Inevitably, the Islands called her back.
No matter how long or how hard she tried to stay away, there was an invisible thread that tied her to this place. Time and time again Freya found herself awash on these familiar shores, a new path laid out before her. The last time she'd been drawn back it'd been in search of her mate and son, a mission that ended up being for naught.
Now? Now she wasn't sure why she was here. In all honesty, she assumed Dogun and Björn had met an ill fate when they'd disappeared. It'd been so long since she'd seen the Inlet king or their son, and at this point she couldn't convince herself they hadn't simply passed on, lost to the unforgiving northern seas.
More than a decade had passed since their brief and amicable separation on the Inlet shores. Dogun had told her he was going to take Björn on patrol, and Freya had thought little of it at the time. But as hours wore on and the sun dipped low in the sky, the Inlet queen had known something was wrong. Out of loyalty and duty to Dogun and his — their — herd, she had stayed put, hopeful the pair would return.
But they never came back.
At first she wondered if they'd been hurt, or worse. For days she scoured every crevice of the Inlet looking for hoofprints, blood, hair, anything that might clue her in to her family's fate. But time wore on and nothing was found, and as their scent faded she considered a possibility that was, somehow, more heartbreaking: that they'd left on purpose, and without saying goodbye.
But why? Had he been unhappy? Was he trying to hide something? Freya was aware he was a troubled king, but he never thought his troubles would drive him to abandon his home and family. In time the dun mare resigned herself to the fact that he had his own reasons for his sudden and silent departure. She could contemplate them all she wanted, but nothing could rewrite history.
There was time yet, though, to turn a new page.
When she arrived again in the Islands, she avoided Tinuvel. There was no sense returning. She was too exhausted — emotionally, mentally, physically. The years had taken their toll on her and the harsh winds of time had worn down the proud bay mare from a statuesque queen to a mere pebble among the dirt. She didn't want to return there only to be faced with more disappointment when she inevitably discovered it empty.
So for the first time in years she came to the Commons, pleased to see little had changed. The last time she'd been here, she'd met a kind bay mare named Persephone, who'd introduced herself as queen of the Forest. Freya had accompanied her back to Luthien, but her time there had been brief. Something beyond the Islands called her away again, and in her absence she'd left two more children: Baldur and Lilija.
Every so often the former queen wondered what became of them, if they resented her for leaving. Or if they, like she, had come to understand that her reasons were her own. If luck looked favorably on her the Islands might yet reunite them, but Freya hadn't the faintest clue of what she would say if they did. I'm sorry didn't seem enough.
Though her eyesight had begun to deteriorate, she walked with confidence through the clearing, following the worn path through the heart of the Commons. The warm spring sun cascaded over her back and a gentle breeze whispered over her grey-flecked coat. Mothers and children milled about in small groups under the watchful eye of the stallions who lingered at the meadow's edge, no doubt keeping a keen eye out for any unclaimed interlopers.
Freya herself wondered if she would be scooped up by one of them, or if they would take one glance at her ragged coat and greying face and pass her up for the next —hopefully younger — candidate.
Either way, she imagined she would be content. There wasn't much the old mare wanted from life anymore aside from a soft place to lay her head and, if she was lucky, a kind friend to share her twilight years with. She had spent plenty of time playing queen and commoner, leading others and being led, and now all that was left was to see how the final chapter played out.
Settling herself at the heart of the clearing, Freya let the warm sun soothe her aching muscles and bent her head to graze.
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