Neverwinter Forest manihost

the air was cool, carrying a faint hum of life that seemed to vibrate through the delicate ring of glowing moonflowers encircling tunglhjarta. their silvery light bathed the great boulder at the grove’s center, a beacon of serenity against the creeping dark.

his golden eye lingered on the stone, its surface etched with faint markings that whispered of stories long forgotten. he exhaled slowly, his breath a cloud in the stillness, before his voice broke the quiet.

@Rokkur, he called, the name heavy with purpose. i come to speak.

he moved closer to the boulder, his steps careful, his posture respectful. the grove was alive, its energy palpable, and sólhárr could feel the weight of its history pressing against him.

the man of the moons' shadow was never far from call. heavy, dark paws carried him across the earth, weaving through the trees from his den that sat nearby. moving with ease, with a familiarity to the forest, the dark man would heed the call of his king.

sólhárr, came his response. rökkur moved to stand besides him, then, looking from his single eye to the boulder. tail flicked low behind him, swaying against his hocks. what do you need of me? a typical question from the moongrove guardian.

for a moment, sólhárr said nothing, the soft hum of the moonflowers filling the silence between them. then, his voice broke through, low and deliberate.

how do you fare, rökkur? he asked, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on the moongrove guardian. he smells of íruna. good. this is good.

he let the words hang, his approval clear in the simple statement. the air around them felt heavy with meaning, the glow of tunglhjarta casting an almost otherworldly light over the scene. sólhárr’s posture remained strong, but there was a faint softness in his tone now, a hint of something more beneath his usual stoicism.

what do you think of the læknir?

i have been well, came a simple answer. a single, shining amber shone back at the guardian, and he wondered what the king was truly here for. the purpose of his visit. and though he did not mind an occasional, meaningless chat, he knew that a visit from the winterlord was more than a random visit, and the deliberation within his words did much to prove such a suspicion. the læknir? he gave a thoughtful nod of his head.

we have spoken, he said, then. similarly, they shared a scent ; rosemary, mint, chamomile. ... of our faith, and such. we also shared a bath together, there was no amusement upon his face as he said this, no sense of strangeness, nor anything more than what he hoped to be a friendship, but he knew that if the sunfire man before him was asking of her, there was something going on, something happening. brows drew together.

he thought of the look within her glacier eyes, now.

was there something he was not aware of?

it is true, then, sólhárr declared, the weight of conviction in his voice as he stepped closer, his frame looming yet warm in its presence. the gods will it.

his chest swelled with pride, the cold northern air sharpening his clarity. rökkur's words had confirmed what sólhárr already believed to be a divine decree. the gods spoke through him, yes, but here, through the sögumaðr as well, their intent was plain. it was not coincidence; it was guidance.

our faith binds us, rökkur. it binds us to our people, to máni, to the will of the gods. and now— he paused, gaze fixed like the first touch of sunlight upon frost, —it must bind our blood.

sólhárr's tone softened but lost none of its certainty. íruna carries the strength of máni’s voice. through her, and through you, the gods shall see forneskja rise ever higher. this union... it is right. it is holy.

he tilted his head slightly, studying rökkur. tell me, sögumaðr, he murmured. do you not feel the same echo in your heart?

he knew, then, by the words that left the kings maw and the awkwardness that had been ever-present in the silver womans eyes that this was no meeting of friends. this was no check-in. this was a betrothal, a send off, and while the man of the moongrove was not angry nor upset, he simply wished that he had been told sooner.

i see, came his low, rumbling voice. with a breath, he said: it is right, for they were the only two who took position in the ironbark circle, and they each had their own connection to their respective leader. the nightman offering guidance to one of sunfire, and the oceanwoman offering guidance to one of moon. i ... do ... but you told íruna before me, did you not? there was no conviction in his tone, no frustration.

i am happy to take on this task, to fulfill the wish of the gods, and the daughter of dragons' bay is a fine, strong woman, rökkur, though brows were slightly furrowed, gave a hum. all that i wish for is that i stay in the loop, considering this is something of such importance, he looked back to his king, then, his tail flicking behind him.

the man's words carried weight, and the hárkonungr respected his counsel enough to heed it.

you are right, solharr admitted with a faint nod. but she had to know first. it is not a light thing for a woman to bear children—your children. it is a task she must sit with, understand, and prepare for.

he stepped closer, brushing his shoulder lightly against rökkur's in a show of solidarity. you will have her strength, and she will have yours. together, you will honor the gods.

a pause, then a glance back, his tone carrying an undertone of good-natured humor. this is a task that binds both of you to forneskja’s future. i trust you will do what is right.

he was right, then, the guardian knew. for it was no burden on a man to have a woman bear his children, but it certainly was not as simple for the woman who would have to hold them, deliver them, and feed them for the first month of their lives. but rökkur would do what he could to ensure that the rearing of children was as easy as possible on the shoulders of the læknir. weaning them, playing with them, bathing them, caring for them, he would do all the things if it meant that his betrothed would also be happy.

scarlet gaze flickered to that of a single amber. we will have eachother, he said, then, a sense of finality carrying his words, as if a decision, an important one, had been made. and though the kings voice was carried by humour, rökkur was serious in such a topic, saying: we will, before giving a nudge of his nose against the kings cheek and turning away, intending to seek out the woman that will bear his children.

thank you, sólhárr, came his final words, gifted over a dark shoulder, before he turned away, weaving through the trees of the neverwinter and towards the scent of íruna, carried towards him on the winds, as if beckoning his presence ; a call he'd answer.