Chapter 26 The Battle of the Misty Sea
twenty-six
The Battle of the Misty Sea
Njord
He lay awake long after Thori’s breath had evened out, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
Moonlight filtered through the balcony doors, casting silvery shadows across Thori’s skin. In sleep, one could almost mistake Thori of the thunder for a mortal man, sweet and innocent, his lips slightly parted and his hand splayed on Njord’s chest.
He was beautiful.
And dangerous.
The collar should have muted his godly powers to nothing, but Thori had offered his thunder like a shiny new sword fresh from the blacksmith’s forge.
Another thing that should be impossible.
Gods did not share their power. And Thori was supposed to be a clueless warrior, not a man who wielded seier in a way Njord didn’t even understand.
You have grown fond of him.
Njord could feel the fabric between the worlds ripple, and then Jokull’s claws scraped over the stones of the balcony. She wasn’t quite corporeal; her white-blue scales glossy and translucent, and she slipped right through the closed doors with the whispering sound of ice crystals chiming together.
You honor me with your presence, Jokull of the Ice Fields, Njord deflected, unwilling to discuss his foolish obsession with a man he could never truly have.
But right now, Thori was naked and curled up against his side.
Jokull’s split tongue darted out, scenting the air, and she bared her teeth in a dragonish smile as she tasted the smell of their lovemaking.
You’ve finally mated.
A complicated mixture of shame and pride twisted in Njord’s gut. He knew Jokull wouldn’t have minded if he fucked Thori Odinsson; this echo of her certainly didn’t, but—
You don’t understand, old friend. This isn’t about revenge anymore.
Jokull uttered that high-pitched chirping sound that meant she was snickering.
I understand perfectly. As I said, you’ve grown fond of him.
I did.
And he’s fond of you.
He accepted my punishment. Offered me his thunder to wield.
A noble gesture.
He’s noble at heart. Betrayal isn’t in his nature.
Jokull snickered again.
I wonder if Frigga was always faithful to her husband.
Njord couldn’t suppress a small laugh of his own, gathering Thori closer.
Why did you come tonight? Am I going to join you soon?
Floating closer, Jokull hovered above them, her huge, intelligent eyes shining like jewels.
We’ll see each other again. But I’m here to say goodbye to you in this form and place and to ensure that you don’t tear yourself apart with shame and grief.
Is there any better revenge on Odin than to keep his firstborn son with you, willing and happy?
Look at him. I bet those foolish Aesir weren’t exactly kind to him.
Looking down at Thori’s sleeping form, Njord could only nod.
Odin’s firstborn. A lot of pressure. Never enough, no matter what he does, Jokull continued. No wonder he’s so keen on proving himself worthy to you.
Njord gave a low grunt of agreement.
So this is goodbye?
For now.
Reaching out, Njord’s hand found Jokull’s snout, fingertips tingling as they slipped right through her essence.
Promise me to get over your grief. Promise me to live well again, Jokull rumbled.
Njord’s eyes prickled treacherously.
Goodbye for now, old friend. I promise to do what I can to relish the gift of this life.
Jokull’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 of Hel, 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.”
“Jokull,” 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 Jokull.
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.
Thori blinked at him, clearly confused, and it was probably unwise to explain to him, but Njord found himself talking anyway.
“She accepts your offering, and she forgives you.”
“What?”
I forgive you, Njord was too cowardly to say, because if Thori begged him to let him return to his siblings in Asgard right now, he wouldn’t be able to refuse.
“You’re brave. And so noble. And Jokull forgives you.”
Thori’s eyes went bright with unshed tears, but before Njord could pull him close and return the favor of comforting him, he felt something shift in the air around the fortress, a dreadful presence he knew all too well.
Svanhild had arrived. He could feel her aura staining the waves of his beautiful ocean.
He pulled Thori in, both hands framing his face, kissing him hard.
“Svanhild is here. We need to prepare.”
Thick fog seemed to smother Nóatún, worse than the night the n?kken had come to hunt, a thick gray shroud bringing the scent of decaying earth and muddy water.
The scent of the Bog Mother’s domain.
Njord stood on the battlements watching wave after wave of gray clouds roll against Nóatún’s rocks. Below him, the fortress prepared for siege, warriors settling in on the battlements, and ships being moved into defensive positions in the harbor below.
The fog swallowed the sun that had barely risen above the horizon, diminishing the very light of morning, and Njord could sense Sveinn’s fleet sailing toward Nóatún, the same way he felt all things that moved upon the water and below. A disturbance in the ocean’s breath, in the rhythm of waves.
He didn’t hear movement behind him, but he felt a familiar golden presence approaching. Njord turned and promptly froze.
He’d seen Thori in ceremonial armor and in rags, beautiful under any circumstances, but now in full battle armor, wearing Njord’s colors as if he actually belonged to his house, Thori looked divine and dangerous in equal measures.
He’d asked Hildur to help Thori dress for battle, and she’d stretched the limits of Njord’s order by offering Thori a pick of weapons.
Carrying an ax and sword, Thori looked like he’d risen from the old sagas, and Njord was overcome by a surge of protectiveness and hope.
He’d make sure Thori stayed safe during the battle.
They would defeat the Bog Mother, and then he’d bring Ahti and Vellamo back.
But if they found his sister and her wife, they’d find Thori’s parents too.
Frigga would offer ransom and beg him to return her son to Asgard, and eventually Thori would ask him, too, and no matter how much Njord wanted to keep him, he couldn’t.
He couldn’t bind Thori of the thunder forever, neither as a thrall nor as a captive chieftain bound by magical chains and political necessity.
But Norns, how he wished things were different.
“Are we going to send Sveinn and his fleet to feed your fish, Shipbreaker?”
Thori’s eyes sparkled with a ferocity that made Njord want to do things to him that were highly inappropriate when preparing for battle.
“We are.” He extended a hand in invitation. “Are you still sure you want to share your power?”
“I’m sure.”
Thori took Njord’s hand like taking a vow, earnestly and charged with meaning.
“My colors suit you,” Njord blurted.
Thori smirked, always craving flattery.
“I can make do with your Vanir armor.”