Chapter Text
In the months after waking up in Blitzen’s home, Hearth had learned a lot: everything from how the dwarf saved his life (another life debt he’d have to pay off), to his affinity for fashion. Everything he owned was meticulously organized by colour and style. Hearth never knew how he managed to find anything in his massive closet, but Blitz always found exactly what he was looking for the second he started looking for it. He’d even managed to get Hearth to wear clothing that he deemed “more fashionable.” Hearth thought he looked ridiculous, but it made the dwarf happy so he didn’t mind so much.
Blitzen had also taken to learning ASL, paying rapt attention to each and every lesson Hearthstone gave him. He frequently practiced, testing his limits by trying to have full conversations with the elf only in sign language. It was warming to meet someone willing to put in the effort for him, and Hearth wasn’t exactly sure how it made him feel. (He was just glad he didn’t have to use paper anymore.) He wouldn’t let Hearth clean the house or make dinner, always fussing about how he was the host and it was his job. He wouldn’t let Hearth pay for his own clothes or contribute to the grocery costs either. He’d also noticed a surplus of books about Alfheim, rune magic, and sign language laying around the house. Sometimes, he’d see the bookmarks carefully placed between the pages move as Blitz read through them. He ignored how warm that made him feel.
All in all, he figured that he owed Blitzen around ten thousand gold. But, another thing he’d learned from being here, was that normal people didn’t exactly run around owing each other things. So, he didn’t mention it to the dwarf and kept track of his debt himself. He’d keep track of deductions and additions in his head, mentally calculating exactly how long it would take to clear this life debt before he could return to the first one. He’d slowly incorporated himself into Blitz’s nightly routine, helping him wash and dry the dishes, and making dinner whenever Blitz was out and couldn’t do it himself. The dwarf always protested whenever he did, but Hearth ignored him by simply not looking at him. It was all strangely domestic. This was the kind of life Hearth never imagined he’d have; shared with someone else, shared with a friend , one who didn’t mind learning ASL and competed to do all the chores before Hearth could. The pieces of paper they’d been using to communicate in the first few months had long since been scrapped, and they now sat at the bottom of the recycling bin.
He’d never had anyone take the time out of their day for him. The people he could think of who had ever put in that much effort for him were Andiron and Inge, one of which he’d killed and the other, enslaved. He’d used the board to talk to everyone else, even his father who he knew knew ASL and pretended he didn’t. When he didn’t have it, he was expected not to speak. He would fade into the background, a shadow, and everyone would look past him. But now, he had Blitzen, the dwarf from Nidavellir who put in that extra effort from the moment the elf met him. How could one person be so kind? Usually, Hearth would be skeptical of such motions, but there was something about Blitz that spoke of genuine care and tenderness, of honesty and friendship. Hearth tried not to let himself bask in the feeling; part of him couldn’t help but add another thousand to his debt, just for the dwarf even suggesting to learn ASL.
Hearthstone remembered the first time he and Blitzen made dinner together. It was a little awkward at first, both of them getting used to sharing the space, but after twenty minutes it felt like second nature. Blitz would pass the paprika without Hearth having to ask, and Hearth would find the milk beside him before it could even lift a finger. It was seamless. Thoughtless. It was lovely. Delightful, even. It was everything Hearth was so sure he would never have. (And at the end of the day, it was another hundred gold Hearth would never be able to pay back.)
Hearth was snapped out of his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder, and he looked up to find Blitz, who had just returned from a shopping trip. Dozens of frilly-looking bags lined the front hallway, each one of them probably containing a different fashion statement.
“ Hey, ” Blitz signed, “ I was thinking. ” He paused, clearly unsure on how to word his next sentence, and Hearth quirked an eyebrow, an amused smile coiling on his face.
“ You? ” He asked jokingly, “ thinking? Impossible. ” Blitzen either didn’t see his signs or completely ignored them, which Hearth thought was only slightly rude.
“ Do you know who Mimir is? ” The name rang a couple bells in Hearth’s head. He’d seen the name in a few of the books on Blitzen’s shelves. Mimir was an old god of wisdom, said to be wiser than Odin himself. He nodded.
“ The guy with the wisdom and the water,” he signed, confirming. Blitz snapped his fingers.
“ Yeah, that guy, ” he signed enthusiastically,“ what do you think about going out to find him?” Hearth blinked, pursing his lips.
“ Why? ” He asked. Blitzen shrugged, his energy fading significantly.
“ It’s going to sound stupid, ” he said. Hearth frowned.
“ Tell me anyway, ” he requested. Blitz sighed and nodded, relenting.
“ Well, dwarves are usually respected for their crafts. And…I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m not the craftiest dwarf. ” Hearth forced himself not to look at the misshapen lump of metal Blitz had brought home today. Instead, he nodded.
“ And you know that I want to open up my own shop. Blitzen’s Best. Well, uh, the other dwarves aren’t really on board with that plan. ” Hearth cringed. Blitz was putting it delicately, but the elf had seen himself how bad their mockery got. It was one thing to insult Blitz’s dream, but it was another thing entirely to bring his lineage into it. A couple of their neighbours had even tried to drag the dwarf into competitions to the death, all of which Hearth had strategically deflected. (By “strategically deflected,” he meant everything from suddenly shoving Blitz away from the other dwarves in a haste to throwing Lagaz at them and liquifying their jackets. And socks. And maybe their hair.)
“ I want to drink from Mimir’s well of wisdom, ” signed the dwarf, “ so I can open that shop without disgracing my father’s legacy. I want to restore his honour without giving up on me. ”
“ Not stupid, ” responded Hearth, “ inspiring. ” Blitz gave him a smile, the kind that lit fires in Hearth’s stomach. There was a sort of tension in the air, a soft kind that would bend around the blade of a knife. Comfortable, even.
“ Come with me?” Blitz asked.
Blitzen Freyason was too good for his own good. He was loyal, he was brave, he was smart, he was warm. He was everything Hearth was sure he would never have. He was too trusting. He’d only known Hearth for a couple of months, and yet here he was; a whole new language under his belt with the promise of an adventure. He was so good, and it made Hearth want to be better. He thought for a moment about what he’d want if he went with Blitz to drink from the well. “ I want to know how to pay my wergild,” he thought but didn’t say. He had a feeling Blitzen wouldn’t like that answer.
“ I’ll go, ” he signed, “ have something to drink for as well. ” Blitzen gestured for him to keep talking.
“ Magic, ” he lied, “ I want to be better. ” Blitz scoffed.
“ But you’re already great at it,” he argued. He was clearly thinking about the last time the elf had fended off challenge-thirsty neighbours. Hearth shook his head.
“ Not enough. ” Blitzen nodded slowly.
“ Okay, ” he said, “ leave next week?” Hearth gave him a thumbs up.