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It was cold, the mountains capped in snow and the sprawling forest pines covered in it; as a mother would lay a blanket on her child. Between the steep cliffs going down into the valley, the waters of the fjord lay still and quiet; as though the world had simply stopped. Snow had a way of deafening things, sound stopped. Everything was quiet.

Dawn hadn’t even broken…

I had been sitting a long while, nestled with my back to a lichen (and now snow) covered rock. I knew this rock well and it knew me; I had been coming to sit here for many years now. The snow had fallen in the night not long after my arrival on the cliff. It surrounded me in a cold fortress. I didn’t feel it though, the cold. My thick heavy cloak of deer furs was more than long enough for me to sit on and wrap the excess tightly about my shoulders. Not even the chilled air (which had turned my nose pink) could reach me inside my pelted, encasement. It was a fortress of solitude, made by that of myself and nature.

My breath fogged the air before me but this was the only movement in the motionlessness of predawn. The sky wasn’t showing signs of lightening so maybe I hadn’t been sat here for as long as I thought? Down below the village was sleeping. Families all gathered together curled up and slumbering. Yet here I sat. Alone.

I couldn’t face it, the solitude down there. In my home; my small but very empty home it was icy, dead. It started when my father and brother passed on the battle field, felled by enemies not of their choosing. All warmth and life had ceased completely with the death of my mother ravaged by fever which had taken half the village with it.

I remember the fire, the ale, the singing of this time in years gone by. Yule was a time for celebration; time for endings and beginnings. There would be many families waking, drinking dancing, singing this morrow. But I would not be one of them. I contemplated remaining here; on this cliff which had been a constant unwavering ally. I would be sitting vigil as I had been since I was old enough to understand what that meant. I had waited with my father for the morning birdsong. I had waited with my brother for the ships bearing our father into harbour. I had waited alone for my brother when he was old enough to sail and I was not. I waited in this very same spot. I shall now wait for the sun to rise on this silent white world.

Isn’t it funny; how when everything muffled by the snow, the sudden laughter of a child was carried so easily to my ears over the air from the village below. They were waking up.

I remained, sat solitary; always isolated. In the village I hardly expected anyone to notice my absence. Bjorn might. But no, he was with his family, his wife, and his children. The friend I was once inseparable from had, over time (yet in no time at all it seemed) drifted away from me. Or I from him.

It was painful, to see them so… happy, so together, him his wife and children. So… exactly what it should be. His wife was kind, gentle, everything I was not. But sometimes, just sometimes when I’m sat alone in the silence I wish I could be those things. I wish… oh how I wish… but no, he was gone from me. I’d done that myself, I shouldn’t wallow in it. What was done was done. Bjorn was happy and I was not finished. There were still places I needed to see, things left unfinished, people left unpunished. Revenge was a lonely path. I don’t recommend it. Nevertheless it was the one I had chosen, chosen that day I walked from my house, plucked up my mother’s sword and murdered the Earl for sending my father to his death.

The sky turned slowly from purple night to dawning grey, the clouds still heavy and threatening more snow. Let it fall, I thought. Let it fall and bury me here, in the quiet where I can stop pretending.

I didn’t doze but my mind must have wandered enough for my attention to slip. Soft but loud crunching approached behind me as snow was crushed underfoot. My ear twitched, I didn’t turn, I knew those footfalls. Of course, I really should have known he would hunt me down.

Bjorn stopped beside me, didn’t utter a word just stood there looking out over the fjord with me. Then abruptly, after a moment, he plopped down into the foot of snow at my side.

“You look like a troll, all covered in white,” he spoke.

“I came here to be alone,” I replied.

“I know, dangerous that,” he shuffled into a more comfortable position knees tucked up into his chest. “You always do silly things when you’re alone.”

I scoffed and for the first time in hours shifted my weight.

“Bjorn, why are you not with your family?” why did he always come? The pain, the pull it was always harder to resist with proximity.

“I am with my family,” he defended. I scoffed. “I am Ragna; you should know this by now.” He sounded hurt. How many years had he been chasing me? Pulling me back? Too many, perhaps he was finally getting tired of my resistance. When he stopped maybe I would be free? Free to be reckless. My last ties to this mortal realm of Midgard severed and I could at last focus on my passing, on my entrance to Valhalla. To where my father and brother were. We’d sing and dance and drink, our own eternal yuletide.

“Go home Bjorn,” I spoke, “your wife is waiting."

“My wife knows where I am,” Bjorn was stubborn. “My children have children to play with and soon the log will be lit and they with have everyone to be with.” I felt more than saw his eyes staring at me. “But you are alone. I am tired of you being alone.”

“I wish to be alone,” I snapped “can you not understand that?!”

“Oh I do,” he sounded unaffected by my venom. “But I refuse to abide by it.”

“Bjorn-,“

“GODS RANGA!” his voice lashed out like the crack of a horse whip, sharp in the silence of the cliffside. It shocked me honestly, he never yelled, not even when he bashed his knees into low tables. Obviously, he was near the end of his endurance of me. “For the sake of my love for you will you not just let me sit here? For once! Let me be here where I want to be beside you?! That is all I ever wanted.” His voice retreated into himself as though he was attempting to take the words back before I heard them.

I swallowed, suddenly aware I had not brought anything to drink and I was thirsty. A deer skin materialized under my nose, a strong broad hand holding it steadily for me to take. I took it; feeling the cold on my hands for the first time as I created a gap in my small tent. The warm ale was strong, the smallest sip rushed through my body and fought the cold which had entered, banishing it from the confines of my cloak. I held it, swirling the contents inside. Mute and searching for something to say.

“You’ve never said that before,” I took another sip before handing it back to him “that, you love me, I’ve never heard you say that,” my voice did the same retreating act his had done.

“I’ve come to realize subtlety doesn’t work with you Ragna,” Bjorn took a long fortifying gulp of ale. “But I do, love you that is.”

Something in my chest squeezed as though choking me, as though I was thrown from my horse and the beast had landed atop me, crushing. I couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know! He didn’t know what those words meant to me. How much it hurt. He couldn’t know. He was my oldest friend and nothing more. Something warm and wet fell down my cheek. A tear, singular and alone fell to my chin and dropped. I turned my head from him, shivering but not from the cold. I felt as though every single carefully stitched edge of me was about to wrench apart. I clamped my lips, biting harshly into them to lock any sound away. A hand, broad and strong came and took my chin in gentle fingers, turning me back. I resisted, I had to over wise he would see, see everything I had been hiding.

End of part 1

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