Chapter Text
Princess Gunnthra was alone.
She stood, hair cascading in uneven waves down her back, in her nightgown, a vast hall stretching on before her. The floor, though wrought from weathered stone, felt smooth beneath her feet, and the very air that surrounded her faintly resisted as she spread her fingers.
This, she knew now, had to be a dream. But dreams, as Gunnthra well knew, were rarely unimportant things, and so she began to walk forward.
Every step felt as if it sent ripples through the world around her, even as it shifted in the blink of an eye.
The hallway was gone now, and she found herself somewhere nostalgic and familiar.
The warmth of a central fireplace pervaded the air, providing the small room with a comfortable warmth that seeped into your very bones. The scent of aged parchment and deer-leather bindings gave the library a cozy air, despite its tall arched ceilings and winding stacks. If she tried, Gunnthra could hear the distant footsteps of staff browsing the shelves, but her attention was focused on the pair seated at one of the polished wooden tables.
The man was just as she remembered him, tall and stick-thin with a conical cap that made him the shadow of an icicle. She stifled a laugh as he cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles, leaning across the table to address a young girl not even half his height.
The girl, with her vibrant pink hair in pigtails and a stuffed seal with button-eyes in her hands, was leaning back to meet his gaze, an awed expression on her face as she seemed to cling to the old man’s every word.
Gunnthra knew well, however, that the young girl’s mind was still on sweets and snowmen, and that she was only putting on this act for as long as it took to be dismissed from another day’s dull and dreary lessons.
She remembered those days well.
“And so…” puttered the elderly man, whose name seemed to hover just out of reach of her thoughts, “The Frost Dragon’s gift lives on, a blessing housed in the very blood of those who trace their lineage back to the First Queen. It lives on in your parents, Princess Gunnthra, just as it does in you.”
“And does it live in my brother and sister as well?”
The older Gunnthra couldn’t help but laugh, grateful that the instructor could not hear her and ruin her younger self’s ploy. After all, adults loved to be asked questions they knew the answers to, even if you did too.
“It lives in every member of the royal family, but in none stronger than the heir to the throne.” The man nodded his head as he spoke. “And so you see, Princess, that you have before you a resplendent destiny, one that demands your proper education and training. Dear girl, you must…”
Both Gunnthras recited along.
“Stand tall and unflinching as the ice itself.”
And then the memory was gone, as quickly as it had come, leaving Gunnthra standing beside her younger self as she cocked back an arm, eyes set on a training target.
“Throw!” commanded a familiar voice, and Gunnthra watched as a blade sailed through the air, plinking harmlessly off of the stone wall to the target’s right and clattering to the floor beside the others. The smaller Gunnthra let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers bunching up the silk of her skirts as she glowered at the fallen knives.
“Pick them up, and we’ll go again.”
Both Gunnthras whirled to face their instructor, but while the younger girl’s eyes fought back tears of frustration, the grown woman’s blinked away tears of a very different kind.
“This is silly! Why can’t I just use my tome?” moaned the training Gunnthra.
“Because,” replied her father, as he stood from his seat, “These are meant to be concealed weapons, little pearl. You can’t expect to carry that bulky book to any formal events, now can you?”
“So I just won’t go to any silly “formal events”!”
A tinge of sadness lit up the king’s features, quickly chased away by a forced smile.
“Oh? You won’t? Then what of the annual division of the Hjarnhof Silver Mines? Shall they be forced to squabble amongst themselves with no guidance from the crown?”
“They…they could…” The young girl blinked, her eyes slightly widened. “They could figure it out!”
“Ah, perhaps…” The king raised a hand to his bearded chin, rubbing it as if deep in thought. “That would only leave the Aegir Shelf without oversight, which would reflect rather poorly on our relationship with the southern clans who rely on its fisheries for food.”
“Oh…” Gunnthra replied, confusion written clearly on her face. “That sounds bad…”
“And of course, when you are a woman grown, you must select from the candidates the clans have sent to be your spouse! Or do you simply plan to tell all comers you are too busy for their “silly events”?”
“Okay, okay, I get it!” Defeated, the princess set out to regather her fallen blades, even as her father chuckled under his breath. Those sounds of joy quickly turned to a hacking cough, and even the dreaming Gunnthra felt the urge to extend a hand in her father’s direction, her face falling as her fingers passed right through the illusion.
Even here, it seemed, there would be no saving him.
Again, her surroundings changed, dissipating and reforming in a nigh imperceptible blur.
Gunnthra found herself in a small room, lit only by the flickering of a wall sconce. Her cheeks reddened slightly upon noticing the two young women by her side, in the midst of a passionate kiss. Then again, she supposed, it wasn’t exactly voyeurism if it was on yourself. Slowly, one of the lovers pulled away, her sharp features and unruly brown hair a sight that had lingered in the Princess’ memory.
“This must be the last time.” the woman whispered, her eyes on the stone floor below. Her partner gently slipped a finger beneath her chin, lifting it until their gazes met once more.
"Thank you, for sparing me the pain of saying it again." Gunnthra replied, a joyless smile tugging at her lips. This Gunnthra was much older than the previous two, the spark of mischief in her eyes now diluted from years of training and the weight of expectation.
The other woman stepped back, correcting her hair with her hands as the storeroom went painfully silent. The dreaming Gunnthra saw the way the brunette’s eyes struggled to leave her younger self, watching silently as she carefully rearranged the rumpled folds of her gown.
“But if it wasn’t-”
The words had slipped through her lips, and now hung heavily in the air between them.
“Yrsa…” The younger Gunnthra spoke gently but firmly, the name weighted with intent. “Please, we’ve spoken about this.”
“But your Highness…” It was rare to see the stoic shieldmaiden vulnerable, Gunnthra knew. The memory of the guard’s first confession still lingered, even after all this time.
“The ministers are already seething that I’ve delayed the Dawning ceremony for as long as I have. To postpone choosing a spouse any longer would destroy what little favor the throne still carries with the clans.”
Yrsa grimaced, the scar across her cheek made more apparent by the severity of her expression.
“Forgive me, Princess. I shall not allow my…personal desires to surpass my duty to Nifl.”
Slowly, Gunnthra shook her head, stepping forward to gently interlace her fingers with Yrsa’s. “You needn’t ask for my forgiveness. I must thank you for allowing me to spend this time with you while we both were able. The dream has been lovely, and now I simply must awaken.”
Yrsa’s response, one that had never left Gunnthra’s mind, was swallowed up as the scene began to twist and distort into something new.
As the world reformed itself around her once more, Gunnthra felt her heart sink in her chest.
Snjarhof’s dense snow was trickling down from an amber sky, the last rays of daylight illuminating the foreign army before her, and casting shadows on the one amassed behind. Her sister stood with an arm outstretched, horror on her face as a familiar deep laughter grew louder and louder.
As the smell of smoke began to fill her senses, Gunnthra closed her eyes.
That morbid scene had clung to her since the day she died, through a revival and to another world. She had no need of a reminder of burning, as the sensation had never left her.
When all was quiet once more, she looked up again.
A vast field of snow stretched on in every direction, gleaming beneath a shining sun. There was no wind, no sound, and no movement. The only thing that Gunnthra could see was a figure, kneeling amidst the sea of white.
The woman wore black armor, and a cape with the pattern of flame. Around her, the snow began to melt, revealing faded grass gripped tightly in her gloved hands. Relieved, Gunnthra exhaled, watching her breath fog up in the air before her as she approached.
Gingerly, she kneeled before the other woman, and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
“Laegjarn…” she whispered, and her lover’s eyes snapped open.
Gunnthra felt a warmth blossom in her chest as Laegjarn pulled her into a matching embrace, their lips meeting in the frozen air, as if drawn to one another. As they kissed, the snow around seemed to disappear, replaced with the green grass of the Askran countryside, speckled with blooms of every shape and color. Gunnthra allowed her chin to sink onto Laegjarn’s shoulder, the tension that had gripped her heart but moments ago beginning to evaporate as Laegjarn’s hair tickled the base of her neck.
In Laegjarn’s arms, Gunnthra felt safe, loved, and home. And as she opened her eyes once more, meeting Laegjarn’s passionate gaze, there was no doubt in her mind that her girlfriend felt the same way.
And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker of flame.
It started as merely a spark, a flash of light in the grass below. A thin wisp of smoke rose shakily from the spot as it grew into a tiny flame. Slowly, the fire began to creep towards the pair.
“Laegjarn?”
Gunnthra pulled back from the hug, watching with widened eyes as her girlfriend refused to move. It was as if she couldn’t hear her at all, her expression still as a statue's as the fire licked at her armor.
“Laegjarn, please!”
Gunnthra’s pleas went unanswered as the fire crackled and spread, climbing up Laegjarn’s legs as she knelt motionless in the grass. Desperately, she called on the ice magic in her blood, trying to materialize it to quench the flames. Bursts of frost crackled in the air, but the inferno roared in response, growing to consume the magic as if it were food.
Glowing with unnatural might, the fire continued to spread. Gunnthra felt her stomach churn as it swallowed up the still and silent Laegjarn. She could only watch as her lover burned, soon totally invisible beneath a blanket of flame.
The vibrant greens faded to soot gray as flame washed insatiably over the field, the tendrils at its limits whipping and flaring like tentacles dragging it across the earth. Gunnthra’s own instincts urged her to back away, to turn and retreat, but she couldn’t stop the pounding in her heart as she stared at the place Laegjarn once was.
She couldn’t let this happen to her.
This would not happen to her.
With trembling steps, the princess who burned rushed back into the fire.
Slowly, Gunnthra woke from her fitful dreams, the light of a midday sun shining through her dormitory window. The feeling was less like being gently awoken by its warming rays, and more like being dragged from sleep by its unbearable luminance. She had never been much of a morning person.
Even as she rose to a sitting position, stretching her arms high in the air as a belabored yawn escaped, the images that she had seen in the dream were at the forefront of her mind.
The musty tomes of the castle library.
The gentle curve of her father’s smile.
The chestnut color of Yrsa’s hair.
Laegjarn, aflame.
Even as one born with rare power over dreams, there was much about their significance that not even Gunnthra understood.
Her eyes wandered to the other side of the bed before she closed them once more. Once, her power had been used to reach across nations into the dreams of Askr’s summoner, to offer a warning of King Surtr’s conquests and ask for the Order’s assistance in defending her homeland. But that was a world, and indeed, a life away, and she now sought access into the dreams of another. Still drowsy, it took Gunnthra little time at all to slip back into the realm of sleep.
She could not describe the place in which she found herself, shrouded in haze and shifting slightly each time she reconsidered it. It was the nature of some dreams, she supposed, to be fleeting and skittish things, unwilling to reveal all of their secrets even to one who could willingly plumb their depths.
And yet, when she focused her mind, Gunnthra could walk the shifting paths with her eyes closed, sensing the faint presence of the one she sought even within such a place. Each step echoed in her eardrums, the sound different with every step.
As the Princess opened them once more, the sight ahead of her brought a sigh of relief.
There, in the eye of the churning fog, was a scene, defined though it was in wavy shapes and muted colors. Gray stone stretched out before her, the ground covered in spidering cracks. Though she could not make out its shape, she could sense the gentle glow of a lantern, casting the shadows of rock formations onto the walls. In the center of it all lay a simple leather sleeping bag, and within was a familiar form.
With her vibrant hair spread across a pillow, Laegjarn’s chest slowly rose and fell as she slept.
“Checking up on me, I see.”
Startled, Gunnthra whirled, both surprised and amused by the playful lilt of Laegjarn’s voice and slight smile on her face as she appeared behind her. Still, she smiled.
“I had hoped to find you in a nice, fluffy inn bed.”
“That is how I know you have never been to a Muspellian inn. The caves are preferable…and Plume’s wings began to tire before we cleared the borderlands.”
Laegjarn did love to dote on her wyvern. If she listened closely, Gunnthra swore she could hear the gentle snoring of the great lizard himself…unless it was another member of Laegjarn’s party. Bartre, admittedly, came to mind.
“I must admit…this dream feels quite strange.” Laegjarn motioned towards her slumbering doppleganger. “I don’t often…watch myself sleep. At least, as far as I know.”
Gunnthra nodded, glancing once more around the murky space. This had never happened before, the dreams she arrived in had always felt all but real in every sense.
Rising flame. Acrid smoke. Burning. Burning. Bur-
"Perhaps this is not your dream at all, then." she said. "Perhaps your mind was quiet when I reached out, and this sort of…projection is all that could be prepared."
Gingerly, Gunnthra extended a hand towards Laegjarn’s shoulder, not terribly surprised when it seemed to pass through, as if her body was merely air. As Laegjarn watched, she began to speak.
“I think you have the right of it. For any dream of mine in which I cannot feel the warmth of your touch is no proper dream at all.”
Gunnthra’s eyes widened, and physical form or not, she could feel her cheeks slightly heating up.
“When did you learn to so casually say such things?”
Laegjarn chuckled, brushing a strand of deep red hair out of her face.
“I have had an excellent teacher.”
They took a moment to themselves, quiet enough to hear the distant howls of wind through the cavern mouth. It was nothing short of miraculous that they could share such simple moments, once divided by nation and even now across such a great distance. In Laegjarn’s presence, Gunnthra felt as if she could show the sides of herself she’d spent so long trying to hide.
She felt safe. She felt loved. She felt home.
There was a twinge of sadness as Gunnthra noticed the edges of her vision beginning to blur even further. Even the parts of the dreamscape that were discernible seconds earlier began to distort, colors gradually fading to gray as sounds blended together into a dim hum.
“You are waking.” Gunnthra said. Laegjarn nodded her head, her once-clear expression now difficult to make out, though Gunnthra had known her long enough now to catch the flash of disappointment on her face.
“So it seems.” Laegjarn took a few steps forward, closing the distance between their phantasmal forms. “We hope to reach Castle Muspell within the day’s travel. I shall give my sister your regards.”
“Please do!” Though she knew the gesture was somewhat futile, Gunnthra reached out her hands, letting them hover as if they rested upon Laegjarn’s shoulders. “Be careful, Laegjarn.”
“Of course, my princess.”
Gunnthra felt her senses melt away, conscious only long enough to hear Laegjarn’s last few words.
“I love-”
Though Gunnthra had lost track of how many days she had been a part of the Order of Heroes, the sense of novelty to being in Askr had yet to fade.
As she walked through the mess hall of Castle Askr, she, once again, excitedly scanned the room. Assembled inside were a crowd of summoned warriors from across the worlds, all shapes and sizes amongst their ranks. At one long wooden table, a renowned team of mercenaries crowded around a young empress, while the adjacent group was formed entirely of those who could transform into animals during battle. Elsewhere, a pair of students of Fodlan’s Officer’s Academy ate with the twin regents of Renais, all while a robed mage who spoke with many different voices sat in discussion with a dragon renowned as a demi-god. It was all at once incredibly inspiring, like seeing childhood tales of heroes brought to life before Gunnthra’s eyes, and utterly humbling to stand in their presence.
Those conflicted emotions continued to simmer as she sank into her seat, resting a simple breakfast of buttered bread and fruit atop the table. From across the table, an old man smiled, nodding at the princess as she arrived.
“Princess Gunnthra,” Jagen said, “A pleasure to see you this morning.”
“Good morning!” she replied. Though Gunnthra had originally met Sir Jagen, knight of Altea, when watching over Laegjarn after their emotional first encounter, she had not spent much time with the man her girlfriend regarded as her mentor. With Laegjarn away, she saw the opportunity to accompany and get to know the paladin during her early meals as a prosperous one.
“If I may…” The knight made a gesture with one hand, petting the air in front of his shoulder. Perplexed, Gunnthra mimicked it, only to find one of her braids sitting atop her meal.
“Oh!” Quickly, she pulled it back into place, using her napkin to sop up the butter that had unfortunately transferred over. “I apologize...that’s…not supposed to happen to me. Often, I mean.”
Jagen laughed, quietly but robustly. “My lady, I’ve attended Prince Marth since before he learned to speak. You needn’t fear judgment on your table from an old soldier like me.”
“Perhaps…” Gunnthra mused. She smiled, a hint of mischief on her lips. “Though it doesn’t mean you won’t tell Laegjarn when she returns.”
“You impugn my honor, Princess. Though a bribe of one of your strawberries couldn’t hurt my silence…”
Tapping a finger gently on her chin, Gunnthra obliged, spearing a red berry with her fork and getting it halfway to Jagen’s plate before a deep voice interrupted.
“And what’s goin’ on over here?”
The table trembled slightly as a towering Muspellian man pulled up a chair. “Ain’t the two of you old enough to know you shouldn’t play with your food?”
Gunnthra smiled. “Forgive me, Helbindi. It is a matter of great secrecy, you see.”
Though he rolled his eyes, it didn’t escape Gunnthra’s notice that Helbindi settled into his seat right next to her anyway. “Whatever you say, Princess.” He cleared his throat. “Or…uh…Queen? Do we call ya Queen? Since after…
Helbindi suddenly seemed to look away, and Gunnthra could see Jagen’s fork stop for a moment on the way to his mouth.
“After my mother was killed, I was next in the line of succession.” She spoke calmly. Carefully. Even among friends, she kept her tone level and her words clear. “That said, I was never officially coronated…so the title of Queen was never mine.”
Before I died.
What was left unsaid hung between them silently, its weight pulling a silence over the conversation. Gunnthra moved quickly to dispel it.
“Though, especially now that we are all members of the Order, you should just call me Gunnthra!”
She took a bite of bread, ignoring the grumbles of excuses coming from the others.
“Sir Helbindi, while I have a moment…” Jagen began to speak again. “I must commend your bravery in yesterday’s battlefield outing.”
“Huh?” The large man blinked. “Not sure what you’re talking about, gramps.”
“No need for humility today. I saw the way you broke from defensive formation to keep those thieves away from that farmhouse.”
“What? Oh, come on, that was nothing.” Helbindi suddenly became very interested in his meal, eyes averted from the others at the table. “The hell else was I supposed to do, sit there sucking my thumb?”
Bandit activity had been on the rise in Askr, Gunnthra knew. There were rumors that a conflict of succession between minor Emblan nobles had caused a ripple of violence even across the border, but not even the Order’s spymasters knew for sure, and she had never yet been sent to the front lines against them. A wave of disappointment hit as she continued her breakfast. She wondered how this world’s King Hrid was faring protecting the peace in Nifl right now.
Those thoughts were enough to occupy her through most of her meal, only distracted once she overheard rising voices at the table behind her.
“I shall take Her Majesty’s right hand seat, as I always have.” intoned a deep voice.
“Oh, really? I’m just supposed to entrust the honor to you for tradition’s sake?” The reply came from a more spirited sounding woman. “As if Her Majesty would abide by such an outdated notion!”
“Now, now, Monica…”
Gunnthra turned her head just in time to see a smirk form on the face of a black robed man, one she recognized as Emperor Edelgard’s retainer.
“There’s plenty of room for you to sit on the floor, should that be more to your liking.”
The girl he spoke to, her hair a cherry red, suddenly had her face turning nearly the same color.
“Oh, I’ll tell you exactly where you can sit, Hubert, you blood-sucking little…”
“Peace, please!” Gunnthra stood and made her way between the arguing pair, her hands held demurely in front of her waist. “There is no need for such talk among allies.” The woman looked at her with wide eyes, while Hubert’s surprise quickly faded as he performed a slight bow.
“I apologize if our…discussion disturbed you, Princess Gunnthra.” he said. “My subordinate and I will strive to resolve the matter more quietly.”
Upon hearing the word “subordinate”, Monica clenched her teeth, and Gunnthra realized that if she didn’t step in, it was likely this would end in some amount of violence.
“If I may…” she said, glancing between both of the Heroes from Fodlan. “Might I suggest that neither of you takes your Emperor’s right-hand seat? Consider this…” Gunnthra walked around the table, lowering herself into a seat with both Hubert and Monica on the other side. “Surely you’ll both want to have her attention, and watch for any troublemakers sneaking up from behind her. This arrangement offers both, does it not?”
For a few seconds, both of Edelgard’s retainers were quiet. Hubert was the first to break the silence, smirking softly as he did.
“That seems like a fine arrangement to me…though I doubt anyone would try to ambush Her Majesty in the Order’s own castle…”
“It could certainly happen!” Monica argued. Her face softened as she turned to Gunnthra. “Which is why I believe the Princess’ suggestion is an excellent one. Thank you, Princess Gunnthra.”
A practiced smile leapt to Gunnthra’s face. “You are very welcome.”
Satisfied, Hubert and Monica departed for the kitchens to receive their morning meals. A few moments later, footsteps behind Gunnthra ended with a sigh.
“I could hear that from the hall.” Ever the picture of elegance and formality, Emperor Edelgard had her hair and tiara already prepared, shaking her head as she watched her retainers depart. “You have my thanks, Princess Gunnthra.”
“It was no trouble.” Gunnthra replied, a bit of warmth settling in her stomach.
Edelgard shook her head. "For you, perhaps not." The Emperor gave a rare smile, weariness beyond her age evident on her face. "I don't suppose you'd like a position as one of the Adrestian Emperor's advisors…"
"I must respectfully decline." Gunnthra said with a smile. "I left politics behind a lifetime ago."
The next day, Gunnthra had an appointment in one of the Order's training halls. The room was vast, its wooden floor extending far enough north that the back wall was but a faint blur of brown from the entrance. The vaulted ceilings cast long shadows, high enough that those gifted with wings could perform aerial training with little danger of a collision with the ceiling.
She was no expert on the matter, but Gunnthra had to wonder if a pegasus or wyvern could fly comfortably inside. That said, the mental image of Laegjarn trying to push Plume through one of the very human-sized gates was enough to keep a small smile on her face as she walked towards a sanded circle near the eastern wall.
There, a woman in a dark black cloak waited for her, giving only a nod as Gunnthra stepped onto the sandy floor.
"Good afternoon, Professor Byleth."
"Hello."
Even amongst the strange company that made up the Order of Heroes, Gunnthra found Byleth particularly hard to read. The mercenary-turned-teacher was soft-spoken but blunt, often keeping to herself whenever she could.
Still, to hear her current and former students tell it (who were often the same people, thanks to just how strange a place Askr was), she was one of the greatest combat trainers in the Order. That was why Gunnthra had sought her out.
Lifting a pair of wooden training blades off of the wall, Byleth handed one to Gunnthra. The textured wood felt strange in her hands, and she had a brief moment of longing for the gloves she wore at Castle Nifl.
"How much bladework have you done?" Byleth asked.
"I managed to talk my brother into a bit of practice when we were both very young, but I imagine that’s not what you mean. I have only had a few hours of training recently. With my girlfriend."
Byleth nodded, eyes far away as she took a moment to think.
"Got it." She pointed a finger towards the edge of her weapon. "On a normal blade, this would be the sharp part."
Gunnthra laughed, up until she noticed that Byleth wasn’t laughing with her.
“I know that much.” she said, hoping she hadn’t offended her instructor before their lessons even began. Byleth merely inclined her head, face still unreadable as she seemed to consider this new information.
“Right. Well then…”
Byleth leveled a sword before her. “Why don’t we start with a practical test? Ready?
”Ready, Princess?”
In the rising light of the early morning, Gunnthra couldn’t help but admire the way Laegjarn stood with such poise, even dressed in dull gray training armor with a blunted sword to match. No matter if it was on the battlefield, in the sparring room, or the halls, there was an elegance to her that Gunnthra’s mother would have called “utterly dignified”.
And yet, her favorite sight was the way her lover’s smile appeared as Gunnthra raised her own blunted blade, striking a pose she hoped was close to the one she’d seen Hrid use.
“Hand a little further down the grip, dearest.”
Well, now it was certainly closer.
“On your guard!” Laegjarn declared.
“Don’t hold back!” she replied, knowing full well Laegjarn would never hurt her.
With a yelp, Gunnthra fell to the sandy floor for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. Coughing, she grasped the hand reaching down to pull her up, her arms and legs feeling substantially more jelly-like than normal.
“Well done. You held out much longer that time.”
If Byleth, however, had even broken a sweat, it didn’t show. The professor nodded as she helped Gunnthra to her feet.
“Perhaps…” Gunnthra half-laughed, half-wheezed. “Though I am still far from success.”
Byleth tilted her head again before speaking.
“I don’t think that’s true. Success is…a difficult thing to define.”
Gunnthra forced a giggle, turning away from the professor’s inquisitive stare. “Perhaps that’s true…but it’s not a simple thing to see it that way. Especially from the floor.”
“I think that’s enough for today. Meet me here again tomorrow, and we’ll get to work on a training regimen.”
Days later, as she approached the common room outside of her dormitory, Gunnthra breathed a sigh of relief. As exhausted as she was, her body aching after a particularly strenuous bout in the training room, the thought of falling into bed felt like all that was pushing her forward.
Weakness was not an unfamiliar feeling, she thought to herself.
It was that weakness that had nearly lead to Nifl’s utter destruction. That had left the nation defenseless against Surtr’s forces. That had gotten her mother-
The silence was broken by a hacking cough from behind one of the dormitory doors. Her fatigue forgotten, Gunnthra surged towards the door. She rapped her knuckles on it, leaning close to hear as best she could.
“Fjorm? Fjorm, do you need me?”
The wheezing continued, and Gunnthra burst into the room. She felt a chill ripple down her spine as she saw her younger sister, slight and sallow-skinned, struggling to speak.
“I’m….I’m alright…”
The coughing fit began to subside, and Fjorm managed to push herself into a sitting position against her headboard. Through a window, gentle moonlight illuminated her pale skin.
“Please…do not concern yourself with me.”
Over the past few months, Fjorm’s condition had taken a drastic turn for the worse. The once vibrant princess of Nifl, who had once raised her lance against Surtr himself, could now scarcely lift her weapon.
“Fjorm…” Gunnthra sat at the edge of the bed, shaking her head as she turned to face Fjorm. “I am your sister. I will concern myself with you as much as I would like.”
For the first time in a very long time, Gunnthra heard a gentle giggle escape her sister’s lips.
“You have always been so kind to me. Even if I am not…not your Fjorm…”
And there it was. The subject they had so often struggled to broach, the phantom that lingered in the background of their every conversation. This was not Gunnthra’s home world, but one she had found herself summoned to after her own untimely death. She was, in the end, a conjuration of Breidablik’s, a specter perhaps unworthy of being called “alive”.
The Fjorm before her did not truly share her blood. She was not the once-timid child who clung to her hand through darkened castle halls, not the girl whose smile lit up so many of Gunnthra’s memory. That girl was worlds away, and for all that Gunnthra knew, they would never see one another again.
And yet, none of those things did anything to quench the fire in her chest as she gently pulled Fjorm’s hand to her heart.
“You are Fjorm. Nothing else matters, dear sister. And I know the Gunnthra you grew up with would say the same to the sister I left behind.”
Such thoughts had not come easily in the earliest days after Gunnthra’s summoning, wrenched as her heart was by the knowledge that death had taken her from her own siblings. But she had found the same innocent cheerfulness in the Order’s Ylgr she knew in her own, just as she had recognized Fjorm’s quiet determination and Hrid’s unabashed kindness.
As Fjorm nodded slowly, tears beginning to form at the edges of her eyes, Gunnthra could only hope that she could provide anywhere near the comfort of the older sister this Fjorm had watched die.
“...I have seen her. In my dreams.” Fjorm whispered.
“...Who?”
Fjorm’s hand tensed in Gunnthra’s grip.
“Lady Nifl. I think…I think she’s trying to tell me that my time is up.”
Fjorm had bargained with the goddess for which their nation was named, back during the war with Surtr. She had been granted the strength to pierce through the Muspellflame, the everburning source of power that kept the tyrant king unable to die, but the cost was nothing less than her own life, taken slowly in the form of a wasting disease.
Gunnthra’s stomach churned at the thought of the goddess of ice, the majestic blue dragon whose blood was said to run through her very own veins, waiting silently to take Fjorm’s life. She knew that a Queen of Nifl should say it was a blessing that Fjorm had been afforded the extra time to live, but a cynical part of her roiled against the thought that such a price was demanded by the goddess at all.
“It is selfish of me, I think,” Fjorm’s voice was quiet. “To fear death, knowing it has come already for my mother and sister. To wish to delay its coming, when I once welcomed it into my heart.”
“Fjorm…” Gunnthra said. “It is not selfish at all. Now come here.”
Slowly, to avoid jostling her sister, Gunnthra scooted up the bed, engulfing Fjorm in a ginger hug. She didn’t let go, even as she felt cold teardrops begin to stain the sleeve of her gown. The room was silent, save for their breathing, until the sound of footsteps and speaking became audible in the halls outside.
“Thank you.” Fjorm whispered.
“I will always be by your side.” Gunnthra replied.
Several minutes went by, and Fjorm had begun to nod off in Gunnthra’s embrace.The stomping in the hall grew louder, the voices closer and more frantic. Gunnthra’s curiosity was piqued as she glanced at the door.
What could be going on at this time of night?
Judging by her furrowed brow and freshly opened eyes, Fjorm had the same question in mind. As their eyes met, Gunnthra carefully made her way out of the bed.
“I will go and ask whoever that is to quiet down.” she said, giving her little sister a gentle smile. “Afterwards, if you’d like to speak of this more…”
Fjorm shook her head. “I should be getting to sleep.”
With that, Gunnthra walked out of the room and into the common area once more. As she closed Fjorm’s dormitory door behind her, the last thing she saw was her sister bunching the covers around her, as if she had suddenly become very cold.
Gunnthra didn’t have to go far to find the source of the racket.
Standing in the entrance to the common room was a familiar figure, clad in crimson battle armor. The woman’s hair was disheveled, her skin marked with soot and bruises, but Gunnthra could easily recognize that it was Princess Minerva.
“Welcome home, Minerva.” Gunnthra began. “I trust that your mission to Muspell was-”
“Princess Gunnthra.”
Minerva cut her off, and it was then that Gunnthra noticed her expression. The typically stoic wyvern-rider looked dismayed, struggling to look at her. When their eyes met, Gunnthra knew before she even spoke that something had gone horribly wrong.
“Laegjarn is missing.”