Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first thing Fjord hears is the ocean. Waves, cresting and crashing amongst themselves before sneaking up on the sand. There’s fear, at first. Fjord isn’t sure when, but he has grown to fear the ocean. Fear what lies beneath. Fear what threatens to come up from the depths and drag him down.

He doesn’t see black behind his lids, though. Sure enough, when he opens his eyes he sees light. He sees the rich azure sky. When he looks to the water, he sees that same blue. The waves aren’t barking, tearing at their chains, fighting for their next meal. They are gently pacing, just used to their own feet.

He’s a safe distance from the water. There’s no cliffs behind him, trapping him with the water. There is a steady slope of sand. Dunes dotted with playful reeds go as far as he can see. Perfect for Cad and his basket weaving, Fjord thinks . If he squints, it looks like a meadow. Fjord takes a few steps and plucks a reed, placing it between his thumbs. He blows, and the trumpeting sound startles a laugh out of him.

Fjord takes a deep breath in through his nose. There’s a hint of salt in the air from the sea and the sand. He closes his eyes and tips his head back. He feels the sun on his deep green skin. 

He looks back towards the ocean. The waves are calm, gently licking at the darker swathe of sand, and not seeming to encroach. He removes his armor, one piece at a time. He feels like he has plenty of time, at this beach. The bracers come away easily; two buckles and they’re off. He carefully unwinds the red ropes securing each arm. He pulls away the cloth that protects his bare arms from the metal. Next, the scaled shoulder protection on his shield-arm. Next, the buckles of his chestplate, allowing him to slide out and gently rest it in the dunes. Last, his boots. He squats down and tips back, landing on his rump. He’s not afraid of looking silly, here. He un-gracefully pulls and yanks at his boots until they come off, placing them gently next to each other, socks inside so they don’t get taken away by the gentle breeze.

He stands, left in his leggings and shirt, the latter billowing against the air. The sand is hot against his bare feet, but it doesn’t burn. It’s soothing, the way a warm fire after a rough day soothes your aching bones. Fjord steps towards the sea, right to the line where light sand meets dark. The waves come closer, and he holds his breath. The waves slow against the beach, only the barest tip of sea-foam actually grazing his toes. The sigh he releases when he isn’t stolen into the water is immense. He takes one step further and waits. His breathing is cautious, ready to gulp for air. Again, the threat doesn’t come. Just the tops of his feet are submerged, the gentle coolness juxtaposed with the hot sands two steps away.

Fjord crouches down. With a single finger, Fjord doodles in the sand. A single stroke with two dots above it. He waits, and the water gently massages the sand back into place. He can barely see where he drew, and is certain it will only take a couple more waves to return the sand to how it was. He draws a more complex smiley face, only just hesitating before adding the tusks to Jester’s patented Tusktooth tattoo flash. Again, the water comes up and gently takes it away, leaving nothing but vague divots.

Fjord sits down where he is: butt on the dry sand, feet waiting for the water to come and say hello.

“ What do you dream about, when your dreams are your own?”

Fjord is in control of himself right now. Nothing is waiting on him, or telling him what to do, or giving him orders. He isn’t being shown anything, nor promised any powers. He certainly isn’t being threatened or eaten for disobeying. This beach is no beach he grew up around, nor any beach he’s sailed to. This is his own little beach, surrounded by dunes. A nebulous space where land meets sea and nothing else is certain.

“ How often do you talk to her?”

“I mean..I never stop.”

Fjord doesn’t know much about the gods, but he imagines that they don’t care whether you’re in the waking world or not. They’ve got to hear you either way, right? They’re gods!

Fjord waits for the water to come up to his feet, once more clearing the sand. He uses his finger as a stylus, the sand his slate. Hello, Wildmother. My name is Fjord. It’s nice to meet you.

The waves roll in again. It feels like they linger, but Fjord isn’t sure. Time flows in mysterious ways in dreams. When the water pulls away, the sand looks totally clear of any writing. Fjord moves to write in the sand again, but what he wants to say would take too long. He sighs, drawing the crest of the Wildmother as best as he can remember it instead.

“I’ve been...meaning to reach out to you, for a while. I feel like I’m on the right path, with Caduceus as a guide…I know that asking for a concrete sign from you is foolish, now. That that’s not how faith works, as Caduceus says...I want you to understand me. My intentions.”

If Fjord was looking at the sand, he would see that the symbol of the Wildmother has not receded along with the tide. He’s looking at the horizon line. Just past the edge of the world, where the gods are locked away.

“As a child, I loved the ocean. Roaring waves felt like a lullaby...not the same boring one that the orphan-keeper sang every night. One that was always changing, always new...I would run to the beach and I knew that if I could hold my breath long enough, the other kids wouldn’t find me. The ocean would protect me. I trusted the ocean. I knew what it was capable of. If it couldn’t hide me, it would fight for me. Like I always imagined...like I imagined my mother might, if she knew me.”

Fjord glances down at the water by his feet again. The sand is clear when it pulls away. He draws the word Mom? and looks back to the waves again.

“I know how that sounds. I know the ocean is just water, dangerous and beautiful and expansive. But I trusted it all the same. A little too much, I’m afraid.” 

Fjord is having trouble sitting still. He stands, but he takes another step towards the waves, his feet spending more time in the water than they were just at the tide’s edge.

“I worked on a ship to see what the ocean was like when it wasn’t fighting the land. When it was its own beast, its own territory. When it was everything. And when I was betrayed, and I fell, and I drowned...I suppose I made a deal with the first thing in the ocean that asked. I was more afraid of dying than of what I would become. Than what was... using me.”

Fjord makes a sour face and kicks at the sand. He’s still ashamed of letting Uk’otoa trick him into unlocking two of the three temples. Seals . 

“I was so enamored with finally having some power of my own. If someone wanted to pick a fight with me, I could fight back. And I would win, for once. He used that against me, made it a competition, told me that I was replaceable. But I’m not replaceable!”

Fjord looks up, looks back to the sea. 

Fjord doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince: a god or himself. It’s what he needs to hear, though, so it’s what he’s going to say.

“The Fjord who made a deal with that snake was a lonely, scared little boy who was only fighting for himself. He had no family, no friends, and no purpose. He was perfectly willing to take whatever he could get, make a living, and rebuild himself from nothing.”

Fjord takes a shaky breath in. He looks around, and he sees nothing but dunes and beach. There’s no sign of his armor, anywhere. He supposes if he turns around and walks far enough, he’ll get back to it. But he doesn’t need it right now, so he may as well keep walking.

“But then...I met Jester. And she wanted to see everything. She wanted to meet everyone. She wanted to make them laugh. After a while, we met Beau, and after that, everyone else.”

Fjord sees a seashell and he stops. It’s white with soft pink stripes. He picks it up and looks inside. He doesn’t want to bother a fish living in there, but when he holds it up to the light it shines clear through. He holds it in his hand and he keeps walking.

“The Mighty Nein...we’re all...messy. And amazing! And powerful and... kind, in our own way. At least, we try to be. And that’s just it, isn’t it! We try! We fuck it up a lot, but we try!” 

Fjord clenches his fist around the seashell. It’s spiral comes to a slight point, and it pricks his thumb. He remembers to take a deep breath. He sits down, afraid that feeding his nervous energy with activity will ramp him up more.

He doodles each of his friends in the sand, as best he can. The drawings aren’t great, but it calms him down anyway.

“What I mean to say is: This Fjord, me, now, I’m...I’m not alone, anymore. I have friends now. If they’ll have me, a family now. They’ve protected me and I’ve protected them, to the best of my abilities. Since losing...since my powers were taken away again, I’ve been inclined to call myself at my weakest, but I don’t feel weak when I’m around them. I have a purpose, with them. For the first time in my life, I have something bigger than myself worth fighting for. They want to stop a war, they want to stop a demon invasion , and by gods some days it feels like we’re really doing it!”

Fjord waits for the water to completely wipe away his drawings again. He writes out each of their names, one per wave. He’ll never forget them. As long as he lives, he’ll never forget them.

“But how do you fit into this? Well...I could do more, when I had powers. I could protect my family better, and I could do more good. I’m used to offensive or deceptive spells, but I would happily take healing spells if that was all you could give me. Gods know taking the pressure off of Jester would make her happy. Ball of chaos, that one.” 

He chuckles, remembering Jester screeching at demons, throwing ice and holy fire into their faces. Caleb and Caduceus preferred to hang back, shoot spells from a distance. Nott ran off on her own, firing bolts from seemingly nowhere. Jester charged face first into danger, right alongside Beau and...and Yasha.

He pauses, remembering what’s at stake, who he’s talking to, and how much he is asking for. He turns the shell in his hand over, looking at the smooth inside. With a careful claw, he begins to carve the symbol of the Wildmother: two wreaths of grain and berries and an almost-full-circle hook with a long handle.

“I don’t need the whole ocean at my beck and call. I don’t want that, in fact. I just want to keep my family safe. And I want to do good. Caduceus says we can ask around, see what deity works best for me, but I don’t think I need to do that. You reached out to me. You saw a poor man struggling, and you tried. That’s all I want to do, and that’s what you’ve done for me.”

He looks at the shell one more time, satisfied with his work. He stands, removing his shirt and his leggings. He makes a little nest with the last of his clothes and places the shell in the middle.

“I know that there is evil sleeping beneath the ocean...but you are the ocean, right? The good parts and the scary parts. You can’t keep him away from me on your own, but I suppose we can work together and try, hmm?”

Fjord steps into the water. Knee deep. Thigh deep. Right when he can’t reach the sand anymore, he turns onto his back. He splays out on the water, letting himself be carried away by the waves. The sun still shines on his skin. Darkness doesn’t take over his vision. Doesn’t take everything away.

“I trust you, Wildmother. I trust you.”

For a while, Fjord just floats. The water on his back cools the encroaching warmth on his chest from the sun. He closes his eyes, and lets the ocean move him. If he lets himself pretend, he feels like he is in the arms of a mother he never knew, being gently rocked to sleep.

Fjord wakes up, and for the first time in a long time, he feels truly rested. He feels lighter. The dream slips away from him as he stands up. All he remembers once he’s in Reani’s kitchen is that there was a beach, and the ocean, and he felt safe.

“Sleep well, man?” Beau asks, sipping her coffee.

“You know what? Yes. Yes I did,” Fjord says, allowing the pleasant surprise to color his tone. It’s enough to make Beau pause, eyebrows raised. 

She gently raises her mug.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that” and she downs the rest.

“WE DRINKIN’ IN HERE?” Fjord hears at the door, a screeching, familiar voice.

“A little early, don’t you think Nott?” Fjord asks, still rubbing the sleep-sand from one of his eyes.

“Never!” she replies with a grin, pulling her flask out and taking a sip. He and Beau share a look and they both shrug.

Fjord makes himself something to eat, leaving a silver in case Reani has to replace anything he uses. He offers to make Beau and Nott eggs and they gladly accept. Others slowly join them in the kitchen. Fjord has just finished scrubbing and rinsing the pan when he hears the rest of the house rousing. At a loss of where to set it to dry, he finds a towel, dries it himself, and puts it back where he found it.

Knowing how much his family loves to launch right in after discussing a plan, Fjord goes back to his things and gets dressed. He moves to put on his chestplate when he hears something gently hit hardwood. Curious, he looks around for the source of the sound.

A white and pink spiralling shell is lying on the floor.

“Huh” Fjord says intelligently.

He sets the shell down on the table with his bracers and puts the rest of his armor on. He stares at the shell for a long moment, wondering where it came from. Maybe I put it in my pack and forgot about it until now. That would make the most sense. Still, he rifles in his pack for his travel-sized sewing kit, taking out the needle. He sets the shell down where it can stand on its own and uses the needle to follow the hole at the tip of the shell. Carefully, very carefully so the whole thing doesn’t shatter, he bores through to the other side. He pulls the needle through, to be sure the path is wide enough. He takes a length of thread from his kit and doubles it over. He’s worried that it won’t go through the shell, but with some patience, he pulls the thread through.

He holds the thread on both sides to admire his handiwork, and sure enough he has a veritable necklace. It makes him smile. With that as reason-enough, he reaches up and ties a sure knot around his neck with the loop and tail of the thread.

He tests the give by pulling at the shell. The knot holds and, if anything, tightens. Satisfied, Fjord goes back to the kitchen.

Jester and Reani have produced more pastries somehow, and a cookie is mysteriously in his hand before he sits down. He likes cookies more than he likes cake, so he takes a bite before Jester can assault him with sugar again. Frumpkin sniffs at the cookie in his hand, and he shoves the rest of it in his mouth, defiantly. The cat frowns, but poofs away and back to Caleb’s shoulders as the meeting for the day ensues.

Caduceus seems to be the only one who notices the sea-shell necklace. He catches Fjord’s eye, nods to it, and smiles. Fjord smiles back, unsure what he’s being reassured of but enjoying the support anyway.

He feels good, this morning. In time, he’ll notice how the warmth in his chest never fades away. When he gets his sword, there will be a conversation. For now, he talks with each member of his eccentric little family and waits to see what they’ll get up to today.