Chapter Text
In the heart of Oslo, nestled within a sprawling estate that exuded elegance and warmth, lived the Arendelle family. Agnarr and Iduna Arendelle, renowned for their leadership of Arendelle Inc., a global corporation, were not just business moguls but also loving parents to their two young daughters, Elsa and Anna. Elsa, at four years old, possessed a striking resemblance to her mother but instead was graced with flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, while Anna, a bubbly one-year-old, had inherited her father's gentle smile and curious spirit.
On a bright morning, the sun's rays streamed through the expansive windows of their luxurious home, gently waking Elsa from her dreams. She yawned, rubbing her eyes sleepily before swinging her legs off the bed. With a determined expression, she tiptoed across the plush carpet towards her little sister's room. Knocking softly on the door, she called out, "Anna, wake up! It's breakfast time!"
Anna, still snug in her crib, giggled at her sister's enthusiasm. She started babbling, waving her arms excitedly.
Their mother, Iduna, appeared in the doorway with a warm smile, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. "Good morning, my little sunshine," she greeted, lifting Anna out of her crib and placing a kiss on her forehead. "Shall we go downstairs for breakfast?"
Elsa nodded eagerly, taking her mother’s hand as they all descended to the kitchen, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of pancakes on the griddle. Agnarr, tall and distinguished with a friendly face framed by graying temples, stood at the stove, expertly flipping pancakes. He turned around at the sound of their approaching footsteps, his face lighting up. "Good morning, my darlings!" he exclaimed, his voice resonating with paternal warmth.
"Elsa, Anna, come here," Agnarr beckoned, motioning them over to the table. Elsa climbed onto her seat with a little boost from Iduna while Anna was settled into her high chair. The table was set with colorful plates and bowls, ready to be filled with a hearty breakfast.
As they ate, conversation flowed freely. Elsa chatted animatedly about the new storybook she had read with her father the night before, while Anna banged her spoon on the high chair tray, providing cheerful commentary in her own baby language. Iduna and Agnarr listened with loving attention, occasionally sharing amused glances at their daughters' antics.
After breakfast, the family gathered in the living room, where Agnarr sat at the grand piano. Elsa and Anna clambered onto his lap as he began to play a gentle melody, his fingers dancing across the keys with practiced ease. Iduna watched from the nearby armchair, her heart swelling with pride and love for her family.
In this moment, surrounded by warmth and laughter, the Arendelle family shared a bond that transcended their business ventures. They were not just executives and heirs but a loving unit, nurturing each other's dreams and celebrating every small joy that life brought their way.
As the morning unfolded, Elsa and Anna's laughter echoed through the halls of their home, a testament to the love and happiness that filled their lives each day.
~❆~~~❆~
The morning had begun with its usual serenity at the Arendelle estate in Oslo. Agnarr, dressed in a crisp suit, was savoring his first sip of coffee when the phone rang, shattering the calm. He glanced at the caller ID, recognizing the Copenhagen number of his dear friend, Stephen Westergaard. With a furrowed brow, Agnarr answered, "Stephen? Good morning."
There was a moment of silence on the other end before Stephen's voice, usually strong and composed, came through laden with grief. "Agnarr," he began, his tone heavy, "I... I don't know how to say this. Edith..." His voice cracked, betraying the anguish within.
Agnarr's heart clenched with dread. "Stephen, what's happened?"
"She's gone, Agnarr," Stephen managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Edith lost her battle with cancer last night."
Time seemed to freeze for Agnarr as the weight of Stephen's words settled in. Edith, Iduna's closest friend since childhood, was gone. The tears that had gathered in his eyes blurred his vision, his hand gripping the phone tighter. "Stephen," he choked out, his voice trembling, "I... I'm so sorry."
Stephen's voice wavered. "Thank you, Agnarr. It's... it's been hard on the boys. They're trying to cope, but..." He trailed off, the unspoken grief hanging between them.
"How are they holding up?" Agnarr asked softly, his heart breaking for his friend's family.
"They're trying their best," Stephen replied quietly. "Caleb's been strong for them, but Hans... he's struggling."
Agnarr's mind flashed to Hans, the youngest of Stephen's thirteen sons, whom he had met during his most recent visit to Copenhagen. His thoughts drifted to Elsa and Anna, but primarily Elsa as she was Hans’s age. His mind wandered to Iduna and Edith's deep bond, and to the fragility of life itself. Swallowing hard, Agnarr found himself unable to speak for a moment, the weight of the news bearing down on him.
Meanwhile, Iduna entered the kitchen, her eyes bright with morning cheer, unaware of the conversation unfolding. "Who was on the phone, dear?" she asked, her voice filled with warmth.
Agnarr turned to her, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Iduna," he began, his voice breaking as he struggled to find the words, "it's Stephen... Edith..." He couldn't bring himself to say it outright, knowing the devastation it would bring.
Iduna's smile faltered, sensing the gravity in Agnarr's expression. "What about Stephen and Edith?" she pressed, her voice tinged with concern.
Tears spilled down Agnarr's cheeks as he finally managed to utter, "Iduna, Edith... she's gone."
Iduna staggered back, a gasp escaping her lips as she clutched the countertop for support. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "No, Agnarr, it can't be..."
Agnarr rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her as she collapsed into tears. They held each other tightly, grief enveloping them both, the reality of loss sinking in with brutal clarity.
In that moment, the world outside their home seemed to fade away, leaving only the raw ache of sorrow and the steadfast love that bound them together. The news of Edith's passing marked the beginning of a period of mourning for their family, intertwined with the Westergaards in shared grief and profound sadness.
Agnarr and Iduna held each other in the kitchen for what felt like an eternity, their tears mingling with whispered words of comfort. The weight of Edith’s loss pressed down on them both, a heavy, inescapable burden. Finally, Agnarr pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "We need to be there for Stephen and the boys," he said softly, his voice steady with resolve.
Iduna nodded, though her eyes were still glazed with tears. "Yes, we do. But what about Elsa and Anna?"
"We'll ask Kai to look after them," Agnarr suggested. "He’s been with us for years. The girls adore him."
With a deep breath, Iduna agreed, and Agnarr made the call. Within the hour, Kai, the company’s trusted personal assistant and secretary, arrived at the estate. Tall and impeccably dressed, Kai exuded a calm professionalism that had always reassured the Arendelles.
"Mr. and Mrs. Arendelle," Kai greeted them warmly, though his expression turned somber as he saw their tear-streaked faces. "I came as soon as I could. How can I help?"
Agnarr placed a hand on Kai's shoulder. "We need to attend a funeral in Copenhagen. It’s Stephen Westergaard's wife, Edith. She passed away last night. Could you look after Elsa and Anna while we’re gone?"
Kai’s eyes softened with understanding. "Of course. I’ll take good care of them. You have my word."
Iduna, still holding Anna, who sensed the tension and was fussing, managed a grateful smile. "Thank you, Kai. We’ll try to be back as soon as possible."
Elsa, sensing something was wrong, looked up at her parents with wide blue eyes. "Mama, Papa, where are you going?"
Kneeling down to Elsa's level, Agnarr took her small hands in his. "We have to go see Mr. Stephen and his boys for a little while, my love. But Kai will stay with you and Anna, and we’ll be back soon. Be a good girl for us, okay?"
Elsa nodded solemnly, her little heart heavy with worry, though she didn’t fully understand. "Okay, Papa. I’ll be good."
Kai stepped forward, offering Elsa a reassuring smile. "Why don’t we go read one of your favorite books, Elsa? And maybe we can play with Anna’s toys together."
Elsa’s face brightened a little at the suggestion, and she took Kai’s hand. "Okay, Kai."
With the children in good hands, Agnarr and Iduna gathered their things quickly, their movements driven by urgency and grief. They barely spoke as they made their way to the airport, the silence between them filled with the weight of the loss they were about to face.
Agnarr and Iduna left the comforting embrace of their home with heavy hearts, the weight of Edith’s death hanging over them like a dark cloud. The chauffeur, sensing the gravity of the situation, drove in respectful silence, navigating the familiar streets of Oslo toward the airport. The soft hum of the car engine was the only sound, a stark contrast to the usual lively conversations that filled their rides.
Iduna stared out the window, her eyes unfocused, lost in memories of Edith. She remembered their childhood together, the way they had shared secrets, dreams, and countless moments of laughter. She felt a pang of sorrow thinking of how those memories were all she had left now. Agnarr, sitting beside her, kept glancing her way, his own grief mirrored in the furrow of his brow.
"She was so strong, Agnarr," Iduna whispered, her voice breaking the silence. "She fought so hard."
Agnarr reached over, taking her hand in his. "She did, my love. She did everything she could. And now we must be strong for Stephen and the boys."
Iduna nodded, her grip on his hand tightening. "How will we tell Elsa and Anna? How do we explain that someone so dear to us is gone?"
"We’ll find a way," Agnarr replied gently. "We’ll be honest and loving. They’ll understand in their own way."
As they approached the airport, the sprawling terminal loomed ahead, a hub of activity and movement that felt oddly disconnected from their sorrow. The chauffeur pulled up to the curb, and a valet swiftly opened the door for them, offering a polite greeting that felt jarringly out of place.
"Thank you," Agnarr said, his voice muted. He helped Iduna out of the car, and they made their way into the terminal, their steps slow and deliberate.
The airport was bustling, filled with travelers hurrying to and fro, yet Agnarr and Iduna moved through it like specters, their minds focused solely on the task ahead. They bypassed the crowded check-in lines, heading straight to the first-class counter where an attendant greeted them with a professional smile.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Arendelle. How can I assist you today?"
"We need to book the earliest flight to Copenhagen," Agnarr replied, his tone steady despite the turmoil inside.
"Of course," the attendant responded, quickly typing into her computer. "There’s a flight departing in an hour. I’ll get you both on it."
"Thank you," Iduna murmured, her eyes filled with unshed tears.
The attendant handed them their boarding passes, and they made their way through the expedited security line, the process a blur of motions and beeps. Soon, they were seated in the tranquil first-class lounge, the plush seats and soothing atmosphere doing little to ease their hearts.
When the boarding announcement came, they rose together, walking to the gate with an air of quiet determination. As they settled into their spacious first-class seats, Agnarr glanced at Iduna, who was staring blankly at the window.
"We’ll get through this," he said softly, trying to offer some comfort.
Iduna turned to him, her eyes glistening. "I know, Agnarr. But it’s going to be so hard."
The flight attendants moved efficiently, offering drinks and ensuring their comfort, but Agnarr and Iduna declined, too wrapped in their thoughts to care. The engines roared to life, and soon the plane was ascending, leaving Oslo behind.
As they soared through the clouds, the reality of their mission sank in deeper. They held hands, finding solace in each other’s presence, ready to face the heartache that awaited them in Copenhagen. Their journey, though brief, felt endless, a stretch of time marked by silent tears and shared grief.
Iduna leaned her head on Agnarr's shoulder, her tears finally slowing. "I can’t believe she’s gone," she whispered. "How will Stephen manage without her?"
Agnarr squeezed her hand gently. "We’ll be there for him, Iduna. We’ll help him through this, just as he would for us."
The flight seemed both endless and far too short, and before they knew it, they were disembarking in Copenhagen. The city, usually a place of joyful reunions, now felt cloaked in sorrow.
Arriving at the Westergaard residence, the atmosphere was heavy with mourning. Stephen, a shadow of his usually formidable self, greeted them at the door. His eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, his shoulders slumped with grief. "Agnarr, Iduna," he said, his voice raw. "Thank you for coming."
Iduna embraced Stephen tightly, her own tears falling anew. "We’re so sorry, Stephen. Edith was like a sister to me. I can’t imagine the pain you’re in."
Stephen nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Finally, he managed, "The boys are taking it hard. Caleb’s been trying to keep everyone together, but... it’s been rough."
Agnarr placed a reassuring hand on Stephen’s back. "We’re here now. We’ll do whatever we can to help."
As they entered the house, the sight of the thirteen Westergaard boys, each grappling with their loss in their own way, drove home the reality of Edith’s absence. Agnarr and Iduna steeled themselves, knowing they had to be strong for their friends in this darkest of times.
~❆~~~❆~
That night, after the long day filled with tears and whispered condolences, Agnarr found himself restless. The Westergaard residence was hushed, the boys finally asleep after hours of grieving, the house heavy with the sorrow of loss. Agnarr, unable to sleep, wandered through the quiet halls until he found himself drawn to the patio door, the soft glow of a single light drawing him outside.
Stephen was there, seated in a wrought-iron chair, a cigar clutched between his fingers. The smoke curled lazily into the night air, the scent mingling with the cool breeze. Stephen's face was etched with lines of exhaustion and grief, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. He looked up as Agnarr approached, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
"Agnarr," Stephen greeted, his voice rough. "Couldn't sleep either?"
Agnarr shook his head, taking a seat across from his friend. "No. It's... it's hard to find peace tonight."
Stephen nodded, taking a long drag from his cigar. "Yeah, it's been... a hell of a day."
There was a long silence between them, the night sounds filling the gaps in their conversation. Agnarr watched Stephen closely, noticing the tension in his friend's shoulders, the way his hand shook ever so slightly as he brought the cigar to his lips.
"You know," Stephen began, his voice low and rough, "I always thought I was prepared for this. For losing her. But nothing... nothing can prepare you for this kind of pain."
Agnarr reached out, placing a comforting hand on Stephen's arm. "I'm so sorry, Stephen. Edith was an incredible woman. You two had something special."
Stephen's face twisted into a bitter smile. "Yeah, she was something alright." He flicked the ash from his cigar, his eyes hardening. "But life goes on. The boys... they need to toughen up now. Can't afford to be soft. Not in this world."
Agnarr frowned, a pang of unease prickling at the back of his mind. "They're just kids, Stephen. They're grieving. They need time to heal."
Stephen's gaze turned sharp, almost menacing. "Time to heal? There's no time, Agnarr. Life doesn't wait for you to catch up. They need to learn that now, or they'll never survive."
Agnarr shifted uncomfortably, not used to seeing this side of his friend. Stephen had always been tough, sure, but this... this felt different. Darker. He tried to brush it off, chalking it up to the overwhelming grief.
"They're strong kids," Agnarr said softly. "They'll get through this. With your guidance."
Stephen snorted, a harsh sound that sent a shiver down Agnarr's spine. "Guidance, huh? They need discipline. Structure. They'll thank me for it one day."
Agnarr didn't know how to respond, a deep unease settling in his chest. He wanted to believe that Stephen was just speaking out of pain, that the harshness in his words was a temporary lapse. But something about the way Stephen's eyes glinted in the dim light, the hard set of his jaw, made Agnarr worry.
"Well," Agnarr said, trying to steer the conversation to safer grounds, "if you ever need anything, Stephen, you know I'm here. For you and the boys."
Stephen's expression softened slightly, and he nodded. "I know, Agnarr. Thanks. It means a lot."
They sat in silence for a while longer, the night pressing in around them. Eventually, Agnarr rose, giving Stephen's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Try to get some rest, Stephen. Tomorrow’s another day."
Stephen nodded, though his eyes remained distant, locked on some invisible point in the darkness. "Goodnight, Agnarr."
As Agnarr walked back into the house, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. But he dismissed the thought, convincing himself that it was just the grief talking. After all, Stephen was his best friend. Why would he ever doubt him?
~❆~~~❆~
Two days later, the Westergaard estate was cloaked in a somber atmosphere as the funeral preparations reached their final stages. The morning was overcast, fitting the mood of the day. The vast gardens, usually filled with laughter and life, now seemed to hold their breath in mourning.
Agnarr and Iduna dressed in silence, their movements slow and deliberate. Agnarr adjusted his tie in the mirror, his eyes heavy with sorrow. "How are you holding up, love?" he asked, glancing at Iduna, who was fastening a small locket around her neck—a gift from Edith many years ago.
Iduna sighed, her fingers lingering on the locket. "It still doesn’t feel real, Agnarr. I keep expecting her to walk through the door with that bright smile of hers."
Agnarr walked over and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I know. It’s going to be a difficult day. But we’ll get through it together."
Downstairs, the Westergaard boys were gathering, each dressed in black suits, their faces pale and drawn. Caleb, the eldest, was trying to maintain a composed front, but the strain showed in his eyes. Hans, only five years old, clung to his older brother’s hand, his face a mask of confusion and sadness.
Stephen stood at the entrance, greeting the arriving guests with a stoic expression. He acknowledged Agnarr and Iduna with a curt nod as they joined the growing crowd. "Thank you for being here," he said, his voice tight.
"We wouldn’t be anywhere else," Iduna replied, her voice breaking slightly. "Edith meant the world to us."
Stephen nodded, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. "She did. She was... everything." He quickly composed himself, his gaze hardening once more. "It’s time. Let’s go."
The procession to the church was a solemn one, the cars moving slowly through the streets of Copenhagen. The city, usually vibrant and full of life, seemed to share in the grief of the day, its usual hustle and bustle muted.
The church was filled with friends, family, and business associates, all gathered to pay their respects to Edith. As the service began, the air was thick with the weight of collective sorrow. Agnarr held Iduna’s hand tightly as the eulogies were read, each one a testament to Edith’s kindness, strength, and indomitable spirit.
Stephen stood at the pulpit, his face a mask of control, as he spoke of his late wife. "Edith was the heart of our family," he began, his voice steady but strained. "She brought light into every room she entered, and her love for our boys was boundless. We will miss her every day, but we must carry on, as she would have wanted."
Caleb and Hans sat in the front row, their eyes fixed on their father. Caleb’s expression was one of determined composure, while Hans clung to his brother’s arm, his small body trembling with unspoken grief.
As the service ended, the guests filed out to the cemetery, where Edith would be laid to rest. The skies opened up, a light drizzle beginning to fall, as if the heavens themselves mourned her passing.
Agnarr and Iduna stood by Stephen’s side, offering silent support as the casket was lowered into the ground. Iduna’s tears flowed freely, mingling with the raindrops, while Agnarr’s grip on her hand tightened.
After the burial, the guests returned to the Westergaard estate for a reception. The atmosphere was heavy, conversations hushed, the usual vibrancy of the house replaced by a subdued melancholy.
Stephen retreated to the study, a glass of whiskey in hand. Agnarr followed, finding his friend staring out the window at the rain-soaked gardens. "How are you holding up, Stephen?" he asked softly.
Stephen took a long sip of his drink before answering. "I’m managing. It’s all I can do."
Agnarr nodded, understanding the immense pressure his friend was under. "If there’s anything you need, anything at all, we’re here for you."
Stephen turned to him, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "Thank you, Agnarr. Your support means more than you know."
As the reception wound down and guests slowly trickled out, Stephen remained in the study, his eyes distant as he stared at the half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. Agnarr lingered near the doorway, watching his friend with a concerned expression.
Stephen looked up, catching Agnarr’s eye. “Want to get out of here for a bit?” he asked suddenly, his voice rough. “I could use a stronger drink, something away from... all this.”
Agnarr hesitated, glancing back toward the living room where Iduna was comforting some of the younger boys. “Are you sure, Stephen? It’s been a long day. Maybe you should rest.”
Stephen shook his head, downing the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. “Rest won’t come easily tonight. I need... a distraction. Just for a little while. Come on, Agnarr. Let’s go to a bar. Just you and me.”
Agnarr’s concern deepened, but he knew pushing Stephen wouldn’t help. Maybe getting out for a bit would ease some of the tension. “Alright,” he said finally. “Let me just tell Iduna.”
Stephen nodded, already reaching for his coat. Agnarr quickly found Iduna and explained the situation. She looked worried but gave him a reassuring nod. “Take care of him, Agnarr. He needs a friend right now.”
“I will,” Agnarr promised, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading back to the study. “Alright, let’s go.”
The two men slipped out of the house, the night air cool against their faces as they walked to the car. The streets of Copenhagen were quiet, the city seemingly wrapped in its own shroud of grief.
Stephen directed the driver to a small, out-of-the-way bar, one he frequented in his younger days. The establishment was dimly lit, with a smoky haze hanging in the air. The bartender greeted Stephen with a nod, recognizing him instantly.
“What’ll it be, gentlemen?” the bartender asked, setting two glasses on the counter.
“Scotch,” Stephen replied without hesitation. “Make it a double.”
Agnarr followed suit, though his focus remained on Stephen, who seemed more tense than ever. They sat at the bar, the clinking of glasses and low murmur of conversation providing a backdrop to their silence.
Stephen took a long sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “I appreciate you coming with me, Agnarr. I needed to get away from all the... sympathy.”
Agnarr nodded, understanding. “It’s overwhelming, I know. But people care about you, Stephen. They just want to help.”
Stephen scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Help? What can they do? Nothing will bring her back. Nothing will fix this.”
Agnarr placed a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “They can’t bring her back, but they can support you. We can support you.”
Stephen took another drink, his eyes darkening. “Support. Discipline. It’s all the same. The boys need to learn to be strong, Agnarr. Life won’t coddle them.”
Agnarr’s unease grew, but he kept his voice steady. “They’re children, Stephen. They need love and understanding, especially now.”
Stephen’s grip on his glass tightened, his knuckles whitening. “Love is fine, but it won’t make them men. They need to toughen up, learn to stand on their own. That’s what Edith would have wanted.”
Agnarr frowned, his concern deepening. “Edith wanted them to be happy, Stephen. She wanted them to know they’re loved.”
Stephen’s eyes flickered with an intensity that made Agnarr’s heart ache. “She’s gone, Agnarr. And now it’s up to me to make sure they’re ready for the world. They’ll thank me for it one day.”
Agnarr didn’t know what to say, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He took a sip of his own drink, trying to find the right words. “Just... don’t lose sight of what’s important, Stephen. They need their father, not a drill sergeant.”
Stephen’s gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe.” He finished his drink and signaled for another. “But I have to do what I think is best. For them. For all of us.”
Agnarr nodded, though his worry remained. He hoped that, in time, Stephen would find a balance between discipline and love. For now, all he could do was be there for his friend, offering support in any way he could.
They sat in silence, the weight of their shared loss hanging heavy in the air. The bar’s dim lighting and quiet hum of conversation provided a fragile cocoon, sheltering them from the harsh reality outside. For a moment, it was just the two of them, grappling with grief and the uncertain path ahead.
But as the evening wore on and the drinks flowed more freely, Stephen's demeanor shifted. The dimly lit bar became a confessional of sorts, where he poured out long-held regrets and frustrations to Agnarr.
"I hate how my father made me choose," Stephen muttered bitterly, his words slurring slightly. "Edith, pregnant with my child, or our family's legacy. I had to leave everything behind—my life by the coast, my freedom." He took a long gulp of whiskey, his hand trembling.
Agnarr listened quietly, sensing the weight of Stephen's words. He knew about Triton Westergaard, Stephen's formidable father, and the expectations placed upon his eldest son to secure the family's future. The decision to marry Edith had been a pragmatic one, binding Stephen to the city and the corporate world, far from the ocean he loved and the carefree life he once had.
"And Ariel..." Stephen's voice caught, emotions surfacing that he had buried deep. "She was always my favorite, you know? Until... until I resented her." His words were tinged with regret, his gaze distant as memories stirred within him.
Agnarr nodded, recalling how Stephen had once spoken fondly of Ariel, the youngest of his seven sisters. "She always looked up to you, Stephen," Agnarr said gently, trying to bridge the gap of pain between them. "She wanted her big brother back."
Stephen's expression hardened, the regret mingling with frustration. "And that just made everything worse," he muttered bitterly. "She didn't understand. None of them did."
They sat in silence for a while, the weight of Stephen's confession hanging heavy in the air. Agnarr knew that beneath Stephen's tough exterior lay a tumult of conflicted emotions—love, duty, regret, and a longing for the freedom he had lost.
"I wish things had been different," Stephen said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could go back and choose differently. Maybe then... maybe then I wouldn't feel so damned trapped."
Agnarr reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Stephen's shoulder. "You did what you thought was right at the time, Stephen. You made sacrifices for your family, for the future. That's commendable."
Stephen looked at him, his eyes bloodshot but clear with a rare vulnerability. "Do you think... do you think they'll ever understand?"
Agnarr sighed, wishing he had an answer that could ease Stephen's burden. "I don't know, Stephen. But maybe... maybe it's never too late to try."
Stephen nodded slowly, his thoughts turning inward as he contemplated the path ahead. The night wore on, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as they finished their drinks. Eventually, they called for a ride back to the Westergaard estate, the city lights blurred through the car window as Stephen leaned heavily against Agnarr, exhausted and emotionally spent.
As they approached the estate, Stephen broke the silence once more, his voice quieter now, tinged with weariness. "Thank you, Agnarr. For listening. For being here."
Agnarr squeezed his shoulder gently. "Anytime, Stephen. You're not alone in this."
Stephen managed a faint smile, a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. "I know," he murmured. "And that means more than you know."
They parted ways at the door, Agnarr watching as Stephen disappeared into the house. The weight of the evening lingered with Agnarr as he made his way back to Iduna, hoping that Stephen's words would lead to healing, not just for himself but for his family as well.
~❆~~~❆~
The night before their departure from Copenhagen, Agnarr found himself drawn once again to the quiet solitude of the patio. The soft glow of a single lamp illuminated Stephen, who sat alone with a cigar in hand, his thoughts seemingly lost in the swirls of smoke that drifted into the night air.
Agnarr hesitated for a moment, then approached quietly, not wanting to startle his friend. "Mind if I join you?" he asked softly, the words hanging between them like a veil.
Stephen looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes before he nodded, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. "Please," he said, his voice rough with a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper that Agnarr couldn't quite place.
They sat in silence for a while, the night embracing them in a quiet understanding. Agnarr watched Stephen intently, noticing the weariness etched into his features, the lines of sorrow and loss that seemed to deepen with each passing day.
"I've always admired you, Agnarr," Stephen said suddenly, his voice low and filled with a raw honesty that caught Agnarr off guard. "Loved you, even."
Agnarr's heart skipped a beat, the admission hanging in the air like a fragile truth. He searched Stephen's face for any sign of jest or regret, but found only sincerity in the depths of his friend's eyes.
"Stephen..." Agnarr started, unsure of how to respond. He had never considered such feelings from Stephen, never dared to entertain the thought. But here, in the quiet intimacy of the night, everything seemed possible yet impossible at the same time.
Stephen took a long drag from his cigar, the silence stretching between them. "I loved Edith," he continued, his voice tinged with sadness. "But... there were times when I wondered what could have been. What might still be.”
Agnarr felt a rush of conflicting emotions—compassion for Stephen's vulnerability, confusion over his own feelings, and a deepening bond that defied simple friendship.
"I never knew," Agnarr admitted softly, struggling to find the right words. "I... I care about you, Stephen. You're like a brother to me."
Stephen nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the cigar in his hand. "I know," he said quietly. "And that's enough. It has to be."
They sat in silence once more, the weight of Stephen's confession settling between them. The night wore on, the sky darkening to an inky black as they both lost themselves in their own thoughts.
As the hour grew late, Agnarr stood, a sense of resolution settling within him. "We should get some rest," he suggested gently, offering Stephen a small smile. "Tomorrow's an early flight."
Stephen nodded, stubbing out his cigar with finality. "You're right," he agreed, his voice steady once more. "Thank you, Agnarr. For everything."
Agnarr nodded in return, a sense of understanding passing between them. "Anytime, Stephen," he said sincerely. "I'll see you in the morning."
They parted ways then, each retreating into the quiet solitude of their thoughts. Agnarr couldn't shake the lingering echoes of Stephen's words, nor the newfound awareness of a bond that had always been there, hidden beneath layers of friendship and duty.
As he settled into bed beside Iduna, sleep eluded him, his mind swirling with questions and emotions that demanded answers he wasn't yet ready to face. Tomorrow, they would return to Oslo, to their lives and responsibilities. But tonight, under the watchful gaze of the Copenhagen stars, Agnarr wrestled with the complexities of love, friendship, and the fragile threads that bound them together.
~❆~~~❆~
Eleven years had passed since that poignant night on Stephen's patio in Copenhagen, where Agnarr and his best friend had shared confessions under the quiet canopy of stars. Now, Agnarr found himself once again in the city, this time not for a moment of reflection and friendship, but for a solemn occasion: Stephen's funeral.
The news of Stephen's passing had reached Agnarr with a heavy heart. Lung cancer, they said—the result, perhaps, of years spent with a cigar in hand, seeking solace in smoke and solitude. As Agnarr stood outside the church, the cold wind of Copenhagen biting at his cheeks, memories flooded back—of laughter shared, of confidences exchanged, of a friendship that had weathered both joy and sorrow.
Inside the church, the atmosphere was subdued, the air thick with grief. Agnarr joined the somber gathering, his eyes searching for familiar faces among the mourners. He found Caleb, now a man in his own right, standing with his new fiancée Ella at his side. Their eyes met briefly, a silent acknowledgment of shared loss.
The service was a blur of eulogies and prayers, each word a testament to Stephen's life—his strength, his determination, his love for his family despite the trials he had faced. Agnarr listened, his heart heavy with the weight of years gone by, of words left unsaid.
Afterward, at the gathering held in Stephen's honor, Agnarr stood among the mourners, a sense of disbelief mingling with sorrow. Caleb approached him, his expression grave.
"Agnarr," Caleb began tentatively, his voice low. "There's something you need to know about Stephen. About how he treated..."
Agnarr's gaze hardened, a protective instinct rising within him. "I know Stephen," he interjected sharply. "He was my best friend. He would never..."
Caleb hesitated, his eyes filled with concern. "I understand, Agnarr. But there are things you may not have known..."
"No," Agnarr cut in, his tone adamant. "I refuse to believe..."
Caleb reached out, his hand on Agnarr's shoulder. "Please, just listen..."
But Agnarr pulled away, his emotions raw. "How dare you defame him at a time like this," he snapped, his voice cracking with emotion. "Stephen was..."
Caleb stepped back, his own grief evident. "I'm sorry, Agnarr," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you. But Hans..."
Agnarr turned away, unable to bear the weight of Caleb's words. He couldn't reconcile the image of his best friend—the man who had confided in him, who had shared his deepest regrets and hopes—with the accusations Caleb now presented. To Agnarr, Stephen had been flawed but fiercely loyal, a man who had struggled with his own demons but had always tried to do right by his family.
As the gathering continued around him, Agnarr retreated into his thoughts, memories of Stephen intertwining with the harsh reality of loss. He recalled their last conversation, the unspoken bond of friendship that had weathered time and distance. And yet, amidst the grief and disbelief, Agnarr found himself grappling with the possibility that perhaps he hadn't known his best friend as well as he had thought.
But for now, standing in the wake of Stephen's passing, Agnarr clung to the memories they had shared—the laughter, the confidences, the quiet moments of understanding. And as he bid farewell to his best friend for the last time, Agnarr vowed to remember Stephen not for the shadows that now threatened to tarnish his legacy, but for the flawed but deeply human man who had once shared his dreams under the Copenhagen stars.