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The longhouse was as alive as ever, filled with sounds of a great feast, practically dancing to the lively combinations of flute and lyre tunes, and the happy drunken shouts inside. All of Ravensthorpe gathered under its roof that night as there finally was time to celebrate rightly, with nothing weighting their hearts down. Outside the summer air was pleasantly cool, filled with the scent of flowers and cozy firefly flickers. The music of joy was delightful, warm to Eivor’s heart, although his mind was still preoccupied and so restless, he couldn’t bear to linger amidst the happy celebrations too long.
He was sitting on a bench right outside, polishing his axe with what appeared to be almost angry determination. He couldn’t quite make up his mind about the reason behind his restlessness and why he couldn’t share in their happiness when things seemed to have been finally, finally settled.
Yet at the same time, he knew all too well.
The click-clack of the whetstone against steel was interrupted by a hiss as Eivor had to pause and favor his side. The wound Basim’s blade inflicted on him was painful and very slow to heal. Maybe it was also the reason for his sour moods as of late.
Moments later he moved on with his task, the sounds of joy and happiness shifted further away into background as his thoughts drifted to the morning when Sigurd told him he and Randvi had decided to end their marriage. Ever since it was all that he could think about. About the feeling of hope it ignited in him in one instance and snuffed out in another.
They’ve been spending a lot of time together after that, after everything that’d happened to them in Norway, as only the two of them could understand each other in that memory of the strange journey they shared. A secret and knowledge only the two of them would carry on, concealed. And in those days Sigurd kept telling him about Randvi.
“She talks so much about you,” he would say. “She really admires you.”
“So what?” Eivor would ask him, but Sigurd would only shrug mysteriously in response.
A heavy feeling of “expectations” would gather like a cloud over Eivor’s heart then. It was as if Sigurd was implying that he and Randvi should get together. That it is time. His former jarl seemed to be finally at peace with the few duties he had about the settlement those days, at peace with the role he now had and had completely resigned himself to. It seemed all he wanted was for Eivor to find his happiness. While all that Eivor ever wanted was that happiness – with him.
He didn’t know how to even begin to tell him about it, he didn’t know how to avoid Randvi’s gaze, so full of newly found hope, following him around each time he would come home. The pressure of it would become too much soon, he could feel it and since he was their jarl now, he was in the center of everyone’s attention, and he had to face the consequences of his decisions, even when it comes to such private matters. He couldn’t allow making a mistake here, he couldn’t allow being dragged into something he never wanted in the first place just because everyone else thinks it is the right thing to do.
He sighed. The now perfectly polished and deadly axe blade glimmered in the moonlight. Those weren’t going to be easy times for him. But he needed to gather his courage that normally never failed him like that and talk about it with Sigurd first. It would be the correct decision to make. The one any deserving jarl would choose.
“Eivor! There you are, my drengr!”
As if on a cue to his troubling thoughts Sigurd appeared right in front of him with a cup of mead in his hand. Eivor startled and dropped his axe which landed painfully on his foot but luckily not with the sharp side.
“Ouch!”
“Hey there! Careful! What’s troubling you? You have… that face,” Sigurd pointed at his own and imitated the most sour and tragic look. Eivor couldn’t help but chuckle as he rubbed his injured foot in frustration.
“You come out of nowhere, Sigurd, I thought for a moment I was dreaming of Valhalla again.”
“I’m often visiting you in dreams it seems,” Sigurd observed with a smirk.
You don’t even know the half of it, Eivor thought but kept it to himself.
“There,” Sigurd offered him the cup, as if knowing full well he wouldn’t get an answer to his observation.
“Thanks.”
Eivor took a sip. The drink was cool and pleasant, and his thoughts cleared up a little, bringing him back to reality. Sigurd was still there.
“Why aren’t you inside celebrating with the others?” Sigurd asked, placing his hand on his hip. He almost regained his past vigor it seemed although at the same time Eivor could tell he’d never be the same again. He didn’t mind. He could never be the same either. There was only one thing he was even sure about now.
“Sigurd, I…,” he rose to his feet suddenly, a pain shooting through his side. He hissed again, swaying a little, but Sigurd was right there, offering him his only arm as support. Warmth bloomed in Eivor’s chest at the touch and his heart raced. He never knew he could be such a coward.
“We need to talk. Privately.”
His voice betrayed him, and he took another gulp of mead, hoping it would bring him enough courage to get through with this.
Sigurd frowned, clear concern on his handsome face, but he nodded immediately.
“Lead the way then.”
Eivor placed the cup down on the bench and they proceeded to walk into the quickly darkening night in silence, their steps perfectly synchronized without them even knowing it. The sounds of celebration were getting ever more distant, as if it was happening in a different world, a world where people still believed in Valhalla and eternal glory. Here in the quiet of the cemetery where Eivor led Sigurd only the chirping of insect was accompanying them and an occasional rustling of leaves in a bush where mice were going about their night life.
They sat down on a stone where Sigurd used to spend a lot of time during his recovery. It had gotten so dark by then Eivor could barely make out his features, but maybe it was for the best, for what he was about to say.
Still as they settled down and Sigurd looked at him in expectation and undeniable worry, he found himself at a loss for words. Marveling for a moment how it was probably the first damn time in his life when words were betraying him like that.
“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?” Sigurd gently asked at last as the silence kept stretching.
“I…I don’t know how to even begin, brother,” Eivor told him, unease settling in in his bones and his heart thrumming against his ribcage. He let out a shaky breath. “It is something I’ve felt I need to confide in you. But I’m afraid I might make a mistake by doing so. That we…”
“You can trust me with anything, you know that right?” Sigurd assured him. “Our bond is unbreakable, and it has only gotten stronger despite all the challenges Nornir have put us through. I am always here for you.”
A reassuring hand landed on his shoulder and Eivor closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Is it about Randvi?” Sigurd asked. “If so, I wanted to tell that you can…”
“It is not about Randvi!” Eivor snapped and Sigurd removed his hand as if burnt, not expecting such a retort in response to his gentle prying.
Eivor took a deep breath and made sure to calm his tone before he continued.
“Sigurd, please. It is not about her. It is about you, in fact.”
“Me? Eivor. You speak in riddles to me.”
There was so much desire to help and to understand, an honest compassion waiting to be poured into Eivor’s heart if only he allowed. How could he remain silent to this. And, come what may, he went on.
“Ever since I was a child, Sigurd, I admired you with all my heart.”
Sigurd smiled at that and nodded. He knew it perfectly well.
“A deep kind of admiration, fascination even. I was so proud to be your friend, to be allowed to finally fight by your side. To be worthy of being called your drengr. You taught me how to be a man I’m today, you taught me everything. My truest friend who showed me kindness and stood by my side through my times of need. And at some point, I couldn’t help but…”
Eivor sighed again, looking up at Sigurd; so clear in the moonlight now, listening intently as if Eivor’s every word was sacred knowledge.
“Winter flame in your eyes reminds me of home and takes me back, and…lures me forward. It is its warmth that I crave, yours, not someone else’s.”
Heat rushed up to his cheeks and a feeling of guilt choked him. It was too much. He said too much and now it was all ruined and lost for them. Everything they have built he crashed in one moment just like he did with Sigurd’s dreams of England and Valhalla. He robbed him of everything and now he’d rob him of even more. Of that trust he’d been relying on so much.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it. Please just forget it.”
He rose to his feet, about to storm away, but Sigurd grabbed his hand, his fingers gently sliding down, interlacing with Eivor’s as he pulled.
“Eivor!” he said and there was no malice or frustration in his voice. “Don’t go. Sit. Please.”
Slowly Eivor sat back down, aware of how their fingers remained interlaced between them, perfectly fitting together in the silver moonlight.
“Is it true, everything you say? Your…your feelings for me?” he asked.
“It has been true for a while,” Eivor looked up at Sigurd’s face, open and honest. “I would’ve never told you because I thought you might yet find happiness with Randvi. I didn’t want to stand between you two, I wouldn’t want this kind of fight. But now I feel you might think I have feelings for her. When in fact, I’ve only ever thought of you... If you don’t feel this way, Sigurd, I will understand, I will never bring it up again…”
“Eivor,” Sigurd’s voice brought him back to reality, steadied him. Somewhere during Eivor’s speech he shifted closer, Eivor’s hand still in his.
“I want you to know that your feelings matter the world to me. And they’re not unrequited.”
Eivor’s eyes went wide with surprise. Could this be real?
“I feel like I don’t deserve these words of praise from you, my drengr. I fucked up so badly. I was… surprised to learn that you refused Randvi,” Sigurd went on, his voice trembling a little. “But also relieved. I thought that maybe you didn’t want to betray your loyalty to me. That’s why you didn’t let this happen. I might have been testing you without even knowing it. I’m sorry I caused you doubt and worry.”
Eivor shifted closer. The world around them went still. Or maybe he was too focused on what Sigurd had to say to care.
“I know she has fond feelings for you. I’ve known for a while, probably even before she realised it herself. The way she’d look at you.”
“You noticed all this, but you never noticed the way I feel about you?” Eivor asked with a chuckle.
“I thought it was but my wishful thinking,” Sigurd replied with a shrug.
“It is not true.”
For a few quiet moments they were just sitting there, staring at each other with poorly contained emotion, their eyes glimmering in the moonlight. For a moment there Eivor thought they were about to kiss as Sigurd’s gaze shifted to his lips. And, as much as he would love that, as much as he craved it, in that moment he thought it’d be almost too much for him to take.
He felt lightheaded.
“Have you then…,” he mumbled, his mind shockingly blank. “Have you ever been thinking about us as…lovers?”
“I did. More than you think. But I tried to never let it linger.”
“But does this thought please you?”
Sigurd smiled, quirking an eyebrow.
“Oh yes. I hardly believe all this is real. Eivor,” Sigurd broke the spell between them, glancing back at the lights from the longhouse in the distance. Eivor could see then how nervous he was as well. “I might need some time to think about what you said. Forgive me but I didn’t expect this.”
“Take all the time you need. I feel much better now that I said this to you. And…I understand perfectly.”
“Let us join the celebration for now, they will be wondering where we’ve disappeared to.”
“They’re probably too drunk by now to wonder about anything.”
Yet they lingered for a while longer, still holding their hands. Sigurd’s thumb started gently rubbing circles over Eivor’s bruised knuckles. It made butterflies flutter in his stomach. At some point he teared his gaze away from their hands and held his breath as he looked up to see that Sigurd was observing him closely all this time, a smile on his face and warmth in his gaze Eivor never quite knew before. Only imagined.
He thought so often about how Sigurd might look at a lover and this was exactly this look directed at him now. He knew at this moment that Sigurd indeed had thought about it too. That he thought about kissing Eivor just like Eivor did about kissing him. The thought of it was overwhelming, dizzying even. This felt all-encompassing and this felt…right.
Eventually they returned to the longhouse in silence, both too lost in thoughts about this new secret revelation. Eivor couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt, how reasonable. He even started wondering why he hasn’t confessed earlier. It was easy like breathing and just as necessary. He wondered if it was like that for Sigurd too. He couldn’t stop thinking about their hands touching, about the warmth of Sigurd’s skin against his own. He needed more of it. Although he’d snuff that rising fire out the very instant if Sigurd decided it wasn’t right.
Sigurd gently brushed past him without saying a word but with that same mysterious smile on his face. He then quietly disappeared into the beckoning light of the longhouse and in the crowd. This newly found talent of his, to just vanish without a trace among people where he used to be the center of everyone’s attention not so long ago. As much as Eivor missed that lively part of him he also understood him now, he felt the same kind of change taking roots in his heart too, although he tried his best to fit into his new role of the jarl.
That’s why he had to stay and linger and pretend he was also having fun just like everybody else. The celebration lasted till early morning, and he hasn’t seen Sigurd come back once. He might’ve started worrying but by that time he was too drunk and barely noticed how his own legs carried him to his chambers. Vaguely he remembered Gunnar helping him along the way even though he appeared to be no less drunk than Eivor or even more. He remembered Randvi’s amused face. He might’ve said something stupid to her.
Then there was the softness of his bed, world spinning around him for a couple of moments before he slipped into the darkness that soon transformed into a familiar dream, a familiar nightmare.
He was running along the labyrinth of corridors, in a dark dungeon lighted only by scarce fire or torches. Through the walls he could hear Sigurd’s screams of pain and Fulke’s mad laughter. He felt like his chest was about to burst, about to tear wide open from desperation and fear. The hold of it was deathly. Each door he opened he was hoping to reach Sigurd but at the same time was maddeningly frightened of what he could find.
And just like in each of those nightmares, when he finally opened the right door - he was too late. Sigurd was there, sitting on the floor in a pool of blood. Except when Eivor reached for him, his body light as a feather as he’d flee towards him, Sigurd was dead, still warm in his embrace, but already gone and lost. If only he’d be there a second earlier, if only…
Hot tears streamed down his face as he cradled Sigurd’s body. He shut his eyes tightly, wishing to die right there, to let Fulke take his life too. But nothing followed except for a warm breeze caressing his cheek. Bringing soft calling “Eivor” with it and Eivor thought he was hearing a ghost. The breeze returned, caressing his hair now, blowing softly against his braids.
Eivor
He woke up with a start. His eyes were wet from crying, it was almost dark in his chambers and Sigurd was there, alive and breathing. By his side. In his bed.
“Eivor, wake up. You’re having a bad dream,” he said, his fingers caressing Eivor’s hair still. So, it was not a breeze after all.
The realization that it was just a dream was a deep kind of relief. But the nudging hurt remained in Eivor’s heart. He thought that what he had to go through back then, when he was searching for his Sigurd, would remain with him until the end of his days. Deep wound etched forever across his heart and his hugr.
“Sigurd,” he whispered coarsely, still half lost in his terrible world of dreams. “I had a nightmare.”
“I can tell,” Sigurd’s handsome face showed deep concern, his brows furrowed as he watched Eivor closely.
Eivor wanted to share what he saw, except somehow, he knew that Sigurd knew already.
“You were saying my name…,” Sigurd told him as if reading his mind.
Eivor sat up then and hastily wiped away tear streaks from his cheeks. Sigurd was here. In the middle of the night…
His mind was quickly returning to reality as he remembered about confession he made earlier that day, when the feast was still at its loudest. Now it was so quiet, not a soul around. There were only two of them in the entire world.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Sigurd sat up a little, shifting closer.
“I couldn’t sleep,“ he said, looking away somewhat guiltily. “My thoughts keep swaying back to what you told me earlier.”
There was a pause, Sigurd seemed uncertain about how to proceed, which was unlike him. He fumbled with a sleeve of his fine tunic; his brow furrowed.
Eivor held his breath, trying to prepare for what might come. A rejection he’d have to deal with later. He’d overcome it, most certainly.
“To tell you the truth I never expected that we will ever have this kind of conversation,” Sigurd finally said, still looking down. “I was so used to keeping this kind of thoughts away, even from myself, I forgot that…that I still feel this way about you. All this time I was fighting it. Like it’s a shameful thing…”
“Sigurd…”
“I was a fool, Eivor.”
Sigurd shook his head, finally looking up and meeting Eivor’s gaze. His was full of sadness and longing Eivor never saw before.
“Please don’t blame yourself for this,” Eivor whispered. Sigurd reached out and gently cupped Eivor’s bearded chin. “Nornir weave a tangled path, there was no way you could see where this one leads you.”
“But you’ve always been there, Eivor. You’ve always been there for me and you’re the most cherished friend. You’re my everything. “
Eivor felt himself being delicately pulled by a beard and melted into Sigurd’s touch almost immediately, let himself be guided, until Sigurd’s lips pressed gently into his, so surprisingly soft and cool. Eivor held his breath, afraid that the moment might vanish, and the magic will be lost, that he’d made things up somehow or was still dreaming. But the kiss lingered, and Sigurd was not pulling away. It was just like Eivor imagined it to be and so different at the same time. He didn’t imagine the softness of it, didn’t imagine the warm tickling of Sigurd’s beard against his skin, didn’t imagine how perfect their lips would fit together.
They didn’t go further than a simple press of lips at first, testing the new sensation, but it wasn’t that long until Sigurd’s tongue licked against Eivor’s bottom lip more persistently, asking for permission. Eivor smiled and chuckled into the kiss, his skin tingling all over and arousal pulling at his groin. His want was set aflame by the sound of Sigurd chuckling back and then outright moaning when Eivor parted his lips for him. Sigurd’s tongue slipped inside for a mere moment, a mere taste and it was enough to drive Eivor mad with desire.
Sigurd pulled away, placing his hand on Eivor’s shoulder. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide and irises a mere ring of icy blue around the black. He looked no less wild than Eivor felt.
“Can I stay?” he asked, his eyes darting to Eivor’s lips again, a kind of hunger in them that Eivor only dared to fantasize about until this day.
Eivor shifted closer until their bodies were slotted together, placed his hand on Sigurd’s lower back and grinded experimentally against him. Eivor smiled, Sigurd was hard, just like him. Eivor caressed his hips, rocking against him slowly, he then leaned in and kissed Sigurd’s neck, reveling in the moment of his oldest dream coming true. It felt so new to be allowed to touch Sigurd like that and he already knew he’d never get enough of this.
“If you stay,” he whispered hotly against Sigurd’s skin. “We won’t be sleeping.”
Sigurd pulled him closer, legs wrapping around Eivor, locking him in, Sigurd’s fingers cradling the back of Eivor’s neck.
“I didn’t come here to sleep, you know,” he said before covering Eivor’s lips with his own again.