"We're not leaving him!" Elsa seethes as she claws at Kristoff's shoulder.
"He'd want us to get back to the kingdom!" he argues.
Elsa near yowls in aggravation, near climbing to the front of the wagon were it not for Anna holding her back. Elsa thrashes against her sister, but she's always been surprisingly strong, and she yanks her back.
"Elsa! Stop!" Anna says grabbing her wrists. "Michael will be fine."
"Against the draugr?! We have to help him!"
"He's giving a chance to escape, that's the whole reason why we he's here! To protect us."
The words still her for a moment, both seeing and seeing past her sister. But it's hold breaks faster than a thread of yarn.
"I'm not leaving him." Elsa states.
Before her sister gets the chance to argue, before she can lunge for Elsa, the queen opens her palms and shoots a thin streak of her magic. An icy cuff that pins Anna to the back of the driver's seat.
With a steadying breath and a quick burst of cushioning snow, Elsa leaps from the wagon and sprints back towards the chaos.
Back towards Michael.
She ignores the screams of her sister, pumping her arms as she tries to follow the sound of clanging metal.
Lightning flashes above her, thunder rolling in its wake.
She hadn't realized just how far they rode until she's near gasping for breath by the time she hears the sounds of a scuffle. She ducks behind a thick oak trunk and carefully peers around.
There's thirteen total of these ugly things. It would seem he's done his diligence as some of them have lost arms and legs.
Of the thirteen, Michael seems to have decapitated four, still that leaves nine that surround him like vultures.
She has a heartbeat to decide: send a blast of ice that would knock the draugr off their feet, or use herself as a distraction.
Michael move before she can pick. He charges at a male-looking one with a bald head and long beard.
The draugr braces his feet apart.
Michael feints left, then bolts right. Right through a wide gap between the trees, his swords slicking at the ankles of two other draugr that sends them toppling like cards.
Seven left.
He makes it twenty feet into the oak and birch trees before a fourth is after him.
Elsa sprinted after them and halts dead in her tracks as one of the creatures launches itself upon Michael.
But he does not go down.
He fights like a black whirlwind, his weapons gleaming extensions of his arms.
Fast. So damn fast she can barely track him. Even on the defensive . . . Michael holds his own.
Where the draugr would have knocked his feet from under him, Michael nimbly dodges the blow. Where the draugr would have slammed its fist into Michael's face, the punch is blocked. Strike, move, swipe — over and over.
Elsa has no words for it.
She'd never seen anyone fight like that. Especially in a ring of multiple opponents.
Still, something about the way the creatures fight in a unified position has her stomach turning. She had expected them to be – flimsy, mindless. Yet they attack with strength that no dead corpse should have, move with an awareness that should've been rotted away hundreds of years ago, judging from the style of their armor.
When a draugr lands a brutal blow to the ribs, Michael takes it. Doesn't stumble. Keeps moving. And the punches that Michael throws are deadly. Whatever training he had gone through, they covered every style, every motion. From the ease with which he bends and moves, to the stark and brutal punches that can shatter jaws and teeth.
He fights so beautifully, like blade made flesh.
One draugr swings his sword, a strike that would cleave his skull in two.
The fool doesn't realize who he faces. What he faces.
With a twist, arms lifting, Michael meets that sword head-on.
Just as he planned.
The draugr's sword falls short of its intended target, but hits precisely where Michael wished.
Buying him enough time to ram his other sword clean through the creature's chest.
But as it sags onto the blade, there's a sickening pop of bone and the draugr suddenly jerks its head forward, ramming into Michael's nose. He tumbles back, the creature pulling the sword from its chest.
With one sword still in hand, Michael slices at another one's ankle as it approaches from behind, driving his fist up and into its jaw. Elsa covers her mouth in horror as this draugr's head flies off and tumbles to the forest floor.
Six left.
Michael wastes no time flipping himself to his feet, nearly missing the deadly slash from the draugr now bearing his blade. Snarling, he readies his other one, ignoring the blood dribbling from his nose. Elsa knew he has more weapons expertly hidden among his leathers, but he refuses to reach for them. Just the remaining sword.
The other draugr attempt to close in on him as he squares off with the one. Elsa sees her chance and aims her palm towards the ground. A burst of magic shoots from her hand and spikes of ice sprout and spear through four that were behind him.
She gives a fiendish grin when she pins them to a trio of trees, pierced through their hearts, their foreheads, and their waists.
Her sudden attack has Michael looking back, faltering his block of the two blades the draugr presses down on him. The creature is quick to drive its foot into his gut, sending Michael tumbling back, but he doesn't lose his second sword.
As Michael rolls with the momentum, planting his feet on the ground before he even finishes rolling, Elsa jabs her other hand out, sending a shot of ice towards the last two horrid creatures.
Fast as a shooting star, the streak of ice pins the two by the neck, similar to the ice cuff Elsa shot at Anna.
Only this time, she pinned the two wretched things by the neck. She willed her magic to make the ice as hard as steel. The other four have already sagged against the trunks, some still writhing to free themselves like tangled flies.
Two arrows whiz past her head and land straight between the eyes of both draugr. Elsa turns back and finds Michael with his bow in hand, slinging it over his back as he goes over to retrieve his sword. He yanks it from the creature's limp hand and sheathes them both at his back, following his spine.
Elsa runs up to him, cupping her hands around his face before she even realizes what she's doing. Despite how hard he fought, the draugr did manage to chip away at some of his suit; some cuts, though small, have smeared blood onto his skin, bits of the armor having been slice doff, resulting in a chipped look.
Though he continues to let her do her won inspection, he grumbles, "You were supposed to stay in the carriage."
"I took it under advisement." Elsa says with a shrug, giving her own teasing smile. When he doesn't return it, she steps back and folds her arms. "You're welcome, by the way."
There – the corners of his moth turn upwards.
But their victory is short lived as more twigs crack and a haunting moan echoes between the trees.
"Shit." Michael swears.
Elsa is inclined to agree.
Another rumble of thunder and Elsa's insides turn to liquid as she sees flashes of many, many eyes prowling closer towards them.
"Shit, shit, shit."
Suddenly a clear, and live female voice shouts, "Look out!"
Elsa only has a second to blink before Michael's body envelopes her, but she can still see Sven charging towards them, the wagon in tow. Both Anna and Kristoff bearing snarls on their faces.
"Now Sven!" Kristoff barks.
The reindeer skids to a stop, planting his hind legs on the ground, sliding along the dirt as he hauls himself to turn around.
The wagon quickly follows. It whips around Elsa and Michael, spewing dirt and twigs on their ankles, but Elsa laughs near feverishly as she hears the wood collide with the other draugr. They go flying and slam into the trees, denting the trunks and snapping low hanging branches.
"Get in!" Anna roars.
Despite everything she just did, Michael still helps her in first before hopping in himself. Kristoff snaps the reins and the wagon lurches forward. Elsa tumbles back into Michael, who wraps a protective arm around her. Looking up to him, he gives an assuring smile – the motion making one of the cuts on his cheeks pinch out a drop of blood.
"What do we do?" Anna asks as she presses herself down into the corner of the wagon.
"They're still killable." Michael states, pulling his bow forward. "An arrow to the head, or just cutting off their head overall seems to work."
"There's so many of them," Elsa says, daring a glance over the side of the wagon to see more beady-blue eyes staring at them from the growing darkness.
It would seem night has been brought upon them early tonight, as the impending storm clouds have darkened the sky. All too soon, drops begin to fall upon them.
"How can we kill them if we're running?" Anna asks.
"I'll do what I can, but we're going to have to take a different path?"
"What?!" the princess exclaims.
"You want to lead these things to Arendelle? To your people?" Michael snipes.
He loads an arrow into the bow before rising to one knee and aiming. A quick twang of the bow and the arrow flies. Elsa follows it as best she can, seeing a female draugr drop like a stone. Michael drops back down behind cover as he loads another arrow.
As she's about to lift up to a kneel, Michael's hand shoves her back down. another twang of his bow and another draugr falls to the dirt.
This time, Michael doesn't duck down. Instead he draws another arrow and fires without stopping.
One after another, Michael withdraws an arrow and fired.
Again, and again, and again.
Again, and again, and again.
Again, and again, and again.
Each shot is lethally accurate, even with wind and rain. Each arrow finds their home in the head, neck, and heart.
And when he finishes, their horrid sounds of hissing and guttural growls are halved. Though some still follow, seeing the significant drop in numbers has Elsa's chest near caving with relief.
There's still enough that Michael doesn't relax, but when he reaches back, he swears colorfully when he realizes his quiver is empty.
Elsa seizes her chance and comes up on one knee. With a wide wave of her hand, an arc of turquoise light streaks across the makeshift road, erupting into a wall of spikes. It seems to slow the draugr, their forms quickly disappearing behind the spikes.
As Elsa slips down next to Michael, she looks and finds his brows narrowed in disproval. But before she says anything his expression changes in an instant, his brows lifting and a genuine proud smile spreads across his handsome face. The three of them share a chuckle of relief, Olaf leaping into Elsa's lap as Anna pulls her way towards Kristoff.
"We lost them!" Anna calls. Kristoff gives a whoop of victory in answer.
"We may have stalled them, but we can't leave them like that." Michael says, hating to be a bearer of bad news.
"What?"
"They're going to find a way around it, and then they may make their way to Arendelle. They'll follow our tracks."
"What do we do?" Elsa asks as she sidles closer to him.
The expression Michael gives says enough that knows exactly what to do, but doesn't want to. Elsa can sense what he's thinking, but before she can get the chance to comfort him, tell him he doesn't have to –
The wagon hits a heavy bump, hard enough that the all five of them are lifted out of their seats.
"What was that?" Anna asks with fear lacing her tone.
Michael stands and looks over to the driver's seat. The rain is beginning to come down harder, making visibility more difficult. Michael has to squint to peer at the road ahead. Elsa watches as his hands grip the back of Kristoff's seat.
Elsa attempts to get up, his name a murmur on her lips, when –
"Look out!" Michael roars.
One second Michael lunging for her with a wolf's speed. The next second, Elsa's eyes flick to the road in time to see a lone draugr standing in the middle of the road, a lantern in one hand, and a dirtied jar of, something in the other.
The third second, Michael wraps his body around her as Kristoff suddenly yanks on the reins, forcing Sven to plant his hind legs to the ground like before.
Just the same, the wagon is forced to spin, the world blurring even as Michael's arms wrap around her shoulders.
She feels them collide with the draugr, then –
Heat.
Blazing, singeing, relentless heat licks its fiery tongue up her back, up her legs.
Anna's screaming. Or maybe she's screaming as the wagon flips.
Wood splinters, cracking like a whip against her hollowed-out ears.
Ringing. Shrill and deafening ringing fills her ears.
The world is thrusted into a kaleidoscope of red and black and white and gold.
Rippling gold light. Elsa can't move her hands; out of fear, or shock, or . . . something.
Yet Michael's arms never release her. He never lets his body unravel one centimeter.
Her head slams into his chest as they hit the dirt of the road. Michael bites back his cries of pain with grit teeth, clenched so tight they sound like they might shatter.
Elsa doesn't dare open her eyes.
Her heart sinks and her stomach churns as she hears a sickening pop and crack from beneath his armor.
That she heard clear as day with her ear pressed into his chest.
Together they tumble and roll and bounce as the cracking of flames on wood blooms around them. Blooms with the black smoke that immediately floods her senses, ripping a cough from her throat.
Whatever that draugr had, likely some kind of blasting jelly, it's destroyed Kristoff's wagon.
Oh gods, Anna. Kristoff. Sven.
She and Michael are still skipping like a stone on water until finally they begin to slide along the ground, Elsa near whimpering as she hears the hissing of charred wood.
Elsa jerks again as they finally crash into something hard.
Michael's limbs finally loosen.
Elsa flutters her eyes open and looks up to find Michael's jawline, his head limp.
Scrambling to her feet, Elsa wriggles herself from him to take in her surroundings.
Indeed the wagon has been blown to bits. Olaf's body has been scattered, but the little snowman is already inching his way towards his feet, his carrot nose shoved into his head, poking out the back.
Rain splatters onto her cheeks, tickling the flames as the wagon begins to be consumed by the fire.
Elsa frantically looks around for her sister and Kristoff and Sven.
Oh gods, they could've been blown yards away from the explosion –
Sven had been the closest, what if –!
There! Further into the trees to the right, she can see Sven's outline. He doesn't look nearly as bad as she had assumed. She wants to run to him, but Michael –
The rogue grunts behind her as if in answer.
Elsa whirls to him, dropping to her raw knees. The explosion tore holes in her pants, making the bite of the scorched forest floor more unbearable. Slowly her body begins to tally all the injuries she's gathered: her scraped hands, the faint burning on the back of her neck, her lower back. The pain in her left leg slices like a knife.
That agony is secondary. All of it secondary to her friends.
Michael is semiconscious, his eyes struggling to open.
A pained whimper bursts from Elsa's lips.
Gods, he's bleeding some so many places his armor is soaked with it. His face smeared from the smoke and soot.
He . . . he had taken the brunt of the impact. Had taken the shredding of the dirt, the rocks, the thorns.
His shredded skin, the fractured pelvis – all because of that.
To protect her.
Thunder rumbles in answer.
The thought cleaves Elsa's heart.
She places a hand on his shoulder, torn between sitting him up or letting him lay on his side. She prays to whatever gods that his healing magic is already at work – but can it heal something as deep as a broken bone?
Muffled footsteps can be heard not that far away.
"Michael," Elsa whimpers, tears running her face as the reality sets in. "Michael, get up. Please."
It is selfish of her. It feels like the most selfish thing she's ever done to ask him to get up, after everything he's done. But –
She's scared. As scared as she was when she was a little girl, barely able to control her magic.
Another shake of his shoulder and Elsa sobs, "Michael, please."
His eyes tighten and his chest rises tall before they officially open. Weary at first, but then they snap to attention as they widen, and he bolts uprights.
Only to near yelp in pain, his hand going to his side.
"Michael," Elsa sobs, a breathy laugh of relief.
"Elsa," He grunts, his voice sounding like sandpaper. Awareness starting to wash across his face, Michael props himself up on one arm, the other reaching out.
Elsa rests her cheek against his palm without thinking. The relief that shines in his eyes at her being alive nearly caves her chest in.
"Where are the others?" he asks as he tries to stand. Gods, the pain of trying to even kneel must be unbearable.
Elsa tries to help him up. "I think I saw Sven, but I – I didn't look for Anna or Kristoff."
"Guys!" Olaf suddenly calls, all pieced together and whole. "I found them! They're over here!"
He points to a spot to the left, his twig arms waving frantically. Elsa looks to Michael who only nods, "Go,"
Still Elsa waits until he's standing, propping his back against the trunk of the tree before she turns and runs over to where Anna and Kristoff are.
Her breathing becomes fast as Olaf waddles over to the two unmoving bodies. Tears still wiping paths down her cheeks, Elsa approaches with slow, wooden steps.
It looks as though Kristoff tried to shield Anna like Michael did her.
To her surprise, apart from the skid marks and the smears of soot, they look relatively unharmed.
But, how –
Kristoff groans as he moves, Olaf placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Kristoff." Elsa whispers. She runs and drops to his side, her hands hovering over the torn fragments of his tunic.
As he pushes himself up on is elbows, he coughs at the sudden attack of the smoke. Elsa does her best to smack his back, thick with muscle it hurts her hand more. Kristoff waves her hand away, near smacking it as he points behind her.
"Anna," he croaks.
Whirling around, Elsa crawls towards her sister, laying on her side. But before she makes it to her, a sudden burst of anger at the heat has Elsa pushing to her feet.
Fisting her raw hands, Elsa stomps her foot down, releasing a wave of her ice magic. Thrusting her hands forward, they guide the ice towards her sister, blooming around her in a wide radius, snuffing out much of the flames and smoke like someone blew out a candle.
With the air feeling cleaner, Elsa hurries and kneels before her sister. Rolling her over, Elsa sobs with relief at the sight of her sister's smeared, but unharmed face.
"Anna," she whispers. "Anna."
Her sister's eyes open upon her second shake. She coughs and Elsa attempts to sit her up as Anna's body wolfs down the fresher air. "Elsa," she coughs, and wastes no time wrapping her arms around Elsa. "Oh, thank goodness," Anna whimpers. "What happened? Is everyone –?"
"Everyone seems fine." Elsa tells her, helping her sister get to her feet.
"Sven!" Kristoff cries, the sisters looking as he rushes towards the moving reindeer.
Like the others, he is mostly unharmed, safe for a few singes of fur that don't seem worse than a flesh wound. The reindeer gets to his feet, if a bit wobbly. Kristoff offers coos of comfort and reassurance as he lets Sven brace himself against his side.
"That was . . ." Anna starts, unable to finish.
"How are we alive?" Kristoff sighs, bracing a hand on his stomach.
"I don't know." Elsa mumbles. "But –"
"Elsa!" Michael calls. They all turn and see him limping towards them, using his remaining sword like a cane. "Is everyone okay?"
Gods, how is he even able to walk with that fractured pelvis?
Elsa nods. "We're okay."
"Oh gods, Michael. You look terrible." Anna says as she takes a couple of steps towards him, extending out a hand.
Michael waves her off. "I've heard worse. But you're all okay?"
Everyone nods, and the relief that floods his eyes is near heartbreaking.
"Can we please go home now? I know, I am not one to complain about much," Olaf starts as he plucks a thorn from his hip, "but this putting us in mortal danger is –"
An arrow suddenly lodges itself through Olaf's head.
"– is giving me a headache."
Cries and yelps stir from the group.
Looking to the left there are eight more draugr, half of them armed with bows.
One of them hisses, revealing a toothless mouth and a blackened tongue.
"How is this possible?" Anna says, huddling into herself.
As the one draugr goes to throw a chipped but still wicked axe, a dagger suddenly lands right between its eyes. It drops like a stone.
Elsa doesn't have time to look at Michael as he grabs the back of her throat and shoves her forward.
"We need to run!" he orders, and they all follow like foot soldiers.
Michael whips his arm up, unleashing a crest of thinner daggers flying in streams of silver. Elsa pauses to shoot a blast of her magic, but Michael grips her wrist.
"Don't even try to argue," he hisses, shoving Elsa ahead of him.
The queen swears. But she obeys and keeps pace with the rest of the group. Elsa is at least able to direct a blast right at the wagon, extinguishing the flames.
The rain is becoming heavier, slowly turning into driving sheets. With every flash of lightning, Elsa thinks she sees the shadow form of a draugr right next to them. Her heart is beginning to race, the fear starting to lighten her head.
"Where can we go?" Anna asks.
"Maybe we can find that temple again!" Kristoff calls.
"I don't know if we can make it in time." Michael denies, throwing another dagger over his shoulder.
The hissing of the draugr is coming closer. The clinking of their armor becoming more distinct. The smell of their rotting bodies almost as suffocating as the smoke.
"I have an idea, but it's a bit risky." Michael admits.
"We'll take it!" Anna declares.
Michael nods, fetching another dagger, this time sending it spinning as fast as a top. It whips around the draugr at first, then coming back and lopping the heads off three. Arrows whizz past their heads, Michael ordering them to start zigzagging, making them uneasy targets.
It's a challenge to weave through the trees, Elsa fearing of some random one waiting to jump out at her.
"Keep going!" Michael shouts. "Don't look back!"
They break through the line of trees, Elsa's heart sinking when she sees Arendelle just over a few hills.
"Michael . . .!" Elsa calls.
He's ahead of her but skids to a stop motioning her to keep going.
"Go," Michael roars at Elsa, but she opens her palms and readies her hands, bending her knees as—
As an arrow shoots for Elsa from the other side of the forest.
She somehow twists to avoid it, only to find a second arrow from the draugr already there, anticipating her maneuver.
A wall of muscle slams into her, shielding her and shoving her to the stones and moss.
And the arrow goes clean through Michael's shoulder.
For a moment, the world stops.
Michael slams onto the forest floor, his blood spraying on the aging grass.
Elsa's scream echoes across the valley.