PASSAGE 49: UNQUIET PAST

A mug of steaming tea, brewed from the hardy Niflheim flowers as Hrimr had described, warmed Alaric's hands from the outside. He took a tentative sip, the surprisingly sweet and floral flavor a welcome contrast to the desolate surroundings. Hrimr emerged from the house, a look of concern creasing his brow as he saw Alaric perched on a rickety chair outside.

"The flames of Fimbulwinter lick closer, Alaric," Hrimr declared, his voice lowered to a dramatic whisper. "Night falls heavy, bearing the chill of Niflheim. Seek shelter within, and rest beside the hearth where flames dance like Surtr's fury!"

Alaric chuckled, a genuine sound that echoed strangely in the quiet village. "I appreciate the offer, Hrimr," he said, "but I'm fine for now. The fresh air… clears my head, you know?"

Hrimr's brow furrowed further. "Of course," he conceded, his voice losing some of its theatricality. "But a warrior needs his rest. Is there aught I can do for you, friend?"

Alaric hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward with a hesitant smile. "Actually, there is. It might sound strange, but…" He trailed off, unsure how to phrase his request.

Hrimr puffed out his chest, a confident smile spreading across his face. "Anything, Alaric! Just say the word, and it shall be done!" He thumped his fist against his chest for emphasis.

Taking a deep breath, Alaric decided to be direct. "Look, Hrimr," he began, "about your way of speaking…" He winced, searching for the right words. "It's… a bit much, to be honest. Can we just talk normally?"

Hrimr's confident smile faltered, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "H-how did you know?" he stammered, his voice dropping to a nervous squeak.

Alaric sighed, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Let's just say I overheard you whispering something to your father earlier. It wasn't exactly eloquent, but it was clear you weren't reciting ancient poetry."

Hrimr's cheeks flushed red. He mumbled something about wanting to impress Alaric and hoping to sound brave. Alaric simply shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"There's no need for all that, Hrimr. Just be yourself. It's a lot less… tiring."

A sheepish grin spread across Hrimr's face. "Alright, alright," he conceded.

Hrimr settled beside Alaric, his earlier theatrics abandoned in favor of a more natural, youthful exuberance. He leaned closer, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "So, you figured out my little performance, huh?" he chuckled, the nervous squeak entirely gone.

Alaric grinned. "Let's just say your whispers to your father weren't exactly excerpts from legends."

Hrimr's cheeks flushed again, a sheepish grin replacing the heroic facade. "Alright, alright," he admitted with a playful nudge. "You got me. But hey, can you blame a guy for wanting to impress a legendary warrior like yourself?"

Alaric chuckled again, the tension easing from his shoulders. This genuine Hrimr was far more endearing than the wannabe bard he'd initially encountered. "Fair enough," he conceded. "But seriously, what's the deal with the epic speeches and the… well, the rather dramatic way you were talking before?"

Hrimr's face turned serious, a flicker of sadness replacing the youthful exuberance. "It's my dream, you see," he began, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "I dream of reaching Asgard, of becoming one of the Royal Knights. They're the elite, Alaric, the protectors of the Aesir and Asgard itself. They're beyond skilled, but it's the way they carry themselves, the way they speak… it's legendary."

Hrimr puffed out his chest, a hint of his earlier theatricality peeking through. "So, I practice. Every day, I try to sound like them, to embody that noble, heroic spirit. Maybe a bit too much, huh?"

Alaric smiled warmly. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But hey, aiming high is never a bad thing. Who knows, maybe one day you'll be out there, defending Asgard with the best of them."

Hrimr's eyes shone with renewed determination. "That's the dream, Alaric!"

Alaric's smile softened at Hrimr's newfound determination. But a shadow flickered across his eyes as he shifted in his seat. "Alright, enough about dreams for now," he started, his voice turning serious. "There's something else I need to know. What really happened here? This place feels more like a haunted graveyard than an actual village." He gestured around at the decaying structures and hollow-eyed figures. "And your people…" a lump formed in his throat, "they look like they're one cough away from meeting their ancestors."

Hrimr's youthful exuberance dimmed, replaced by a somber expression. A heavy silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the crackling of the dying embers in the distance. Finally, Hrimr spoke, his voice hushed.

"Up until about seven months ago, Hvergelmir was a different place," he began, a nostalgic glint flickering in his eyes. "It was bustling, Alaric, bursting with life! We celebrated everything – a bountiful harvest, a new marriage – everything was a reason to feast and sing. And Hvergelmir was a beacon of warmth in this frozen wasteland. Here, amidst the Niflheim frost, we had trees, flowers, even animals roaming free. It was… a paradise."

He took a deep breath, his voice dropping even lower. "But then, darkness descended upon us. A sickness... not of the body, but of the mind." Hrimr tapped his temple with a shaky finger, his eyes filled with a haunted gleam. "People started… changing. They became erratic, filled with despair. It spread like wildfire, this madness. And..." his voice trailed off, a tremor of fear running through him.

"They turned on each other, Alaric. Destroyed what we built, hurt the ones they loved. This… this village you see now, it's a shell of its former glory." 

Tears welled up in Hrimr's eyes, spilling over like a dam overflowing. "My father… Njord," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "He… he was taken too."

Alaric's heart sank. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on Hrimr's shoulder. The young man practically crumbled under the touch, the weight of his grief finally finding an outlet.

"It was awful," Hrimr continued, his voice a broken sob. "He… he killed them. My mother, my little sister… with his own ax, the one he used for chopping firewood. I saw it all, Alaric. Peeking through a hole in the wall, hidden behind the house, too scared to even breathe."

A tremor ran through Alaric. This wasn't just a village plagued by illness; it was a living nightmare. Hrimr's pain was raw, a gaping wound that refused to heal.

"I wanted to help them," Hrimr whispered, his voice barely audible. "But fear… it held me captive."

Slowly, with a ragged breath, Hrimr pulled himself together. He wiped at his tears with a trembling hand, his eyes red and puffy. "Then… he woke up. Njord. He saw what he'd done, and the despair… It nearly took him too. He tried to jump off a cliff, Alaric. But fate… it twisted the knife further. He didn't die. Just… broke his back on the rocks. Now he's bedridden, a shell of the man he once was."

A choked sob escaped Hrimr's lips. "I know… I know it wasn't him. The sickness took him. But he's still my father. And so, I care for him, even though…" his voice trailed off, a heavy silence filling the space between them.

"Even though nothing seems to help," Alaric finished for him, his voice filled with empathy. "The medicine, the food… it's like something's draining the life force from him, from everyone here."

Hrimr nodded, a hollow echo of his former bravado. "Like them. All the remaining villagers… they too, they hurt the ones they loved in their madness. Now, they're trapped in their own prisons of guilt, their minds forever tainted by those dark days."

Tears streamed down Hrimr's face, carving clean tracks through the grime that coated his cheeks. Alaric felt a lump form in his throat, a helpless ache for the young man beside him. Hrimr, however, attempted a watery smile, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear his vision.

"F-father's calling," he stammered, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. "Maybe… maybe we can pick up this conversation tomorrow?"

He forced a smile, a valiant effort despite the tremor in his voice. "You should get some rest too, Alaric. My room is yours for the night. I'll just… sleep beside Father." A flicker of his earlier bravado peeked through as he added, "And hey, thanks for listening. You have no idea how much it means."

Alaric could only offer a sad smile as Hrimr dashed back inside, a single tear tracing its way down his own cheek. He understood then that sometimes, the bravest battles weren't fought on the battlefield, but within the heart. Here, a young boy had faced a nightmare no child should ever endure, yet still clung to a sliver of hope, a dream of becoming a knight. Hrimr may have called himself a coward, but in Alaric's eyes, he was the toughest kid he'd ever met. And as Alaric settled into the spartan room, a new purpose solidified within him. He wouldn't just be fighting a monstrous serpent; he'd be fighting for Hrimr, for his family, and for the very soul of this dying village.