna –"
"Queen Elsa! Princess Anna!" a voice calls over the rippling voices in the courtyard.
All three of them look over to find Kai waving his gloved hand waving at them. His cheeks are flushed red, but there's a smile on his lips, a twinkle of relief and jubilance flickers in his eyes.
Behind him, several citizens part to reveal two guards escorting
"Kristoff!" Anna screams with a sob, as if her body will break apart.
Elsa looks, and sure enough, Kristoff and Sven are limping their way through the crowd, escorted by a couple of guards. Both are covered in black ash, but they don't seem to be inured other than possibly being in shock from the explosion. Sven looks as though he might have a sprained ankle, Kristoff holding his side, but she doesn't see any blood.
Her sister shoves past her and Olaf, people stepping out of her way as she rushes towards Kristoff. Elsa follows behind, her heart sinking as she continually looks for Michael.
She doesn't see him.
Anna throws her arms around Kristoff's neck, the Ice Master biting back a shout of pain as he embraces her. He removes the arm he's kept around Sven's shoulder and holds her tight, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Her body shakes — shakes as she sobs and says over and over and over, "Thank the gods."
Elsa approaches with Olaf, who immediately hobbles over to Sven's side. Up this close, the reindeer's fur is covered in ash and soot, and he wobbles a little on his feet. He might just be dizzy from the explosion, as Elsa can't see any definitive signs of any of his ankles being broken or twisted.
Anna pulls back long enough to survey Kristoff's clean face, his clear eyes. Apart from their dusting of smoke and pale dust, there's no sign of any injuries. No blood, no broken bones.
Anna steps aside as Elsa embraces Kristoff, gentler than Anna, but still Kristoff stiffens. He smells of smoke and sweat, hopefully the worst he has is some bruising.
"Thank goodness you're okay!" Anna says, as she motions the guards to escort them all inside. "What happened?"
"I – I don't know." Kristoff stumbles. "We – we were just walking down the sidewalk, talking, and getting along. One minute we were talking and laughing, and then the next there was this big crash of sound, and this push of air. A-and I remember Michael turning – he was ahead of me – and he just jumped on me, pinning me down."
The sisters share a nervous expression as they follow Kristoff and the two guards into the castle. They come in through the side door, entering the ballroom. Both sisters silently agree to let Kristoff rest on the steps. There's no way they're getting him up the stairs.
"The sound was, so loud. And it felt like the whole world was shaking. My ears were ringing, and I remember Michael telling me to get up. He helped me to my feet, a-a-and then he was talking to the guards. I tried to tell him no, but, he just shook his head and turned and headed deeper into town."
"He protected you?" Anna asks with delicate quiet.
Kristoff only nods. Elsa looks to her sister, who doesn't take her eyes off of Kristoff. But Elsa can see the understanding, the guilt flickering within them.
"And he's still out there?" Elsa asks, though the question has more bite than she intended.
Another nod, and Kristoff says, "I – I don't know how long he's been gone, but when Sven and I got to the bridge, there was this, loud wailing. It didn't sound human."
That is enough for Elsa to start stomping her way through the crowd, Anna calling behind her. She bursts through the doors and picks up the skirt of her dress as she starts to run towards the gates. People make a path for her, some still having some sense to bow, but she doesn't care. They don't owe her anything right now. She's just at the gates, the guards' expression torn between denying her, and letting her through on her order.
They don't have to. Because a slender hand grabs her by the elbow and Elsa turns to find Anna with wide, fretted eyes. But her eyebrows show annoyance. "Please tell me you are not about to go find him!"
Elsa looks to the gates, to the guards still ushering people in; the amount of people coming in bloodstained is slowly staring to lessen. "I can find him. I can help him."
"Or you could get killed before you even get the chance!"
"I have my magic to protect me –"
"So does Michael!"
Elsa wrenches her arm from her sister's grip. "You'd really just leave him out there alone, after everything he did to save Kristoff?!"
Anna steps back, baffled and hurt. Elsa regrets her words, but not as much as they both expected.
Elsa takes a couple steadying breaths, closing her eyes for a few seconds before regaining her composure. "I'm going to find him. And I'm going to do whatever I can."
"Wait, Elsa –!"
"Your Majesty –" one of the guards starts.
But she's already shoving her way through the first set of gates, then the next. She can see the smoke coming from the clock tower. She'd start there. Maybe she can just follow a path of destruction to fid Michael. Knowing him, he might've gone further out of town, towards the mountainous countryside where there are less people, and places to destroy.
Frantically, Anna calls behind her. "Elsa, wait! Please –!"
Elsa crosses the bridge, her steps heavy and her hands growing cold with her power. She's about to head towards the clock tower when a hideous cry catches her attention.
Her heart nearly stops at the sight of a black misty cloud churns and undulates a few yards ahead of her. Streaks of light flash within it, like lightning behind a cloud, wisps of smoke floating off it like embers of a campfire.
Then there he is, sprinting as if the denizens of hell are on his heels.
Michael breaks past the shadowy barrier, eyes frantic like a deer being hunted, all the color leeched from his skin. She lets out a sob at the sight of him, at the wounds across his neck and shoulders, at the blood permeating his clothes. She would've approached, were it not for an oppressive force pushing down on her chest.
Michael falls to his knees just a few feet before the bridge, and he starts screaming.
Screaming, and pleading, the two sounds indistinguishable as he fights whatever horror the darkness has brought upon him. Elsa has never heard that sound. She's never heard him scream with . . . with fear. And pain.
His clothes are stained with vomit and piss, his cheeks tearstained. He claws at the cobblestone before him, as if he would drag himself across the bridge. His body arcs as he retches, but only a thick dribble of saliva falls from his lips.
Sparks of amber flicker around him, though the stones, the wood, do not burn. Doesn't so much as steam. Whatever that blackness is doing, she can see Michael's magic jolt in response. His body shudders and he chokes on a breath, trying to clamp it down with all his mental strength.
Michael's eyes open.
They are empty. Wholly drained.
He stares right at him, but Elsa knew he couldn't see her. He looks to his left, towards the dock. The fjord.
And the endless glittering ocean beyond it.
Looking past him, towards that blanket of darkness, Elsa gasps when she sees a woman step forth from the shadows.
Her hair flowed like liquid obsidian, floating about her head on a phantom wind. Her skin is as white as alabaster, her amethyst eyes burning with a cold flame within. A dress of deep purple hugs her lush body, fading into the black smoke that whispers at her feet.
She is the most beautiful woman Elsa has ever seen.
And the most horrifying.
The woman's eyes are set on Michael, still hunched over puking his guts up. but she doesn't come any closer.
Elsa takes five steps towards him, his name a plea on her lips. But he is already sprinting towards the docks, dropping a sword and what looked like a lance from one of the guards.
She didn't realize that he was burning so hotly until he'd dove into the frigid ocean and steam had risen.
In a blink, the woman and that sphere of impenetrable darkness just vanish. Elsa wastes no time getting down to the docks to find Michael.
Silently, he swims beneath the surface, the water so clear she can see every stroke of his faintly glowing body. As if the water had peeled away the skin of the man and revealed the blazing soul beneath.
But that glow fades with each passing stroke he takes deeper into the water, dimming further each time he swims deeper beneath the surface.
Elsa skids to a stop at the end of the dock. The water is warm at its surface, but the deeper you dive, the quicker the ice hand reaches up and seizes you. Yet there is Michael swimming deeper and deeper and deeper. Each stroke of his muscled body has her stomach churning as his form becomes more and more rippled.
He has to come up for air. He has to.
Suppressing her urge to jump in after him, she folds her arms and watches, trying her best to keep an eye on him.
A light illuminates beneath the surface. Though dulled by the ocean veil it ripples across the surface, as beautiful and as hypnotizing as the northern lights.
He's still apparently close enough to the surface that a huge mass of bubbles and sea foam belch from beneath.
He's releasing his power. Whatever that woman was doing, it did rile his magic enough that he almost had another outburst. Only this time, he might've destroyed the kingdom.
Elsa still remembers the radius of which his magic erupted at the temple.
To have such control . . . to have such strength to hold that leash . . .
Once the glow fades, Elsa expects Michael to come back to the surface for air.
But instead, she watches as his rippling form plunges deeper into the water. So deep that when the flare happens, it was little more than a flutter.
He's already too far out for her own level of comfort, but she forces herself to hold back. To wait, and to see.
The light burst from him, rippling across the fjord, illumining the walls that border the fjord, the wood of the docks and nearby houses, and slick rock of the mountainside. She can hear the muffled beat, like hearing a drum off in the distance.
A silent eruption.
The light slowly starts to dim, like a long exhale of tension until only the rippling reflections remain. She can see no sign of him.
She hears footsteps behind her, the gait informing her it's Anna, but Elsa doesn't look to her.
Her breathing turns ragged. But Michael swims towards the surface, light streaming off his body like tendrils of clouds. It has nearly vanished when he emerges.
He treads water, dipping his head back every now and then to scrub at his hair.
Though the movements seem casual, she can see the distant look in his eyes. Though clearer than before, she can tell these simple movements, these orders to do something, it the only thing keeping him from completely shattering. The glow still barely clinging to his body.
His face is pale—so pale, all traces of the sun-kissed coloring gone.
And empty. Aware, and yet not.
Wary.
Ripples shudder around him, his back to her as he dips his head back, smoothing his hair once more.
Finally, Elsa lets herself break the silence. "Michael." She calls.
He turns to her, but he doesn't answer.
"You should come out." She continues. But he does no such thing, his arms continuing their sweeping circles in the water. Michael only stares at him in a grave, cautious way.
Gods, what did she do to him? What did she make him see?
Very well. If her own voice can't speak to him, can't reach him in ways that convince him this is real, that he is here, they maybe her magic can.
Elsa keeps her gaze upon him as she folds her hands together, ribbons of flurries and snowflakes floating around them. A pale blue light shines through her fingers before she opens her palms to reveal snowball the size of a marble.
She spreads her hands out, as if setting a bird into flight, and the little snowball drifts towards him. His dulled sapphire eyes still stare at her with cautious intent.
Elsa watches, folding her hands to her chest as she watches the little snowball make a direct path towards him.
His gaze follows it, like a cat ready to pounce on a canary. When the little snowball reaches him, it floats upward for a second before bursting into a little firework of snowflakes.
Michael watches the little flakes, even reaching up and attempting to catch one of them. Elsa feels the thread of her magic down to the snowflakes, catching one that was still floating down towards him.
She follows his gaze and wills the snowflake to pause its descent. Michael stares at it, lifting his hand up to balance it on the tip of his finger.
She could've sworn she felt a delicate touch of heat grasp that turquoise tether, a gentle stroke of a candle flame.
I am here, she whispers through her magic. And so are you.
Michael looks to her, and she suppresses a shiver as his sapphire eyes lay upon her once more.
Come back to shore, she pleads, seeing the remaining snowflakes loop around him towards his back, a small little push.
Michael doesn't hesitate, yet his strokes remain steady as he swims for her. She doesn't offer him a hand, not as he swims to the side of the dock and hoists himself up using the support planks like a makeshift ladder.
Elsa has been so concentrated on keeping him focused, keeping him calm that it took Anna's outburst, "Oh my goodness!" for her to see what startled her.
Color flushes her face when she sees Michael is standing naked before her.
He burned through all his clothes. Burned them to ash in his eruption. Guess the water couldn't save everything.
She had looked away entirely when she stumbled upon him in the solarium, but with his eyes still hollowed, his gaze still wary, Elsa did her best to keep her eyes up as she takes a step towards him.
The water drips from the tips of his hair, gathering at the hollow point underneath his jaw before streaming down his strong column of a neck. It pools at his collarbone, flowing down his hardened chest –
Michael's eyes look to her.
They are empty. Wholly drained. Exhaustion weighing down on him like a weighted blanket.
Elsa blurts, scrambling for anything to banish that emptiness, "Kristoff is safe. He and Sven made it back to the castle."
Two blinks. As if that struck a chord in his mind.
Behind her, Elsa can hear Anna say, "Bring me a towel, please."
Elsa takes another step forward, her hands reaching up and tracing her fingers down his cheeks. Her eyes look to the wounds on his neck and shoulders – or lack there of. The wounds she knew she saw before he jumped have now been reduced to a mostly healed scab. The healing magic in him must've released a little along with that fire.
He does not balk at her touch. She gasps when his own hands, cover her own, pressing them harder into his cheek, the side of his neck.
His nose grazes the heel of her palm and she loosens a thin thread of her power. Michael almost seems to hum with pleasure at her cool touch. She doesn't blame him, after another near outburst like that, it would only make sense that he'd crave something that opposes it.
As well as solidify that what he is seeing is not some kind of illusion.
Another blink, his face still so hollow and cold. Tired.
"Michael." Elsa whispers. It takes the entirety of her courtly training and etiquette practice to keep the devastation, the agony for him, from her face. "You're going to be okay."
Michael's throat bobs as he whispers, "I'm tired, Elsa."
Her heart strains. "I know, Michael. Let's get you inside, and you can sleep as long as you want."
Footsteps approach from behind and Anna averts her eyes as she hands Elsa the towels. She takes one and wraps it around his shoulders, unhindered as she presses it against the sides of his neck, catching the dripping water at the ends of his hair. Without a word, she holds out the second towel, asking the question with a lift of her brows. He seems to understand, as he takes the second towel from her and wraps it around his waist.
The movements were so wooden, like a puppet on strings. He doesn't utter a single word.
It unnerves her more than the explosion, than that devastatingly beautiful woman.
"Come on," she whispers, as gentle and as soft as her mother's voice had once been. "Let's get you back to the castle."
She presses her hand in the middle of his muscled back, giving the slightest push to get him to move. It works; but barely.
He moves so stiffly, and she knew it wasn't just from the release of his magic.
Kai and a couple other servants are waiting for them at the gates. Their eyes widen, their mouth falling agape, though they're quick to cover it. Michael doesn't seem to care.
The path through the throng of citizens seems like a mile. Elsa mentally curses herself for not thinking of it, but it's the only entrance they have into the courtyard, into the castle.
Michael begins shaking again.
Her only hope is that all those years of military training, and his mental strength will continue to hold until they get inside.
The only thin, silver lining she has is that no one will give a damn about the mysterious man the queen is leading into the castle. He'll just look like another civilian.
Still, she finds herself looping her arm around his and whispering into his ear, "Just a little further. Keep looking ahead."
Anna follows her on the right. And Elsa nearly slaps her sister as she asks, "Do we know what it was?"
"Anna –"
But Michael's features don't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "It was another demon. I killed it, and . . ." His eyes seem to clear for a moment, a soldier relaying information, "and I think those runes we see are for summoning."
"We can talk about it later, Michael." Elsa soothes, rubbing her thumb along the back of his bloodied knuckles. Let's just get you to bed."
They lead him into the castle, through the ballroom and up the stairs to his rooms. Kristoff and Sven were nowhere to be found, and Elsa did her best to conceal her heavying heart. She had hoped that seeing them would help break the hardened silence that glosses over Michael's eyes. Kai and a few other servants took it upon themselves to draw the attention of some of the people inside, despite the settling chaos having wrapped itself around their minds.
Elsa leads him to his rooms, opening the doors and leading him inside. She finally releases her holds on him, half expecting him to topple over, relieved when he stays standing.
"Are you going to be okay?" she manages to get out. Any relief that had surged through her now transforms into something sharper.
He heads for the bathroom and doesn't stop. She doesn't dare move.
He is a wraith, a hollow husk.
"Michael."
He reaches the bathroom, never turning back as he shuts the door behind him.