The Sea of Ice, also called The Wreck of Hope (1823–1824) // by German artist Caspar David Friedrich

With every wave, the sea rose and so did his heart — pounding against rocks and veins like it was a battle of life and death, arrows being thrown at his thoughts’ direction, drowning every breathing creature without a boat or an armor or a good set of lungs.

However, like those who praised him used to chant: “a spear has two ends.” Everything comes back. Just like everything that rises, it falls.

And when it did Njord folded himself in as many bits the damaged skin that held him tight at night could handle, wincing at the painful sigh his beloved creatures made as they choked in the oxygen that ruffled its way through the fire-like hair of the sea god, blowing Nordic wind all the way from Denmark to Iceland.

Preparing himself to go through it all again, Njord felt grateful for being blessed with the air that filled his lungs and every other human’s who was lucky enough.

Those winds made it possible for the ocean to invent itself in search of greatness in the sands; they created waves.

And waves were the pounding of his heart — or what was left of it anyway.

The pounding of the gates that protected his cardiac muscle brought him air, that is what brought the life of every fish, and breathing creature and the creatures that somewhat resembled it living amongst water.

He never got used to it, the power and what came with it: the sacrifices. It was too much.

Loving was never the same, was never simple and easy as it was with the Vanir. Back then, they worshipped pale bodies and beautiful minds and would kill for one another.

Now Njord would only kill himself. To try to get release from the pain behind his eyelids, the back of his head where he could still feel within splatted memories the dust underneath his fingernails from the time he spent in the mountains, the time he spent away from his lovers at the sea. Nor the water around him nor the blue stained water his eyes poured could take away and clean the agony that was to breath.

But he was never one of big decisions anyway, he didn’t have the stomach to pull it through. Not since Skadi.