Neverwinter Forest my undoing, oh my love,

rökkur tag for mention

the moon hung heavy in the sky as sólhárr made his way through the stillness of the forest, @Rokkur’s words echoing in his mind. the seiðmaður had spoken with conviction, guiding him toward a path he could not ignore. he had asked for wisdom, for clarity, and it had been granted. now, it was his turn to act.

the great standing tree loomed ahead, its roots coiling like protective arms around the hollowed den beneath. a faint light flickered within, cast by the gentle glow of the moon filtering through the canopy. sólhárr’s steps softened as he approached, the weight of his resolve steadying him.

he ducked his head to enter, his pale eyes adjusting to the dim light inside. there she was—@Callyope, his elska, her frame a quiet strength within the shelter they had claimed as their own. he could see the tension in her shoulders, the weariness that came from the burdens she bore so diligently.

he moved closer, the scent of her familiar and grounding. gently, he nudged her with his nose, his touch both tender and firm, a wordless request for her attention.

lyselska, he murmured, his voice low but warm, filling the small space. do you sleep, yet?

work phone post but wanted to wiggle in

she smoothed a paw over the pelt beneath her. the short hairs of the boar were hardly felt through the thick of her fur. yet the padding offered kindness upon joints that worked. her own and sólhárr’s.

she was well aware of how hard he worked himself.

for their life, for her.

his voice was welcomed like a cold drink of water. yet his presence warmed her greatly. her eyes turned upon him and the autumn shadow he cast in the moonlight. sleep had eluded her and she had done little to chase after it.

come, she whispered softly to him in return. you too spend the dark hours restless. her voice spoke with fact as much as it did questioning, an invitation for him to speak on what had him up so late.

LOVE THE PHONE POSTS

he shifted into place behind her, his broad frame a steadfast wall against the cool air of their den. the boar furs, warmed by her touch, pressed against his shoulders as he let her drape herself over him. the weight of her was grounding, comforting. with a sigh, he leaned back, his head finding the solid surface of the cavern walls, eyes half-lidded as he took in her presence.

her words stirred something within him, but he did not reply at first. instead, his gaze wandered to the dim light filtering in, casting faint patterns upon the walls. only when the silence grew, stretching thin, did he let his voice slip free.

the lake, he began, his tone low and contemplative. i met a man, kigipigak, spoke of it. his words hung there for a moment, heavy in the quiet of the night. he said it was cursed. what do you know of such things, call-yope?

his eyes turned to her then, studying her expression with a mix of curiosity and concern. her wisdom often outpaced his own, and in matters of the unseen, the spiritual, he found himself leaning on her insight.

kigipigak.

kigipigak.

winter hawk come to fly on cold breeze into the warmth of forneskja. she willed herself to become something unreadable for a moment. contemplative in her next choice of words. torn between feeling the wound open all over again and the bitterness that came from it.

is that all he told you, hjartsláttur? that the place is cursed?

she refused to let a festering wound turn into upset with him. her beloved. her sun.

sólhárr lay beside her, the dim light of the moon filtering faintly through the cracks of their den. her words were quiet, but they cut through the stillness of the night like a blade. he shifted slightly, turning his golden gaze to her face, his expression unguarded in the intimacy of their shared space.

yes, lyelska, he said softly, his voice steady, though his brow furrowed slightly. that was all.

he let the silence settle for a moment, his mind turning back to the tundra man. but— he began, searching for the right words, his grasp of the common tongue simple but deliberate, kigipigak... when he spoke of it, there was something in him. i am no fool to signs. his words were cold, but his eyes—they held memory.

sólhárr’s gaze lingered on her, his warmth radiating even in the chill of the night. he reached a paw gently toward her, brushing against her own. he knew of you, he continued, his tone both thoughtful and protective. your name, your path—your bloodline. it changed him to think of these things. as if the lake were not the only curse he carried in his heart.

he sighed, the weight of the thought pressing against his chest. i do not know what lies beneath his words, elska. but i see the way his memory wraps itself around you. i see it, and i do not like it. his voice softened even further, almost a whisper. i wish to see you, callyope...

yes!

yes!

she forced her gaze to look along his side, to watch the rise and fall of his chest and attempt to match it the best she could. a grounded thing so that she did not burst into an emotion like a wildfire.

kigipigak has much history among moonglow, but he was wedded to my sister. i do not think it was done right. it is why i stress the bride-price to you, it is why i wish to put together my first home and now this home in the teachings.

her eyes had begun to water, she had not fully realized.

my mother asked no bride-price when they wedded.

would her beloved have felt disrespect if such had happened to him? she thought he might, she thought his heart good enough to see why that might have not been well for them.

it did not last.

a lump in her throat.

sólhárr frowned, his brow furrowing as he absorbed her words. the notion of no bride price settled uneasily in his chest, a weight that felt too heavy to ignore. it struck against the teachings that had shaped him, the traditions that formed the backbone of his beliefs. it felt... unlawful. incomplete. a stage set for misfortune.

he shifted closer, his movements deliberate and steady, and brought his nose to the back of her head. there, he pressed a kiss, soft and lingering, as if to assure her that no matter her words, she was not alone in them.

the bride price will be paid, he rumbled, his voice low but firm with conviction. i would want the same for my daughters, callyope. it is respect for your family, for you. he paused, the gravity of his words hanging in the quiet air between them.

after a moment, he tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes searching hers as he asked, what happened to your sister? there was a gentleness in his tone, but it carried a weight of genuine concern. he needed to understand what had led her here, to this moment, to this belief. for her, he would listen. always.

he saw, he heard.

she closed her eyes beneath his kiss and tried to think of better things.

cursed. is that what he thought of this place? of his once wife's spirit? that it was a curse? had everyone thought that panuk listened to curses in this place? the boy was not haunted by misery, he had not been clinging to grief when he had been here.

how could he have said such a thing?

grief, just like yours, whispered something small in the back of her mind.

she wanted a village here. her voice soft and small. she had parted from kigipigak. she had begun a walk into a new life with another hunter. did anyone still speak kannoyak's name? it is not just her sister who had become spirit in this place. the trader could not be forgotten.

before it could raise, the water took her and this man.

she was unraveling, she was feeling it all again. perhaps this was good. perhaps it was a reminder.

their spirit is no curse, hjartsláttur. the tears could not be withheld even if she did not outright sob. ariadne! fire in her heart! she was sweet, she deserved more and i carry her with me always —

did anyone call her cursed?

sólhárr's chest tightened as he watched her unravel, her pain spilling forth like water breaking free of a dam. he felt the weight of her grief, her love, her memories—all swirling together in her words, her tears. without hesitation, he moved closer, his warmth wrapping around her like a shield against the chill of her sorrow.

no, my call-yope, he cooed softly, his voice a low rumble of tenderness. he pressed his lips to her tear-streaked cheek, kissing away each drop as if they could take her pain with them. this is not cursed. your sister is no curse. this is how she cares for you.

his nose brushed gently along her temple, his touch steady, grounding. she led me to you, lyelska. she brought me to my love, my life. she watches over you, not as a shadow of grief but as a light of guidance.

he paused, letting his words settle as he held her closer. and you honor her with every breath, with every dream of a village, with every step forward. her spirit lives through you, and it is not something to fear. it is something to cherish.

he kissed her again, softer this time, letting his lips linger on her brow. he may have called her cursed, but they were wrong. she is your strength, your fire. and i am here, always, to help you carry her, to build with you, to honor her through the life we will make together.

she buried herself into his embrace.

the warmth of it took away the cold biting at tears. she had not realized how worried she had been that he might agree! yet he was not kigipigak, he was someone entirely new. he was a man who believed in faiths and spirits, who did not shy away from this things.

it was how she had come to be remade as seiðkona.

"and i am here, always, to help you carry her, to build with you, to honor her through the life we will make together."

it echoed endlessly within her. something raw and tender had been exposed to him, he had not shied away from it or repeated such harsh thinking. her tears now were not just of grief, but of love.

seen! heard! respected and revered!

oh, hjartsláttur, she whispered into his rich fur. you see me. you hear me. she pulled back just enough to look into his glacier eyes.

you were not scared. you did not shy away from me, from here, from spirits.

her faith in him grew more each word, each moment.

sólhárr held her as tightly as he dared, her trembling form cradled against him as though she might shatter if he let go. his breath was steady, his strength unyielding, but her tears—her tears were a storm that his walls could not keep out.

elska mín, he murmured, his voice deep, a quiet anchor amidst the swell of her emotions. his muzzle brushed against her crown, a soft kiss to the place where her thoughts ran wild. your tears are the rivers of forneskja. they flow because you feel deeply, because you honor the spirits with your heart, not just your words.

his glacier eyes, normally piercing, softened as she pulled back to meet his gaze. the rawness there—her trust, her faith in him—struck something primal, something tender. he leaned his forehead to hers, grounding her, grounding himself.

i see you, he said simply, his words a promise. i hear you. in every breath, in every word you’ve ever spoken to me, i see and hear all that you are. and i will never shy away from it. not from you, not from this place, not from the spirits.

he pulled her closer again, if it was at all possible, his warmth enveloping her. you carry the spirits in you, call-yope. their emotions, their wisdom, their grief. and where you may weep for them, i will be the strength you lean on. this is what it means to be seiðkona and hárkonungr. we are not two halves—we are whole, together.

a pause, heavy with meaning. his voice softened, a gentle reverence now. let your tears fall, elska mín. they honor the spirits. they honor her. and they honor us.

in that moment he was everything.

the moon, the sun, the earth.

the wind, the rain, the light.

forehead against forehead brought her to earth. she loved him, she had decided. she loved him, she felt deeply. if they never wedded, if their souls ever parted, if the earth was ripped into two halves — it did not matter.

she loved him.

had anyone ever seen her so clearly? had ever her father or mother? perhaps when she was fresh to the world, first born and in the space of a ulaq. maybe before the world had changed her with love and loss. she had changed since her first breath.

now it felt like she had been reborn again. another fresh breath. this time with him as her witness, with the air of forneskja as her own.

she did not want to wait to tell him. she had seen her sister go too soon, she had seen family wander and return — herself included. what if she waited and he never heard the words? he should know. he needed to know.

i love you.

whispered even if it felt like a yell.

i love you. i love all you have done, i love all you will do. my spirit will always know yours no matter.

her words like a bolt of thunder through his chest, primal and raw. his breath hitched, and for a moment, the world stilled. i love you. her affirmation echoed in his ears, louder than any roar of the caribou, deeper than the hum of the forest.

she was his, wholly, undeniably. she had spoken the words he had felt in his marrow, and it ignited something untamed within him.

you are mine, elska, he rumbled, his voice deep and unwavering, resonating like the drum of the earth beneath their feet. his golden eyes burned as they locked onto hers, an intensity in them that was both tender and possessive. you’ve always been mine, from the moment our paths crossed. and i am yours.

he pressed his forehead hard against hers, his teeth baring in a flash of feral intensity, not as a threat but as a mark of his dominance, his devotion. the roughness of his fur brushed against her, and he tilted his head to let his teeth graze her ear, deliberate, as if to etch himself into her memory. every breath, every touch, was heavy with purpose, charged with a masculine energy that couldn’t be tamed.

you are my blood. my bone. my breath. my love. the words snarled free, his voice steady but brimming with passion. and i will fight for you, for this, with everything i have.

he pulled back just enough to stare into her eyes, the intensity in his gaze unrelenting. say it again, he demanded, his voice rough like the bark of the pines. say it again so the gods hear it, so this forest knows it—so there’s no question of who your heart yearns for.