Mist & Moonlight

Chapter 38 | Funeral Fires

The skies over Westfold were a solemn gray, the clouds heavy with mist as the sea lay still beneath the cliffs where Rorik's final resting place awaited him. It was where he had been born, where his life had begun—and now, it would be where his journey ended. The cliffs, once a place of youthful mischief and dreams, now bore witness to the final chapter of a man's story—one of love, war, family, and legacy.

A grand funeral pyre stood at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the fjord. The wood was stacked high, and atop it lay the warrior's final offerings: Rorik's shield, the sword he had wielded in countless battles, and the embroidered cloak that symbolized his status and victories. His body, wrapped in white linen, rested beneath these symbols, his face peaceful as if he merely slept. The air smelled of pine and salt from the sea, an offering from nature itself.

Meryna stood closest to the pyre, her hands gripping the edge of Halla's swaddling blanket. The tiny child nestled against her chest, unaware of the gravity of the moment, her soft breathing a comforting reminder that life continued. Meryna's face was a mask of composure, but her eyes were filled with sorrow that ran deep. Freydis stood beside her, silent tears streaming down her face, Erik at her side with his hand firmly resting on her shoulder.

Leif stood beside his mother, his jaw clenched tightly, struggling to contain the grief inside him. His younger siblings, Hakon and Ida, clung to him, confused but sensing the sadness that hung heavy in the air. They were too young to understand the full weight of loss, but they knew that something had shifted—the world as they knew it would never be the same again.

Vidar, Eydis, and Astrid stood nearby. Vidar's usual lighthearted grin was replaced by quiet reverence. Eydis kept her head bowed, fingers gripping the hilt of her sheathed sword as if anchoring herself to the moment. Astrid, with tears glistening in her blue eyes, stood still, her usual cold demeanor melted into an expression of solemn respect.

And then there was Aslaug. LDraped in deep blue robes embroidered with runes, her long silver hair framed her face like a crown. She carried a staff adorned with feathers and stones, the air around her seeming to hum with unseen power. Though not Rorik's blood relative, she had been a guiding force in his life—his mentor, his seer, and the keeper of many of his truths.

Aslaug approached the pyre slowly, her gaze fixed on Rorik's lifeless form. She touched the edge of the cloak draped over him, her hand lingering as if sensing the final threads of his spirit lingering in the air. She closed her eyes, murmuring a quiet blessing in the old tongue.

"May the gods welcome you as a brother," Aslaug whispered. "And may you find peace in the halls of Valhalla, where those who fought bravely and loved fiercely are welcomed with open arms."

The ceremony began with Vidar lighting the torches that would ignite the pyre. He handed the first to Leif, who stood tall despite the grief that weighed on him. Leif stepped forward, the flame flickering in his hand, and gently touched the torch to the base of the wood. A crackling sound echoed as the fire caught, slowly spreading through the carefully stacked logs.

Freydis followed, placing her torch along the other side of the pyre, her tears glinting in the firelight. Erik stood close, ready to steady her if needed, though Freydis held herself firm. This was her farewell—a final act of strength for the man who had shaped her life.

Meryna was the last to place her torch. She knelt beside the pyre for a moment, resting her hand gently on Rorik's cold brow. Her tears fell freely now, landing on his linen shroud. She leaned forward, pressing a final kiss to his forehead.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Always."

With shaking hands, she placed the torch into the wood. The flames surged, consuming the pyre with a sudden rush. Meryna stepped back into the circle of her children, her arms wrapping protectively around them as the fire rose. Erik rested his hand on Freydis's shoulder, while Leif stood with his arm around his siblings, holding them close.

As the flames climbed higher, Aslaug stepped forward once more, raising her staff toward the sky. "Rorik of Westfold," she called, her voice strong and resonant. "You have lived well. You have fought bravely. And you leave behind a family who will carry your name and legacy into the future."

Her words echoed across the cliffs, carried by the wind that swept through the gathering. The flames roared in response, as if the gods themselves acknowledged the passing of a warrior who had earned his rest.

Meryna bowed her head, clutching Halla close as the flames danced in Rorik's memory. Freydis wept quietly into Erik's shoulder, and Leif, silent and stoic, held his siblings tightly. Vidar wiped a hand across his eyes, his usual bravado slipping away in the face of grief. Eydis stood with her head high, though tears streaked her cheeks. Even Astrid, usually composed and distant, let her tears fall freely, her hand resting over her heart.

Aslaug lifted her staff higher, her eyes closed in silent prayer. "We release you now, Rorik, to the halls of your ancestors. May your name be spoken with reverence for generations to come."

The fire burned steadily, the crackling wood mingling with the mournful sound of the wind sweeping over the fjord. Rorik's spirit, they knew, had already begun its journey—beyond the mortal world, to Valhalla, where he would feast among the honored dead.

The family stayed until the flames began to die down, watching as the man they loved returned to the elements—his body to ash, his spirit to the heavens. His journey had come full circle, from the cliffs of Westfold to the halls of Valhalla.

Leif was the first to speak, his voice quiet but resolute. "He's at peace now."

Meryna nodded, though tears still brimmed in her eyes. "He lived as he wanted," she whispered. "And he died surrounded by those he loves."

Freydis, holding Halla close, gave a soft, tearful smile. "He got to meet her," she murmured. "He saw his granddaughter before he left."

Erik kissed her temple, his voice low and comforting. "He'll always be with us, Freydis. In every step we take, every life we build."

The family lingered for a few more moments, taking in the sight of the glowing embers. They knew they would carry Rorik's memory with them, not just in their hearts but in the lives they lived. His strength, his love, and his legacy were now woven into the fabric of their family—a flame that would never be extinguished.

As they turned to leave the cliffs, Meryna cast one final glance back at the pyre. The wind stirred around her, brushing against her cheek like a fleeting caress.

She smiled through her tears, knowing it was Rorik's last farewell—a promise that, though he was gone, he would always be with them, watching from the halls of the gods.

Together, the family descended the cliffs, leaving behind the pyre but carrying Rorik's memory in their hearts. His journey had ended, but theirs was just beginning—a journey built on the love and legacy of the man who had lived and died as a warrior, husband, and father.

The wind howled gently through the fjords as the embers glowed, a quiet tribute to Rorik of Westfold, whose life had come full circle.