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Chapter Text

THIRTY-SEVEN YEARS BEFORE

Five years ago today, you were born at midnight.

You are sitting at Mother’s feet as she recounts the story to you, the fireplace crackling gently behind the weathered old rocking chair she sits in, the one that is older than even Revna, who stands opposite her, tending to the fire while pretending not to listen in. You’ve both heard this story a hundred times, but the fervor from which it leaves Mother’s lips has drawn her children in, and you sit up enthusiastically to ask her what happened next.

You know, of course. You were born silent into the cold air, and for a moment it felt like the world had held its breath. Then, you opened your eyes, and you wailed. No matter how many times she tells the story, the aftermath is the same sort of dance. You remain transfixed by your own existence, Mother sews a small rip in one of Kåre’s nightshirts with nimble fingers, and your sister loudly claims that she remembers every moment of your birth. Your mother playfully contradicts her, reminding her that she was barely two years old when you came to be. Revna refuses to relent, and your mother lets it be with a gentle laugh.

You climb onto Mother’s lap to embrace her. Revna, not wanting to be excluded, wraps her arms around the both of you. Kåre and father are fast asleep, for they will be going out to town early tomorrow. Your mother’s hand tentatively comes to rest on her stomach. The stars align for you and you alone.

THIRTY-TWO YEARS BEFORE

Ten years ago today, you were born at midnight.

You are sitting at the small wooden dinner table across from Mother, and she is telling you why your big brother cannot be home with you for this birthday. She’s exhausted, you can see it in her eyes and in her calloused hands. You may be young, but you are perceptive, and your sharp eyes do not miss her suffering.

She repeats your name, checking for your understanding. There’s no need. You know. Kåre is a Trygg, and thus, he was born to serve. And you, by extension, must serve someday as well. Mother’s tired face stretches into a tight smile, and she praises you for your intelligence.

She tells you that Kåre is doing alright and that he wishes he could dine with you all tonight. You doubt she’s heard from your brother at all. The moment he turned fifteen, he got as far away from the house as possible. Father and Kåre never agreed once, but your mother had managed to get them to come to a consensus that he had to leave, and thus, he was gone. You miss him, of course, but for three more years, you have Revna. Then, it will be you, then Ulf, and finally Yrsa. You know how things work. You will make no attempt to change fate’s design.

You explain this to Mother because you want her to be proud of you again, but instead, she looks sad. At once, the look is gone, and she’s standing up from her seat, groaning with effort before her gaze falls upon you, still seated and waiting for her direction. She sighs quietly before telling you to go to bed.

TWENTY-SIX YEARS BEFORE

Sixteen years ago today, you were born at midnight.

You are not allowed to go home, but a small pastry is wheeled to the door of your room on a cart, left with a small knock and no card. Today marks one year since you’ve lived in this palace, your older siblings having long taken to their duties in service of the royal family. You’ve gotten the hang of things very quickly. It didn’t take long for the more seasoned maidstaff to realize that you were naturally adept at cleaning and quickly employ you to do the jobs that no one else wanted to do. To avoid issues for your father, you learned to do what you are told without complaint, no matter how unsavory the work.

Cleaning wasn’t something you considered a chore, and you’d long put the leisure of childhood behind you, but it still came as a surprise when you were given enough of the day off to take a small nap. You were not permitted to open the curtains in your quarters, but settled for reading a novel by flickering candlelight. Dinner passed without fanfare before your unexpected summons.

Your brother is beside the steward’s desk, seemingly keeping watch as she scrawls something unintelligible onto the parchment in front of her. You are unable to hide the way your demeanor changes at the sight of a familiar face, but he does not spare you a passing glance despite the way his hand twitches slightly at his side. The woman barely looks up as she beckons you in before signaling for Kåre to leave. When his eyes finally meet yours, they are wide with an emotion that you do not recognize.

You aren’t sure if he’s trying to warn you of impending danger, but you tentatively sit down before the distracted woman. You clear your throat, gently, and her quill stops. She sighs deeply, as if your presence is an inconvenience to her despite her being the one who requested it in the first place.

“Hello, miss. May I ask the reason behind my summons?” You question politely. She looks at you for the first time since you’ve entered the room with an expression that you’ve come to recognize as disgust. It does not phase you. People may believe what they want to about your kind, your family. It has nothing to do with your work.

She scoffs before responding as if your very reasonable question is ridiculous. “I’ve been told to tell you that your duties are going to change.”

“Change?” Every Trygg child’s duties are different and specifically tailored to their personality, but you had been told that yours were likely to stay the same indefinitely as Revna was better suited for diplomatic matters than you. Revna, a vision at only eighteen, with large green eyes and utterly subservient. They wanted her to handle those matters because she’d always make the choice that saved them the most trouble. You, it seemed, were born with a seed of ambition, one they proposed would be your undoing.

“I believe that is what I said.” The woman sighed, running a hand through her honey-blond hair, exposing the sharp points of her ears. Your brows furrowed for a moment, remembering her earlier treatment of you. You figured it was likely projection, a manifestation of her own self-hatred. She quickly marked something on her paper, covering it up after noticing you squinting in an attempt to read it.

“The queen is pregnant.”

You leave her office briefed on what you are meant to do. In almost four years’ time, you will raise a child. It is your job to make sure the safety of this heir is not compromised in any way. You will fend off any attackers. You will not take any risks. And lastly, you are to protect them with your life. Your life, a mere meaningless sixteen years, one that will extend far beyond its natural capacity. You will make something of it while maintaining your orders.

It is nearly midnight, and your day draws to a close. In four months, the stardust scattered around the universe will converge, and a new star will be born.

TWENTY-ONE YEARS BEFORE

Twenty-one years ago, you were born at midnight.

Princess Frigga is not at all the child you thought you were going to take care of. It does not matter to you. She has quickly wormed her way into your heart regardless. The child is fidgeting with the hem of her bedsheets as you sit in a small chair beside her bed, storybook propped open on your lap. You read the words on the page in a soft, monotone voice in a vain attempt to lull her to sleep. She seems to only grow more restless as the remaining pages dwindle.

“I don’t like this.” She cuts you off before you can turn the page. Almost four, and already her tongue is an icy weapon. But this time, she means no harm. Never will she mean any harm towards you. “Tell me another story.”

You shut the book gently. Frigga is impatient, but all children are. It’s a miracle that she let you get far enough into the tedious children’s storybook as she did. But this sort of reaction was new. “What story would you like to hear?”

She thinks for a moment, small hands twisting the plush sheets further. Her eyes meet your own, a smile splitting her chubby cheeks. “Mine.”

You take a breath. You already know how to begin.

“Four years ago, the brightest star in the sky flickered to life…”

Chapter Text

Twenty years before, a star died, not through a fantastic supernova blast, but with a cough and a sputter before plummeting to its demise. Fate is cruel and immutable. 

It isn’t anything new. The stone forest may harbor unknown danger, but you are strong despite your size. They trust you. You wouldn’t dare let them down. You couldn’t live with yourself if anything happened to the princess. Plus, it’d only give them another grudge to hold against your kind. 

The little girl is rambunctious. She pulls you along through the forest, giggles bouncing off of the stones around you as you attempt to keep up with her youthful gait. She’s curious, asking you about every little thing around you to the point where you begin to make things up in order to see her reaction. She knows that you’re embellishing details in order to keep her attention, but that’s what makes it fun. You’re in the midst of explaining what an oddly shaped rock means when you are interrupted by an odd sort of bird’s call. 

Ever-inquisitive, the child asks you what it is. For once, you aren’t sure, and you cannot make up any bizarre backstory for it. The only thing left to do is to find out for yourself. Frigga follows you, your footsteps on the forest floor echoing as you follow the sound. The breeze is cold, so cold. Frigga shivers. You say nothing. Amidst the foliage, there is a cage, and within it, a bird.

A raven, feathers as dark as the endless night. The sight of you seems to set it off, wings beating against its body as it attempts to fight the confines of its cage. You don’t know how it got there. You don’t know why it has transfixed you. Moreover, a beautiful sort of flower has begun to bloom around it. You reach out to touch the petals tentatively, watching with an unfounded fear as one falls to the forest floor and quickly pull your hand away. You turn around, and in a nanosecond, the weight of gravity collapses the brightest star. Frigga is gone. 

Panic shoots through you, the sensation of pure unadulterated fear coursing through your veins from your fingertips to your toes. You plead with yourself to stay calm despite the urge to fall to your knees. You follow the breeze in the direction that the child must have headed. Behind you, the croak of a raven rang through the trees.

Weaving in and out of monoliths, you call the princess’ name over and over, hoping that the wind will carry back her response as it rustles the trees. The forest is not quiet, but it is not alive either. This is the sort of place where things go to die. 

You are beckoned by a clearing. Every sound echoes within this place, yet here it is utterly silent, surrounded by stone.

“Frigga!” You call. The child is silent.

“Where are you?” You cry. The child is silent.

“Please.” You beg. The wind is silent. 

The stones will be your judge, jury, and executioners. You are trapped. There is nowhere to go in any direction. You collapse, crumpling to your knees as sobs rack your small body, hands twisting in the fabric of your dress until your knuckles turn white. The only noise here is you, your pathetic groveling, not unlike a dog. Then, a thud from behind the rocks. 

If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one to hear the impact, did it ever fall at all? The same is true for the death of a star. If we cannot see it flicker out, it may as well still be alive and burning. Were you not in that clearing, the silence of the forest would have remained undisturbed. Your ears perk up at the sound. A conclusion is drawn. The star is dead.

You are the sole attendee of the funeral. You look on, horrified, as Frigga lies face down on the ground, beautiful dress stained with the dirt of the forest, pale hair splayed out around her like a halo. A mysterious sprout of some sort is opposite her, some of its roots visible above the ground. They seem to be reaching out towards her. You disregard it. You’re unable to restrain the panicked yelp that leaves your throat as you quickly fall to your hands and knees attempting to turn the small child over. To your extreme relief, she is still breathing, and seems to only be unconscious. 

With cold fingers, you press against her pulse point. Her heart beats slower than normal, but she is certainly still alive. You clutch her wrist in an attempt to check the pulse there, but to your bewilderment, her small fist is closed. You try to gently open it to find out what is enclosed within, but it is clenched tight. You end up having to wrench it open. Inside, is a small luminous stone, one whose glow immediately dissipates upon leaving her grasp. You drop it, terrified, and it lands in her open palm. It immediately closes around the stone. 

You call Frigga’s name, but she does not stir. Her breathing is still slow, and you realize with great disappointment and fear that the movement of her hand must have been subconscious. Barely thinking straight, you hoist her limp body into your arms and quickly head out of the forest. You think you hear the call of a raven behind you, but you must be mistaken. Out here, there is only silence, and no flowers bloom in the court of stone. 

You take the fallout, shouldering the barrage of stardust the best as you can. What else are you supposed to do? It was your fault, entirely. Your mind played a trick on you. Your throat is hoarse. Frigga lays in bed, her face pale as ash and body as still as the dead. Her hand remains closed. They’d disregarded you when you told them what you found. They considered your neglect one of the many faults of your kind. You took it with a heavy heart. 

Frigga wakes up, but your problems are not solved. She is alive, but something within her has died. She carries a heaviness in her eyes that no child her age should bear. The power she once held at her fingertips has been extinguished. All of the wishes, all of the dreams that were laid out before her have been ground to ash beneath your oblivious foot. The Queen’s anger is ruthless and entirely justified. You quake beneath her iron will. Your execution has been set in stone. You are not afraid because you deserve it. The forest was so, so cold, and Frigga saw something there that day that you will never understand. You will never know what resided within the recesses of the forest, but you cannot shake the suspicion that Frigga was chosen for a reason.

You bow before the queen, hands trembling as you accept your fate. Your brother looks upon you like you are dust. Then, a shout from the corner of the room. Hysteria in the form of green eyes and short blonde hair. Revna tumbles in like the wind as she falls to her knees before the queen, begging for forgiveness on your behalf. You speak her name, but she does not stop. The queen’s will is as stolid as ice, unchanging, unwavering. “You cannot save her now. What is done is done.”

Revna is quiet for a moment, tears streaming down her cheeks before she finds the gall to stare down the queen. The words are almost inaudible, but a bargain nonetheless. “Take me instead.”

You learn then that it matters not to the queen that you get what you deserve, as long as someone pays for what happened to the princess. An eye for an eye, a leg for a leg. To ashes you will return. 

You are not to get off scot-free. You are made to watch. The guards stand close, making sure you will not make any sort of vain attempt to save your sister. You make no move to entertain the thought, and in their minds, your selfishness is cemented. This is your punishment. You will never be absolved of your wrongdoing. Before your eyes, the green-eyed light of the sun is vanquished. Somewhere in the distance, the hoarse croak of a raven rings out. Then, silence. Your face twists in what seems like a mockery of anguish. You are not allowed to grieve. This is your fault. “String the sinner by her wings,” whispers the guard behind you. 

You have not been forgiven, but they need you more than they’d like to admit. Frigga sits before the window, watching the constant glow of the moon, unchanging, unwavering. Tonight, there are no stars, and as you stand behind her, an intricately carved wooden hairbrush in hand, all you can see in the windowpane is your own reflection. Your eyes are sunken, the blue dulled by sadness and exhaustion. You appear as a shell of who you once were. The candlelight flickers, and something is on the tip of your tongue. You clutch the hairbrush tighter until your knuckles turn white. Better not to ask. Frigga continues to mutter to herself, a mantra of sorts repeated over and over since judgment day. “There will come a poet…” 

You tune it out. It is nothing but background noise in the grand scheme of things. The child is your responsibility. You failed once, you will not allow it to happen again. Frigga will grow up and want for nothing as long as she is under your guidance. But you will not raise her the way they want. Your only attempt at protest is to allow her to grow up to be who she wants to be. Fortune’s design may prove it impossible, but you are as hopeful as you are tired, and you have many, many years ahead of you. You’ll make it work somehow. 

“Whose weapon is his word.” Frigga continues in a whisper as you brush her hair. This time, you listen, because you sense she wants to tell you something. Your heartbeat sounds like the wings of a caged raven. False prophets are to be denounced, but the child is real, but the last star in the universe has died with you as the sole witness. You glance at the princess in the windowpane. Her face is flat, pale eyes fixed ahead of her with a certain dullness that makes something inside your chest twist. You look until you cannot bear to any longer. 

“Hlin.” She prompts the moment you look away. You hum in response. “Are you listening?” You take a deep breath. You nod. She continues. You brush her hair. The moon falls to the dust from which it was born. There’s not a star in the sky tonight.

You’ve now witnessed the death of a star, not through a fantastic supernova blast, but with a cough and a sputter before plummeting to its demise. Fate is cruel and immutable. 

Starlight is bitter to the taste and heavy on your tongue. You draw your blade. 

Frigga has changed considerably in the four years since the incident. She is quick to speak, the venom of ice spilling from her mouth like blood unchecked. Her wit will be appreciated in the future, but for now she is simply difficult, and she is written off as someone else’s problem. That someone else being you, of course. 

Frigga is treated like a burden, but to you, she is the only thing that matters. At nine years old, she is strong, and she is mature. You cannot shake the feeling that there is an old soul trapped inside her mind like a caged bird. You want to free her, but you’re not sure how. You come to an epiphany that teaching her to defend herself is the best choice. 

Your knowledge of the sword is extensive. Your mother made sure that Revna and you were prepared for every situation, and although you had taken to the art much quicker than she, your sister had the enthusiasm and the drive to learn. At the end of the day, your talent meant nothing, and spelled out your own demise. When you look back at your sword, your sister’s name merely a whisper on your lips, your blade is drenched in blood. Frigga calls, anxious to get on with the lesson. You let the weapon fall to the ground, listening as it clatters before turning towards the girl. 

She’s holding a sword of her own, cleanly polished and freshly sharpened by the city’s smith, but her grip is entirely incorrect. You don’t chastise her, instead gently correcting her placement before guiding her stance to what is proper for one of her stature. She’s almost taller than you by now, making the task slightly more difficult, but you know what you’re doing. You step back, analyzing your work, before nodding approvingly. The moment you turn your back, she shifts her grip back to the way it was before. A small spark of annoyance crosses your face, but you say nothing.

“When do we get to spar?” The princess asks, ever-impatient. You have zero intentions of creating a monster, and you decide to take things slow, much slower than the art had been taught to you. Her innate nature is chaos, but channeling it through well-paced lessons would likely be a more productive way to make use of it. You were sure that Frigga would fight tooth and nail to speed up the pace at which you were willing to teach her, but for now, you have to take it day by day. Although, you do find her eagerness quite endearing.

“You’ve just picked up the blade. Let’s start with the basics.” She gives you an icy look of discontent, but you stand your ground. You’ve raised this child thus far, and you are not at all afraid of her. This ability would prove to be quite useful in the future. Frigga’s hands tighten around the hilt of her sword. 

“Fine.” Restless stardust begins to conglomerate.

You fear repercussions for teaching the art of self-defense without approval. You hear nothing in the way of disapproval, so you take it as the green light to continue. The lessons become a new constant in a time that doesn’t make sense. Frigga is rash, and you’re plagued by concern. “In the heat of battle, you do not have time to think. You must trust your instinctive judgment.” Your warning falls upon heedless ears. Unease has your heart in a vice grip, and you have to remind yourself that you are not training her to become a soldier. You are training a queen.

Frigga slices the dummy to shreds, animosity burning behind her frosty eyes. You treat her callouses, gently bandaging her small hands after smearing ointment on them. The realization that she lacks the grace for the sword becomes blatantly clear to you, but you’re not sure what else to do. She’s more than adept at slaughtering “enemies,” yet a queen must carry herself adroitly, floating along the battlefield like a water lily, but never fighting until her own life is at stake. 

Frigga sits, fiddling with the hilt of her sword. She is supposed to observe you and analyze your technique, and despite her impatience, she watches you with rapt attention. You melt towards the target like a snowflake upon warm ground, running with the swiftness of a thawed brook as you slice the dummy in two smooth diagonal motions. It falls to the ground with a small thud, and you do not attack further. 

“Now, Frigga, what do you see that I have done differently than you?” The girl tilts her head, thinking. You approach her, until she is obscured by the darkness that your small shadow casts. Frigga, ten years old, is now taller than you, and she already knows what she has done wrong. She knows how she is supposed to fight. Her disobedience does not stem from ignorance, for Frigga has consciously chosen to not do things by the book, because something inside her has told her that her way will be more effective. Better not to ask. She opens her mouth to answer. 

“You struck twice.” She’s uninterested. You have the feeling that you are going in circles.

“Exactly.” Frigga does not meet your eye, instead humming with thought to acknowledge your confirmation. 

“You are merciful to a fault.” She says, more to the hilt of her sword than to you. She drops the weapon with a clank, pale eyes slowly turning to you. 

“The primary intent of defense is not to kill. Striking with the goal to only incapacitate will be your saving grace.” You are met with silence.

Then, she sighs wearily in response, as if she has endured centuries more than the mere decade she has been alive. She pulls herself to her feet, her stance unwavering as she wields her sword. “Show me again.”

Frigga practices swordsmanship over the course of many moons, but her technique is a constant reminder of the discord running through her mind. Her fighting style is erratic, but to say that it is not effective would be a bold-faced lie. Five years ago, you were the sole witness of a supernova, then the victim of the fallout. Now, as you watch Frigga slam her blade through the target in one fell swoop, you know that the stardust has now reconvened, birthing an ambition that knows no bounds.

And still, the waning starlight is bitter to the taste and heavy on your tongue. You draw your blade. It is all you are good for.

The shadowed river runs deep with the corpses of the fallen stars. The gods frown upon artificial mockeries of the divine. 

You cannot help but wonder what is going on behind your back. Five years with little guidance from the royals, and it feels as if the other shoe is about to drop. You are not entirely incorrect, for the ambitious always have mysterious ways of getting what they want. Frigga is absolutely powerless, so you do not know what this woman wants with her. She stands in front of you, in all her enigmatic glory, in the foyer of the princess’s residence. “I would like to speak with your liege. Is that possible?” 

Your immediate reaction is to deny her without asking for any more information. Years of silence, and now someone has come for the princess? Suspicion runs through the thick river of your blood. Your lifeforce may as well be water, for just as you are about to turn her away, there is a small gasp from behind you. Frigga has heard the exchange, and you have a feeling that something terrible has begun. 

You do not know what Frigga and this woman– Rhinedottir— have discussed, only that you were asked to leave the room. You declined on instinct, the princess was yours to protect, but she’d looked at you then with pleading eyes, and you had no choice but to relent. And it is evident that whatever happened during the conversation had ignited a new drive in Frigga. 

You did not want to allow her to see Rhinedottir again, mostly because of something she had said offhandedly as she left. “You don’t know how thankful I am. I’ll make sure to tell her uncle that we had this chat.” Then, in response to your stunned silence: “All he wants is to see the return of his niece’s powers so she may lead a prosperous life.” You shut the door behind her, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Was that truly what he wanted? 

You decided to take Jofurr at face value, because who were you to judge a royal? The loss of Frigga’s powers had been entirely your fault, and if this woman has the ability to return her to the line of succession, to prevent her from being turned out and disregarded ever again… You’d do anything to see Frigga living the life she deserved. 

Rhinedottir comes back around in three days’ time to chat with you. “I trust that you’ve made a decision?” 

You leave the two alone again in the dining room, this time taking up watch by the door, listening in to the hushed conversation. You cannot make out what their voices are saying, but your ears prick up as the volume escalates to a frequency that you can understand.

“Why not?” Frigga’s exasperated yell becomes audible. 

“Keep your voice down. You don’t want that maid of yours to hear you, do you?” She is quickly hushed by the woman.

“Hlin is my friend. And she told me that you wanted to help me!” The child’s voice is strained with emotion. 

“I do.” Rhinedottir responds without hesitation.

“So then, teach me. That’s the only help I need.” There is a thump that you assume is the result of the princess slamming her small hands against the table. Rhinedottir sighs, keeping her peace. There are a few beats of silence. “Learning this yourself will not be your salvation.” The sound of a chair being pushed in. You quickly move away from the door. Rhinedottir walks out, the rush of a river following her as she shuts the door behind her. Frigga’s sobs make their way through the door and you tailed the woman on instinct. 

“Wait.” She does not stop, her annoyance palpable.

“What do you need from me?” She treats you like a burden. You press on.

“Whatever Frigga wants you to do.” 

“The child is yours to raise.” She pulls on her coat, moving to leave. 

“I am not asking you to raise her. I am asking you to help her.” You step in front of her, your small stature not at all intimidating. You are operating only on drive and the desire to save what matters most to you.

“She is beyond help now.” Rhinedottir speaks the words as if they are a universal truth. After all of this, she has no intentions of doing what she promised the young girl. You cannot stand the dishonest, and you loathe false prophets. 

“Do not say that as if you know.” You spit, bitterness forming on your tongue. You can weather the judgment from those who know not what happened, but it is utterly reprehensible from this woman who appeared out of nowhere claiming to care, giving your princess false hope. 

“What more is there to know? The princess was incapacitated. She is useless now.” You are quiet, her words mixing with the anger flowing through your murky blood. Your brain has been cut off. She seems to take your silence as a response, and starts to leave again. 

“That is not true. You have no semblance of what happened.” She turns around, ready to spit more of her manufactured venom.

“Then what, pray tell, did? Because as far as I know, it was due to your own negligence that she is the way she is now.” You silently curse her, for she is right. Your surrender must be palpable, because she continues.  “Everything you are doing now is out of your own selfish desire to repent.” The woman carries an air of superiority. She is not a deity. She holds no sort of position to judge you. She turns to leave for what almost is the final time, but an unanswered question presses against your chest before flowing out through your mouth. 

“There was a tree.” You confess before the false god. 

“A tree?” Her interest piqued, she turns around to face you, the disrespect in her demeanor replaced by something akin to curiosity.

“A sprout.” You specify. Rhinedottir is quiet, so much so that you can almost feel the wheels turning inside her head. 

“Did she touch it?” 

You nod, unable to say anything else. For a moment, you think that you have saved your liege. Of course, you are wrong.

“I will teach the girl what she wants, but only under the condition that you do not intervene.” She makes her decision, her eyes reminiscent of the stone that once weighed your soul. You want to shrink under her gaze, but you now feel like you wield the upper hand.

You sigh, a disgusting relief bursting in your chest. “I wouldn’t dare.”

A river runs between you and the wretched woman with the formation of your fragile understanding. A drop of your blood has set fate’s design into motion. Frigga stays up by the light of flickering candlelight, poring over the books that Rhinedottir has given to her. You try reading one on your own, but you cannot make anything out of the words. To Frigga, they are holy. Brick by artificial brick, she constructs a wall around herself and blocks off the path to a future without tears. You know now that the road to her destiny is made of chalk and blood. She will not rest until she finds what she is looking for, something that is a mystery to you. How can you protect that which you do not understand? 

When you come back to check on her, Frigga has drifted to sleep at her wooden desk in front of the window. You watch the moon, its appearance reminiscent of a night many years ago. It is cold tonight, and the breeze sounds like the rush of an ever-flowing river. The river cannot turn against destiny as it has no choice but to run to the sea. It runs deep with the corpses of fallen stars. Even stardust cannot combat the preordained. The gods frown upon artificial mockeries of the divine, but still, the candle flickers. 

The night is ever vacuous, and the star-filled darkness is not kind to strangers. Only eternity will shine a light on the path to destiny. 

You curse yourself for being so easily convinced. The princess has already seen so much cruelty at a young age, she need not be exposed to any more. Yet you both watch with rapt attention as the townspeople gather, nearly stampeding each other, and you keep Frigga on the outskirts so as to prevent her from being involved. It was just that she had been spending so much time studying, and her mood seemed to have dampened considerably. She wouldn’t talk to you, nor would she give you any insight as to what was going on in that mind of hers. So, when she asked you to take her out, just for one day, promising that it would make her feel better, who were you to say no?

You look at Frigga, expecting the spectacle to have affected her more, but are instead met by her expression of mild interest. There is a beat of silence during which you can feel her thinking, and then, she breaks away from you. You quickly shout her name, running after her, the crowd closing in around you like the heaviness of the night. The Valkyries are shouting something that your brain cannot make out, and you hear someone shout something back in response that you definitely cannot understand. 

You call out Frigga’s name again, and you hear her voice, but she is not responding to you. You finally manage to break out of the crowd, shoved out by the inconsiderate elbow of a brash woman. To your horror, there is Frigga, surrounded by Valkyries, pulling on the arm of a strange girl that is clearly not from here who has seemingly collapsed to the ground due to the will of the Valkyries. The princess looks at you, confused by your aghast expression.

The Valkyries close in around your liege, taking their duty of protecting the peace so seriously that their actions become counterintuitive. Panicked, you run in, attempting to pull her away from the outlander. Frigga looks at you in shock. “Hlin stop it! She needs help!” She shouts, wrenching free of your grasp. You are frozen to your spot. Your eyes meet those of the stranger, the color of melted amber, smooth like honey but wielding a bitter aftertaste. She’s clearly in trouble. You want to help her, but you will not sacrifice Frigga’s safety for a troubled stranger. 

The whispers of the crowd breach your sensitive ears. An outlander? She doesn’t even speak the language. Stealing food… she’ll be executed for sure. 

You look back at the girl. One of the Valkyries has her hand wrapped around the foreigner’s gaunt wrist. Her cheeks and under eyes are sunken in. She’s starved and exhausted, gone through the wringer and back again. Frigga is suddenly silent. You sense that she’s come to a realization of her own that she is not the only one subject to how cruel her kingdom can be. 

Something possesses you to shout, calling out to the Valkyries. The roughest one does not loosen her grip. 

“You’d best stay quiet, Aesir, or you’ll be next.” Your brows furrow. You are already fighting a losing battle. What does it matter if you dig yourself in deeper for the greater good?

“Whatever she’s done, I’ll pay for it.” You’re already reaching into the pockets of your dress for anything valuable. Before you can find what you’re looking for, the Valkyrie scoffs, roughly dropping the girl’s wrist. It falls limp as if she lacks the strength to hold it up herself. 

“If you want to take on this foreign mongrel, be my guest. Just be prepared to take care of her fleas.” She barks out a laugh, pushing the girl in the side with her foot. Anger blooms behind your eyes. The Valkyrie continues in an attempt to set you off further. “Although it’s not like your kind are much better in that respect.” Frigga attempts to charge forward on instinct. You hold her back with a hand, nodding to the Valkyrie. 

“If we’re of the same nature, I’m sure I’ll take good care of her.” Your words drip with venom. The Valkyrie spits by your foot before calling the rest of her faction to follow her. They depart, leaving disgusted looks and murmurs in their wake. You sigh, releasing all the tension that had built up throughout the interaction before crouching to check on the girl. “Are you okay?”

She’s now curled up in the fetal position on the ground, weakened further by the exchange and the Valkyrie’s kick. Frigga is desperately trying to turn her over, and she mumbles something in a language that you cannot understand. You signal for Frigga to stop, and lift the foreigner into your arms. What a sight you make, a small woman who appears as a preteen carrying a young adult in your arms. You make your way to an alleyway, Frigga at your heels, and lean the girl up against the wall as the darkness obscures your actions. Reaching into your pack, you pull out a canteen made out of a sort of metal that the outlander has never seen before. Her eyes widen a bit upon landing on it, but her mouth opens instinctively as you hold it to her lips. 

She drank slowly, gratefully, as if she had to thank you for providing one of her basic needs. Frigga produced a loaf of bread that you had baked earlier and had mysteriously gone missing from her bag. She handed it to the girl, who took it tentatively, seemingly surprised by the unconditional kindness being shown to her. The fact that this was the best treatment she had received since arriving to the kingdom made your stomach twist, the blackness of discontent setting in as she chewed slowly so as not to overwhelm herself. 

You are truly not sure what you are to do next. You’ve unlawfully taken the princess out of her house arrest, and now you have a sickly foreigner on your hands. You are not going to leave her here to die. As you continue to try to think up a way to get the incapacitated woman back to the estate, there is the chime of a bell. Collectively, the three of you shift your attention to the source of the sound, the large belltower in the center of the town square. You are out of time, and the night will soon take the city in its dusky hold. 

You stand up, Frigga following suit as you watch the clouds begin to obscure the hazy daytime. “We have to go.”

Frigga looks concernedly at you, and then to the girl still leaned up against the wall. “But what about–”

“She will have to come with us. Help me hoist her onto my back.” You crouch down as Frigga exercises her god-given strength, a sort unusual for someone her age, in order to maneuver the girl onto your back. She weakly wraps her arms around your neck, murmuring something into your ear that you cannot make out even if you could understand her language. The three of you leave the city with the twilight nipping at your heels. The day comes to a close. The night promises to bring the nation to ruin.

The girl is sharp-minded, and her recovery is quick. Her name was hard to translate to your language at first, but once she picked up writing, she penciled it in written syllables that you could understand. Lumine, to illuminate, cutting through the darkness and revealing the path forward to tomorrow. It suited her, and you told her so. She simply gave you a tight smile before crumpling up the paper.

Even though she took to the language at a speed that surprised you, Lumine harbored a hunger for knowledge that was truly insatiable. In that sense, her and Frigga were more similar than you and her. You were unable to pry either of them away from their books, and once Lumine was able to communicate with the princess in more than just simple terms, the two would share the most intellectual conversations about the things they read.

In fact, Lumine picked up the language and knowledge of the land so quickly that it seemed as if you were simply refreshing a memory of something she’d already known. You brushed off the idea, cursing yourself for harboring such suspicion. 

You sit across the table from the blonde, her brows furrowed in concentration as she pores over a book about the history of your nation by candlelight. Her fingers delicately dance across the page, stopping at the words she doesn’t completely understand and staying until she makes sense of them. “So this is how things are.” 

You nod, a bit sadly. She turns her attention back to the book. She’s almost done, and as she gently turns the page, you are unable to stop your curiosity from bubbling up. “Do you ever miss it?”

She doesn’t look up, nor does she seem surprised. She acts as if she expected a question from you. “Miss what?”

“Your old home.” You respond. You watch as her mouth scrunches up slightly, almost imperceptibly. She seems conflicted. Her face settles, and she opens her mouth to respond.

“I don’t remember much. But, there is one thing I miss,” She pauses, thinking. “Or rather, one person.”

“Who?” You lean forward a bit. She looks down for a moment, sadness blossoming behind her honey-colored eyes as she fiddles with the page.

“My brother. I came here to look for him, but…” She closes her eyes, sighing. “There’s absolutely zero trace of him. It’s as if he never existed at all.”

In that moment, you feel a kinship with the girl. You know what it’s like to be away from your family in what feels like a foreign land. And most importantly, you know what it’s like to lose a sibling, to have a part of you cruelly ripped away until only a vacuous hole inside you shaped like them remains. It is so incredibly easy for the darkness to set in. You won’t let it happen to her. 

“We’ll help you find him,” You answer quickly, your heart speaking through your mouth. “Frigga and I. We’ll do it somehow.” 

Lumine is surprised. “You don’t have to do that. Please don’t. I don’t want to put the princess in danger.” 

“I am not in any sort of danger.” Frigga speaks from the doorway. Neither of you is sure how long she’s been standing there, but her expression is one of determination. “I can fend for myself. Hlin taught me how.”

Lumine looks down again, refusing to meet either of your eyes. “I wasn’t doubting your capabilities, princess,” Frigga’s mouth twitches in slight annoyance. “It’s just that this is the sort of job that I must do on my own.”

“You don’t have to.” You speak quietly. 

She meets your gaze then, the amber melting in her eyes, reflecting the candlelight of the dark room. Then, she nods.“If anything happens to either of you, you will let them execute me immediately.” 

You open your mouth in protest, but Frigga simply nods. You close your eyes for a moment, mulling over the decision you have just made. The presence of the young girl is suddenly suffocating. “It’s time for bed, Frigga. Go wash up.” 

You do not turn to look at her as you speak. You hear her footsteps recede. Lumine stands up, pushing in her chair quietly before blowing out the candle. 

The Cannibal Islands live up to their name, a dismal mockery of a coastal archipelago suffocated by constant darkness. They are utterly the last place you would ever think of taking the princess. But the two of you made a promise, and Frigga Einherjar is never one to break a promise, harboring the sort of conditionless loyalty that only a child can keep. Lumine had led the two of you to this place, pointing to the location on the map in the book of Khaenri’ah propped open on her lap. “Here. He’s here. I know it.”

Now, the once terrified foreigner is at the front of your group, navigating through her sense of familiarity alone. It would scare you if you did not trust her with every fiber in you. You are not a natural skeptic, and Lumine has proven to be reliable. 

The Cannibal Islands are a graveyard. They are where the stars go to die. You feel it in the corners of your mind as you follow the blonde through the underground in the cavernous mountains, your path illuminated only by torchlight. The map that she had torn out of the book is now wrinkled and water-damaged, yet she reads it as if it is brand new. You expect Frigga to be nervous, but her demeanor is calm, even nonchalant. If anything, you are the least certain of the group. You cannot help but think it is because the two of them are already dead. The darkness begins to swell in a void inside of you that you didn't know existed. 

The longer you stay in this place, the longer your chest expands with an odd sort of foreboding. You cannot shake the unease, and Frigga begs Lumine to tell her how far you must go. 

“We will go until we find him,” She turns to look at her, determined eyes of amber meeting pale ice. “But if you’d like to go back now, I will not stop you.” She says nothing, continuing to walk until she breaks eye contact. You nod approvingly. You made a promise. This is your fate. You offer your hand to Frigga, more for your own benefit than hers. Your fingers intertwine, and she walks ahead of you, pulling you along.

Eventually the cave systems begin to dwindle until you reach what seems to be a dead end. You start to turn around to go back the way you came, but Lumine gestures for you to stop. She leans into the rock, eyes zeroing in on a crack that seems to let light seep through into the darkness of the cavern. Then, with surprising strength, she pushes aside the heavy rock to reveal a well-lit pathway within the cave. Without even a glance back at the two of you, she enters.  You look to Frigga to gauge what she will do. She lets go of your hand and walks ahead. You have no choice but to follow.

Torches along the wall flicker and light your path. Lumine runs a hand lazily along the stone, her hand lifting and sinking with the texture as she feels for any sort of markings that may give way to a hint of her brother’s whereabouts. You want to believe that the effort is fruitless, but you know deep down that whatever you will find in this cavern will leave a dark stain on humankind. 

The passageway opens into a wide clearing of sorts, and you are reminded of a day many, many moons ago. You believed that you wielded more power over the stones than you did before, but you are still helpless against their silent judgment. And still, the darkness persists. 

“Who are you, and what do you think you are doing here?” A gravelly voice makes you jump. Lumine doesn’t react, simply turning her head in the direction of the voice. Frigga seems frozen. 

“We’re looking for someone.” Lumine responds simply. From the shadows only residing in the corners of the lair of sorts, a girl emerges. 

“Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it here.” She stops abruptly as her gaze falls upon Lumine, recognition blossoming behind it. She laughs, something akin to a cackle. “Well. Whaddya know? You came after all.” She approaches the blonde, examining her features close up. Frigga’s nose wrinkles in distaste.

“Do I know you?” Lumine leans back, thoroughly uncomfortable.

“You really do look alike.” The girl pokes at Lumine’s cheek before scratching her own chin. “He asked about you, you know.”

“He?” Lumine asks, hopefully. “Is my brother here?”

An unreadable expression crosses the stranger’s face before she turns around from Lumine and the rest of you, attempting to head back to the shadows from whence she came. “You’d better go back the way you came.”

“No, that’s not fair. If my brother is here, you have to let me see him.” Lumine protests, following, sliding in front of her to stop her from going further. The strange girl stops, sighing. 

“I’m sorry that you came all this way. I’m afraid your efforts were for naught,” Lumine is frozen with shock. Frigga grabs your hand again, this time of her own volition. “I cannot let you meet. Not right now.” 

“No. No. You have to be joking.” Lumine’s tone is beginning to devolve into panic. “Aether! Aether? Where are you?” She calls out the unfamiliar name, walking circles around the cavern like a woman possessed. 

“We have to help her.” Frigga’s voice is barely above a whisper. 

“What more can you do?” The stranger must have sharp ears, for her statement is addressed to the princess. Neither of you respond. The woman’s eyes meet yours, and terror blooms in your chest. Then, her eyes lock with Frigga’s, and the princess takes it as a challenge.

“He’s here. Bring him to her.” Frigga’s words are an order. The woman laughs. 

“Who do you think you are, ordering someone like me around?” She demands, a sinister smile pulling at her lips.

“‘Someone like you?’ Who even are you?” The princess stands her ground. She does not break eye contact, no matter how unsettling the woman’s twilight colored gaze is. They remain like that for a few beats, long enough that Lumine has stopped to watch. 

The woman is the one to break eye contact first, her gaze traveling over to Lumine’s state of utter desperation. She laughs once more, a breathy cackle. “My name is Skirk. Don’t forget it.” Frigga spits at her feet. The woman raises her eyebrows, the disgusting smile still not wiped from her face. She gestures to Lumine. 

“Follow me. You can see him, but I’ll warn you that he’s not the most talkative right now.”

She starts to head back into the shadows, Lumine at her heels. You and Frigga begin to follow her, but she quickly turns around, stopping the two of you. 

“Only she can come. No tag-alongs.” Then, the two are gone before either you or Frigga can protest. 

When Lumine comes back, a light has been extinguished behind her eyes. Skirk’s face is clean of her trademark grin. “Did you get what you came for?” 

She nods. “We’re going now.” Lumine says by way of response. 

Skirk chuckles. “May the stars guide you.” Lumine’s face has hardened. You leave the caves far more confused than you entered, and the blonde girl and the unconscious boy who lay in the shadows were now well-acquainted with the darkness. 

Life went on back home, if you could even call it that. Years passed since the initial birth of the polar star. The void inside you ebbed and flowed. Frigga began to grow into a young woman, yet there would still be nights where you would walk in to find her sitting up in her bed, head buried in her hands as she repeated over and over to herself. “ Soldier, poet, king, judge. Soldier, poet, king, judge…”  Every star that hung in the sky was a cruel mockery of the girl who sat before the windowpane, eyes void of anything, lips moving thoughtlessly. Behind her, the princess of the darkness, amber eyes swimming with shadow, and you, her one and only dagger. It is all you are good for. Frigga’s murmuring stops abruptly. 

“Princess…” you start. 

“Do not call me that.” She cuts you off. 

“But, it is your title.”

“I am no longer the princess.” She makes no move to explain any further, as if her statement exists as the universal truth. You look at Lumine, who does not react at all. If they act as if this is the new normal, then it must be so. 

Only eternity will shine a light on the path to destiny, and the night has proven to be cruel. 

The stars do not forgive their final witness, but from the fallout, flowers bloom, and she is in them for eternity. You will separate them with your bare hands. 

Your liege is now a restless teenager. When she is not studying some book or another with the lady of darkness at her side, she’s leaning out the window, gaze following the breeze as if it will take her somewhere, far away from the estate she’s been locked in for the past four years. After your little trip to the Cannibal Islands, the three of you have more or less been placed on true house arrest, and although Frigga has always been an old soul, even she is not immune to the angst of her age group. And Lumine treats her every word like law, so it’s up to you to be the voice of reason. 

“You have to tell him to let me go outside again.” She pleads with you. You’re around the same height now, and you’re finally eye to eye with Frigga, although this does not at all mean the playing field is even. 

“And what makes you think he’ll listen to me?” You’re a bit incredulous. You were the one who took her out last time, after all. Jofurr has all the more reason to be suspicious of you for dragging her into the line of fire. He refuses to acknowledge Lumine’s existence at all, so you shoulder the guilt alone. It’s worth it, because the two seem to get on like a house on fire. 

“You’re the one who’s been responsible for me all these years. That has to mean something. ” You do not want to be the one to tell her that in the eyes of her family’s dynasty, time does not, in fact, mean anything. But instead, your lips press into a straight line, because even after all of these years, you are still unable to say no to her. 

The palace is just as cold as it was years ago. It’s the sort of place that you would have liked to avoid for the rest of your life, but your duty is more important than how you feel. And your duty entails speaking to the sort of man that makes your heart jump into your throat with fear. Jofurr Alberich invokes terror in the hearts of man. You are not immune.

“It’s been quite a while, Hlin Trygg.” You bow in response. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” You take a deep breath. 

“I am here on behalf of my liege.” You say, hoping he ignores the way your voice frays at the edges. 

“I see. So the princess has a request?” The word princess in reference to Frigga sounds odd falling from his lips, but you suppose that you and Lumine are the only ones who know otherwise. You nod.

“Seeing as her birthday is coming up–”

“She’d like to go outside.” He cuts you off before you can finish the sentence. 

“How did you know?” Yet another thing to add to his fear factor. Unless…

“Let’s say that a friend of mine warned me.” There it is. Curse that woman. You take a moment to regather your thoughts, deciding not to parse words with a man much more powerful than yourself. 

“Sir, to put it bluntly, if the princess is allowed outside under supervision, she may visit Rhinedottir with greater ease, allowing her to continue her studies.” Jofurr seems to consider your words, humming in thought as his hands clasp beneath his chin. 

“With supervision, you say?” 

“Yes, sir.” You answer quickly. 

Jofurr laughs lightly, through his nose. “Consider it done.”

When you return to the estate, there is a strange man sitting at the dining room table. Frigga stands awkwardly in the doorway a few feet from him. It seems his arrival has come as a surprise to both of you. “What’s going on? Who is this?” You ask.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Frigga responds. Her tone is unreadable. 

The man stands up quickly and Frigga moves out of the doorway, allowing you to get a closer look at him. He’s tall, blond, and wearing the uniform of the Royal Guard. “Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner,” He speaks, his voice refined and deep. “I’m Dainsleif, member of the Royal Guard, appointed to protect the princess.” 

Frigga is clearly shocked. You are frozen to your spot. You open your mouth. “Jofurr. That son of a cunt .” 

This Dainsleif becomes a constant in Frigga’s life. He is given his own room in the estate, down the hall from the princess. A message is delivered by Rhinedottir: “Treat him how you would a prince.” You’re not exactly how you’re supposed to do that when his mere presence discredits you. Were your skills so insufficient that Jofurr had to hire a professional knight in order to protect the princess? It didn't matter, as long as she got what she wanted, which was to go outside. An agreement was formed, Frigga would spend her first full day out of the estate in four years with you and Dainsleif as her company. 

Dainsleif seemed to want to converse with you alone, but you avoided any possibility of having to speak to the man one on one. As far as you could tell, he didn’t pose any sort of threat. In fact, he seemed a bit awkward if anything. He definitely wasn’t the sort of man with endless experience dealing with teenage girls. That came as a relief to you. The last thing you needed was Frigga being swept off her feet by some white knight. Although the very idea that Frigga would let a man so far under her skin was laughable. 

Someone who also managed to stay quite out of the way was Lumine. She did not speak to the man on the night of his arrival, and eyed him with wariness and distrust. You didn’t blame her. If you had the same experience that she did with strangers, you would be slow to trust as well. You tried to pull a shred of reason from Lumine, hoping she could be your ally in the situation. But she simply responded, “If the only way she can go outside is if this Dainsleif comes along, then I guess we just have to accept it. He seems basically harmless anyway.” 

And thus, the morning came, and for the first day in four years, Frigga did not lean out the window, swaying with the breeze. She woke up, got dressed, and went to knock on Dainsleif’s door. When you walked in, Frigga was hurriedly making the man’s bed as he looked on in a mixture of shock and amusement. 

“What are you doing?” Dainsleif jumped at your words. Frigga was not phased.

“I’m making his bed so we can leave after breakfast.” She responded matter-of-factly.

“He’s a grown man. I’m sure he can do that himself.” You crossed your arms. Dainsleif looked at you warily, likely realizing that he wasn’t going to find any sort of allyship in you. Frigga ignored you, fluffing the final pillow before leaving the room. You softened a bit as the girl stopped in front of you. You tucked a strand of pale hair behind her ear before smiling. “Happy birthday.” She stared at you, attempting to maintain her facade of adolescent apathy, but a sigh finally betrayed her confidence. “Go get ready for breakfast.”

For once, Frigga does as she was told, heading downstairs to where Lumine was setting the table. You stood in the doorway as Dainsleif awkwardly finished what Frigga hadn’t done in respect to making his bed. He quickly notices that you haven’t left, clearing his throat upon seeing you. His inexperience provokes you to anger. You enter the room, and his eyes are trained on you as you begin to tidy up the place.

“I’m not sure what you’ve been assigned here to do, but I think we already have everything covered in regards to the princess.” You speak, shutting a drawer that he’s left open in the wardrobe. He’s already begun putting his clothes away, and the sole fact irks you even more. 

“I don’t mean to step on any toes. I’m just trying to do what I was assigned.” He steps back, giving you space as you move past him to fix the haphazard way he’s made the bed. You pull down the duvet, tucking it into the footboard and pulling it up. 

“You were assigned to a spot that’s already been filled,” He doesn’t have anything to say in response. “I’m only telling you this so you don’t do any more than you have to.” 

He thinks for a moment, his hand coming to rest below his chin. “I thought the only condition for the princess’s freedom is for it to be supervised.”

You snort, replacing the pillows. “Don’t let her hear you call her that.” Downstairs, Frigga calls your name. You stop abruptly, sighing. “We’ll continue this discussion later. Breakfast is already done, so you can worry about that later.” You gesture to where he’s started to fix the pillows, the step you didn’t get a chance to finish. He follows you wordlessly downstairs to the dining table.

Breakfast was rushed and entirely awkward. You could tell Frigga was curious about the strange man now living in her house, and you didn’t entirely blame her. However, most of her restlessness was clearly due to the impending adventure she was going to get to take. Part of the agreement with Jofurr was that she would have to have a valid reason for leaving the estate, but today, since it was a very special day, she would be allowed to go anywhere she wanted to do whatever she wanted. Under the close supervision of Dainsleif , of course. Just the sight of him angered you. Just because you weren’t going to report every word back to Jofurr like the snitch Rhinedottir doesn’t mean that you are any less qualified to protect the princess from harm. For the moment, you let it go, figuring that you should keep your grudge against Dainsleif to yourself if you wanted Frigga to truly enjoy her fifteenth birthday. 

For someone so consumed with her research, Frigga’s places of choice are remarkably tame. You went back to the town square, the same place where you’d found Lumine all those years ago. This time, it was bustling with merchants running their kiosks, people buying things and milling about as usual. Frigga seems absolutely taken aback by the everyday rhythm and how utterly nonconstant it was, different people buying different goods and services every day, so many people of varying appearances. You notice Dainsleif watching her reaction with a certain sort of fondness behind his eyes. You chalk it up to your suspicions of the man and give him the benefit of the doubt.

You buy lunch from a street vendor, something entirely new to both you and Frigga. “You’ve never eaten street food before?” Dainsleif asks incredulously as the two of you shake your head. “There’s this one cart down at the end of this street, just follow me. It’s worth it.” You do as you were told, your curiosity about the new phenomena outweighing your animosity towards the Royal Guard. It ended up being unremarkable, but the experience itself was something quite memorable. And moreover, the joy on Frigga’s face was much more favorable than any roadside treat. 

The clouds are beginning to shift in the sky, signaling the imminent evening, and it is time for Frigga to pick her final activity. When prompted, she bites her lip for a moment, looking almost embarrassed, before making her request. “I’ve read about this place in one of those Khaenri’ah books that Lumine likes to read. Can we go?” Who are you to deny her?

The fragrant Inteyvats bloomed where the great once stood. At least, that is what Dainsleif says as you enter the field, stepping carefully so not as to squash the beautiful flowers. What an end to the day, you think, as the three of you sit in the field, the flowers swaying with the gentle breeze as Frigga lays back, looking up at the obscured sky. In a few hours, the stars will be out, but for now, you are the only one alive. The status of the elusive Dainsleif is still up in the air. 

The flowers of eternity sway gently, their scent both comforting and overwhelming. You follow Frigga, laying back as well, as if almost transfixed. Dainsleif follows suit, until the three of you are watching the sky with rapt attention. Frigga speaks, a mere murmur. “Beautiful…”

Dainsleif hushes her gently. “Just enjoy it.” She does not talk back. Frigga does as she is told. You get the feeling you should be worried, but how can one worry in a place like this? 

The three of you lay there for long enough that the scent of the flowers clings to you. You even doze off at some point, and by the time you wake, Dainsleif and Frigga are in the midst of a hushed conversation. “You’re awake.” Frigga grins. You haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time. Dainsleif looks up at the sky. In the distance, the chime of a bell. “We should begin our journey back.” Frigga’s face falls dramatically. 

You sigh. “He’s right.” You sit up, the petals that your body had flattened immediately perking back up to their initial state. 

You are the first to stand, watching as Dainsleif helps the princess to her feet. She thanks him before dusting off her dress and gazing in the direction of the moon. “If only the sun submitted to my will. We could stay here all day.”

You laugh, ignoring the foreign word sun . “Lumine would miss us.” You were used to Frigga using words that had never before been uttered in your language.

“She can come along next time.” Frigga speaks matter-of-factly. You’re not sure if there will be a next time. You hope for her sake that there will. 

The three of you are home in time for dinner. Lumine has prepared it this time, some dish that none of you are familiar with, but is extremely delicious nonetheless. “Did you have a good time in the city?” Lumine asks, passing Frigga a cloth napkin. She dabs at her chin with it, a true caricature of a well-mannered lady.

“It was wonderful.” That was all she would respond with. Lumine hummed in response with a small smile, shooting Dainsleif a dirty look. Even you could not muster up the energy to be bitter towards the man. It had been a long day, and for all of your sake, you would rather at least be civil. Plus, it was important for the princess to have more friends around her own age than just Lumine. You were beginning to worry about her social development. 

You just have to hope that it has been recognized that both you and Dainsleif have different things to offer, but are both still useful in the court of the queen of flowers. You are clearing the table when soft breathing can be heard from the end of the table. A fond smile plays at your lips as you remove the bowl from in front of Frigga, who is now fast asleep. Of course that day tired her out. You clear the dishes from the room. 

When you return, Dainsleif is hovering by Frigga’s chair. A strand of pale hair has fallen into her face, but the sleeping girl cannot fix it. Dainsleif tucks it behind her ear before moving back, standing a few feet behind her. “Happy birthday, princess.” His tone is so quiet, almost a whisper. No one was intended to hear it except her, and she is fast asleep. 

When he leaves the room, her lips turn up in a slight smirk. She has been awake the whole time. You realize now that he is not trying to displace you. You will never be replicated. You are the queen of flowers’ confidante until the very end, but it seems that Dainsleif has invoked a new sort of trust that you will not understand, even years into the future. 

Eleven years ago, a star died, and from the fallout, flowers bloom. She is in them for eternity, and the scent will cling to his uniform. You cannot separate them with your bare hands, even if you fight tooth and nail. 

Chapter Text

The new moon approaches. Soon it will encompass the heavens, but for now, the stars hang warily, as if anticipating their oncoming demise.

Frigga will easily allow her research to bring her to ruin, and you are thoroughly concerned. You’re frequently commissioned to run back and forth between her study and the estate’s illustrious library to pick up whatever book she needs, usually old and dusty with cracking spines and in a precarious condition that you take extra care not to exacerbate. It doesn’t annoy you more than it worries you, and more often than not, the door to the room is locked. You wield access to the key, but you figure if you are not asked to enter, you should stay where you belong. One person, however, is never denied entry, that being the damned royal guard.

It wouldn’t take a detective to surmise that Frigga is lonely. Ten years of house arrest without someone their own age to talk to would drive anyone up a wall, and it’s a miracle that the girl managed to retain any sort of semblance of sanity. You’ve grown to merely tolerate the presence of Dainsleif for the sole fact that he seemed to put Frigga at ease, and in addition to you and Lumine, made up the princess’s admittedly slim repertoire of friends. It was unfortunate, but you were willing to make sacrifices in order to ensure that she did not lose her mind along with her past life.

One year into the arrangement, Frigga would be entirely oblivious to not notice the tension between you and Dainsleif. It mounts one morning at breakfast as you refuse to look at the man as you pour his tea, not responding or sparing him a glance when he thanks you. The evening before, you and the royal guard had shared a disagreement about how to go on with allowing your liege her freedom. 

“Hlin, it’s obvious that you do not trust me with the princess’s safety.” You were tidying the kitchen when Dainsleif had accosted you, putting away the glasses and dishware that had been out to dry on the counter. 

“Where is this coming from?” You deflected with a question of your own. 

“With all due respect, I’m not as dense as you think,” Your ministrations halted at his bold wording. “Is there anything I can do to win your trust?”

You sighed before finally turning to face him. “I just want to know what your plan is for allowing her freedom.” 

“Allowing her freedom? She is not a prisoner.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“When did I imply she was?” You stood your ground. “There are people out there who want to harm her. If you choose to ignore that, then it seems that I’m not mistaken about your presumed level of density.” You wanted to be nice, but you did not want your methods questioned. You knew what you were doing, and you would not allow this glorified white knight to come in acting as if he knew what was best. 

“Is that not why I was hired to protect her?” You stared at him for a moment, unblinking, before going back to what you were doing as if his question was so stupid that it wasn’t worth acknowledging.

He sighed with slight exasperation. “Hlin, I’ve done the best I can to get along with you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if dealing with you was a pain. “I know our methods are vastly different, but if we’re going to be working together–”

“Working together?” You abruptly cut him off. “I don’t know what you thought you were hired to do, but this is not a partnership.” He was rendered silent. You pressed on. 

“Did you hold her as she cried? Take care of her when she was sick? Read to her on the nights when it was too loud to think?” He continued to stare at you, dumbfounded, painfully aware of the fact that he had crossed a line. “Did you raise her, Dainsleif?”

Finally, as if realizing that you wanted an answer, he shook his head. You exhaled, guilt already setting in for how harsh you were. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” You finish, your tone softening around the edges.

The leftover tension from a hushed conversation in the dark kitchen lingers at breakfast. Frigga seems happy enough to ignore it, not acknowledging the conflict due to the sole fact that it does not require her acknowledgement. On days like this, you are thankful for her blunt nature, but Lumine is regrettably not the same, amber eyes darting between you and Dainsleif before subtly quirking a brow. 

The table is quiet as even you are not able to hold a genuine conversation in your soured mood. Frigga appears grateful for the slow morning, book cracked open in front of her on the table.

 “Take care not to spill anything on your book.” You hover behind her for a moment, offering her a clean napkin. She takes it wordlessly, placing it next to her barely-touched plate. 

By the time that you have returned to your seat, Frigga sighs, getting up with the uncomfortable noise of the chair dragging along the floor. Dainsleif winces, but she gestures to him. “Well, come on, Dain. We’d better get going.” 

You hope to the stars above that you’re imagining the faint red flush that crosses his cheeks. You glance quickly at Lumine who’s mouthing the unfamiliar nickname with great confusion as she meets your gaze. The man nods before sparing a quick glance at you and Lumine, getting up and following Frigga out. 

You wait until the front door shuts behind them to get up. You’re palpably annoyed, and Lumine seems to notice the way your hands twitch with thinly-veiled irritation as you clear the plates the two have left behind at the table. She exhales sharply through her nose with slight amusement in regards to the small tic. 

“What’s so funny?” You curse the way your residual annoyance leaks through into your tone. You don’t mean to take it out on Lumine, but in your mind, this is anything but funny.

“You’ve lost control of her.” She responds, taking a sip of her tea. 

“That implies that I want to control her in the first place,” You push in a chair that Frigga has hurriedly left out in her haste. “Besides, no one is capable of holding her down, least of all me.” You mentally note with slight approval that Dainsleif has pushed in his chair and cleared his place. 

Lumine hums thoughtfully, setting down her mug. “That may no longer be true.” She had been known to love employing cryptic statements. That was one of the many reasons that her and Frigga got along quite well. They made absolutely zero sense to you, and you were normally content to leave well enough alone, but right now, you feel entirely out of the loop.

“What does that mean?” You ask, your tone having grown noticeably gentler.

Lumine shrugs. “Just that as Frigga grows older, you may need to keep a closer eye on her.” There’s an ounce of truth to the statement, but you sense that she’s just messing with you as she often has a penchant to do. 

“Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?” You play along, narrowing your eyes teasingly.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She replies with a small smile of her own. You’re relieved that things have managed to stay the same between you and Lumine despite your respective proximities to Frigga. Lumine had come at a difficult time, but she never once tried to fit in somewhere she didn’t belong, and her presence hadn’t gotten between you and Frigga. The two have their secrets, and you have yours. Better not to pry. But you worry that you addressed the Dainsleif situation with excessive cruelty. 

You recount the conversation you had to Lumine as she listens thoughtfully. By the time you have finished, you’re nervously knotting your hands in your skirts. “So, what do you think? Did I overstep, or did he?” 

She’s still looking at you with slight amusement. “Definitely him,” You breathe out a sigh of relief. “I do believe that you could have been nicer though.” 

“That doesn’t do much good now,” You admit, sinking into one of the comfortable dining room chairs. It’s the first time you’ve sat down since waking up. You haven’t had a chance to eat breakfast yet, the conflict and annoyance gripping your stomach like a vice. “Should I apologize?”

Lumine snorts immediately. “And let him walk all over you?” You rest your chin on your palm. “You did the right thing.”

“For her sake, I hope so.” You gaze wistfully out the window towards the direction of the city. The morning is hazier than usual, the smoky mist casting an eerie glow over the land. Somewhere out there, the Inteyvat bloom, and you can still smell their sweet and botanical fragrance in the back of your mind. Tooth and nail, you cannot tear them apart. 

That evening, Frigga calls for your presence in her study. She’s working by candlelight at her desk, and you warn her not to strain her eyes. She simply nods before returning to the task at hand, scribbling notes on paper referenced from an archaic and dusty book. You busy yourself with mending a rip in one of her old dresses that has been hanging on the knob of her wardrobe. 

You’re watching her out of your peripheral vision, and she doesn’t seem to realize that you notice when she stops reading, tentatively looking up at you. For someone so utterly unreadable, Frigga’s rare moments of transparency are utterly decipherable. You sense the weight of something unconfessed in the air, and hope to the stars that you are not about to be asked for your blessing on something you cannot currently agree to.

“Do you know of a woman named Alice?” Her question comes as a surprise, but a welcome one, regardless. The name is unfamiliar, and you respond as such, but in a way that also encourages her candidness.

“I don’t. But something tells me that you do.” She seems to overlook your lighthearted tone. She’s known you for long enough that she can sense your hurt in response to her ongoing secrecy. But when her eyes meet yours, there is not an ounce of guilt reflected in them. 

“I met her just the other day. She’s Aesir, just like you, so I was just wondering if you had heard anything about her. Perhaps you may be cousins?” It seems your earlier jest hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed as she responds with a quip of her own.

 You exhale slightly through your nose in mild amusement before resuming your sewing. “Did I not teach you to avoid making generalizations about people of the same kind?” 

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous.” She retorts coyly.

“I miss a few outings into town, and you’ve already found a new Aesir woman to take care of you,” You shake your head in mock disapproval. “I’m hurt, my dear Frigga.”

“I could never have another favorite, my dear Hlin.”

“Then, tell me about this Alice.” 

At your questioning, she hesitates for a split-second, long enough that anyone other than you would’ve likely missed it. She opens her mouth to speak, before closing it, seemingly deliberating over something. You realize that she’s deciding what to tell you and what to omit. Frigga has always been good at crafting her own version of the truth so elaborate that you could never truly say that it was a lie. But it wasn’t necessarily the entire truth either. 

“She’s very knowledgeable about harnessing the elements,” She decides. Then, a bit incredulously: “You’re not mad at me for meeting with her without your approval, are you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Who am I to be mad? This concerns your studies, doesn’t it?” You tear the needle from the thread with nimble fingers, tying off the end. The rip is now stitched closed, and your hands already mourn the loss of the menial task for lack of something to do. “As long as your guard comes along, I am powerless to stop you.”

Frigga’s expression does not change, as if unsurprised by your response. “As always, you’re utterly unaware of the power you harness.” 

You bite back a laugh, because pertaining to the you of right now, the irony of her words is almost comical. You have never once held any sort of unconditional power in your life, every ounce of control given to you having a multitude of strings attached and conditions to fulfill in order to absolve yourself. Your very job, your livelihood, was based on the fact that you made one of the gravest mistakes that one can make. You will spend the rest of your life as a slave to your own negligence. That did not sound like power to you. That sounded like utter instability and chaos. 

“You’re almost grown. You do not have to listen to a word I say anymore.” You look down at the weathered dress on your lap. Mending the rip was truly a useless task, as Frigga will likely never touch the frock again. You know that you are merely holding onto a ghost of past memories, but you cannot bring yourself to stop. Frigga holds the power over you that you do not yet possess, although unbeknownst to you, her ability to control her fate died with the brightest star in the sky, blown to bits in the supernova blast. She will give you back your free will, but not before giving you a taste of what it will be like to choose your own path. Maybe you’re just deluding yourself, but it doesn’t matter. The cruel irony of destiny will prove you both wrong.

Again, the candlelight flickers, and you cannot see the light of the moon through the window. You suspect that the lonely light in the sky has abandoned you and left this decision up to your instinct alone. She allows you the illusion of choice. “I trust your judgment. If you want me to stop, say so now. Do not hold your tongue.” Her pale eyes burn a hole through you. You have a feeling that she knows too well what you are going to say next, aware of the decision you are going to make. No matter what you say, you are a cog in the wheel of fate, the dagger through the heart of your future. You will allow her to use you as she needs. 

“Do what you must.” Your answer comes. Frigga nods. The wheels turn and the stars shift. The new moon has eclipsed, and free will was executed years ago in the court of the stones.

The first quarter gives way to suspicion, but the gods’ plan has already been set into motion. Only one wields the power to bend their will, and she intends to fulfill her potential.

Rest, you’ve found, is a rare luxury for Frigga. She lays face down on her desk, pale hair splayed around her as the candlelight tints it a warm orange and you cannot help but sigh, a slight smile tugging at your lips and guilt bubbling in your gut. Because as much as you are relieved to see her sleeping, something in the back of your mind screams opportunity. As if beckoning you to come closer, she stirs and a stack of papers drops to the floor.

You approach slowly, quietly, taking advantage of your sensitive ears to ensure that your footsteps are almost entirely silent, and tentatively, you crouch down, your fingertips brushing the paper. You grab the stack of papers, scanning over them before standing, backing up until your lower half was pressed against the wooden bedpost. The sheets on the bed are askew, although you know for a fact she has not slept in it for at least three days. You will not fix them, for that is not why you are here. 

The first page consists of messily drawn diagrams with arrows and circles drawn around pivotal parts. Small notes are scrawled in the margin, spelling out the purpose of each notation, but it doesn’t make much sense to you. The state of the paper seemingly mirrors her thought process while scrawling out its contents; chaotic, quick, thoughtful. You’re not sure how the three can exist together in such harmony, but she’s somehow been able to make it work. Frigga can make anything work. 

The second page is filled with more odd diagrams, this time with notes in a handwriting that you do not recognize. It resembles the haughty cursive of an older woman, giving off the air of superiority that you’ve only felt once before in your life. You furrow your brows at the memory of your conversation with Rhinedottir, and quickly put the paper aside in order to focus on the problem at hand. 

The third page is void of diagrams. It consists only of a jumble of notes in Frigga’s handwriting. Some words are bigger, others are circled or underlined. The page is almost entirely full. She has obviously spent quite a bit of time taking notes on this paper. You make it your mission to make sense of it while you have the chance. For once, you will know what she knows. You refuse to be left behind again, to watch while she brings herself to ruin. If she wants you to be a bystander, to be a silent cog in this twisted machine, you at least want to know what you’ve signed yourself up for. 

You approach the flickering candle, hoping to use its light to make out what is written on the page. The light is slowly dying, and her handwriting is messy and small, but you are able to read some of the bigger words. Everything is utterly unfamiliar to you, and one phrase is circled multiple times: Abyssal energy. Individually, the words make sense, and together, they must be exactly what they sound like. But why? And most importantly, how? Judging by the sheer amount of writing she left, Frigga was wondering the same thing. 

You commit as much as you can to memory, figuring that if you were to be a fly on the wall in any of Frigga’s future conversations, maybe you’d actually be able to make heads or tails of the action. You put the papers back in their original order and leave them exactly in the spot where they had fallen. You don’t want to give her any more reason for suspicion. You have enough of that yourself. Frigga stirs as you stand up, and you freeze, worrying that she had been awake the whole time. You hadn’t had the time to prepare any sort of excuse. You quickly became worried that today was the day that your lady lost all trust in you entirely.

Thankfully, she was so exhausted that she only shifted positions, letting out a deep sigh before returning to her unmoving silence. You exhaled with relief, beginning to back away from her desk to head to your quarters for bed. Then, quietly, a whisper: “Soldier, poet, king, judge.” You stopped once again. An entirely familiar mantra, but now, something in you twisted with pity. To be tortured both awake and in sleep by such nightmares. You just want her to be happy. 

You gently drape a blanket from her bed over her shoulders. She does not wake, nor does she stir. She does not say anything, which you are grateful for. Because then, you have the benefit of the doubt that her dreams may be peaceful, and not a struggle between her and a ghost of the future. You kiss the top of her head gently, your lips barely brushing the pale hair. Then, you leave for your quarters.

Frigga finishes her breakfast early as usual, dragging Dainsleif into the town with her papers in tow. You don’t say anything while clearing the table, nor does Lumine question you. You believe she can sense that something has changed. You don’t ask. She doesn’t tell. You’ve finally worked out a system and as you gaze at Dainsleif’s almost spotless place, you are struck for a moment by relief. 

It wasn’t just his place at the table. Dainsleif continued to prove his reliability, to your initial chagrin. His bed was always made perfectly, in a way that made you think that he had been watching more closely than you thought that time when you had done it in front of him. He’d always ask you for permission before doing anything that may come across as an overstep following your conversation in the dark kitchen. And lastly, his presence seemed to provide a sense of content for Frigga, something that confused you, but you were grateful for. 

You still didn’t trust the man. Not one bit. But, since his suffocating existence seemed to be the new normal, you decided that you were at least allowed to make him a little more useful. Your swordsmanship lessons with Frigga had come to a gradual stop over the past few years. She was simply too difficult to teach, no matter how much you loved her, you still had to acknowledge that fact. But maybe, someone closer to her own age, someone who she saw as a confidant….

Maybe he would have better luck. The fact makes you want to hurl, because you don’t want to admit your own failure. But at the end of the day, her safety is much more important, and so you are left with no choice but to speak with Dainsleif. 

“You want me to teach her the art of swordsmanship?” He looks at you in such a way that for a moment you are certain that he can sense the imminent death of your ego and how low you’ve allowed yourself to stoop in order to ask this of him. 

You swallow, willing the thoughts away before nodding. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

He seems to think for a moment. “Much of my time is spent idle, so I wouldn’t mind taking up an extra responsibility.” You bite back a remark about his almost-instinctive classification of Frigga as nothing more than a responsibility. He continues, sensing no immediate fire. “But why me? Are your own teachings insufficient?”

That man, always finding a way to discredit you without even trying. For once you decide to operate on the benefit of the doubt, mercifully making the assumption that he was genuinely confused. You aren’t sure what prompted the change of mind, but you are certain that you reek of desperation. “I do not consider my teachings ineffective. I believe that Frigga has not been responding well to my method of instruction.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re admitting that you are not a capable teacher.” As if sensing the switch he’s just flipped in you, he quickly backtracks. “Not that I agree, but it seems that is what you are trying to tell me.” He clears his throat. “Please, correct me if that’s wrong.”

He is blessedly incorrect, and you want to tell him so in a colorfully worded statement that is so unlike your considerate nature. He provokes you to abandon what comes intrinsically to you in order to avoid any further hurt for you and especially the princess. For a moment you worry that you’ve made the wrong choice. If he’s this arrogant and presumptuous with you, then who’s to say that he may not destroy Frigga’s already-wavering self-esteem? But no one else spends as much alone time with her as he. If anyone knew how the eighteen year old worked, it would be Dainsleif. You swallow your pride, thick like solidified honey, and open your bittersweet mouth. 

“You are mistaken, Dainsleif. I am simply acknowledging that she may better heed the teachings of another.” He hums with thought in response, keeping the peace as he takes a moment for his own consideration. You hope for your own good that he declines. You hope for her good, the more important good, that he accepts without consequence.

“I apologize for coming off as audacious,” He finally speaks. “But what makes you say that?” You do not say anything, nonverbally daring him to take a guess, because he knows the answer. The worst thing about Dainsleif is that he is not stupid, and he cannot possibly be utterly unaware of every second he unknowingly tampers with the life that you have built with those who mean the most to you. When he realizes that he’s not going to get an answer out of you, he sighs. 

“When shall I start?” 

You send him on his way, instructing him to start in two days’ time before getting to some of your more domestic duties. The estate did have a few other maids, but as Frigga’s personal handmaiden, much of the more boring responsibilities of running the place were allocated to you. You wrote out the grocery and toiletry list for some of the lower maids to go fetch from the town, did laundry for the three non-staff members, and began cooking dinner. You really did intend to give Frigga a heads up, but as the stew you were preparing boils on the stove, the girl manages to sneak in when you are off your guard. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you won’t be teaching my lessons anymore?” You nearly jump out of your skin. She’s long managed the art of surprise, so you really shouldn’t be so taken aback. You tend to get in your own head while doing menial tasks, so much so that it didn’t bother you at all. In fact, the thoughtlessness was almost reassuring. 

“He told you already?” You stir the pot, responding with a question of your own. Frigga scoffs as if your query is absolutely ridiculous. 

“The man is my personal guard. I don’t know how or why you expected him to keep his mouth shut.” You take great care to keep your expression impartial despite the urge to murder Dainsleif and his big mouth. You hadn’t exactly expected him to keep the information to himself, but you would’ve liked to think that he would have waited long enough to give you the luxury of divulging the information yourself. 

“I wanted to tell you myself.” You settle upon, choosing your words carefully while your gaze never leaves the stove. 

“You sure were taking your time,” You feel her approach closer behind you as she leans up against the counter. “Hlin. Don’t ignore me.”

You drop the stirring spoon next to the pot, sliding smoothly down the counter to cut the freshly-cleaned carrots with a sharp knife. “I’m not ignoring you. You caught me at a busy time, that's all.” You chop off the stem with more force than necessary, an action that does not go unnoticed by your companion. 

“What, you don’t want to teach me anymore?” Her tone is a mixture of foreseeing amusement and a twinge of hurt. You cannot tell if it’s genuine, but you keep your peace, taking a deep breath before finally turning to look at her. 

“That has nothing to do with it. Dainsleif has a… different approach than my own,” Her expression doesn’t change. You continue. “I just want to see if your swordsmanship will improve at a faster rate with a different teacher.” You look at each other for a moment, unmoving, unwavering, caught in some sort of staring contest. 

Frigga finally arches a brow. “Are you sure that’s it?” You’re not entirely sure what she’s trying to imply but it ignites annoyance deep in your gut. You quell it, taking her at face value, something you seemingly have to do more and more these days. 

“What else would it be?” You respond with a question of your own, albeit a futile one. If she wanted you to know the reason for her questioning, you already would, and you are regrettably always in the dark without the light of the moon to seek after. 

She laughs lightly. “Nothing. When does he start?” You breathe out a sigh, partially out of relief, partially out of exasperation. The light of the moon seeps in slightly through a pinhole but Frigga effectively keeps your eyes covered. Better not to ask. 

“As soon as possible.” You lie. You turn back to your cooking. You hear her footsteps recede and your vision becomes unobscured. By now the moonlight has dissipated and you are left with the lonely, ever-vacuous night. You are not yet entirely empty, but you can anticipate the already existing void opening further and threatening to swallow you whole.

Dainsleif and Frigga seem to get along swimmingly once you allow him the privilege of becoming her teacher. At first, you keep them at arms-length, observing the first couple of lessons in order to vet any incompatibility. But it seemed that your presence curbed the overall productivity, and you were proposed a request that left you inexplicably unsettled. 

“It might be better if you allowed me to work with her alone.” Dainsleif had said, looking at you with a shadow of sympathy. He was clearly speaking objectively, so you took no offense to his words, and you understood how you being there could feel stifling to the new teacher. It was Frigga’s gaze that provoked unease, a cold, indifferent stare that remained fixed on you as you left; unchanging, unwavering. With that gaze, she could turn the moon to ice and then melt it down to the ash from whence it came. You had effectively returned to dust. You nodded, tentatively agreeing to Dainsleif’s request, though not thanks to any persuasiveness of his own, and took your leave, footsteps echoing through the chamber.

The next time you are invited back to observe. You enter the room to be met with an odd and almost unwelcome sort of warmth. Frigga stands in front of the dummy, holding her blade with an adjusted grip to the one you had last seen her use. How Dainsleif had gotten the stubborn girl to shift to a more accurate stance is beyond you, but you are slightly impressed. You don’t know what to expect from this, but you have prepared yourself for the likely possibility that your ego may be brought to ruin. Although even if Frigga emerges the most competent swordswoman in all of Khaenri’ah, you would still be loath to admit that it was due to Dainsleif’s teachings. This is just a test, you remind yourself. This is all for her. 

Frigga takes a silent breath. Dainsleif nods, the indicator for her to begin. You cross your arms over your chest as your eyes meet hers for just a second. There may be an unprecedented heat in the room, but her ice quickly freezes over the warm blue of your own. Your mouth tightens instinctively and you swallow back an emotion that you don’t know how to name. And like the frozen river of your eyes, she darts forward, stolid, collected. A less-trained eye likely would have missed her movement as she flickers like frigid lightning, sights set on the battered training dummy in front of her. 

She strikes with zero grace but absolute precision, a straight up-and-down slice. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding, and the condensation collects in your lungs and comes out like steam into the quickly lowered air temperature. But to your surprise, she’s not done yet. One more strike— straight through the heart. The dummy is effectively downed, her blade unceremoniously driven through where the pivotal organ would be. 

She looks at Dainsleif before anyone else, and your stomach twists. He nods. “Good. Remember what I taught you.” She mirrors his actions with a nod of her own, acknowledging his words. Neither of them make any move to explain this mysterious teaching to you. You clear your throat and their collective gaze moves to you. “What did you think, Hlin?”

“You struck twice.” You direct your words towards Frigga, not her new master.

“Do not get the wrong idea. I was not thinking of mercy.” She speaks, her words reminiscent of a conversation in the same room many years ago. The temperature lowers further, and you shiver. The quarter moon has been wrought to dust. You send her off to wash up before dinner. 

The last quarter promises a clear shift in the atmosphere. The air is heavy, and something is clearly amiss. Starlight threatens to breach your tongue, but you swallow it down along with your suspicions borne of the night.

Frigga’s room is dark, save for a pale, blue flickering glow, and you’ve finally been allowed a glimpse into her world. Everything is suffocatingly loud, and in the distance, there is the beating of drums, not unlike your heartbeat that thrums within your chest like a hammer against cloth. The longer you look at the glowing orb in her hand, the more your vision blurs and your blood freezes in your veins. You’re not sure what to say. Even if you did, what difference would it make? What’s done is done, and fate marches on to the beat of the drums. Soldier, poet, king, judge. Better not to ask. 

“What are you going to call it?” Lumine asks from her place behind the desk, alongside the guard of the Inteyvat. She seems awed, candlelight eyes reflecting the glow of the marble orb, amazement and curiosity bleeding into her tone. 

“It’s a delusion.” Frigga responds with certainty, as if the name was chosen many years ago, not by her, but someone else who may be a shadow of who she was to become. In the back of your mind, something screams that you have ruined everything. You bury it beneath the snow. You are doing what you can, but right now, that is nothing. She hands the device to Dainsleif who appraises it with an unreadable gaze, Lumine peering over his shoulder in an attempt to get a closer look.

Dainsleif turns it over in his palm, tracing the intricate snowflake design gingerly with his gloved hand. “Very well made. This will likely be useful in the future,” He looks up at Frigga, meeting her gaze with a nod of approval. “Good work.” 

You watch as the Inteyvat subtly blooms right before you. The fragrant petals are only given a moment to unfurl before she freezes them herself, with a promise to let them flourish at a later date. For now, it’s you she sets her sights on. “Don’t you have anything to say?” You swallow, for the intoxicating scent of the flowers is choking you and you do not trust yourself to speak with a clear mind. She continues in response to your silence, seemingly considering it a disapproval. “You won’t have another chance to voice your disagreement.”

If you were a bit denser, you would believe that she almost wanted you to stop her. Or maybe, she would just rather a consenting cog in the machine rather than an eventual wrench. You have no intents of hindering her grand plan, whatever that may be. You want to be a part of her life, and you want to watch her grow. Whatever hell resides in her mind was born because of you and your failure. The stardust can reconvene and new stars can be formed, but you now know that it is impossible to be born back into the past, for it is the future that is truly ceaseless. So, who are you to stop the wheels of fate? 

You shake your head. “No. I have nothing to say at all.” The drumming is closer now. 

Better not to ask. 

Lumine clears her throat. “And the last order of business?” None of them make any move to explain what this is to you. You are used to this by now. You don’t ask, they don’t tell. Dainsleif passes the invention back to its mother. Frigga turns around, facing her desk and begins writing something on a clean sheet of paper.

“It’s getting late. We will handle that tomorrow.” Her tone is entirely unreadable, although it is clear that is the purpose. Dainsleif and Lumine bid their goodnights to no response. You make no move to leave, and you sense that she is listening for the third pair of footsteps.

“Why do you linger?” Her words do not take you off guard, although they breach the silence with an unwelcome cadence. You pause, allowing a beat or two of comfortable quiet before choosing your response.

“I hope that you are certain that you’ve made the right choice.”

She laughs humorlessly. “I’m always certain.”

You want to bid her the good fortune of the stars, but both of you know that such platitudes are useless. The stars choked her then, and they will not help her now. You witnessed them fall to dust many years ago, as you held her small hand in yours and forced her to breathe in the fallout. “May Inteyvat guide you.” You leave her with a more fitting benediction.

“It has, and it will.” She speaks with certainty. 

The stars have been brought to ruin, forever and ceaselessly. You know, because it was you who commissioned their demise. The drumming recedes the further away you get from her chambers. You should consider yourself lucky, but instead, your heart beats only at will. 

The breakfast table is silent, and you’re worried that the atmosphere makes the caged bird fluttering around in your chest even more audible. It is much earlier than you would normally wake up, and the rest of the maidstaff have not even arrived yet for the day. You wouldn’t dare call them at this hour, especially since whatever must be discussed seems to need utter secrecy. You place the cups of tea in front of each patron, (heavily sweetened for Frigga, one sugar cube for Lumine and Dainsleif each) before sitting down with your own, purposefully bitter with only a spoonful of honey to combat the heavy taste. It is thick down your throat when you swallow and stardust shines on your lips for a moment before you go to dab them gently with a napkin. 

“Lumine,” You speak her name so quietly that your companions all look at you with slight surprise at the fact that you’d spoken at all. You’re slightly offended that they expected you to simply play the part of the innocent bystander, but that’s not what you’re wary of right now. “What did you mean yesterday when you spoke of the ‘order of business?’”

She swallows thickly, making quick eye contact with Frigga and Dainsleif, the latter of which taking a sip of his tea to avoid having to make any comments of his own. Frigga’s gaze returns to her hands which shake almost imperceptibly where they are enclosed around her mug before responding herself. “I can no longer go by this name.” 

You seem to be the only one who has been provoked to any sort of surprise by this statement, and you get the sense that you are alone in a dark room once again, allowed the slightest bit of light through a crack in the door. The illuminating pinprick dances before your eyes like a firefly, but whenever you reach out to grab it for yourself, it escapes just out of your grasp. Right now, you feel the elusive creature slipping past your fingertips. You hold it down with your other hand, wings beating beneath your breast. 

“Why?” She looks at you the smallest bit incredulously, as if she hadn’t expected you to question that which didn’t involve you. The insect starts to wriggle free. You continue. “You work day and night on such mysterious projects, you show me a device of sorts, and now you wish to be renamed? I do not understand.” Lumine sighs deeply, and you can tell she’s irritated by the fact that you’ve chosen to stick your head where you do not belong. Complacency may be the language that she’s used to from you, but the honey has sweetened the bitterness on your tongue, and you wish to speak in a way that they understand. 

Frigga sighs quietly. “I do not like the name that has been given to me. I wish to use my own.” You furrow your brows. The explanation is utterly insufficient. 

“I am willing to address you any way you wish. If you desire not to be the princess, you are not the princess. But to throw away the name bestowed upon you at birth–”

“All the more reason to discard it,” She cuts you off with a matter-of-fact tone. “The girl who that name was given to is no longer me, and never will be again.” Her pale eyes meet yours with a glance that freezes you in place, forcing you to loosen your grip on the only source of light that you’ve been allotted. “Do you understand?”

You nod. “I apologize for my forwardness.” You bow slightly although it's utterly unnecessary. You doubt that she’s mad, but your lips burn with the sort of guilt that comes from unintentionally pinning down a free bird. In refusing to comply, you are holding her back, chaining her down to a past that has not been welcome. But the real question is, will the future be any more favorable? You decide that the chance is worth taking. 

“You are forgiven,” Frigga breaks eye contact before turning to the group as a whole. “Now. How shall you call me?” 

“Why leave that choice up to us?” Lumine answers with a question of her own. In the moment, you feel a twinge of resentment towards her for expecting you to deal in acquiescence while herself being so ready to question. At the end of the day it is useless, because loyalty is branded across her chest, and in her heart, she is bound to both you and Frigga by the bonds of a debt that she will never pay off. The debt of her own life. However, it is an objectively reasonable question, and you had found yourself wondering why someone so independent in her ideals would allow even her most trusted confidants to decide who she shall be. 

“I trust that you will make the right decision.” Frigga responds with seemingly little thought. The four of you sit in silence, collectively thinking as the day silently approaches and overtakes the night. You can feel the stars plummeting to the earth like meteors outside, falling quietly like snowflakes upon the sugar-coated ground. The taste in your mouth is still bitter, but all at once, a name comes to your mind at the same time that it makes its way to the tip of your tongue. 

Dainsleif beats you to the punch. “Freyja.” His answer comes as a surprise, spoken silently and almost under his breath, as if he had only meant to think it and not to speak it aloud. Regardless of his intentions, the universe had stolen the word from his lips and embedded it into the fabric of destiny, weaving it tight with the strings of stardust and turning the wheels faster with the insistent pull of the needle. 

“Abundance, love, and beauty.” Lumine muses. Her studies of Khaenri’ahn etymology seem to have paid off, as she is able to recall the meaning of the name immediately from memory. She is correct, of course. You wonder if she is also thinking of that girl from long, long ago, the one who taught the stars to shine only for her.

“It is everything you are.” Not unlike Dainsleif, you think aloud. The fabric of destiny is not kind, but like the stone corpses of the Inteyvat, she is in it forever, hair sparkling with the remnants of the supernova that you witnessed yourself. Dainsleif’s choice is perfect, even you can admit. You close your eyes, and behind your eyelids plays a future where she blooms, everything is fragrant and bright, and the stupid, negligent mistake of your youth, the one that caused so much trouble thus far, is simply a relic of the past. It’s nearly impossible, but with Freyja, you want to believe that this can be so. That maybe, with Frigga, died the court of the stones, and the falling trees, and from the ashes would be born someone new. Someone you will devote your life to all over again. 

You open your eyes, and she is looking right at you with a certain fondness, the sort that you have not seen reflected in her own eyes in longer than you can remember. She nods, the mirror of her frozen eyes closing for a moment, pale lashes brushing over her cheeks. “Then it is so.” 

Through the eternal night of Khaenri’ah, you feel an eclipse begin. The stars must relearn that which was taught to them before, and she will make them bow to her and her alone. 

The new moon returns as fate prompts its design, swallowing the stars that once resided in its wake. The night threatens to engulf you as well in its perpetual darkness. 

The invitation to go back into town with Freyja and Dainsleif comes entirely as a surprise. You had other duties planned for the day, but something like this completely blindsides you as you cannot remember the last full conversation you’ve had with Freyja since her rebirth. Something runs in the water between you, but you both seem content enough to ignore it, allowing it to freeze over in hopes that it will become unimportant. If you were to peer down below the thin ice you stand upon, blood resides just below the surface. 

You disregard the tension, offering a terse nod in response to the metaphorical olive branch of an invitation. “We’re leaving immediately after breakfast.” Freyja responds before leaving the room. You’re unsurprised that she doesn’t offer you much more, a frigid breeze signifying her departure. 

 You finish tidying up the kitchen and serve breakfast like normal, although no one seems to have much of an appetite. Lumine raises her eyebrows when she notices you following Freyja and her guard out, but she says nothing by way of objection. “Good luck.” She murmurs playfully into her cup of tea. You hope that you won’t need it considering Lumine seems to know much more than you do these days. 

Freyja and Dainsleif seem to know exactly where to go, heading through the town square without much fanfare and ignoring the rabble of the townspeople and the merchants calling out to the three of you with expertise. You however, are more easily startled, nearly jumping out of your skin when a balding man with yellow teeth grabs your arm in an attempt to give you a demonstration of the timepiece he’s selling. His breath is hot on your skin, and you are frozen in place, gaze fixed on the glare of the moon on the glass surface of the watch until Freyja yells. “Unhand her at once.” 

Even if she were not royalty, the ice that comes with her tone would be enough to convince anyone to bend to her will. The man hurriedly lets go of your arm, and you turn around before spitting at his feet. He shouts something in response that you cannot surmise over the pounding in your ears and mercifully, Freyja pulls you out of the situation before you have to weather the aftershocks. 

You thank her and she simply nods. “Paying them no heed is the best way to avoid incidents like that,” She gestures towards the multitude of merchants littered around the square. “Spare them a glance and you risk being sucked in.” She turns back around, catching up to Dainsleif who has been watching the incident from a few feet ahead. “Let that be a lesson.” You intend to treat it as such, although you figure it would be more useful if you actually went outside. What you had just experienced serves as all the more reason to stay at the manor, to allow the world outside to go on without any sort of interference on your behalf. 

You do as you are told, allowing your body to operate without the influence of your brain and following the two in front of you, watching as they exchange quips and quietly discuss their surroundings. You did not come along with any intention of being a third wheel, but you feel the slightest twinge of gratitude for the fact that they don’t expect you to chime in with your own input. Your brain is so muddled by the novelty of your surroundings that you’re not even sure you can find anything relevant in the murky river of your thoughts to respond with. Despite your relief, however, there is a part of you that feels grief from the sight of their backs turned to you, like you’re a child who hasn’t been let in on a secret and their shoulders form a barrier of ice. 

You’re easily distracted by the fact that they’ve begun to lead you to a darker, less populated part of town. Despite the initial wariness that presented itself in your chest, you welcome the silence broken up by the occasional call of a bird. They sound almost mournful, and a far away part of you wonders for a second if it is the cry of a raven that you are hearing. Black shadows cross overhead as you continue to move eastward and the distance between houses slowly begins to increase. You’re fondly reminded of the manor as you observe the flowerpots on the windowsills, the way the dark vines crawl and creep their way down the sides of the buildings. 

Just as the culture shock is beginning to dwindle, your two tour guides stop in front of the steps of a particularly unassuming house. It’s significantly smaller than the manor, but still beautiful, and as you begin to climb the cobblestone stairs, a raven descends, perching on top of the entryway. Freyja and Dainsleif pay it no mind, but your gaze is fixed upon the dark bird. You stare at it for a moment, frozen in place, before Dainsleif calls your name. By the time you look back at the entryway, the bird is gone, evaporated as if it were simply a figment of the moonlit sky.

They’ve already rung the doorbell by the time you catch up after them, and you hear the barely audible footsteps from inside the house approach the door before it swings open and you are met with a woman not unlike yourself, although clearly older. You know immediately upon seeing her ears, long and pointed like yours, that she is the Alice woman that Freyja once spoke of. You watch with surprise as she pulls the former princess into a hug that she reciprocates. You cannot remember the last time you hugged Freyja, although that likely may have been due to the recent circumstances and the frozen river that still stood just behind her even now on the cold stone steps. 

The woman then enthusiastically embraces Dainsleif as well, who stands there a little awkwardly, unsure of what to do with his hands before he gently pats her back. She moves away from him, eyes meeting yours before her face splits into a wide smile. 

“I’ve heard so much about you!” She sweeps you into the much-anticipated hug, and you notice that she smells nice in a way that is unfamiliar, a sort of fragrance that you’ve never before smelled in this world. She pulls away, hands braced on your shoulders as she seems to study your face. “You must be Hlin.” 

“Hlin Trygg, nice to meet you,” You respond with a smile of your own. Already you’ve taken a liking to the woman as her overly familiar way of greeting is actually quite refreshing. You’re used to stiff bows and plaintive formalities that extend much farther into close relationships than they should. “You must be Alice.” 

“So she speaks of me as well, huh?” The woman chuckles and the sound is melodic rather than grating. You cannot help but compare her to Lady Gold in your mind, and she wins in every aspect. “Please, come in!” 

Alice’s home wields the same fragrance that lingers on her, and it is quite pleasant. You search the entry room for the source, but only find a few potted plants whose flowers are not strong smelling enough to create a blend so potent. You leave your bags and coats in the foyer, and Alice, ever-hospitable, ushers you all into her sitting room while she leaves the room to prepare refreshments. Dainsleif and Freyja share a loveseat while you take the seat adjacent to where you assume Alice will be sitting. On the ottoman lie some glossy papers of unknown origins with extremely realistic and detailed drawings on them. You look at them with thinly-veiled awe, conscious of the fact that they seem to be nothing new to Dainsleif and Freyja.

The window adjacent to your seat is cracked, and the curtains blow into the room with the gentle breeze, carrying with it the smell of your homeland, mixing with the foreign smell of the woman’s house. If it wasn’t clear to you before, the clash of auras makes it abundantly evident that she is not of this world. You’re not sure if she’s like Lumine, or like your own kind, but before you can think it through any further, Alice re-enters the room with a pitcher of some sort of drink and a few glasses filled with ice cubes that she distributes to her guests with a dainty hand. 

“Iced tea.” She clarifies after seeing your mildly confused look directed towards the pitcher. She pours everyone a glass, and you notice the way that Freyja does not ask for extra sugar to mix in. Upon taking a sip of your own, you understand why. The woman has completely oversweetened the drink. It’s not entirely unpleasant, and you swallow it down thickly. 

“Now. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” She settles down in the comfortable chair, folded hands resting on her knees. She noticeably has not poured herself a drink, and you adjust in your seat. 

“I’ve told Hlin everything.” Freyja speaks bluntly, her words carrying such weight behind them that Alice nods with heavy understanding. You wonder briefly if she discussed this with Alice before bringing you here. You doubt that your arrival was truly without warning. 

“I see.” Alice’s eyes drift over to you. Her irises are red, but the color is warm rather than piercing, assaulting. “And, what do you think?” 

“What do I think?” Freyja had asked you many times over how you feel, giving you the chance to stop her if you ever disagreed, and it was true that you had never really felt the contrary. But you hadn’t exactly agreed either. She had never given you enough to base any sort of concrete opinion on, and you were content to keep things that way as long as it made her happy. “I think that she shall do as she wishes.”

“That is true,” Alice cocks her head slightly, and you get the feeling that your answer was not the correct one, but the safe way to go. “But it feels like a cop-out from you. You’re allowed to feel a certain way, you know.” Upon seeing the confusion with which you were still looking at her, Alice lets out a light, airy laugh before continuing. “Let me rephrase my question. How do you feel?”

How do you feel? Well, for one, you felt like everything was happening at once, and if you were to be involved, an opinion had to be formed now. It is true that you had made the safe choice, but no choice at all would be far more dangerous, and the future of the moon resides in your palm. Comply blindly with the hopes of receiving information later, or retract and risk the possibility that you might run the course of her life into the ground again? 

Considering what she had told Alice, Freyja seems to have every intention of telling you just what you need to know. You feel like you’re gambling by the pale, flickering light of the stars and you’re unsure what the roll of the dice will entail. You’re a participant in a dangerous game, but blood already runs within the frigid banks of the river. You melt beneath the warmth of Alice’s gaze. You place your cards on the table. “I will support Freyja in anything she does. I care about her, and if her endeavors require my aid in order to achieve success, I will do anything I can.” 

The air sparks with electricity. The thin ice of the stream begins to crack. Alice’s lips turn up in a soft, welcoming smile. “Good answer,” She turns to Freyja, “You’ll acknowledge it, right?” 

Freyja looks at you, and you wonder if you have imagined the softness around the corners of her cold irises. “I wish you were not so blindly loyal, but I accept your help nonetheless. I always will.” The last part comes out softer, quieter than the proclamatory deliverance of the other part. You nod, gently, and Alice claps her hands together enthusiastically. 

“Alright. Now that that’s over with, let’s get on to what you wanted to show me.” She grins with the excitement of a young child about to receive a new toy. It would be endearing if you knew what she was talking about. Freyja nudges Dainsleif, who reaches for the additional bag that he’d been carrying from beside him and passes it to her. She rummages for a moment as the room holds its breath for fear of inhaling the sparks. Then, the orb from earlier before, pale and shining in its frigid glory. 

Alice gasps a bit exaggeratedly upon handling it, observing the smooth glass with an appraising eye. “Wow. Nice work,” Freyja says nothing as Alice turns it over in her palm before closing her hand around it. “And this is the second one that you’ve made?”

“Correct.” Freyja nods. To your surprise, Alice passes it to you. You look at Freyja to confirm that it’s really okay, and she nods. The river cracks. You take it, holding it with both hands for fear of dropping it and ruining its excellence. It is cold to the touch, the snowflake design glinting beneath your gaze as you look at it with awe. You move to hand it back to its owner, but she shakes her head. “It is yours.” 

“Mine?” You’re struck with surprise. “That can’t be.”

Frigga nods. “I didn’t misspeak. I trust that you will handle it correctly.” 

You turn it over as Alice had before, observing the intricacy with which it was made. “My lady, I cannot accept this.” Something churns in your gut. Was it your answer that decided that you were worthy of such a device? You are not sure, but foreboding is heavy in your chest and your frozen blood flows at will. 

“You can, and you will, for it is yours.” Freyja rises from her place next to Dainsleif and approaches you. You do not stand up, and instead watch as she stops in front of your seat. You do not shrink under her gaze, and she does not expect you to. Instead, the fabric of destiny beckons you closer. 

“I do not know how to use it.” You don’t even know where to begin. There are so many reasons for you not to accept this, to continue your place as a silent cog in this slowly growing, ever-moving machine. But something unavoidable, unsuppressable within you begs you to take it. 

“We will learn together, like we used to do,” Once again, her tone is soft around the edges. This is the longest you’ve spoken to her, albeit not alone, since the first device was born into this world. The stars of her pupils sparkle with something akin to hope. You get a vision of a small, pale hand clutching a piece of stardust long ago. “It’s the least I can do for you.” She finishes, her voice almost a whisper. To your surprise, she takes your hand gently, her smaller one enclosing around the delusion so that it is supported by your palm but covered by her hand on top. Her skin is cold to the touch, but you feel the warmth that lives just beneath, that rushes below the surface of the frigid river. 

And the unsuppressable urge possesses you to nod, for that is what you are supposed to do. You answer fate’s call, weaving the strings of your heart within its convoluted pattern. Freyja squeezes your hand once before letting go, but makes no move to return to her seat. You do not feel like you’ve made the wrong decision. In fact, you feel the most certain you ever have about anything you’ve done thus far. Alice clears her throat, and Freyja’s mouth twitches for a second as she is seemingly reminded of something. “There is one more thing.” 

You have had enough decision making for the day, but you still bring yourself to reply. “What is it?”

“Your name.” Freyja responds. You look at her with confusion.

“What’s wrong with my name?”

Freyja pauses for a moment. “This,” she looks pointedly down at the delusion, “Hlin Trygg cannot wield this. You must put her to death.” Your mouth falls open. You look incredulously from Dainsleif, who cannot meet your gaze, to Alice, who looks almost sympathetic. 

“It’s only fair, dear.” She speaks quietly with a small shrug. Do you really have no choice? Although you cannot say with confidence that you like who you are, you have always wielded the desire to change, to say that although Hlin Trygg made many mistakes, the Hlin Trygg of today has repented. The Hlin Trygg of today is better. You cannot kill her, not before she is absolved completely. 

“I cannot erase who I am,” You say, unable to meet Freyja’s eye. You let go of her hand, offering her the delusion. “If that is what possession of this entails, then I cannot accept.” Freyja bites her lip before turning to Alice, who does not seem inclined to offer any help, instead burning a hole through the girl with her intense gaze. Freyja turns back to you. 

“You will not erase who you are,” She speaks with the certainty of one far beyond her years. “You are erasing who you were. How else do you expect to bring forth change?” 

Curses upon her, she has to know that she has you just where she wants you. You want nothing more than to erase the past you, the one who gave up so much only to be met with scorn and derision. Back then, you were confused, and you allowed the false prophets of the stones and of gold to take advantage of you, but now you know the correct path to take. You know where the inteyvat bloom. You know how a star is born, and you know exactly how it dies. If you start anew, you have the power to hang the moon, and you intend to use it to achieve a future that is in her best interest. You accept all responsibility, and you prostrate yourself before the stars. “Hlin Trygg is dead by her own hand.” There is no other way that you would accept the surrender. 

Freyja nods. Alice looks upon you with approval. Dainsleif is silent. “We’ve already begun considering names for you,” Alice says, her excitement quickly replacing the intensity of moments before. “I said that we should consider phonetics, but Freyja insisted on meaning.”

“Alice.” Freyja cuts her off. Then, to you: “You can choose whatever name you want.” 

“You already knew I would agree.” You say quietly, your tone uncolored by emotion. No one in the room says anything, waiting to see if you are offended, surprised, excited. You are not anything. That is just the way it is. If you are predictable, then so be it. You welcome the future with open arms. “Tell me, what did you choose for me?” 

Freyja and Alice look at each other. Freyja is the one to speak. “[Name].” 

“She who sees everything.” Alice defines the familiar word for you. You don’t need any more deliberation, nor do you need to object. You need nothing more. It is you. You are the sole witness of the time that the stars collapsed to the earth and lived to tell the tale. Or rather, you were, because the you of that time is dead. Now, you are the sole witness to the rebirth of the brightest stars in the sky, the observer of that which was brought to ruin being restored to the glory from which it once hailed. You will see it all, and you will further it the only way you can. The dagger, the princess, the queen, and her handmaiden. The raven’s call sounds again, and you can sense that he is closer. Behind Alice, in the window just adjacent to you, the raven is perched on the sill beside the potted plant. He looks at you with approval, and you know that you have made the right decision. You will not see him again until the shadow of death crosses your doorstep once more. You’ll make sure it won’t happen again.

The new moon has fallen, and the sky is empty, for the moon is no longer the sole ruler. For now, destiny is, but someone can and will come along to usurp it soon enough. You are ready to stand by with patience until the new age begins, one colored by gold and stardust.