Vigdis had lived along the shore long enough to know that something wasn't quite right lately. Perhaps the land itself could sense that something dark was looming in the distance; the waves tossed and rolled erratically, endangering anyone within reach. But for some odd reason the Sigrun-Skagos girl held no fear; at least not when she was present. Her other half, the darker half, was powerful and unafraid. She could stare death in the eye and laugh manically, meanwhile Vigdis herself would rather be the one furthest away from any potential chaos. But Ingvild, yes that was her name, she was strong. Even now she could hear her laughter like a low purr in the recesses of her mind. Move closer I want to show you something. With a huff the young girl moves closer to the water, obliging reluctantly before casting her gaze towards the distance. She could see the waves becoming more erratic with each passing second, the wind too picked up around her, rustling her fur ever so slightly. Something was amiss, she just wasn't sure what. The jarl is dead; Vellen can sense it. She could feel a chill run down her spine at the thought, what would become of them all now.

@Hákon


+1 - make a bwp-related post
+2 - study one of the natural phenomena occurring
+5 - complete a thread with a character you've never threaded with before

indeed, the ocean was a mess.

grey and thick, the salt water roils along their stretch of shore. if he stands very still and lets his eyes go hazy, he might just mistake the grey water and grey sky for nethelus. but even here in the thick of a strange, lingering winter the air is still too warm and the sand is far too soft.

but in the wake of his loss, it is almost comforting.

broad paws pace down the shoreline, keeping a sharp eye upon the waves themselves, an ear towards the storm that brews just out to sea. they were no stranger to the elements here but — well. he worried after the children, no matter how big they grew. a father’s doubt, lingering and strange in the brute’s chest, perhaps made worse by the grief that lurked there, too.

in fact, he sees one now. @Vigdis stands before the sea like a patchwork sentinel, her frame still even against the gales that chase the gulls. he chuffs as he approaches, paws only stilling once he is at her side. he stands there, shoulder to shoulder, staring out towards the horizon's blurry line, as if he can see what she can see.

( as if he can hear what she can hear. )

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There is comfort that comes with the presence of her father. He does not speak but merely stands shoulder to shoulder and she cannot help but lean slightly into the touch. Her gaze never wavers from the distant waters; pink eyes watching thoughtfully all the while. "What will they do now?" She says softly, pondering really. And by they she means the Sigrun; how would they continue onward when there wasn't a soul fit for the calling of Jarl. Vigdis was familiar enough with the customs, she had heard plenty of it growing up on the sandy shores of Stygian. It was a sickening feeling that was brought forth in her stomach though at the mere thought that someone else would be taking the place of her mother. Someone else would pretend as if they had half a clue of what they were doing whilst she had fit the role snug like a glove. It will be comedic and blasphemous all in one. And she cannot help but frown at Ingvild's remark considering it was at her own family's expense. "You won't lead them because of who they are.. right?" She asks him, stoic really aside from the slight quirk of her brow as she glances finally at her father.

@Hákon

he holds himself still at her side, muzzle turned out towards the horizon. it’s only when her shoulder shifts to touch his does he finally turn to look at her, heavy brows lifting in question. @Vigdis does not look at him, though; her thoughtful observation of the strange weather strikes him, and not for the first time he realizes just how strange these children are. he’d expected it from the twins, marked as they were — one soul split into two bodies, never whole without the other. it wasn’t just the twins, though.

miracles, saga had called them. demigods.

whatever they were, whatever they will be, hákon knows that vellen’s blood is in them.

me? he repeats, a little incredulous at the mere suggestion. no, i will not. it was not his place, even if he wanted to. and — he does not want to. the disdain he’d felt for the sister clan had quieted in the months past, but the prejudices he’d had growing up were proven true time and time again. there were a few exceptions but as a whole… they were not his clan. they were hers, though. and now, they were vigdis’.

they will call and gather, he says, thinking aloud — because that’s what he would do, if he were in their position. jarlless, directionless. the skagos could be painted in the same brushstroke, but they’d always been a hardier sort — more independent. ofelía lurking was almost too much direction for him and besides, he had no intention of taking a crown for himself. and they will decide who will replace her. whoever they choose will pick their second and their council. he says, head tilting — looking back out to the shoreline and to the storm beyond, dark clouds reaching down to suck up the salt water below. too far to be any concern of theirs; they were safe on the shore, for now.

we will go, when they call. he decides with a quiet voice, finally turning his muzzle back to look at her. and we will listen when they speak. anything beyond that.. well. it would remain to be seen. he would not hold these children away from the sigrun, though. should they want to live among them, that would be done. and should they want to be raised as them — that would be done, too. his brow furrows, a little, at the thought of it — but he keeps it to himself. no matter where they go, no matter what road they walk, hákon knows his children will be strong. better. a shining example, maybe, of what their storm god wished for them.

because they were vellen’s, too. and they were saga’s.

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'Me? No, I will not.' He speaks and Vigdis remains impartial alongside him. Can't you see child, this was never his wanting? Ingvild was quick to chide her as if asking a simple question was a sin. Her gaze continues to focus on the waves, watching as they crash and roll. In a way she too was like those waves, since losing her mother she had felt lost within herself. It was almost as if Ingvild could sense that because with each passing day her impression upon her only grew stronger. Harder to hold back, harder to fight. 'They will call and gather, and they will decide who will replace her. whoever they choose will pick their second and their council.' She nods, just more nails within the coffin then.

"De kommer inte att vara som hon." "They won't be like her." She says softly but she is sure with her words. Her mother had been the fierce leader that the Sigrun had needed; without her Vigdis worried that they would begin to fray at the seams. "Jag vet inte om jag vill bli Sigrun-pappa." "I do not know if I want to be Sigrun father.." She says then, finally tearing her gaze from the ocean to stare up at him. It was her bloodline and she knew that but the only piece that connected her to them was gone now. Vigdis almost felt that when her mother died so too did that piece of her. Your mother would be disappointed hearing that from you, but you already knew that.

@Hákon

an ear perks at his daughter's wise assessment, and he almost cracks a simper. none are, he answers easily enough, seafoam gaze shifting to where the waves lap the wetted sands. he does not think saga would like to hear this; she had never enjoyed being put upon a pedestal, especially not for her clan's soft feelings. this was different though, he thought; he hoped. that same ear smooths back to join its twin, pausing for a long moment as his muzzle turns back towards @Vigdis. few are, he corrects, looking at his daughter with purpose.

you could be.

they all could. they were saga's children, after all. her gifts — a prize for a life of sacrifice.

þú ert það, hvort sem þú vilt vera það eða ekki. (you are, whether you want to be or not.) he says after another moment, frowning lightly — pointedly speaking these words in icelandic. þau eru — hún er — fyrir utan þig, sama hvert þú ferð. (they are — she is — apart of you, no matter where you go.) this is said softer, almost... sadder. a quiet admission he does not want to be making.

after all, did ofelia not haunt him still? did he not walk in grimur's wake, even with all these years and all these miles separating them?

it does not have to be a bad thing. he says, though clearly sounds unconvinced of this fact — he's far older than she is, and it is something he still struggles with. regardless, he was not sending her packing just yet. they could wait until the meeting was called to see how she felt, to see what called to her. because certainly no child of saga's was going to be forced down a road she did not want to go.

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'You are, whether you want to be or not.' @Hákon says and she cannot help but purse her lips at the thought. She had never felt less Sigrun in her life, and no amount of talking would convince her otherwise. It's because you're weak. If I had my say things would be different. Ears lace backward, she was always mocking, always saying something defiant before retreating to the dark recesses of her mind. And Vigdis was growing tired of her antics; but mostly tired of fighting her. 'they are — she is — apart of you, no matter where you go. it does not have to be a bad thing.' He says and she scoffs, openly. She cannot help it as she turns then to face him, words defiant. "Du gillar dem inte ens, du låtsas bara!" "You don't even like them, you just pretend to!" She says, words growing softer with less bite. "Jag ska inte låtsas." "I will not pretend." She says then, pink eyes flashing. She couldn't force something that didn't feel right and this divide within her, it only grew. With her mother's death that last shred of hope of salvaging that piece of her had vanished. Perhaps this was her way of grieving, or maybe it was her relinquishing control to Ingvild. Maybe.