Soon, the deep sound of Njord’s whinny reached his ears, and he dared not believe his luck that he had found them so quickly. When he rounded the bend, there was Njord, reins wrapped and tied around a branch.
He was forced to slow down to untangle the mess the beast had made of the straps.
After struggling for longer than he’d admit, he got Njord out of the knots and mounted his horse.
“Run like the sea,” he whispered, and Njord took off. Westley raced through the forest after Solveig, urging Njord on.
Goddess, Helle was fast.
“Come on, faster. We can catch them,” he muttered under his breath, and Njord pulled on the reins, surging forward with a burst of speed. The forest flew by in a blur until he finally caught sight of the copper hair of both horse and rider just ahead.
Solveig looked over her shoulder, her icy glare meeting his own. He would not let her get away.
“You’re going to run, like a coward?” he yelled.
His words had hit their mark. She yanked on Helle’s reins to stop. The shift in momentum almost threw her from her horse. Instead, Solveig swung herself off Helle’s back in one fluid movement, drawing her swords as she charged towards him. Westley slowed Njord and leapt down, his weapons rising to meet hers.
There was nothing graceful or playful about the way she attacked him. She struck to injure, to kill, and confusion swept through him as he met the full force of her assault. He could understand her anger at his grandfather and Laeknir’s betrayal, but this reaction went far deeper.
“Solveig.” He tried to speak to her, but she was not Solveig right now. She was the General of Asgard, intent on defeating her enemy.
Their violent dance was relentless, and Westley didn’t know how long they could keep up this pace. She must’ve been exhausted from the energy that blast of magic had cost her.
“Solveig, please, let me explain,” he tried again, but the cold mask remained in place. Her strikes hit his blade with so much force, his hands began to throb from the impact.
He thought he’d known the force of her anger, but their sparring was youngling’s play compared to this.
“I’m sorry, Solveig,” he whispered as their blades came together again with a force that sent him to his knees and she towered over him.
She stumbled back at the words, anger disintegrating as her face cracked in despair. Emotions crossed her face at such a rapid pace, he couldn’t pick them out. None of that mattered though, when she slumped to the ground, folding in on herself. He stood on shaky legs, chest heaving with the exertion of staving off her brutal advances.
A sob escaped as she kept her place, kneeling on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around her body. The sound broke his resolve to keep his distance. He moved to her side, bending down to scoop her into his arms, helping her to her feet.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. His arms automatically came up to return the embrace.
“Shhh,” he hushed against the top of her head, hands rubbing her back as his magic flared.
He inhaled through the pain of it freezing his veins and held her tightly. Even as she cried broken sobs into him, her body was strong and solid against his. Gradually her crying eased and his comforting strokes slowed.
They stayed locked in their embrace for what could’ve been hours before Westley pulled back to rest his forehead on hers. Whatever it took, he would make this right.
She would never break like this again.
Tension and heat slowly built between them as their bodies remained together. Her soft strength melded perfectly into his broad, hard body.
How many moments had they found themselves like this, on the precipice of something more than what they were? Her heart rate spiked and her breathing quickened to match his own. His hands braced against her back, a sense of rightness washing over him as he held her.
One of her hands slid around his hip and dropped while the other made its way up his body, her fingers running through his hair as she pulled his face closer to hers.
He breathed her in, even as thunder and lightning cracked in the distance. The air became thick, and his magic rose to meet hers, a current moving between them where their skin touched. Every cell in his body was alive and responding to her.
Westley closed his eyes and leaned in, feeling her other hand return to him, climbing up his chest. Her firm grasp on his hair matched the desperate way he clung to her.
The energy of her lips was so near he could no longer resist the urge to close the remaining distance between them, consequences be damned. He inhaled her stormy scent as a cold, sharp blade pressed to his throat.
His magic froze and his body followed suit. Only his eyes flew open, his heart stuttering as Solveig, her body still clinging to his, brought her face away.
She bore that cold mask he hated, her lifeless eyes meeting his confused gaze.
