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It’s warm.
That’s the first thing he registers, an all-encompassing warmth. Cozy, despite being unfamiliar. Like the hugs his mother greeted him with when he was still a child. It’s been a long time since.
And because he’s so comfortable, Nathaniel allows himself to melt, limbs stretching and then curling back in. Whatever he’s lying on top of is cushioned, so his first instinct is to bury his face in it, hide from the light that seems to seep past his fluttering lashes.
He just wants to sleep a little longer…
“Is he okay?” The first voice comes. Distinctly male, chirping, loud and clear somewhere within the vicinity. Despite its energy, there's still a softness that Nathaniel hardly ever hears now that he's following in his father's footsteps. He finds himself taken by it immediately, “Perhaps I should—”
A rustle follows up his question.
“Let him sleep,” It's a woman who answers, firm yet patient, and the stirring stops without a fuss or even the slightest complaint at the sound of her, “He needs to rest, honey. You can speak to him after he wakes up and eats.”
Nathaniel frowns, vaguely registering their words. Is it him that they’re talking about? It would make sense. He hears no one else. He hears…nothing. Nothing outside of the rhythmic stirring of a pot being watched and the quiet burning of the firewood.
He doesn’t want to, but he forces his eyes open, and meets…
Meets his own face looking back at him.
“Oh, he’s awake,” Blue eyes glisten, reflecting the flame’s vivacious glow. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, and his hands flap, not knowing where to go, eager to take hold of Nathaniel but understanding, intrinsically, that it would be anything but appropriate, “How are you doing? What’s your name? You should watch your back in the forest, you can’t just sleep on the snow, you—”
“Dear,” the woman beside him—younger than Nathaniel expected her to look and with striking red cascading down her shoulders—berates him gently. She smiles at him too, but there’s concern in her eyes, and of course, Nathaniel knows exactly who she is the moment he stares into their green iris. "You’re overwhelming him.”
“Right,” The young man steps back, taking a seat at a handcrafted-looking table, turning to Nathaniel a measly second after, “Sorry.”
“It’s,” He’s compelled to speak up and soothe him, but the words are stuck in his throat. He’s still stunned by him, how similar they are. Nathaniel doesn’t know how to act in front of him, “It’s alright. Just…Where am I?”
So, he starts small, opening up with a simple question.
The boy—because he’s but a boy. Nathaniel is sure they’re the same age, yet there’s a distinct innocence to him that he’s never seen in himself—glances in the Red-Haired Witch’s direction for a guide and she, despite her initial worry, composes herself in a moment.
“He says he found you passed out among the woods,” She nods to the young man at the table, “That’s why he brought you to our home. You’re still in the same forest, just a little further in. What do you remember?”
Nathaniel breathes in, then out. He tries to recompose himself, groaning when his head swims and his eyes can’t focus on the two before him.
The woman moves closer, ready to assist him if needed.
“I went out,” He briefly recalls how it went. Nathaniel had a habit of visiting the town’s chapel after a bad day and said chapel stood by the forest’s limit, “after a disagreement with my father. I thought…I thought praying would help.”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners.
“I understand how that feels,” She shares, and Nathaniel doesn’t believe her right away because, his whole life, he’s been taught women like her lie for a living. That they connive, that they’re the worst kind of sinners. Yet the curl on her lips seems genuine, and there is a hanging cross near a carved bookshelf, as makeshift as the entire cottage appeared to be, “It’s about being heard.”
“So, I ventured,” Beyond the limits and into the woods the townsfolk had given up on exploring years ago, maybe eager to prove that he could do better than any of them. Show to his father that he is more than capable of inheriting the magistrate’s seat, “But I don’t remember what happened after. I did not fall asleep.”
The boy sticks out his tongue at him, taking advantage of his place in the woman’s blind spot.
Nathaniel is vaguely irritated by him.
“I see,” she mutters, eyebrows pulling together as she struggles to make sense of his predicament, “You're very pale. Have you been eating well? From your face, I can guess you haven’t slept as many hours as you should. That has a lot to do with your condition.”
“That…” Nathaniel stutters, fingers gripping the hem of his cloak. If there was no color to his face before, he’s sure there must be now because he’s burning. Her kindness is disarming.
He knows he should denounce her, but his stomach churns at the prospect. Logically, he’s aware that if she meant any harm he wouldn’t be breathing. There are too many questions begging to be answered.
Nathaniel looks at his twin, and wonders.
“How could I repay you?” he mutters more to himself than to the other two. There’s much to think about and reflect on, as the paradigm he’d been raised in crumbles.
The woman’s face softens.
“What about you help me carry some wood?” She offers him a hand, and he surprises himself when he takes it without a doubt. When he’s back on his feet, Nathaniel realizes just how much taller than her he is. How frail she is under her woven mantle, “The winter is harsh during its peak, and—”
“I was supposed to bring back some, but then I found you on the way back home, and you are heavy,” The young man at the table quips.
Heavy?
He doesn’t flinch at Nathaniel’s glare but raises both hands when the woman finally gives him a look.
“You watch the pot,” She tries to appear severe, but she’s laughing, and a frown doesn’t suit her anyway, “We’ll be back soon.”
“Yes, mom.”
The title slips out so easily, naturally, like he’s truly been calling the Red-Haired Witch that during his whole life. Nathaniel has half a mind not to gawk at him instead of following the woman outside.
It’s just that his current circumstances are implausible. Father’s lessons, his claims, and the essence of their interactions. Nathaniel’s self-imposed mission. All his prior convictions lay reduced to cinders.
“You’re Young Master Norwell, aren’t you?” The Witch—because she is a witch, right? It’s what he’s been told since he’s old enough to remember. What would he do if she ended up a regular woman?—nudges his shoulder, stares at him with mild apprehension, “You two, you are…”
“I can see that,” A knot forms in his throat. He has a brother, he’s had a brother this whole time while his family mourned what could’ve been, “The townsfolk claim you cursed us.”
“A curse,” She sighs. A little, whistling sound trying to cover her disbelief. Still, her stare is resolute as she leads their path, “I only served your mother a cup of tea. She was in constant pain while expecting, and I felt sorry for her.”
The silence is deafening, only interrupted by the colliding logs.
What to do, Nathaniel is at a loss here. He’s never…Oh, he’s never questioned what he was told. He had no reason to.
“I found him in the woods,” She explains, smiling again at the memory. Like his presence in her life was as bright as the moon peeking in the skies, “He was so small. I really thought he was gone for good, so I thought about burying him. He started crying the moment I held him.”
Nathaniel hums.
“Were you ever going to tell him?” Was she ever going to let him make the choice?
The woman’s head ducks, hands growing tense.
“I wanted to,” she admits in a heartbeat, “I meant to do it when he grew older. When he could understand, but now he is old enough, and I’m…”
She’s hesitating. Probably because, as much as he has no one else but her, she has no other person but him. They’ve been living here for so long.
Perhaps she thinks she’s failed him, somehow.
“Are you going to turn me in?” Her voice is small as they make their way back inside, “It’s been years, but grudges are persistent.”
And she’s right, there’s still a bounty for her head. Bringing her to town to face capital punishment would put him in good graces with his father and ascertain his rightful position.
Yet, it didn’t sound like the right thing to do. Dare he say, it went against the teachings.
“No,” The decision liberates him, “No, I won’t.”
She doesn’t say thank you, but Nathaniel doesn’t need to hear it. It’s in the tears she spills when she thinks he isn’t looking.
“Mom!” The young man jumps to his full height when he notices the blotchy red painting her face. “What happened? You look…Was it the cold? You should’ve let me go out instead.”
The woman shakes her head, exhaling when he takes the weight off her arms.
“I may be growing old,” That’s the conclusion she offers, sitting at the set table. The boy was more sensible than Nathaniel could’ve guessed, “I wasn’t always this feeble.”
There are three plates above. A little crowded, sure, but there all the same.
“Come eat with us,” The woman invites him, “There’s not much, but I wouldn’t want to let you go back without a proper meal.”
Nathaniel glances at his brother from across the furniture, his fingers already curling around the handle of his spoon. There’s a strange tug inside his chest when their eyes lock, and his twin grins with unabashed joy.
“I’d be glad to,” So, he allows himself to share with them. Accepts a warm cup of something herbal, and willfully ignores the remaining restlessness plaguing him. He’d rather see the world on his own than keep clinging to the past, “Miss…”
“Lagertha,” She confides to him with a hearty chuckle, “My name is Lagertha.”