#tyr eide

The children took it well. That had been Mikkel’s main concern. Sigrun had always seemed unusually tough when it came to things like these. She did not seem to be very affected by the prospect of moving. Not even when all they would bring with them was packed into nothing more than five boxes.

She seemed alright.

Seemed. To the untrained eye.

The reality was somewhat different, and Mikkel knew this only because he could see right through her, read her like an open book. She needed to get away, that much was evident, but there were things she would always yearn for when they left them behind. She spent many spaced-out moments staring in the direction of Ragnhild’s grave, and in spite of the cheerful façade she put up, she had a pained look in her eyes when she had to turn her back on her regiment and walk away after saying goodbye. Only, she hadn’t said a final farewell. She had said ‘se deg’. See you. And as much as he loved Sigrun, he couldn’t help but worry that she would want to go back. Only, he hoped she would do so after the children were old enough to decide for themselves. She would have to wait at least a decade, and he wasn’t sure she’d considered that. Still, if it came to it, he would have to solve it. He’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Tyr had wanted to stay, of course, Mikkel had foreseen that. And so, the house was left in the care of the young man. Thankfully, he wasn’t at all as rash as Sigrun tended to be, he thought about things and he was careful. Mikkel prided himself with being, at least, part of the reason for that. As such, the house was safe enough and in good hands.

The evening before they moved, after dinner, Mikkel took Tyr for a walk down by the fjord. The twilight had already fallen, and the sky was rapidly darkening. There were no words exchanged between them for near a dozen long minutes, just an exalted, understanding silence. It was evident that the young man had an ability to read people, Mikkel included, and since the elder man possessed the same quality, there was no need for words. That was, until Tyr stopped and turned.

“Here.” He held out a small wrapped something towards Mikkel, who accepted it. When he unwrapped it, it was a small, carved amulet, shaped like a bear and attached to a leather cord for wearing around the neck. The Dane couldn’t help but smile – Bear had become his nickname during his time in Norway, and he had become quite fond of it, to the point where he would miss it. “Thank you.” He carefully placed the amulet around his neck, tucking it under his jacket and woolen sweater. It felt good, almost like it was warming up his heart. Tyr might not be his son of blood, but they’d grown close after five years, and he would always consider the young man his own, no matter the distance between them.

“Can I visit you when hunting season’s over?” For some reason, Tyr’s voice was hesitant. The question caught Mikkel unawares, but he realized within mere moments the reason why it was asked. Tyr simply wasn’t sure whether Mikkel was going away for good, whether he’d leave him behind. It seemed to be an instinctive thing more than anything else. Mikkel sighed and draped an arm around his shoulders, halfway hugging him. “Of course you can, I’d be happy to see you whenever you want to come. We all would.” His soft voice and his answer made Tyr relax, and a small smile crept over his lips.

“You must be careful. Troll hunting is not a safe occupation.” Mikkel silenced himself before he could add ‘and I won’t be there to patch you up’. It was an unnecessary addition, since there were multiple competent healers in the Dalsnes military. He had kept the hope that Tyr would choose a different path for unrealistically long, and he’d been clinging on to that hope until the moment when a fifteen year old Tyr stood on the ship’s deck and sailed away with his mother to go hunting on the northern bank.

The young man huffed, but he was still smiling. “Yeah, I know. There’s got to be an Eide holding the crew together, though.” He sounded proud, and happy. That was all Mikkel could ask for, and he knew it. He wanted all his children to be happy, but he would of course prefer it if they could balance happy with a relatively long life expectancy.

“I’m not sure how I’ll feel when you’ve moved.” Tyr’s words caught Mikkel unawares, and he almost stopped walking. “How so?” He asked, although he could tell just by looking down at him. Tyr sighed.

“I’m not sure I want to live alone. It’ll be so quiet, and…”

“You’re not sure you are ready to be alone.” Mikkel picked up where Tyr fell silent, and the young man nodded solemnly. Mikkel sighed and looked out at the fjord, suddenly feeling very melancholic.

“We’re never really ready for anything, son, and we won’t be until we throw ourselves at it. It’ll feel strange, and you’ll be insecure at first, but eventually it will just become routine.” That answer seemed to calm the young man somewhat, enough, at any rate, for him to make a humorous statement.

“I will miss your cooking though. I doubt anyone in Dalsnes can rival it.”