Emprise [Fólkvangr End, Book 2][Loki Fanfiction]

Chapter Twenty - Tvöfaldur

Author's Note: Well. Well, here we are. Some things have been happening...and as I've warned several times, things will just get darker. But luckily, this brief chapter is not one of those times! As a refresher and point of clarity, Val is trapped on the Isle of Silence and Loki's spirit has been returned to his body. So. On that note, we get this little chapter, which is a bit more about Frey which is always fun. We also get a new character, so yay! And the next chapter will see the introduction of another newbie, all of which is great fun. See? Fun. I'm just saying. There is some fun. Mostly not. But a little bit.

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Chapter Twenty - Tvöfaldur, or Double

Frey leans his head back into the rough but capable set of hands prodding at his wound. He winces at Gerðr's touch and Gerðr rolls her eyes. 

"Does it pain you much, Guarinnson?" she asks, not really interested in the answer.

He laughs, "Truthfully, yes. I swear, I must have hit my head at least three times."

"Perhaps," Gerðr offers, reaching back for a damp cloth with which to clean the wound, "you should not be so careless."

"Perhaps you are right," Frey nods. Gerðr dabs brusquely at the wound and Frey turns in his chair, catching her hand. She scowls at him, deepening the scowl that seems already permanently etched into her skin. A tiny smile pulls at the corner of his lips. "Have I done something to offend you, lady?"

"Do not mistake my impatience with offense, Guarrinson," Gerðr replies firmly.

Frey arches an eyebrow, "You may call me Frey, lady. And further, if you do not mind, wherein lies your impatience?"

She groans and then tosses the bloodied cloth aside. Abruptly, she pulls over and a stool and perches herself atop it. Frey notices how her arm muscles flex under her sun-kissed skin as she grips under the seat of the stool. She sits awkwardly and looks positively uncomfortable—her position more of a crouch than actual sitting—as she sighs in exasperation. 

"All of this...womanly nonsense!" Gerðr waves her hands wildly and Frey cannot help but smile. He gestures for her continue, positive she is not quite finished yet. "I admire Eir, I truly do. She works wonders with medicines and magic. But I have no need for this healing nonsense."

Frey watches her carefully, transfixed by her seemingly permanent frown, and the freckles that are dusted across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are grey and cold, but he recognizes the spark of life in them. He leans forward in his chair and Gerðr becomes suddenly aware of him again. 

"Apologies," she mutters. "I was speaking out of turn. Again."

"No, no! Do not stop on my account. I wish to hear more on what you were speaking of earlier. You do not wish to be a healer, then?"

"I am not delicate or dainty enough to be a healer. My hands are clumsy and rough. I am built like my father and my heart aches to fight. I wish...I wish to be a soldier!" Gerðr exclaims, looking positively excited for the first time since Frey had first seen her. He can't help but smile at her. Then he feels the blood dripping down his face.

He reaches up to wipe it away as he offers, "Let us make a bargain. You can come along and train at my side, I will show you a few tricks."

"What is the exchange?"

"You sew up this wound, love," Frey says with a laugh. Gerðr contemplates this and then hops down off the stool and gets behind Frey's chair, forcing his head back so that she may prod the wound again. She grabs a needle and fumbles with the thread.