The Magnar of the Thenns
"Move your feet," Severus rebuked softly from his perch on the small god totem. He was leaning far forward and if I didn't know his balance was impeccable, I would have worried he would have fallen right off. "Keeping still makes you an easy target."
I huffed at him in annoyance but did as he asked. The stick I held was of length with the sword of Gryffindor, but the weight of it was all wrong. I wanted to practice with the real weapon, but Severus was quick to criticize my form, muscles, height, balance, and gave me every reason under the sun why it was ill advised for me to learn by using a sharp blade. I think he was more worried about me damaging a priceless artifact than maiming myself, but I didn't press the issue.
It probably was less dangerous for me to learn with something I couldn't accidentally kill myself with.
So, I was stuck with a slightly curved stick that chafed my palms as he guided me through one series of movements to another. "Pivot. On your back foot, idiot!" He barked out and I was barely able to hold back the snide comment that wanted to burst forth. At least he wasn't treating me any differently.
It had been nearly half a moon's turn since the 'Battle of Weeping Lake' as the others were calling it. Since then, nearly every moment I spent out in public in the village reminded me of being eleven years old and walking into Diagon Alley for the first time. I remembered the Leaky Cauldron, the crowd of people that had pressed close when Hagrid announced my presence, hands grabbing at mine to shake, and awed expressions on everyone's faces.
The Thenns were nothing like the witches and wizards of the magical realm, they didn't care if you were born from a pure house or how rich your father was. Everything you owned, the respect granted to you, the rights, and privileges you had, were all earned. And it appeared that killing three of these 'White Walkers' by oneself, and killing another with assistance, earned you quite a lot. While I had earned these looks of awe, it didn't mean I liked them any more.
I really could do with a lot less staring as well.
The request to have my own cabin built was also very flattering. A pity I couldn't take them up on the offer. There really was no point in having them build me something that we were just going to abandon once the valley was evacuated. Now if only they could get on with choosing a new Magnar so everyone could start preparing to leave.
"How long does it even take to choose a new Magnar?" I asked through protesting lungs as I turned and began the next set of movements carefully, ignoring the painful pull at my side.
Severus flicked his tail dismissively as I glanced at him. "It's their gods that decide, it could take years for all we know."
"Merlin," I groaned at the thought as I brought my fake sword down and pressed the tip into the hard-packed snow to use it to lean my tired weight on. "We don't have time for them to wait around."
"Why don't you go and tell them just that," Severus replied testily, his tone biting as he hunkered down on the horrific statue to lounge on the head of what looked like some sort of cat god eating an infant. These people really did have some of the strangest beliefs. "I'm certain that interfering with an incredibly important ritual will in no way impact you negatively. Come, I will accompany you. Watching you blunder your way through another cultural mishap has become my favorite form of entertainment as of late."
I threw the stick at him, the long piece of wood swinging wide and over his prone form to tangle in the thorny bush behind him. "Bring up the pheasant incident one more time," I hissed, swiping the sweat from my forehead, and grimacing at the charcoal that now stained the back of my hand. I had forgotten about that.
Having done the impossible and slaying the unkillable had somehow granted me the title of Njorn Vetravins and Kondrepi Dauthans. My Old Tongue was still far from perfect, but I was certain it translated into something along the lines of Witch of Winter and Bringer of Death, or maybe Blight of Death…Death's Champion? I knew it was something along those lines, but it was hard to tell when I still was learning the language, and even more difficult when none of my teachers spoke even a single word in English.
Earning titles such as the ones bestowed upon me were a great honor – according to Loboda at least – and it would have won me quite an impressive design of ritualistic scarring if I had been born Thenn. As I was still technically an outsider, instead I was rewarded with a party that lasted three days and three nights – to represent the three White Walkers that were slain during battle – with copious amounts of alcohol, food, and dancing. I was also granted the designs of the scars, without the permanence of having them carved into my face with a fiery hot blade.
Loboda had pressed me to my knees before the Seer as she reached into the soot and ash. With her blackened fingernails she decorated my face and the Thenns cheered. I really had been honored that they still bestowed upon me the ritualistic markings, and even further humbled when Loboda explained what each one meant.
A small crescent moon on its back – perhaps the size of a button – lay in the center of my brow, representing magic. A tear shaped dot hung suspended just above the moon – between the two points of the crescent – for sacrifice.
The moon was cradled beneath by a delicately curved two-pronged torch. The center line was thick where it connected to the top, dragging halfway down my nose in a sharp tapering point, meant for one who has conquered winter. Loboda later explained that the torch was usually for people who had done something remarkable during winter that had somehow saved or benefited the clan in a way that was greatly looked upon. And though it wasn't technically winter, an exception was made as we were battling death and those that bring winter and the storm. Evidently, that was close enough.
Very few faces held the torch, even fewer still the crescent moon.
So far, I had only seen perhaps four or five people who bore the moon, one of which was Elder Ake who was the Keeper of Magic. But none had actually been able to wield magic the way that I was able too. Supposedly, the others that bore the mark were something called a warg, though what a warg was had not been explained to me. I kept meaning to ask, but with the excitement of everything else, I only remembered about it when I was alone.
I made a mental note to ask Loboda the next I saw him. But I also had already accepted the fact that I would most likely forget once more.
A single thin line started on the edge of my right cheek bone beneath the temple and ended directly centered under my right eye for strength. Another shorter line started slightly below the first and inset further on my cheek. It was of the same thinness where the top line began and thickened the closer it got to my eye. Just before it reached the end of the top line, it folded back upon itself, sweeping in a curve beneath itself and tapering off into a sharp point before it was even a quarter of the length. It looked similar to the sharp hook on the fishing knives I had seen the Thenn use and it represented bravery against insurmountable odds.
Three dots were decorated just above each brow, aligned slightly more towards the inside than they were centered. Another three lay under my left eye near the outer edge – no larger than the head of a pin – totaling nine for each dragon that fought against the dead. I learned later that Gemini had killed a small handful before the blizzard forced his abrupt and violent landing.
Ophelia's part in defeating the dead, on the other hand, could be heavily debated. She did kill one of the cold ones – as the dragons called them – when the village had been attacked, but she didn't go out of her way to do it. The small fact that this once person was directly in front of Loboda's cabin may have attributed to its demise as Ophelia had now claimed it as her nest, but that didn't change the fact that she set it on fire the moment it got near the front door.
It also didn't escape anyone's notice that she then stayed in the cabin and refused to come out to assist with the other dead soldiers that were attacking. Luckily, the fire that Severus and I had created didn't burn out and the Thenns were able to make use of it to light their arrows and spears. It took little effort after that to end the rest of the paltry force.
The White Walkers must have been more interested in the Thenn warriors than in the rest of the villagers, as the bulk of their forces were by the Weeping Lake. Only a few of their soldiers were sent to kill the citizens who thought themselves safe behind their walls, and all were handled by those left behind to secure the village.
There had been deaths, but thankfully not many. Most of the bodies had been cleared away by the time we had made it back, but those that weren't still haunted me, following me into my dreams as their insides stained the snow and their blank eyes stared up at me. Once Hera, Roan, and Gemini had made it back to the village, most of the dead had returned to their state of actually being dead. Those that weren't, were swiftly taken care of by the two conscious dragons.
Later that night in the privacy of the cabin – after I had made a small request – Loboda added another four going straight up from the tear shaped dot for the dragons that were lost. Neve, Freya, Selene, and the other Gemini twin still sat heavy in my heart. If I closed my eyes tightly enough, I could almost feel Neve pressing against my side for cuddles, cooing softly in their way for neck scritches. I could almost see Freya's disapproving continence as she broke apart another fight. I could almost hear the twins warbling in mischief as they successfully stole food from the unwary. If I closed my eyes tightly enough, I could almost convince myself that Selene was still alive, out there somewhere, just lost and trying to find her way home.
I tried not to think to heavily upon it. Those thoughts brought no more happiness, their memories too painful to look upon. Maybe one day I could think back upon them and remember all the good and joy had brought me, but for now, when I brought them to mind, all I could remember was the way the one twin had been happily trailing behind one moment and then gone the next.
I remembered the way Freya had crashed into the water, red liquid pouring from her as I tried to pull her away from danger, and the way her hide felt as my hands slipped upon the icy cold water and hot blood. I remembered the way that Neve had flown directly at the serpent when it breached, distracting it away from the prone dragons on the ground, and not being fast enough to save himself. I remembered the way I had done nothing but sat, day after day, on that ice shelf looking for Selene but knowing she was never coming back.
They were gone, and but for a few scales and teeth they had shed, there was nothing left but their memory. So Loboda placed four tiny dots above the tear of sorrow so they would never be forgotten.
The final line was as thick as my pinky and touched the bottom of my lower lip, dragging straight down to end after it curved beneath my chin. This represented successful leadership during battle. Many Thenns had a version of this, even Loboda himself from his younger years. Sometimes it branched into two or three lines similar to a triangle, but what there meaning was exactly had not been explained fully. And in the aftermath of the battle – and what I had done – I didn't think nor want to ask.
I didn't believe I deserved this line, the one of leadership, but when I tried to explain it to Loboda or Alfhild, they only chided me for my modesty. There was no way to explain how I felt this deep swell of guilt that threatened to submerge me in an ocean of self-hate every time Loboda placed that mark because it was I who had caused the death of their last leader. To speak it would only doom myself, and more importantly the whelps.
It was for them I kept my silence, afraid that the village would cast us out, or try to kill me for what I had done. And I knew that if it came to that, the whelps would fight for me, as I have for them. They would fight and many would die. We could probably win, if I had my magic and the dragons their strength, but we would have to kill all the Thenns to do it, and that was not something I was ever willing to do.
So, I kept quiet and hid my guilt every morning as Loboda placed that last line upon my face.
The patterns were not fully symmetrical, which was an oddity that I had noticed that the Thenns didn't usually have. When I had asked about it, Alfhild I told me it was because I was an outsider. Their marks – their scars – were for their gods, not for mortal men. And when they died, those marks would determine which god's domain they would spend the rest of their eternity in, which hall they would feast in, which remembered battle they would fight in, which table they would sit at, and the warriors that would sit with them. The gods also apparently loved things in symmetry.
I was an outsider, and though I fought with the Thenns, lived with them, feasted with them, and trained with them…I wasn't a Thenn. When I died, it would not be their god's domain I would inhabit, I wouldn't feast in their halls, nor take place in any remembered battle. My patterns weren't symmetrical as a reminder that what awaited me in my death, was not for their gods to decide. I didn't know how I felt about that – not really believing in their gods in the first place – so I tried not to think on it at all, and let the Thenns decorate my face with my non-symmetrical pattern. It was pretty, either way.
Unfortunately, I was still recovering from overtaxing my magic and expressly forbidden to use even a simple heating charm until fully recuperated, I was now required to wake early so Loboda could take the small sharpened stick the size of a needle and use it to decorate my face. As I had earned the markings, I was now obligated to wear them. Which meant that I had to sit on the floor near the firepit morning after morning before we 'broke our fast' – as Loboda called it – and endure nearly an hour of face decorating and hair braiding.
It felt like that one single time Lavender convinced me to let her dress me up 'all pretty' for our annual Halloween Ball back in our third year. A mistake that I swore to never let happen again. Lavender was terrifying when given the opportunity to give someone a makeover. I had had nightmares for weeks after.
Once my magic recovered and I could use it to braid my hair and decorate my face, all the frustrations in the morning ritual would cease. Perhaps Severus would know a spell for something a little more permanent than ash and charcoal though…I was getting extremely frustrated with how often I had to repair it. I really couldn't wait until my core was healed.
"You will have to return to the cabin before they allow you into the hall," Severus remarked snippily, and I groaned once more before flopping backwards into the hard-packed snow. "Our gracious host would be scandalized to see your face so bare. Just think upon his expression once he sees you, once he realizes that others have seen you so…naked," he mocked condescendingly, his tone taking one I was very familiar with and brought me back to those many lessons in his classroom.
"It's hardly considered being naked, Sev," I sighed, raising my hand to throw him a rude gesture that none but us understood before flopping my arms to the sides and rolling my shoulders to release the tension.
"No, I suppose not," he conceded, ignoring my poor attempt at an insult. Honestly, my hands were so tired I would not have been surprised if I had failed to even do that accurately. "As walking around the village actually naked would be less frowned upon." I snorted at his words but didn't argue against them.
He was right, after all. Thenns did not care much about nudity, with their group bathing and tightly packed living arrangements, but to have someone walk around with a bare face after their Seer had granted them the highest honor of marks was unheard of…especially since I was the first outsider in several decades to be granted as such. To walk around bare faced was tantamount to me running around the village and yelling 'fuck you!' to their gods. "Perhaps you could use the opportunity to take a nap?" He continued after a moment; his tone almost hesitant if I didn't know any better.
"I don't want to take a nap!" I bit out harshly as I used the snow to wash the blackened soot from my hand.
The sigh that he made sounded too big for his tiny body, and I heard his wings snapping in the air before he landed roughly on my stomach. I still grunted at the impact – though it was hardly painful – and curled my fingers around his still tender chest to shift him off of my healing side. It was slower to heal – with my magic responding sluggishly at best – but it was still healing faster than Alfhild's arm. The constant hollow feeling in my chest as my magic recuperated however, hurt much more.
Severus had told me repeatedly how lucky I was to still have magic. The thought that I could have damaged my core so severely that I would never be able to cast a spell again had left me in a dazed sort of fugue state for days. It was only after he had reassured me that since my wound was healing too quickly for a muggle, did I finally snap out of it. I couldn't bare the thought of ever being apart from my magic. It was the only thing that saved me when I was younger, the only thing that I had that was able to pull me from my mundane and horrific life at the Dursley's. I didn't know what I would have done without it.
Moving my fingers carefully around Severus' still healing ribs, I started to scratch my nails down his soft hide. He purred every time I did that but would always deny he ever made such an uncouth sound. I wondered how he didn't notice with just how loud he was purring. Honestly, his tiny little body was rumbling with the noise.
"Rest will do you some good," he replied with a gentle hum as he shifted his wings and flexed his neck to guide my fingers into the best spots. "Then maybe your footwork would not be so atrocious."
Grinding the back of my head into the snow, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm not tired," I expelled the words with a large huff. It was a lie and we both knew it. I hadn't slept well since the night of the battle. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the Magnar looking at me in horror as he bled out on the snow, the White Walker smiling at me, mocking me for what I had done.
I didn't sleep much anymore.
Severus grunted but didn't argue further. He had admonished me after what I had told him I had done, but he had also agreed with my impulsive action. The only way to save the Thenns was to eliminate their leader, and the only way to do that and get away with it, was to make it look like an accident. Severus had curled around my neck as he whispered, 'how very Slytherin of you' and I fought not to weep at the words.
He didn't mean for them to hurt, but they cut deep all the same.
After that one discussion, he never brought it up again, but I couldn't help but catch those tiny little side-eyed looks he would give me every now and then. I didn't know if he was judging me and my actions or reevaluating my character. Truthfully, I didn't want to know, so I never asked.
"It might be in your best interest to still try," he admonished. I felt my heart ache and heat in my eyes as I fought not to cry in frustration. It wasn't that I didn't want to sleep, but I simply couldn't. Before I could come up with a suitable reply, a large scaled nose was suddenly hovering over my face and I went cross eyed trying to make it out.
"Fake hunt game toss!" Solar bellowed loudly and my nose scrunched at his awful breath. I really needed to figure out a better way to brush their teeth than with a breath freshening spell. Only Guinevere actually seemed to enjoy the minty aftertaste. "Fake hunt game toss!" He insisted and I groaned in annoyance.
"No," I replied, pushing his nose from mine before curling my arm around his neck and pulling until he complied and laid down next to me, his cheek against my temple. He was still healing from the arrow wound and had been absolutely miserable in his grounding.
Honestly, Solar was worse than a child, screeching up a storm every time his siblings left to hunt and crooning mournfully until they returned. He had taken to tearing apart anything he could sink his teeth into in retaliation. The furniture and furs at the cabin had suffered heavy losses. Loboda had threatened to skin Solar if I didn't get a hold of his behavior, and had decided to use my recovery time trying to teach dragons how to play quidditch…well, a heavily adapted form of quidditch, that is.
It became apparent after the first lesson just how out of my depth I was. It only took a few minutes to give up trying to call it quidditch whatsoever. Instead, we settled for something easier and in that the name fake-hunt-game-toss was born. Not my finest moment, if I was being honest. After that, one problem after another seemed to be cropping up everywhere I turned.
With Ophelia permanently grounded and Solar temporarily – I didn't want to leave any dragon out – so I was forced to find a way to incorporate a non-flying aspect to the game. With Aslaug and Canute's help, we were able to stitch together thick bits of leather stuffed heavily with rocks for weight and dried plant bits for cushion. And then I assigned positions.
There were three whelps in the flying positions for each team, one to retrieve the ball and score, and two to protect. The fourth and final position was that of the goalkeeper, which was also the only position that didn't allow for flying. Five arches had been meticulously weaved together from young tree branches for the goals. They were staked into the ground close together on either side of the 'pitch' – it really was just an open field in the upper valley but it worked well enough – and the goalkeeper was responsible with keeping the ball away from the arches.
The whelps didn't really understand the whole point system, but they understood that every time the ball entered one of their weaved arches, they were losing. And I found out the hard way that dragons, well…dragons were sore losers.
I regretted introducing the game to the bored dragons simply for the fights it caused alone. But it did keep them entertained and away from the village. It also tired them out enough to keep them from causing mischief. Then there was the added bonus of finding a fun way to include the two grounded dragons with the others.
For a long while now, I had felt Ophelia's slowly climbing frustration with her disability and was happy that she found the game to be a good outlet for her aggression and a way to bond with her siblings. She was also completely ruthless as a goalkeeper and had tried to savage Roan's wing when he flew too close in attempt to score.
There was another problem of trying to make the dragons understand the difference between play fighting and a real threat. It became apparent quite quickly that Loki took it as a personal challenge anytime the ball was taken from him, and although Romulus, Hera, and Guinevere all had the same tail spike, only Loki was prone to use his to his advantage in ways that I thought were entirely too excessive for a fun recreational game. There was also the small dilemma of trying to get him to remember which dragons were on his side and which weren't.
The bronze either didn't understand the concept of teams or he couldn't be bothered to care. Whenever he claimed the ball in his possession, it was anyone's guess on which side of the pitch he would take it. I was thinking about using brightly colored paints to distinguish the two separate teams, but it was a project for another day…a day in which I had the use of my magic once more in order to actually make the brightly colored paints.
Now if only I could find a way to keep Loki from cheating.
"Fake hunt game toss," Solar crooned dejectedly next to my ear, puffing out a hot breath that gave me goosebumps.
"No, Solar," I replied with a sigh. "Ball is broke, I need to fix."
That was the other major issue with the game. The ball was too easily torn apart when the dragons fought over it. Another matter that I couldn't fix without magic. Solar made a little mournful sound before he settled himself fully into the snow. He curled his good wing around me, and I lifted my head to rest it on the elbow joint as his tail flicked up and flopped heavily onto my legs.
Severus snorted in annoyance as I shifted to get comfortable, but he didn't protest Solar's need for a good cuddle. The white dragon had been getting better at recognizing his little bouts of possessive fury that would come over him and he really did try hard to not let it force him into action. Severus wasn't perfect at it, and Guinevere's nose was still healing from the harsh bite he had given her when she had tried to climb on top of me the other day during bathing time, but he was getting better.
We laid in the snow for several long moments, one hand under Solar's neck and curling up to scratch along his horns, the other gently tickling down Severus' side as I finally found the peace that I had been missing since that moment where I had decided that the cost of the Magnar's life was fair trade for the lives of the other Thenns. I had almost been lolled into the nap that I had been arguing against just minutes earlier when the air was disturbed by more wings and snow was kicked up into my face as Hera and Romulus landed nearly on top of us.
Coughing at the snow that I had accidentally inhaled, I brushed the rest from my face and torso with annoyance as I sat up and glared at the two brown dragons. Romulus had the decency to duck his head in apology, but Hera only blinked at me before she started to nudge at Solar until the larger grey dragon got up and snapped lazily in her direction.
I was contemplating lying back down when Romulus' hard nose pressed into my shoulder as he tried to wiggle it under my arm. Curious at his actions, I lifted my arm, only to have him shove his head into my ribs and try to manhandle me into standing. "Stop, Romulus, stop," I laughed as he instead pushed me over onto my side and I winced as my still healing wound impacted with the ground. Severus grumbled angrily as he had to fly to safety or risk being crushed under me. "What are you doing?"
Romulus' nose was now trying to borrow between myself and the snow, lifting at me in a poor attempt to get me to stand. "Bath!" Hera shrieked loudly, nearly deafening me as her call echoed in the valley. "Bath! Bath day, yes? Bath day!"
She chirped the word for yes over and over, less like a question and more like a demand as I finally pushed Romulus' aggressive nose aside and stood to avoid him aggravating my wound further. "No, tomorrow," I replied, brushing the loose snow from my pants. "Not today, next sun."
"Bath!" She wailed flicking her tail agitatedly as Solar and Romulus both took up the cry. In the distance, I could hear the other dragons replying. Some of the calls came from the direction of the village and I worried briefly about what mischief they could be causing without me there to supervise. "Bath!" She demanded again with the other two males chorusing her shrieking.
"Alright!" I shouted to be heard over their wailing. "Alright," softer this time once they had settled down. "Bath."
They roared in triumph, Hera taking to the sky and flying straight to the village while I collected our things and started to follow on foot. Romulus toddled along next to Solar and I smiled with how gentle the brown dragon was with the unruly grey. He really was the sweetest out of them all, huddling close so Solar could use him as support when his aching shoulder tired. He reminded me of Freya, and I shook my head to rid myself of the memory. I had finally felt peace for the first time in weeks, and I wasn't going to let melancholy get the better of me.
Severus' light weight settled on my shoulder just as I reached the tree line and hunkered down close, tail around my bicep, left wing behind my neck and curling into my collar, right gripping the loose black fabric at my shoulder. It was his normal position that allowed him the best balance if I had to suddenly change course or speed and it startled me briefly when I realized just how instinctual the action was now. He would land on my shoulder, I'd tilt my head and steady my arm as he settled, and then continued on without a thought.
It was odd, never in a million years did I think I would be this comfortable with the Head of Slytherin House.
"You know you do not have to cater to their every whim?" He asked, voice pitched high in that way of his when he was particularly annoyed with something. "In fact, it might behoove you to deny them every once and a while. I have heard it is a great way to build character."
"Heard from who?" I asked, ignoring his automatic correction of whom, and continued on as if he wasn't still trying to correct my atrocious grammar. Really, it was lost cause and he should have given up long ago. "Did you read that in Witch Weekly, or one of those parenting guides on raising dragon babies?"
"Your sarcasm is something to be pitied, truly," he replied with a snort, shaking his body as if to rid himself of our conversation. "Very well, have it your way then. Spoil them until they are too big to discipline, but do not come crying to me when they start terrorizing people and eating their way across the country side because you don't have the capacity to tell them no."
"I'm not their mother, Sev," I sighed, trying to hide the little smile pulling at the corners of my lips. The once man really did have a penchant for drama. How had I never realized that before? Really, our first meeting was truly theatrical. "The best I can do is hope to guide them in the right direction and be here for them when they need me to be. Like an older sister who's gone off to college to get learnt and pretends to be worldly educated while knowing what the fuck she's doing."
Severus let out a chuffing noise that was almost bordering a laugh, but he didn't try and refute my argument.
Once we returned to the village, I flipped up my hood to hide my bare face and hurried quickly to Loboda's cabin. Exchanging the sword practicing supplies with the bathing ones, I jogged to the long hall, trying to reach it before the huddled dragons caused too much of a distraction. This was, of course, a complete failure as all eight of them were perched in front of the open doors, blocking foot traffic from entering or leaving entirely.
With a few words of apology, I ushered them inside and down the tunnel to the bathing chamber. It was occupied, but not for long. Before I had even fully stripped, the few people that had been in the process of bathing had all but shoved each other out of the way to get dressed and leave. I gave them a quick glance of apology but didn't comment on their behavior. To be honest, I sort of understood it. The whelps were unruly at the best of times, and they loved to create utter chaos during bath time.
It took me until nightfall to get them all scrubbed, dried, and fed. Afterwards, I sat on the floor of the cabin, back against the wall nearest to the fire pit as the slumbering dragons covered nearly every centimeter of floor space. The discarded towels were in a damp pile to my side, Severus sound asleep in my lap, and I found myself nodding off.
They had begged for a story as I dried their scales thoroughly. I didn't think that they could get sick from the cold like a person could, but I didn't want to take any chances. Guinevere wanted the story of the death snake, because of course she did. It was her favorite. Romulus requested the one with the game puzzles. Roan asked for any story that had adventure, whilst Hera and Gemini wanted the escape from death bringers. Loki and Ophelia had no opinion whatsoever. Solar wanted the one about their mother.
"Brood mother!" He had insisted, and after a long moment, the other dragons took up his call and I settled in to tell the story about their brave mother protecting her nest of eggs, the evil humans who chained her, and the golden egg I was tasked with retrieving. I never told the story the same twice, my feelings shifting with each retelling, but it always ended the same. Their mother died protecting her unhatched eggs and sacrificing her life and her body to see them safe.
After that one story, they begged another, and then another until the cabin was filled with their soft breathing and occasional snores. Loboda found us like that a while later. I awoke to the cold winds whipping through the cabin as he slammed the door tightly shut behind him. Another storm must have rolled in during my sleep.
He blinked at the sight, standing awkwardly by the entryway with one hand holding a bowl as he tried to figure out how best to proceed. Now that I thought about it, this was probably the first time I had all nine dragons in his home all at once.
"Do you want me to move them?" I asked softly, switching to the Old Tongue. My mouth started the words off lazily, improving by the time I got to the end of the question. I hadn't used it all day since before breakfast, and the more delicate pronunciation of my mother tongue always threw me when I switched to the more guttural language the Thenns spoke.
"No," he replied, keeping his tone low so as not to wake them. "This is for you," he gestured to the bowl and started to make his way towards me by shifting carefully around the perimeter of the cabin. Once he was close enough, he pressed the bowl into my hands and took a seat near me, copying my pose as he leaned his back against the wall. "You missed dinner."
"Sorry," I replied, shoveling a spoonful of rich stew into my mouth. I hadn't realized I was hungry until that very moment. The meat inside tasted different, tougher, and I wondered if it was from some sort of animal I hadn't eaten before. "I was very busy."
"I heard," Loboda snorted in amusement, nodding his head towards the heap of still wet towels on my other side.
I winced as I realized the water damage I was probably causing to his floors. "I'll clean that up."
Loboda just shook his head in amusement before he stood and stepped over me to gather the towels. "No, I'll do it. You eat, then rest. We have an early day tomorrow."
"Huh?" I asked, spoon between my lips as I chewed quickly. I was scooping the food into my mouth faster than I could swallow it, and it was starting to drip down my chin. Thank Merlin Severus was still asleep. He would have given me hell if he had seen my atrocious manners.
"The Magnar has been chosen," he replied as he made his way carefully over and around the slumbering dragons. "Tomorrow, at dawn, the Seer will declare the Gods will, and the new Magnar will ascend."
"Oh," I replied as he gave me one more glance and left to take care of the towels. I put the half full bowl down and stared into the flames, suddenly no longer hungry. Loboda returned a while later, frowned down at both me and the stew, but didn't say anything. Instead, he climbed into his bedding and fell promptly to sleep. I copied him, picking my way through the dragons and shoving Roan from his position on my bed. Placing Severus on my pillow, I pulled the blankets up over my ear and closed my eyes.
It took me much longer to fall asleep, and it felt like I had just reached full unconsciousness when Loboda woke me roughly by shaking my shoulder. I sat up slowly, feeling the tired pull of my overworked muscles from all the sword training, the skin tight around my still healing side, and forced myself from the warm blankets. Most of the dragons were already gone, early to rise to the hunt. Loboda must have let them out.
With minimal fussing, I allowed him to sit me down by the low burning fire pit, braid my hair and decorate my face, and then I scooped the still slumbering Severus into my arms and followed him outside. The sun hadn't yet risen and was probably still more than an hour away from doing so. Grumbling in annoyed exhaustion, I trailed after Loboda in the predawn darkness, blinking at the brightness of the torches as we wound our way passed the many buildings.
The walk was short, as Loboda was an esteemed elder and had the honor of occupying a cabin near the center of the village. I honestly could have done with a walk that was a little longer though, seeing as I still wasn't fully cognizant by the time Loboda guided me to a table and had me sit. Severus growled at me as I placed him on the wooden surface but ceased his mumblings when a servant came out soon after with leftovers from the previous night.
I was nearly finished with my stew before I realized that I sat alone. Twisting to look around, I found Loboda seated with several others at the high table beneath the Magnar's raised dais. Pressing my hand into the warm wood, I was halfway to standing when the older man frowned at me and shook his head. Blinking in confusion, I retook my seat.
It appeared that this was going to be a formal event…well, as formal as primitive people could get. But either way, as an elder, Loboda's seating appeared to be assigned. Huffing in annoyance, I grabbed my bowl to finish my stew when I discovered it empty and suspiciously clean like it had been washed…or licked.
"Seriously?" I groaned, turning to the little white dragon still perched on the ancient and scarred wood. He was licking his muzzle in a decidedly guilty way. "I could have ordered you your own." Severus did not deign to reply, and I set the bowl back onto the table with a disgusted look and wiped my suspiciously wet fingers onto my trousers. "Are you even supposed to be eating vegetables?"
He didn't reply to that either.
"Harielle!" A high cheerful voice cried out and I turned back towards the entryway doors to see Aslaug running down the inner aisle, dragging Alfhild behind her. Truly, those two girls were a blessing. They were some of the only people that hadn't treated me any different after the battle. Most looked at me like I was the second coming of Merlin…others as if they were trying to think around the logistics of how to lure me into a pyre. "You got here early!"
"Yes," I replied with a little laugh as the girl all but flung herself into the seat next to me, yanking a hardly resisting Alfhild down next to her. Her arm pressed into mine when she was getting settled, and then she left it there after. I smiled at her softly, both charmed and amused at her actions. "Loboda forced me to wake."
"That is good," Alfhild sounded tired, her tone barely invested in the conversation as she flagged down another servant. "Elder Loboda is wise. Soon, there will be no room at all."
"Truly?" I blinked, glancing around at all the open tables. Ours was the only one occupied – aside from the high table for the elders – and all eighteen tables were large enough to seat at least forty. I had never seen the hall completely full, even though I knew that there were perhaps a few thousand Thenn, maybe even close to ten thousand. Most ate within the confines of their home, and those that didn't, ate when they were hungry. Thenns weren't very particular on scheduling.
"Aye," Aslaug replied just as a bowl was set before her and another in front of her sister. Severus creeped closer, bobbing his head and swaying his tail in a suspicious manner that usually meant he was up to no good. I reached out and swept him up to my chest before he could make an attempt on Aslaug's breakfast. She was sweet and kind enough to let him get away with it too.
Severus hissed and spluttered as I flipped him onto his back and trailed my fingers down his chest and stomach, tickling him in the way I knew he hated. His thumb claws dug harshly into the meat of my palm as he righted himself, snapping his teeth at me before he settled onto my shoulder. Aslaug's watery blue eyes were big as they flicked between me and the little dragon. My brows scrunched as I took in the way she bit her lip and twitched her fingers. Alfhild was tapping her two-pronged fork on Aslaug's other side, watching us from the corner of her eye.
"Oh," I muttered in realization. "It's alright," I told them, placing my hand over Aslaug's fidgeting one. "He's just in a mood. Too early for him as well." Severus hissed a denial in my ear, but I ignored him. "How many people will be attending?" I asked to distract the sisters from whatever had caused them unease. Alfhild must have seen the damage that Severus could do during the battle – despite his small size – and told her sister. If I didn't know Severus, I would have been worried too. But I did know him, and instead I found the girls fears to be misplaced if a little sad to see.
"At least one from every family," Alfhild replied, nodding her head in my direction before turning back to her food. Her posture loosened, shoulders rolling as she took another bite. Aslaug took the silent cue from her sister and she too went back to her stew. "The hall can seat many of them, but many more will be forced to stand. If our father had lived, he would be here, and we would not," the words brought pain to my chest, but Alfhild kept talking as if it were just another fact in her life. "As I am now head of our family, it is my duty to attend. Aslaug is nearly of age, so she is here to learn."
Her eyes were looking straight ahead at a torch and her face stony. The corner of her eye twitched when she mentioned being the head of her family. After a second, she shook her braided head and went back to the stew.
"Ah," I replied, not knowing what else to say. "How long ago was the last Magnar chosen?"
"Last winter," Alfhild fluttered her hand as if dismissing the concept of time.
"Right," I drawled the word, confused. I could have sworn that Loboda had said that the last Magnar had ruled for ten years and a half. I didn't know if he meant ten and a half years, or ten years and half that again to make fifteen. Not wanting to seem ignorant, I hadn't questioned him, but I was now regretting that decision. "And how long ago was that?"
It had to be close to summer now, by my best guess. Surely it couldn't have been a year already though…could it? Though, the days were growing colder now that I thought about it.
"Oh, I forget you are so young," Alfhild looked at me in surprise, blinking her eyes hurriedly even as they traced over the markings on my skin. "You wouldn't have been alive last winter." Wait…what? "That would have been," she paused and looked up as she moved her lips without speaking. "Ten and six years, if I remember correctly."
"Ten and six…" I spoke slowly, as if somehow that would force the words to make more sense. She couldn't possibly mean sixteen years ago, could she?
"Yes," Alfhild nodded slowly, before using her finger to show me the count, believing that my understanding of her language was causing the confusion. She really did mean sixteen years. What the fuck?
"Alfhild?" I asked cautiously, suddenly very worried about her answer. "What season are we in?"
"Oh, we are in the first year of autumn," Aslaug replied for her as her sister returned to eating. "Summer lasted for ten years; can you believe that? Ten! Father said that a long summer could only mean we could be in for an even longer winter. I guess he will never know now," her tone dropped as she recalled the recent death of her father.
"Ten?" I choked on the word, unable to process what I was hearing nor registering Aslaug's grief. It was perhaps unkind of me, but I couldn't pull my mind away from the thought of a ten-year summer. Just imagining being stuck at the Dursley's for ten years grounded my thoughts to a halt.
Before I could ask any further questions, our stilted conversation came to an end as the hall started to fill rapidly. The low buzz of chatter filled the tables and soon the long hall was so packed that I was forced from my seat and instead chose to copy the two sisters in sitting on the table itself while some smaller children took our space.
Thenns weren't big on propriety and proper decorum either.
Severus' disgusted grumblings brought a small smile to my lips as I glanced around for familiar faces. He was muttering quietly into my ear, but he wasn't speaking loud enough for me to hear him over the idle chatter. He was probably thinking upon the bombshell that had just been dropped upon us. A ten-year summer…they couldn't mean that literally, could they?
The laughter of children drew my attention and I shifted my legs to give them more room. I knew almost all of the kids, as the dragons were a popular commodity to them. If I weren't actively doing something – and sometimes when it was very obvious that I was, in fact, in the middle of doing something – the children would crowd around to bombard me with questions. If a dragon happened to actually be in the village, then I could get no work done at all. I was exceedingly popular with the little ones…less so with their parents.
I recognized Elsi, a tiny girl with bright blue eyes and long flowing brown curls. She was usually the ringleader in all the games and the first to get the courage to approach me to ask if the dragons would eat them. She was also the first to ask if she could ride one. The look of utter heartbreak and betrayal when I told her that she could not, almost tore my heart in two. That girl had a devastating frown.
Haddi, her only slightly younger brother, was a lot less bold but would still follow her everywhere. A Hufflepuff to her Gryffindor.
Orri was the oldest in the group and had the most interesting genetic hiccup. One eye was blue while the other was green. The others told him that meant he was magic, but he found it to be rather troublesome and only caused him annoyance when brought up in conversation.
The boy was too serious for his age, but he had lost both his parents during the last hunt they had gone on. He was living with another couple that had lost their only child to a cough, but the boy seemed too subdued from the emotional upheaval. Elsi had taken it upon herself to socialize Orri and keep him participating with the group. Once, I had even seen him smile.
Then there were the triplets. Addý, Gía, and Níní were absolute hellions. Perhaps only four or five, the three girls were like tiny little monsters of destruction. I pitied their poor mother.
I didn't see any of the other children I knew but didn't think much upon it. It was likely that one parent had decided to stay home with theirs…or they were misbehaving. There was also the possibility that there was still some sort of class system that the Thenns had that I still wasn't aware of. It did seem like some children were allowed more privileges than others, but I hadn't been able to quite put my finger on exactly what it was.
Glancing around, I straightened my posture and did all I could to see over the crowd without actually standing upon the table. There had to be over a thousand people packed into the long hall, maybe even closer to two. Many were seated on the tabletops, others on the benches, and twice that again were standing packed close together.
"Sev, do you see Canute?" Severus snorted a hot puff of breath in my ear that caused my skin to prickle, but once again he ignored me. "Never mind," I grumbled, catching the sight of Canute's mother, but not the boy himself. He probably hadn't been invited either.
I could see the goat woman near one of the standing torches by Canute's mother. She was conversing with the same man that patrolled the inner wall where Loboda's cabin was positioned. On the other side of the hall, I could just make out the man who attended the horse stables, a boy stood next to him, and I believed he took care of the hunting dogs, but I wasn't certain. Along the tables I spotted various villagers I knew in passing, but none I was really close with. I didn't get much further in my search of familiar faces before there was a loud banging sound from the back of the hall and everyone became silent.
It was quieter than when Dumbledore had called the names of the Triwizard Champions.
Two elders came to the front of the dais, standing on either side of the empty wooden throne as the old and gnarled Seer exited her tunnel and made her way up the wooden steps. She was too far away to smell that horrible stench that clung to her, but even still I felt my nose twitch.
In one hand she held that same ritual blade she used to take my blood…the same blade she used to carve into Alfhild's face. In the other was a twisted staff, as gnarled, weathered, and old as she. It was white with red fabric wrapped around where her hand gripped it. On the very top was a skull. It looked human, but smaller. At first, I thought it was the skull of a child, but soon realized that that couldn't be right. The cheeks were too high, the eye sockets too big, the teeth too sharp.
The Seer banged the butt of the stick against the wooden platform seven times, and then she turned to the gathered crowd, grinning with her blackened teeth. "The Gods have been beseeched," she began, her voice carrying throughout the entire hall despite the fact that she spoke no louder than a whisper. "And the Gods have answered. They have chosen the new Magnar of the Thenns!"
There was a loud but short cheer that rumbled through the hall like thunder. The Seer banged her staff twice and silence dropped over the crowded hall like a vail. "Styr, step forward!"
I flinched back as if slapped as the man who had caused me so much difficulty ascended the steps with a cruel twist of a smile. Surely, he couldn't be the new Magnar? There was no possible way! He was couth, uncaring, lewd, and callous…he was an asshole. Well, so was the last Magnar now that I think about it. But their gods couldn't have chosen him.
"The Gods have chosen you to lead the Thenns!" The Seer proclaimed, stamping her staff on the wooden dais with every few words she spoke. I was wrong, so very wrong. How could this man, this cruel and awful man, be the next Magnar? "Do you accept this honor?"
Those around me waited with bated breath for his answer. "I do," he replied, and I felt my insides twist at the words. Severus' thumb claws were digging into my braided hair, tugging painfully on the strands, but I hardly noticed.
"Will you lead the Thenns to victory in every battle, protect the valley and its people, and kill any enemies that may challenge you?"
"I do."
"Will you listen to the will of the Gods, swear to fight to uphold their beliefs, and kill those that defy them?" Her voice rattled and croaked, near breaking with each word as my heart thudded in my chest.
"I do."
"Will you do your duty as Magnar of the Thenns in this life until your death?"
"I do."
"Then prostrate yourself before the Gods," the Seer nodded to the two elders on either side of her as she thrust the knife into the closest torch. Styr knelt on the wooden steps, holding his arms aloft to either side. The elders seized his arms, gripping tight as the ritual blade turned red hot and the Seer approached him.
Styr did not scream, or grunt, or make any sort of noise of distress as the Seer carved into his face. I could smell his flesh burning from two tables away and nearly gagged myself. My eyes were pinched closed at the sight, nauseous at the very thought of what they were doing, and I nearly bolted from the table to escape the hall. Only Aslaug's hand slipping into my surprisingly clammy one stopped me.
"It's almost over," she whispered in my ear and I nodded quickly to show that I heard her. "It's almost over," she repeated, and I have never felt more grateful to her than right then as she moved close enough to me as to be nearly hugging. Her hair was in my face, and all I smelled was that spicy shampoo that the Thenns used, the scent of burning flesh already fading to memory.
"You came before the Gods as a warrior, now arise as a Magnar," the Seers voice rang out loudly over the quiet and suddenly everyone was cheering so loud that my ears ached with it.
Aslaug nudged me to join and I opened my eyes cautiously, taking in the packed hall and its celebrating people. The Seer was grinning her black grin, bloody blade in hand. And there stood the new Magnar with fresh wounds on his face that seemed not to pain him at all.
Styr's cold blue eyes met mine over the cheering crowd, and his lips twisted into a smile so vicious, I felt a chill crawl down my spine.
