VBS - Dawn of the Gods: Prequel ~BL~

(Modi)

The pre-dawn light casts its dim, purplish hue over the exposed skin of Fjolnir’s back. The different golden tones of his hair are just detectable, and my fingers absently work to untangle any knots. With his eyes closed in sleep, he looks peaceful as he rests between my legs - his head over my heart. I’m reluctant to wake him, but the longer we stay, the more risk we accrue. We should have left already.

As the cold light of day grows brighter, so too do the memories from yesterday, and the urge to put as much distance as possible between us and Freyja returns. Dropping a leg to the floor, I shuffle underneath him in an attempt to extricate myself. His eyelids flutter, and his fingers twitch where they rest over my ribs, but Fjolnir remains asleep and ignorant to my sense of unease that grows stronger with every moment that passes.

A sharp knock at the door startles us both. Instinctively, my hands tighten around his shoulders. Fjolnir’s eyes snap open, his head tilting to seek me out. No one ever visits me, much less knocks first to announce their presence. When Fjolnir pushes himself up on his elbows, I reluctantly loosen my hold. Leaning in, he brushes a barely-there kiss against my lips, and the beads at the end of his braids rock forward, slapping against my shoulder. His beautiful blue eyes search mine, but I don’t know what he’s looking for.

The door of my hús swings open and a gust of cold air surges in, raising goosebumps along my arms. The heeled boots of a well-dressed woman strike loudly against the compact dirt of the floor. A thick, dark cloak disguises her face, but the end of her long, black braid hangs out.

“Aunt Freyja?!” Fjolnir rummages for his tunic amongst our discarded clothes as she lowers her hood.

Her eyes narrow in our direction. Her judgement is palpable as I secure the blanket around our hips. The beat of my heart grows louder in my ears with every step towards us that she takes, until she comes to a stop only a few feet away. Her proximity has my blood pulsing with the need to protect what is mine. Fjolnir pulls his tunic over his head, the creases in the silken fabric causing it to fall haphazardly over his shoulders, but I take a firm hold of his forearm, preventing him from setting it right.

“You didn’t attend the arranged union meeting last night.” Freyja aims an accusatory stare my way, and my ire rises. “When you weren’t in your quarters either, your mother worried. I assured her that I would find you.”

Her voice drops to an icy whisper, “She will be beside herself to learn you now cannot fulfil the promise of your betrothal.”

Fjolnir misses the sinister depth of her threat, and a cold wave of dread washes over me. I never told him what I overheard yesterday. I didn’t intend for us to fall asleep, but the adrenaline crash that hit once I had him safely in my arms was too strong to fight.

Rapidly, the muscles in my body tense and relax as I map the chances of our survival if I were to kill her where she stands. I don’t doubt my ability when fighting to protect those I love, but what would become of Fjolnir? As if reading my thoughts, his other hand finds my thigh and squeezes.

The tension between us thickens and takes on a bitter taste that curls the back of my tongue. Fjolnir can’t stay with his family. He isn’t safe. But if I kill Freyja, the House of Aesir will send the full force of the Valkyries after us, and I can’t defend him against an entire armed militia. We need to leave the realm, and we need to do it now! But how? The blood in my veins thickens under the pressure, and white sparks shoot wildly at the edges of my vision.

Fjolnir’s voice cuts through the rage of my internal storm. “I choose you, Modi. Whatever happens. I choose you.”

There’s a finality about his tone, a reluctant submission that has my back teeth grinding together. He won’t look at me, distracting himself with securing the rest of his clothes as my mind screams at me to find a solution. Desperation has me pushing my way between Freyja and Fjolnir. She will not take him from me!

In an instant, the tip of a concealed seax presses into the hollow of my neck, and Fjolnir takes a sharp inhale of breath from behind me. His fingers tremble as he presses them into the small of my back and his warm breath ghosts over the skin of my shoulder.

I’d gladly give my life in his defence, but then what would prevent her from killing him?

Warmth drips onto my shoulder blade, carving a path downward as Fjolnir draws in a ragged breath. Something inside me breaks loose at the sound. He’s mine to protect and I’m failing him.

My hands form fists at my side, blunt nails digging viciously into my palms. Rage causes beads of sweat to gather at my temples, regardless of the frigid air that now saturates my hús. Fjolnir steps slowly out from behind me, his knuckles brushing the backs of mine as he passes and moves towards the open door.

Freyja remains perfectly still throughout. The tip of the blade never lets up from where it pricks into the skin of my neck. With each heave of my chest, I draw in breaths that fuel my anger and, as the cold metal works its way deeper, the pain grows hotter. Her icy stare takes in every twitch of my body when Fjolnir crosses over the threshold and disappears.

My temper rises and the tenuous hold on my control falters. I drop my shoulder, giving room to sweep my left arm up in an arc that should disarm her. But she counters. Flicking her wrist in an expert manoeuvre, she propels the seax to her other hand and slices it into the side of my neck.

Freyja is more skilled than I gave her credit for, but I’ve unsettled her. She’s expecting me to be untrained, but she underestimates me. Years of living in the wilderness surrounded by predators have taught me a thing or two about surviving against the odds. She’s placing her trust in the seax primed against my throat, but I’m placing mine in my determination to save the man I love.

Time is lost as I wait for my opening. The slightest drop in her concentration is all I need. Her gaze drops to her hand as her grip wavers, and I strike.

Dropping my shoulder, I simultaneously barrel forward. My body weight advantage lifts her from her feet and catapults her backwards. Freyja lands on the compact dirt of my hús floor with a thud, and the ricochet of her head makes a sickening crunching sound. She doesn’t move, but I don’t hang around to wait for her to recover.

Terror is hot on my heels as I run barefoot into the brightening dawn. The familiar sounds of the forest are barely discernible over the frantic pull of air into my lungs as I charge headlong down the western trail. The fresh indentations of multiple footprints litter the ground and I realise that Freyja has help - this was an ambush.

Fjolnir has more of a head start than I’m comfortable with. Still, I don’t stop running. Not when the footprints become a jumble, not when one set turns into drag marks, and not even when fresh blood sits atop the fallen leaves. I push on, fighting through the fear that conjures images of the state Fjolnir might already be in. Each step smashes through the barriers of my inhibitions. I will kill anyone who has harmed what is mine to protect - consequences be damned.

By the time the large oak tree at the trailhead by Market Square comes into view, sweat stings my eyes and my feet are so torn up that my legs are numb from the knee down. With wild eyes, I frantically scan the backs of the low, wooden buildings before spotting a small group of men gathered near the horse paddock reserved for traders. Swerving their way, my pace naturally slows as my brain makes sense of what I’m seeing.

Three men stand over a hand-hewn stone trough, and a fourth - held between them - struggles for purchase as his riding boots slide over cobblestones littered with hay. His knees give out, sending a wave of water sloshing over the lip, soaking the ground beneath them. Jerking once, twice, his body falls unnaturally still. The silken threads of his white tunic have turned transparent, but the aching familiarity of the skin beneath it has the edges of my vision turning white.

Fjolnir.

The man standing directly left of him yanks a savage fistful of soaked, golden hair from the trough, hauling Fjolnir’s lifeless body upright long enough for me to see the cold and purple pallor of his lips. Lips that were pressed against mine, lips that confessed their love, lips that vowed forever. My knees buckle under the magnitude of my loss, and a silent scream works its way up from the depths of my soul.

Magni killed my love.

Three heads turn in my direction. The air thickens and chars as a savage heat from within consumes me. Unbridled fury licks at my skin like heat from a flame and those responsible take small steps backward. My gaze moves from Fjolnir’s discarded and lifeless form to the widening eyes of those who held him as he fought for his last breath. Emotions eat through my veins like lava as I realise that all that is left to claim is vengeance.

The smell of burning fills my lungs as I raise my arms out wide, and thick arcs of white lightning weave and wind their way across my body. Errant bolts fire into the ground with an audible crack. Mesmerised, I watch on as they build in ferocity, reaching ever outward. This is impossible! This is the Power of the House of Aesir! Thor, as Heir, was granted access at the battle of Ragnörak during the last Røkkar Cycle - how do I possess them?

Their inexorable growth blinds me to their devastation. Each bolt that surges forward explodes in contact with the hard ground, sending chips of stone and grit flying through the air. The cries that rend the air as flesh is torn apart, fail to penetrate my blinding rage. The Aesir Powers gain strength for each drop of blood they claim, and the arcs reach further into their bodies, blowing apart limbs in a vicious display of brutality. Thunder booms loudly in the sky overhead.

I want more. Losing myself to the exhilaration, the Powers rapidly grow beyond my control and the reality of my loss cuts deep. They took him from me!

The man on the far right falls to the floor, his blood soaks Fjolnir’s skin, and Magni crawls his way behind the stone trough. I lift my chin to the sky in a deafening roar of rage. One by one, my senses are consumed by the storm within until there’s no longer a divide between me and the Power that has taken me over.