#freydis.3

[witchertorsten]

@freydis-freydat location: Tower Library notes: as requested

This place raised the hair on the back of his neck, he'd been raised to hunt witches and magical beings - not ask them for resources. Torsten could not play the part of hateful hunter forever though, he'd turned a blind eye on more than one occasion so that he could sit in wilful ignorance. His missive had always been to perform his duty exactly as requested, no more, and no less. It made him efficient, and reliable and secured his appointment in the Kingsguard.

It also made it incredibly difficult for Torsten to find his own path or direction. He did best with clear-cut orders, but he'd made a point to secure, in his own mind, a sequence of the events he wished to see accomplished.

One had been procuring a prosthetic, and that alone had worked out more favorably than he imagined. The mithril appendage had cost Torsten his plate, but it worked to conduct his antimagic seamlessly. While he did not care for these Lysarans... the pathetic, drunken, bottom of a twink he'd fished off the floor of the Palace had proven surprisingly useful.

With a few more texts in hand, he placed them in front of Freydis before he sat opposite her. "Remind me again what we're looking for?"

[ariadnethedragon]

SAM CORLETT as LEIF ERIKSSON

VIKINGS: VALHALLA 3.01 — Seven Years Later

[encomium-emmae]

So while the Emma/Canute/English succession plotline was effectively paced and wrapped up well by the end of Episode 8, the others seemed to fall much flatter. Magnus, one of the season's three big bads, was simply hauled away (rather anticlimactically in the face of all his various betrayals and machinations), Freydis and Harald reunite for a grand total of what seemed like thirty seconds, and we never even get to see what goes down with Leif and Freydis once they get back to Greenland to deal with dear old dad. (And what about Stigr and Little Harald? We never found out what happened to them at all.) Had they planned on having a Season 4 that never worked out? I loved the William of Normandy cameo we got, but it seemed like that was setting things up for a flash-forward to 1066 when we see him and Harald and Godwin's son duking it out Battle of Hastings-style.

And I will never stop going on about this until the end of my days: why did we never find out about Æthelred's gold?

Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed this season, particularly Leif's peregrinations and Emma and Canute as the power couple we all knew they could be*, but the way it ended just threw me off.

*On a minor note, anyone who took Emma's flirtation with Harefoot at the end as a sign that she didn't really love Canute is off their rocker, at least in my opinion. The Ælfwynn fiasco notwithstanding, we know the woman knows how to outthink and manipulate just about anyone, including, but not limited to, her not-so-bright stepson. If that's what she needs to do to keep from being sidelined and hold onto some power for her son Edward, we know she's going to do it. Also, can we compare her with Canute on his deathbed (the soft touches, the tears, the murmuring) and her at Æthelred’s? Seriously, light years apart.

[abaldurfairytale]

Shall we dance ?

[jens-holland]

While rewatching season 2 of Vikings Valhalla today, I brainstormed a few possible storylines that they might pursues for season 3.

Since Olaf is already dead and he was like,, technically meant to be a major player for another 20 years, it's hard to imagine what sort of conflict they could come up with for the Norway arc, so it'll probably be something made-up, but Olaf's son Magnus will likely be back. Hopefully, they'll bring in Einar Thambarskelfir, a wealthy landowner in northern Norway, who irl brought Magnus back from Kiev after his father's death. Maybe, he'll make his play for power in Olaf's name!

They probably won't explore anything in Denmark or Sweden (especially since they just did not fill us in on anything that Knut was doing in Denmark this past season), but in England there are plenty of possibilities: they could bring in the earls of Bamburgh (and the real Uhtred the Bold, not the self-insert one from TLK), they could address the struggle to bring Mercia into the fold that they sort of/sort of did not wrap up in season 1, and there is always fucking Scotland!! I would love to see Knut put Malcolm II in his place and host that meeting with Malcolm, Macbeth, and Echmarcach mac Ragnaill that happens around 1030.

Also Knut related: I wonder if he'll be visiting Rome in season 3, because there are several actors credited as cardinals on imdb and Knut did travel to Rome irl also around 1030. If he does go to Rome, I hope we encounter Conrad II because they were like bffs (and lowkey kind of gay).

I have nothing to go off of for Freydis's plot, but over in Constantinople, I wonder if Leif will find maps leading to North America when he reaches Mariam's house. As for Harald, Kaysan, and Batu (the later two I expect will join Harald in the Varangian Guard), hopefully they'll go to Sicily with Maniakes and if we're lucky, we'll encounter William Ironarm or other Norman warlords fucking around in Italy at that time. Either that, or I'd be down for a greater focus on the political drama that is RIFE in Constantinople. I don't have high hopes that John the Orphanotrophos will show up, but if Romanos is supposed to be Romanos Diogenes, we'll have the Doukai opposing him, the fateful Battle of Manzikert, and possibly even the Komnenoi since the writers/producers only seem to care about bringing in the well known families/events rather than trying to bring lesser known but historically relevant figures to the big screen.

Somehow, they're also bringing Eirik the Red into the show, so I wonder if maybe Freydis will be returning home to Greenland, but again, this is where I'm less knowledgable, so no matter what happens I will definitely be surprised. I already know that literally all of my expectations here will be subverted; I don't know how they do it, but they manage it EVERY TIME.

[theancientwise]

My honest and humble opinions(i don't mean to offend anyone) about the teaser trailer of "Vikings Valhalla Season 3"

Emma and Canute are the most brilliant and interesting as always. They steal every scene they are in, whether they are together or not.

Freydis is "Lagertha 2.0" more and more... and i don't mean it in a good way.

Well, Leif seems like becoming more interesting than he was in season 2. I hope they will do this character some justice.

Harald and Helena = Bjorn and Elsewith... Am i having a dejà-vu?

And the most important thing: No Harold Godwison, No Battle of Stamford Bridge, but above all, No Battle of Hastings and No William the Goddammit Conqueror.

I think this gif embodies perfectly my idea and feelings about it:

[ingloriousgigi]

“I could worship you,” Ariel whispered raggedly.

“I would let you,” Diego said. “Stay with me. Stay, little coyote,” he said, breathing hard.

“You’ll be safe.” Diego surged forward and sealed their mouths together.

“Because you’ll keep me.” He quite liked the idea of being kept.

“Because you’re mine,” Ariel rumbled.

— Exodus 20: 3 by Freydis Moon

[a-soul-with-no-king]

What I want from season 3 of vikings valhalla:

New woman for Leif WHO DOES NOT DIE

Leif speaking arabic

Leif the scholar in Constantinopol

Harald being bros with Florian Munteanu

Florian Munteanu

More leader/warrior/mother Freydis because I love her

Harald get your ass back to Freydis and Harald 2

Harald King of Norway

Freydis and Harald together did I say that before

I can’t believe we’ll have to wait another year for season 3 but I’m SO glad we got it

[vicoya]

when: a few hours after the blight dragon quest with: @freydis-freydat where: aventia notes: we do love a good 'ol reunion thread

It was hard to rest on the back of a wyvern. Even with her arms secured around Haelim, the ride had been a tad bumpy, to say the least. Every up and down aggravated the bruises that had formed quickly after being battered by a dragon. The fact that she'd survived with such an ordeal with minimal injury was still hard to believe, but she was just grateful to have survived at all. Regardless, she was ready to lie down and take a nice, long nap.

After a few hours of flying, Daewonsa made a smooth landing within Aventia's walls. While space inside the city was limited, landing outside of said walls meant a swarm of darkspawn would be upon them before they'd even climbed off the wyvern's back. Haelim stayed to take care of his injured companion, whilst Coya quickly made her way to where the Legion had made base, eager to see her friends. It wasn't an unusual feeling for her, but nearly dying had intensified her desire to see those she loved.

With an arm wrapped around her abdomen to steady herself, she trudged into the encampment, trying her best to smile at those she passed. That was when a familiar flash of blonde hair caught her eye - "Freydis!" she called out, the force of her yell causing her to cough unexpectedly. Fuck, she needed to lie down. Rather than continuing to push forward, she stood still, waving her friend over instead to save precious energy.

[elkrisen]

And what is the name of this novella? Thanks bro

baiting you guys by not including the novel name was unkind of me truly

[frcturedelora]

A MEMORIAL. She tilted her head in a small act of deference. Joyous occasions were easy to shop for, simple in their blatant messaging — warm colors for bright tidings. Memorial arrangements required a gentle touch, cooler tones that were meant to capture a life in all its complexity. Life and death, celebrated as one. ❝ It’s never selfish to grieve. ❜ The words came swiftly, conviction tinging her voice. She had to believe that; that mourning could be prolonged and all-encompassing without becoming indulgent. How could it not be? When it prickled at the corners of your mind, playing tricks in the shadows of your vision until you swore you’d gone mad. ❝ I would argue it's the most selfless thing you can do, carving a space in your life to remember theirs. ❜

❝ Alpine wildflowers, ❜ she repeated, tearing away only to retrieve her journal from where it rested on a nearby workbench. The florist had been trying to classify a weed for Locke, the sample coming from the yards backing her chicken coop. She flicked through the pages, skipping over years of her life until she reached her travels through the lush mountains of the Wildlands and the crags of the Veilstones, as well as the volcanic that made up the Feywilds. The ink was smudged from her rushed penmanship, a sight that would have drawn her tutor’s ire, but the sketches remained true. Satisfied, she finally turned the book to face the other woman, ❝ Would they happen to look at all like this? ❜

She remained where she was near the offending begonias until the slighter, darker-haired woman arrived by her side. Freydis wrung her hands together with a hint of nervousness, the lifted skin of a few scars palpable to her as she did so. After a brief pause to collect her thoughts, she put words to her intentions in the shop that day. “I was hoping to have something of a memorial arrangement put together,” she responded, feeling a little silly as she truly considered the request. A memorial for who? A family she had lost in a corner of the veil she’d never really belonged to? Who might not have even truly existed? But the hole she felt had been punched in her chest since she woke up in that cold sweat after she had dreamed of the arches and this family felt as real as anything else. Who did it harm if she indulged in the grief? 

“There is no grave for me to leave them at,” she tried to explain further, “so… it’s a little selfish of a request, I suppose. My hope is to really… just have something to look at that reminds me of them.” Something beautiful–something other than the image of the terror in Ragnar’s eyes and the blood streaming from where the arrow protruded from his shoulder as she’d left him behind. Something to think of other than her wife, at least in that iteration of her life, and daughters huddled in their cellar waiting for death to find them, the sound of the footfalls of an army of darkspawn overhead setting the soundtrack of their demise. "I don't know any of these flowers you have in your shop... I'm mostly familiar with alpine wildflowers."

[encomium-emmae]

I was happy to see that Harald and the Eriksson siblings are still up to their old tricks in Season 3…

Freydis: Fight me!

Harald: Fuck me! (literally)

Leif: Fuck me. (broodingly)

[abaldurfairytale]

[rgnarocgifs]

FRIDA GUSTAVSSON as FREYDIS ERIKSDOTTER Vikings: Valhalla Season 3

[witchertorsten]

Fate had taken a wide step off the path that Torsten might have divined for them previously. Witches had revealed themselves along the road but the law had become decidedly less clear the further they were from the cradle within the mountains. Torsten didn't feel distorted from his purpose, rather in his mind he'd established a hierarchy of the conflicts that were or were not worth his time. If the witcher felt lost, it was because, for the first time in a decade, he did not have the answers he was so accustomed to. His world had turned over on its head, now all that remained was to press forward.

Torsten let the silence of their shared understanding permeate the space between them as he briefly considered what had been and what might yet still come to pass. He'd heard a great deal of the softness of Lysarans, but now they walked into their den in search of refuge. He put these thoughts behind him and focused instead on the task in front of him, worry would not propel him to the level he needed to be.

"I heard the great Jarl Freydis picked up a new shield in her escape." Torsten taunted idly using her title once more as he stood and grabbed one of the mithril blades that he'd set aside. "If you wish to spar, I would see it firsthand."

A half-smile was offered at the tone he spoke to her with, but she still found herself questioning whatever greater being had seen her face amongst all others and deemed her worthy. She had made many mistakes in the past span of days, and that knowledge didn’t leave her feeling brave or honorable. It just made her feel foolish. “Other than the blight?” she questioned, raising a brow. “I certainly hope not.” She knew that was not what Torsten meant, but the deflection felt like safety at the present moment… and cowardly. Proof positive of her suspicion she was less than worthy.

Freydis listened to him silently, and in the silence after he finished reporting what he had experienced she probed at Tove’s memories she now carried within her. For a moment, she knew all, saw exactly what he spoke of in painstaking context and detail, but in the time it took for her to open her mouth and speak on it, the knowledge vaporized within her like a sudden mist and retreated beyond her reach. She had nothing to offer. 

“In that we are equals,” Freydis agreed quietly, but a stunned silence seemed to follow that as he mentioned the veil. She could not intuit whether or not he spoke of Tove, or the vision of the mothers she had mentioned before informed his comment. Regardless, she wasn’t ready to speak of the other life–not just yet. 

After an extended pause and despite the sudden exhaustion that had permeated deep into her bones after telling him as much as she had about the journey between the broodmother’s lair and the encampment she turned to look at him again. “So… It seems there is much for you to relearn and adapt to. Could you use a sparing partner?”

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

A Court of Ice and Shadows: Chapter 3

OC Character x Azriel

Summary: Set after "A Court of Silver Flames" (ACOSF), this story follows original character Lene, an elite warrior of the Hesker Clan from the Winter Court. Tasked with diplomatic duty in the Night Court, Lene's mission is to help retrain the Valkyries and help squash potential uprising in the Illyrian camps. As she navigates centuries-old animosities and discovers herself beyond the icy confines of her homeland, Lene must confront her past and decide who she wants to become.

Click here for other parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Characters: Featuring original characters alongside core characters from the ACOTAR series.

Disclaimers: All characters and settings pertaining to the core ACOTAR series belong to Sarah J. Maas, with additional material created for the purpose of this fanfiction

Content Warnings: None.

Note: Some words used in this story are of Norwegian or Scandinavian origin. I do not speak either language, but adapted the researched words to fit the narrative. For notes regarding any of these words, see the end of the chapter.

Chapter 3

The ancient forests enveloping Hellingdom Manor teemed with towering pine trees, their branches perennially adorned with a thick mantle of snow, save for the fleeting thaw of summer. Lene knew every whisper of the wind through these trees, every hidden path beneath the snow. During the stark, dark days of late winter, when the sun seldom pierced the cloud cover, she would delve deep into the woods. Here, amidst the silent sentinels of nature, snow owls soared silently and snow foxes darted, their playful kits trailing behind, weaving through the dense underbrush. These woods, steeped in centuries of secrets, held a sacred place in the hearts of the fae females of Hellingdom, echoing with the whispers of their foremothers.

Hellingdom itself was originally founded as a bastion for the Hekser clan, a venerable lineage of female warriors dedicated to serving the High Lord of the Winter Court. These warriors, led by Lene’s forebears for millennia, not only fought bravely but were also immortalized in grand tapestries that depicted their fierce battles and noble sacrifices.

Long before the seven courts were established and the land was scourged by the Daglan terror, the fae of this region sought sanctuary in the craggy mountains. There, they honed ancient abilities to manipulate snow and ice—mystic skills now lost to the ages. The clans prospered, sustaining themselves through trade and a unified front, traditionally under male leadership.

The saga of the Hekser began with Freydis and Lova, two mated fae females who boldly defied their clans' leaders by refusing to sever their bond. In an era when such a union was scorned as witchcraft, Freydis and Lova remained steadfast. They secretly met at the base of Vindvokterfjell Mountain during the winter solstice—a time when darkness reigned for two solid weeks. There, hidden from prying eyes, they affirmed their commitment and lived in seclusion near the mountain for nearly fifty years.

Their quiet existence was forever changed when they stumbled upon Silje, a newborn girl, frail and abandoned in the woods. They named her and raised her as their own, and as the years passed, other children—lost or left—found their way to Freydis and Lova's door. The couple's family swelled to include over fourteen fae children, each one cherished and nurtured.

Decades later, a fae woman, ousted by her husband under accusations of witchcraft, sought sanctuary with them. She had heard of the "Vindvokterkind"—children rumored to have been left at the mountain as offerings, only to thrive under the guardianship of the mountain. These children, observed by nearby villagers as they frolicked through the forest, were testament to the sanctuary's legend. After recovering under Freydis and Lova's care, the woman returned to her clan, spreading the tale of the compassionate duo who defied societal norms to create a haven of love and safety.

As time marched on and Freydis and Lova aged, they passed their legacy to their daughters, who continued the tradition of compassion and resistance. When High King Fionn rose to unite the fae against the Daglan, he enlisted the aid of Freydis and Lova's descendants. Trained by his side, they rose as formidable warriors, particularly the women, who later named themselves the Hekser Clan, or "The Witches."

After triumphing over the Daglan, the Heksers gained fame as trainers of warriors and staunch allies of the Winter Court's High Lord, fiercely defending the honor of female fae. Although the original cabin succumbed to flames during Fionn’s downfall, taking Freydis and Lova with it, their daughters resurrected it as Hellingdom Manor, a beacon of refuge for all seeking solace.

Lene, a descendant of one of these resilient daughters, was now charged with perpetuating this legacy of sanctuary and empowerment. Although the Hekser and the Valkyries of the Night Court had fought side by side, a fateful decision during a war six hundred years prior had confined the Hekser to their court, leading to the Valkyries' tragic fall. Lene’s mother often shared these stories, her voice heavy with regret, wishing she could have joined their sisters in that fateful battle.

Lene cherished the rides through the dense, snow-laden forests with her mother, Solveig, who would share the storied legacy of the Hekser clans. Solveig's voice carried a deep pride as she recounted their ancestry, instilling in Lene a profound respect for their heritage. Together, they would explore the carvings left by the children of Freydis and Lova in the mountain walls—vivid depictions that chronicled the epic tales of their foremothers.

In her younger days, Solveig and Brynjar had roamed the deep ravines and towering peaks, uncovering secrets long before Lene's time. Now, with Brynjar aged at an impressive 800 years, his days of swift galloping were behind him. Normally, Lene might coax him into a brisker pace, but today, with hours to spare before her meeting with High Lord Kallias, she allowed Brynjar to set a leisurely pace. The soft crunch of his hooves breaking through the pristine snow created a rhythmic serenade, punctuated only by the occasional yips from Lumi, who was eagerly exploring every nook she came across.

It would take just an hour's ride to reach Lysdal, the vibrant city where Kallias’ castle stood imposingly against the mountainside. The city that High Lady Viviane had worked so hard to protect when Amarantha had risen to power. This hour of tranquility in the woods was a double-edged sword for Lene; it provided a peaceful respite yet also too much time to dwell on the uncertain reasons behind Kallias’ summons. With each step Brynjar took, Lene’s mind raced through myriad possibilities, none of which did anything to ease the growing knot of anxiety about the impending, mysterious discussion with Kallias.

Lene had often ventured into Lysdal alongside her kin and companions. The city served as the nearest hub, a pulsing heart of commerce where they sourced the necessities that the manor couldn't provide through its sporadic specialized deliveries. For the grand occasion of a seventieth birthday—a milestone marked with particular revelry among their kind—the women of the clan would descend upon the city. They would indulge in nights of unbridled celebration, their laughter spilling into the streets as they danced and drank under the stars. As dawn approached, packs of giggling, inebriated fae females would weave their way back through the forest, their steps light and unburdened by fear. For they were not merely merrymakers; they were warriors, sharp and unmatched, and the woods held no terror for them.

Lene's own seventieth had seen her twirling on the cobbled streets of Lysdal, her laughter mingling with that of audacious fae males, who were quite taken by her vivacious spirit. In a moment of boldness, she had playfully suggested they continue their festivities back at the manor. However, her plans were swiftly curtailed by a friend's prudent intervention, who steered her away with a knowing smile. Lene was well-acquainted with the company of men, versed in the secluded nooks of the forest that offered refuge from the watchful eyes of the world. 

Yet, the whispers of past liaisons, hidden behind fallen pines or within the sequestered embrace of snow-shrouded caves, were far from Lene's mind as Brynjar crested the final hill. Below them, Lysdal stirred into the crisp morning, nestled in the formidable shadow of mighty Skogtind Mountain. The city itself seemed to dwell in a perpetual twilight, cast by the mountain's vast presence, imbuing every stone and street with a sense of eternal dusk.

The quaint cottages dotting the city’s outskirts were home to esteemed reindeer breeders and hardy farmers whose lives rhythmically pulsed with the land. The heart of Lysdal, however, was a marvel of architecture—buildings masterfully sculpted from the ancient ice and stone of Skogtind. These structures mirrored the intricate frost patterns that adorned every available surface, weaving a tapestry of frozen lace that caught the light with every turn.

Encircling Lysdal stood the Ice Wall, a colossal structure both awe-inspiring and chilling, erected centuries ago and imbued with ancient wards. Carved deep into its icy facade were the sagas of the Winter Court, each story a frozen testament to its rich history. More than just a barrier, the wall was a spectacle in itself; however, its true power lay in the palpable cold it radiated. This frigid aura permeated the air, sinking into the bones of any who dared approach, a stark reminder of the city’s fortified, mystic strength. 

Brynjar halted at the crest of the hill, and Lene's gaze swept over the landscape before her, finally settling on Kallias’ castle, Iskronen. Carved into the side of Skogtind, it jutted out like a formidable iceberg, its walls of solid ice infused with magic to prevent melting. The structure rose as though it were composed of icicles set upside down, with a central spire that scattered shafts of blue and purple light across the town square whenever sunlight filtered through. Lene had always found the castle’s grandeur slightly ostentatious—why did one family need such an edifice if not as a mere symbol of their stature?

"Pa," Lene called softly to Brynjar, coaxing him forward. He had just taken a step when Lumi burst from beneath him, scampering down the steep, icy hillside with joyful abandon. Her paws flailed against the slick surface, failing to find purchase. Both Lene and Brynjar watched as the hapless fox collided with a pine tree at the hill’s base. Lene shook her head, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, while Brynjar simply snorted and continued down the hill with far more caution than Lumi, who shook off the snow from her unintended stop and bounded ahead through the frost-laden fields.

As they neared the city, Brynjar guided Lene through the farms to the imposing ice wall. Two Winter Guards, recognizing her by the subtle gray fabric and white lining of her parka, embroidered with the Hekser insignia—a frosted yew tree at the base of Vindvokterfjell—nodded and waved her through. Each guard bore a Winter Court broadsword at their hip, quite a sight, had Lene not been able to bring them to their knees with just a simple swipe of a sword or knife.

Upon reaching the city’s gate, Lene commanded, "Buga," and Brynjar obediently knelt to allow her to dismount gracefully. She held the reins loosely in one hand, knowing well that Brynjar would either remain steadfastly beside her or follow faithfully without needing guidance.

With a couple of hours to spare before her meeting with Kallias, Lene decided to explore the bustling open market, where merchants were just beginning to display their wares. As she meandered from stall to stall, Brynjar, an imposing presence, trailed behind her. Fae children craned their necks to gaze up at the giant elk, their fingers pointing excitedly.

Spotting a small fae girl whispering to her mother about how soft Brynjar might feel, Lene lifted her up to his neck. The child’s fingers delved into his thick, wiry coat, and Brynjar turned his head to regard Lene, his expression one of mild resignation. "How the mighty have fallen," Lene mused silently, a wry smile touching her lips as she considered the warrior mount now content to be adored by children.

Lene's fingers trailed delicately over the soft fabrics and blankets displayed by local vendors, appreciating their craftsmanship even though it paled in comparison to the wonders woven within Hellingdom Manor. After her great-grandmother assumed the role of matron, she had decreed that residency at the Manor didn't necessitate a warrior's life. This freedom had cultivated some of the Winter Court's most skilled craftsmen, chefs, and artists. In Hesker, excellence wasn’t just encouraged; it was expected, cultivated in every task undertaken.

Allowing herself a small indulgence, Lene purchased a floral tea blend for her grandmother, touted by the merchant as a direct import from the Spring Court, famed for its sleep-enhancing qualities.

Eventually, Lene made her way toward Iskronen. While Lysdal’s beauty was undeniable, few knew of the intricate ice caverns and frozen tunnels that burrowed deep into Skogtind Mountain, winding beneath the city. She stabled Brynjar at the mountain's base before descending the icy steps into the labyrinthine tunnels. Guided by the ethereal glow of fae lights, she ascended the ice-carved steps and passed through the castle's formidable walls.

Emerging inside Iskronen, Lene was momentarily blinded by the kaleidoscope of light refracting through the ice, casting rainbows that danced across the floors. Despite the chill implied by its icy construction, the castle's halls were surprisingly warm—a marvel of magical engineering designed to counteract the perpetual frost. Shedding her hood, she was approached by two Winter Guards.

"Good morning, I’m here to meet with the High Lord; he summoned me last night," Lene announced, extracting the summoning letter and its glass tube from her parka to hand to the guard.

"High Lord Kallias is currently with other guests; I will inform him of your arrival," one guard declared before turning sharply and striding away. The formality always seemed stark to Lene, no matter how familiar she was with court customs.

Her musings were abruptly interrupted by the sound of giggling. A pale, white-haired boy rounded the corner, his laughter echoing through the hall as he playfully sent a gust of frost in his pursuer's direction. Close behind was a child Lene hadn't expected to see—a young fae with darker skin and midnight black hair, his striking violet eyes almost hidden under his curls. But what struck Lene the most was the small wings protruding from the boys sweater. Illyrian wings.

"Good morning, Bo!" Lene greeted as the white-haired boy, Kallias and Viviane's son and the celebrated young pride of the Winter Court, rushed to her. He embraced her warmly.

"Good morning, Lene," Bo replied, his voice muffled against her neck. Meanwhile, the little Illyrian retreated, only the tips of his wings visible from around the corner.

"Who’s your friend?" Lene asked, setting Bo down.

"That’s Nyx," Bo pointed.

Nyx, Lene realized, recognizing the name as belonging to the heir of the Night Court, son of the famed Feyre and Rhysand. Likely, this was who occupied Kallias' attention.

"Nyx," Bo called out in mild frustration, "We aren't playing hide and seek anymore."

With a dramatic sigh, Bo trudged over, grasping Nyx by the arm and pulling him into view. Nyx shuffled his feet, his curls falling over his face shyly.

"This is Nyx, he’s my friend and he’s also a kid," Bo explained earnestly.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nyx," Lene said, extending her hand with a gentle smile.

Nyx glanced between her hand and her face before hesitantly reaching out. He quickly withdrew his hand after touching her icy fingertips. Lene chuckled, “I’m sorry for the chill, it’s in our blood.” 

Nyx’s quiet smile peeked out beneath his unruly curls as he listened silently. Bo, ever the spokesman of the duo, announced, “Mama and papa are with Nyx’s mama and papa.”

“I see,” Lene replied, her gaze lingering on the shy Night Court heir. “Have they been in there a long time or just a little while?”

“They’ve been in there forever,” Bo exaggerated, stretching the word to emphasize their boredom.

Nyx shuffled his feet, his attention fixed on his shoes.

"Nyx doesn’t really like to talk to strangers much, and he doesn’t like talking to grown-ups much either,” Bo confided to Lene, who offered a gentle smile in return.

“Well, that’s alright. I’m a new friend, but I’m certainly not a grown-up,” Lene joked lightly, her youthful spirit belied by her centuries of life—a trait she felt she inherited from a mother who herself refused to age.

Bo’s attention swiftly shifted as he eagerly grasped Lene’s hand. “I have a new sword, and it’s a metal one!”

Lene feigned shock, “That must mean your papa thinks you’re ready to learn how to fight,” she teased.

The conversation was suddenly punctuated by the familiar clip of heels against the hard floor. “No, he does not!” Viviane’s voice rang out before she appeared around the corner. The epitome of poise and grace, Viviane was draped in an emerald velvet dress that matched her jewel-adorned neck, her hair elegantly braided up.

Bo groaned at his mother's intervention. “Bo has strict orders that that sword is for looking at, not playing with,” Viviane clarified, approaching to envelop Lene in a warm hug, the scent of raspberry and frost emanating from her, with a hint of something more potent.

Lene’s eyes widened as she noticed Viviane’s slightly swollen stomach. Viviane, hand resting protectively over it, simply acknowledged, “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that!” Lene exclaimed, gesturing to the obvious pregnancy.

Viviane chuckled, caressing her belly. “Number two, on the way.”

“How long have you known?” Lene asked, pulling Viviane into another hug.

“The healer thinks no more than three months,” Viviane replied, her laughter light.

“Well, congratulations! I must not be paying enough attention to the news up at the manor,” Lene remarked.

Viviane took Lene’s hands gently. “No, we haven’t shared it with the city yet. Given how quickly this came after Bo, the healer cautioned us about potential risks. But so far, the little one seems very content.”

“I’m astounded,” Lene admitted, genuinely surprised. Bo was barely ten, and the prospect of another heir so soon was almost unheard of.

Viviane laughed softly, “You and me both. Believe me, if I had known I’d fall pregnant this quickly after Bo, and knowing how challenging his birth was, I would’ve resumed the tonic.”

Lene smiled, feeling a stark contrast between their lives—Viviane with her growing family and Lene, still under her grandmother's watchful eye.

“You’ll have to excuse my mate,” Viviane said as they approached the heavy oak doors of the meeting room, breaking the brief silence. “He’s never been one for punctuality.”

“It’s no problem. I’m early,” Lene assured her.

With a reassuring smile, Viviane led Lene towards the doors. “Don’t be silly. It’s 10:08, and if I don’t keep him on schedule, who will?” With a gentle push, Viviane opened the doors to reveal Kallias and the figures Lene assumed were Feyre and Rhysand, all turning at their entrance. A flutter of nervousness gripped Lene’s stomach as she stepped into the light.

Notes:

Buga: “Bow” in Swedish