Ten
Edvard had once asked Odin for a sign – any sign at all.
But he does not think it is Odin who has answered his prayers. No, surely this meeting is the result of the interference of another. Frigg or the Norns. Maybe Heimdallr. Surely one of the gods gifted in foresight had engineered yet another chance meeting like this.
Because there is no other reason why, in the span of two Thor's days, Edvard has run into Izabela in the forest around Forks no less than seven times. He does not think he's seen the girl so much in his life, and certainly not so much so close together.
Definitely not when he is hunting. And most assuredly not when she is hunting as well.
He has the fleeting thought that, of all the things he knows about Izabela from observation, he was almost sure that huntress was not a title she claimed. And yet there is evidence to the contrary – seven different instances of evidence.
And, he privately marvels, the game she is hunting is…so small. Prey animals are not typical hunting fare. Honestly, hunting prey animals simply is not worth the effort. Edvard has not captured prey animals since he was a young boy, and even then he was bored by the experience.
But Izabela has hunted prey animals no less than seven times. Eight, if he counts today.
Seeming to sense his confusion, Izabela shifts, partially hiding her kill behind her back. "I am sorry if I have ruined your hunt," she says.
"You have not," he finds himself muttering, his brows furrowed as he stares at Izabela from across the felled tree in this clearing. Something is different about her. Something has been different about her for weeks and weeks at this point. Her behavior has been decidedly odd, but not outright strange. Just…a little unusual.
He wonders what might have caused the change.
"I am practicing," she tells him after an awkward beat, her small feet shuffling against the dewy grass and moist dirt.
"Practicing," Edvard repeats, testing the word out on his tongue as if he can taste the truth.
"Yes. I…wish to be better with the bow."
"I see," he says. There is nothing suspicious about practicing or hunting for sport or really anything Izabela has been doing. And privately, he can agree that she does need the practice.
But there is something off in the way she continually shifts on her feet, as if she has been caught doing something that she should not be doing. The fidgeting is entirely unlike the girl he has admired from afar from so long, but all the same, Edvard doubts that any other villager would notice how awkward Izabela is as she stares back at him and utters out-of-place explanations to him. He is not ashamed to admit that he pays a lot of attention to Izabela. He is confident that he knows her well, even if they have not spoken often.
What is she up to?
Edvard had thought Izabela was done with the sneaking around she had kept up for a while a few weeks back. One day, she had simply ceased stealing time in the forest for hours at a time and had gone back to running around the village, managing everything through Mik right under the Elder's noses. At seeing that, Edvard had assumed that she had lost interest in whatever had captured her attention.
He can see that he's wrong, now. She had not stopped; she had simply started doing something different.
Edvard represses a sigh.
Even Alise with her cryptic comments is not nearly as mysterious as Izabela.
Dark hair escapes her hasty braid, falling across a flushed cheek as she looks away from him, her two-toned eyes scanning the trees.
She never has made a habit of looking at Edvard directly for more than a moment or two. It's always been endlessly frustrating for him – even more so now, with his feelings for her so complex, always bubbling beneath the surface any time he finds himself in her presence.
He wants her to look at him. To see him.
But he also is gratified to look at her without being under her unnerving stare. She is…so beautiful.
Mysterious, gorgeous, unassuming, determined Izabela. The Chieftain's daughter. A girl – woman – beyond compare.
I will unravel her one day, he thinks, although even as the thought passes through his head he feels a certain sinking sense of doubt. No. Izabela is not one to be unraveled. Least of all by him.
"Right. Well." Izabella moves again, the bow half-hidden behind her back shifting to one hand. "I should…be on my way and allow you to hunt in peace."
Edvard dips his head silently, watching her leave with hawkish green eyes.
That bow and quiver…even those arrows…He might be mistaken, but they seem very different from the set Izabela used to carry. For one, this set is far more filthy, which Edvard finds unusual; for another, she only has only had three arrows each time he has seen her hunting, which is just poor planning on her part. Edvard himself always carries an even dozen in his quiver, even though he is more talented with a spear or longsword than he is with the bow.
Not for the first time, Edvard senses that he is missing something.
Days later, when he happens to be passing the Chieftain's longhouse on his way to hunt and hears the oddest combination of screeching and Izabela's scolding tone, he resolves that he will find out.
Soon. Even if he must out his own secret in the process.
A/N: Poor Edvard, so confused and always getting the shortest chapters. But I see his perspective as a transitional tool and I will shamelessly continue to use in as such.
Norse mythical figures in this chapter include Heimdallr. Forget almost everything you know about Heimdall from the MCU, because Heimdallr in Norse mythology is nothing like him. Aside from the gold armor bit and guarding the Bifrost and being able to see, like, the entire universe bit and the future. Aside from those three things, the original Heimdallr was something of a neutral, but mysterious figure in Norse myth. Like, Heimdallr was foretold to kill Loki after Ragnarok and apparently once battled Loki in the form of a seal - like, a freaking seal of all things - on Freyja's behalf. He's not actually related to the All-Father by birth or blood, but is actually the son of the Nine Mothers (which are interchangeably the Nine Realms or the ocean). Heimdallr also had gold teeth and is apparently responsible for giving humanity social classes, so the next time you're feeling the burn of economic inequality, you can totally curse Heimdallr.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~Rae