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Sigrun has always been one of those Lost that well and truly leaned in to their society's weird customs and traditions. She always puts her brand of Asatruar spin on them, but she also always finds a way to make her beliefs work with those of her people. And the community has seen Sigrun in mourning dress before. She's performed funerals for them, even. So it's probably not entirely unexpected that when Sigrun turns up, it looks like she's coming to a pyre. Her face is caked with a white mask that has dried and cracked and gone brittle. The hollows of her eyes are coal black with soot, as are her teeth and tongue. She wears only her most threadbare chemise, which when coupled with her propensity for glowing means not much would be left to the imagination save for the addition of bands of cloth, wrapped tightly about her figure like a corpse wrapping and fastened closed with a shattered sword.
She doesn't mingle, she simply waits until Lux is free and then moves in for some quiet conversation. It's not long before the pair are agreeing to depart and Sigrun takes back up a shield and spear for the walk back to Hlevangr with Lux.
She's silent until they're out of the hollow and some distance down the trod, and she's more certain they are alone. "Thank you," is where she starts. "What more would you know?" She asks it of her companion without looking to them. Which may be for the best, since she's the one with the spear and they're in the hedge.
Lux's joyful mood sobered once they left the warmth and light of the bonfire. Maybe they're just echoing Sigrun's mourning attire, maybe it's just the fact they've left the safety of the fire on the Longest Night--so much darkness waiting to swallow them up, but thankfully both bring their own light to guide their path.
The Darkling looks over at Sigrun, brows pinched faintly in concern. "At least a general sense of what you're hoping I will see is useful. If you have specific questions, then that is even better. Yes or no questions are easiest, but tonight... the Wyrd might be willing to give more than I usually could gleam."
"I hope you will see joy. And happiness. I hope you will see a strong family and a proud husband. I hope you will see that I am happy, but that's secondary. I hope you will see that I am not being selfish. And foolish. And vain. I hope you will see that because I ask her for so little and give her so much she will give my husband this at least." Which draws around the topic without spelling it out, but she does just sort of put the pin in it at the end. "I may be pregnant, Lux. By Teagan. And if I am not, we have stopped concerning ourselves with ensuring I am not. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. But." Now she's not so sure.
Lux's look of concern lingers, their frown softening as they listen. And then the cause of her turmoil is laid out and their eyes widen, the lit orbs of their iris flicker-flicking with a few blink-blinks. "Pregnant... Oh, Sigrun." They don't congratulate her, don't beam with joy. Just understanding and sympathy, knowing that this... is a complicated matter and her concerns are absolutely justified.
"Are you... worried about your children's safety?"
"Always," she admits to Winter. Maybe only to Winter. "I worry about everyone. All of you. Always. All the time. My dreams are for worrying of children I don't have. My dreams are the only place I've let myself have them." She's using her spear haft more as a walking stick, and her shield arm is sagging a bit. Which might escape the notice of someone not trained to realize that oughtn't be happening, strictly speaking.
"No child is ever fully safe. No home fully safe. No community. That's why we need each other. I just want to know that when my child needs my community, it will be there. And that no matter what happens, it will have been happy to have known it. To have lived. Will my child sing, when my child is gone will they sing of them? This was all about me for a very glorious span of moments. And now that needs to stop and be about what's best for the child." Even if that means possibly not making one in the first place.
"Knowing if someone will be happy for their whole life is... a complicated thing to see, Sigrun," Lux says softly, walking along beside her. "I will look, and I hope I see something that will give you a sign... either way. But I want you to be prepared for the possibility that I will see... any number of possibilities. Or no clear answer at all."
"No one is happy their whole life, Lux, I know that. But on balance. Surely the Urd can tell a mother if its child will resent the gift of life?" Well, sure, Sigrun. When you put it like that, maybe. "I know I'm... I know, Lux. I'm being a little foolish about having been quite foolish. I know. Believe me, I know." Her makeup cracks a bit as she manages a smile.
"If I were a witch, I'd ask the Norns myself. I am no witch. As I'm not a witch I don't know best the questions to ask to get the answers that will give me peace. That's why I came to you. For help. I need your help. Asking the right questions. And then making up my own mind anyway. I need someone to be here with me tonight. Most of all. Can you do that?"
"I'm here," Lux says firmly, reaching over to rest their hand on Sigrun's arm. Even if they see nothing of worth in their visions, Lux can promise that, at least.
They keep their hand on Sigrun's arm if allowed, holding onto the crook of their elbow, as the pair walk along. The touch is soft but anchoring. The Winter looks lost in thought as they continue their journey to Hlevangr. Lux looks up as they approach, inhaling sharply at the beauty of the sanctuary. "It's beautiful."
Once they pass the entry stone and enter the cavern, the light falling through the collapse in the cavern crawls along the ground away from where it had been landing and lands squarely on Sigrun, with the very predictable effect that she lights up like a disney princess. Albeit dressed for a Halloween special. Doesn't really fit the mood, but hollows are gonna hollow.
"I was hoping you'd say so," she admits with another smile despite the moment. "Your opinion as an artist on light and dark aesthetics actually mean a lot to me. Thank you." The place is devoid of activity, save for one or two Kraklin. They'll stand watch at their own funerals, those guys. Sigrun's obviously not in the mood for company, however, and leads the solemn procession to the hall at the top of the rubble collapse.
Again, in contravention to the mood of the moment, the hall is the definition of higge. The hearth is warm, the tables and benches inviting, the air scented with drink and meat and bread and more or less every sensuous scent appropriate to the setting. But this is, at least, her hall. And she does seem comforted to be in it. "Make yourself at home," she offers to her guest, "and please rate us on Yelp!" She indicates the food and drink along the heart with a dip of her head, gathering up her religious accoutrements, pulling her altar nearer the throne and the silver bowl, and so on. "And do you need anything? Help?" A loophole, maybe?
Lux peers curiously at the skittering Kraklin, having never seen one in person before. Strange creatures. But then their focus shifts back onto Sigrun, smiling warmly as she lights up in the hollow's magical spotlight. "Architecture isn't one of my strong points, but... the use of light here is inspiring. It feels... old and powerful here."
"I'll be slipping in and out of consciousness as I use my dreams to focus the visions, so perhaps a blanket to put under me in case I fall over? And if I can take your picture, that would also help." Lux has a small clutch hanging off one shoulder, which they open to pull out a small polaroid camera.
When posing for the loophole of your pregnancy survey, best not to look like you're posing for the loophole of your pregnancy survey. So while in the middle of turning her dais area into a Lorena McKennit albumn cover, she stops what she's doing and puts up a pair of kawaii fingers on either side of her corpse cheeks and smiles, sticking out her black, swollen looking tongue. "Cheeeeeeeeeeeeese!"
Once the snap is taken, she slips away from the dais and disappears behind the tapestries. When she returns, she's carrying a bundle of briarwold pelts, some stuffed as pillows, and a quilt both heavy and warm. She makes a little pile for Lux, but doesn't get too fussy. They can adjust it to preference. The last thing she does is to step back behind the tapestry and return with her sword in her hand and naked from the waist up. There is a strip of cloth about her waist which provides a semblance of modesty from a sort of loin cloth that hangs down her front, but it looks suspiciously towel-like, for towel purposes. She kneels down in front of the bowl, atop one of her cushions, rests back on her heels, and settles her sword across her lap, waiting for Lux to get situated themself.
Lux isn't sure whether to be amused or disturbed by the visual, but they snap the picture of Sigrun anyway. The camera is set aside afterwards, Lux carrying the picture over to the pelts once they're set out. "Thank you," they say softly, settling themselves onto the pile with only a few tugs and adjustments. The skirt of their long gown is pulled up and aside so they can sit more comfortably, the photograph rested on their lap.
They barely blink when Sigrum comes out nearly naked. This task is too important to get distracted, so they keep their gaze firmly on Sigrun's as she kneels down.
"I'm ready," they say softly. "Are you?"
Valkyrie are really good at making nudity not be about sex. There's certainly nothing seductive in her bearing to suggest distraction was the goal. They're both professionals here, and these are professional tits. Everyone's in agreement.
When Lux asks the question. Sigrun holds up a finger. A moment. Bracing her crossguard between her thighs, she runs the meat of her forearm along the blade with the predictable result. Sigrun is not one of those people that likes pain. At all. So all that does is hurt her, but she bucks up after a hiss and some sharp, short breathing. The wound is held over the bowl as Sigrun does some silent counting. When she's spilled enough, she smears blood on the back of each thigh and then quickly, tightly, and firmly staunches the wound with the towel at her waist.
"Begin," she rasps horsely, leaning onto her injured arm's elbow to help the wound close. While she does it, her free hand takes her forefinger, smears it on the blood of her thighs as though it were a palette, and begins painting runes on herself, muttering their names. Fehu. Odthala. Berkano. Sigrun. One after the other in slow succession while Lux does their work.
Lux watched the ritual with curious respect, not interrupting save for a sympathetic grimace as she cuts herself.
They nod, picking up the photograph of Sigrun's dorky face. Ripping a polaroid isn't super easy, but they manage to twist and pull until it starts to tear in half. Then it's folded over and they work at it again, until little pieces are drifting down into the bowl of blood between them. As their hands work, Lux mutters under their breath: Child, Shackamaxon, Cradle, Fehu, Huntsmen, Birth, Teagan, Odthala... The words come faster and faster, until they start to twist and blur together into seemingly nonsense, save for the occasional echo of the call Sigrun is making: Fehu. Odthala. Berkano. Sigrun.
The color drains from their lights, until it's pure white, radiating from their eyes in a blinding blast that engulfs them both. Lux's hand suddenly snaps out as well, grabbing onto Sigrun's wrist and... pulling? Perhaps she had been pulled into Lux's dreams? Into the vision? All she feels is that white light and the cold of Winter.
Then the light dims and Sigrun is knelt not in her sanctuary, but in the home of Direct Action. Sigrun looks up to see herself, wearing comfortable warm clothes with a toddler curled up in her lap as she sits on the large cuddle-couch in the middle of their living room, baby toys thrown all around. A toddler with shaggy dark hair but skin only a few shades darker than Sigrun's. Teagan is lounged beside her, and both of them look exhausted, but at least the child is sleeping. Truly, this is also a Longest Night.
There's sounds elsewhere--close but also distant, present in the future but outside the scope of the vision. Sounds coming from the kitchen of food being made? Put away? Not the feast with the rest of the Freehold, but remains of their own little feast.
Lux's light is still icy-white, their expression dazed and distant, but they look up to take in the scene beside present-Sigrun.
It's difficult to say if she's in ecstasy or agony, and she's usually so so easy to read. Surely, this is a both at once situation. Her chanting catches in her throat as she laughs and sobs at the same moment, neither one a conscious choice. And even though she keeps doing both for the time being, sometimes one more than the other, she doesn't succumb to it fully. Instead, she lifts her sword up to dig its point into the wood of the floor, using the crossguard to hoist herself up to her feet. Naked, bleeding, faint, and freezing.
"Look what I did," Sigrun sputters through her tears and laughter, scraping her sword along as she takes a step forward. She wheels back to look down at Lux, her wounded arm no longer thinking of itself but folded around her blood smeared belly. (edited)
"You did," Lux answers softly, their voice only a whisper. They push to their feet as well, a slow unfolding rather than hoisting. It was almost eerie to see them so... still, but there's a strange comfort to the cold. "You're all so... beautiful."
"But you're here. Not with the Freehold." Lux turns their white gaze towards Sigrun. "Your community will be here, but your traditions will change. It's one sacrifice you will have to make."
The vision turns white and drifts away like it was caught up in a blizzard, but through the cold haze Sigrun squints and is able to make out another vision part and form in front of her.
A bedroom. The furniture small, meant for a small child, the colors bright and cheerful. But the child curled up in bed is sniffling, Oso sleeping beside them, the dog's head resting on the kid's legs who can be no more than six.
Bailey is sitting on the bed, frowning down at them, looking several years older.
"I want Mommy," the child cries. "And Daddy."
"I know, kid. They'll be home soon," Bailey says as gently as their gruff voice can manage.
The child is quiet for a few seconds. "Did they leave 'cause of me? Was I bad?"
Bailey frowns deeper. "No, no. Of course not. They just... had work they needed to do. Work to protect you and all our friends and family. And they'll be home soon, I promise. Them and the rest of the family."
The child doesn't say anything else, just curls up around the giant dog and sniffles, plagued with the confused anxiety of a child who senses that there are things they don't know--can't know, and hasn't yet learned how to process the fear of the unknown. The child doesn't sleep this Longest Night.
"No. No. NO!!" Sigrun growls and gags at the air, swiping out with her wounded arm, ripping the blood soaked towel from her waist and helping to make her stumble, slip in her own blood, and come crashing down to one knee. She positively groans with the hurt of the fall, but that does help focus back in on what's happening. And while she's leaking tears still, she's no longer sobbing.
"Odthala," she tries to resume praying again, trying to explain to the child too. Odthala, little one. Community, heritage, tradition, homeland, and hearth. Odthala. But there are other ways to serve the community than this. If anyone can find them, anyway. It would be her.
When it comes time to chant her name again, to chant for success, for honor, for light, for herself, the word catches on her coal black tongue, and she explosively experiences the first evidence of her pregnancy all over her lap. Lovely. But it wasn't just the sickness that made her wretch.
"Let them take my wrath if I can have you," she manages betwen a new set of shuddering sobs. "Let them have my war. I never wanted glory. I only wanted this." She throws her sword away with a clatter, crawling forward through her vision.
"FREYJA! Hear me! All the blood I have spilled with sigsverd in your name, all this blood on my floors, all of this for you. All of it, Vanadis. For you." She is delerious by this point, and ecstatically so in a very, very, very old sense of the word. She's bridging two world while bridging two worlds while bridging two worlds.
"Now let me give you hearth. Please. Please mother." (edited)
Lux is quiet, watching Sigrun's torment with a soft frown. There's no need for cryptic explanations this time. The warning is clear: Secrecy will always breed sorrow. It is a fate she cannot avoid with her child that will be born into a world separate from her and her motley.
Snow overtakes this vision as well. It drifts away like a dream, and perhaps Sigrun's gods are hearing her call, as the child's sniffles are replaced with laughter. The blizzard parts and she sees the child, a few years older, bundled up in winter clothes, running through the snow, Oso bounding after him. Teagan is giving chase, far quicker than the child if he wanted to be, but feigning slowness to prolong the game. But eventually Teagan wrangles the child through a door and inside--to the warm hearth where Sigrun is waiting. The child collides with Sigrun hard enough to nearly knock her over, and she laughs as well, crouching to help remove the cold wet outer layers.
"Mom! We made a snowman!"
"You're gonna turn into a snowman if you don't get out of these clothes," Sigrun teases, tickling at the child's stomach as they squeal with delight.
The others are there too, flickering afterimages that fill and flutter through the background. Laura making hot chocolate, Sam and June running inside after playtime in the snow, Strum and Vorpal working on putting together a shiny new kid-sized bike. Glitch lounging, probably offering some sort of sarcastic commentary.
There is light and warmth to be found, especially this Longest Night. Not every one will be like this, but this night... There is joy.
The minds sees what it will, the heart wants what it wants. And even the gods, if there are gods-- especially her gods --are fickle. In the end who's to say? Her gods would tell her her fate was measured and her time is known. Live her life without fear. Some would demand it of her. It's all playing through her mind as this vision fills her senses. She's starting to fade now. Adrenaline can only do so much, and shock is starting to overtake her. She's a firefighter. She knows it. And she knows she can push it.
She finds now joy here. No comfort. This is a goal, not a destiny. Not yet hers. Not yet earned. She has no right to the comfort it brings her. Not yet. She hasn't done what needs doing. She came here willing to sacrifice so much. So much. She never thought it would be this.
Crawling forwarda lurch, she slaps her hand back onto Sigsverd and rasps her across the floor to pull her to Sigrun's breast. She rolls onto her back, cradling the blade, hot with her own blood to her breast like a babe. Her uninjured hand stroking over her tang and crossguard the way she will her infant's face.
She sings, on her back, legs parted, surrounded by her life's blood. Naked. Alone. But witnessed. Lux probably does not speak Faroese, and so those too remain private. Between her, her goddess, and the first child of her hands.
"I will see you in Folkvangr."
And then, with a hard wrench of the quillions, there is a loud snap of a steel tang, and Sigsverd is no more.
And now. Now the valkyrie wails.
The snow spirals around them and the waking dream fades away. Sigrun left only with her sanctuary and her blood and pain. Lux is still out of it, dazed in the aftershock of the visions, hands shaking a little.
The snap of steel shocks them out of their stupor, blinking rapidly in confusion and surprise. Color starts to return, but instead of neon green it's a soft, dim blue. Sorrowful but calming.
"Sigrun..." Their brows crease, but even though they don't know what she's saying, there is some... vague understanding. That there is a sacrifice being made here.
Lux doesn't interrupt--not until Sigrun starts to wail. Then they crawl forward and, if allowed, pull her up into their lap. Lean arms circling her for a tight embrace, while her sorrow is echoed in the shimmering aurora borealis lights of their mantle.
For a brief while at least, Sigrun is inconsolable. Blubbering and sputtering about she's dead and we have to burn her. If it weren't totally obvious to what she's referring, Sigrun being pulled into Lux's lap has the consequence of spilling Sigsverd to the floor in two distinctly less useful pieces than were they together.
The winter earns their keep this night. Sigrun's sorrow is real and potent. She killed one of her best friends tonight. But in true Sigrun form, once she's had her good cry, she starts making plans. Or, more to the point, sharing some of the ones she walked in here with to Lux, now that it's done and she's made up her mind.
"I want to ask you--" She changes the phrasing. "I want to tell you a secret I only trust with Winter. For now. I am not truly the Ljosdottir. In my heart. I am Skuggikvaena. The Shadowife. It is a name I want to gift to Spring at the Solstice. I want the Urd to know it, and to know its shapes and forms before I show it to Spring. So I ask you all to speak it of me. Behind my back. If you gossip, if I fail you, or if I pay you kindnesses, or if you care neither way. Let the Urd hear that shape, too. Come Spring, I may need your help dealing with the loss others feel at that I will do. Knowing I am Skoggiskvaena will make that easier for all parties."
"This winter I will mourn my wrath. I won't insult your court by asking to share it for only a season. If it will have me for my season of sorrow, I offer it to you fully. You know I never do half measures." This is a considered position. The not asking. The being willing.
"Whether I mourn it with you or among you, mourn it I will. Spear and shield until the Solstice. If Winter has suggestions on who you trust in the role of Sentinel of Flame, there will be a coincidence in my report to Peter. I'll need to find and train a replacement."
"And I'll need to make them understand that the only thing I have ever done is show them who they are when we are together. They don't need me to lead them. They never needed me to lead them. Help me make them believe it, too."
For as much Lux often seems like a livewire of energy, unable to stay still in the best of times, now they are... still. If Sigrun wasn't lost in her own sorrow, she may have wondered if Lux had drifted off with how quiet and still they are--but their grip around her doesn't lessen. Lux holds her as she sobs and bleeds, not seeming to care that their shiny silver gown is now rather stained.
"Skuggikvaena," Lux echoes slowly, trying not to butcher the pronunciation. By now Lux has loosened their grip, but keeps a hand on her shoulder to steady her, as unsteady as she is from the blood loss and anguish. "I... am not sure what that means, exactly. I--" Lux pauses. "Teagan's wife?"
Lux regards her quietly for a moment, then nods. "I would need to speak to Marjorie about it, and about suggestions for a replacement, but... If you have plans to give yourself to Spring in the next season... It may be best to let us help you mourn, carry your sorrows, but... focus on preparing you for this change, rather than swearing to us. But I will be here for you, Sigrun. Whatever you need, whatever secrets you want kept. I'll mourn with you."
"Peter will understand," they assure. "I know this is hard. For you, and it will be for everyone, but... its the sacrifice you need to make."
"You know you have only to ask for my help, anyway," she admits. Because even this wasn't really about her. It was about making her grief of use to them. It is a rare thing that Sigrun gets to be small. Especially with someone who isn't a partner. This is a moment not likely to be repeated, so hopefully Lux won't begrudge her remaining in their lap even despite the puke and blood. "Thank you. Lux. I've never doubted you since the day I stopped doubting myself here in Philadelphia. And when I did doubt you, it was about me anyway. I'm glad it was you tonight. I wanted it to be you." She rests a pale hand on their arm to convey her sincerity.
"Shadow wife," Sigrun finally explains, perhaps a gentle segue out of this moment. Into another. "So, yes. Teagan's wife. But with flair. Just like I wasn't really the daughter of light. Even when I thought of myself that way." Her throat is sore, and dry. And she's actually not in really good shape, to be honest. Which should be handled. So the hand on Lux's arm squeezes, then pats.
"In the larder. In the sunken floor. There's a basket. A reed basket. A bit red of hue. Two flaps and a long arched handle. It's got the healing fruit preserves. Please."
"I'll make sure everyone whispers about it," Lux assures, then leans in to press a soft kiss to Sigrun's temple. "You had reason to doubt me anyway, I think. I've... done a lot of growing up over the past few years. I'm just glad we can be there for each other now." Lux pulls back, taking Sigrun's bloodied hand to squeeze briefly, before frowning at her wounds. "Right, right--be right back." They push to their feet and hurry for the larder. A few moments of searching and rummaging, and they're returning with the basket and helping her swallow down the preserves to close her wounds. "...And congratulations," Lux finally says, cracking a soft smile.
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