Copenhagen

In the darkness before dawn, the sudden flash of light nearly blinded him.

Darius clutched at his eye, as if that would stop it from burning. Hello, old friend. The stinging pain—as if someone had blown dust in his eye and was rubbing it in—had been a constant companion back at university, back when he was losing several days of sleep at a time over his Old Norse texts. Fatigue, the doctors always said. Dehydration. Mental exhaustion. And the harsh, incessant glare of computer screens.

He jabbed at his keyboard until the display dimmed to its second lowest setting. It was still too bright. Scalding hot tears were leaking out from under his eyelids. He squinted at the clock. When was the last time he'd gotten up before sunrise on a Saturday morning?

Last week, he thought wryly. The first night he spent with Johanna, she'd woken him up with her snoring.

"Mmph," she muttered, as he carefully lifted her head to pull his arm out from underneath.

He held his breath. She stirred, jolting his unfeeling arm back to life, making his bones buzz with static.

Her eyes still closed, she nuzzled his neck. Her lips parted and formed two words. "Fight me."

He exhaled. "Anytime," he whispered back, smiling.

He knew she wasn't joking. But, at the same time, the challenge was strangely intimate, in a way that was almost comforting.

He gazed down, trying to discern her features in the dark. Johanna. What was her last name? He'd have to find out in the morning. There were lots of things he'd have to find out in the morning.

He wondered what she would want for breakfast. Wienerbrød? Too cliché. Kringler, maybe. Definitely coffee.

She rolled over, releasing him, and went back to sleep.

Darius turned his attention back to his computer. As he pulled up the email Johanna had forwarded from her friend, Madge's name jumped out at him. Margaret Undersee, he noted as he downloaded the attachments. As in "under the sea"? The opposite of "oversee"? Or did someone just misspell Andersen? She looks Danish to me.

The stinging in his eyes faded away.

He cracked his knuckles, double-clicked the first PDF, and began to read.

Ertu, ertu

Koma til trénu?

Yggdrasill þar er Oðinn hekk—

Slender arms wrapped around his neck from behind. "What are you doing?" Johanna grumbled groggily. Her voice was muffled by his hair.

Darius turned his head and pressed his lips to the part of Johanna's body that was closest to him—the inside of her elbow. "Getting started on these translations for Madge. I've been procrastinating."

She blew a half-hearted raspberry. "Come back to bed."

"I will, in a bit." There was no rush, not really, but Madge and Gale were flying in this afternoon and he wanted to have something ready.

She planted a sleepy kiss on the top of his head. "'Kay."

As Johanna wandered back to the bedroom, Darius opened a blank document, resized the window so that it lined up right next to the Old Norse text, and started translating.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

Yggdrasil, where Odin hung

'Til rune-magic he did see.

He said: "Nine nights I have stayed,

Sacrificed myself to me.

No price is too high to pay

For the wisdom of the tree."

.

ooo

.

St. Paul, Minnesota

Katniss was humming to herself.

Prim looked up from where she was lounging on the couch. "What song is that?"

The question caught Katniss off guard. "I don't know," she admitted. She sank down next to Prim and laid her head on her sister's lap. "It just popped into my head." One of their father's old lullabies? Something Rue was whistling at work? Or did Katniss come up with it herself?

"I think I've heard it before," Prim mused. "I think it's about a tree."

Prim loosened Katniss's braid and started combing her fingers through it. Off to the side, the cat hissed in jealousy. Katniss hissed back.

Prim giggled. "You and Buttercup are a lot alike."

Katniss glared at her. "Take that back."

"I think that's why I love him so much," Prim teased her. "He reminds me of my sister. You both might not look it, but deep down you're the biggest softies ever."

"Who are you calling a softie?" Katniss flexed her bicep experimentally. "Another month at the archery range with Dad, and these are going to be guns of steel."

They lapsed into relaxed silence, Katniss reading a book, Prim absentmindedly stroking her sister's hair while she scrolled through her phone.

This was the life. No worries. No distractions. And—for the moment—no Hawthorne boys.

After a while, Prim spoke up. "I remember that book," she said, gesturing toward the paperback in Katniss's hands. The Golden Compass.

"No spoilers," Katniss said automatically, even as she snuggled deeper into Prim's lap. "I've only just started."

"Which part are you on now?"

"Chapter Two. 'The Idea of North'," Katniss read aloud.

"That light," said the Chaplain, "is it going up or coming down?"

"It's coming down," said Lord Asriel, "but it isn't light. It's Dust."

Prim nodded. "I should read it again. A lot of it went over my head the first time, and the movie was the worst."

"So far, I like the dæmons," Katniss said. The idea of souls manifesting as animal companions was comfortingly familiar. "I especially like that they aren't called spirit animals."

Prim considered this. "Yes, but later on there's some conflict with people they call skraelings—"

"No spoilers," Katniss reminded her.

"All right," Prim relented. "Anyway, why are you reading that now? I think I read it in middle school."

Behind the well-worn covers of the book, Katniss blushed. "Peeta gave me the entire trilogy. It's his favorite."

There was a pregnant pause. "Interesting," Prim said slowly.

Katniss lowered her book. "Why is it interesting?" she asked suspiciously.

Prim shrugged. "I guess I assumed Peeta was more of a Chronicles of Narnia kind of guy." She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. "That explains a lot, actually."

Katniss flipped back to the title page, where a younger version of Peeta had printed his name in neat, careful letters. Without realizing what she was doing, she brushed her thumb across the dried blue ink. Peeta Mellark. What would it have been like to know Peeta back then? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"What do you mean, it explains a lot?" she asked her sister.

Prim smirked. "No spoilers."

.

ooo

.

"Oh yeah, I was a real cutie back then," Peeta laughed. "Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Towheaded—my hair was almost white. And I had the pinkest cheeks you've ever seen."

Katniss was smiling so much, her face hurt. "I can just picture it."

She wasn't sure how it happened, but sometime over the past week she and Peeta had started talking on the phone. Not even on cell phones—on their home phones. "I'm old-fashioned that way," he'd quipped.

She liked it. They'd been texting, and instant messaging, but this way they could talk all they wanted without looking at a screen or worrying about minutes or the battery or anything. And there was a certain nostalgia in using their old landline phone, curling up in bed with the receiver cradled in the crook of her neck and the cord twisted around her fingers.

But the best part of all was getting to know Peeta better.

"I don't have a lot of photos from when I was younger," he said. "But it's easy enough to imagine. Just think of every stereotype of a little Dutch boy ever."

"Dutch?" Katniss was surprised. "You're Dutch?"

"Yep. From Wisconsin. I even had the sailor outfit and everything."

"I guess I didn't expect it, you being Catholic and all."

"They are mostly Protestant," he acknowledged. "But there are Catholics, too, especially in small-town 'sconsin."

"So Mellark is a Dutch name?"

"I don't think it's a real last name. Nobody outside my family has it. Maybe my ancestors made it up centuries ago, when they first came to America. Or maybe it was a nickname that stuck."

"Does it mean anything in Dutch?"

"The closest translation I could find was 'flour boat'. Don't laugh—I come from a long line of bakers, and they would have come here on a ship. It makes sense."

"Flour… boat?"

"Meel ark. The first word is pronounced male, but it has a double E. The Dutch like their double vowels," Peeta said. "It means flour."

The connection clicked into place. "Meel. Something milled. Like cornmeal."

"Exactly. Then the second word is ark, like Noah's ark."

"That's so cool."

"I got the idea from a friend of mine, actually. Well, a Norwegian pen pal I used to have when I was a kid. She said mel ark was Norwegian for 'flour boat'. So I checked it out, and it's almost exactly the same in Dutch. Meel ark."

A Norwegian pen pal? A female Norwegian pen pal? A bubble of jealousy started to rise in her stomach, but Katniss pushed it down and tried to concentrate. "Meel ark," she repeated. "Isn't that kind of like saying… kind of like saying, 'saved by the bread'?"

He chuckled. "It's a possibility. Although I wouldn't go that far. 'Man does not live on bread alone' and all that."

"You run a soup kitchen," she pointed out. "You have to admit, the bread helps."

And at this point Katniss wished that she was in the same room with Peeta, or at least that she was on video chat with him, because now she was certain she could hear him smile. "It does."

She was still sitting there with a stupid grin on her face when Peeta changed the subject. "Enough about my family," he said. "Tell me about yours."

"I don't know much about my mother's side," she confessed. "My parents eloped. I never even met anyone from that side of the family before Prim was born." Prim, the blonde, blue-eyed one, the child they had immediately accepted as one of their own. "They like her more than they like me."

"That's their loss," he said. "What about your dad's side?"

She laughed wryly. "They're all right. But they still like Prim more than they like me. Everyone does." It was just a fact of life: Primrose attracted affection and admiration the same way that flowers attracted bees. "I'm not very likable."

"That's the opposite of true," he told her. "I like you."

That doesn't mean anything. That doesn't mean anything at all. "You like everyone."

If Johanna were there, she would have rolled her eyes so far back into her head, only the whites would be showing. "What are you, twelve?" she'd asked Katniss in their last Skype call. "He's calling you on the phone. And he's giving you books. Like he's from the past. Of course he likes you, brainless. What else could it mean?"

Speaking of Johanna…

"Oh, I almost forgot," Katniss said, trying not to dwell too much on what Peeta did or didn't mean. "Jo's thinking of getting a tattoo. I've been telling her about your paintings, and she was wondering if you could design one for her."

That was almost true. Except that she didn't really tell Johanna about Peeta's art, so much as gushed about it. And the idea of Peeta designing a tattoo for Johanna was more Katniss's brainchild than anything.

"I'd love to try," he replied. "You've been telling me so much about Jo, I feel like I've known her forever."

"I'll introduce you," Katniss promised. She glanced at the time. "Not now, though. The sun isn't even up yet in Denmark."

"It must be hard, staying in touch. What with the time difference and all."

"It's crazy when you think about how time zones work," she reflected. "Everything's happening all at once—the past, the present, and the future."

Peeta sucked in his breath softly. "Katniss Everdeen, that is the wibbliest, wobbliest thing I've ever heard."

"It's a fact," she insisted, laughing. "Besides, shouldn't it be wibbly-wobbliest, timey-wimeyest?"

"Beats me. I'm not The Doctor."

Katniss sighed. "Speaking of time, I should probably let you go to bed," she said reluctantly. Their chats and phone calls were getting longer and longer, even though they never felt that way to her. When was the last time she didn't feel drained after talking to someone for over an hour? The truth of the matter was, never.

"Well, technically, I already am in bed," Peeta said.

Her cheeks heated up. "So am I." She tugged at her hair until it was covering her face. "Um, except I'm sitting up."

"I'm lying down."

Her back slid down the wall until her head hit the pillows. "There, I'm lying down, too."

For a brief moment, she wondered what it would be like to sleep in the same bed as Peeta. To share his warmth. To bask in the glow of his presence. To lose herself in his kind, beautiful eyes as she fell asleep.

Then, almost as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Say you like Peeta. Say he likes you back. Then what? Eight years ago, she and Gale had everything going for them: a solid foundation of friendship, families that supported their relationship, a shared culture. But even that wasn't enough, and it had taken everything she had to say goodbye to Gale. She didn't think she would ever have it in her to say goodbye to Peeta.

She was on the verge of hyperventilating when Peeta's voice cut through her thoughts. "Teeth all brushed, all tucked in… all we need now is a bedtime story."

It took her a few seconds to compose herself enough to respond. "I," she swallowed, "I only remember the Ojibwe ones."

"That's perfect," he said sincerely. "I'd love to hear them."

The realization that Peeta was serious—that he actually wanted her to tell him a bedtime story—gave her anxiety for a different reason entirely. "I'm not a very good storyteller," she warned him, wiping her clammy hands on her pajamas. "Especially with the traditional ones. I don't want to get them wrong, or not do them justice. My dad is the one you want to hear them from."

He had a gift, her father did. He had a singularly soothing voice, and a rhythm in his soul that made every story sound like the most wonderful song. But he always said it was because of her, because of Katniss and Prim and their mother. I tell stories because my heart is full of love, he said. Love fills me up, and I overflow. There is nowhere else for the story to go.

"I want to hear them from you," Peeta said. "I mean, if that's okay with you. I won't ask you again if you don't want me to."

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, like a captive bird beating its wings, aching to take flight.

"Okay," she found herself saying. "I'll do it for you."

I tell stories because my heart is full of love.

She cleared her throat. "Where should I start?"

Love fills me up…

"Where all stories start," Peeta said. "In the beginning."

… and I overflow.

She took a deep breath.

There is nowhere else for the story to go.

"In the beginning…"

In the beginning, there was possibility.

Some people call this God. Others call this, the Universe.

We call it Gichi-Manidoo: the Great Spirit.

.

ooo

.

When the Great Flood came and inundated Gichi-Manidoo's creation, Waynaboozhoo climbed on a log to escape the rising waters. Others joined him: animals that could swim, and animals that could fly. They all took turns resting on the log, and thus they survived.

But when the flood did not recede, and land was nowhere to be found, Waynaboozhoo had an idea, and spoke it out loud.

"I will dive into the water and find the mud made by Gichi-Manidoo. The old world is gone, but perhaps we can build one that is new."

So Waynaboozhoo jumped off the log and dove deep, as deep as he could go. But, try as he might, he could not go deep enough. He could not reach the old world below.

One by one, the animals tried their luck. Loon, Beaver, Mink, Otter. But none of them could reach the bottom, either.

When it seemed all hope was lost, Muskrat raised one tiny paw. "I want to try."

The other animals laughed, for he was such a small thing, and unaccustomed to deep water besides. But Muskrat would not change his mind. He knew he had to help, even if it meant he could die.

And so brave little Muskrat took a deep breath and plunged into the water, out of sight.

Waynaboozhoo and the animals waited for him. Day turned into night.

Still, they waited for him.

Finally, as the sun rose over the horizon, they saw a small, lifeless body floating on the water. Brave little Muskrat was no longer.

But there, tightly clenched in his little paw, was the mud they needed. Now they could make a new earth grow, because Muskrat gave his life for the seed.

.

ooo

.

Oslo

Fingers of gray light threaded the early morning sky.

"Muskrat died?" Madge whispered, her sleepy voice clouded with sorrow. She was curled up in Gale's arms, their hands clasped and resting on top of his shirt, above his heart.

"He did," Gale confirmed, squeezing her hand. "But there are a few different versions of the story. In the one I like best, Muskrat was brought back to life and honored for his bravery."

Neither of them had wanted to go to bed, so they had spread out Gale's borrowed sleeping pad and sleeping bag on the balcony. There they cuddled under the blankets, talking and telling stories, until the last star winked out and a new day dawned over Norway.

"And Waynaboozhoo's idea worked," he continued. "When he placed the earth on Turtle's back, wind blew from the four directions, spreading it in a circle and making it grow. The new world grew bigger and bigger, but Turtle bore the weight of it all on his back. And that's why we call this new land, Turtle Island."

The strap of Madge's camisole fell limply down her shoulder. He eased it back up without a second thought, and pulled the blankets higher for good measure.

"Oh," she murmured, burrowing deeper into his embrace. "I'm glad."

He held her close, listening quietly to the sound of her breathing. Her fingers, intertwined with his, twitched once, then twice. Then they became still.

He kissed her forehead. "So am I."

Later that day, they would be leaving Oslo, leaving Thom and Delly and all the friends they had made here, leaving for Copenhagen and—eventually—Stockholm.

The journey wasn't over. They had miles to go, people to meet, places to see.

But here, now, with Madge sleeping in his arms, there was nowhere else he would rather be.

.

ooo

.

STOCKHOLM (Agence France-Presse)—Another link between the Viking world and the lost Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Panym has emerged, this time in the form of a runic inscription discovered in Gotland, ninety kilometers off the southeastern coast of mainland Sweden.

The inscription, carved into a stone about a foot wide and twice as high, is a memorial to a woman identified as "Delly of Panym".

It features the engraved image of a stylized bird now believed to be the legendary mockingjay of Panym.

The stone is also notable for having two versions of the same inscription: one in Old Norse runes, and an Old English translation in the Latin alphabet.

"Whoever commissioned it—and certainly the stonemason himself or herself—would have been very well immersed in both cultures," says archaeologist Alton Dahlström of Uppsala University.

The inscription itself lends credence to this theory.

It contains references to the woman's children, who have names of Christian and Norse origin. Her husband is given the epithet "The Scarred", which—taken together with the location of the discovery—suggests a Viking, Varangian, or Rus' warrior background.

Gotland is a gateway to the Baltic states, Poland, Finland, and beyond. Viking Age rune stones all over the island memorialize merchants and mercenaries traveling as far afield as present-day Russia, Turkey, and Iraq.

Other rune stones, like the smaller Panym stone, are raised in remembrance of loved ones.

Dahlström says it is hoped the Panym stone will lead to further developments in the search for a kingdom lost in the mists of time.

"In life, Delly of Panym was a beloved wife and mother," Dahlström says. "But, in death, she symbolizes the hope that things that are once lost, may not be gone forever."

.

ooo

.

Sunlight came flooding in through the window.

Thom watched, spellbound, as the liquid gleam poured over Delly's curves. It meandered over the rise of her hip and pooled at the dip of her waist, transforming her valleys and peaks into a landscape of gold.

Eyelids fluttered open. "What are you looking at, froggy?" she asked sleepily.

The light made her radiate with an unearthly glow, almost like a halo. "An angel, I think."

Delly propped herself up on one elbow. Her tousled hair cascaded in a dark waterfall past her shoulders, flowing between the slopes of her breasts like a Norwegian fjord. "You think?" she teased him.

"I could be wrong." He trailed a finger up her strong, supple thigh. "After all, she's a Viking. She could be a valkyrie."

She laughed throatily. "You do know angels and valkyries are both terrifying things to be."

"All I know is, I'm looking at the most beautiful thing in the world to me."

A deep rose tinted the apples of her cheeks. "Froggy."

Thom leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. "Did you like it, last night?"

"Of course." She reached up and tenderly traced the scar on his cheek. "I thought that was obvious. Why would you even ask?"

"It's my job to make sure, ikke sant?"

Delly's smile could outshine any sunrise. "Sant."

He hadn't expected to go all the way, last night. We can work up to it, he'd managed to say, when they came back from the concert and the bedroom door closed behind them. No brothers, no friends, just the two of them alone at last.

But then she had peeled the shirt right off his back. I'm worked up, she'd assured him, her breath hot in his ear. Believe me, I'm very worked up.

And now, looking at Delly in all her sunlit glory, Thom was getting very worked up again, himself.

"Mm," she sighed when his lips brushed the sensitive spot just under her ear, right where the jaw ends and the neck begins. "We really should make breakfast for the others first… and brush our teeth… and take a shower."

"Sounds good." But even as he said it, he was already licking the inner contours of her breasts, making his way down her belly, pushing his nose into the pillowy soft flesh of her mound. I like it this way, she'd said last night, when he parted the lace of her French-cut panties and found that she was completely bare down there. It makes me feel sexy.

The idea that Delly needed to do anything to feel desirable was as ludicrous now as it was then. "You're amazing," he murmured, grazing his teeth across the rose petal smoothness of her lips. Her intoxicating musk filled his nostrils. "You are so, so sexy."

She gripped the headboard behind her as her hips bucked with need. "Ah," she hissed, biting her lip. "I don't want the others to hear."

He hitched her leg up onto his shoulder and spread her wider. "If anyone complains, we can just blame it on Cookie Monster."

"Everyone knows who"—she gasped in mid-sentence as his tongue found her clit—"who Cookie Monster is."

"Exactly."

.

ooo

.

The smell of sizzling bacon finally lured them out of the bedroom.

"We had a feeling you wanted to sleep in," Lakshmi said, giving her roommates a little wink. Then, she yelled: "Watch out!"

Gale, who was manning the frying pan, jumped back as a glob of rendered fat exploded in his direction. He narrowly escaped. "Hell's teeth."

Thom turned the burner down to medium-low. "Tabarnak, are you trying to set the place on fire?"

"Aiyoh," Lakshmi groaned, grabbing the nearest knitted dish cloth to wipe up the oil splattered on the floor.

Delly picked her way past the chaos to Madge, who was carefully teasing a freshly cooked waffle out of the waffle iron. "I couldn't find buttermilk, so I put sour cream in the batter," Madge informed her. "Hope that's all right with you."

"All right?" Delly beamed as she fell in beside her. "That's exactly how I like it. Sour cream waffles with cloudberry jam and brunost."

Thom started taking out jars and bottles from the cupboard. "For me, this calls for good old Canadian maple."

He gave Delly a quick pinch on the bum, making her jump. "Thomas!" she squeaked.

Soon the five of them were seated and having brunch at the kitchen table. "Did you all have a good sleep?" Delly asked, shaving a curl of brunost from the top of the block as she did so.

Madge and Gale's eyes met across the table. "We did, thank you," Madge answered with a smile. "Not a lot of sleep, but it was good."

"You'll need all the sleep you can get if you're visiting Jo," Thom advised as he poured maple syrup on his waffles. "It's going to be one nonstop party for the foreseeable future."

"Oh, speaking of which…" Lakshmi pulled out her phone. "Have you all seen Alfie's Snapchat?"

"Alfie's Snapchat?" Delly repeated incredulously. "You have Alfie's Snapchat? I didn't even know Alfie had Snapchat!"

"That's because you're his big sister, and I'm his big sister's cool friend." Lakshmi slid her phone across the table to Delly. "Here."

"What's next? Are you inviting him to your wedding in Singapore?" Delly groused.

"It came up, actually. But he's too scared to go anywhere you can get the death penalty for pot."

Madge and the boys crowded around Delly as she swiped through Lakshmi's screenshots. "I remember this one," Delly said, zooming in on a photo captioned FAMILY SELFIE.

The next photo had Delly and Thom obliviously kissing in one corner while Alfie faced the camera, his hands grasping the sides of his face, his mouth wide open and frozen in horror. And, in the translucent black bar underneath, the caption: «SKRIK» AV EDVARD MUNCH.

"Hey," Gale said in recognition. "We saw that painting at the museum a couple of days ago."

Delly shook her head. "Really, Alfie? A Scream reference at a heavy metal concert?" That was a little too much Norwegian angst, even for her brother.

"Can you send me the pictures?" Gale requested, getting up to grab his phone from the living room. "Bristel's definitely going to want to see those."

After a few moments, Gale reappeared, waving his phone in the air and looking relieved. "I got the job offer," he reported, standing behind Madge's chair, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "The email came through yesterday, I just didn't see it until now. Good salary, good benefits… all I need now is a place to live in Stockholm."

Madge tugged on Gale's shirt until he dipped his head and kissed her. "Congratulations!"

The kiss happened so quickly, so naturally, that no one thought to question it. "Well done!" Delly congratulated him. "When do you start?"

"Two weeks' notice, plus three months of non-compete… I'd say as early as August or September."

"No point going back to the US, la," Lakshmi quipped. "Just stay here with us. There's lots of things to do. Alfie and the boys are doing their Russ, then there's Constitution Day and Eurovision."

Something else caught Gale's attention. He let out a groan and showed Madge his phone. "Finn sent me a link. He posted behind-the-scenes stuff from the shoot on Instagram. And now I have about a dozen messages from my sister."

"What?" Madge exclaimed.

The others clustered around them to have a look. Madge and Gale had mentioned the photo shoot in Iceland before, and they'd even shown them some candids on their phones. But the new, professional photos were so crisp and high-res that they seemed to leap off the screen. There were several surfing action shots, a photo of Madge and her best friend Annie forming two halves of a heart with their hands, another picture of the famous Finnick Odair with his arm around Gale's shoulder.

"Wow," Thom said in awe. "Finnick Odair touched you."

Gale rubbed his shoulder reverently. "I know."

"He didn't post the—" Madge stopped abruptly.

Lakshmi's ears perked up. "The what?" she asked eagerly.

"The… other stuff," Madge finished lamely.

"This is just a teaser," Gale said. "He's probably saving the rest for when the official ad campaign comes out in the fall."

"What did Posy say?" Thom wanted to know.

Gale read his messages aloud. "Mate this book is wild—no, wait, that's still Finn." He tapped on the screen a few times. "Here we go. Posy. I cannot believe. My own brother. You're famous! Then the rest is just keyboard smash."

"Sounds like Posy Hawthorne, all right," Thom agreed with a smile.

"The book," Madge said suddenly. "Finn said something about your book?"

Gale checked again. "Yeah. And Annie copied me on a message to you. She said to Skype them as soon as we meet up with Jo and Darius."

"Darius is the one who's translating your books, right?" Delly asked Madge. "The linguist."

Madge nodded, and Thom chuckled. "I still can't believe that's not a euphemism."

Madge chewed on her lip. "I'm actually kind of nervous about meeting him. Especially if he's already working on the translations. Those books have been in my family for so long, but no one has any idea what they're about… or why we even have those books at all."

"Well, now's your chance to find out," Delly said encouragingly.

Madge smiled gratefully. "On one hand, I almost feel like I don't want to know." She touched the Mjolnir pendant around her neck. "But on the other hand… it feels like the moment of truth."

.

ooo

.

Oslo (Gardermoen) Airport

"I guess this is it," Thom said.

Without warning, Gale was overwhelmed with a feeling of preemptive nostalgia. With a longing for something that he still had, but was about to lose. "I guess it is."

Things would never be the same again. Up until that moment, Gale had taken it for granted that Thom and Bristel would always be there. It had never occurred to him that one day he and his friends would live in different cities, let alone different countries and continents. But now Thom was making a new home for himself in Oslo, and if things went according to plan, Gale would do the same, for a few years at least, in Stockholm. From now on, there would be no more waking up at the crack of dawn to play pond hockey together, no more staying up until the crack of dawn binge-watching shows together.

It was the end of an era.

Thom coughed. "Tell Brenner," he began, "that if he wanted to keep his roommates, he shouldn't have put mayonnaise in the shampoo."

Gale was grateful for the distraction. "To be fair, that was the week I got the most compliments on my hair ever."

"I smelled like a salad for days."

"What's so bad about that? You've got all that lettuce on your head now."

Madge wiggled her fingers in Gale's hand. "Don't forget the present," she reminded him. At first he thought she meant the present, as opposed to the past or the future, but then she clarified: "The present you got for Thom and Bristel at the museum."

"Oh, yeah." Gale pushed his sleeve up, revealing three identical arm rings that looked a little like the silver bracelet Finn always wore. He plucked one off and held it up for everyone to see. "This is for you. I'm going to give Bris the other one when I get home. It's—"

"—A Viking friendship bracelet," Thom finished, the scar on his cheek deepening as he broke into a broad grin.

Gale chuckled. "Well, I was going to say it was a symbol of loyalty and allegiance among warriors, but I guess that's fine, too."

It fit Thom perfectly. "Aw, man. You shouldn't have."

"It's not real silver," Gale admitted sheepishly. "Just pewter."

"It's perfect. Thank you."

"It's the least I could do."

It was a friendship bracelet, now that Gale thought about it. Of course, at the time, he had bought it mostly out of guilt. It was a visible, tangible reminder that he should be fighting for his friends, not against them.

Fortunately, guilt was no longer part of the equation. Not anymore. It was funny, the way things started falling into place once Gale understood that Thom's friendship and Madge's well-being were more important than his ego.

Thom held up his wrist, looking at his new arm ring with admiration. It was a cuff, instead of a closed circle, and each end was shaped like an animal head. "What kind of bird is that?"

"Ravens," Gale replied. "That's what it said on the display."

"Kind of reminds me of Katniss and Prim's necklaces," Thom remarked. "You know, the gold ones they wear on special occasions."

Gale realized with a start that it was true. "You're right." Was that why he picked the raven design? Back at the gift shop, he'd gravitated toward these three arm rings because they were the only ones that were different—the only ones that didn't have the more popular wolf or dragon heads. But now that Thom mentioned it…

"I should give Catnip a call," he said.

Thom's eyebrows lifted in surprise, and Gale knew they were both thinking the same thing: that he hadn't called her Catnip in years.

Gale pressed a kiss to Madge's temple. Not too long ago, he'd been full of anger, self-pity, and regret. And he still had a lot to learn, and plenty of room to grow. But now there was also hope. "Catnip and I have some catching up to do."

Thom smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

He turned to Delly and asked her something in Norwegian. She nodded without hesitation.

Thom pulled his keys out of his pocket. "Dell and I want you to have this." He detached the keychain and placed it in Gale's palm. "Every warrior should have his own tennstål."

Gale looked down at the flint and steel in his hand. It wasn't an exact replica of a Viking artifact, like the arm rings were. But this modern version was based on the same underlying principle as the ones in the museum.

"A Swedish firesteel," Gale said.

Delly clicked her tongue good-naturedly. "Try again."

"A Norwegian firesteel?" he guessed. He knew Delly had the exact same one—Alfie had tried to borrow it last night, for his cigarettes, before Thom offered his lighter.

She nodded in satisfaction. "That's better."

Gale closed his fingers around the firesteel. "This is awesome," he said sincerely. "Thanks."

It was time to go. "I'll be back in a few months," he promised, adjusting the remaining arm rings on his wrist. "If everything goes well with the new job."

He went in for a fist bump, but Thom swatted his hand away. "I want to tell you Norway is superior in every way," he joked as they hugged it out. "But you already know the hockey's much better in Sweden."

Gale had to laugh. "I knew I was moving to Stockholm for a reason."

"Yeah, but don't forget Canada beat Sweden in Sochi. So in the end, I still win."

"Asshole."

"Crosseur."

Thom punched Gale's arm lightly. Then he took one step back, and it was as if Thom and Delly were quicksilver, two separate beads of mercury flowing back together.

Gale reached out and Madge was there, meeting him halfway, her fingers effortlessly filling the spaces between his own.

They'd all come a long way, and they had even longer to go.

It was the end of an era, but it wasn't the end of the world.

.

.

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A/N.

Miigwech and hartelijk bedankt to this chapter's betas and consultants: Solaryllis, Reader701, cupcakesinnewyork, PrincessJasmin, and justkeepdancingthroughlife. You guys ROCK. (As always, all remaining mistakes are mine.)

For the Ojibwe words, I chose to follow the spelling used by the Ojibwe People's Dictionary project at the University of Minnesota.

The verse Darius translates in the first scene is from "Odin's Hanging Tree". The Panym stone is from "Requiem". Both fics are part of the May the Gods Be Ever In Your Favor collection.

Speaking of translating, I'm finally starting to learn Old Norse! It's a slow process and I'm 99% sure I've messed up the few lines I've attempted in this chapter, but it makes me happy to learn.

P.S. I'm really living up to the title of this fic, aren't I?