//------------------------------// // 50. Hoofnjord // Story: The Age of Wings and Steel // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// “There.” Rye stopped as he reached the top of the hill, and pointed a hoof into the distant expanse of snow. “I think I see it. Look there, south of us.” He could just make out a cluster of dark shapes on the white ground, neatly arranged in rows and encircled by what could be a wall. Eberhardt peered through the clear dawn air, frowning. “I think you’re right.” “Hey!” From her place next to Inger, Cranberry smiled. “Eberhardt, you got the contraction right!” The Nordpony gave a modest bow of his head. “I have had an exigent teacher.” Cranberry bit her lip in amusement. “Excellent. Excellent teacher.” Eberhardt coughed. “But yes, I think that is Hoofnjord.” Rye felt a flash of anxiety. He touched the hammer, still slung at his side, to reassure himself of its presence. “We’re late. If Braki kept his timetable, then the thanesmoot convened two days ago.” “Well then,” said Inger, “We’d better hope the thane is good at stalling.” “Even if he is, there’s no time to lose. Come on, I think we can cover that distance in an hour.” As they started on the final stage of their trek from the mountain, Rye’s stomach swam. He reigned in his pace, letting Cranberry and Inger take the lead. At the back of their group, he fell even with Eberhardt. When he was confident that his friends were out of earshot, he spoke to the huskarl in a hushed voice. “Eberhardt, have you got a moment?” “Of course, hammer-bearer.” Eberhardt tilted his head respectfully. “About that…” Rye flicked his tail nervously. “Well… why did Braki send you with us?” “To lead you to the mountain. You would not have found it easily on your own, no?” “Right, but…” Eberhardt raised an eyebrow. “Speak your mind.” Rye exhaled. “Back in Saddlestead, before we left, Braki told me he was sending you along to help us find the hammer, and to ‘bear it back to him.’ His exact words. If the hammer-bearer is the pony who’s supposed to choose the next Nordpony king, don’t you think it should be, well, a Nordpony?” With a frown, Eberhardt shook his head. “It was not I who was chosen by the spirit, and not I who retrieved the hammer from the mountain. I could not have done what you did, Rye. My sword cannot hurt ghosts.” “It’s just… I don’t really know anything about your politics, and… well, I’m afraid if we show up and tell the thanes that a southerner rescued their most precious artifact, they’ll balk. If they don’t accept it, then Braki won’t help me, and this entire trip has been for nothing.” Eberhardt looked serious. “Equestrian or not, they will respect the Hrafnhamarr. My thane will be king, and you will have your army—once we have secured his rule, of course.” Rye felt a twinge of unease. “Secure his rule? What exactly does that involve?” “Don’t worry, it will not take long.” The uneasy feeling didn’t vanish. “What’s going to happen to Erik?” “That will depend on Erik.” Eberhardt said nothing else, looking forward. Rye’s hooves thudded softly on the snowy ground as he walked. He hadn’t liked the sound of securing his rule. Would giving Braki the hammer just lead to more bloodshed? Rye was trying to save his homeland, but he didn’t want to throw Sleipnord into chaos to do so. The burning farmhouse came back to him. He swallowed. Erik’s army was the largest in the north, even Braki had admitted as much. If he chose not to follow the new king, would Braki hold to the deal? Rye couldn’t see the thane exposing his city to a vengeful rebel. On the other hoof… Rye glanced at Eberhardt. What if he didn’t give Braki the hammer? This war would end once one side had the authority to claim the farmland in the Blood Fields. If Erik was made king, would Braki dare rebel against him? But he couldn’t even be sure Erik would consider lending aid to Equestria, treaties or no. His head hurt. As they approached, the shape of Hoofnjord began to resolve. It looked much like a small Equestrian city, about the size of Caladen. Short buildings with thatched roofs stood in rows, surrounded by a wooden wall. The wall wasn’t nearly as impressive as Canterlot’s, standing only about three or four meters high. Rye couldn’t help but sniff dismissively. One T-shaped building, obviously the hall itself, dominated the town. It was much humbler looking than Saddlestead’s, bearing no elaborate carvings or other designs. A large green flag flew from the roof, bearing the symbol of a serpent. Rye wondered absently if any of the ponies inside had ever even seen a snake in their frozen homeland. They reached the entrance to the town just before noon. Two guards stood on either side of the wooden gate, spears locked over their shoulders. They were wearing olive green shirts over metal hauberks. Rye wondered if the chainmail was steel or iron. Steel meant Hoofnjord was rich enough to afford better armor than Aurelisk scales; iron that it was too poor for even those. With another glance at the town, he decided on the latter. “Yeld.” One of the guards put up a hoof as the group approached. “Vash jen ter nidjen.” “Eberhardt, ster se Snowmane, se Saddlestead.” Eberhardt leaned back and pushed out the raven-shaped clasp of his cloak. The guard peered closer to inspect it, and nodded. “Yan ter purjes?” Rye leaned over and nudged Cranberry, who was saying something to Inger about the design of the wall. He whispered, “What are they saying?” “He’s just asking who we are, and what we’re doing here,” she whispered in return. “Vei sen en vistoljok per Tyane Braki.” Eberhardt frowned at the guard. The second guard cocked his head suspiciously. He muttered something to his companion. “Uh oh,” said Cranberry. “He doesn’t believe us. He said the thane’s entourage arrived several days ago.” Eberhardt snarled impatiently. “Jar sen je huskarl ter Braki. Ajaren je enjence.” The guard hit the ground with the butt of his spear, frowning. “Na.” He made a “beat it” motion with his hoof. “Vesolik a te rivijar.” Eberhardt yelled something at him, and then the two were arguing so loud and fast Rye couldn’t make out individual words anymore. “I guess even Sleipnord has overzealous watchponies,” said Inger. Rye’s lips thinned in a dry smile. “I’ve had some experience with those. Maybe we should try submitting our request through the post office like everypony else.” Inger grinned. “Ow.” Eberhardt and the guard showed no signs of coming to an agreement, but to Rye’s relief they weren’t brandishing their weapons at each other. Yet. With a sigh, he realized that they were going to be standing there for a while. He glanced over at Cranberry and Inger. Ever since leaving Jormundr, the two of them had been spending more and more time with each other. Rye wasn’t sure what to think. He’d always thought that Inkpot would be the type of mare to fall for a military pony, not her hyperactive little sister. Cranberry seemed like she’d prefer somepony a bit less dangerous. Like you, maybe? Rye frowned, irritated with himself. He was not jealous. He loved Cranberry like a sister, and he was happy for them both, really, but… every time he caught the two of them staring doe-eyed at each other, it was another reminder of something he’d probably never have. He gave his wings a self-conscious scratch through his cloak. Eberhardt was now gesticulating in his direction. The guard looked unconvinced of whatever Eberhardt was telling him. Rye blew a strand of hair out of his eyes, feeling one of his legs starting to fall asleep. There was a knock on the gate. The arguing Nordponies paused, and the guard opened the gate to reveal a familiar face. “I thought I heard somepony speaking Equestrian out here…” “Vasijeil!” Rye’s face broke into a smile. “Rye! Eberhardt!” The translator from Saddlestead looked quite surprised. “We expected you to return about four days ago.” “There were a few… complications,” said Rye. “But we’ve succeeded. We have what we set out for.” Vasijeil smiled. “Excellent.” He turned to the guard, and the two of them began having a muttered conversation in Sleipnordic. The guard scowled, then looked back to Rye’s group. He waved a hoof at them to enter. They followed Vasijeil into Hoofnjord proper. Rye took one look at the small, wooden homes before the homesickness hit him. It looked just like Canterlot on a quiet winter morning. Smoke rose from several chimneys, and he could smell baking bread in the air as somepony made their lunch. “You okay, Rye?” “Fine, Cranberry.” He blinked. “So Vasijeil, what’s the situation here?” “I’ll tell you on the way. Thane Braki and the rest of the Saddlestead group are staying on the west side of town. I advise you avoid the east; that’s where the Aenir delegation is being housed.” Vasijeil set off at a brisk pace through the dirt roads of the town. “Has the thanesmoot started already?” “Yes, though Erik arrived a day late. Sending a message to the other thanes, no doubt. Erik marches on his own time.” Vasijeil frowned. “He has enough warriors to intimidate most of the other thanes into following his lead, but if all thirty-eight of them were united behind Braki, he would have no choice but to swear fealty. And I expect most of them will do that immediately once Braki reveals the hammer.” He paused. “Eberhardt, ten… ten vij oculs til?” Eberhardt shook his head. “Na vij. Rye.” Vasijeil looked to him with surprise. “You have the hammer?” “Yes…” the uneasy feeling had come back. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” “Well…” Vasijeil’s eyes focused briefly on Rye’s horn. “Hopefully not.” They came to a long house near the western wall. Vasijeil knocked on the door, which opened a crack. A gruff voice said something quietly in Sleipnord. Vasijeil whispered a reply, and the door swung fully open. Rye looked around the house as they entered. It was a homey building, warm with the heat of a fireplace, with smooth wooden walls and simple furniture. Decorative axes and hammers hung from the ceiling rafters. Several ponies were seated in the foyer. They were wearing blue cloaks with the image of the raven sewn on. They gave the Equestrians suspicious looks as the three of them followed Vasijeil and Eberhardt into the next room. Thane Braki was waiting for them inside, with a hard smile. “My Equestrian friends, you have returned.” His eyes glinted. “The guards gave you no trouble at the gate, I trust.” “They weren’t going to let us in until Vasijeil showed up…” Braki frowned. “Breyr, trying to block us?” Vasijeil shook his head. “I doubt it, Thane. Just a guard doing his duty.” “It matters not. Eberhardt. Viar jer vistoljok?” Eberhardt bowed to Braki… then bowed to Rye. Rye’s mouth felt dry. He pulled aside his cloak and withdrew the hammer. He laid it down at the thane’s hooves. Braki’s eyes widened. “Je Hrafnhamarr…” He reached out an uncertain hoof to touch it. “I had never thought I would see it with my own eyes.” Rye voiced the fear that had been lurking in his mind ever since Jormundr. “It is the real hammer, isn’t it?” “Oh, yes,” breathed Braki. “I can feel the tingle of power when I touch it. It’s real.” Strange, Rye couldn’t feel anything. Maybe that was why he was the bearer, not the wielder. “So what’s our next move?” “The thanesmoot.” Braki came out of his reverie. “We’ll present this to them at this afternoon’s session. Irrefutable evidence that I am worthy of becoming king. Eberhardt will accompany me—” Eberhardt shook his head. He pointed to Rye. “Rye sik je hamarrhendr. Na vij.” Braki paused. “The hammer has chosen you to bear it?” “Not exactly…” Rye felt sweat on his neck. “I’m the hammer-bearer, though. For good or ill.” “Just remember our deal, Equestrian.” Braki looked unsettled, his plans shaken. “Very well. You’ll come with me to the thanesmoot. There, you will formally present the hammer to me, I will claim my right as king, and then I will deal with Erik. Once that is done, I can begin organizing the warriors of Sleipnord to march for the south.” Deal with Erik. Rye felt positively ill, now. He’d always thought death was some glorious thing, a natural end to a hero’s adventures, a satisfying conclusion. But the griffon he’d killed in the forest, so long ago, had disabused him of that notion. His experiences in the caves and the vision of Tyorj had shown him the truth—dying was anything but glorious. It was a dismal, dirty, sad business. He was so, so tired of death. Was bringing the hammer back just going to start a new series of bloodbaths? “As… as you say, Thane Braki.” He grasped the haft of the Kingshammer, and re-secured the loop to his side. “Good. The three of you will sleep here with my ponies during our stay in Hoofnjord. We might have guest protection under Breyr’s word, but I don’t trust his security to be good enough to stop any move Erik might make. If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to Eberhardt. Your rooms are through there.” Braki pointed to a door on the other side of the room. Rye, Cranberry, and Inger pushed into the bedroom as rapid Sleipnordic filled Braki’s chamber. Rye shut the door behind them, silencing Eberhardt and Braki’s voices. The bedroom had three single beds, and a simple table. A window above the table let the light of noon inside. “Ohhh…” moaned Cranberry as she fell onto the middle bed. “Mattresses. Real mattresses.” She nestled her head into the pillows. “I love this place.” Rye grinned. He and Inger had slept on beds back in Saddlestead, but Cranberry had been out cold on the dinner table that entire night. Inger eyed his own bed with apprehension. “That thing has to have more fleas than…” “Than you?” Cranberry gave him an impish smile. “Why you little…” Inger, grinning, grabbed a pillow from his bed and threw it at her. “Oof! Oh, it’s on.” Pillows began soaring through the air. Rye ignored them both, sitting down on his bed, placing the hammer on the covers before him. He stared at it, thinking. Am I about to start another war? Visions of the pools of blood on the floors of Tyorj haunted his thoughts. His stomach hurt. He looked down at his flank, and the tiny olive branch that poked out from under his Aurelisk mail. He realized now why putting the guardian to rest had felt so right. But the Kingshammer was a tool of war, not peace. Even holding the thing was starting to make him feel queasy. He wanted no more blood on his hooves. A pillow thwacked him in the head. He blinked. “Sorry, Rye!” Cranberry sounded out of breath. He looked over at the two of them, nonplussed. A knock on the door interrupted him before he could respond. Vasijeil’s voice, muted by the door, said, “It’s time, Rye.” Swallowing, he grabbed the hammer. He stood and motioned to Cranberry and Inger. “You two are coming with me.” Cranberry gave Inger an uncertain glance, then flashed back to Rye. “Uh, Rye… I got the impression he only wanted you in the thanesmoot.” “He’ll survive.” Rye frowned. “I’d rather have some ponies I trust at my side than be left alone with the thanes.” The three of them left their packs and supplies in the bedroom, exiting the longhouse and meeting Braki and a pair of Saddlestead warriors outside. The thane raised an eyebrow at the other two Equestrians, but said nothing. They set off for the large hall at the center of town. The streets were relatively packed now, with several groups of Nordponies moving in the same direction as Rye’s group. He assumed they were the lesser thanes and their guards. All of the groups were lining up at the large doors of the hall. They were admitted one-by-one, with the sound of a single horn to announce each thane. When Braki’s entourage finally reached the door, they were stopped by a pony wearing a green cloak with a serpent sewn on the back. He looked quite different from the other Nordponies; he was short and black-maned instead of tall and blonde. His eyes, however were the same striking blue as all the other northerners. He looked around at the group with a curious eyebrow raised. “Tyane Braki, mier tyfrien, heiz na oculs Sleipnorden.” His voice was warm and melodious. Rye was reminded of the Princess’s gentle tone. “That is because they are not,” said Braki. “Thane Breyr, let me introduce the ambassador from Equestria, Rye Strudel.” Rye bowed. Breyr looked aghast. “My apologies, ambassador! I was not told that we had a foreign dignitary here.” He gave Braki a disappointed look. “As host, it is my responsibility to make you all welcome in Hoofnjord. I’ll arrange some accommodations immediately—” “That won’t be necessary,” said Braki with a curt shake of his head. “They’ll be staying with my ponies.” “Very well, then…” Breyr looked at the three Equestrians with a smile. “In any case, welcome to my hall. It’s been so long since we had Equestrian visitors. You must let me show you around during your stay.” “Certainly,” said Rye, before Braki waved a hoof. “Later, perhaps. We have important business to discuss today, Breyr.” “Ah, very well.” Breyr gestured to the door. “I’ll see you inside, Thane Braki.” The foyer of the hall was long and tall. Guards wearing green were spaced evenly along both walls, spears held respectfully back. Rye couldn’t help but notice the threadbare quality of their garments. “Wow,” said Cranberry. “We’re actually going into the thanesmoot room. I never thought we’d get to see this.” “Why, what’s so interesting about it?” “Lots of things. The whole room’s built like an echo chamber; anything said inside can be heard through the entire hall.” Rye could hear the sound of quiet talking from around the walls. Apparently it wasn’t just his imagination. Cranberry looked around. “The other thing… well, I think it’s just a legend.” They reached the large doors at the end of the hall. The two guards on either side pushed it open, admitting them. Rye stepped inside and found a totally unexpected sight. The thanesmoot chamber was large and circular, with slightly raised seating on a wooden platform that made a ring around the walls. Banners hung above each seating place, bearing a myriad of animal sigils. What was truly startling was the sight of green. The entire floor was like a meadow, covered with grass and blooming flowers. At the center of the room stood a small, rough, white stone. Light from the midday sun shone down through a circular window in the roof, making the rock’s surface glow. The forty thanes of Sleipnord sat evenly spaced along the circle, each surrounded by their guards. Most looked even shabbier than Hoofnjord’s, but not the group in red. Rye saw the crimson banner above them, bearing two white elk horns. He swallowed. Erik was the archetypical Nordpony, tall, brown, and blonde. His face seemed locked in a permanent sneer. He was as large as Braki, and his guards were taller than Eberhardt. Erik eyed the southerners disfavorably as they entered. Rye self-consciously matted his mane down to cover his horn, but he wasn’t successful. Erik’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the unmistakable sign of a unicorn. They sat underneath the blue banner of the raven, Rye taking a place beside Braki. Cranberry and Inger sat behind him. He leaned back and whispered, “Not a legend, I’m guessing.” “No,” Cranberry whispered back. “It’s true. The only place in the north where grass grows year round.” “What’s that white stone in the center?” “That’s the Whitestone.” Rye raised an eyebrow. “I would never have guessed.” “It’s always warm near the Whitestone, even now in December. That’s why the grass grows. Nopony knows where it came from, but they found it here a long, long time ago. That’s why they built Hoofnjord here, and why thanesmoots are held in this chamber.” Fascinated, Rye looked around curiously at the rest of the thanes. Most were casting troubled looks at Braki’s group, mainly at him. He sat a little straighter, touching the hammer beneath his cloak. Soon he’d be rid of the thing. He swallowed. As the last of the thanes filed inside the room, Breyr and his guards entered. They shut the door, and Breyr bowed. “Welcome once more, my fellow thanes.” His warm voice resonated throughout the chamber, reaching the ears of all present without having to yell. “I must ask that we hold today’s meeting in another tongue, for we have some unexpected guests.” He held out a hoof toward Rye. “The Equestrian ambassador.” “Come to beg for help in their conflict, no doubt,” said Erik. His voice was rough, but not ugly. He glared at Rye. “The wars of southerners should not concern us.” “That will be for our king to decide,” said Braki, standing. Erik snorted. “We have no king, and need no king. Unless you’re hiding the Hrafnhamarr under your cloak, then I suggest we return to discussing the matter of the Blood Fields.” Braki smiled. “Not I.” He gestured to Rye. Erik’s sneer vanished. “What?” Rye pulled out the hammer, trying to ignore the churning sensation in his belly. “My lord thanes, I am not here today to ask for your help. I’ve come to return something to you, the hammer of your forefathers, the symbol of your kings. I have retrieved the Kingshammer.” There was a collective hush. Whispers filled the room. Breyr leaned forward with interest. “The Kingshammer? You’ve been to the roof of the world?” His eyebrows rose respectfully. “You intrigue me, Rye Strudel.” Erik butted in. “This is an insult. Are we expected to believe that an Equestrian is the hammer-bearer we’ve waited for? And a Breivikk, no less.” Rye frowned. “You’ve got some magic in your blood as well, don’t you?” Instantly, he knew he’d made a mistake. The chamber fell completely silent. Braki’s mouth thinned. Breyr looked warily at Erik, whose face had gone icy cold. Even Cranberry winced. Braki spoke in a rush, trying to cover up the insult. “Whatever you might think, Erik, this is the Hrafnhamarr, and this pegacorn is its bearer.” At the word pegacorn, Erik’s face filled with disgust, but he remained silent. “It has come to us in a time of conflict, while the greatest war the world has seen in centuries rages beyond our borders. The signs are clear. The time has come for us to choose a king at last.” “Who? You?” Erik stomped an angry hoof. “You aren’t strong enough to rule. If anypony should wield the hammer, it is I.” “I believe,” said Breyr, with a measured look at Rye, “that this is the choice of the hammer-bearer. Who do you find worthy of the Hrafnhamarr, Rye Strudel?” Rye’s legs shook. Every pony in the room was looking at him, now. “I…” He licked his lips. “This is an important decision, of course…” Braki frowned, and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Quit stalling. Give me the hammer.” “And…” He felt sick. “I don’t really know most of you, yet. I can’t choose today. I need time to make the best choice for Sleipnord.” Braki looked livid. Behind him, he heard Inger hiss, “Rye!” “A reasonable request,” said Breyr, looking around. “Will three days suffice?” “Yes,” said Rye, nodding. He avoided Braki’s eye. “I’ll… I’ll choose in three days.” “Then I suggest we postpone the thanesmoot until that time. Unless there are any objections?” Braki grunted, but said nothing. Erik was now looking at Rye with a hungry gleam in his eyes. Breyr tapped the wood under his hooves. “Then this thanesmoot is adjourned. My household servants have prepared refreshments in the foyer, if you would be so kind…” The thanes began to filter out of the chamber, talking urgently to each other. Braki brushed past Rye without speaking. Rye remained behind on the platform. “Rye, what are you doing? What about the army?” Cranberry looked frantic. “What about Equestria? What about my sister?” “Cranberry, you of all of us know how violent these ponies can get. I… I won’t cause a massacre, even indirectly. If Braki becomes king, you know full well he’s going to have Erik killed. I can’t… I can’t deal with that.” Rye looked down. “I’m sorry.” “It’s not too late,” said Inger. “Just tell Breyr you’ve decided, and he’ll call the thanesmoot back tomorrow. We can give Braki his prize and be headed back home by the end of the week.” His face was filled with fear. “We have to get that army for the Princess.” “Inger, I know. I know, believe me. I dream about Canterlot every night. I just…” He gave them both a pleading look. Cranberry bit her lip. “If you really think Braki isn’t the best choice… then who?” “That’s what I’m going to spend the next few days figuring out. Breyr said he’d show me around the town. I’ll have him introduce me to any of the thanes that might make good candidates.” Inger’s wings flapped nervously. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Rye.” Rye swallowed. “You and me, both.” They left without him. The room was finally empty, save for one other pony. Thane Breyr had stayed behind. He approached Rye at a steady walk. “You intrigue me, hammer-bearer. Somehow I don’t think Braki expected that.” “No,” Rye admitted. “What do you think of him, Thane Breyr? Would he be a good king?” “Perhaps.” Breyr looked at the Saddlestead banner thoughtfully. “Certainly, most would follow him, if he did possess the hammer. But Erik, well… He has enough warriors to hold out for a long time.” “And what about Erik?” “A similar situation, I think. Although Braki would fold, if Erik were chosen. There would be no attempt at rebellion.” Rye had thought as much, but the burning farmhouse loomed in his mind. Could he make somepony who would do such things a king? “You offered to show me Hoofnjord tomorrow. I’d like to accept the offer… and perhaps you could introduce me to the other thanes as well?” Breyr nodded. “A fine idea. They’re sure to approach you, anyway. I’ll send a pony to pick you up tomorrow morning.” He hesitated. “Are you certain you wish to remain under Braki’s roof?” “Yes,” said Rye, wearily. “I need to show him all the goodwill I can. Especially if he does end up as king of the north.” * * * “We had a deal, Equestrian!” Braki’s rage was etched in every line on his face. Rye willed his legs to stop shaking. “I know! But I think it’s better if we wait. It’ll look less suspicious. If Erik finds out that you sent me to retrieve the hammer, he’ll say you’re too dependent on southerners. He’ll do anything to stop you from becoming king, you know that.” Braki’s chest heaved. “Very well, Rye Strudel.” He turned aside. “I will keep my word if you keep yours. Three days hence, you will enter that chamber, and declare me king. Then you’ll have your army.” Braki’s head swiveled, and he glared at Rye. “I’m the only one who can give it to you. The lesser lords will not have the support of the thanesmoot. None will march to follow them. Only Erik or I can help you, and Erik will not.” Rye bowed. “As you say, Thane Braki.” The thane growled a dismissal. Rye fled back into the bedroom, where he found Cranberry and Inger talking in hushed voices. As he entered, they looked up. “I’m meeting with Breyr in the morning.” “All right,” said Cranberry, exhaling. “Just… be careful, Rye.” “I will.” Rye slipped the hammer underneath his pillow. “What are you two going to do tomorrow?” “We’re going to the market,” said Inger, looking bemused. Cranberry bounced once. “Oh, I can’t wait to get a look at the wood carvings. Maybe I can get some for my collection back home.” Rye raised an eyebrow. “Cranberry, we haven’t had any money since the caves.” “Oh, right.” Her cheer dampened. “Still, we can look, right?” Rye settled down on the bed, resting his head on a real pillow for the first time since Saddlestead. “Sure. Just be careful.” He rolled over, looking at the door. “And not only of Aenir.”