For a minute, he thought he had died and Freyja had honored him with the gift of her voice one last time.
But then he saw her, conscious but weak, all color drained from her face. His lips parted at the hulking panther pawing the ground beside her.
Gold claws tilled the earth. Mercurial eyes tracked its prey, waiting for its mistress’ command.
Elara swayed, taking control of Alruna and driving the draugar back. The beauty in her destruction emboldened him, renewing his strength.
Despite how her body trembled, how her fingers clenched, she did not give in.
With one swipe from Alruna, the draugar melted into a pile of sputtering ash.
Once she cleared him a path, Njáll rushed to his kona’s side. Each breath burned like cold fire. He’d stand by her like a sentry at the gates of Helheim.
Whatever emotions threatened to tear him apart, he shoved them away. The only thing that mattered was her.
She remained kneeling on the ground, pushing herself and Alruna to the limit as the panther systematically destroyed all the wandering corpses.
Njáll sensed it before she did, the realization splintering like shards of broken wood. A heavy thud hit the earth beside him, Elara twitching and gasping.
A shimmering cloud of gold dust covered both of them as Alruna evaporated in a wisp of smoke.
Blood turned to ice and he froze, refusing to accept what he saw.
The gold flecks clung to his axe and his fingers, highlighting the lashes of her fluttering eyes.
“Elara,” he whispered, her name a prayer to the seat of the gods.
Bones cracked as he knelt by her side, reaching out to brush his knuckles over her too-cold cheeks.
“Jarl,” a guttural, strained voice howled.
The muscles in his thighs seized and Njáll jolted upright once more. His head snapped to the source of the sound, eyes searching.
Bodies of men he’d fought with littered the ground.
Fires consumed homes, destroyed grain, and engulfed the forest.
“No,” Njáll whispered.
In the shadow of the fire, he saw it. One draugar remained, its oversized, staggering form moving unhindered toward Elara’s still shuddering figure sprawled out in the damp mud.
The tip of his tongue traced his cracked lips, licking soot and blood from the spot.
Knuckles ached beneath the leather on his axe, the weapon swaying uselessly at his side. The only thing capable of destroying the draugar was gone.
A silent vow flared to life deep within him, the heat of it thawing his blood. The frantic thrum of his heart slowed. The indecision in his mind quieted, and one unflinching truth rooted itself in the fabric of his soul.
Love you.
Elara’s voice played on repeat, whispering the same phrase over and over again until it was the only thing he heard.
Moonlight reflected off the steel of his blade, and Njáll’s brow pinched, something else catching in the light.
Slowly, he rotated his wrist, angling the axe until he caught a glimpse of gold dust shimmering on the blade. The same hue that had coated Alruna’s claws. His chest expanded with a hopeful breath, the tension in his shoulders releasing.
Njáll locked eyes with the last undead corpse, his gaze flicking to Elara. Her figure now lay still, no longer shaking.
A lump caught in his throat as he swallowed, unsure if that was a good or bad thing.
