Chapter VII – The Cold

A pristine snow covered the grass and stone that made up the mountaintops. The trees were barren year-round, for they were forever stuck in an endless winter. To many, this cold would be enough to deter them from entering even the most outer regions of Valkenheim. For Stolt Sverð, however, the snow, the empty trees, and all that was encompassed by this winter was his home. He had lived here in these mountains for all his life, and he did not plan on leaving it behind for warmer pastures.

Stolt stood there in the cold with his arms crossed. He was thinking. He occasionally did this: standing in the cold just thinking. He only did it in either the case of bad news or if he was having an argument with his wife. Even though the latter was rare, it happened. However, in this case, it was more of the former.

He had just returned from a long hunting trip when he was confronted by a young man who wore the mark of Ólafur Björn, the reigning Jarl over the area. The young lad had come with a message from the Jarl—a message that called upon a past treaty between Stolt and Ólafur.

"Jarl Björn calls for you in Vonsgård." The boy had said to the Highlander. Stolt had just let out a long sigh, his breath visible in the extremely colt temperatures. Ólafur and Stolt had known each other for a long time, though they would hesitate to call each other "friends." Due to a past event that the Highlander had blocked out of his mind, there was an understood debt that he had to pay. Stolt pressed his eyes shut and remembered the painful memories.

He opened them moments later, but they were now absent of any positive emotion. Instead, they were filled with determination for his people and his family. In a quiet but strong voice that seemed to echo off his surroundings, Stolt opened his mouth and spoke three fateful words:

"I will come."

Stolt stood in complete silence when he clutched his claymore tightly, his eyes surveying the snowy landscapes before him. The Highlander stood there on a ledge that overlooked the Valley of Hel—an expansive chasm that went down so far that a thick darkness prevented any from seeing its base. It was an old myth that the great Jarls of the past would throw the bodies of their enemies into the crevice as a way to force their souls to go to the underworld.

The Highlander breathed in heavily, feeling the crispy air in his nostrils. His eyes gazed down to the seemingly endless pit that was the Valley of Hel. He often wondered if the stories he had heard as a child were true—all those about the gods. He would often wonder if there was a Hel, or if there was a Valhalla for that matter. He had given up his beliefs in these gods a long time ago, but he could not help but wonder if he was wrong to.

Stolt's thoughts were broken as the sounds of leaves and twigs breaking beneath heavy boots could be heard behind him. The man did not turn; instead, he let out another heavy sigh.

"Stolt, my friend." Ólafur's deep voice grabbed the attention of Stolt, even though he already held it somewhat. A smile crept on the corners of Stolt's mouth. Somehow, Ólafur could feel it.

"It's been long, but perhaps not long enough." The Highlander mentioned as his companion walked up to stand next to him.

"With that attitude, I'd agree." Ólafur scoffed. He crossed his arms and sighed, letting the two stand there in silence for a few moments.

"Why'd you leave the stone walls of Vonsgard for the wilds of the White Hills?" Stolt asked. The White Hills was home to Stolt. In fact, it was rare for him to go out of its boundaries. Still, when Ólafur's brown eyes locked with his own bright green, he could not help but feel his heart beat slower and the world around him go silent.

"I've not come to chat with an old friend." Ólafur's eyes were firm and cold, conveying little emotion other than the perceived anger that one could see in them, but that was mostly just a defense mechanism that the Raider frequently employed.

"I was afraid of that." The Highlander blinked hard, remembering back to that debt. He could have probably denied the request from Ólafur to come here to the Valley of Hel, but there would be no honor in that. And if it was one thing that Stolt refused to live without, it was honor.

"I did not want it to come down to this, but I must ask you for a favor." The Jarl said, his voice coated in a thin layer of brokenness. "I love you as a brother… but I cannot do this alone."

"Do not say such things lest the gods hear your vulnerability." Stolt demanded, listening to the almost tearful confession from one of the more powerful men in Valkenheim. It was a strange thing for a man to cry. It was demanded of all Vikings that they hold steadfast and leave the crying for the women and children. But when the great Jarl Björn stood there next to a friend with salty tears, Stolt could not help but feel bad for the man.

"No, no., I must confess these things." Ólafur responded, all but wiping the tears from his eyes. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. "My girl… she has been struck with a great illness, and I fear for her life."

"Enough to bring any man to his knees in front of the great goddess of Hel." Stolt mentioned, glancing towards the deep valley as he did so.

"Indeed." The Raider replied, finally wiping the salty liquids from his face. "But I fear that it is deeper than a simple illness. I fear that a man has involved himself in my family, and I fear that he plans to destroy it."

The Highlander raised an eyebrow in response. It was not uncommon for enemies to attack rulers through wicked means, but it was downright evil in Stolt's eyes to attack a young girl. A girl not even strong enough to raise a sword.

"I ask of you to find this man and bring him to his knees." Ólafur said, his voice growing more and more enraged as he spoke more. "But do not kill him. I want him here before me. I want to do the act myself."

Stolt stood in silence for a moment. He thought back to his family, his mind straying to his little children. He could not imagine the horrific things he would do to someone who would harm them. As a bear kills prey for her cubs, he would kill the damned bastard who would try to do wicked things to his own children, or maybe he would give them a fate worse than death. And if he would do these things, who is he to say that another man would not do the same for his own children?

"A debt must be paid." The Highlander finally spoke up after a few moments of thinking. He looked at Ólafur in the eyes once again. Seeing the pain in the Raider's eyes, Stolt's face could have turned to stone and it would still have more happiness than him. "But this is not the time to pay it. I will do this thing for you, and I will do it out of my own anger and empathy for you, my friend. I shall find this heinous man, and I will bring him before you so that you may enact your own vengeance against him."

Ólafur's eyes seemingly searched Stolt's for any sign of deception. Finding none, the tears immediately began to dry up. He gave a silent nod and turned to look at the Valley of Hel. He would hope that he could personally throw the bastard into the echoey chamber of unending misery.

The friends stood there for a long moment in the cold in complete silence, not a single word or sound being uttered from either one of them. Vengeance was on the horizon, and they could both feel it.

So… that one was pretty short, huh? I didn't want to add any unnecessary things to the chapter, and I felt as though that was a perfect place to conclude. Also, I felt pretty bad about the two-month gap between the last two chapters. Hey! You should just be happy that you got two chapters in one month!

Anyway, I forgot to mention it in last chapter's A/N, but our friendly Eichii was created by MakeMeOrBreakMe. In this chapter, we see the introduction of Stolt, a Highlander created by GuyWhoReads3003.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to review, follow, favorite, all that shizz if you'd want.