Njord’s eyes prickled treacherously.
Goodbye for now, old friend. I promise to do what I can to relish the gift of this life.
Jökull’s form wavered and faded, and Njord felt himself drowning in deep sadness, realising that he wouldn’t see her again. Soon, she’d said. He’d be joining her in the Halls ofHel, but there were things he needed to do before he could leave. He had to find Ahti and Vellamo first, and he had to make sure Thori was—
“Njord?”
Thori had shifted and was blinking up at him sleepily.
“Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep.”
But Thori’s gaze sharpened, his brow furrowing in adorable confusion.
“You’re crying.”
Gently, Thori’s fingers traced along Njord’s cheeks, and Njord was surprised he found wetness there. He was crying indeed.
“What’s wrong?” Thori asked.
“Do you know this liminal place between dreams and waking life when the fabric between the worlds is thin? I had a visitor from that place tonight.”
“Jökull,” Thori said.
“Yes.”
“Did she—did she demand you avenge her?”
Thori’s face was pale but determined in the moonlight, and Njord huffed out a startled laugh even as he cried harder.
“No, Thori. She came to say goodbye and told me to take good care of you.”
“What?”
An ugly sob caught in Njord’s throat.
“She likes you, despite everything, and I just wish she could be—”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Thori babbled, even as he sat up and pulled Njord close, allowing him to cry against his shoulder.
And cry Njord did, all the anguish and grief he had suppressed for so long bursting out of him.
They stayed like this, wrapped around each other, and Thori murmured words of comfort against his hair.
I’m sorry. I’m yours. I’ll make it better.
Thori was still mumbling apologies and promises to do everything in his power to pay for his mistakes when Njord’s tears finally dried up. He’d thought this was revenge, a way to make Thori pay for killing Jökull. But he’d only been fooling himself. He’d told himself he was being strategic, that gaining Thori’s trust would give him access to Asgard’s secrets. But deep down, he’d known, even back in Sindri’s hall, that he wouldn’t follow through on his threats. Couldn’t. Because beneath all his pride and bluster, Thori was good. Brave and selfless in a way that bordered on foolishness, but Njord began to understand that his recklessness stemmed from inexperience—after all,Thori was still young for a god—and from a deep need to prove his worth. Njord couldn’t despise him for his insecurities.
Taking a deep breath, Njord wiped his face.
“Let me,” Thori whispered.
He rose to fetch a bowl of water and a wet cloth, gently cleaning Njord’s face. Njord let him work for a while, overwhelmed by the open affection, then he caught Thori’s wrist.
“Thank you.”
He pressed a kiss to Thori’s palm, then another to his lips for good measure.
“Dragons are beings of revenge and sacrifice, but they also honor bravery, and they love treasures,” Njord said, needing Thori to understand.
