~ where innocences burn in flames.
I am still scared. Her words are just a murmur, barely audible to his ears. He does his best to understand the fear that grips. Then she continues. ...you've given me. He quietly contemplates her words as her touch lingers on the bridge of his nose for a brief second.
The future he had given her, now grows within her womb... a child of their own. When she had approached him in the darkest hour of night, he had known immediately what she had wanted. Her touch was soft and her kisses lingered on his skin long after the warmth of her touch had faded. It was passionate and they were hungry for each other. Even now as he stands with her, a shiver runs the length of his spine as he reminisces over that night.
A smile tugs at his lips as she says that she is thankful for their child. But her next words cause his heart to thunder against his ribs as she changes the subject. He gives a nervous chuckle as he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable with his past and all the things he has done.
Would it change how she feels about him? The worry causes his brow to furrow momentarily. Coward.
"I was born here, on Tinuvel actually," he pauses with a sigh on his lips as he dives into his tale. "When I was young, my mother was won in a battle and I swam after her to try to bring her back. But once I got to shore, the stallion who had won offered to let me stay with her if I learned to fight like him and to be his apprentice of sorts," he smiles fondly as he remembers Olaf. "Shortly after turning 4 years old I left the Islands to seek out my father, and learned that he had been living in the Norðurland... with his other children."
Yes, his father had birthed other children and left his eldest to fend for himself. He had left it all behind.. him.. his mother. He drops his glacial eyes and heaves a breath. The next part of his story grows dark and he can feel the fear writhe in his chest.
"I've done terrible things," he admits into the sliver of space between them. I have witnessed terrible things. He had pillaged and plundered, watched women raped and killed, and had done nothing. It had been men being men. That is what Norðurlander warriors do. They are made of ice and white-hot fire. No regret and no remorse.
Björn - Icelandic mutt - 10 years old - Grullo Sabino
Bera Konung of the Ridge