Like the Seasons - Chapter 1/4 Winter
Winter in the Norse lands wasn’t cold, it was freezing. And that winter was no exception.
It was a season where it was easy to get lost in despair. Not even the sun wanted to shine for them on most of these short days; too thick was the fog that had hung over the lifeless nature.
It was this weather that Eivor hated most, that damned freezing fog. Once his clothes turned damp from it, he felt the chills of the icy wind to the bones.
He should have appreciated the last warm days in autumn that much more, should have inhaled the fragrant air then, should have marvelled at the changing colours of the trees more than he did. Because now, there were no colours. Everything looked washed out from the thick blanket of snow that covered the woods not far from home.
Eivor thought that hunting could help him clear his head, as he would have to be fully concentrated. Game was rare in winter. It took a good hunter to track it down and even a better of an archer to kill it.
Eivor may have been good at both at most, and so far, he had no luck. It was no surprise to him, he knew that the thoughts running through his head were too distracting. Thoughts he had for a while, but whatever he tried to shut them down, he never succeeded. He did not know what to do anymore.
This inner unrest drained him of all energy and with each passing day, that was as dull as in winter, he seemed to lose his balance. And as Sigurd’s departure approached, he was closer to tip over and fall down.
Yes, it was Sigurd that had plagued his mind. He had always been lingering there, but not like that.
At the beginning of winter, when Sigurd announced his plan of leaving for a journey to foreign lands, Eivor had felt excited. They had often drunkenly wondered about what foreign lands had to offer; they dreamed of journeys and adventures the future would surely bring and Eivor was always under the impression that they would do so together.
When Sigurd told him, that he were to go on the journey without Eivor, something shattered inside of him.
Of course he had asked him why, but Sigurd had not been able to give him a satisfying answer. Despite his own pride, he even begged Sigurd, to take him along, but Sigurd’s decision had been made. Eivor was mad, but more so he was hurt. Sigurd was the most important person in his life, they had been together since the day that changed Eivor’s life. If not for Sigurd, he wouldn’t be. He had saved him in more than just one way.
And on that day, they had become brothers with a strong bond forged of blind trust and appreciation. That bond had only grown stronger over the years. Eivor never even imagined the day they would have to part, because there was nothing this world could have offered him in exchange for leaving Sigurd.
But Sigurd’s decision had made it clear: whatever Eivor felt towards Sigurd was not returned in the same way.
Although he still found anger deep inside him, it had mostly disappeared and made room for the feeling of emptiness. Eivor didn’t mind being alone, but without Sigurd in Fornburg - without Sigurd in Norway - he would not be alone, he would be lonely.
Eivor couldn’t help but question his relationship with Sigurd. What had he done wrong to make Sigurd leave him?
Part of him wanted to confront Sigurd about it once more, to find answers to these questions. But he just couldn’t. It was a childish thing to do, but he had avoided Sigurd as much as possible. Seeing him, and how this whole situation seemingly not affected him at all; it pained Eivor more than anything. Sigurd would leave in three days.
And although he knew he should enjoy these days as much as he should have enjoyed the last sunny days in autumn, he simply couldn’t.
Eivor mindlessly trudged through the snow, while these thoughts kept spiralling in his head. He trudged until there was something else than the whiteness of snow and the darkness of dirt and trees, that caught his attention. A colour, so bright it gleamed even from the distance. A colour so rich, it almost hypnotized Eivor, as he walked closer to it. A colour like life itself, the same life that was running through his veins. There was a bush of long withered wild roses, full of thick and plump rosehips.
Red as flames. They reminded him of Sigurd.
Because that was what Sigurd was - a raging fire, powerful and uncontrollable.
What a marvelous sight it was. When the rose’s flowers wither, they don’t die. No, they transform themselves into these fire-red fruits, that stand strong and proud throughout winter. Roses were beautiful in summer, but for Eivor, he appreciated it even more there and then.
Eivor hummed as he thought about it. Each end marked a new beginning. You only had to look for it to see it. A new dawn would come each day, no matter what.
Suddenly, there was a noise cutting through the silence. It was the noise of a branch cracking, and it wasn’t far from where Eivor was standing. Without hesitation, Eivor gripped his bow tighter and aimed towards where the noise was coming from.
The string was tense, as were the muscles of his body. He held his breath and was ready to shoot the arrow. But he halted abruptly when his eyes didn’t focus on the game he was expecting.
Far not as bright as the red of rosehips, but even more striking: it was Sigurd’s braided hair he was looking at.
So no, it was not the animal he was expecting, but it was still a wild beast that approached him with big steps. A beast that was never to be tamed by anyone but itself. A beast full of fury and might both outside and inside.
Like a man born from fire, Sigurd was calm, like the flame of a candle, but also possessed the rage of a roaring wildfire. A power which was so unheard of, Eivor might even call it close to divinity.
Sigurd was the beast, and sometimes Eivor wondered if he was meant to be the hunter. All his life, he was looking for Sigurd, following him wherever he went. There have been many chances where he had aimed at Sigurd, but he was never able to send the arrow. He was too scared to find out what would happen once he would release the bowstring.
But it didn’t matter if he dared to shoot or not. Sigurd was just too mighty of a beast. Sigurd was never meant to be hunted, because he was a beast of prey himself.
All those thoughts stopped the second he saw the smile that spread on Sigurd’s lips, they were chapped from the cold.
For a moment, Eivor forgot about everything and let himself revel in that very sight. For a moment, he felt happy, because he was the reason for that smile. It has been quite a while since Eivor last saw that expression on Sigurd, but it fit him well.
And then, that moment ended, and he remembered where he was, and why he was there in the first place. He let the bow down but didn’t move from his place. Maybe it was his stubbornness, but instead, he waited for the other man to come to him. For once, Eivor wanted to be the one being chased.
"Eivor.” Sigurd’s voice was raspy, almost as if he hadn’t used it for a while. And even like that, it was such a comforting sound to Eivor. Warm and welcoming, like nothing had happened between them. “How could you go hunting without me? Are you not thinking of me anymore?”
Although from the sound of it Eivor assumed that it was meant as a joke, he wondered if Sigurd truly wanted an answer to that. If he knew how much he was truly thinking about him…? Well, how would he react? Would he give him a flattered rejection? Or answer with disgusted insults?
Not even Eivor himself was accepting these feelings he had towards him. Deep down, he knew they were there, and they were also the reason it hurt so much to be parted from Sigurd. Why his decision to leave without him felt like a rejection already.
“I did not think you would join me, even if I had asked,” Eivor answered honestly, “I wasn’t exactly nice last time we talked.”
“Eivor, you are a sorry fool!” Sigurd said with mock offense. “I waited for you to cool off so we could talk about it… But the day of my departure came closer and I got the impression that you avoided me.”
“I assumed you were busy preparing for your journey,” Eivor lied.
“Oh, save it,” Sigurd said, “I know I owe you an explanation.”
“Sigurd,” Eivor started. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Sigurd had finally reached him and stopped right in front of him. Eivor did not miss how his brother’s expression changed ever so slightly. “You’re still sour, I see.”
“I am not,” Eivor said. “And you are the foolish one. To surprise me like that in the woods while I am hunting. There would have been an arrow right between your eyes if I had not recognized you that fast.”
Sigurd grinned. “I trust you will always recognize me. Even when I don’t recognize myself.”
“With that fiery head of yours? There is no doubt I will.” Eivor knew Sigurd wasn’t talking about his appearance, but joking about it was a try to hide his nervousness.
“Careful now.” Sigurd saw right through him and Eivor knew it. “I am trying to be serious here.”
“I am always careful," Eivor answered. Careful around you, he wanted to add, but the words died in his mouth. It wasn’t the right place, nor the right time to say such things. And maybe that right time would never come. Maybe Eivor was born to stay a coward.
“Maybe a little too careful, Eivor,” Sigurd said, as if he was reading Eivor’s thoughts. “There are also times where you have to be brave and dare! Only when you dare, can you truly get what you want.” His soft expression faded into one of concern, and he took a step closer to Eivor. “You are acting strange, Eivor. Not just now… but for a while. You know you can tell me anything.”
“What makes you think I am acting strange?” Eivor was taken by surprise.
Sigurd stayed silent for a while and studied him closely. “You’re avoiding me. Not just since this meaningless quarrel we had, but you’ve been sidestepping me long before that.”
“Meaningless quarrel?” Eivor felt the anger arise yet again. “The fact that you just so decide to leave Fornburg… without me, without ever talking about this before… is meaningless to you? You are the one acting strange, Sigurd!” Eivor shut his eyes because he didn’t want to see the painful expression that appeared on Sigurd’s face.
A moment passed in silence, and Eivor turned his head to look at the rosehips in the distance.
“Very well. We are both acting strange. Yet you give me no chance to solve this problem we have. If you don’t talk to me, we will not clear this at all, and I do not wish to leave like this.”
Then don’t leave! Eivor wanted to say, but he didn’t. Because he knew that his words would not make a difference. Maybe he should really give Sigurd a chance to explain it to him, make him understand.
“We’ve always been close, from the moment the Raven Clan became my home," Eivor confessed. "Is it that hard to imagine how difficult it is for me to part ways with you?” His voice cracked, full of frustration.
For Eivor, it was as if he was losing his sun; his whole life revolved around the other. Sigurd had healed his young, broken soul once, glued it back together. But with him gone, those pieces would shatter once more; the cracks were already visible.
Eivor was not ready to let go of Sigurd. He feared what he would become without him.
“I won’t be gone for good. I will return!” Sigurd promised. “I will always return back home!”
At the sight of Sigurd’s tormented expression, Eivor’s anger ebbed away once again. “What if you don’t?”
“Do you not trust me?” Sigurd spoke with a low voice, that sounded vulnerable and hurt.
“How could you even doubt my trust in you?” Eivor shook his head.
Both of them just stared at each other for a long moment.
“I am not sure if you truly came back after the last time you were away,” Eivor finally said. Eivor was talking about the time Sigurd stayed at Randvi’s clan for the span of two full moons. Shortly after their marriage, Styrbjorn ordered Sigurd to visit Randvi’s Clan as an act of respect, but more so to show that the duty of marriage was done and peace was made. It had not affected Eivor that much back then, because there was an actual reason for Sigurd to leave. And he was not away for long either.
“You’ve always had a poetic way to express yourself, brother… but today you speak in riddles,” Sigurd said. “I stand here before you, do I not? What do you mean, I have not fully returned?”
Eivor frowned. “You know what I mean, don’t tell me otherwise.”
When Sigurd came back, Eivor felt as if his brother was missing a piece of himself. Maybe he would have accepted it if that piece wandered to over Randvi. But that was not the case. And neither did it go to someone else. That piece of Sigurd was just lost.
Eivor wasn’t sure what exactly that piece was. That passionate gleam in his eyes when he was telling stories. That ease in his steps, because he knew exactly where to go. His loose lips when he was not yet fully drunk, but long past sober. All that and so much more; it went all missing with that piece. Maybe it was the spark of life, the thing that had driven Sigurd forward.
Sigurd nodded then. “So you see it as well? That I am not fully me anymore? Shouldn’t you accept my decision to go, then? Not make it harder for me than it already is.”
“This is what makes you go?” Eivor asked.
“Yes,” Sigurd started softly, “I have to go in order to find that man I used to be. Or maybe I have to find the man I have yet to become.”
“Then let me help you find that man!” Eivor begged. He felt like a young, clueless child that was looking up to the wise man in front of him. He did not understand what Sigurd said, did not want to understand.
“No." Sigurd said. "This, I have to do alone.”
“The Gods have brought us together once," Eivor said. "Maybe it is my fate to follow you.”
Sigurd shook his head. “We must not hinder each other on this path.”
Eivor wanted to help him reach his destination, clear his path of rocks and stones; he would never want to hinder Sigurd. He would readily sacrifice reaching his own destination if that meant he could carry Sigurd to his own.
But maybe that was the thing. Maybe Sigurd didn’t want to be carried. Not only would it bring no honour to cheat like that, but he would never want Eivor to give himself up for his sake. Even through all his anger, his pain and confusion, Eivor was finally seeing that Sigurd cared for Eivor’s well-being. Always had.
“Brother, don’t cover your ears anymore and listen to your own fate calling to you.” Sigurd placed his palm on Eivor’s shoulder and leaned down to find Eivor’s lost gaze once again. “If you only dare to listen, you will find the voice is as clear as day. Dare, dare. Always dare, brave drengr!”
Acceptance slowly replaced the feeling of despair. And realization. There was nothing he could do anymore but to live with Sigurd’s decision.
“For a long time, we were able to walk the same way, but now, our ways have to part,” Sigurd said. “Your fate sings another song.”
“I promise you that these songs will harmonize once again. The threads of our fates are intertwined, I am sure of it.” Sigurd gifted him an encouraging smile.
Eivor’s gaze shifted to the rosehips once again, and he realized that something must die in order for something else - something greater - to rise.
“At the end of our threads, we stand together,” Eivor eventually said.
Sigurd’s hand moved from his shoulder to the back of Eivor’s neck and he held him close there. “Not just at the end. We will always stand together. Side by side.”
“Side by side,” Eivor repeated.
