Neverwinter Forest Some would sing and some would scream

@Callyope

sólhárr moved through the quiet woods, his steps steady, his gaze drifting now and then toward his traveling companion. she was his songbird, a lightness that followed him with every step. the world felt softer when she was near, even as the wind picked up, rustling the leaves overhead and whispering of winter’s approach.

after a while, he slowed and glanced back at her, a silent invitation in his eyes. without a word, he lowered himself to the ground, finding a soft patch of moss beneath an old tree. his form settled solidly, a sturdy warmth against the chill that had begun to settle over the earth. he shifted slightly, angling his shoulder toward her, his silent offer clear—come, rest here.

the wind quieted as he lay there, his gaze gentle as he watched her, waiting for her to nestle against him. in that moment, he was both a warrior and her quiet shelter, a steady presence as the stars began to blink softly into the sky above them.

should she have turned around by now?

it was likely, yet she had followed him. they had weaved through the forests and she found that as long as she stayed near him, it did not feel so grim here. she did not think of long gone sisters or wayward nephews.

for only a brief moment did she think about how little she was thinking.

instinct guided her, intrigue pulled her. she laid herself down alongside him without thought. as if it was simple and second nature to do so.

there is a glacier north of here, she told him as her eyes scanned upward, looking for a glimpse of the stars above. i will show you the spaces where this forest leans into it.

not now went without saying...

she reached for him, hopeful to offer idle grooming to the rugged tangles of autumn fur.

there was a hum that caught in his throat when she settled beside him. her body had molded to his perfectly. his songbird. he let his head rest back on the trunk of the tree, finding himself lost in the cadence of her voice. sing, sweetling, sing.

you're smart. he concluded. was that pride in his voice? pride that he could've found his own stjarna in the depths of this forest? a forest, that he, would begin to call his own. whilst they trekked before resting, he'd been marking the trees as they went. his scent lingered here.

as if it were a gift for her grooming, he pulled her closer with a paw latched around her ribs. he could feel her heartbeat, her steady breathing. a real life goddess.

sólhárr. he said, meaning it as an introduction. you are songbird... he traced, offering a nudge to her cheek, but waited for her own name in return.

moongrove had been laid to rest.

something else bloomed in its emptying expanse. she could not help but think it was for the best that this had happened. the emptiness of such a place had allowed him to come here, to now plant his claims.

she was held and she found she melted into him with such great ease as if crafted alongside each other.

she did not want to lose him. she did not want these moments to end. the idea was enough to dizzy her thinking into a soft spiral. grooming his wild tufts only ceased so that she might lay her head into him instead.

songbird.

there was a desire to nearly laugh! her spirit felt seen, as if he had someone come so near to it that he had nearly gleamed the truth of it. she knew a crane bird was not a songbird, but the closeness — !

callyope. she whispered into the thick of his fur. it would be safe there, kept close to him and guarded.

how would you call me?

delighted to know more of him, to hear of his tongue.

sólhárr.

her sólhárr.

her weight against him felt featherlight. his muscles beneath her body where stricken with years of hardening, rugged conditioning— all for it to mean something in this moment. to have her feel protected, an inkling of her melting into his furs even further.

and her given name had been callyope. he knew it'd be difficult for him to pronounce, so he swallowed. then, by a saving miracle of freya, she read his soul better than anyone.  kaljóf is...most direct.

he could think of others that could be special. are special. just for her. elska. he breathed, beloved, but also offered her others to pick from. though, that had been his favorite.

minn litla sæta, he murmured, voice deep yet softened just for her. my little sweet one. he let the words settle, carrying his warmth and reverence as he held her close, his nose brushing against her crown in a silent vow, a promise to keep her safe by his side. dýrliga. darling.

kaljóf.

she liked it. held it in her heart like a treasured trinket. it felt familiar, it felt new. she lived in two worlds when she was given such a thing.

more names, more trinkets. kept so close to her that they became one with her.

she could not contain all of it! a heart bursting with — joy, adoration. how good it is to be free of shackles of grief or concern. none of it lives here with him. she did not mean to diminish all that had happened, or cast it aside into the fire, but the relief is there. the guilt comes later.

elska. she exhaled in an echo at him.

learning a new language does not feel so daunting when she already has two comfortably. the greek of her father's tongue not as trained as it perhaps should have been, she did not count it a third.

this could be a third.

she tilted her head to place a kiss at his chin. it is an infatuation that makes her think she ought to do such a thing as much as she can. in case it ever ceases, in case this moment becomes a dream.

kaljóf — how many names might she wear when she was with him? songbird, elska, kaljóf... is it better for you to call me that? she did not doubt his capabilities in their shared tongue and it was only adoration in her question.

he was pleased to hear her repeat the name he favored back to her. maybe they liked the same things. well, what did he like? he supposed he liked what she liked. yes. that is a good motto.

my elska, he thundered with a reply, letting him raise his head for her to place the soft kisses that she was skilled at giving him. he never thought he'd find home with another woman, but here he was— dancing on the pinnacles of infatuation, of starlit fantasies.

she then asked if it was easier for him to say kaljóf. he thought about it for a moment, not entirely sure of the answer, until he tried her name raw on his tongue; call--yop-e,

was this...embarrassment? was it embarrassment the way he sought to bury his face in her neck, a humility only he sought for a woman he dared to trust?

i call what you want. he muttered.

"my elska,"

not yet she wanted to tell him. yet she did not want to scare him off. how silly! instead she only kept him close to her when he struggled with her name. his muttered words warmed her cheeks.

elska, she told him. or kaljóf.

just for you.

but he would learn. they would mold each other in the warmth of their palms. each would share parts that they carried individually.

nikisuittuk, she might whisper for the north star upon his head. ukiatsâk, she might utter for the autumn flares of his fur. neither of these said out loud yet. not until she new for certain that she could name him, that he would not vanish like a burning dream.

sólhárr... his name said for no reason other than she could! fire amber eyes looking for the cool depths of his own gaze.

just for you.

being around his elska had already begun to unravel his common tongue. from the conjunctions she used, he could get a better scope on how to communicate. it was stigmatized in vetrfjörðr to only speak their natal tongue, but that's what set aside the red fury. he wanted to know, he wanted to learn.

it was his turn to groom the soft textures of her fur. she was like silk beneath him, whereas he was rugged nylon. his tongue slipped easily over the follicles, detaching any loose dirt— though she was quite clean as is— that may have stuck.

selfishly, he was marking her. with the saliva from his jowls, he'd be apart of her. she would be apart of him. their scents would mesh, creating a layer over this territory for them.

then she spoke his name like a prayer. he pulled his head back, looking down at her hooded gaze. you will make good seiðkona.

another word, another name.

she was overflowing with these things and found she did not hate it. how many names had the women she knew held? there was a great respect in holding titles.

and there was an allure in holding ones that no one else did.

and what will you be?

sólhárr’s ear flicked at her question, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. she was clever, this one, weaving words with as much care as he did stones and soil. he respected that—a mind as sharp as her gaze, a heart drawn to the weight of titles and meaning.

i am hárkonungr here, he answered, voice steady as a mountain’s core. but what i will be, he added, his gaze narrowing slightly with something between challenge and intrigue, depends on those who stand beside me—or against me.

he let the words hang between them, his tone carrying both the weight of promise and the potential for something more. if she sought titles, if she sought a place carved by her own will, then she would have to take it beside him, or not at all.

he did not speak as a dream now.

i am he said — and she saw it. the declarations, the intent. she might have felt bad for thinking he was a flighty man. meant only to woo her and disappear.

he was here though, he had stated titles and claimed them. against him!

she reached not to kiss now, but to press the tips of teeth into the thin skin along his jaw. and is seiðkona beside you? humor, testing and teasing. you would not want to be against me.

brilliant and warm.

seiðkona he had called her. it had better be something that aligned with him!

sólhárr let out a low, rumbling laugh, feeling the playful press of her teeth against his jaw. he tilted his head, leaning into her touch with a daring glint in his eyes, his own teeth flashing in a grin that held as much warmth as challenge.

seiðkona, he repeated, savoring the word, letting it roll off his tongue as if it held ancient power. aye, beside me, he murmured, his voice dropping low, infused with mischief. you keep me grounded… or drive me wild.

he lifted a paw to brush lightly along her shoulder, a teasing touch to match her own. but against me? he leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. i’d be a fool to want that. i’d face storm than your wit.

with that, he pulled back, his eyes bright with playful fire, his stance inviting her to match his banter. but speak, my seiðkona, are you ready to stand beside hárkonungr?

aya!

drive him wild!

had she not already? her gaze grew heavy with enchantment now. to bind them to one another! this was her chance as much as it was his own.

it is me beside hárkonungr already, just as he had proclaimed himself hárkonungr. now she wished to declare herself as ready! you ask only out of kindness. she jested as she let her gaze see only his own eyes now. nothing else could matter.

it need be only them to solidify this moment, their binding.

and the world seemed hushed enough to allow it, with stars their only witness.

his gaze softened as he took in her words, the fire in her eyes meeting his own with equal intensity. he felt the weight of the moment settle around them, the stars above bearing silent witness to their unspoken vows. he reached for her, his paw resting gently against her cheek, steady and sure.

call-yope he murmured, voice thick with promise, the old word carrying his intent like an oath. i will make you my wife, elska, he declared, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the quiet night. and we be wed before the gods themselves—bound together, blessings upon us.

he leaned closer, his breath warm, his gaze locked onto hers. this night, this promise, he whispered, his voice reverent, as if the stars themselves would carry his words into eternity, let it known that you are mine, and i am yours.

with that, sólhárr pressed his brow to hers, a silent vow, sealing their bond beneath the sky’s quiet embrace.

a promise.

a vow.

could it be so? it would be so, she told herself.

why not? why not her? why not him?

only mine. only yours. no other wives among his collection, no other husbands among her own. the way she had always imagined. silence followed, allowing herself to press her own forehead back into his. eyes closed for the ultimate sign of her trust in him now.

fade and smth new? <3