A. N.: This chapter might seem a little contrived...I don't think I've tried a songfic before, but you should all go listen to "Tanz Mit Mir" by Faun. I made a few tweaks to an English translation of it so it would fit more into the worldbuilding, and I think it does a great job of capturing the energy I wanted to convey between these two characters.
"We need to take her to the Heruli," Bridget insisted. "You can't just make up your own plan without any authorization!"
They'd argued all afternoon, the sun sinking low in the sky while Leiknleif bandaged her shoulder and demanded concessions. Now, they sat, still in the woods, negotiating around a campfire.
"She has a point," Martin said. "Do we really have the authority to pursue this path on our own?"
"And will your authorities really accept such a plan?" Leiknleif asked with a hard look.
"If not, it will be for good reason," Bridget said, somehow making her if sound more like when.
"It will be because they won't believe the other worlds capable of truce. I'd rather prove them wrong before walking empty-handed into a clan of wolves already baying for my blood."
"How many would it take to prove them wrong?" Hágoð asked. His tone was unfinished, as though he were leading up to something.
"What do you mean?" Leiknleif asked.
Her voice was brisk and businesslike. She'd avoided addressing him directly as much as possible and even now refused to meet his eyes.
"What if we went to one world? Just to see if it would work? Then, we could go back to the Heruli with that one success as proof and get their blessing to help us with the others."
"Of course you take her side," Bridget said, rolling her eyes.
"Not all of us are so petty, þorsdóttir. Some of us have convictions, no matter how much we hate the people we need to share them," Leiknleif said.
"You'd know all about pettiness, wouldn't you?" Bridget scoffed.
Leiknleif scowled. That girl was always harping on her father, as if the stories told her anything about her.
"At least he never pretended not to be."
It was less a defense of her family and more an indictment of Bridget's hypocrisy. It was the truest thing she could have said. Accuracy, however, didn't seem to soften the insult.
"And just what is that supposed to mean?"
"Why, exactly, are you so determined to make Ragnarokkr happen? If you're so confident in your wyrd, you shouldn't need to force it."
Bridget opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She was angry, obviously, but she'd scrunched up her eyes, thinking. Martin interrupted the choked silence with a cough.
"So, are we all agreed? One stop, then to Volsungaheim?"
Grudging nods all around preceded another uncomfortable silence.
"A fire side should be more lively," Hágoð remarked tentatively.
Martin snorted with false cheer, taking pity on the boy trying to fill the air.
"Too bad we left all the scops back home," he said.
"You- you could always sing something," Hágoð said, turning to Leiknleif, "Like you used to."
Leiknleif chuckled softly.
"Still chasing the past?"
"Just trying to find the future," Hágoð said. "But, speaking of the past…"
He pulled on a string she hadn't noticed around his neck, revealing a carved wooden wolf figurine that had lain hidden beneath his clothes.
"I've been carrying this for you…In case you want it back."
Leiknleif shook her head, and Hágoð winced, returning the figurine to its invisible place on his chest. The girl frowned at his expression. Maybe he'd only been offering to get rid of his last reminder of what she'd used to be to him…But, then, why had he kept it so long?
Her thoughts gained speed and intensity, beating against the back of her skull, and she carefully guarded her face, unwilling to expose them to three enemies. She needed a distraction. And, it couldn't hurt to see Hágoð let his own guard down. It might help her figure out what to make of her situation.
"What song did you have in mind?" she asked.
Hágoð shrugged, but his face smoothed, and a timid spark returned to his eyes.
"I don't- anything. It would just be nice to hear your voice again."
Leiknleif scowled at the friendly response. He'd been shy and awkward the whole day, but he'd ultimately acted no different from…before. As if nothing had happened between them. As if he expected them to fall right back into the old dance.
What was he playing at? She'd always thought herself the cunning one, called him an open book. But now…She had no idea what he wanted from her. And every shy smile, every tentative remark, tempted her to believe he only wanted what he'd had before.
But, that was impossible.
Staring into the firelight, Leiknleif began to sing. Her voice was soft and rough, almost blending with the crackling flames.
O come, you beauty, pour a drink for me,
Pour a drink for me, I could drink the sea.
O come, you beauty, pour a drink for me,
For I thirst for mead and maid.
She didn't know what he wanted – not yet. But, she would figure it out.
I'll pour it only if you dance with me,
If you dance with me, then you'll have your mead.
I'll pour it only if you dance with me,
Then you'll have your mead and maid.
And, she'd make sure to come out ahead. Whatever deals she had to make, she'd survive the coming days. She'd thrive.
She took a breath, preparing to start the next verse, but Hágoð's voice interrupted her. She blinked in surprise, staring at him as he sang.
Then, let's get up upon the table now,
On the table now, we'll dance for the crowd.
Then, let's get up upon the table now,
That way everyone can see.
His eyes shone with an earnest longing that shook her suspicions to the core. Her throat swelled up, and she had to clear it before she could sing the response.
I'll mount the table for a kiss from you,
For a kiss from you, yes, a kiss will do.
I'll mount the table for a kiss from you.
For a kiss, I'll join you there.
She'd forgotten to turn away from Hágoð as she sang, and she saw his cheeks redden, even as his pupils dilated. She told herself it was just an effect of the inconstant firelight. Then, their voices joined in the chorus.
Hot blood assails,
And the flesh is frail,
So has it ever been.
The night is young,
And the lust gods laugh,
Come let's have a drink of gin.
Hágoð's blush definitely deepened as he continued the song, but his eyes bored into hers without flinching.
And later, Beauty, share a bed with me,
Share a bed with me, so that I don't freeze.
And later, Beauty, share a bed with me,
It will not be to your shame.
He'd placed an odd emphasis on the last line, as if trying to convince her she could trust a promise he'd already broken. She leaned back a little, edging away from the circle of firelight, as she sang the next verse, clinging to the words' cold defense.
But only when I all your kisses own,
All your kisses own, when you're mine alone.
But only when I all your kisses own,
Else you'll surely sleep alone.
He joined her, again, for the chorus.
Hot blood assails,
And the flesh is frail,
So has it ever been.
The night is young,
And the lust gods laugh,
Come, let's have a drink of gin.
Hágoð fell silent, and she closed her eyes briefly, finishing the song alone.
I'll pour it only if you dance with me,
If you dance with me, in your arms I'd be.
I'll pour it only if you dance with me,
I would have you closer still.
Her eyes were open now, but she still couldn't read the intensity in her old friend's gaze.
I'll pour it only if you dance with me,
If you dance with me, then you'll have your mead.
I'll pour it only if you dance with me,
Then you'll have your mead and maid.
Silence rushed in, heavier than before, and the weight of Martin's and Bridget's eyes, previously forgotten, joined it. Leiknleif stood abruptly, breaking her eye contact with Hágoð, and stalked into the trees. Tense voices cracked behind her, but she paid them no mind. She rushed into the trees, just far enough to pretend she had some privacy, and leaned against a trunk, counting the little ridges cutting into her back, tilting her head up to see little pinpricks of starlight filtering through the branches, and breathing heavily, fogging up the frigid air around her.
The footsteps behind her came too quickly for her liking but stopped a respectful distance away.
"Sorry," Hágoð said softly. "I told them you wouldn't run off, but Bridget-"
"And what makes you so confident of that?"
"I- I guess I just hoped…Well, you seemed to be determined this could work."
Leiknleif snorted, whirling finally to face him. His features were almost completely hidden by the shadows, but she'd always seen well in the dark.
"And what makes you think I wasn't just saying what I had to to avoid execution? Better falling in line with your desperate plans than just following you back to Volsungaheim."
She cursed herself for tipping him off to the possibility. After all, if she really did want to sneak away, it would be easier if they trusted her.
Hágoð hesitated, glancing at the ground, before saying, "I never meant to force you into it, Elda."
She frowned at the name.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't…It just…always seemed to suit you."
Leiknleif raised an eyebrow before realizing he probably couldn't see the slight shift in expression. Either way, he seemed to get the hint and explained, "I just mean…you always did seem to be made of fire. If anything, that's even more true now."
Leiknleif's lips parted in a quiet laugh that chilled the air.
"And, suddenly, you're so comfortable with that."
Hágoð stepped toward her, then stopped, looking pained.
"I know, okay? Don't think I don't know how I let you down before. But, I came with them to look for you because I don't want to do that again. You deserve someone you can rely on, and from now on, I'm going to be that person…Even if that means letting you go now. I can always just say you were already gone by the time I got out here – that you flew away or something."
Leiknleif bit her lip. The offer was tempting, but she didn't understand where it was coming from. All this time, she'd thought he'd held onto a grudge, assumed he hated her as much as any good Heruli. But, now…
"Why did you keep it?"
"What?"
"The wolf."
"Oh," Hágoð said, "That."
"Well?"
"I got your message, you know…At first, I thought there might be something else…some sign, or way to find you. I know, it was stupid."
Leiknleif didn't bother to agree.
"And then…even after I'd given up on seeing you again…It just made me feel close to you. Like I hadn't messed up the best part of my life. I could hold it and pretend that you'd someday come back for it. That we'd…"
He shrugged, shaking his head.
"For what it's worth, that day…I was surprised, and selfish. I wanted time to process- I didn't understand why you'd- I never thought about the danger you were in…I know that doesn't excuse it, but I guess you deserve at least a real apology. I'm sorry."
Leiknleif blinked, trying to ignore the hot prickles in her eyes.
"You really mean that," she said, her breath gushing out as her body relaxed.
It wasn't a question, but Hágoð answered anyway.
"Yes. Elda, please. Believe me."
"I do. I'm only sorry I didn't earlier."
Emboldened, Hágoð took another step forward, and Leiknleif met him in a tight hug. They'd both grown, and he was taller than her now. She nestled her face into his chest, and he stroked her hair, pretending not to notice the warm tears seeping into his clothes.
For the first time in almost three years, he felt that things might turn out alright.