The gates of the kingdom loomed before Thorkell, their heavy iron frames shined in the light of the early morning sun. His steps felt both familiar and foreign as he neared the walls, each one heavier than the last. He wondered if it was exhaustion that slowed him or the fear of what his father would say about his actions. The weight of the frost giants blood still clung to his attire, it was a harsh and cold reminder of the battle that had taken place mere hours before. One thing was for sure, it had changed him, he was no longer the young man who had left the kingdom riddled with anxiety.

  He passed through the gates to the startled faces of the guards, who whispered in hushed tones at the sight of his torn clothing. Word of his arrival spread quickly, gathering a small crowd who eyed him with awe. The scent of burning flesh from the giants corpse still lingered in his nostrils, and for a brief moment, he was back in the icy forest, feeling the rumbling ground as the giant fell.

  He looked across the concerned stares of the crowd that continued to grow. Each face showed a different emotion, some were excited to see his return, others feared his new found accomplishments.

  Thorkell straightened his posture, letting the murmurs and stares wash over him as he pushed forward through the crowd. Every face he passed seemed to pull a memory from his journey– the bodies standing around were like the trees of the frozen forest. The crowds' sounds of awe were paired with the sounds of the frozen giants roar. They had only known him as the son of their king, but now they looked at him with a new found wariness and awe he had never seen.

  As Thorkell neared the castle steps, the crowd slowly parted, a hushed reverence falling over them. The familiar sight of the towering stone walls and the royal banners brought a sense of comfort to him. He knew within these walls, he would not have to fear the treachery of the forest. That comfort faded quickly as he felt the weight of his fathers presence looming somewhere beyond those walls, and with each step, his confidence began to waver.

  At the top of the staircase, Admadra awaited him. She stood with arms crossed, her gaze intense and searching. She was the first to speak.

  “You made quite the impression with the guard,” She said, her voice laced with an unreadable tone that held equal parts pride and caution. “The beast's blood still stains your armor.”

  Thorkelll looked down, noticing for the first time how his own hands trembled, how the blood–frozen, and sticky– had hardened into the dark smudges on his leather. “I…I didn’t have time to clean it.”

  Admadra glanced over the icy blood before smiling. “That is not the blood of a hog!” Admadra had a childlike gleam in her eye as she continued “I was told you stay behind to guard my men from some mythical beast. I did not expect you to slay such monstrosity.”

  Thorkell felt a slight smile emerge on his face as he explained “It was a frost giant, closing in on our borders. I wanted to leave, but I worried about it getting closer to our outerlands.”

  Admadras smile softened, she felt a sense of pride for the young man she watched grow up but she could tell this encounter was weighing on him. “I am sure your father will be proud of your actions, I just wish you would have kept some of the guards back with you.”

  “I didn’t want anyone to be in harm's way, they were put in my care.” Thorkell said as he stared into the cracks of the stone floor under his feet.

  Admadra placed her hand under his chin, raising his head to meet her gaze. “I understand the weight of leadership, but you must keep your head high,” Admadra pointed out across the crowds of citizens and continued “You must be seen as strong, mourn your conflicts in your own quarters.”

  Thorkell felt his heart pounding as he looked into the distant crowds. He could hear their low murmurs fading into the background as his feet carried him through the castle halls. His mind replayed the moments of the battle–the clash of ice and stone, the tremors of the frost giants steps, and the deafening roar that seemed to reverberate in his very bones. The memory left him with a strange emptiness, a hollow feeling that overshadowed the victory.

  Admadra’s hand lingered on his shoulder for just a moment before she stepped aside, allowing him to pass. Before he left an ear shot of her she whispered just loud enough for him to hear “Be strong. Your people must see strength in you.” He understood her words of wisdom, but that didn’t make the path ahead any easier.

  As the doors to the castle's main hall opened, Thorkell felt a familiar cold that he had known all too well. The anxious colt bit at his legs as he approached his fathers room. He worried about how his father would respond to his actions, although his actions were for the better of the kingdom, he wondered if it would be seen as an unnecessary risk.

  He opened the door to his fathers chambers, Hamund was standing looking out his balcony as he often did. He was dressed not in royal clothing but instead normal cloth garbs many of the lower population would wear. As Hamund heard the door open he turned to see his son, his clothes were tattered and still reeked of death. Hamunds gaze lingered over Thorkell, his tattered clothes told their own story without any words needing to be exchanged.

  Thorkell went to explain what had happened on the hunt but before he could Hamund slowly raised his pointer finger to his mouth in a shushed position. “Rest my boy, I will prepare us some tea and we can discuss it.”

  Hamunds nonchalant attitude angered Thorkell as the thought of how he must have looked should have raised some concerns. He tried to hold his tongue but he couldn’t help but question, “Tea? I merely died out there and you are offering tea?”

  Hamund lit the fireplace in his chambers, remaining silent, he heard the pain in his son's words. It was a tone he knew all too well, guilt of the kill?, burdens of leadership? Either way it was clear what his son needed now more than ever was an ear to listen.

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  “We have frost giants marching on our borders, killing our food! I am sorry but how can none of this concern you?” Thorkell shouts in anger as his father continues to remain silent.

  Hamund let Thorkells words hang in the air, the flames in the hearth flickering as if stirred by the tension. When he finally turned to face his son, his expression was calm but not indifferent.

  “It concerns me deeply,” Hamund said, almost too quiet for even Thorkell to hear. “But I have learned in these moments, we must remain calm. Fear and panic are luxuries of the weak, we must have a clear mind. Anger burdens the soul and fear clouds the mind.” Hamund removes the kettle from the fire, pouring water into small cups carved from stag horns. He placed several mushrooms into the cups allowing them to soak into the water. As he handed one of the cups to his son he motioned for him to drink it.

  Throkell took the cup reluctantly, feeling his frustrations simmer beneath the surface. He raised it to his lips, letting the earthy, bitter taste of the tea settle on his tongue as he watched his father with guarded curiosity. Hamund’s calmness in the face of what Thorkell had seen as impending doom was unnerving, almost dismissive. Yet there was something in his father’s gaze, a steadiness, that held Throkell’s frustration in check.

  Thorkell sipped the tea, its warmth settling in his throat, calming the edge of his frustration. He cast a cautious glance at his father, who watched him quietly over the rim of his own cup. The warmth of the tea spread through him, but it did little to ease the fierce urgency simmering within. How could his father sit so calmly, knowing the threat that loomed on their borders?

  Thorkell took a breath, then let his thoughts spill out. “I saw that beast rip apart the very ground beneath it. It’s strength was beyond anything we have ever dealt with–had I hesitated for a moment longer, it would have torn me apart, and been on its way here. How can you be so calm?”

  Hamund’s gaze softened, but his tone held steady. “We will discuss the strength of our enemies soon. First tell me son what is it you fear most? Death? Loss? Or maybe it's something deeper?”

  Thorkell lowered his gaze to the steaming cup in his hands, the weight of his father’s question sinking in. It wasn’t something he could answer lightly, but he felt the words stirring up like a storm within him. He had an urge to give voice to the things he hadn’t dared to admit about himself.

  “I don’t know what I fear most, Father,” Thorkell began slowly, his voice rough. “Perhaps… I just fear failing. I feel like people are always judging and falling behind me, expecting me to keep to a standard.” Thorkell felt tears stream down his cheek as he watched the tea rotate its contents around the cup. “When I face something like that giant…” Throkell paused again, the memory of that horrid fight sinking in. “It was as if I was standing alone, facing a force that no sword, no shield, could hold back.”

  Hamund sipped his tea, his face was displaying little emotion. “It’s hard to stand alone, especially against such forces, but if you want to truly be a leader of men, our battles must be our own.”

  Hamund watched his son’s face, the faint shimmer of unshed tears reflecting in the firelight. Thorkell’s vulnerability sat raw between them, a heavy truth that was rarely shared amongst men in their culture. Hamund remained silent for a moment, allowing the weight of the conversation to settle like the embers of burning beneath the fire.

  Thorkell’s finger traced the edge of the stag-horn cup, restless. Finally, Hamund spoke, His voice as steady as the stones that made up the castle walls.

  “Every leader knows fear,” he began, “no man can avoid its change, its instinct, fear keeps us grounded. But it is up to you to decide the man that fear changes you into.”

  Thorkell looked up, with a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Hamund sat his cup down and leaned forward, now holding Thorkells gaze.

  “Do you think fear is absent in my heart?” Hamund asked, with a faint, sad smile. “Fear has been my companion through every battle, every sleepless night, every difficult decision I’ve made for our people. It is not our enemy, should we control it. It is a reminder that we have something worth protecting.”

  Thorkell sat in silence, the weight of his fathers words felt heavier than the giant's crushing steps. The warmth of the tea lingered in his chest, his body starting to react to the mushrooms his father added. His senses seemed heightened, and his mind felt clear, detached even–like a fog had lifted. In the quiet, there was no sorrow or remorse for his actions, just a strange emptiness. A feeling that settled deep within him, hollow yet peaceful.

  He studied his father for a moment, his gaze tracing the familiar lines of Hamund’s face. His fathers calm demeanor once irritated him, but now, something was different. It wasn’t just the way he carried himself; it was the way he looked at Thorkell. There was a new depth to it, something unspoken in his gaze that felt less like an impenetrable wall of a king and more like… a man, vulnerable in his own way.

  He did not forgive his fathers silence, but now it was easier to understand. Hamund was a man who showed fear and worry through silence.

  It was a realization that left Thorkell feeling both unsettled and enlightened. All this time, he had viewed his father as untouchable, a figure beyond reproach– someone who stood as an unmovable force between their people and outside forces. But now, he saw the cracks beneath that unyielding exterior. Hamund, too, had fears, had worries, and he had suffered silently through them. Thorkell now saw what Admadra had warned him about. The weight of leadership was not just a responsibility; it was a constant battle with one’s own mind, one’s own fears.

  Before Thorkell could dive any further into his fathers silence, there was a sudden knock on the door. “Hamund, I must talk with you.” There was no mistaking that voice, it was Admadra she sounded off with a sense of urgency that Thorkell has never heard from her.

  “Come in,” Hamund sat in his chair, still sipping his tea. Admadra burst into the room, her face displaying a mix of uncertainty and joy. Hamund could read Admadra’s face, it was clear this was not a conversation for Thorkell’s ears. “Son, I think it is time you leave us.”

  Thorkell’s heart sank as he remained frozen in his seat, feeling an odd mix of disappointment and curiosity. He had never seen Admadra so alert, so on edge. His instincts urged him to stay, to be a part of whatever conversation was unfolding before him. But as he met his father’s gaze, he understood–this was not a matter for him. Whatever it was, he was of little assistance.

  Swallowing his words, Thorkell nodded stiffly as he stood from his seat. He could feel the gravity of the moment like a heavy stone in his chest. The door closed softly behind him, and as he stepped out into the quiet hallway, the weight of the unseen conversation lingered in the air. Thorkell hesitated for a moment, his thoughts racing. What could have been so urgent, what was happening? Thorkell pondered standing by the door, eavesdropping on the conversation that was locked behind the heavy wood. He instead chose to respect his fathers wishes as he returned to his chambers in hopes to sleep off the tension of his return.