"Mind your balance." Michael says as his sword clashes with Anna's.
The princess stumbles a bit, but quickly regains her balance. She's already getting the hang of handling a sword, but Michael keeps having to remind her about her stance. Elsa is at least proud that her sister managed to retain what she had taught her. More so when Michael commented on it.
Today he's dressed in a short-sleeved shirt of deep plum tucked into fitted taupe pants. The boots, however, are still his old pair – looking worn and near falling apart with faded patches of pigment. Still, it was a style that suited him despite it being a royal wardrobe.
She can only assume the tailors went and had clothes made from his measurements, since Michael doesn't seem like the kind of person to shop for himself.
Elsa watches, her own sword sheathed in its scabbard at her side. Well, technically it's Michael's sword, but it's hers for training today. To her right, Kristoff sits; ever observant despite not being able to train today, upon Michael's suggestion, and Anna's demand. They brought out some chairs to help give a little comfort between their turns. To her left, Olaf has been companying Sven while the reindeer sits on the cobblestone, his injured ankle wrapped in gauze. The reindeer is walking, though he still isn't putting much weight on it.
Elsa was surprised to see Anna at breakfast this morning, usually sleeping in until noon. She had mentioned through a bacon-stuffed mouth that she's training with Michael this morning, and that they'd be heading towards the Valley of the Living Rock later in the day. At first, Elsa was hesitant about taking him there; at what the trolls might reveal to him as they did for her when she was young. But it is their only option if they want any hope of translating those odd runes, and if Michael has any questions about his magic and its origins.
"Keep your guard up." She hears Michael bark, followed by a yelp from her sister.
Elsa looks up just in time to see him hook his leg behind Anna's, one hand snatching her sword while the other drives into her shoulder. The combination has Anna timbering to the ground and Michael pointing the tip of the blade at her nose.
"So that doesn't happen." He grins. He lowers the sword and helps Anna to her feet. The princess grumbling as she dusts herself off. "In close proximity, the thrust is a common move to be used as it's likely to cause more damage. If you don't strengthen your guard, you'll find your heart skewered on the tip of the sword."
"Oh, how charming." Anna continues to grumble as Michael hands the sword back to her.
"It's what I was taught. And since you two are fighting for you lives now, it's what I'll teach you."
"It's important to block!" Olaf suddenly chimes, waving his stick arm. "There's this thing in the legs called a Femoral Artery. One swipe from a sword, and you'll bleed out in less than a minute!"
"Exactly." Michael adds without missing a beat. The rest of them simply blink at the little snowman in shock. "So it's important to establish your block before you even think about attacking. You can't afford to leave yourself wide open."
"What do you do if there's no weapon?" Anna asks.
"In the off chance you don't have one," Michael starts as he signals them to switch places. "find one. Anything can be a weapon."
Elsa straps her sword around her hip, briefly giving a comforting touch on Anna's shoulder as she switches places. "What do you mean 'off chance'?" she asks. She quickly adjusts her forest green tunic, pulling up the sleeves past her elbow.
He spins his sword between his hands, bending his knees in a fighting stance. "Because I've already started making preparations for you guys to be able to conceal your weapons. I've sent some drawings to one of my former soldiers."
"Is this one of your friends that you sent a letter to?" Kristoff asks from his seat.
"Yes." Michael says, and Elsa could've sworn she saw a ghost of a smile. "He specializes in concealment. You'll able to hide a dagger – at the very least – beneath your array of lovely gowns." He gives a twiddle of his fingers to help emphasize the femininity of their gowns.
Elsa giggles despite the little sneer it draws from her. She squares off with Michael, taking the stance he's corrected her on many times already. But this time, he doesn't. This makes her smile, at least. She made herself grow used to the feeling in her thighs, the firmness of her feet.
"Ready when you are, Elsa." Michael calls.
She angles her blade and takes a deep breath. "Ready."
It felt like a blink before he is upon her. To her relief – and slight surprise – Elsa manages to block his first attack. But she's not fast enough to block his second one, a swift but restrained jab at her ribs, enough to send Elsa stumbling back a step.
It's all he needs to advance on her, his sword swinging wide. Though she knows he'll never hurt her, the fear still spikes at every swing, which is what he wants. At least, that's what he claims. Elsa learned very early on that he won't go easy on her, royalty or not, because no threat will go easy on her. They will do far worse, he stated.
Thankfully, instead of his sword, Michael has taken to replace them with jabs of his fist. A blow for every strike his sword would've landed. More often than not, Elsa would've been dead if it were a real battle. So far, he's already struck her three times.
She manages to block another attack, shoving him back and attempting to advance. But his guard is perfect, unwavering. She knew if she was able to advance in any capacity, it's because he let her. In a blink, he begins his counterattack.
Forced to retreat, Elsa knew she was being herded to wherever Michael wants her. He's playing a scenario for her; framing the idea of what might happen, what she's doing wrong to end up in that situation.
Combat is about controlling conflict. Putting the battle on your terms, he said. Always be acting, never reacting.
Their swords clang together, Elsa biting back the pain in her wrists, her arms; trying to ignore the way the sword's guard digs into her skin.
Michael swats her hand away each time, the two of them dancing across the courtyard. Then, finally, Elsa seems to gain an advantage. She goes for a killing blow; striking down like a woodman's axe, forcing Michael to block with his blade horizontally. With two hands on her sword, Elsa directs all her strength into pushing the sword down. And it seems to work, as Michael slowly begins to lower to one knee.
But through the cross of their blades, she sees him grin through grit teeth. Elsa's blade slides an inch across Michael's, sparks flying.
When she feels her balance shift to her left foot, Elsa realizes her mistake.
But it's too late.
In one smooth motion, Michael shoves his blade over Elsa's, forcing it to the ground.
And leaving her wide open for the swift kick to her stomach.
Even as she's sent skipping back – momentum forcing her into a backwards roll onto her stomach – Elsa knew it was reserved. She keeps telling herself that even as her back burns and she has to take deep breaths for air. She lost her grip on her sword, hearing it skitter across the courtyard.
She tries to control her nausea as she pushes herself up onto her hands. She freezes when she finds the tip of his blade inches from her nose.
As she follows the blade up to his face, she feels her cheeks redden when she finds a pride-filled smile on his lips. He turns and extends his free hand, helping her to her feet.
"Nicely done, Your Majesty."
Elsa takes his hand with a pout; her cheeks becoming warmer and redder from embarrassment. "You don't have to pester me. I know I failed."
"I'm not pestering, I'm serious." She can't meet his eyes as she hears him sheathe his blade. Which is why she nearly flinches when she feels his fingers grab her chin. Not hard, just to coax her to look at him. "You did very well. You lasted far longer this time."
"But I still failed."
His smile is so gentle, his chuckle so genuine. "It's called progress, Elsa. Your kingdom wasn't built in a day, was it?"
"Why are you having Elsa learn this stuff?" Anna asks. "Her magic is more powerful than a sword."
Despite her question being rooted in curiosity, Michael can't stop the pinching of his brows, or the narrowing of his eyes. "Having power and knowing how to use it aren't the same thing. I assumed you of all people would know that."
The blushing of Anna's cheeks makes her freckles stand out, and she folds her lips in and averts her gaze.
"Magic has its limits, and gods forbid something happens to where Elsa can't use her magic, I don't want her to be left defenseless." Michael informs. "Besides, princess or queen, learning how to fight is an essential."
"What do you mean magic has its limits?" Anna asks, leaning back in her chair, of which she's scooted closer to Kristoff.
"All magic wielders claim that magic feels like a well, a hole to dig into for the power. Each have a bottom, a limit. The breaking point. Some make the mistake of taking too much ahead of time, others hold onto it for too long and they burn out mentally, or physically."
Elsa slowly walks up to his side, her fingers grasping the charm of the necklace he gave her. She hasn't taken it off since he gave it to her.
"This way, if one skill fails, she has another. Those with weaker gifts can deplete it easily, but in turn, it easily refills. But those with stronger gifts can take hours to reach their bottom, to summon their power at full strength. You can do other things at the same time, but there is always some part of you that is in there, pulling up more and more, until you reach the bottom. But once it's reached, it is hard to hold back. Many can't tell friend from foe when handling magic like that."
Kristoff asks, "You've seen that firsthand?"
Michael nods. "I've seen soldiers be in bed for days, devouring whole feasts because of how deep they dug into their magic. How much they exhumed. I'll spare you the details of the damage they caused."
Elsa takes a calming breath as she remembers the frightening radius Michael's magic caused that night at the temple. She folds her arms as her skin riddles with goosebumps at the truth behind his words.
She felt herself descending deep into a place she couldn't name before now. She was always wondering how and where she could drudge up her magic. How she always feels like a piece of herself is left behind in the Ice Palace up on the North Mountain; in little Olaf as he walks around the castle; in Marshmallow, and those little snowgies, even in the ice decorations she's placed on the castle.
There's always that thin tether binding her to them, but it never really drains her magic. It's just a connection. A trace.
"And you can't train Elsa? Even with what you saw?" asks Kristoff.
"That's exactly the reason. I've only seen what the wielders do. I never participated, so I don't have a clear understanding. Elsa needs more specialized training, and the last thing I want to do is misguide her. My colleagues will be of much better teachers to her when they respond to my letters."
As a servant brings them a tray of water-filled glasses, Elsa asks, "Who are these people anyway? You say colleagues, but then you call them your friends."
She hands a glass to Michael, her taking the next, Anna helping herself to the third.
Michael takes a few steadied gulps before he answers. "Well, we were certainly closer during our time with the rebels, but after our victory, we went our separate ways. And I haven't really kept in touch with them. Mostly because I was taking odd jobs and had no real place to stay. I couldn't have gotten their mail anyway."
"And what do we do if they don't answer?" asks Anna.
Michael shrugs, then look at Anna, then at Elsa. "Well we hope and pray. Unless you think your little "friends" can help you learn to control your magic."
Elsa shakes her head. "They haven't really helped in the past –"
"Their magic doesn't work like that." Kristoff interjects. "They're more like alchemists with a little bit of shamanistic and oracular abilities. And even that's leaving out a bit."
As Michael gives a puzzled expression, Elsa clarifies, "Their magic is, a bit of an enigma. They showed me a possible future when I was little, about my powers. And they also erased Anna's memory of my powers."
Michael's eyes grow grave, his brows knitting together. "Why would you let them do that?"
"It wasn't really a choice," Anna chimes. "When we were little, Elsa had accidentally struck me in the head with her magic, and they thought it was best to remove the memories."
"How exactly does that help?"
Elsa stiffens, looking to her sister, and then to Kristoff. "When I had struck Anna, a piece of her hair turned white. The . . . elder of the group could remove the magic, and recommended we remove the memories as well. We thought it was for the best, at the time. I was so afraid of hurting her again that I went along with it."
To this Michael softens, but she knew it wasn't the end of his suspicions. Elsa quickly decides to change the subject. "When we arrive, know you're free to ask them any questions about your magic?"
Everyone looks to her with rounded eyes, Elsa keeping her smile to fight back her flushing cheeks.
After a heartbeat, Michael answers, "I don't really think it's my place."
"I'm sure they won't mind." Kristoff defends.
"I haven't even met these people, and you want me to ask them what they know about my magic?"
Kristoff shrugs. "This is my family, Michael. Any friend of mine is a friend of theirs. I'm sure they'll be happy to help you. When Anna first met them, they wanted me to marry her. Heck, they even tried to marry us."
Despite Kristoff's laugh, both the sisters give cringe-laced smiles. Michael shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.
"They mean well, but I should warn you they can be a little inappropriate, and . . . loud," Kristoff says through a chuckle, "very loud."
Next to him, Anna nods, her expression softening as much as Elsa's at the mention of the trolls. She' s only been to the valley a few times herself, and it was for certain occasions.
But each visit, even when she was little, the place had felt . . . charged. Veiled in a static-filled aura that practically filled her magic to the point her teeth ached. As if the very essence of it flowed through that valley. Her heart jumps a beat at the thought of what it could do to Michael's magic. If it'll overflow it like those runes did back at that temple.
Lost in her own thoughts, Kristoff's voice lulling into a dull hum, Elsa almost misses Michael turn his head towards the front gates.
Blinking away her train of thought, Elsa follows Michael's gaze, only to find the gates wide open and the stone bridge leading towards town. People mingle about further beyond that, workers at the docks shouting orders to one another.
She steps up to him before asking, "What is it?"
His expression is serious, but his eyes are filled with question. Elsa can't help but admire the way the shadows compliment the panes of his face, how they sharpen his jaw and give his hair almost a bluish sheen.
"Michael?"
As if snapping him from a trance, Michael's eyes flutter before looking to her. "Sorry. I thought I heard something."
"Like what?"
He looks back towards the open gates. "I thought I heard someone singing." As Elsa tilts her head, his gaze flicks between the two of them before he says, "How much more paperwork do you have to do before we leave?"
Discussion over. Fine.
Elsa shrugs. "Not too much. I should be done before then."
Michael nods. "Let's run through a few more exercises and then we can be done for today."
She obediently nods, only because he still looks bothered by whatever it was he just heard. Elsa lets him switch her place with Anna, saying the princess still needs to practice her block. She giggles as her sister whines and moans as she gathers and adjusts her sword.
But as she sits down, as she adjusts her sword her purses her lip, steeling her spine as she hears the faintest sound over her shoulder.
Sounding as delicate as drifting dandelion seed.
Ah-ah, ah-ah