The cold and the wind and the white made everything weigh more. The snow was like inverted quicksand. It came from above and its victims sunk under it instead of into it. Bragi felt like it was burying them. Snowflake by snowflake. He could see exactly why this was where the ghosts went. The snow was the blanket, the ice was the sheet, and the entire realm was one giant deathbed. It made his words weigh more too. He wanted to fight against the weight, the cold hardness in everything, with light words. Light words. Light air. Light laugh. But when Idun spoke, Bragi couldn't manage it. He couldn't tease. This thing had weight and deserved weight. He disregarded lightness and settled for warmth. “I promise,” Bragi said.
Next time, he'd grab her wrist, and she would work on her terrible dead spying habit and yelling where she was going. They were getting better at this already. Bragi was so pleased that they hadn't gone to bed. When the choice came between stopping and going, Bragi always wanted to go. He didn't want to freeze. It was so early, and they weren't finished yet. Idun got more beautiful every day. Even if he could chart things, he couldn't chart that.
That step had been difficult. Idun didn't lean into him as much as she needed to, and so they'd faltered. A small voice whispered that even though Idun had woken, they wouldn't get out. It turned everything to jelly beneath the ice. They'd lain together on their deathbed, and you don't get back up from that. You don't escape that. Bragi was terrified of every second they spent there, but too numb to feel it. That scared him even worse. Idun looked so frail. She had hints of the colors that should be there, and Bragi hung onto that, but with his arm around her he could tell how thin she'd gotten. This was not how his wife should feel. He could feel exactly where he had failed to take care of her.
He wished he'd taken better care of himself for her too. When he'd seen her, Bragi just wanted to be where she was. His heart had died and the only thing that had kept him going was preventing hers from stopping. He ate as much as he could get her to. He'd lost hope. Now Bragi wasn't as strong as he could have been. But it didn't matter. He was going to get her out of there. Idun was a tulip. She hid in the winter, and bloomed in the spring. She belonged in a garden, never pressed, dried, or stored.
She put her lips to his and Bragi felt warmer, even though nothing had changed. He was too numb to feel it properly, but Bragi felt it anyway. When she kissed him, he wasn't there. They walked through their orchard. It was summer. She was leaning on him because she wanted to. Not because she had to. She was kissing him because that was what they did. Not because this could still be their last chance. Except when she pulled away they weren't in the orchard anymore. And this could still be their last chance. Bragi kissed her back. If they were going to get out of there so that they could kiss again, they needed to be warmer.
Then Bragi let go. He stooped down and braced her tightly against him at a slightly lower point, then took her arms and put them around his neck. She had more support this way. A husband crutch. She could grip him and push into him as much as she needed, and in that position she was less likely to accidentally look anywhere else. They started walking again. Slow step by slow step. “Awhile,” Bragi said. “Not long enough that you need to think about it.” Their fight was over a month ago. "Heimdall is back by now."