Elsa's heart nearly stops dead when Michael tumbles from Sven's back.
She would've caught him herself, but Kai and another male servant step in and manage to catch him. Both of them pale at the fresh blood leaking from Michael's shoulder wound.
Elsa was worried they'd drop him, but thankfully, Ida comes hurrying out with Mai and two other men in tow, carrying a stretcher between them. Ida's widening eyes and gaping mouth doesn't do much to ease Elsa's nerves.
"We'll have to work on him in the ballroom." She warns.
"Fine."
Elsa has never been more relieved to have a royal medical staff than now.
In moments, the long dining table has been cleared, a sterile white cloth spread across it, and Michael hoisted onto it. Ida pours water from a kettle into a basin while ordering Mai to pull a series of remedies from her medicine cabinet down in the servants' quarters.
Elsa watches her hands; the long, tapered fingers crumbling this, adding drops of that, into the basin. Soaking a cloth in the hot liquid as she gives Mai instructions to prepare a second brew.
"Can you save him?" Elsa asks.
She says nothing as she wrings the cloth out and sternly but cautiously orders Elsa to cool it down.
Elsa's too worried about Michael to balk, to care.
Ever so gently, Ida begins to clean the ruined flesh of Michael's shoulder.
Elsa feels sick to her stomach, useless.
Perched on the stool, never moving, Elsa ignores the glances and suggestions several other servants give her. Even if she is their queen, even if her health is their priority, their constant suggestions has her wondering if she looks as bad as Michael.
Some of the stableboys take Sven away, someone calling to have a bucket of warm water ready. She should go with them, make some use of herself, especially when Sven near risked his life to get them here.
But, she doesn't move. Doesn't leave Michael even if he doesn't stir once under Ida's expert hands. Only drinking water and snarling if Ida so much as looks at him funny.
Ida, somehow, endures it.
When their royal surgeons arrive, their cart of tools fresh and polished, Elsa still doesn't move. Her steward Kai places a guiding hand on her arm, mumbling, "Your Majesty –"
Elsa wrenches free, an animalistic snarl stretching her lips to show her teeth.
Kai blinks in surprise, eyes swimming with worry. Elsa can only mutter a quiet, stuttered apology.
The sound of tearing cloth and unbuckling catches her ear and Elsa looks to find the surgeons cutting off Michael's many layers, Mai and a couple of assistants carefully removing his many weapons.
Even in Ida's expert hands, it takes a long time to clean the wounds, arrange what shredded skin can be saved, apply a salve and a light bandage. As the blood clears, something tight in Elsa's chest eases. But that still leaves his fractured pelvis.
Elsa can assume Michael pooled most of his magic into healing the bones, but depending on what the doctors find will determine whether or not they'll operate. Their head operator – a balding man with a well-trimmed mustache and spectacles, begins feeling around Michael's hips.
Elsa didn't even notice they stripped him down, a simple white blanket covering his waist.
With two fingers from each hand, the doctor pokes across and around the skin. For what – Elsa can only assume internal bleeding, if that.
Elsa hopes Michael remains unconscious.
Of course, that's too much to ask for.
As the final bandages are being placed, a moan escapes his lips. They decide on an herbal concoction he can take by mouth.
"That won't be enough," She says.
They stare at her.
"That won't be enough." She repeats.
"We'll combine it with sleep syrup, Your Majesty, and he'll manage it. The herbs are more for the inflammation –" Ida begins calmly.
"Just give him the medicine!" Elsa screams at her.
Michael begins stirring at her voice, trying to reach her. The movement causes fresh blood to stain his bandages and an agonized sound to come from his mouth.
"Take her out," Ida orders.
At first, glances are exchanged, giving Elsa the chance to creep closer to Michael, but Kai and a male guard grab her by the arms and pull her out despite her commands of protest.
Commands that soon crumple into sobs. But they ignore her, pulling her into the hall. She assumes they plan to take her to her rooms. Well away from the possible operation about to happen in the ballroom.
Elsa would've fought them, would've screamed, until they pass a hall mirror.
There the queen gets a glimpse of herself, and finally understands the root of her servants' concern.
Her skin is so dirty – coated and smeared with soot and dirt, her hair looking like disheveled, tangled mat; blood has dried on her face, her hands crusted with it, and the left sleeve of her tunic is torn open to reveal a vicious slice.
Even if she's not a medical priority, she's still their priority.
Kai follows her gaze and his gentle voice coos, "He'll be alright, Your Majesty. Please, let us help you. Clean yourself while they work, then by the time you're done, you can go and see him."
Like a child, Elsa nods, still blinking at the reflection she can't believe is hers.
Kai and the unnamed guard pull her along, her steps feeling wooden. Far away.
They pass her off to Gerda, her handmaiden, who tells her she's drawn a bath her. That is, after she voices her concern upon seeing the queen torn and bloodied.
Gerda gently ushers her towards the bathroom, whispering sweet comforts. Elsa isn't beyond undressing herself, so when she steps through the threshold into the bathroom, she shuts the door behind her.
Upon seeing her reflection again, Elsa takes a steadying breath, remembering who she is. She undoes her hair, disregarding the comb until after she's bathed and washed. She hisses at the pain in her arm as she removes her tunic, casting it aside to the corner of the bathroom. She pulls down her pants and undergarments, rolling them into a ball and tossing them with the ruined shirt. Gerda might suggest she wash them, maybe even try to stitch them back together, but Elsa plans on throwing them into the fire.
She doesn't think she could ever wear them again anyway.
When standing naked in front of the mirror, Elsa takes another breath. She clasps her fingers around the charm of the necklace Michael got her, the metal warm from being tucked beneath her shirt.
They made it, she tells herself. They made it back, and Michael is going to be okay.
It may be a long healing process, but he'll be fine. Still, she can't help but lean forward, placing her hands on the edge of the sink. Her eyes have gained a small stain of purple, her usually composed hair now near wild. The smears of dirt and soot make her almost unrecognizable, even for herself.
But above all that is the predatory gleam in her eyes.
Kai must've thought she was insane when she snarled at him.
"We made it," Elsa breathes. Saying it out loud to help solidify the fact. "We made it."
She didn't kill Michael because of her vengeance for the draugr.
They made it just in time before the blood loss claimed his life.
With his magic, he might not even need surgery.
They made it.
Elsa blinks, feeling a small piece of herself click back into place. She stands up straight and squares her shoulders even if she's just stepping into the bathtub.
She sinks herself up to her neck in the warm water and sweet lilac smelling soap. She cracks her first smile in hours. She's noticed how Michael often takes an extra breath when near her. How he sometimes loses himself at her scent. If he noticed her awareness, he didn't give any hints.
The thought alone has Elsa reaching for a fresh bar and lathering her loofah. She again hisses at the pain in her arm, the soap stinging until she dunks herself in the water.
She makes efficient work of her hair, her scalp feeling like the dirtiest part of her. She lathers her it at least three times, each time dipping her head back and thoroughly rinsing before finally wringing it out.
The water has turned grey with the thinnest hint of red. Elsa does her best to rinse her body before reaching for the rain plug. She stands and watches the water swirl down the drain with sweet-smelling bubbles. Before refilling, she rinses the tub itself until the water drains clean. She refills it, only this time she leaves the water resting to the middle of her calves.
She grabs a pitcher from the shelf and begins to pour the water on herself, making sure to rinse every inch of skin. She near rakes her fingers through her hair, gritting her teeth at the tangles before finally gathering some oil to lather along her frayed strands. When she's finally satisfied that traces of the incident are almost gone – the slice on her arm having to be looked at by a physician – Elsa finally steps out of the tub and grabs a towel.
She dries her hair with minimal effort or care before slipping into a silk night gown. It's a delicate tangerine orange with thin straps, the skirt falling just above her ankles. If it weren't for the expectation of Anna and Kristoff, Elsa likely would've just climbed into bed. But after Kristoff let them have Sven, after he gave them a chance – it's the least she can do.
She's managed to distract herself for – gods she doesn't even know how long. She never knew what time it was when they got back to the castle. She barely remembers when they left. Was it . . . five o'clock?
But before she leaves, she digs through the drawer of her right nightstand – one of two flanking the bed.
There she pulls out her mother's scarf.
The fabric whispers as its pulled from the drawer. The thin tassels unravel from ones only to be twined with others. The beautiful embroidery always reminded Elsa of snowflakes, or autumn leaves with its with its deep berry color.
As she wraps it around herself, Elsa's eyes sting as the scent of her mother briefs her nose. After all these years, her scent still clings to the fabric; permanently embedded from her mother wearing it so much. A beautiful blend of jasmine, blue violets, and sheer lavender.
Elsa lifts a section to her nose, inhaling her mother's scent. When she exhales, her breath quivers, and a tear spilling over onto her cheek.
Elsa can almost feel herself settling back into her skin, her mother's scent tethering her back to her body. It had felt so far away ever since Michael had been shot. With every breath of her mother's scent, Elsa's thoughts clear. Her bristled edges smoothing.
She steps into the hall with bare feet, the plush carpet muffling her footsteps. She manages to run into Gerda who is carrying a backet of laundry.
"Feeling better, Your Majesty?"
"A little," Elsa answers, forcing a small smile. "How long was I in there?"
"I would say about an hour and a half."
"Do you know if they're finished, with Michael?"
"I cannot say, Your Majesty."
With a small nod, Elsa says, "Thank you, Gerda."
She spares a quick not to the handmaid to burn the dirtied clothes before taking her leave. Folding her arms, she aims to take an alternate route around the ballroom where the doctors are likely performing surgery.
She'll just stop by, ask how he's doing, then go and wait for Anna and Kristoff and Olaf. At least, that's what she tells herself.
Huddling into her mother's scarf, she tries to steady her heart as she turns into the familiar hallway, the ballroom doors coming into sight. She stops in front of the polished doors, unfurling herself and lifting her chin.
But as she raises her hand to knock, one of the doors open. Elsa bites back a yelp as the head doctor and Ida emerge, wiping their hands with clean rags. The two seem just as startled as her, chirping with surprise. Together they bow with a hushed, "Your Majesty."
Elsa spares them a dip of her chin as she asks the doctor, "Will he be alright?"
He nods, and Elsa could've sworn she saw something like impressiveness sparks in his hazel eyes. "He will be okay, though he will need some bedrest for a while."
"What about his injuries?"
"Mostly surface burns and cuts." Ida chimes. "The wound on his shoulder will defiantly scar, but that's the least of his worries."
"H-How do you –"
"He's very, very lucky that arrow didn't hit anything vital. In fact, we were shocked to see how . . . whole everything seemed."
"What about his fractured pelvis?"
The doctor fiddles with his mustache. "I checked what I could, and it turns out it's not as severe as I expected. Nothing a little bedrest and medication won't heal. It was a bit chilling."
Ida nods in agreement. "He's one lucky man."
"Not luck," Elsa mumbles.
"I'm sorry?" says Idea, giving the queen a confused expression.
Elsa clamps her mouth shut, folding in her lips. She grips the edges of her mother's scarf. "Oh, nothing."
She attempts to look over the doctor's shoulder, but can't see much as it fill the frame of the door. "So just bedrest and medication? That's all?"
"That is it," the doctor confirms, catching the hint and inching out of Elsa's way. But when she finds the staff near finished cleaning up the ballroom, she frowns.
Then Ida says, "We've already had some staff members take him back to his rooms."
"Oh, I see. Um . . . has there been any words from Anna or Kristoff?"
"Nothing yet, Your Majesty." When seeing her disheartened expression, Ida adds, "Michael should be available for visitors. We cleaned him as best we could."
"Right. Right." Elsa clears her throat. "Thank you both so much, for what you've done."
The two of them bow, the doctor saying, "Of course, Your Majesty."
Before they depart, Ida spares a quick five minutes to disinfect and wrap the slice on Elsa's arm. As they part, Elsa reaches out and touches Ida's shoulder. The woman turns with raised brows.
"I'm sorry, for screaming at you. There's no excuse for that."
Ida hums as she folds the cap of her castle uniform. Her golden hair is coiled at the back of her head, her chocolate brown eyes filled with understanding. She gives a motherly smile that makes Elsa near cringe, undeserving of such affection. "It's alright, Your Majesty. People will always do crazy things when they're in love."
The sentence shocks Elsa enough that she almost steps out of her touch. She can only muster a nervous laugh. "Wh-What? What are you talking about?"
Ida's knowing smile makes her feel so small. "I've seen the way you look at him. And I've seen the way he looks at you. You two seem to have something special."
Elsa shakes her head. Even if her heart feels like its soaring right now. "We've just accepted one another as, partners, in this investigation. We might have formed a friendship, but he's just teaching me how to fight, and when living in the castle, we see each other every day –"
Gods, she doesn't even know what she's saying anymore. And Ida's smile soon turns into a conspirator's grin.
She spares Elsa from further humiliation by simply saying, "He's been here for nearly a month and a half. That's more time you've spent with him than any royal suitor."
"He's not a suitor, Ida."
"But he is a rather dashing young man, Your Majesty. You'd be lucky to have someone like him at your side. And he for you."
She walks away without another word. Elsa only stares after her, her fingers going to wrap around the charm once more. Still it is surprisingly warm, as if it holds a small piece of the magic he bears.
Despite what she had been told, Elsa goes towards the front castle doors. Trying her best to wave and give apologetic smiles to the servants she passes. She can feel their gazes like red-hot daggers. No doubt they thought the same as Kai when she came charging into the courtyard.
Once outside, she takes a quick look at the front gates, wide open with citizens milling about beyond the castle bridge. When she doesn't see the familiar shapes of Kristoff or Anna or Olaf, she turns and heads toward the stables to check on Sven. She prays the reindeer managed to calm his heart. She spares a nod to a stableboy, who – bless his heart – smiles back, even tipping his cap to her.
She finds Sven in his stall, laying down with his legs tucked beneath him. Upon her entering, he springs to his feet but relaxes when he sees its her. It looks like he's been munching on hay, a lot of hay.
Good. He needs it; and deserves it, more importantly.
His back – which had been stained with Michael's blood – has been thoroughly cleaned and washed and groomed. Probably one of the few times he didn't refuse. She had a hard-enough time getting him showered for Anna's birthday. She can see small mats of his fur where the veterinarians likely applied some creams for his burns.
Elsa approaches with an extended hand, the reindeer nuzzling his snout without hesitation. Tears line Elsa's eyes as she wraps her arms around Sven's neck, patting his flank. She feels his head nuzzle her shoulder.
"Thank you, so much Sven." Elsa whispers into his fur.
The reindeer softly snorts in reply, grunting lightly before more nuzzling.
Elsa pulls back, scratching under his chin. "They didn't do any surgery." Sven's ears perk up. "Looks like his magic healed most of his injuries. The worst thing will be recovering from the blood loss."
Sven grunts happily, near dancing on his hooves before nuzzling close to Elsa. She wraps her arms back around the reindeer's neck. She scratches his chin, then his cheek.
Elsa giggles. "Get some rest. And expect a lot of carrots tomorrow morning."
Michael lets out a low groan as he surfaces from the warm, heavy embrace of darkness. His tongue dry and heavy in his mouth.
Cracking open an eye, he finds himself laying on his bed. A few candelabrums illuminate the space, dancing across the walls it casts shadows from the drawn drapes to the glittering crystals of the chandelier above. Everything bathed in a warm, golden light.
Michael shifts his body—slightly.
No hint of pain beyond a dull throb in his shoulder and tight pull across his waist. He manages to lift his head enough to pull away the cotton sheet covering his naked body. Where dirt and soot and blood had blanketed his body, only a few bandages remain. His skin near scrubbed clean.
He doesn't want to think how they did that.
The last thing he remembers, they made it through the castle gates, Elsa bellowing an order like one of his commanders. Then darkness swept in.
The blood loss had been what knocked his feet out from under him — more blood than he'd ever lost at once, at least so quickly, thanks to his magic being stifled.
He can't recall how long he's been out – hours, days.
He didn't care. Not when the warm light reveals the delicate woman lying facedown on the side of his bed, the lower half of her body sitting on an upholstered ottoman. Her arms cradle her head, one outstretched toward him. Reaching for his hand, mere inches from hers.
Elsa.
Her cornsilk hair spills across the blanket, across his shins, veiling much of her face. She wears a thinly strapped nightgown; a beautifully embroidered, berry-colored scarf having sloped off her shoulder to reveal the white bandage around her upper arm.
Wincing at the lingering ache in his body, Michael stretches his arm just enough to touch her fingers.
They're cold, their tips pink and clean. They contract, pulling away as she sucks in a sharp, awakening breath.
Michael savors every feature as she grimaces at a crick in her neck. But her eyes settle on him.
She stills as she finds him staring at her, awake and utterly in awe of the woman who had shattered hundreds of draugr like glass.
At first, he thought she'd been sitting long enough that the plait of her braid unraveled, but no.
Her hair is down and free, a large section of it pooling over her shoulder, reaching the base of her breast. He never realized how much hair she has, always being so tightly bound in her single braid.
Tired. She looks so tired, yet her chin remains unbowed. Even as she near lunges across the bed, spilling the scarf onto its edge. "How are you feeling?" She brushes a hand over his forehead, testing for fever. "You seem all right."
"Fine," he grunts. Aching. Exhausted. His arm and shoulder throb, but he's endured worse. Yet finding her sitting at his bedside . . . "Alive."
Her face remains unreadable, even as her eyes dip to his body. The sheet has slid down enough to reveal most of his torso, though it still hides the bandages across his waist. Yet he's never felt so keenly naked.
"We made it just in time. I've never knew Sven could run that fast. I promised him a lot of carrots tomorrow morning." She says with a smile, but the words are thick, and her eyes gleam. He reaches out with his good arm to grip one of her hands and squeezes tightly. "Please don't ever do that again," she breathes.
"Sure. Next time, I'll ask the mindless, undead warriors not to fire arrows at you."
Her mouth tightens and wobbles, and she rests her brow on his good arm. He lifts the other arm, sending burning pain shooting through him as he strokes her hair. It is smooth and gleaming near silvery in the light of the candles. She must've taken a thorough bath, maybe even a few.
"Hey," he whispers, Elsa lifting her head to gaze at him. "I remembered what you did out there." His tucks a few strands of her bangs behind her ear. "You were amazing. I'm so proud of you, Elsa."
Is that a hint of color stealing across her pale cheeks? Her throat bobs, as if trying to swallow down her initial response. She grips the edges of that scarf and pulls it tighter around herself. "Ida and the doctors said all you really need is some bedrest, along with some medication to help with the soreness."
"That's good to hear." He says, voice like gravel.
"It's not so much good, as it is a relief." Michael looks to her with a stunned blink. "The things you did . . . all to protect me – or us –" her voice hitches on the last word. She clears her throat. "You could've been killed."
Michael shrugs. "It's part of my job, to protect you."
"I didn't think it would affect me this much." Elsa mutters. Her eyes drifting down, her gaze going far-seeing. She twines some of the tassels around her fingers.
He doesn't know what to say to that. There's some implication he's not seeing – or doesn't want to see. Seeing the tears shine in her eyes just now . . .
Michael grits his teeth around the sharp stab in his lower back, his shoulder. He manages to get onto his elbows and deems it enough. "It's been a while since I was injured like this. I forgot what an inconvenience it is."
"Because you're just that good?" A faint smiles tugs on her mouth.
Michael grins. "That. And it's been a while since I've been in a battle like that."
A small nod, her smile fading a bit, but the color on her cheeks lingers. "Your magic is incredible. I assume it's what healed the worst of your fracture."
"I did what I could." He says with a smirk. "It feels like nothing compared to yours. The way you froze those draugr, I didn't even realize how many there were –"
His eyes suddenly widen.
"Anna –"
The shock causes him to jolt upright, white lightning flashing across his vision. Elsa's cold hand is immediately there, ushering him back.
"Be careful." She hisses. She slowly lays him back, and when he's cradled by pillows once more, she says, "They arrived about an hour after us. They looked exhausted and dirty, of course, but otherwise fine. Thanks in no small part to you."
Michael nods, the tension easing from his chest. He doesn't breathe as Elsa gently reaches out her hand. And interlaces their fingers.
"I was so worried about you." she whispers.
He is glad he's lying down. The words would have knocked him to his knees. The last time they had a conversation like this, he ridiculed her for her worry. But after she told him she cared, how she felt safe with him . . .
After that night she took care of him . . .
Taking a deep breath, he says with equal quiet, "We've been over this, Elsa."
The queen shakes her head. "I just don't get how you can do it. So easily."
"I'm a soldier, Elsa. I was trained and prepared to give my life in battle. I knew the risks going into this job.
"I know," she says softly, and no regret or hurt dims her face. Only clear, unwavering calm shines there. The face of the mighty lady she has already become. One who rules Arendelle with wisdom and compassion.
They stare at each other for a minute, Michael drinking in the sight of her: the pale, grave face; the shimmer of the silk nightgown; the injuries. Yet her shoulders are back, chin high. He runs this thumb over the back of her hand.
Then Elsa untangles their hands and rises. She takes the scarf and places it around her shoulders once more. "I'll make sure to deliver some extra books to your rooms. The doctor said you're going to be in bed for some time."
Michael smiles despite the emptiness of his palm. "How long is that supposed to be?"
"At least a few weeks, by their means. But if you rest well, I'm sure your magic can half that."
"I hope." Michael mutters as he plops his head back on the pillow. He grits his teeth as he sits up fully.
Elsa sits on the edge of the bed, right beside his shoulder, and runs a hand through his hair. Michael closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, unable to stop the deep purr that rolls through his chest.
She makes a low noise of wonder, perhaps something more, and her fingers strokes again.
This close, he had forgotten how much he towers over her. Atop Sven, she had been a force of nature, a defiant storm. His sheet slips dangerously low, but he lets it lie where it pools in his lap.
He doesn't miss the dip of her stare. Or the long, upward drag of her eyes along his torso. He can almost feel it, lingering on every muscle and scar. He suddenly grins. "However, this means I'm going to miss Anna's birthday party."
"I'm sure she'll understand."
"I'm sure she will. But I pity you."
Elsa looks to him with raised brows and slightly widened eyes.
"Without me, now you'll have to deal with any possible suitor who visits the occasion. You'll be bored out of your mind."
A jaunty slant to her lips, then she lifts a hand to his cheek and runs her thumb along it. Every breath is an effort of control.
Michael holds absolutely still as she brings her mouth to his. Brushes her lips across his own. As gentle as the kiss he gave her cheek in the garden.
She pulls back. "We'll see who will be bored out of their mind."
Is that a purr in her voice?
"Rest, Michael. I'll wake you when it's time for breakfast."
Too shaken by that soft, beautiful kiss to bother with words, he lays back down.
She smiles at his utter obedience, and, as if she can't help herself, leans in once more.
This time just placing a kiss at the base of his forehead.
"I'll see you tomorrow." she breathes.
Rising from the bed, she adjusts the scarf and heads for the door. But not without an extra swing her hips.
Despite the growl in his throat, Michael can't help but smile.
Cruel, wicked woman.