Chapter Text
So dry your eyes, and count to ten
They’ll have me on the pyre by then
Forget the man I used to be, you’ll
Move along more easily
-
Somewhere behind a stack of books containing mostly local jorvegian legends, Ydris sighed against the palm of his hand for the seventh time this evening. He was resting his chin in his hand, lazily flipping through the pages of a heavy book with his thumb and forefinger, as though they would dirty his pristine gloves if he wasn’t careful.
“Have you found anything?” Mario found himself asking, though, if the sigh was any indication, Ydris was as unsuccessful in their search as he was.
“Non.” Came the reply, none of the usual pet names or banter to be found. Outside, the moon shifted wearily, surveying her precious library and the intruders within it. Inside, Mario sat hunched over one of the small tables, Ydris at his feet. A large stack of books separated the two, and Mario could just about make out his partner in crime if he leaned over the towers of myths, legends and histories.
With a groan that was uncharacteristically mundane for Ydris, he flipped to the end of the book he was reading and set it down on the floor, next to his crossed legs. Mario leaned over his own stack of books and put his head in the crook where his arms crossed, slightly tilted in sympathy. Considering Ydris’ usual stature, this was a rare moment in which Mario had to look down at him. This was not a place for a creature who was used to roaming stories like they were landscapes.
“None of them.” Ydris muttered under his breath, and Mario bit down on the inside of his cheek to stifle a yawn. He hadn’t found what they had been looking for either. They must’ve been in there for hours, having broken in with the help of Miss Chanda shortly after the manor went to bed, and the sun was now threatening its inevitable arrival.
“There’s another library, a larger one-” Mario started, but was interrupted by Ydris’ groan. He had made his dislike of books clear, and no amount of convincing would make him enjoy the idea of research. He had come along on this expedition out of duty, or perhaps out of a rare moment of kindness for his fellow man, but absolutely not because he wanted to.
“Mon étoile, we don’t even know if he’d appreciate it. And the Fort Maria library is… Large.” He emphasized the word large with a gesture of both his hands, presumably to show just how massive the library was. Mario rolled his shoulders, desperate to shake the pains of his poor posture out of his muscles. He wasn’t going to give up the search, but Ydris didn’t have to suffer for it.
“You’re right, of course. Let’s go. It’s almost time for the morning feedings, and I don’t want to have to explain to anyone why, or how, we’re here.” As Mario rose, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes until they prickled with stars. He took the relief he felt at the vision as an indication that he was also very eager to leave. This was not a place for stargazers either.
Having been promised an out, Ydris moved quicker than he had all evening. He grabbed Mario’s wrist and the world around them warped for a frail second. It destabilized underneath them and rematerialized somewhere else, as if moving just for the two of them. The observatory doors now stood, tall and imposing, in front of them both.
“I think we just made a lot of trouble for Miss Chanda.” Being able to open doors between different locations was a useful feature, but Ydris had whisked them away so soon, Mario hadn’t been given a chance to clean up the books they had removed from their shelves. “She didn’t see us leave, she’ll be up all morning waiting to see us go.”
“That girl sees far more than any normal person should.” Ydris muttered, and Mario had to agree that she possessed the uncanny ability to both notice and understand things that others may miss. Perhaps she had sensed their disappearance long before the decision was made. Oh, but the mess… Mario fussed with the hem of his shirt. Perhaps she could blame ghosts, it seemed fitting for the Halloween season.
As if sensing where his thoughts were traveling, Ydris drew Mario from his anxious mind with a squeeze of the wrist and a “Let’s go see him tomorrow?”
“Ah. I’m expecting visitors tomorrow, I’m afraid. Of the druid kind. Nothing the two of you would want to be a part of.” It felt like poison in his throat that the lie came so easily, and that he knew exactly what needed to be said, to make Ydris back off.
“No, certainly not.” He made a face that could only be compared to a cat smelling something foul, which meant Mario would have all of tomorrow to himself. A nap, first, and then Fort Maria. Walking through the observatory doors would feel like admitting defeat, but he kept repeating that hopeful little word. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. I’ll search the library tomorrow. I’ll find something good tomorrow.
They shared a kiss like they shared everything else in life, except for their living arrangements, and said goodbye on the observatory doorstep. Mario watched Ydris disappear in a cloud of pink, and told himself that he stayed outside for longer than was necessary merely to observe the stars as they flickered against the rising sun. Definitely not because he was hoping Ydris would return for him… But he had a circus to attend to, Gunnar had a realm to oversee, and Mario, finally, had an observatory to retreat into. Having responsibilities, it seemed, was also something they all shared.
–
When Mario reached the Fort Maria library, he found that he had not needed to lie. The place was crawling with hooded and cloaked figures, quietly having discussions over various tomes. No one questioned his presence, and if they did attempt to approach him, they were quickly called off by a nearby druid. Being friends with Elizabeth came with certain benefits. A pang of guilt hit him, and rolled off of him, all in the same breath. Feel it, acknowledge it, disregard it. A mantra for those with emotions too heavy to bear.
The relevant books he found were stacked next to a small table, positioned at the crook of two bookshelves that were angled inward, creating a small triangle of privacy in the middle of the busy main hall. Soon, he had built himself a small fence of literature. This wasn’t his line of work, not really, research papers weren’t uncommon in his life but Jorvik history felt like a whole new beast to slay. Especially with a foe as daunting as Jon Jarl.
It was Linda, not Gunnar, who had made Mario and Ydris aware of just how different the life Jon Jarl led had been to what had been retold hundreds of years later. Maybe, even now, Gunnar was the ever loyal soldier, protecting the reputation of his Jarl in death as he did in life. But when Mario had the story retold to him, from the lens of a man who had never been allowed to tell his version of events, he had seen red. Gunnar was a good man, a kind man. Mario knew that, had seen it first hand. Ever since Ydris had introduced the two, they’d spent so much time together it was tough to feel like a singular person anymore. He was a part of them, as much as they were a part of him. Sitting together felt like the most natural thing in the world, like he had been completed, his life tied intricately and beautifully into a larger weave. Is this it , Mario had wondered that first night they all spent together, is this how riders feel when they meet their soul horse? He could ask Gunnar, probably, but the idea embarrassed him. Gunnar’s bond with his mare was special. Mario didn’t want to imply that he was more, or equally as, important as her. Still, an interesting thought. Maybe he could ask Ydris how he felt- he had a horse too. Not that he harbored much love for poor Zee.
The books , Mario reprimanded himself, as he urged his body over the, now rather daunting, collection and sat down in the plush armchair. Galloper Thompson, the bravest man Mario had ever known, had been written out of the history books. He was a footnote and an unnamed participant, a force that Jon Jarl wielded rather than a human being. Mario was going to change that, but to do so he needed sources. “Source; An enchantress of the moon told me, and also have you considered that I love him” would not get him far. And so, here he was, searching desperately for an account that retold the story properly, with Gunnar front and center.
When Mario had suggested the idea of submitting a research paper to establish Gunnar Thyrmson as a real, breathing person who history left behind to Ydris, he’d been delighted at the idea. Less so when Mario cleared up that they’d need to do actual research and, despite the fact that the thought made him sour, that there was a very real chance that any records of Gunnar had been scraped from the surface of the earth. The jarl had certainly scrubbed a majority of the records clean, seeing as the Silverglade Manor library had been a bust.
The first few books he’d grabbed as he sat had been written about a time too early in Jorvik history to have any useful information about Gunnar. Texts from the roman era, no doubts, when men had used the library long before Jon Jarl set foot on Jorvik and built Fort Maria on top of it. He discarded them almost immediately, and was so engrossed in finding a book more suited to what he was looking for that he barely noticed a young druid picking them back up. As she returned them to their rightful place on the shelves, Mario learned more of Jon Jarl’s lineage than any man should need to know. His father, Jor, and his father, Erik, and his father, Tyre. And his mother, unnamed for most chapters but often described with words such as doting, homebody, gentle. Mario must’ve made a face, because one of the nearby druids tried to sneak a peek at the title of the book, no doubt wanting to find out what caused such a reaction. Mario kept reading. The sister, who hadn’t come with him to Jorvik. The son she’d had illegitimately. The man she’d met shortly after. The Jarl’s mother’s sister, and her partner, and so on and so forth.
Whatever stories were written here, Mario determined they were not what he was looking for. A brief flip through the remaining pages confirmed that there was no mention of a “Gunnar”. One sentence, however, made him pause. It was near the end of the book, where the author had taken humble time out of their day to briefly describe Jon’s wife. Prefacing her, the author made note of Jon’s relationship with one of his soldiers, though this was dismissed as a rumor, perhaps slanderous in nature, since Jon could not possibly have had a male lover. He was, after all, married with a wife later in his life. This time, Mario suppressed the urge to make a face, but something in him clearly reacted to the author’s inability to understand bisexuality, because the attentive druid from before, the one who had taken his books, gently reached out and pried the pages out of his hands. Mario let go with no fuss, answering her compassionate smile with one of his own. He thought Ydris and Gunnar were able to read him like an open book because of that unnatural connection the three of them shared, or that magic they both thrived on, but perhaps Mario was just a very expressive soul. No shame in that, he admitted to himself, as he picked up his next target.
In this book, there was a mention of Gunnar, and Mario had to reread the paragraph four times to understand what he was seeing. The jarl, that preposterous man, that man who no living being should value or worship, that snake - the page tore where Mario was gripping it too tightly, and at once the druid is back, watching from behind the edge of the bookcase. He got the feeling she was scolding him, but her expression remained unchanged when he looked up at her. There was an unspoken question between them, a “do you need to be rescued again?”, and Mario responded by lifting his palm toward her, a gesture implying “not yet, I’m not finished”. She disappeared around the bookshelf again without taking her eyes off of him.
Mario returns his gaze to the page. The jarl had four sons. Jon the younger, after himself, Erik, presumably after his grandfather, Jor, presumably after his father, and finally Gunnar.
Gunnar Jarlasson.
Seeing it again made Mario want to hurl the book against the wall, and so he flipped the page instead, careful not to agitate the tear. The boys hadn’t been mentioned in the previous book, or perhaps Mario had given up on it too soon and they had been described in the pages following that of the jarl’s wife’s. No matter, the druid had no doubt already stored it away amongst its brothers on the shelves, going hunting for it now would be a waste of time.
Why would the jarl name one of his sons after a man he despised? The answer came to him just as Mario realized a new grievance. This would make searching for a soldier named Gunnar near impossible. It would be difficult to distinguish between Gunnar the soldier, and Gunnar the son. The book emitted a low thud as Mario slapped the cover shut, his thumb still tucked in between the pages to keep track of where he was. He sucked in a breath, two, four, deeper and calmer for every exhale that passed. The curses Mario was mentally slinging at the Jarl lessened in severity for every breath as well, but became no less bitter. The library air felt too stuffy, and Mario was hit with the sensation of being trapped. He undid the top button of his shirt, and, almost on instinct, he tilted his head and looked up. Where he wished to meet the harp, the mare, or any star that could watch him back, he only saw wood.
The ceiling seemed to be inching downward. The familiar feeling of terror spread from his chest and out into his arms, bubbling underneath his skin. Trapped, deep underneath the ground. Buried , something whispered in the back of his mind. The ceiling will collapse. Run. The sensation crept into his bones, the instinct to flee curled around his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Feel it, acknowledge it, disregard it. Nonsensical thoughts will get you nowhere, disregard them . It took several minutes of repeating that thought for the sweat to ease on his brow and his breathing to even, but eventually he could open his eyes again. The building remained intact.
When he looked back down, the small table that had been occupied merely by books had now received an addendum. A small plate of cookies and a bottle of water rested on the unoccupied space, with a post-it note attached to the bottle. “ Don’t tell Avalon ”. How on earth Mario was meant to glean which of the hooded people was Avalon and which was any other druid, he couldn’t guess. Not that it mattered, if Avalon wasn’t meant to know, Mario simply wouldn’t mention it to any of them.
Armored with hydration and sugar, Mario cracked open the book again. The author of this one was a little less forgiving, and repeatedly explained to the reader that Jon Jarl, though being a great man, had his shortcomings. Refreshing , Mario thought sarcastically to himself as he took another sip of water, I wonder if he was beheaded for his insolence too . He later found out that the text in the book had been written 60 years after the death of Jon Jarl, so, perhaps the author was only moderately haunted as punishment.
This book, as it turned out, only referenced Gunnar Jarlasson. There was nothing in it about the soldier Mario was hunting for. As though possessing some kind of unnatural affinity for sensing frustration, the druid girl once again appeared, head tilted and a bemused smile on her face. With a sigh, Mario reached the book out to her, and she accepted it gently, cradling it to her chest like it wasn’t the worst thing to happen to Mario since the fake ufo crash of 2012.
“What is it you’re hoping to gain here, exactly, astronomer?” Her tone was even and unchanging, and it curled around Mario’s mind and drew him back into himself almost immediately. When he met her eyes, he knew it was with the expression of a man far too tired to actually have a coherent reason, so he let himself ramble.
“I have a hypothesis, or theory, or… Well, I guess you’d understand. There’s a girl, one of yours? Chanda. She sees things. She thinks- and I believe her- that she knows the name of one of Jon Jarl’s soldiers, and it’s become important to me to find as much information as I can on him. It’s… important.” He repeats that part with conviction, as though he’s no longer explaining it to an outsider but rather rationalizing it to himself. “I want him to be remembered. I want the world to know his name.”
His gaze returned to the books. There were still so many, and he had already spent so long. The night spent in Silverglade, the four hour morning nap, and now it was midday and here he was, stuffed in yet another library. He will spend all evening here too. Tomorrow, Mario reminded himself. Tomorrow, he’d have the answers, he’d have the sources, and he’d get to see Ydris and Gunnar again. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. While he returned to his own mind, the druid disappeared behind the shelves and came back after a few minutes, right after Mario had reached for his next book.
“Who is this soldier?” That even voice had turned curious. She was genuinely invested in his research now, however pathetic the progress had been. A small comfort, bouncing ideas off of someone was never bad.
“His name was Gunnar Thyrmson. It’s possible he’s referred to as Old Galloper in the older texts, or Thompson. I’ve found the jarl had a son named Gunnar as well, though I believe he is unrelated.” He was half expecting her to scoff, to remind Mario of the fact that Old Galloper is a spooky story told to children to keep them in at night, but instead, her expression turned contemplative.
“Us druids know of him, though we call him something else. The draug. We tell stories of him as well, but know, just like you, that he was a real man, with a real impact.” Mario wanted to bite back with something. Of course you know he’s real, you condemned him , but instead he merely nodded. She wouldn’t deserve that, she wasn’t the one who condemned him.
“I always felt we treated him unfairly. Of course, it wasn’t actually us ,” she gave him a meaningful glance as she gestured around herself, and he got the uneasy feeling that she had peered into his mind,“but it’s still a mistake that has yet to be righted.”
Without another word, she picked up three of the nearest books he had amassed, still unread, and disappeared. Mario blinked at the spot where she’d turned the corner. Sure, he wasn’t often surrounded by perfect conversationalists, nor was one himself, but druids were a whole other breed. After considering her for a while, he returned to the journal now resting patiently on his lap. It was written by one of the jarl’s druid friends, and, as though she had sensed he would need the information, Mario did find a mention of the draug in it. He wanted to jump with excitement, but settled for energetically bouncing his leg against the wooden floor, being sure not to let the heel connect with the floorboards lest it make an obnoxious sound in the otherwise quiet library.
The draug was repeatedly mentioned as a man with a permanent scowl, whom the druid considered undead not because of his curse, Gunnar had not yet “died” when this journal was written, but rather because of the fact that he had not been touched by their goddess. This journal had reinvigorated his passion so desperately that Mario almost missed what was happening right before his eyes. One by one, minutes in between them, druids turned up in front of him, nodded politely, took a book or two from his collection, and then left. Soon, the wall he had built between him and the rest of the library had dwindled, brick by brick, and all that was left was a book on agricultural and infrastructural influences of Jarlaheim and old letters, barely being held together by twine string in a neat stack, with the designation “Jon Jarl & [***]”, the latter word being smudged beyond repair.
The journal contained interesting notes on Gunnar, the siege on Jarlaheim as told from an onlooker, his mare, and the way Gunnar had responded when the druids had tried to separate him from his horse. As he placed the journal on the table next to him, ready to pick up the book on agriculture and infrastructure, a tall, thin Druid appeared in front of him. In their arms, they held one of the books they had picked up from Mario earlier, and they gently sat it on top of the journal. In between the pages, they had stuck thin strips of paper, and when Mario turned to the marked pages, he found exactly what he had been looking for. Mention upon mention of Old Galloper, stories about his vengeance and what each soldier of either Jon Jarl or the opposing Jarl who ended up leading the siege on Jarlaheim had done to earn his ire.
“Hilda has found the records of the deaths of the men described in this book. It should give some weight to your claim that Old Galloper is more than fiction. She’ll be by once she’s done marking the relevant pages.” They said, before nodding once more and disappearing without a word. And, much like before, the druids once again trickled in, slowly but steadily, as he read on about how the way Jon Jarl had chosen to build his city made him some kind of strategic genius in the book about infrastructure. Fewer druids than those who had taken books from him returned, as clearly Mario had been generous in his assumption of what texts might describe Gunnar, and the unlucky souls that had only gotten a hold of books that were of no use merely returned these to the shelves when they were done, but still some returned. Writing after writing was placed in neat piles on his table, until finally, the young girl who had been the first to take his books came by again.
“These are the records of deaths in Jarlaheim over the course of the years Gunnar lived there, and their cause of death. I have marked the appropriate pages.” Instead of placing it on the table, she handed the thick, leatherbound book directly to him.
“You’re Hilda, then?” A nod, but nothing else. Instead of the usual disappearing act, she hovered expectantly. Mario studied her face, but after finding nothing of note there, he instead turned his attention to the records. Oh.
“There are… a lot of marks here.” Hoping that she wouldn’t notice, he swallowed down a foreboding feeling that crept up his throat.
“Most of them will have been on the order of the Jarl, but…” The pause is meaningful, contemplative. Mario filled it almost immediately with a clearing of his throat, not wanting to sit in the feeling for too long.
“Thank you, for all of your help. I don’t know how I would have managed…” He waved a hand toward the small stacks, wondering how much time had passed versus how much time would have passed if he’d been in this on his own.
“A friend of Elizabeth’s is a friend of ours. And,” she paused again, and Mario wondered if mysterious pauses are on the school curriculum at Druid High, “a friend of our friend’s is someone we’re willing to repair bridges with.” She gave him a long look, a look that told him she truly needed him to consider her words, before turning around.
Mario wanted out. He wanted to leave this underground bunker and go home, take a nap and heat up a frozen dinner. He still had those letters to get through, though… Making a decision built on poor judgment and the aftermath of a panic attack, he stuffed the thin, frail papers into one of his larger pockets, hoping they’d survive the walk home so that he could read them through in the comfort of his own home. A thought occurred to Mario then, and he called out, “I won’t be able to bring these books home, I’ll need to come here and write.”
“You’ll be prepared a spot in the upstairs portion of the library, and your workplace will remain undisturbed for as long as you need it. You can leave the books where they are, I’ll set something up for you.” With that, she disappeared.