12 Days of Yule

In The Darkest Nights

Eivor's life had not been easy.
But he had gotten lucky in a way.
He was no stranger to happiness but he also knew sadness.
He knew the ups and downs of life, had learned how cruel fate could be.
He had seen the worst in men but had also been surprised by their kindness and determination.

He was no longer a little boy that saw the world in black and white, good and evil but rather he had learned to differentiate between the different shades of grey.

Eivor's life was better now. He was surrounded by friends in a new country and with a golden future ahead.
He rarely thought back to his past nowadays and when he did he tried to look back on the happy memories.
He remembered his parents teaching him how to build a cairn, remembered his father showing him to fish and his mother taking him on his first hunt.

He had made peace with what had happened because holding on had only brought him pain.
But sometimes, when the nights were long and dark and cold, the things that he had tried so hard to forget, found their way back into his head.

This was one of these nights.

There was fire all around him, climbing up the trees, licking the walls of the houses, of his home.
He saw his mother in front of him, faceless, voiceless as she screamed at him because after all this time he could not remember her features or what she had sounded like.
Eivor realized that he was screaming at her, telling her to run because he knew. He knew that she would die here along with his father but she didn't listen.
Maybe she couldn't hear him over the screams of the dying.
Maybe to her he too was voiceless, faceless.
Maybe she didn't recognize the stranger standing in front of her.
She had never seen him grow up, had never seen what had become of him so maybe that was why she turned around and ran, ran straight into her death as the building collapsed around Eivor, the fire burning his skin as he coughed.
Smoke filled his lungs as he watched his mother die and with a start he realized that he would not join her in Valhalla.
No. He was bound for Helheim.

The cold is a stark contrast to the heat that had surrounded him only moments ago and yet it burned his skin all the same.
Eivor didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to realize that he must have died in his sleep, died a dishonorable death.
Because that was why he was here, wasn't it?
This was reality.
With a start he realized that he did not fear eternity in this cold, no, he feared eternity without Ivarr.

He suddenly felt hands on his skin, warm but not hot as the fire had been.
When Eivor opened his eyes he was back in the longhouse, Ivarr leaning over him with a worried expression on his face.
He reached out before he could help himself, cupping the Dane's cheek.
Ivarr leaned into the touch, looking a little confused now.
Eivor couldn't help a faint smile when he yawned, his tousled hair giving away that Eivor must've interrupted his sleep.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.", Eivor mumbled but Ivarr just shrugged, turning his head to place a kiss on Eivor's palm.
"Turn around", he instructed, leaving no room for discussion. Not that Eivor was in the mood to question him.
All he wanted was to go back to sleep and forget about the dream and the strange feeling it had left him with.

Once Eivor had turned on his side, Ivarr slipped behind him, wrapping his arms around Eivor's middle and settling his head on the taller man's shoulder.
The reversed positions felt strange in a way and yet Ivarr's warm, solid chest behind his back brought a Eivor a sense of comfort that night.

Ever since he had been born, expectations had been weighing Ivarr down.
He was a son of the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok, the youngest of many.
He had to surpass not only his father but also his brothers, he had to build a legacy that would outlive him and to write a tale that would be sung about in centuries to come.

His mother had always taught him that he was special, that the gods favored him, even more so than his brothers.
But the pressure had not done him well.

His mother had loved him even after she had seen his anger, his bloodlust.
She hadn't judged him for it but rather had blamed herself for his curse.
Ivarr had never understood why until his father had told him of her prophecy.
Ragnar had been away for a long time and upon his return, had wanted to lay with his wife. Ivarr's mother had been a völva, a seer, and she had warned Ragnar to wait three days yet he had not listened to her.
Ivarr had never gotten a chance to speak with his mother about it, had never gotten to tell her that it was alright, that he forgave her.

Ivarr hid it well but the pressure to achieve greatness still weighed heavy on his shoulders and after his father's death at the hands of king Aella something darker joined that weight.

His father was the most famous vikingr who had ever lived and yet his death had not been an honorable one.
Ivarr often wondered if he had ever reached Odin's hall or if he was rotting in Helheim despite all his achievements, all his glory.
Ivarr feared that he too would not see Valhalla, that someone would take that chance away from him.

And sometimes, when the nights were long and dark and cold, that fear took root. It infested his mind and heart and had him waking up shaken.

This was one of these nights.

Ivarr's body ached dully.
His bones felt frail and when he coughed his lips were coated red with blood.
He could feel death lingering in the corners of his chambers, just outside his view.
His only company.
Everyone else had escaped the chaos that he brought wherever he went.
Ubbe had been first, a disappointed look on his face, then Halfdan, then Ceolbert.
Even Eivor, his loving, understanding Eivor left and he found that that realization was worse than the fate that awaited him after he would inevitably move on from this world.
He felt the cold nip on his feverish skin but that was nothing compared to the knowledge that he would never see Eivor again nor his brothers maybe not even his father.
He had failed his mother.

Ivarr woke with a start, his hands already searching around the bed frantically until they found Eivor's skin.
The Norse woke as well, taking one glance at Ivarr before he realized what was going on. He didn't look angry with the Dane for disturbing him rather he looked sad, pulling him into a warm embrace.
Eivor had always been better at this, Ivarr realized as the taller man carded his fingers through his hair gently, humming quietly to lull him back to sleep.

At the end of the day they both had their demons, as the Christians liked to say. They weren't always able to escape them but at least they knew that when they caught up to them, they'd have each other to help them fight them.