The Ice Hotel – Part 2: Northern Lights Over the River

The river was frozen solid, a wide white road between black pine forests. Viktor led Hanne out onto it with a torch in one hand and her hand in the other, testing each step with the care of a man who had walked on water many times.

"Stop," he said, halfway across. "Look up."

The sky had turned green. Faint at first, a pale band of light above the trees, then brighter, rippling and folding over itself like silk in a breeze. Violet edges crept along the curtains of light. Hanne stopped breathing for a moment.

"Dad," she whispered.

Viktor did not speak. He only stood beside her, holding her hand, while the aurora filled the whole sky above the frozen river.

After a long time, Hanne spoke again, her voice thick.

"He would have hated the cold," she said. "He always said the Scottish winters were enough for one lifetime."

"Did he come here?"

"No. He always said next year." Her laugh came out wobbly. "We never had a next year."

Viktor squeezed her hand, very gently.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Yes."

"Would you like to say something to him? Here, out loud, to the sky? I think he'd hear you better in the cold."

Hanne looked up at the shifting green light. She took a long breath, and the words came out in a white cloud.

"I came, Dad," she said. "I'm freezing, and I'm very proud of myself. You'd have made a terrible joke about the reindeer."

The lights brightened, a long wave of green sweeping across the sky, and Viktor smiled quietly beside her.

"He heard you," he said.

"You don't know that."

"I know that the sky likes to answer," said Viktor. "Especially when people are brave enough to ask it something."

They walked back to the ice hotel in silence, the snow squeaking under their boots. In the warm lodge, Viktor brought them two cups of hot blueberry juice, and they sat by the stove, wrapped in blankets, watching the frost melt slowly off the windows.

"Can I ask you something else?" said Hanne.

"Yes."

"Would you stay in the ice room with me tonight? Not for the cold. For the company. We can talk about my father, and your snowmobile disaster, and whether reindeer have feelings."

Viktor laughed, quiet and warm. "Yes," he said. "But only if you let me bring extra blankets. The room is very honest about its temperature."

"Deal," said Hanne, smiling. "Can I kiss you now? Here, by the stove, before we go back to the ice?"

"Yes," said Viktor, and his voice was rough. "And if you say stop, I'll go and sleep on the bench like a gentleman."

"Good," said Hanne, and leaned in.

He kissed her slowly, his hand warm against her cold cheek, the taste of blueberries sweet on his lips. Hanne's fingers curled into the front of his coat, steady and sure. Outside, the aurora shifted and faded, and the river lay silent under the stars.

When they parted, both of them were laughing softly.

"Green?" asked Viktor.

"Green," said Hanne. "Very green. Now take me back to the ice, Viktor, and tell me again about the snowmobile."

"Only if you tell me about the reindeer," said Viktor, and helped her up, and they walked out into the cold together, bright and warm inside their blankets.