Njord — A god (Vanir) particularly associated with wealth, fertility, the sea, and seafaring in historical Germanic religion.

Dawn was far from nigh, the weary sun still lingering beyond Midgard's hinterland for all Roth bade it come the sooner.

The lamps had gutted out long before he found his fitful rest — if rest it was. With his mother he had spoken very little despite her attempts to reason with Renic and himself. There would be time enough for that when they returned, winter's endless darkness would see to that, but he had no patience for her excuses now.

All their lives he and Renic had suffered under the specious belief that they were Haraldssons, having at least inherited their sire's colossal height if not the blaze of firelight in his coloring; and now to find that they were nothing but imposters to a chieftaincy that was not rightly theirs... That the patrimony was, in truth, without an heir seemed almost risible. Moreover, it was Ragnar and Søren now that were far better entitled to the jarldom than either Renic or himself.

Such were his thoughts and they plagued him well into the small hours so much so that he finally abandoned all hope of slumber; he would have, no doubt, only beckoned nattmaras in his present state of acrimony.

Thus he left the hall, its benches packed with sleeping inmates, to make his way to the river for a midnight swim, the water so much like blackened ice in the moonless hush that even the starlight was swallowed by its depths, an eerie dearth of coruscant lights atop its unmoving surface. The crescent moon had set just as the sun had done hours ago.

When he returned he betook himself to where Heida lay sleeping, her pale arm thrown across Brenna's waist, and he watched her till his disquiet eased. That this girl, with moonlight in her complexion and steel in her bones, could soothe his restive mind and spirit so was transcendental in a way that disturbed him.

She was by no means a great beauty, only passing pretty really, but she was all that was perfect and winsome to him. Howbeit, she loved Eirik.

And he, the pretender heir that he was, had not the freedom nor the authority to change her mind for her, as was his impulse, because he himself was not his own man. Ironic, really, that an almighty jarl of the Blackmanes was indeed powerless to choose for himself.

Let her have Eirik, he thought, a grimace pulling at his lips as he turned away. Let one of us be happy at least.

He supposed he was selfless enough to want that for her. Or was he? He had rather not contemplate his selflessness tonight — not as it concerned her. So it was that he spent the rest of the night staring into the embers the while he willed his head vainly to calmness.

The aubades and lays of the birds at last betokened dawn's arrival and saw the men gathering along the beach as their drakkars were loaded with supplies and all the accoutrements required for their bivouacs. This time their weapons were honed for hunting more than riches, for this would be no raid, but a sport of necessity.

Most of the faces of Roth's men were as yet still rubicund from the night's excesses and he, notwithstanding his sleepless cogitations, felt strangely alert and unhindered by fatigue. As the last of the provisions were stowed, he approached his mother as Renic, who'd already dispensed with his own phlegmatic farewell, moved away.

To her icy cheek he pressed his even colder lips, their eyes meeting and conferring silently. He had yet to forgive her and she had no words to comfort him with; he would not have accepted them had she thought to share any.

Frida's kiss was only somewhat warmer, and that only because his face was, for once, devoid of its usual sardonicism. It had been on the tip of his sharpened tongue to taunt her with mocking gallantries, but Heida was right: he must needs make the effort to establish peace between them as opposed to continuing his puerile abuse of her; though, he would as lief do neither.

Instead of indulging his grim thoughts about Aila, or Frida, he looked instead towards his brother who, along with Ragnar and Søren, was bidding Gudrun a farewell embrace, their grandmother's bony fingers stark and white as they splayed across each man's shaggy mantle in turn.

However, it was not only Thora that glowed as she watched his brother with idolizing wonderment, but Brenna too, albeit with a far less conspicuous ardor. Hers was that of a quiet admiration, but still overt enough that he had sensed Eydís' splenetic eye taking notice more than once.

And poor, stupid Renic either disregarded Brenna's esteem or was wholly unwitting of it. Roth cast his gaze heavenward in exasperation, for though, admittedly, she was not of marriageable stock, Renic still need not ignore the blatant invitation in her eyes. Roth would not have.

Yet it was no less a tricky situation for all that it seemed simple, because she was no longer a slave, but neither was she a noble and, therefore, could never expect to marry one.

Nevertheless, he knew that one such as Brenna, regal in demeanor if not by birth, would never yield to be a man's mistress even if Aila or Epona could turn a blind eye to it, which they would never do.

With a decided smirk, Roth marched over to where Brenna stood. He was half disgusted at his brother's ignorance and feeling capricious enough to shake the very earth under his boots. He wanted to know once and for all where his brother 'stood' and if Renic's stoic heart was at all as unattached as it appeared to be.

Without preamble, Roth lowered his head to an unsuspecting Brenna and kissed her deeply enough that she, at first stunned into bemusement, became almost responsive. That small hesitation was no doubt due to his likeness to Renic, but when her head became flooded with sense again she shoved at his chest and used that leverage to push herself to a safer distance from him.

"You brute!" she hissed, wiping at her mouth.

Roth, unashamed by her obvious distaste, said, "I wanted only to wish you farewell." And then, with a deliberate grin, he noticed the storm gathering over Renic's brow. Now that was indeed an interesting reaction.

"Well, farewell and begone! I warn you, the next time you shall lose that temerarious tongue of yours!" Her whisper was low and threatening besides, his offense clearly not as venial to her as it had seemed to him, but he paid her no heed. His mind was elsewise occupied.

Was Renic's displeasure merely the response of his probity, he wondered. Was his reaction that of a man that might have taken exception on any maid's behalf, or was it something more. Roth bethought the latter.

Without awaiting any more rebukes from Brenna, he made his way directly to his drakkar, ignoring the censure evinced by his brother, his mother, Epona and Eirik. His men were already waiting aboard and chuckling at his antics. At least they were amused.

He might very well ignore Brenna's and Renic's silent reproach, but he could not ignore Heida's. Whenever her eyes drifted over his frame, no matter where he was or how distrait his mind, he knew of it as surely as though she was touching him with questing fingers. He could feel their pertinacious weight atop him now, but he kept his own gaze forward.

It was time he gave her up; and to that end, if he was wise, he would nevermore look back.

❅

The threatening aiguilles that jutted from the earth like giant tusks were imbrued with ice and snow as the men made camp in the valley, their drakkars pulled onto the shale and already leaden with walrus ivories.

They had also managed to drive a young whale bull ashore with their spears just the day before, the whale carcass having been picked clean by the time they set off again.

The firkins were now all filled with the rich oils of whale and walrus, and whatever meat they had not consumed had by now been salted and stored into vats, the declining temperatures staving off any spoilage on the passage home.

One of the drakkars had lately returned thence, packed to the gunwales with their good fortune. Of sable and ermine pelts they had many, but the white bear had yet proved elusive.

They had now stopped for the night where the ice was too thick for seafaring; they would be wayfarers after today. Once the flint had borne a good fire on the rocky beach, the whale meat sweating on its sapling tripod over the flames, Renic hunkered down beside his brother. He raised his head to the vigilant moon, limned with silver, as it hung protuberant from its perch.

Roth could already feel the now familiar ache in his bones and that prescient burning at his nape; and his brother, by his heavy silence, could no doubt feel it too.

"Tomorrow," Renic murmured, laying his yew bow to rest beside him on a driftwood log. Though he spoke without inflection, Roth could sense the urgency in his tone.

Roth said nothing. He knew whereof his brother spoke — they would need to separate themselves from the rest of the men. And soon.

The whetstone licked athwart the steel as he began sharpening the head of his spears, listening to the men as they laughed and drank to the good fortune bestowed them by the gods.

Part of the day's catch would serve as an oblation to Njord for allowing them safe travel across the Istyrr and along the fjord towards the north. The men were cheerful, drinking from their horns as they told stories around the fire, entirely ignorant of the grave thoughts that beset the brothers; unwitting of the monsters sitting apart and conferring quietly in the darkness.

On the horizon, above the black ranges, the lightsome green flames were freaked across the inky firmament. They were so beautiful that even the stars had ceased to blink as they watched the strange, flowing lights. 

Piecemeal, a jade eagle coalesced and unfurled its wings across the sky, but all too soon the impression was gone, leaving Roth uncertain whether or not he had even seen it arise from the mountains. Surely it was a good omen to descry something as powerful as an eagle in the lights of the gods?

His people believed the lights were evidence of the Bifrost pulsating between the cosmos, but he preferred his mother's opinion: that they were the reflection of the armor and shields worn by the valkyries.

"Why do you sit in the dark over there?" Leif's voice boomed across the space that separated them, recalling Roth from his reflections. The thane lifted his horn with a belch and beckoned them nearer to the fire. "Is it because Tallak still smells like mackerel?" His hearty guffaws were echoed by all, even Tallak himself who had eaten far too much of the oily fish, his beard still retaining the stench of it.

"Ay, I shall be there shortly, lest you burn my supper again!" Roth bellowed a retort, but his voice dropped as he addressed his brother. "I have yet to spear a white bear," said he. "Let that be our purpose in staying. Send your ship home tomorrow with as many men as can be carried withal our plentiful stockpiles; the less that remain here the better." It was too late to attempt to sail home in time...

Renic nodded thoughtfully, having no doubt already surmised as much, and, after some calculating, propounded that they should leave Ragnar, Søren, and Ívarr behind with them to sail the last ship.

Roth felt the bile swell in his gut at the thought of sending Eirik home before he himself could return. He had seen his young uncle's attentions shift to Heida of late, and despite his earlier resolutions, he could not forbear saying, "Let our grandfather leave on the morrow and have Eirik stay in his stead."

Raising a single, knowing brow, Renic only grunted, the gesture caught from the tail of Roth's eye and, though no words were uttered, Roth felt his spleen building. "You might as well say it, brother," said he irritably.

"It does you no good." Renic released a hefty sigh. "Your jealousy of Eirik is unfounded, he loves another."

"Can a man not love two women at once?" Roth was many things — cunning, sardonic, selfish, and at times immoral — but he was nowise as oblivious as Renic could be.

He saw things that others didn't, noticed what people would not think to, and heard even the things they would not say. Renic might be the virtuous brother, but Roth was the wilier and was not weighted by the same morals that might keep him from acting in whatever manner, noble or foul, necessary to protect his clan. If he was to be a chief of Thorny's ilk then let it be so. He was tired of being compared to Renic; he was not his brother.

"I'm sure I don't know." Renic lifted his heavy shoulders in that usual, calm manner that provoked Roth.

"Bah! The gods wasted those eyes on you! How can you be so blind?!" At Renic's blank look, Roth asked, "Is there no maid that has caught those useless orbs?"

In answer, Renic's brows gathered over his steely blue eyes. "Let me ask you a question instead, brother: to what purpose did you accost Brenna?" It had taken him long enough to ask. "For I know she has not caught yours."

"Because I knew it would vex you." And I was right to test him.

"Ay, you play your stupid games and meddle with the emotions of others as though you have none of your own, but I know you, Roth." His voice lowered with something akin to pity, raising the hackles from Roth's neck as he went on, "You distract yourself from that which haunts you, but you will be chief soon and these senseless larks cannot continue."

"You speak like an old woman when you choose to speak at all!" Roth got up from the log abruptly. "If I am guilty of repression then so are you. At least I can admit what I want openly; only, my hope is a fatal one! What is your excuse?!"

Renic faced the distant fire once more. "Why should I want what I have no right to have."

"You mean a wife, I presume?"

"We bring death, you and I. I will not subject a woman to any of that; nor shall I perpetuate what I am. But you have no choice in the matter."

Roth shook his head curtly. "So self-sacrificing..." Then he leaned down of a sudden, a sneer twisting his lips. "You might be a paragon, but even you are just a man beneath the monster, Ren." And a man could not always deny his own nature; least of all the sons of Loki.

❅

When the penultimate of the three drakkar disappeared into the mist that crouched along the icy fjord, its bow low in the water, the five remaining men took up their spears, bows, and arrows and left Roth's ship, where it rested on the shingles, in search of elusive bear tracks. The floe further north was far too thick to sail through and so they continued on foot, only two of the five now unaffected by the biting wind and frigid air.

They had no need of any cairns that might otherwise have dotted the featureless steppes to the far south like dwarfish piles of rock, pointing the way to weary travelers. The only landmarks here were the towering, granite ridges and blue glaciers that guided them towards the white bear plains.

"We should go around," Ragnar warned as they stood at the edge of a snow-field, considering the detour that would have to be made.

With a meaningful look towards each other, Roth and Renic agreed, although it meant that they would be further delayed now. The sun was already at it's apex and they had not even spotted a bear yet. Roth slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the little pouch that Renic had given him and untied the leather riband to inspect the leaf segment within, the three lobes like sharp fingers.

Brenna had seemed to think that this deadly flower, the goddess of poisons, would arrest their transition, and his only hope, there on that treacherous ridge, was that she was right. For the sake of the three that had stayed behind.

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