Anders was not... clingy, per se. But his brother, his father and his mother were all here, so why would he not be? He had no idea of the drama unfolding until he got closer; drawing up alongside his twin, and then taking a couple steps toward the group... until he balked. Panicked, at the scent of blood and... something else. He didn't recognize many of these faces, and that made him feel all the more uncertain. For a moment he would stare into what he could make out of his mother's scarred and sightless visage amongst the silhouettes of the others before backpedalling, back to @Svalbard, almost into him. And there he would wait, hiding his trauma valiantly behind as stoic a mask as he could muster.

Given the circumstances.

Like his brother, he was confused.

one foot in the sea & one on shore this call was different from ones that she had heard in the past. it was riddled with something weighted and morbid and painful that voluspa did not recognize — and, frankly, it scared her to find out what waited on the other side. but, of course, the woman ventured onwards nonetheless, her throat tight and her body feeling as though it was swaddled in a haze as she moved down the familiar coastlines of stygian shore. And it was there that she would finally find them - a sparse, but growing, crowd hovering amongst the sands -, who all seemed to be looking at something. unfortunately however, voluspa could not figure out what that something was from her current distance, at least not yet. 'turn back' a small, unknown voice urged in the back of her mind then, prompting the flutter of the sigrun’s gaze out towards the sea. it raged with the full force of vellen today, an omen with furthered the daunting feeling that had found homage in her chest — but she could not turn back. she knew that she needed to see what had happened. but, oh, you should have turned back. because now voluspa’s bones trembled as she looked down upon the body of her aunt, battered and broken, her jaws falling agape in what appeared to be a display of shock and confusion. there were no words for the emotions that ravaged beneath her surface in that moment, even as she looked to the way that @Calypso tended so carefully to saga’s wounds, even still. unlike the other medic, however, voluspa felt the pit rising in her stomach the longer that she watched, and felt the solemn wave of mourning wash over figure, lapping at her heels — knowing, somewhere deep down, that this was the end that they had all feared. and while voluspa was not the one who had done this to saga, but could not help but to feel as though she had still failed her. so many mistakes had been made that voluspa still sought to rectify for her — but now here their warrior was, cradled in the arms of vellen. never to know what would, or could, become of the rest of them. the valkyrie could only hope that saga would find some semblance of peace, wherever came next for her, as her mouth closed and hot tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. but it was there that they would stay, for voluspa refused to let them fall down across the plush of her cheeks as she stood there and stared, and watched, and waited for someone else to speak.

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there's a tension in the air, i can almost taste it // his paw is so gentle as it trails along her cheek, tracing the bone until he can smear the liquid from her lips. she smiles against his pads, through the pa- well, not pain. the numb nothingness. she knows there should be pain and that, in itself, is what is frightening. there's a quiet between them, then, when he lifts his paw away from her face. and then he says: you'll be okay and she fights not to smile wider. @Hákon, she means to say. you know that's not true. but the words don't actually leave her lips even as they form and hang there. it's too cruel, even for her to rub salt in the proverbial wound.

he knows as well as she does; she needn't point it out so.

so instead of speaking saga just exhales, softly, contentedly, as her mate folds himself around her. she shifts her head ( the only part of her she can still feel, now ) and rests her jaw gently against him. she swallows thickly, ears folding back at his statement. saga can practically hear vellen's gurgle of satisfaction, amusement, to think that this skagos could stand against him. but she says nothing, merely remembering that she should feel warm from the pressure of him and pretends she is. pretends she can. his nose touches the space beneath her ear and she sighs again, what tension was in her face melting away. "jag älskar dig." i love you, she whispers to him, feeling her insides going colder and colder still.

there would be no surviving this, vellen be damned, and she is loath to realize what she's doing to him. "fyrirgefðu." and this is the first time she remembers saying it - i'm sorry - in so, so long.

or, at least, saying it and meaning it.

and i know i should be scared to know i'll have to face it // @Ragna arrives soon after and presses close, the crunch of the sand and the closeness of her telling the sigrun jarl that she is close enough to touch. a smile, weary and tight, crosses her lips and she wishes she could flex her numb paw to grab her back. and then they flood in: the sigrun dogs, as hákon says. @Magnus bids her to speak the name of her killer and the woman can only offer a gurgled: "of hratt," too fast in response. she can only assume it was a rike - but their enemies were vast and spread, now. ecrosia, wolfbron, the rike, the few spurned scilla members. at this point, there's a long list of lions who wanted saga sigrún dead.

in this twisted truth or dare that never changes // then there's a brush of sweet scent, tinged with the spice of herb, and she turns her jaw slightly until it bounces off of @Calypso's. she's closer than the jarl expects and she doesn't understand why until her breath is against her ear. the woman stills, jaw working soundlessly, and wishes ( not for the first time ) for her eyes once more, that she might share a glance with the woman. "he'll n...eed you." she whispers back, the words a struggle to say, but she forces them out none-the-less.

he never needed saga, not really; she might have selfishly struck her claws deep enough into his heart to claim him, but he had never needed her. and he won't start today. he'll have calypso, she knows, and the children that vellen blessed them with and, if he wasn't too proud, the rest of the sigrún.

and then he'll have his healer and her daughter. he'll have the sea and the shore and the bite of the cold sea wind to remind him of what his jarl had been.

but i'm not playing anymore // @Nero, her sweet child, arrives with gratitude and love on his tongue, and her throat tightens. the poor boy, thrust into their war and their feud and their death; she almost regrets bringing him into their fold. but he was every bit a sigrún as the rest and with the conviction of his words, she lets that guilt go. "elskan," she tells him softly as his lips brush her skin. there's a plethora of emotions, of unspoken words, in that term of endearment. "þú hefur alltaf staðið þig vel." you've always done good, she tells him. and he has - and she knows he will continue, even when she is gone. her nephew and her sons come quietly, lingering on the outskirts. their scent wafts over her and she opens her mouth, their names forming on her lips, but she only exhales another bloody bubble that dissolves into a wet, hacking cough.

it's the end of the world, show me what happens next // it goes on for long enough that saga isn't sure she'll be able to breathe past it; everything goes dark and distant and it sounds like she's under water once more. vellen reaches greedy claws out, flexing to snag at her fur, but she thrusts herself through that inky blackness, away from the grip of her god and back, back to the family she's not fucking ready to leave. there's a too-long moment between one breath and the next, but she gasps, body twitching absently, as she struggles to get air into her chest.

it's near the end - but since she wrenched herself away from vellen, he turns a skull from her and there's a ringing finality of then, suffer. he was going to take her quieter, gentler, but stubbornly clinging on leaves her tottering on the edge of a long, slow death.

but she won't, she knows, suffer that.

"sæll vellen." she splutters wearily, the words rough and pained as they leave her throat. "rísa sigrún." hail vellen; rise sigrún she hisses, determination still fiery and lingering even as death presses at her consciousness.

and then she shifts her skull towards her mate and says a single word that carries so much weight: "snälla nu." please, now she asks him. now, because she is only going out on her terms.

now because even in death saga is bowing to no man, no woman; not even a god.

what happens next //

last post w her; exit via presumed death

i'm ready to suffer the sea despite everything @Saga smiles, lips fluttering in some semblance of — joy. delight, happiness. whatever her emotions they reflect with a certain sense of hollowness upon her broken features; perhaps if not for the blood leaking from her lips, or the unnatural angle of her body... he does not look away from this. her jaw rests against him and he takes comfort in this, whatever little of it there is to be had. there is not much but he has never needed much. ( haven't you? ) her voice is soft but still not weak, not even here — or maybe it's just wishful thinking. still, his language on her tongue makes his ears prick forward as the meaning hits him square in the chest. alltid, he says, echoing it quietly — even if it did not need to be said. not here and certainly not now; they've said it plenty of times before without words. it feels too heavy then and it sits on his tongue, in his chest, and he thinks he could stay like this forever. let the tide come and take them both with it, he thinks suddenly. fiercely, the only way a man who sees his life slipping away can. he would stay here, forever, just like this. it would be enough, if he were to allow them this — hakon does not budge, not even as others trickle in attending to his call. he pays little attention to them, attention hardly waning away from her. there is a quiet finality to the way the sigrun rats gather — her eldest daughter pressing in close, her brother demanding answers. it is only when he spots @Svalbard and @Anders lurking in the background does something smash through the grief in his chest, and it is anger. fury. they were blessings, saga had said, gifts offered up by the storm god for their jobs well done. but hakon has never known their god to be kind and certainly any entity that can give miracles would curse them, too. seafoam eyes linger on the twins, wearing matching expressions on matching features. it is not the first time that twins have watched his undoing and were he not so entangled with their mother, he might've moved towards them. but saga keeps him still, saga keeps him in place. pressed so close, he feels the way her lungs start to struggle — choking on blood and phlegm and saltwater. he feels the fight in her chest and there's a low, quiet noise in his chest. a whine, a growl — he has no idea but his paws flex uselessly. they freeze, though, at her words. a rallying cry from a dying woman. seafoam eyes finally look from her to the sigrun gathered, watching keenly ( like a dog, ready to lunge ) for their response. he is happy to pile the guilt on their faces, tear-streaked and dour though they might be. the sigrun might be losing a jarl here, but he is losing his sea. despite this, there's no question in his chest when she asks. this, too, does not need to be said with words but brunette words pitch forward regardless. þú þarft ekki að gera það sjálfur. (you do not have to do it alone.)he murmurs to her, a quiet gift offered in her own language. he's said these words to her before but perhaps not enough; another thing he will regret. it kills him to remove his hand from where it cradles her, but he knows. this is how it ends. but she deserves better than to choke on her blood. ég mun sjá þig fljótlega, (i'll see you soon,) he murmurs, pressing a small kiss to the shell of her ear. he lingers, allowing this moment to stretch forever. then his muzzle drops, letting his nose press into the bloodstained fur of her cheek, as his paw rises. claws sink into her throat, as neat as he can make it, and then — she is gone. do you know how it ends? do you feel lucky? do you want to go home now? this is where the evening splits in half, love or death. grab an end, pull hard, and make a wish.

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She does not come at first, not even when her father's broken cry echoes out across the shore. Somehow Vigdis can feel within her that this is different, that something was horribly wrong and yet she could not force herself to move. Not yet anyways. The young girl stands what feels like miles away in their empty den; reminiscing over the few memories she held here with her family as one. And she knows, she knows before she even makes the long trek to the beach where they've all gathered. She knows before her gaze manages to settle on her mother's blood-soaked body still upon the sand. Vigdis feels the silent tears as they roll softly down her cheeks but otherwise remains quiet. Her mother had been so strong, she had been sewn back together plenty of times before this - but this was different. Silently she moves across the beach to take her place among her brothers but not a word was spoken. Vellen has taken her. There will be no do-overs this time. The voice hisses lowly and Vigdis closes her eyes, squeezing them tight if only to block out the image of her broken mother; and their shattered father draped across her.


'Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.'