[ Travis Fimmel, gender fluid, he/they, 1000+ ] we've known [ TÝR ] forever now, the deity of [ JUSTICE ] has been in Novigrad for [ ON AND OFF FOR 500 YEARS ]. They're known to be [ FATALISTIC ] and [ COMPASSIONATE ]. We find it fascinating that after all these years they [ SIDE WITH ] the humans and have been working as a [ MERCENARY ]. They often remind us of [ THE SMELL OF HONEY, LONGING BUT NEVER RECEIVING, FLOWERS IN THEIR TANGLED HAIR, HANDS STAINED WITH BLOOD AND HEART WITH TEARS, THE DISTANT SOUND OF COMBAT ]. Our thread has already been woven on what their future is looking like, but we're eager to see them experience it.
Name: Týr (Tyr) the god of justice
Age: 1000+
Gender: Gender fluid
Pronouns: He/they
Sexuality: Homosexual
Occupation: Mercenary
TW: Mention of blood and violence
How strange it is that for eternity you have been known to represent bloodshed, but you are also the bringer of order and justice. In the past your sword never truly dried from all of your fighting, you marched into battle ready to right the wrongs with violence. If this is what you have done for all eternity then why was is your heart always so heavy afterwards?
Then came the humans. While many of the Gods found them intolerable and far less important than the gods, you adored them. You saw the beauty in their flaws, even in their short lives. How thrilling it must be to only live for one fleeting moment and yet be able to embrace death with open arms?
Oh, how you would watch them and dream of being able to live like them, so naively and so freely. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone when you moved to Novigrad to live among the people you admired.
After centuries of living with humans, others may have learned to despise humans for being anything but perfect, but you have grown to love them even more. You spend your days and nights near them, always trying to bring them joy. I know that you have seen the worst in humanity, I know that you do not shy away from punishing those who deserve it, and that you always protect those who can not protect themselves. It torments you that you have not punished the Eternal Flame for their ruthlessnes, doesn't it?
Wanted connections
Enemies - He has strong opinions about most things, so he is bound to make enemies with those who disagree with him, or perhaps they have gotten into a fight about something?
Friends - They are also the type of person who tries to make friends with most people so that they have many friends. They are the type that constantly tries to help everyone, even if they do not know them at all.
Lovers - He has always been curious and fascinated by people who are not gods, and therefore he has perhaps had one lover too many. So they can be former lover, current lover, a fling or anything in between.
I will probably add more on the list but I'm tired oof
Kai balked at Tyr's answer, eyes practically bulging out of his face. "Love? It's bullying, Tyr. Whoever taught you that rudeness equates to affection is incredibly troubled. Besides, did I mention that they're targeting father?"
He put his hands on his hips, giving no hint of standing down despite Tyr's explanation. Kai could not see the fun in being pranked by a little orange person, much less by a big one. For all of his deviousness and mischief now, Kai had been a sensitive child who only developed to get ahead of the curve of everyone else.
More than that, he was simply stubborn.
"You really think father can be defeated? Please, Tyr, father could wrestle a family of bears with his eyes bound," Kai argued, inflating indignantly as he continued with a tone of grandeur. "He could carry the moon around the planet if he must. There are only mountains because the earth wishes it could reach the heavens and get away from father's prowess. If the ocean is salty, it's because father cried into it. Father does not need protection, only a leash, some new clothes and a reliable clock."
Flipping his hair as he turned away from Tyr, he huffed one more time before deciding that he didn't need this anymore. If he had to eject his new uncle from the family himself, then he would. "Hmph, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I will simply continue living as a divine, misunderstood elf who actually loves his father. Unlike some people."
Týr had always known how much Kai looked up to his father, and it was clear to anyone who met the two of them that in Kai’s eyes, Kal went outside every night and hung the moon and stars just for him to enjoy. If Týr was honest with themself, they too looked up to his friend. In their opinion, there was nothing he couldn’t do, but they were old enough to know that no matter how fierceless Kal was, he was still only a man and every man had their weaknesses.
“I’m sorry, Kai.” This time around they did not laugh, instead they looked up at the man who had grown up to be just as fierceless as his father, with a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “I’m sorry you don’t get along with them, but they are my family, just like you and your father are my family.” Family… Before the three of them, Týr had never believed they could have one, and even now, all these decades later, they still found it hard to believe they belonged to one.
“Back when you were a child, I wished he could be here with us to meet you and be as lucky as I was to get to watch you grow up.” Týr was no fool. They knew they could not get Kai to warm up to Váli if he didn’t want to, so they decided to just let it go. Maybe one day he would give them a second chance. “Come on Kai, you know I love your father.” How could they not love him after all this time?
War carried a distinct weight; a certain type of hatred that had grown in place of love. Two opposing forces that had always kept the scales balanced -- had kept her balanced.
When she'd lost her light, Freya had known her love had gone with it. She could no longer see the beauty in what Asgard had offered, what her family had offered. She could no longer see the faces of lover or friend, only enemies. The queen she had been died that day, too. Instead of face it, she chose exile. Far from the cries of love and war, she'd grown complacent in her solitude.
She had barely noticed their approach, her eyes trained on the poster indicating a young woman was wanted on charges of witchcraft. So war had found her even in here.
Týr stood beside her in silence for a long minute. The drawing of the woman made his blood boil, who was she? Was she just another innocent person who happened to be an easy target for their hatred? Or was she a mage whose magic had been witnessed by someone with loose lips? Týr thought of the mages they had encountered during the fire, and how they had done everything in their power to save the people of Novigrad. How could they not wish to do everything they could to protect them from harm?
“They’re doing this in our names, of course.” He tore the poster from the wall and crumbled it in his hands before tossing it into the puddle by his feet. He would go around and tear down every single poster if that was what it took to keep at least one mage safe from getting caught.
“I don’t know what we are going to do, Freya.” Finally, he turned to her, a line of worry etched into their brow. The exhaustion and worry of the last few months seemed to have aged him more than he had in centuries. “I know we are not supposed to interfere in the affairs of the humans, they will always wage war against each other, but to stand idly by and watch it happen in our name? I don’t know how much more of it I can take.”
“This is far too expensive, Mikael.” Týr held the comb in the sunlight and admired its beauty. It was truly beautiful; it was carved from bone and the image of Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse, had been etched into it. But as beautiful as it was, the price was so high that they almost threw back the comb in horror. Týr and Mikael, the man behind the booth, had been playing this game since he first set up his shop ten years ago. He would show them the most expensive item in his shop, and Týr would complain about the price, only to come back the next day and buy it. “Too expensive? Do you know how far I had to travel to get it?” He grumbled as Týr carefully placed it back on the table, as if to not break it, knowing it would soon be theirs. “You can’t have travelled far, since your only travels are between your home and the marketplace.” They called to him from over their shoulder as they left his stall.
As they walked through the crowd, their eyes lingered on each person who passed them, but none of them caught their attention because there was only one person they wanted to see. “Ambrosia, my darling, there you are.” The emotions that had threatened to drown Týr ever since the death of Sigrid all but vanished the moment they saw her kind eyes. Perhaps it was cruel of them to go shopping when they should be spending all their waking time trying to find a way to stop the Eternal Fire before it was too late. But they knew how fickle time was for humans, therefore they could never say no to his friend, for as much as they wished to stroll the streets of Novigrad with Ambrosia for the rest of eternity, they knew that in the blink of an eye it would all be over. “You would not believe what Mikael tried to sell me: a comb for the price of a horse! He thinks I’m foolish enough to buy it, can you believe it?” They told her with a laugh as they linked their arms with hers and held her close to their side.
"You're a silly boy." Frigg chuckled, for the first time probably giving her genuine smile to Tyr. "You were a parent before to children who weren't your own, I remember when you used to play with Thor and Bragi when they were young and wild, running around and you chasing them, laughing." Her memories were so vivid, like she was living them again and then there were tears, true one. She misses those times so much, when everything was simply and happy.
At the mention of Vidar she wiped her tears away. If it was choosing between Tyr spending their times with mortals or gods, Frigg would choose the latter, despite the fact that she doesn't think much of Vidar other than a a tool of destruction, a doll with strings. "Have you tried asking him? You know he's not a man of many words but he could've showed you." Frigg once again brought her hand to his cheek.
"Vidar never got to be a child himself," As Frigg only got to the throne when Vidar was already by Odin's side, she knew little about the man other than what was told to her by others and Tyr. "Perhaps he would've made a great parent."
Frigg fell silent at the story about the witcher, she wondered what or not this was the one that truly was keeping Tyr in this forsaken place. She smiled though, radiating happiness that wasn't true but her years of mastering lies made it easy to fake the emotions. "I'm happy someone took care of you when I wasn't there, when my heart was missing you." Perhaps she'll meet this Kal one day.
When they thought back to the time when Bragi and Thor were children, they felt as if they were trying to hold on to running water. Some of those memories stuck with them, and they could recall them easily, but most had long since slipped their mind. They remembered the laughter of the children running away from them, they remember carrying them on his back and running around the garden. However, they couldn’t remember what it had felt like at that moment, whether they had seen themselves as a parental figure? They weren’t sure, as much as they tried to remember it. “I guess you’re right..." They reached for their own glass and took a sip of the drink, its familiar bitterness burning in their throat.
When Frigg asked them why they wouldn’t talk to Vidar about it, they could only shake their head. “No, I couldn’t do that. I knew him better than I knew myself, Frigg. He would have wanted to do it to please me, but I’m not sure he would have actually wanted to do it himself.” Perhaps she was right. Maybe Vidar had wanted to be a father, either way it was too late. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not like we can go back in time and do things differently.” For a moment they wondered if they would go back in time to do things differently if they could? They weren’t sure. If they had not left the way they did, would they have found the courage to go at all?
They smiled with her, as they had done in the past when they were both young, when they talked about the people who had caught their interest, of course this was before her marriage. “I’m sorry you missed me, I really am, but this place, these people are everything to me. I don’t think I could ever go back if it meant I would have to leave them behind.” They had not meant to say that, it had slipped from their lips without them realising it, but it was the truth. It would destroy them if they had to leave his people. “I have been so rude, talking about nothing but myself! Now tell me, how has Asgard been in my absence? Will you stay here for a while?”
While there might not have been any obvious order to the work on his desk, there was an order to him. So when they casually tossed papers onto the table, his mouth twitched with annoyance. That was going to take time to put back in place, not that they would care or ever cared about the apparent trivial matters having to do with business.
Finally he got to the point. “Then you must be truly desperate to be here. Surely all the people you have helped would stand by you, or did they forget to be grateful?” He knew all too well that people were fickle. They could be groveling for help one minute, then be more than happy to stab you in the back if they thought they would be better off. He wondered how many times they had been burned by those they’d helped. Still, he was curious to know why they thought they would get help from him.
What did Týr care of Eternal Fire? That poor woman? All the displaced people? A corner of his mouth turned upward into a sneer. “Is this your bleeding heart taking hold again?” He never understood why they cared so much about anyone. When there were so many people in the world, it all seemed pointless and tiring. “If you have such a problem with them, you know where their temple is.” But he knew that wasn’t an option for them just like it wasn’t an option for him.
Setting down the paper, he folded his hands in front of him. Knowing him, they wouldn’t leave until they had finished what they had come here for. He sighed. “Fine, talk.”
It seemed as if no time had passed between that day and the last time they saw each other, at least nothing seemed to have changed. From across the table, Týr could feel the tension emanating from Hanzei as he watched Týr toss the papers onto the table, and the way he looked at them, making his disdain clear, was the same way he used to look at them when they had interrupted his work just before Týr had left him. Just like then, the frustration over the fact that they had dared to interrupt his work was almost palpable.
Týr would not waste their time trying to make him understand their point of view; he would never understand why Týr’s heart always bled for those who were wronged. Of course, they had never told Hanzei that they had spent an eternity seeking justice for anyone who needed it without getting anything in return, so why should they ask for anything now? It was their duty, after all.
“I came to you because, despite our differences, we have always worked well together.” This was the truth that neither of them could deny. If not for their constant bickering, they would never have wanted to work with anyone but him. “We both have so much to gain by helping each other fight them.” Maybe coming to him had been a mistake. Why should he care if fanatics killed innocent people? They leaned back in their chair, never taking their eyes off their old friend, while their fingers tapped against the wooden surface of the table, tap-tap, like a clock reminding them that their time would soon be up and someone else would be killed in their name. “I’m sure they are bad for your business, and my bleeding heart would finally be able to rest easy if we got rid of them.”
If it was any other circumstances, Axsel would've given Tyr a big hug at the sight of a friend but it was no time to celebration, maybe after Axsel drowns himself in booze later at a cheap Inn, maybe then he could pretend that the death of his sister isn't hurting him. As they walked with Axsel carrying her body in his arms, all he can think about is the memories, the stupid jabs they would sent each other.
The hug when Sigrid finally found him after years of searching for her brother. They would pay, Sig. They would all pay for taking you too soon. Only the gods know how many years have been taken away from her. Childish stories. He remembers when their parents used to read them at night, he can't remember what was said but the the feeling, when their parents still loved them.
"Her name's Sigrid." Axsel stopped when Tyr touched his shoulder and he turned, ever so slightly. "She's my sister." Fuck. Fuck. "Was. She was my sister." He paused, the word was felt so wrong on his tongue. "And I wasn't going to let her turn into a spectral for the whole fucking city, she deserves to be buried. A warrior's burial."
Sister? Týr’s heart shattered for their friend. They could not imagine the pain of losing their sibling, certainly not so publicly. They knew that if it had been Váli who had been killed and disregarded like Sigrid, they would have burned down the entire city to find his killers. “I’m sorry, Axsel.” There was nothing more they could say. They wished they could tell him that they may not have known Sigrid, but that they would stand by his side and fight for her until she got the justice she deserved, but for once their words failed them.
A warrior's burial? That’s something they could do. “Let me help you. We will give her a burial that would be worthy not only of a king, but of the gods.” It didn’t take them long before they were out of the city. The road they were walking on turned into dirt road, and the trees grew thicker, hiding them from prying eyes that might have followed them. At last they were alone.
Silently, Týr led Axsel to a secluded beach where they used to go centuries ago whenever they wanted to escape the city. It would be the perfect place for her burial, she had been a spectacle long enough, here she would have peace with her brother. Týr did not stop walking until they were close enough to the ocean for the gentle waves to kiss their feet, then they turned to their old friend and unsheathed their old axe. It had been by their side since their time in Asgard, and its beauty deceived everyone who saw it for it did not look like a weapon that had seen ancient battles and bloodshed. It was priceless, yet without hesitation Týr handed it to Axsel. “She cannot go unarmed to the afterlife.”
Odin was patient, despite being so desperate for the outcome they had planned, the one they craved, the one they deserved... They knew they had to calculate every move in Midgard or a war between the gods could begin amongst the humans. As much as the chaos of it all entertained Odin greatly, and perhaps it would show the others just how pathetically easy it was to vanquish the humans, they had to admit that taking their family back home to their rightful place by their side and at their hand was a far more desirable outcome.
"A home can be found most anywhere, Týr." Odin gave them a dark look, one that almost suggested they saw straight through their excuses. "You care for these humans, I take it?" There was an air of nonchalance as they gestured with their hand, waving it in front of them in a manner that suggested they could brush all of the humans away so easily if they wanted to.
"Frigg did not leave me, Týr. You did." Odin retorted, a flash of irritation igniting their features before it settled back down to an unnerving coldness. "These mortals that you play with... you will outlive them all, you will watch them all die. Such impermanence... Does it not break your heart?" They understand Týr's weaknesses, hoping to get under their skin. "Do you not wish for more, for something to last a life time?"
In Asgard, Týr had always managed to dance with Odin on the fine line between adoration and fear. He had kept himself from stumbling by turning away every time fear gripped their heart in the presence of the AllFather, preferring to focus on the good they had done for him. Odin had done so much good... What would Týr have been without them? Yet, as they faced each other in his home, Týr could not ignore the fear that loomed over him like a dark cloud warning of an approaching storm.
Týr had known his king for a long time, before Midgard there had never been a time without Odin, so they should know them well enough by now to know what was going on behind those cold eyes. Týr, however, was clueless, but they knew he had disappointed them, that much was apparent. “Yes, yes, of course I care about them.” His heartbeat pounded against his chest, demanding to be heard. They shouldn’t have said that.
Týr wished they could turn and run away from them, run away from the things they were saying because he knew they were right. Someday Týr would have to witness the people he loved so dearly grow old and die, Midgardians were so fragile, if old age did not get them, then surely the world would find another way to take them from Týr, until in the end they would be left with nothing but a broken heart. “I’m not playing with them, I love them, and yes, of course I know they will die before me and I will have to suffer through it, but they are worth it.” Why couldn’t they understand how beautiful the humans were? It was because of how feeble their lives were that he loved them so fiercely because in an instant they could be gone.
Vidar looked at them with a face that said nothing, if only Tyr had any idea how much he wanted to tell them; how he was fighting with his voice just now to get the words out but it was a lost battle, one that Vidar fought everyday with no changes. Back in Asgard, the only time he heard his own voice was with Vali or with Odin when the All Father demanded a vocal confirmation. And then, after the stubbornness of Tyr influenced his own, he also spoke to them.
He could only shake his head slightly, and then more as Tyr continued to speak. No. No. He couldn't go back. Tyr would not be happy in Asgard. They should stay here, Midgard made them happy they can't— "No." The words surprised him. "No." Vidar reaches for Tyr's face but drops his hand just as quick.
Vidar took out his dagger and flipped it, he could not utter another word but he could drag his old dagger cross the earth to say one thing and one thing only. Stay. This is a burden Vidar would go through alone, a burden he will get used to once again.
His voice made them startle. They would forevermore be able to recognise Vidar’s voice just as well as their own, even in the midst of a raging battle they managed to discern his voice calling their name. But when he spoke, they were startled, as if a stranger had come to them and told them: NO. They waited for another word, holding their breath, even though they knew it would not come. They did not need a speech from Vidar to explain his single word. Týr could understand well enough what he meant.
They were going to argue, how could they not? Yet before they managed to utter a single word, they were stunned into silence. Perhaps they should have felt fear when Vidar drew his dagger. They had wronged him, but most of all they had broken his heart. It would not have come as a surprise if they had decided that enough was enough and it would finally be time for the God of Vengeance to collect his due. Týr knew that Vidar would never hurt them, but if he did, they would not stop him for they knew it would be fair and just.
Týr’s eyes did not leave Vidar’s face as he took the dagger and carved it into the ground, their eyes only falling on the word when they knew he had finished. Stay. “But Vidar, if I go with them, then maybe I can convince them to focus their attention on something other than Midgard, then you can be free and happy. Please, Vidar, I have done so much damage since I left, I just want to make it right.”
"Thank you." Leila cleared her throat, she can no longer let Sigrid's death be a burden on her heart. The mage would've told her to move on and ruin all those who went against magic. Alas, Sigrid's words would ring hollow, as Leila would do neither; despite how much she wanted to.
Leila looked at Tyr as they voiced his request, she knew how close he was to Kal and Kai, how Kai saw them. "Of course I would." If her plan works, she had truly no idea if she could truly keep her words to Tyr but she will as long as Leila was still in Novigrad. "Here I thought I was your only people, darling." She joked in order to lighten the mood.
She was quiet for the longest time when asked who Naerya was to her. Half of her heart, her sorrow, tears, love, anger, care. Naerya meant to much and yet Leila couldn't think she can put it into words. Their relationship in Temeria ended in the most brutal way only for the gods to bless them with a second change. But, none of that changed who Naerya was to her. "She's my everything." Leila finally admitted.
The warmth of the water embraced them, and the tension their muscles seemed to have been holding since the beginning of time gradually began to ease. If they could stay here for the rest of eternity, they would. This place, however, whatever it was, was beautiful. Týr almost felt as if they did not fit in a place of such beauty. Everything about them showed signs of ancient battles. Their skin was lined with scars, some larger than others, and it was as if they were carved out of stone, they had not been created to be soft.
Still, Týr would rather stay here than in the city where the air was heavy with grief and fear, oh, so much fear…. They had intended to leave it behind, but somehow it had managed to bleed into this magical realm as they entered it. The fear of the city was almost palpable, whether it was fear of the mages or fear of the eternal fire and those loyal to them. Týr could not bear another second of it, and so they appreciated what she was trying to do. “I may have other people, but you will always be my favourite.”
Týr felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders. They knew they had no idea if she could keep her promise, but having voiced their concern was good enough for them. One day they might not be here, either at the hands of something far greater than Týr or if they have to return to Asgard with Odin, but at least they knew their family would be looked after.
‘She’s my everything.’ When Týr was a young man, long before the first people of Midgard came into existence, they would not have understood how one person could mean so much to another. Today, after millennia of love, loss and longing, they could finally understand. “Does she know how much she means to you?” They told her, and if she did not know, they wished they could shake Leila, shake her and scream at the top of their lungs to tell her, to tell her! Life goes by so fast, and before she knows it, she has lost her. “Do you love her?”
A child. This explains the aura she felt around Tyr. "I see everyone as my child." She gently rested her hand upon his cheek. "Which is why my only wish is to protect them and have them happy." Frigg's voice was low and gentle. "And I'm so happy that you know what it feels like too." A mortal child. With a mortal friend. How low has Tyr sunk.
"Why would you say that, though? Of course someone would see you as their parent, maybe our friendship gave you a little bit of my powers." She joked and organized a small part of Tyr's hair that was out of place. Clearly, Frigg wasn't influential enough if Tyr was here, playing house with mortals of all people.
"Tell me more about them all, it gives me joy knowing how happy you are." And more tools to play with, after all knowledge can be a powerful thing; if there's anything she learned from her dear husband.
Her touch on their cheek was as gentle and loving as the touch of a mother, and Týr leaned into it, longing for the comfort it brought them. They had never known where they came from, or if they had a mother. They had always believed it to be fine, after all, why would a god need a mother? But there were moments when they wished for nothing but to be comforted by a parent, to be loved by them, and to have them proud of them for all they have done. Frigg may not be their mother, but she always seemed to know how to love and care for them the way they needed to be loved and cared for.
“I guess it was too hard to imagine anyone wanting to settle down with me to start a family, and therefore the idea that a child would love me as a parent was absurd.” They preferred not to mention that at the time they lived in Asgard, they could not fathom how anyone could love someone who had done the things they had done. They didn’t tell her about the nights they lay restless beside Vidar, wondering if he would turn to them that night and tell them that even after all they had been through together, he would never be able to love someone like him. How foolish had they been? “Besides, I don’t think Vidar would have wanted to settle down with me and start a family. I can’t imagine he would have been happy with screaming children running around the house.”
Their eyes glistened with the things they lost and the things that could have been, but then they shook their head as if to shake the memories from their mind. They thought of all the people they loved, and they wanted to share with her their love for them. They wanted her to love them as much as they did. “Kal, my friend is a witcher. I met him centuries ago when I was trying to get out of the rock bottom I was stuck in after I left Asgard..." They fell silent for a heartbeat. “I think it’s fair to say that I am who I am today because of him.”
There was no denying the amount of times that they had interrupted or happened upon her prayers, as if they were drawn to them by some weird fate. Had they only appeared when it was Tyr she spoke to or had it been her other prayers as well? The thoughts swam in her mind, though her prayer in this moment was only an act. She'd followed an acolyte here, appearing as nothing more than a simple girl seeking guidance from her god.
She'd forgone the typical wardrobe, appearing as close to the average person in Novigrad as possible. It wasn't her ideal way to spy on targets, but not everything could be done in the dead of the night. Of course, her eyes had to remain down cast lest they give her away.
"This is getting alarming," she said quietly as they approached, not daring to look up as her focus remained on listening to the man she'd followed here.
When Týr had left Asgard, he had sworn to leave his duty behind. He believed he was clearly incapable of ensuring justice, and therefore this burden was to be handed over to someone who did not waver, someone whose hands were not as bloody as the hands of those who ran away from justice. Of course, Týr had not succeeded in running away from his duty for too long. The Norns refused to let him go, for no one could run away from his fate.
The injustices of the world haunted him, and sometimes, when he least expected it, they came upon an innocent person in desperate need of justice. They could never say no to them, especially when they told him about an acolyte who worshipped him and excused his monstrous deeds by saying that he had been blessed by the God of justice himself. They entered the temple, in the centre of which stood a shrine dedicated to him, before which they stopped for a moment. It bore no resemblance to him, of course. How were they to know what he looked like? But the sword of justice looked remarkably similar to his own sword, which was now carefully hidden in his home.
At first, Týr had not noticed her. She did not look like the person he had met the last time he visited a shrine dedicated to him, but it was clearly her. He stood next to her, not taking his eyes off the man who was the reason for his visit to the temple, but he couldn’t hide the smile from her. “It is getting alarming, yes.” They agreed. How often could they meet like this without it becoming unsettling for both of them? “Have you been following me?”
It has been a long night (nearly morning, now, she supposes) for her. The sorceress had returned to her chambers from another one of the Lodge's meetings, only a half hour prior and nearly all the while she has been on edge. Fatigue gnaws at her from the inside out, yet she remains, awake and thrumming with restlessness as she sits before the fire, stiffly drapped across an ottoman and with her face furiously buried into her grimoire; there are heaps of rare, outlawed tomes pertaining arcane, dark magics that she has acquired from shady, black markets and private collections of high ranking mages at her feet, and a journal sprawled open next to her upon the ottoman. She does not even acknowledge them when they enter her rooms, incredibly distracted by the passage she's been trying to make sense of in a particular tome of Chaos given to her by Elna of Rosberg one moonless night besides the fire, not a week after the Belleteyn; there are ominous, strange shadows hanging off her like a dress, and her face is dark and cold with something unreadable as she obsessively whispers the words of an ancient enchantment she has discovered in the book, some part of her pulsing with relief at the discovery of various snippets of lore and instructions that might prove of significance for the ritual she means to perform; still, it isn't enough, she reminds herself; still, these are only a fraction of the full picture...
They draw nearer, and she deigns toss a violet glance at them over the apex of her shoulder, dark brows furrowing as their eyes meet amid the chaos that is thrumming all around her, the energy that's flowing off her in waves, dark and crushing, foretelling her sour, irritable mood, the desperation that has sunk its vicious claws deeply inside of her, wringing her dry of all energy the longer Morgante eludes her; the longer she's out there, free to roam the continent and torture her and every one she's ever cared about with her malicious, wicked tricks. “—Tyr...” her face contorts under the strain of the tension she's holding throughout her body, surprise soon colouring her cold gaze, perplexed at his unexpected arrival. Flinging raven strands back out behind her shoulders, she turns to face them with a demanding gaze, suddenly realising the lateness of the hour with something akin to shock as he watches him approach her. “—what are you doing here?” she sharply sets her grimoire aside, not wanting them to notice what she's been studying.
The unruly hairs of the sheepskin tickled Týr's nose as they buried their face in the wool. To strangers, they looked like something out of the myths, golden and beautiful, cradling an empty horn in their hands as they lay on the wool-covered ground, making it seem almost as if they were lying on a cloud. It was clear that they did not belong in Midgard, no, they belonged in the golden halls of Asgard. How long had they been there? Týr wondered. They had watched as people no longer danced and drank, but either sat close to them by the fire, whispering in each other's ears, or slipped away to a more secluded spot. They had spent the entire evening ignoring them all and waving off anyone who asked them to dance or propositioned them. No, they only wished to see Nereinne.
They were patient, but as the night wore on and there was still no sign of her, their patience had begun to wear thin. Had they really spent all that time finding a beautiful garment, painting their face and decorating their hair with flowers they had picked that morning, for nothing? Eventually, when most of them had left the tavern, Týr gave up. They sat up, and removed one flower after another from their hair, and threw them into the fire. If anyone else had stood them up, they would have let their frustration get the better of them, but this was Nereinne. There had to be a good reason why she had forgotten them.
Instead of going home, they went to her with a stolen bottle of mead. If she would not come to them, then they would come to her. Besides, what if something happened to her? What if she needed their help? When they found her sitting by the fire, they immediately saw that she clearly needed help. “Nereinne?” Their voice was merely a whisper as they approached her, picking up a blanket and draping it over her shoulders as they walked behind her. “We were supposed to meet tonight, remember?” They could see her exhaustion and worry and wished they could take it from her and promise her that their shoulders were strong enough to carry her burden for her.
Kai's eyes widened at Tyr's uncontrollable laughter, face reddened with offense. He seemed to grow three sizes bigger at being insulted by both the laughter and verification. This was an incredibly serious matter and he couldn't believe that he was being betrayed this way. The sheer audacity. He'd have to tell Kal about this too. Certainly his real father would see reason. Kai huffed.
"Disown him immediately, then!" he demanded, grabbing onto Tyr's elbow and shaking them furiously. "You have no idea how rude he is. He doesn't think father is the greatest. He hardly even knew who he was after all father does for this city!"
Looking completely serious, gravity on his face looked like a child proclaiming a hunger strike for not getting their favourite candy from the store. "If you'd like me to kill him, I will. Just say the word, Tyr. I will put him into the daily soup that he never seems to change on the menu."
“Ah,” Týr hummed to himself as the explanation for Kai’s dislike of his brother was revealed. They hadn’t exactly spoken favourably of his father, and that was a sure way to get on Kai’s bad side. Týr knew he was the same way, his protectiveness for his old friend burned brighter than any fire ever would, and how many times had Kal had to drag him away from someone who had expressed their disdain for witchers in front of them both? “No, I don’t want you to kill him.” They didn’t want to imagine a world without forgiveness, but least of all a world without his brother, even if he was the one who had abandoned them all those years ago.
“This is their way of showing you they love you. When we were younger, they played pranks on me incessantly and did things I’m sure most would find insufferable, but I loved them for it.” Týr did not mention how grateful they had been when Váli had first spoken, that everything he said had continuously brought Týr joy for centuries.
“Now I’m sorry he spoke poorly of Kal, but shouldn’t you be grateful that not everyone in the city knows who he is? I would imagine that recognition would put him in even more danger than he already has to face.” Týr’s knowing smile was the one he had so often shared with Kai as a child when he tried to explain a particularly difficult subject to him. “I would rather that no one knew his name or what he has done for the city, and have him be safe with us." Of course, Týr wasn't naive, he knew Kal would never be safe, not really. Could witchers ever truly be safe?
"Yet you bullied past me and gave me options as if I could not think for myself. Inconsiderate and obtuse. I fear for Vali if you truly are his relative."
Never once did he think that he was fortunate to have stumbled upon the (usually) peppy inn keep but meeting their family filled him with a sense of gratitude that Vali was not nearly as dumb. It also verified his claims that his brothers were idiots when they first met. He'd think twice about doubting the validity of their words again.
"I asked you a question and you chose to answer with your fists," Tian pointed out, sounding matter-of-fact about it. Because it was indeed fact. He continued, with a calculated measure of calmness, with the facts. "I do not believe that I was the rude one who was unwilling to have a conversation like an adult."
Tian circled around the table to walk past Tyr. If they were determined to be incorrigible, then he would simply have to make more strategic moves. He never turned down a game before, not even the pathetic easy ones with children. Tian loved to win.
"I do mind, actually, but since you do not regard anyone but yourself, I suppose it is my time to do the same," he said simply.
He did not turn around when he added, "Have fun waiting while I beat him into submission in the backroom." And by beat, he meant at chess, but he left it purposefully vague and up to interpretation. Vali had some dubious hobbies that certainly he wasn't the only one to notice but he wasn't about to implicate himself with Vali more than necessary. Just enough to ruffle some feathers. It served them right for daring to stand up for his old mentor.
Tian whistled for Sonna, catching her attention as she trotted along behind him, nosing at his pockets.
Týr had grown bored of this conversation. Much could be said about the god, but no one would ever accuse them of having patience for boring things or people. They could feel their attention drift away from Tian to the people who were sitting across the room from them, laughing. They were certainly having more fun than they were. The conversation got a little more interesting when Tian spoke of Váli. Of course, they saw through his little ruse, or rather, they knew Váli well enough not to believe every lie that men whispered in their ear about him, but it was interesting nonetheless.
Týr’s head fell back against the back of the chair as they let out a deep, perhaps overly dramatic sigh while staring up at the beams on the ceiling. They had no desire to dignify Tian’s claim with a response, for they knew he was trying to drag them into yet another argument. If that was how they wanted to speak this way of their brother, then it would have to be between the two of them. It was not his fight, instead they rose from their seat and offered the witcher a smile completely void of any sincerity.
“Well, I wish I could say it was a pleasure to run into you again, but that would be a lie. I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you all night.” Without another word, they marched past Tian again and left the inn, knowing that if Váli were home, he would surely be there to greet them by now.
