Soon, he found the cool, familiar weight of his dagger. He tugged it free, the polished steel shining in the muted starlight.
Blood dripped from his thumb as he swept it over the blade, testing its bite.
He clutched the hilt, sighing as the supple leather brushed along his palm for the last time.
The sharp point pressed deliberately against the rhythm of his hammering heart.
He didn’t fear death. He feared a life without her.
The moment her breathing stopped, he would join her.
A faint, glacial touch settled on his blood-caked hand, stopping the blade where it rested. Elara’s fingers curled weakly over his, guiding the dagger away from his chest. Njáll let it fall with a soft thud onto the dirt.
Her distant golden eyes finally settled on his face.
Tears blurred his vision. Njáll blinked them away, not wanting to miss one fleeting moment with her.
Fingers squeezed his hand, with barely any strength in her hold. Her face twisted as she managed a single word, her voice a barely audible whisper.
“Don’t.”
A violent cough drained the last sliver of color from her, foam bubbling at the corners of her mouth.
“They need you.”
Njáll jerked his head in a defiant thrust, knowing if she was lucid, she’d pinch his chin and glare at him.
How he hoped that fire of hers followed them into the afterlife. Fresh tears spilled from his eyes, his grip tightening, needing her closer.
“And I need you,” he hissed, caressing the hinge of her jaw. “I cannot face this life without my kona, my Dróttning, my love. Do not command this of me, Elara.”
Sorrow flashed in her weary gaze, her breathing shallow and rasping. Those gold eyes fixed on the slight stream of blood sliding down his chest from where the dagger bit into his skin before she pushed it away.
“Your duty is to the living, Jarl. Mine is to you. I will wait for you. Do not rush to join me.”
Each time her lips moved, they carved deeper into his chest.
“My duty has only ever been you. Elara. Please.Please. Do not command this of me. Do not leave me.”
He buried his face in her hair, the finality of her words shattering him. He kissed her forehead, tasting the salt of his own tears.
Every fiber inside him screamed, begging her to be selfish, to be the demanding kona who ordered him to his knees and told him to stay by her side.
To command him to choose her.
But of course, that wasn’t his little flame.
Grass and rocks dug into his shins.
He rocked back, searching her gaze, offering her one last chance to save him from this burden. The burden of a life without her.
His nails lightly stroked her jaw, memorizing the pattern of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
“Say the word, little flame. Command me to follow. Tell me to join you. Don’t leave me. I’m not finished loving you yet.”
She smiled then, a faint, heartbreaking curve of her lips that carried so much love with it.
“You cannot follow me, my love.”
