At Midnight the spell will be broken ~ Tick Tock

[Freya Heimdall]

Freya sat curled up on the cold stone bench of the window seat gazing out at the grey cloudy sky. Her knees were clutched to her chest and her toes peaked out from under her robes. Though she was thirty-five years old, sitting there hidden behind the thick drapery made her feel eight again. When she was little she would come to this spot to be alone in a house full of family and servants, to think, to play with her dolls and to imagine her life when she got older.
Today she sat wondering how she could have imagined her life so wrong. How everything she dreamed of could end up being so far from reality. Yes she had married the man of her dreams, but then he had been murdered. She had spent a dozen years searching for his killer and after she had made restitution with that death eater, she felt empty and lost. She had a beautiful son who grew up to be a wonderful young man but he now lived in Scotland, over a thousand miles away. She rarely saw him and as the years passed; his Owl’s became less frequent. She had a wonderful job she had loved but that had ended. And she had met someone new, but now her new marriage was loveless and lonely. Not the fairy tale little girls dream of.
She wasn’t so naïve as to think that her second marriage would be fun and excitement forever but she had hoped that it would last longer than a year. And while she loved her husband Conor, he was no substitute for her beloved Tyr, Njord’s father. Seventeen years had passed since Tyr had been murdered and after meeting Conor, she felt that perhaps it was time to move on. He had come at a time when she was most lonely and he swept her off her feet. She took a chance in opening up her heart again but lately it had felt like a mistake. The prince who had brought her flowers daily, whom she spoke with for hours on end about everything and nothing, and who treated her with kindness and caring, had turned into a frog. They were together now only during evening meals and their discussions centered around the weather, which in Norway was a very boring topic indeed.

How could this have happened? How could her latest attempt at happiness been such a disaster? Sadly it wasn't from a lacking of wanting things better but it almost seems as though when she tried to make things better, Conor was unreceptive, and when Conor tried to make an effort, Freya could care less. They have spent the last year running in a maze, chasing each other but were always just two steps behind happiness.

Freya remained silent as she gazed out the window, hoping that the sun would eventually poke through the clouds when she heard a voice calling her name. “Freya! Where are you?” the voice sounded far away, down stairs perhaps. “Freya, I need to speak to you.” It called again. Freya poked her head out from behind the curtain and lowered her feet on to the smooth stone floor and gave a heavy sigh. It was Conor. She couldn’t imagine what he wanted. They had already discussed today’s weather at last night’s dinner; surely not much could have changed in 12hrs. Padding across the floor slowly she heaved open the heavy wooden door and crossed the hall to a railing. Below was the large marble floored foyer and standing at the foot of the stairs was Conor. Wearing his riding cloak and stashing his wand into his breast pocket, it was clear he was going out.

 

[Conor Mathias]

“Freya, there you are. I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” He hadn’t actually; he always knew where she was but hated to disturb her quiet place. He also didn’t want to appear as if he was checking up on her. Things had been so strained lately he didn’t want to make things worse or drive her further away from him.

“Darling, I’ve got to out and see an old colleague about something, I hope that won’t put a damper on any plans you may have had. I won’t be home to well after dark.” He said smiling a nervous smile. She never appeared interested in his comings and goings lately but you never knew when things would change.

 

[Freya Heimdall]

Freya looked down into her husband’s green-grey eyes. They were the first thing she admired about Conor. Eyes that could change colour depending on the shirt he wore or if it was a sunny day. Today with the clouds they would be deep and soulful. Her stomach twisted a little at not being able to see them again until tomorrow. Then her heart ached, spreading a strange sense of guilt over her. As if her heart was punishing her for having feelings for a man other then Tyr.

“No Conor, your absence will not affect any of my plans today. Enjoy yourself and hurry home safe.” Her words were pleasant enough but her tone was flat and did not convey the mixed emotions that had just run havoc through her system.

 

[Conor Mathias]

With a smile on his lips he wished her well and exited the castle. His cloak billowing behind him as he passed through the great doors, his head slightly bowed against the wind and a look of worry in his eyes. He hoped his meeting would be fruitless and that the information he received was either wrong or nonexistent.

 

[Freya Heimdall]

Freya watched as the door closed behind her husband. He really was a good man and their relationship had been a whirl wind in the beginning, but what had changed? Turning on her heal she headed back to her secret spot. To think some more? No, more likely to hide. Since leaving New Zealand Freya had become very adept at sticking her head in the sand and not dealing with what was right in front of her. Perhaps this was her problem?

With her hand on the large brass door knob she quickly thought better of it. She needed to write. She hadn't opened a journal in years but now seemed the right time. As a little girl she had received a tiny pink diary with a gold lock and small key that she wore around her neck. This seemingly insignificant gift from her mother had been the start of journaling that had continued into Freya's adult life. She kept them all too. Not for any particular reason but because she couldn't bear to part with so many years of thoughts and events.

She wrote about everything. From experiencing her wizard powers for the first time, to her first kiss, to meeting Tyr for the first time and the birth of her son. Her written memories were not always happy though. Freya filled volumes after Tyr was murdered. Her writing helped her to deal with the tragedy and eventually helped to pull her out of her depression and formulate the plan that would have her traveling around the world for years searching for the death eater who killed her husband for nothing better than a cigarette.

Scurrying down the hall a little further she opened the door to her living quarters. The ones she now shared with Conor. The main sitting room was typical of a medieval castle. The walls were of heavy gray stone with small slit-like windows that were designed for defense rather than practical lighting requirements. The furniture was big and heavy with a very masculine feel to it and the floors were covered in large, thick tapestry rugs to keep ones feet from freezing against the flagstones. All of which was bathed in the warm golden glow of dozens of candles.

Freya passed through the main room to her bedroom where a large oak armoire blended into the shadows of the far corner. The doors creaked as she opened them to reveal among other odds and ends an old, dusty traveling trunk. The one she took to her first year at Hogwarts in Scotland. The trunk was locked but easily opened with a wave of her wand and "Alohomora." The lock popped open with a small cloud of dust. Carefully Freya lifted the heavy lid and peered inside. Before her lay hundreds of journals and diaries of various sizes and shapes. Some were old and childish, others more sophisticated but no less old and a few were brand new and unused.

Though the various journals had been haphazardly thrown into the trunk over the years there was a time line of sorts, with the oldest being at the bottom. Today as she reached into the trunk for the first time in a long time, extracting a brand new book, one she had bought at Hogwarts New Zealand before she left, she noticed one of her very first diaries sitting on top of a pile of older ones. A grimace spread across her face as she picked it up instead of the new one. "Well that's strange; I haven't looked at this one in ages. How did you get to the top of the pile?" she asked it, almost half expecting it to answer her. She then realized that there were dust smudges on some of the others and she realized that someone had been in her trunk and had gone through her journals.

Freya quickly tossed the old journal back in and grabbed her new one, slammed the lid closed and locked it again. This time using a much more complicated and personal charm then the one she had been using since she was eleven years old. At first she wasn't much bothered by someone reading her thoughts. They were who she was and the experiences are what made her the woman she was today. Then it dawned on her. The books containing her search for Vladmir Rasputin, her deal with Tristan Drage and the murder itself were also stored in her trunk. How could she have been so stupid to have left them unprotected? Sadly she never believed that she would ever share a bed again with another man let alone marry someone else, and the deed had occurred so many years ago she had simply forgotten about it. That time in her life was over and while she didn't enjoy anything she had done, she certainly hadn't let the memory of it sit in her mind for very long. It was the means to an end, a draught to heal her wounded heart and the man who had been killed was certainly not someone anybody missed. Who would have been so bold as to search through her things without telling her?

 

[Conor Mathias]

Hours later, well after Freya and her family had gone to bed, Conor arrived home. Sitting in an overstuffed high back leather arm chair he drained his scotch on the rocks as he stared into the fire before him, the flames of orange and yellow flickering and dancing amongst the logs. Every fiber of his being was seething with anger. This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling for him and he barely flinched as his hand crushed the glass he was holding, splattering ice and blood on the floor at his feet. Should he be surprised that the woman he married was hiding a secret? Everyone had a secret.

Hours passed and the fire died down to embers and ash and still Conor sat in the chair, the trail of a tear stained his cheek. Despite all that he knew, all that he had found out he still loved her. Conor stood and wiped the sadness off his face. It was early morning and the inhabitants of the castle would be rising soon. He wasn't sure he wanted to face anyone. With a wave of his wand the puddle of melted ice stained pink with blood vanished into the floor, and Conor grabbed his cloak and headed back out door. He wasn't completely sure where he was headed but he needed to clear his head and that wasn't going to happen making small talk around the breakfast table. He'd send Freya an Owl later with an excuse for his absence.