@hcppinn : baldr + freydís , baldr’s bedroom at sunrise
ever since he’d been carried home on a litter, burns hastily bandaged as his people fled, sleeping had been hard for the new jarl. resting had been hard, especially since the settlement is now under siege by the jötnar. he’s lost count of how many times brandr or freydís had forced him back into bed, whether by force in his brother’s case, or by the threat of tears in freydís’. the only way he’d gotten any sleep at all lately is when he manages to wheedle the lorekeeper into resting with him- she frets and worries over him so much, and forgets to sleep. so they take care of each other, settling into an uneasy routine shadowed by the constant threat of alrekstad falling to the jötnar.
it’s on one of those mornings that he wakes before his lover, content to just look at her almost inhuman beauty in the morning sun filtering through the shutters as she sleeps. surely she is of the gods, he thinks, before slowly, carefully easing the covers off his bandaged chest. yes, he knows he should be in bed, but his legs ache with disuse, and stretching them now while freydís sleeps will be easier to get away with.
the jarl manages to get out of bed on his own- yet another sign that he should be allowed off bedrest- moving towards the window to peek through the gaps in the shutter. something on the floor catches his eye, and he turns to find his love’s apron, crumpled on the wood. baldr kneels to pick it up, and catches sight of his name written in freydís’ writing on a page sticking out of her apron pocket. ever the nosy bastard- it does say his name, after all- he pulls it free to read it. and gods bless him, he blushes.
