~Hey guys! Quick fun fact, this scene is inspired from a deleted scene from Frozen II, called "The Secret Room!" Hope you guys enjoy! And everyone stay safe!~
They ended the training at noon, partly because everyone was getting hungry, and partly because Anna was complaining about how her wrist is going to fall off.
They each split to their own rooms, going about their own activities before they have to leave to visit Kristoff's family. Though a part of Michael was nervous about them not telling him the location, he knew in his heart that the sisters are beyond lying to him, at this point. Despite him only being in Arendelle for a month.
Having showered and a change clothes, Michael now sits in Arendelle's library once more, pouring himself over the notes and books he's gathered, still not any closer to finding their origin or their meanings. Having sprawled himself along the couch, of which he's seen be used in a wide set of charades, Michael crosses his ankles and rests his head against the cushioned arm.
His mind wanders. Elsa had said he's free to ask these people, Kristoff's family – about his own magic . . . but he's too afraid.
He almost doesn't want to know, because it would mean his parents had kept something from him. And he and his family were always sure to be honest with one another.
Just like Michael would've known if his father was a part of the growing rebellion, at the time in his old kingdom.
Michael can't remember if he's ever told a lie to his parents before, or if the memories of his old life are just too faded.
Once he got into the rebels, that all changed. He never would've thought he'd be good at something he's rarely done. But with the skills he'd already acquired while hunting with his father, the commander just thought humans were no different.
Michael never thought himself as an assassin but . . . maybe he was just blind.
Blinded by the death of his parents, so fueled with rage and anger that it obscured his views. Looking back, given how they trained him in stealth and combat, he just assumed it was the same for all soldiers. Even as an elite, he was too young, too reckless, and too broken to care.
But in order to convincingly manipulate those nobles . . . those women . . . Lies had flowed like honey from his tongue, changing the name, the story each and every time.
You're not a bad person, and you never will be
Her knew Elsa had meant it, both in his heart and in his mind, yet there was still this seeded doubt, because she hasn't seen all of him yet.
Hasn't seen the monster that dwells beneath his skin, of which he keeps chained and hidden within his darkness, alongside that wailing, grief-stricken boy.
Michael sighs with a gentle shake of his head. Now's not the time to think about this, not when he's still fresh out of bed. Still, he closes his eyes, opting for short nap before they all have to depart.
By the time he wakes, the sun has shifted, but thankfully he's only been sleeping for twenty minutes. Unfortunately, with the sun's angle, it's reflecting off of one of the books, near blinding him.
Michael grunts with annoyance as he sits up, letting the papers fall to the carpet. The light still shines in his eye, so he has to stand to make it stop. As he stretches, hearing the satisfying pops of his stiff muscles, Michael feels a wisp of cold air tickle his nose.
He chuckles thinking it's Elsa having crept in on him while he was sleeping, but when he turns, he finds the door to the library closed.
Perplexed, Michael looks to the windows, thinking one of the servant had opened one, or left one ajar.
Nothing. All sealed tight to keep the still dissipating summer heat out of the castle.
Looking around the expanse of the room, Michael lubes his fingers in his mouth and holds his hand aloft. Carefully walking around the library, he catches the breeze on his pointer finger following it until –
The wall.
Michael wipes his hand before he begins to feel around the wall.
Yes! There – the breeze! The delicate brush of air that it would go unnoticed by anyone.
Could it be?
With curiosity eating at his innards, his heart jumping speeds, Michael begins to knock along the paper, along the wooden designs to hear that clear hollow sound.
Then his fingers seem to slip and intend a small shape into the wall.
A sound of something round dropping and rolling into its place, then stone grinding against tone makes Michael jump back and place a hand on his dagger.
It is a door!
His skin tingles as he watches a panel of wall slides to the left, hiding behind another hollow panel to reveal a small yet crowded room.
The place is dark and smells of aged and rotting things. Carefully, he steps around a mound of ancient-looking tomes gathered near the door. His gaze passes up and over the marked spines of books, bottles of random concoctions that have since turned murky, and dried hanging herbs that crumble to dust at a single touch. It makes him feel as though he is walking through an apothecary shop.
The small space has been completely dominated with spider webs over the years; the fireplace having died after chewing through its last few logs, the things burned black and filled with ash. A desk sits to the far left, sharing a corner with a bookshelf, the fireplace taking up the right corner of the room, followed by a smaller desk and more bottles and pots and jars.
The bookcases are near full, adding a few forgotten scrolls and aged trinkets. One wall has maps and pictures and even mysterious papers drawn with markings along its one side, the table to the right set with bottles and beakers and tubes that litter it.
Michael approaches, in near awe at the sight. He turns and hurries to grab a small candelabrum on one of the end tales. Calming his mind and this thoughts for a moment, he closes his eyes and feels for that well beneath his stomach.
He imagines dipping a small finger in that well, sending gentle ripples across the surface. He feels the warmth of the fire and healing magic, imagining his finger is like a matchstick. With a sharp, focused exhale, he blows on his finger.
When there's a delicate warmth, he opens his eyes and finds a small candleflame hovering just above his finger.
Michael is careful not to let his breathy laugh blow it out as he uses it to ignite the wicks of the candelabrum. Once that's finished, he blows on his finger again, thinking cold and dark and emptiness.
It works, and the flame is extinguished.
Stepping into the room, the smell of dust and dried things increases, Michael careful to avoid hitting anything dangling from the ceiling as he sets the candles down on the small table at the center of the room.
As he begins to browse, he starts by one of the bookshelves flanking the desk on the far left-hand side. Dusting off the spines, he tries his best to the blow them away from his face. His fingertips bump along the engraved writing, biting back his disgust of the spiders he sees scurrying towards the back of the shelf.
His heart skips a beat as his eyes settle upon one book laying flat on its side on the shelf.
"Magical Arts," he breathes, "Dangers of . . . Dark Magic."
No way the girls know about this room, not with how long it's been left untouched.
But perhaps their parents . . .
One, if not both of their parents were studying magic. His heart is raging to the point where he has to swallow, his throat tight.
Pulling the book from the shelf, he opens to the middle, thumbing through the pages until something catches his eye. Flipping back, he finds a page holding a set of runes. As his eyes scan the page, his body becomes cold.
These runes match the ones he found at the crime scene! And undoubtedly the ones that were at the clock tower that day.
This is it! This is what he's been looking for!
What else could this little room be hiding? As he further flips through the pages, he tries to find any indication of where these runes might come from.
Thankfully, there's a page that shows the runes and their appropriate letters when translated into the common tongue.
"Nor – Northuldrian?" he whispers.
As he's attempting to look closer, he nearly jumps when he hears his name called from down the hall. It's Anna.
Michael tries to control himself as he near scrambles to snatch a couple other books before leaving the room. He doesn't know what kind of mechanism opens it, yet somehow he manages to find the release and the door to the secret room begins to close. Just as it locks into place, Anna opens the library doors, her eyes quickly scanning to land on him.
"Oh! There are you!" she chirps.
He's just finished tucking the books under his notes when she spotted him. "Is everything okay?" he asks with an even tone.
"Yeah we're all set to go. Kristoff's got the wagon ready."
"Wagon?" Michael says as she scoops up the books and papers into his arms. "You mean Sven is coming? Sven is able to walk?"
Anna shrugs. "Well, when we had told him, he insisted Sven could get us there faster than any of our horses. That and he's been dying to get out of the stables, as Kristoff allegedly translated for him."
"And you believe him?"
"Sven did put on a convincing show. And just to be safe we got one of our physicians to look to give the okay for him to travel."
Well, at least they got a professional opinion. "All right. Let me put these back in my room and I'll meet you down by the stables."
"What were you doing?"
Michael says without missing a beat, "I was just trying to do some more research on the runes. See if I could attempt to make any headway."
"Anything?" Anna asks as they exit the library.
"Not much. But I think I found a potential lead."
The princess's eyes brighten, brows lifting. "Anything worth sharing?"
"Maybe, but I'm not certain, yet." He fibs. He can't tell them about the secret room, not yet anyway. It could deter them from going; and frankly, this trip seems far more important than a hidden room within the castle.
Most castles had secret rooms anyway, it probably isn't something the sisters are new to. He'll tell them when he gets back. Still, his chest stings at having to lie to Anna, especially when she's just starting to accept him.
She bids him a quick farewell, that she'll meet him at the stables, before turning and heading downstairs.
When she's gone, he pauses. When has he ever cared about what people think of him? When did he evet care about making friends with people?
What makes this royal family so different?
Looking down at the books and papers tucked in his arm, Michael frowns.
How could this family have grown on him so quickly? He's only been in Arendelle for a little over a month, and yet . . .
This is the closet he's had to a family since losing his parents.
The thought scares him, and some dark part of him demands himself to quit. To run. To sever before he gets any closer.
But then there's another part of him – one he hasn't heard from in years – that calls him to stay. To enjoy.
Michael turns and rests his back against the wall, next to one of the many stain glass windows. This family, they've been of the more . . . accepting ones in his lifetime despite their loss, their trials, they still look to the world with beauty and hope.
This kingdom, it grants anyone opportunities, everyone willing to be given a change, a chance, a life if they work hard. He still remembers, even when he found its underbelly, it was hard, it was small, and even the apartments and bars and taverns were much more decent than most other kingdoms. Including – especially – his own.
Looking back, he's never really felt this kind of, acceptance.
He can feel his heart and mind nearly at war.
His mind is telling him to keep his distance, to not allow himself to get closer. After everything he's done, the people he's killed, the minds he played. Those who lost their lives because of him . . . He is unworthy of a happy life in a kingdom as beautiful as this.
For queen as beautiful as –
Michael shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair.
His heart is telling him to enjoy it. To see what else this kingdom has to offer. He's no longer being hunted. He no longer has to run and hide, to shelter and kill. He can be happy here. He can finally settle into a home all his own.
He can even settle in with Elsa –
Another shake of his head.
What is he to do?
He's been trained since thirteen not to trust anyone. Not to tell anyone anything about himself.
Trained to kill and deceive and disappear.
Pushing off the wall, Michael makes it to his rooms and busies himself with preparing a travel satchel, even if his mind is still wheeling.
Regardless of what he thinks, what he feels, he still needs to finish the job he was hired for. That's all that matters. That's what this trip is about: to find out the origin of these markings and find out their connection to these assassination attempts and that woman he saw both at the temple, and in the town's square that day.
He should stay focused on that for now.
And remember that there's a line with Elsa. An undeniable attraction yes, he's not stupid. But a line.
She's a queen.
And he's nothing but a former soldier. Homeless and without family; no family, no land, and no dowry.
He's nothing compared to her.
And what will he do after he's finished this job . . .?
Michael almost doesn't want to think about it. Because that would mean leaving Elsa . . . and Anna, of course.
He takes a deep breath, pouring a quick glass of water from the pitcher on the table before leaving his rooms and heading down to the stables.