hbmaye

[hbmaye]

Jól in Vargheim (p2)

The village was showing signs of life despite the dark winter morning as Sigridr made her way from her home to the barn, while the children slept. Windows glowed wawrmly against the starless sky as the fires inside grew brighter. The men were gathering around the forge, preparing to spend their day assembling the large tents that would serve as shelter for the villagers arriving for Solstice. Their quiet laughs carried through the snow covered streets, mingling with the muffled sounds of the Vargheimi children waking in their homes.

The sounds were a welcome song of winter to Sigridr as she walked through the open barn, laying fresh hay and feed to the animals, and breaking the ice that had formed in the water barrels overnight.

Pausing in the opening of her favorite stall, a rare smile snuck its way to her face as the newest lambs found their mothers, tails shaking furiously as they dropped to their front knees for their morning meal. The creatures in this place had been her one solace and constant over the recent years that had otherwise been full of grief and loss.

This winter, she felt a new sense of joy surrounding her, especially as she looked around her that morning. Vargheim was coming alive for Jòl and something within her stirred as well. The veil that had hung so heavily over her for so long seemed to be lifting, allowing the smallest slivers of light to peek through, the days were no longer a struggle to survive.

A familiar laugh in the dark pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see her friend behind her, gently holding the small hand of her young son.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of watching these little ones jump around with so much energy!” Yrsa exclaimed, hugging Sigridr tightly.

“The lambs or the children?” Sigridr replied, her laugh carrying through the barn, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

Yrsa noticed the way her friend’s smile finally reached her eyes again as she stepped back.

“Both, I suppose.”

Sigridr leaned down and hugged the boy, stooping to speak with him.

“Are you staying with me today, Tryggvidr, or will you be helping your Mamma?”

“With you, Fostra,” the six year old said sleepily, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

“Well then, you will have to go wake the boys up for me, alright?”

The boy nodded and suddenly awake, immediately ran off down the barn hall to the main house to wake his friends. The women laughed once more as he nearly collided with two of the men at the forge before rushing into the home.

“I do love to see you smile again, my friend,” Yrsa said, linking her arm in Sigridr’s. Sigridr’s breath caught in her throat before she could respond, the words both a comfort and a pang of sadness after the hard winters past. Her only response was to rest her head on Yrsa’s shoulder as they followed in Tryggvidr’s direction.

“I will not return for him until it is dark. I have a whole day’s work at the hòl ahead of me, and this snow is surely going to slow me down. Are you sure you can handle all these boys all day?” Yrsa’s amusement rang in her voice.

Sigridr chuckled, a tiredness returning to her. “Brynhildr and Karandgrid will be down shortly. We will be fine. Stigreik has the bells and toys ready for the little ones also.”

Yrsa agreed, and the women shared one last hug before Sigridr turned to walk inside. She hadn’t seen her husband at the forge with the other men, but knew he had been awake hours before.

She opened the door to see her two sons attempting to dress themselves in front of the fire, and Tryggvidr sitting on the floor before three cups, clumsily pouring water into them, more of the liquid on the floor than in the cups. The baby, Inga, her only daughter, still sound asleep in her hand carved cradle, oblivious to the chaos surrounding her. Sigridr stifled a smile, put her hands on her hips, and forced a scowl.

“Boys!” she whispered loudly, then burst into laughter as Jarrvordr spun around in surprise, his pants still around his knees, and stumbled, bumping into his younger brother and knocking him to the ground. Tryggvidr giggled as his friends looked at one another and then back at their mother, before they too were laughing uncontrollably. Sigridr reached down and helped them both up, then picked up her daughter who had been awoken by the outburst. She gathered the now nearly empty pitcher and set it back on the table, shaking her head.

“Jarrvordr, you and Trygg will need to keep Jarnorr and Karandgrid busy today, please. There is much to be done.” She inclined her head to her oldest son, as he finished getting dressed. The little boy nodded, and turned to help Jarnorr put on his tunic, which was currently inside out and backwards.

The boys climbed up to the table as Sigridr laid out plates of bread and meat, and handed them the half filled cups from the floor. Trygg smiled sheepishly as he looked in his before finishing it in a few large gulps. Sigridr feigned frustration, shook her head, and filled the cup again. The friends couldn’t contain their laughter as they watched her tease him.

Soon after, with warm clothes and full bellies, the five left the comfort of the longhouse and walked across the street in the dark, the little ones' feet crunching through the still falling snow to the Storhoff, ready to spend the day decorating and arranging it for the feast.

[hbmaye]

Jòl in Vargheim (p1)

A strong gust of icy wind shook the walls of the home as the Chieftain wrapped his wolfskin around his shoulders.  It was still dark outside, the winter sun not yet risen, and the snow hadn’t let up at all, it seemed. He paused, noting the wind through the trees.  The woman in his bed would have harsh words for Thor if she had to complete the preparations for Jòl in this weather.  

Valdulf smiled slightly at the thought, and leaned over his wife’s sleeping body, kissing her goodbye.  She stirred slightly, and rolled slowly onto her back, still half asleep.

“You should come back in this bed and warm me up. It’s cold,” she murmured, reaching to pull on his sleeve.

He laughed softly, not wanting to wake the children.  

“I will take care of that later, Woman.” He kissed her again, longer this time, his body begging him to change his mind.

But with the Vargheimi all coming into the village for the festival, he needed to begin setting up for their arrival.  Time for his own comforts would have to wait… for now.

Brynhildr groaned her disapproval at his denial, holding him close for a moment longer, before letting him go reluctantly.  She’d borne him five children, and still blushed under his gaze.

“Are you taking Hrafnarr with you?” she asked, her voice muffled by the thick fur blankets.  Her husband grunted his acknowledgement.

“He’s out feeding now.”

She nodded in approval, and rolled back over, shooting him a playful glare over her bare shoulder.  “I guess I will just lay here alone.”

She yelped when his hand landed roughly on her backside, and she tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laugh as the tall, blonde haired Viking shook his head and walked out the main door, letting a burst of cold air in as he left.

Brynhildr wrapped the blankets around her as she relaxed in the quiet of their home.  The hearths all crackled warmly, as they always did.  Valdulfr always made sure the fires were lit and burning warmly before crawling sleepily back into bed with her each morning.  His extended absences through the Spring and Summer made the long Winter months a time she savored.  She had begun to look forward to the days he no longer felt the need to join the raiding parties, though she knew those times were still a long way off.  They had only led these people for the last twelve years, and the world outside Vargheim was still hungry for land, silver and blood.

She sighed as she sat up in their bed, her own body denying her the ability to go back to sleep, wishing he had stayed there with her.  The following days would be long, full of work to be done before the blòt, making sure all the villagers arriving for the celebrations had warm beds and food.  The gods continued to bless them year after year, but the solstice was when she felt their presence the most.  The village seemed to come alive with something different, as they celebrated the coming days, as the darkness would fade, and give way to light again.  The men were home, and healed by now, and the women enjoyed the longer nights in the Stòlhoff with their families.

Careful not to disturb their daughter as she slept next to their bed, the Chieftain’s wife slowly dressed by the fire, and headed for the barn to milk the goats.  For years, Valdulfr had attempted and failed to convince her to let the slaves take care of the animals in the mornings, but she refused.  It was her own time, in a sea of time she had to give everyone else, and especially now with children underfoot, her mornings in the silence of the creatures held sacred moments she would not give up.  

The snow was still relentless, even as she made her way back to the home, bucket full.  She mumbled under her breath at no god in particular, and reminded herself to bring an offering to the hof.  She had every intention of keeping Thor as happy as possible until the festivities were over; then he could rage his stormy weather on the island for as long as he pleased.

With the shutting of the door, the boys all began to wake.  The house filled with early morning mumblings and the shuffling of feet as her three sons began to find their way to the main room.  The weight and burden of what she beheld in that room was not lost on her.  Her oldest would be Chieftain one day, but these three boys would all go on to lead the village under him, or go on to build settlements of their own.  Some days, she wondered what the world would look like for them; if they would know a quiet life that their father had never known.  But a quiet life meant a life without risk, and a life without risk meant a life without reward.  She wondered if that was a future she would truly want for them.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind as she woke up the baby, and they dressed for the day's work.  The children were looking forward to helping their friends decorate the village as they did each year.  And she always enjoyed the extra time she would have with Sigridr and Yrsa.  The three of them could find nearly as much trouble as the young ones when they spent enough time together, especially at Jòl.  This year had been exceedingly plentiful, and the celebrations would certainly reflect all the joy and gratitude of Vargheim, as long as Thor kept his storms in Asgard.

*** 

[hbmaye]

Eldrvaen: Beginnings

The long branches of the Barion tree swayed gently in the warm breeze, its soft, green leaves creating their own melody as they moved. Maeryllis sat quietly, her long dark curls seemingly in sync with the tree’s own tendrils, as she waited for Vaerrik to join her, possibly for the last time. They both sensed that their time in Eldrvaen was coming to an end. Their light had become dull, their connection felt distant, their power weak and slow.

The Veiling for a Nóthraen did not take long, and each First Flame knew it would happen at some point, though knowing when was a privilege left to the High Counsel. It was a Nóthraen’s entire purpose, and they prepared for it with intention and honor. Once their assignment was completed, they returned to Eldrvaen as High Flames, to spend their remaining days amongst the others who made it back.

Maeryllis seemed to be making the transition before Vaerrik, and as he appeared beside her in the grass, he felt his breath catch at the sight of her. Her sapphire eyes had become dull, the constant shining speckles of light he had loved all these years had all but disappeared. The Glow of the First Flames reduced to near nothing in the shade of their favorite tree. Her presence there, all but a whisper in his ear. The shadow that passed briefly through her eyes as she looked at him said she saw it too.

His own transition had only just begun. She would be sent first, and he would remain in Eldrvaen until his time. They had never expected to be sent together, but they had dared to hope in the timing, that the High Counsel would allow them to move through the veil the same night. Vaerrik did not feel so hopeful now.

He did not speak as he sat next to her, handing her the roses he had brought from his courtyard - her favorite red blooms with deep scarlet centers and vining stems. He always offered to remove the thorns before he brought them to her, but she never wanted him to. They helped keep the stems tight when she wove them together. She buried her face in the flowers, lingered there and inhaled slowly, savoring their fragrance. Vaerrik placed his arm around her thinning shoulders, and she laid her head in his lap, holding the roses close. Even her breathing was different, he noticed - shallow, empty, less. There was another moment of quiet as they sat in their own thoughts.

As long as they could remember, they had met under the Barion tree. Playing as children, and then to escape for time alone as they grew. The tendrils of leaves hung nearly to the ground now, providing a crown of shade and warmth. Maeryllis had never truly noticed the warmth, until now. She inhaled deeply again, this time taking in Vaerrik’s scent like it was oxygen, like somehow taking him in would keep him with her forever.

It was not the separating that frightened her, it was the forgetting. How would she exist without something so engrained into every aspect of her being?

She knew the moment the Counsel sent her, her life in Eldrvaen was gone, even from memory. He would be gone. She turned in his lap to look up at him, to memorize him. She was not sure there was anything left to study… she had cemented everything about him into her mind, but with her power diminishing so quickly, she knew the images would not stay. They were already fading. She had no idea how she could ever forget those eyes, but it would happen. It was a part of the process. She was well-prepared, but that did not make the heaviness in her chest any lighter.

Vaerrik ran his fingers through her hair, slowly, gently twirling each curl between his fingers. She knew he was doing exactly what she had been doing for months… studying… memorizing… trying desperately to do whatever he could to remember, even if it was in vain. She finally broke the silence, as she watched his deep brown eyes darken with emotion she could not quite recognize. “Promise me. Promise you will find me,” she whispered, pleading with him, holding his gaze.

His fingers tightened in her hair, his brown eyes narrowed and she could see his chest shift as he forced a shaky breath.

“Yes, Maer. I promise.”

The sound of his voice and the way he used his name for her pulled on the part of her heart she could not believe would ever be able to leave him. She nodded in response, words eluding her entirely.

“You are mine,” he rasped, his voice thick and quieter than her own whisper. “Here or there. Then, now, and always, you are mine and I will find you.”

---

Eldrvaen was especially beautiful at night, the moon reflecting off the countless staircases and mountain-carved homes. The realm had been built amongst the mountainsides, the dwellings and staircases carved into the Eldrstone outcroppings, the valley floors rich with soft grasses and trees that had grown for millennia, fed by the river that meandered its way through the range. The reflection of the fiery Eldrstone in the crystal-clear water during the day was outdone only by the way the stone reflected the moonlight after dark, giving the mountain homes a haunting, fiery glow. The city came alive under the night sky. Music echoed across the vast open canyon. The eateries and markets were full of laughter. Families strolled along the river, while children played amongst the flower-filled fields.

Vaerrik and Maeryllis walked arm in arm through the streets, occasionally greeting another couple with a smile, neither in a rush to end the evening. Vaerrik had glimmered them back from the Banion tree just as the sun had set behind the mountaintops. Maeryllis was quiet, watching the children and other couples as they moved through the town with a shadow in her eyes. Vaerrik knew she was taking it all in, etching it into her heart. The small squeeze on his arm every few minutes told him all he needed to know, and he was too busy watching her to pay any attention to the rest.

He had loved her for centuries. When they were young he had run with her in these streets, along the same river, under the same tree. Through the years, they had dreamed and planned and hoped for their life here and beyond. They had decided long ago that they would wait until their return to Eldrvaen to build the rest of their lives together, but most Nóthraen had more time in the realm before the Veiling occurred. Maeryllis was shifting early, and his hope of going at the same time had diminished to a sliver of what it had been. He had promised to find her and he intended to keep that promise, no matter the cost.

Tonight, her eyes were distant as she walked alongside him. The lightweight silk of her ivory dress no longer clung to her frame, but seemed to flow over her, moving effortlessly with each breeze and step. Every so often, a passerby would meet his gaze after watching her, and nod just subtly in understanding.

As the last colors of dusk faded to indigo, and the mountains began to glow under the light of the moon, Maeryllis’ hold on Vaerrik’s arm grew tighter. Their pace slowed as they started over the bridge, and then stopped in the center, standing in solemn silence, staring out over the water and the realm beyond. Vaerrik stood behind her, arms wrapped around her shoulders, his face resting softly atop her head.

“Here or there,” she finally spoke, the words not even a whisper, edged with more sadness than he ever should have allowed.

“Then, now and always,” he whispered back, as he turned her gently to face him.

Tears were silently trailing down her paling cheeks, giving a sharp sparkle to her eyes again. He brushed his lips across them, kissing her face, holding the back of her head and wrapping his fingers into her curls. With his other hand, he pulled her closer. The feeling of her once powerful body sinking into his tore at his chest. She inclined her face to his just enough to kiss him slowly in return. He refused to pull away, knowing once he did, they would make their way out of the moonlit magic and step after step, come closer to their last moments together. They felt different tonight. Her time had come, and she knew it too.

“Vaerrik,” she whispered between his affections.

“I am tired.”

The quiet words sent daggers deep through his gut. He tightened his grip on her hair for a moment, then pulled back just enough to look into her eyes again. He could not find his voice enough to reply, so he nodded ever so slightly, and took her arm in his again.

With every step, his feet felt heavier. Maeryllis had already made him promise he would not stay with her that night. But the idea of closing her door tonight, leaving her alone and walking away was unbearable. She could feel the ache coming off of him as they approached her home, as heavy as winter storm clouds that gather for hours and hours before releasing blizzarding snows upon the mountaintops. The tension in his jaw grew tighter, his shoulders hunched into his chest, his breathing so very slow and labored as if it took every bit of will to continue. His eyes had darkened nearly black, shining like onyx in the night. She knew he kept a strong presence for her, but every ragged breath and forced step betrayed the deep, broken darkness fighting within him tonight. Even in her weakened state, she could feel him. She did not think that would ever change, no matter how far their paths took them from each other. He had been a part of her as long as her memory allowed.

Something about that thought stilled the raging chaos happening within her, as if even though everything else seemed to be preparing to disappear, that one memory would not uproot itself. Her mind went quiet, and her heart no longer felt like it was erupting in flames. As they reached her door, she felt Vaerrik hesitate.

He had not been happy with her request, but he had agreed nonetheless. She did not want to spend tonight alone, but she could not let him wake up in an empty bed. It would break his heart even more.

She turned to him and looked up to meet the dark brown eyes begging her to change her mind. Without breaking his stare, she reached up and took his face in her hands. The chill in them startled him. He wrapped his arms around her waist as tightly as he could. Maeryllis took a deep breath, willing herself to remember how his body felt next to her.

“You are mine, and I love you,” she promised.

“I love you, Maer. And I will find you.”

She pulled his face to hers, and kissed him fiercely, then forced herself to pull away. This time without looking back to him, she stepped aside and walked in her door, feeling his hands linger around her waist until she was out of reach.

The door shut behind her.

Vaerrik stood unmoving, forehead pressed against the door, his palm hovering above the handle. He could still feel her presence on the other side, fighting every instinct to follow her in. Her insistence on staying alone tonight he knew was her attempt at saving him from the aftermath, and he would not take that peace from her. But as much as he tried to turn from that door, his legs would not carry him. Eyes closed, tears finally came, images from their endless decades flooding his memory. He let them replay, one after the other, sending them through the door, desperate for one last shared bond. He would not leave her alone tonight.

Hours seemed to pass, as the stars above Eldrvaen shifted and the moon began to drift. Vaerrik’s tears had slowed, but the agony in his chest grew, until suddenly he no longer felt her presence through the door, and it was replaced by something hollow, empty and deep within him. He knew she was gone, and that whatever part of him she had been had left with her.

And he swore he would stop at nothing to find her again.