WHO Freyr and Freyja WHEN Monday afternoon WHERE Freyr's bedroom WHAT The real Freyr is finally allowed to live again! WARNINGS reference to murder
He could feel himself coming back up from the coldness of death, and almost struggled against it. Why feel life in his aching body again, take another breath into his abused lungs, when it would only be snatched away from him again? Time and time again, he'd fallen into the abyss, into a version of Valhalla that felt faded and worn with every repeating visit.
Freyr felt cold now too, and he felt the absolute ache of his limbs, twisted and contorted for too long. But morning sun was shining in, warming his body, and when he took a breath, it was like he was filling his body with life properly for the first time in Odin knew how long. His joints ached because his limbs were straight, and his chest blazed with agony for a moment as he gulped in air, the stab wounds taking a little too long to close over and let his lungs work properly again.
He was alive, in a bed. In his bed. He was alive and free and he blinked his eyes open, searching to see if this was some kind of trick. Putting his hands to his chest, he felt clean skin, felt the wounds fade until there weren't even scars.
Thinking properly was hard. But he knew one thing for certain.