12 Days of Yule

Bridges

Yuletide was known to be a time of festivities and merriment, spent together with friends and family as the yule fires chased away the darkness and the cold but there was a side to this time that was oftentimes forgotten.

It was in these long, cold nights that the veil between the nine worlds grew thin.
It was in these nights that the alfs, wights and trolls wandered Midgard, joining the festivities when they had been invited or wreaking a little havoc.

But there was a darker side yet because it was not only the living that roamed Midgard in these strange times.

Ever since he had been a young boy, Eivor remembered being told not to wander off alone at night.
One time, he must've been six or seven winters old back then, he had grown bored and snuck out of the longhouse.

When he had returned an hour later, his mother had been furious, scolding him for being so careless.

Because in these nights the Wild Hunt galloped across the sky, led by Odin and taking any and all unfortunate souls in its way.
Some would find themselves far away from the place they had been picked up at, others would never return.
To see the wild hunt was a sign of impending death, war or famine.

Eivor was too old now to fear the Dead, no, he embraced them.

It was a cold night out here in the loneliness of his homeland, far from the villages and towns, far away from their festivities and fires.

The lake was frozen in time, sleeping underneath a thick layer of ice.
The trees stood tall and dark, unmoving, their branches covered in ice and snow.
The only sound that could be heard was the singing of the ice, an eerie yet beautiful sound.

Eivor was looking out at the lake when above the light of the Bifröst came to life, making the snow and ice shimmer in its green light.
And so the bridge between the worlds was opened.

It was a soft breeze first, brushing through the branches and tickling against Eivor's skin but it rose steadily until the soft breeze turned into loud howling, the branches twisting under its strength.
Over the howling of the wind, Eivor could make out the neighing and snorting of horses, the growling and barking of dogs.
The noises grew louder, a chill running down Eivor's spine but then they faded, giving way to the quiet once more.

Eivor sat still even as the silhouette of a horse parted from the shadows.
The beast was tall and black as the night sky but its eyes were two burning fires, behind it trailed a wolf, its fur just as dark and with the same burning eyes.

But Eivor could not pay attention to them.
The rider, dressed in just as dark clothes, slipped off his horse's back effortlessly, slowly making his way over to where Eivor stood.

The drengr could not stop himself, closing the distance between them and pulling the man into a tight hug.
His black hood slipped from the other's face in the process, allowing Eivor to get a proper look at his face.

Ivarr's skin was pale now but he looked younger than he had in life. The scar still ran across his face but it was much less visible.
If not for his eyes Eivor could tell himself that the man in front of him was still alive.
They were paler somehow, a little glassy and reflecting the light of the Bifröst in an unnatural way.
A reminder that this was nothing permanent. It was a way to ease his pain for a little, a gift.

The Dane smiled slightly when he looked up at Eivor, though as always it looked more like a smirk.
"You look old, Wolf-Kissed", Ivarr teased, cold hands sneaking underneath Eivor's tunic in search of warmth.
The drengr shivered slightly at the cold touch but he merely pulled the other closer, uniting their lips in a kiss, one that expressed all the longing and pain that had filled Eivor's heart since the last time they had said their goodbyes.
"And you haven't changed", maybe Eivor had meant it as a tease but it came out fondly.

Ivarr pecked his lips then slowly removed himself from the embrace.
Eivor took his hand, the fear that Ivarr would disappear too great to take the risk, leading him over to his small house

Once inside, Eivor made the smaller man sit down before draping furs around Ivarr's shoulders.
The Dane's skin would remain cold as ice but Eivor couldn't help himself.
The wolf took its place next to Ivarr, allowing the latter to pet him.

Eivor smiled when he looked at the two of them.
"I knew he'd find you eventually", he mumbled, stroking over Mouse's now black fur as well.
"You watch out for him, yeah?"
The wolf whined, rubbing his head against Eivor's hand.

"There's much talk of you in Odin's hall, Wolf-kissed."
"I told you that I would be ready to compete with your tales once I join you", Eivor replied, placing a kiss on Ivarr's forehead before he went to fetch two cups of mead.

He sat down next to the Dane, handing him one cup while he kept the other for himself.
It always felt like a dream to be reunited and maybe it was. Maybe Eivor had just lost his mind somewhere along the line but it didn't matter.

The cups were soon forgotten as they lay in bed together, warm skin against skin that was colder than ice. Their lips met in a hungry kiss, one that told of the desperation and the fear of losing one another once more when morning came.
And inevitably they did.
Eivor woke to an empty bed and a heart heavy with regret.

Each time Eivor thought about what to say when Ivarr finally returned to him but in the end all they did was enjoy each other's presence, they would share some kisses but then when the sun rose they would part again until one day they would sit side by side in Valhalla.

They did not speak of Ivarr's death or all the things they had not been able to solve in life, no.
What had happened had been out of their hands, the threads of their fate woven by the Nornir a long time ago.