12 Days of Yule

Sunsets

Out here, far away from the rest of the world, it seemed as though time itself had frozen.
Time, such an awkward concept, a useless one to drengr like Ivarr who existed only for the next battle until one day his last would come and his road would end.
Time was useful for the Saxons, who grew old on their farms with their children and their childrens' children.
It was important for the farmers, who had to sow and reap when it was just right.
It was meaningless for a warrior, who lived in the endless seconds between life and death when axes and swords crossed on a muddy battlefield.

Ivarr looked around, finding the branches frozen in place, little white crystals keeping them trapped in this sea of white. In the pink light of the sunset they were beautiful, shimmering in the sky's otherworldly hue.
But such simply beauties no longer brought Ivarr any joy, not when fear was eating away at his heart.

He was a Ragnarsson, the son of a legend, son of a king.
And yet even the great Ragnar Lodbrok had died a dishonorable death.
Ivarr often wondered if his father had ever seen the gates to Valhalla or if he was rotting away in Helheim.
Ever since his father had died, Ivarr had lived in fear of the possibility that he too would not reach Valhalla in the end.

And so he had chosen his death, had taken care of his unfinished business and chosen a beautiful place far up on a mountaintop.
It had been easy enough to make Eivor fight him, Ceolbert had meant a lot to both of them and even though it had pained Ivarr to lie to his love and lie about Ceolbert's fate no less, he still hoped that one day, when he would join him in the afterlife, Eivor could forgive him.

In the end he had not died.
He had been so close, had almost heard the Valkyries' wings beating but Eivor had dropped his weapon instead of ending his life.

When Ivarr had woken up he had been here, tucked into a bed with his wounds bandaged securely.
Eivor had been sitting next to him, holding a cool cloth to his forehead.
Ivarr would never forget the feeling of utter defeat he had felt in his heart or the pain that followed when Eivor had tried to leave him without saying a single word.
He had tried to go after him at first, scared to lose Eivor too, scared that he would die a coward's death in this bed, all alone.
But he had been too exhausted to even sit up.

Despite his fears, Eivor had not left him, no, he never said a word, not even when Ivarr tried to apologize, to explain, but he brought him food and water, took care of his wounds and sat with him when fever kept him up at night.

Ivarr did not know how much time had passed, the days melting into one behind his closed lids.
He did not need to know.

He regained his strength, slowly but surely and Eivor left him more often, longer.

Now he found himself standing here, tired and cold but wrapped in Eivor's cloak as he waited.
It was as close as he had gotten to the Norse in a long time.

Maybe he would freeze to death, he thought, looking up at the stars that were starting to appear above.
He did not know where he would go then.
Not to Valhalla, that much was sure.
Maybe Freya would take pity on him, would see that ultimately he had died for an honorable cause, for love, and allow him into Folkvangr.
Though that was unlikely.

He had no more time to dwell on it when he felt warm hands on his face. Ivarr could hear a voice but it was distant and he could not see where it was coming from.
When did he close his eyes?

He woke in the bed once more, strong arms wrapped around him.
Ivarr moved closer to the source of warmth, allowing himself to revel in it for a moment longer.
His eyes were still closed when he felt a kiss on his forehead, a hand stroking through his hair. Ivarr smiled, really smiled, without thinking about it.
It had been a long time since he had felt Eivor's touch, always so gentle, always so loving.
"Don't leave again", he found himself saying, his own arms wrapping around Eivor before he could stop himself, whether it was to keep Eivor from leaving or to just return the gesture he did not know.
"Please."

Ivarr didn't like showing weakness like that. He didn't want to be so dependent but living without Eivor being there, really there, didn't feel like living at all.

At first he had thought that he really had died on that mountain in Sciropescire and that this was just his punishment. When he had been delirious with fever he had almost believed that he really had gone to the Christians' hell in the end.

He felt Eivor sigh, his hand moving through Ivarr's hair again.
"It wasn't me who killed Ceolbert. He was- when you showed me that dagger I wanted revenge and I got that. I had my legacy but I was still--I was still scared. I was sure that you out of all people would not deny me Valhalla."
Ivarr stopped when Eivor lifted his head up, making him look at him.

"And so you tried to make me kill you. You thought that I would just live on without you, forever wondering who the man that I loved truly was."
"For as long as I can remember, all that really mattered was Valhalla. Now I know that maybe I am not ready, not yet, not if you will stay with me."
Eivor sighed again.
"I was never going to leave. "