Over the years, even before Ragnarök, he had become my closest companion, taking the place once occupied by Skírnir.
Skírnir… whose very name stirred such regrets in me. He was the first I gave leave to call me Fricco, as only kin had been granted before.
A fellow Vanir, he had once been ever at my side, my personal attendant and messenger, but he worried too much about pleasing me. After I first saw Gerdr and wanted her, desperate for her hand in marriage, it was Skírnir I sent to entreat her to meet with me.
She had no interest, and out of fear of disappointing his lord, Skírnir had tried everything to change her mind, eventually to the point of threatening her. What I took for meekness when we met was terror. She assumed I would be just as villainous as my messenger and agreed to marry me out of fear. But one cannot bed someone and not notice their discomfort. Nerves I would have understood in a marriage bed, especially given my endowment, but though her body could accept me, her frigidness never warmed. She had no desire for me, and when I finally asked, she admitted as much and told me everything.
Some of the mortal accounts of my tale say that, instead of gifting my sword to Gerdr’s family as dowry, I gifted it to Skírnir in thanks for his success in bringing me my bride. I gave it to himall right. I took it back from Gerdr’s father for that very purpose—to give it to Skírnir blade-first. Even in my rage, I was not cruel, but killed him swiftly. Then I presented the blade to Gerdr herself as a true offering and begged her forgiveness and that she give me the chance to woo her properly.
She agreed. She did try. But she could not love me. She could not find joy in my company the way Ravnur did. I took much joy in his company too, for joy is infectious when shared. It builds upon itself. The simple acts of telling Ravnur my accomplishments and hearing how the talented storyteller could bring those tales to life were some of the rare times I had felt any true joy as of late.
Not to mention the interest he took in my hunts. The care he took in preserving my mount. The soothing sound of his voice when he shared news with me of things I had missed while away, be it a new rosemary honey being served at a local food stall, or a birth I needed to offer my blessing upon. Watching the stars together after a rowdy festival when all but us had gone to sleep was more peaceful than being in another’s company or being alone.
Unlike Skírnir, Ravnur cared more for truth and the state of our realm than purely pleasing me. I knew I could leave Alfheim when necessary, and it would be safe in his hands, young though he was compared to other hirdmen. I could leave without worry and look forward to my return, knowing he would be there to greet me. There was no one else I was as eager to tell of my exploits, and not only to have Ravnur retell them later. To others, it was obligation. To Ravnur, it was a different bliss altogether, for seeing him smile eased my wounded heart.
I was smiling myself, just from recounting it all in my mind, just from thinking of Ravnur, while recalling my many erogenous exploits left barely an impression at all. Upon my initial return from Ragnarök, I hadn't even looked him in theeyes. I couldn't then, but his was the first gaze I was eventually ready to meet, for I knew he would not judge me for what he found in mine. Had I been blind all this time, not willing to see or embrace that he might be worth the pursuit of what I had thought I’d spurned forever?
I whistled, and from over the side of Skidbladnir came my sword. It flew to just within reach so I could grasp its hilt and lifted me from the water to deposit me back on the boat’s deck. I called upon the sun to dry me with a burst of its rays—as the god of sunshine is wont to do when in a hurry—and quickly found fresh clothing to put on, even if much of my hair remained damp.
If I waited a moment longer, fear might make me go back on my word to Oli.
I didn’t bother returning Skidbladnir to its miniature form to take with me. I raced up the hill on foot and through the city, barely nodding in greeting to any citizens I passed, and went straight to Ravnur’s door.
He answered my knocking immediately, as if he had been standing just on the other side of it.
“My king—”
“Do you love me, Ravnur?”
“…what?” The instant widening of his eyes was soon lost when he glanced at the ground. “I-I, um… of course, my lord, I—”
“Do not lower your eyes when answering.” I gripped his chin to tilt his head up. “I do not ask a hirdman if he loves his sovereign. I ask ifyou, little raven, loveme?”
Those violet-blue eyes pooled with liquid, like flower petals covered in dew. “Yes. Surely you knew that.”
“I suspected, but you never pursued me as others did.”
That seemed to ignite a spark in Ravnur that would not be quenched by the starting flood of tears. He pulled out of reach just as a few streaked down his cheeks. “Because I will not bea number. So if that is why you are here, you can go. I do not care if your mortal was so disappointing that you seek solace in another.” As soon as he finished saying the words, he looked stunned at having been so blunt, but oh, how grateful I was for his candor, for it proved his passion. “My lord, that was thoughtless of me—”
“No, I prefer for my subjects to be honest. Solace is not what I seek in you, Ravnur. Perhaps hope is. Would you consider a stroll in the woods tomorrow? A hunt together? Just us?”
That too left Ravnur looking stunned. His expression kept warring between joyful and hesitant. Caution was good, for I was uncertain if I could offer what he wanted, but I wanted to try.
So too, it seemed, did he.
“I would like that very much, my king,” Ravnur said.
“Raven, you can and are encouraged to call meFricco, as you usually do.”
He smiled and any remaining wetness in his eyes dried. “It would be my honor to accompany you… Fricco.”
“The honor would be mine. Then I will see you tomorrow.” I bowed my head, taking my leave so I might calm my buzzing nerves, which I imagined would only grow in the interim.
Promise fulfilled—to Oli and to what remained of my heart.
Now to survive the stroll itself and whatever it might lead to.
Chapter 2
