Creation

The World Turns

Time passes, and the people of the Valr wait . . .

 

The builders have toiled on the land, forming it to suit the needs of the people. The Whispering Caverns twist and weave into a maze of passages under their hands, guarding the entrance to our lands. The regions are marked and named; in particular, the lands of the Basin will take shape tonight; Axe Glacier will stand, but the ruins of Axe Fjord cannot be rebuilt; of the islands in the bay, Skjern and Skerry of Var are being made habitable while the others will remain scenery. For the rest, there is discussion about which regions will have a place across the wider world, but some settlements are already being marked and runestones laid.

 

In light of this the Jarl, in his wisdom, had laid down rules so that there can be no doubt about what is expected of the people of these lands.

 

And the needs of these people are being met in other ways, too. Provisions for their movement, looks, clothing and other necessities are placed on the lands for their use.

 

The work goes on, and the time for habitation draws nearer . . .

The Sims Currently (June 2012)

Teaching a Girl About the Attire of a Northern Woman

The woman took the knife and chopping board over to the sink and dropped them in to tidy up later. She crossed to the window and looked out. Where was that girl? She was supposed to be playing outside the door. She went to said door and opened it, calling, “Ikuma! Ikuma, where are you? Come back here!” She waited a few moments and was about to step outside to go and search when a small bundle of fiery fury erupted round the corner and crashed full tilt into her legs, burying a tear-stained face in her mother’s skirt. The woman recovered her balance and squatted to the child’s level, taking her by the shoulders to look at her.

“Ika, whatever’s the matter?” she asked, wiping the child’s tears with a corner of her apron.

“M-m-mean.Th-those g-girls,” came the words through the sobs.

The woman drew her daughter close and hugged her. “Let’s go inside and get you some milk and one of the honey cakes I just made, and you can tell me about it. How does that sound?” The girl’s big, coal-black eyes looked up at her mother and she nodded solemnly.

The woman took her daughter’s hand and led her up the steps. The single room in the slums of Hochberg had been their home for seven years now, and the girl and her brother had known no other, having been born there not long after their mother’s arrival. The child climbed to a seat at the table and the woman brought the drink and cake and sat down beside her. “So, Ika. What have the mean girls been saying this time?” she asked gently, brushing the girl’s errant black hair from her eyes with her fingertips.

The child bit into the bun and looked at her mother sadly. “They make fun of me.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

The girl’s cheeks reddened and she stared at her lap. “My clothes,” she whispered. “Because I don’t dress like they do.”

Her mother sighed. Gently, she put her fingers at the tip of the child’s chin and tilted her head to look at her face and so she, in turn, could see her mother’s. “And do you know why you don’t dress as they do, Ika?” she asks patiently.

Ikuma shook her head, sniffing back a sob. “No, ma. I only know we’re different.”

“Yes, Ika, we are. We are from Torvaldsland, and we are proud to be so. You must never forget that. We dress the way women do there, not like these soft excuses for women from the south that live here.”

“What do you mean, ma?” The girl took a drink of her milk and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

The woman frowned. Now was as good a time as any for a lesson, she supposed. “Let me get something, and then I’ll tell you,” She rose and crossed to a cupboard, opening a drawer and taking out a sheaf of papers which she brought back with her to the table. There were sketches on the pages and she spread them out on the surface. She picked one of them up.

 

“This,” she explained, “is how women of our lands dress.” The drawing on the paper showed a dress woven of wool cloth that would cover from neck to ankle. Over it was an apron-like tunic edge with embroidery in a simple repeated design. Around the waist was a belt from which hung a set of keys, a drinking horn, a small pouch and a purse. A mjolnir, a replica of Thor’s hammer, dangled from a set of northern beads that were attached to the dress near the top. Stout, flat-heeled, leather boots and furred leggings, were pictured beside the gown, as an example of the best footwear for the mountainous and often snowy region.

“But it’s so drab, ma!” Ikuma objected.

Her mother slapped her playfully and laughed. “Are you saying I’m dull, girl?” she teased.

The child giggled. “No, ma, but you know what I mean. The ladies here wear such bright, soft clothes. They look really pretty.”

The woman regarded her seriously. “The women of the south are lazy and feckless, most of them. They’d not know a good days work if it jumped up and bit their arse. We dress for what we do, and most of the time our women work in the fields and look after the animals so our hall can be fed and our community will survive the winter. We have no need for fripperies. Remember that, Ika, and be proud of your heritage.”

“But, ma” the child argued, “I was born here. I’ve never been where you’re talking about.”

Her mother gave her one of the looks that let the girl know she’d best say no more, and the girl bit her cake in silence, though her coal-black eyes smouldered. She had her mother’s temper, for sure, and lived up to her name – Ikuma, ‘fire’ in the tongue of her father. “The thing is, Ika, one day you will. And when that day comes you’d better know the right way to dress and behave. Home is not like here, where women seem to do as they please. There are ways to behave and you will learn them, for your own good, just as the Smith is teaching your brother the ways of men.”

“He scares me sometimes,”grumbled the girl. “He used play and be nice, but he’s changed.”

Her mother raised a brow and looked at the girl. “The Smith? No, Ika, he’s not changed, you have. You’re older now and it’s right he doesn’t play the games of a child with you now. And you’re right to be wary of him, as you should all men, but especially those of our land, for they won’t let you be lax. The Smith is trying to prepare you for what will come, just as he’s teaching Sikuk to be a man. He’s been good to us, and you must never forget that. We owe him much.”

“But -” the girl began and was stopped by her mother’s raised hand.

How different they are, the woman thought as she looked at her daughter, and just as Ikuma is fiery, so Sikuk grows more icy with each day the Smith and the Rarius train him to fight. Soon, it will be time for him to leave as a man. She sighs and picks up another picture, showing a woman in a long gown, but this time the neckline was cut low, exposing her cleavage. She passed the picture to the girl.

“You may have seen women here dressed so,” she said, “but remember this. When we go home, and we will, dressing in this way will get you a collar as sure as the sun rises in the morning.” And probably at your brother’s hand, she thought to herself. She pushed the picture towards her daughter and chose another. “Look at the hair of these women and tell me which you think this is acceptable.”

The child drew the picture to her. There were three women on the picture; one had her hair tied in braids, the second’s was piled on her head and fastened in place with combs and the third’s tumbled around her shoulders, loose. The girl studied the pictures, looking from them to her mother. Her eyes fell onto the tips of her own braids. “Well,” – she drew the word out – “I have braids, and you have yours tied up, so I’d guess those were acceptable, and the bond has her hair loose.”

Her mother smiled. “You’re wily as a lart,” she said, “and you’re right, but do you know why?” She saw the girl’s brow furrow, followed by a shake of her head. “Well, any woman who is not mated has her hair braided. Once she is claimed by a man, she must wear her hair fastened up, and her mate provides the combs for her to do this. The richer he is, the more ornate and numerous the combs.”

The girl’s innocent face studied her mother’s, thought almost visible behind the dark eyes. The woman had seen this look before and braced herself for the question. “Ma? Did you get many combs from father?”

The woman’s eyes misted and her aspect became sad. “Beautiful ones,” she said, her mind far away in the past. She fell silent, lost in her thoughts.

The child watched for a moment, debating the next question. “Is he dead, ma?” she asked eventually.

The woman refocused on the girl and stroked her hair. “He will find us. One day. He will come.” She kissed her daughter’s head and cleared her throat. “And when he does, he will want you dressed properly, so . . .” she pushed another picture forward “. . . tell me if this is right for our lands.” The picture showed a woman in southern robes of concealment, covered from head to toe and wearing the nine veils. The girl laughed loudly.

“No, ma.” Her tone was derisory. “I’ve seen these women in the city. The Smith calls them -”

“We don’t need to know what the Smith calls them, thank you, Ikuma.”

“Sorry, Ma. No, women don’t dress like that in our land.”

The woman smiled, pleased at her response for many reasons. “What do you know of bonds, Ika?” she asked.

“Ooh, I like the Smith’s bond. She’s fun and chatty. Not like a kajira. They’re soppy.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “I shall have to watch more closely where you play, I can see.”

“Aww, ma, I only talk to her when Larma’s there.” There was a clatter from the corner of the room where the household bond had dropped the small hand-loom she’d been working with and was scrambling to retrieve it. The woman gave her a look that said she would be spoken to later and turned back to the girl.

“What does a bond wear that makes her different from a kajira?”

The girl thought a moment. “A kirtle made of undyed wool,” came the answer, “if her Jarl allows it, but nothing inside the hall.” She smiled proudly.

The woman smiled back, and gave a nod of approval in the direction of the bond, now quietly weaving again. “So, are you clear now why you must dress this way, Ika?”

Big, dark, solemn eyes stared up at her and a small head nodded. “Yes, ma.”

“And when these southern girls make fun of you again, what will you say to them?”

The same solemn eyes looked back. “I’ll tell them they can go and suck Odin’s hairy balls, ma.”

“Ika!”

. . . The World Turns . . .

 

PAUSE . . . time passes

 

The Missing Years

Mist rose high on the mountains, the warm sun drawing it up from the valleys below as it dried out the land at the start of the day. The day dawned brightly, belying the sense of gloom that was growing on the lands below. The HighJarl had returned from his trials, filled with hope for the future and looking forward to the birth of his child.

On arrival, though, his heart was all but stilled as he received the news that his mate was gone. and her young son and their unborn child with her. When he demanded to know the facts of what happened, he was told that no one was entirely sure, but that they believed she’d been taken by the sleen that had recently carried off one of the bonds.

The truth was, she’d been told he was on his way back so had waited patiently for days in the ruins, hoping to catch a glimpse of him when he returned so she could meet him with Thorbjørn. On one particular day, she’d wandered further than she normally would have and was met by a stranger, a rarius, who said he’d been sent to check on her by an old friend. Unhappy at finding her alone, and of hearing of the seeming disappearance of her mate, he immediately took her and carried her off to her former guardian, and took her young son from her to be with his blood father. Soon after, she was sent for and taken from her guardian’s home to the city of Hochburg.

Devastated by the reports of those around him, but unwilling to take what was being said at face value, Gab searched the lands about the holding for some time for any signs that might give him a clue to Fri’s whereabouts. His grief was great, and as days passed and turned into hands, and the hands to passages of moons, the turmoil within him grew. He, as Fri had, began to haunt the ruins while he waited. Eventually, he gave in to the seeming reality of the reports.

Once more, he thought, he’d lost those he loved, had failed them in some way. To atone, he did as the other scars on his body attested. Deep scars below his eyes, one for his mate, one for his lost unborn child, were added to the other network of lines and symbols on his torso. He retreated to the hall, ordering the gates shut and closing off the Valr from all around for the next twenty years.

In that time, many things changed. Tófí Éyvínðr, a friend from Gab’s childhood, came to seek him out, having heard stories of the fabled hall and of his friend’s possible connection with it. What he found when he arrived, and was eventually let in after convincing the guards of the truth of his claims, disturbed him greatly. To find his friend half mad with grief was bad enough but, as he walked about the holding and talked to the people there, he found that the man Gab should have been able to trust, his axe, Spec, was plotting against his life.

Tófí took things in hand in the only way he knew how. He took over as HighJarl, giving Gab time to rest and recover. He took Spec to one side and left him in no doubt about what he thought of him, and what would happen if he didn’t change. Spec, as only he could, over-indulged in mead and, after another drunken ramble to ask the gods for guidance, he disappeared . . . or, at least, that’s how the story goes.

To some extent, Gab has recovered, although changed greatly. For a time, he held the position of Shield for Tófí, giving him the loyalty his friendship deserved. Eventually, he resumed his proper role as Jarl, claimed Bára as his mate and opened the gates of the Valr. Life settled and time passed until one day, a visitor arrived . . .

Nana’s Encounter with Living Hall Décor

Keezheekoni Vayandar slept when she was able, though it seemed to be only a few winks here and there for if it was not pain that kept her awake, it was her thoughts. Over and over like a broken record, she spun about the events that had landed her in such a position for she had more than plenty of opportunity to think of it during her time alone in the hall. With eyes closed and head hung, she watched the memories flash across her lids, the words, the actions, all of it a nightmare that seemed to have no end until she released a sharp gasp, jerking her head back in place. As her heart slowed to a steady beat, her eyes looked towards the doors and where sorrow and pity towards herself once reigned, determination blossomed.

Nana Yngvarrdottir had just had one hell of a night as she returned to the hall. It was different now. Something flourished in these walls. Not every stone was original, but the part that mattered, the part she’d seen still intact on their arrival . . . She stopped at the bottom of the entrance and looked up at the hanging Savage woman. She wouldn’t say anything as she stared up at her drooping head, just watch until she was noticed . . . and she would be eventually because the colour that drained from her cheeks was having a hard time finding it ways back

The changed woman lifted her eyes and paid attention to the door as it opened revealing the one woman she was waiting patiently to have words with, but she would judge her tongue carefully. Meeting the eyes of the petite Nana, who’s stature spoke nothing of the presence she exuded, a faint “Hou Nan..” left her lips, her tone cautious and respectful. “I know . . . in such . . . position I have no right to ask of aid in anything, but . . . when I have served of lesson and punishment, could you . . . would you show of way to remove of this?” She shifted her leg to reveal the marking.

Nana simply stood there, still silent, but with her eyes locked on the raven maned woman she’d come to call Keez. The woman had sparked interest in Na because like herself was something not often seen this far above the mark unless it was in chains. Na’s night would be a blessing for the woman. Na had finally been told the source of this situation that now hung in the hall built by hands of her kin, her blood, blood of her blood through mixed oaths. She swallowed hard and just switched the stance of her widening hips making room for what she was carrying. The slant of her eyes narrowed as she just continued staring at the woman that had disgraced her home, her name, the woman herself and couldn’t find reason until she’d hung there. And still she stood silent as the girl questioned her of the marking of slavery on her thigh. Na’s eye focused there as her hand dropped to the layers of her skirts that hid her own shame removed by a blade of her people. She then looked back at Keez and just took a deep breath.

Keez lowered her head for a moment, showing her shame and admitted the hardest words anyone should ever have to speak, especially when one clings to pride. “I . . . was . . . wrong.” Her eyes closed and while tears tugged at the corners of her eyes, she did not release them, rather her right hand clenched as if to force them down. “I hang here in silence, when those who show kindness and aid.. and when those who call of me bond and poke at my brand and insult of me leave.. I hang and think. I think over and over and over and over of all that had been done and all I have of done . . . and I . . . am wrong. was wrong. If there be of way I could right these wrongs, I would do of this and swiftly, not for my pride, but because it needs to be of done. I should not have offered gems in way I did and I see now why my action insult of your mate, of Hold Jarl, of HighJarl. I should not have spoken ill to man friend of Hold Jarl, I forgot of place in all of this.” Her limbs trembled, but she could not stop the flow of words once the dam had broken. “I, as ward of Hold and HighJarl, should never have of run, even in fear. I should have stood proud and tall. I should have not argued my views despite how I feel of how things went, because even if I felt right, I was wrong. All of these ‘I should haves’ cannot be changed for past is past, but must be something can be done to right of them?” Her eyes having shifted to Nan and fell silent.

The small Red Hunter woman stood there and switched back to the first hip she’d started on, still silent as she stared at the way the woman’s lips moved. She looked past her to the hall. Something here now made her eerily uneasy and yet calm at the same time. She wasn’t sure whether to walk back to the cabin and hide . . . like the girl hanging here in front of her. She looked up at her again. She was still silent as she started to turn to the right run and paced slowly, looking down the length of hall towards the kitchen. A shadow maybe was she looking for , who knew? She then stepped slow, patient steps to the place before the girl. She looked up at her again in silence. She then looked down at the brand. This girl’s mark of shame. She turned now to the left run and walked the same slow deliberate steps she had on the other side . . . The same glance down the hall of nothingness . . . But if the hall to nowhere was a hall to somewhere certainly . . . and only she knew . . . why? She still found no trace of the Elder that had vanished into thin air again as she now stood back in front of the girl. Another deep breath followed by a slow exhale. She looked up at her now. But still nothing.

Keez released her own slow sigh as her words appeared to be falling upon deaf ears, or purely distracted ones, she did not know which, but for the time she was beyond exhausted and how her body ached from being stretched all day in this position, though she did not complain about it. “I want to thank of you for sending your puddin girl to see to me. She is good bond and did not treat of me horrid like the other did.” While more words might have come from her, she let them die and resumed her hanging. Their eyes met only briefly before her body relaxed as best it could within the chains and she prepared for a long night.

Nana still wouldn’t say anything as she walked to the bucket next to the post, and then returned placing it between the girls out stretched legs, she stepped back and then folded both her arms across her chest. “Do not soil the stone of my blood’s hall,” was all she’d get from her. Her words had not fallen on deaf ears, but that was not her privilege to know while she decorated a hall with more meaning in each stone than this girl was capable of comprehending at this time. But that brand she wore, as soon as Na found out who it was that held the key to the chains, that she would understand. Na knew from experience what exactly it was to understand it. She reached the top of the entrance steps and then looked back at the Savage girl. Again her brother’s words came to her mind and she listened with her heart instead of her ears, and she heard her ako loud and clear. “We are favoured and blessed amongst the mists. Only those that belong will make it this far. The men and their offspring will return a blessing on those below the mists because these men . . . they are the leaders.” She then just turned and headed for the portal . . . There was too much air in this hall, Na needed a clear breath.

The Metalsmith and the Seamstress

Deviathan Coldforge sat in the hall beside the chained woman. He’d kept her company for some time, talking to her and trying to make her see sense. She’d finally calmed and was now sleeping. He watched her as she slept, her face now relaxed after the recent strain, her breasts rising and falling gently in time with her peaceful breathing. There was no doubt, she was easy on the eye. His thoughts wandered, and his mind went back to an earlier conversation . . .

Dev picked up his mould and used one of the punches to push out the small rod of rose gold onto the worktable. It clanged dully onto the wood surface. He tested the temperature warily with the tips of his fingers and found it cool enough to work with. Sifting through his tools, he pulled out a steel plate. Setting the plate down upon the table, he placed the cylinder onto it and selected a small, delicate hammer. Using it, he flattened the small cylinder into a flattened band. Lost in thought, he mused while the hammer struck the metal musically.

Keezheekoni Vayandar quietly approached the Smith’s again, hoping to gain a few moments to look over his work, thinking him to still be on the hall chatting away. In her hands, a small cup of hot tea steamed. Her lips gently blew away the steam that rose from it, then gently sipped. Drawing closer to the smithy, she immediately spotted the blond man and her lips tugged into a smile, that aching returning to her cheeks, but could she be so bold? Did she dare? “Hou, Deviathan,” she called out to the man after a few more minutes, not wanting to startle him, having almost soundlessly walked up on him. “You enjoy dinner?”

The metalsmith started slightly as the woman spoke, not having heard her through his musing and the sound of hammer on gold. “A-ah. Tal, Keez.” His cheeks were flushed with the work but he seemed pleased at it and offered her a smile, “I enjoyed it greatly. You can certainly cook. The hunting must be good here, the meat was tender and not too lean.” He stepped slightly aside to show off his work, remembering he had promised to teach her. “See? It’s taking some shape now. I was thinking a bracelet perhaps.” Indeed, the band was now taking shape with slightly rounded ends.

Keez reflected his smile as she stood there watching him work and drifted closer into the smithy, careful not to step on or knock anything over. This place was definitely a man’s working place, “Vil will be glad to have working partner if you know way of smithing as well. He is good man and his mate is good woman.” She heard the word ‘mate’ echo within her head and knew she was not so good at the dance that seemed to be going on, at least the first few steps. Before she could speak her mind, his words brought her attention to the piece he was shaping and nodded. “It will be beautiful. Did you speak with Spec to see what he would like of you to make for Nan?” She drifted closer until she stood almost at his side, but giving plenty of room for him to swing.

The man resumed his work as she stepped close enough for them to be heard over the sound. He shook his head slightly. “I did not ask him. He seemed preoccupied and I learned what I needed most to know.” The band was not yet curved to a wrist, but that would come with time. For the moment, he stopped and admired the overall shape, broader in the centre and tapering into two semi-crescents. He grunted appreciatively. “Yes, this is good. I had thought to facet the stones but now that the shape comes, I will smooth them instead.” He looked at the woman and eyed her up and down. “You said that you work leather, hide, and cloth, correct?”

She nodded slowly. “I do. It was what women be expected to do in my village, so I learn from young age. The men bring of the hunt, women clean, skin and make things. All the animal is used, nothing ever to waste. Why waste a gift of gods?” A warm smile came to her face as she casually drifted to the hanging hide, looking over the work of Vil’s mate. “She is good, but does not have natural talent of the People. Maybe I will teach.” She looked back at him. “Reason of asking?” she inquired, curious.

Dev sorted through his many punches and selected a small one. Pressing the sharp tip to the centre of the band, he hit it decisively with the hammer a single time and pulled the tool away to reveal a single circle-shaped imprint in the raw gold. He didn’t look away from his work as he replied but said, “Yes, as I travelled in the South. I left many of my warm clothes behind to make room for my many goods and tools. As such, I need several pieces of warm clothing, most notably, a cloak and a thicker tunic. If you need, I would be happy to find and prepare a fresh pelt during my next hunt.”

The Red Savage woman listened to him attentively and when he spoke of his need, she nodded, “Yes, I will make. I am working with fur of Kur and a large larl fur right now; making self something from larl, but making HighJarl and Hold a gift from the Kur. I will be more than happy to make of you things.” She smiled at him. “Bring me pelt and I will make. Soon, though, before snow comes or you will freeze.” She let pass a few moments of silence, obviously having something on her mind and not wishing to let the opportunity pass. She grabbed the opportunity. “Deviathan, when you are not of working and have no working things on mind . . . I . . .” there was a pause, as if debating whether she should continue, but she forced the words out, ” . . . would like to talk with you.” She glanced off, avoiding his gaze should he shift it to her, but oh, how her cheeks burned!

The man smiled inwardly as he selected another punch, smaller this time, and punched two more holes equidistant from the larger one in the centre. He considered a moment, wondering what the woman wanted to ask of him and suddenly he felt unaccountably shy. His cheeks flushed with more than the heat of the work now as he cleared his throat and said lightly, “We can speak any time. I’m not too busy just yet, I will need to prepare flux and that will take a few moments to heat in which I will not be busy. And I thank you for your willingness to make the clothes I need. I will find a way to repay you for your work.” He wasn’t entirely sure how he would accomplish that so he simply continued working, unwilling to attempt to catch her gaze any more than she was his.

Keez brought her attention back to him as he spoke, but shook her head, “There is no need of repaying. We all work together to ensure all in village live and survive. If they are happy, then that is all of better.” She nodded as he said he wouldn’t be too busy and now she could feel more of the heat, though not sure if it was of the smithy or from her own embarrassment, but she forced the words to continue. “I know . . . I know of you only short time, but in short time I . . .” she looked down at her hands now, fiddling with the strings on her dress, “. . . maybe this is wrong, maybe this is too bold for Freed Woman, but . . . I would like to know of you more.” Her eyes flicked upward at that, doing her utmost not to embarrass him. “You and I seem to think alike on . . . much . . . and you are fast becoming friend.”

Dev almost dropped the punch he had newly selected as she rambled out her thoughts. He hadn’t expected her to be so bold, or perhaps so shy, he wasn’t sure. It made him uncomfortable. How was he supposed to act in this situation? Clearing his throat, he put the fumbled punch down among its fellows and turned to face her, hands at his sides and face difficult to read. His brows were furrowed, lips set in a line, red flaming down his cheeks and to his neck, and his pale green eyes troubled slightly. Picking his words carefully, he spoke slowly. “Yes, we do seem able to tolerate each other well and have similar interests. Yes, we haven’t known each other long . . .” he trailed off, unsure how to continue, his eyes searching her face. Looking away, he started up again, “Perhaps we should both speak more clearly. Allow me to start: I admit that it is not only the snow in the pass keeping me here. Please do not be shy with me. I find your presence comfortable and would like it to remain that way.”

The woman felt though as if she were on the slickest of ice, struggling to remain standing, as she tried to explain how she felt in a way that would not be considered as inappropriate. As he spoke, she met his eyes, for an array of emotions rested within her own, but the one that displayed most was . . . fear. She was like a rabbit before the hungry wolf, ready to dart off the moment things threatened to turn gloomy, but when he started over, she nodded. “And, I admit . . .” she took a breath, revealing more of herself than she had allowed any here to see, “. . . that I have myself in thinking ‘what if’. What if I was meant to come and you were meant to stay and we are meant to meet. You speak of children and I sleep near the Healer’s room and at night it is hard for me to hear crying baby because . . .” and now her hands clenched, forcing those unshed tears to not be seen even as they align her lids, she finally admitting something she hadn’t to anyone else. “I thought I lost of chance to have of them when I lost of mate, but you come . . . you speak of wanting family, you speak of wanting child and mate. We have minds on right path and . . .” there was another quiver to her lip, “. . . I fear being hurt, yes, but I fear of hiding emotions and feelings more that will make me of old lonely woman. So I take bold chance . . . and tell you these things.”

He looked down at his feet as she spoke, saying nothing and making no movement or noise. As she finished he said simply, “It is right for a woman of the North to speak as she feels so long as there is respect. Perhaps you are right, and it was meant for the two of us to end up upon this reach where the essence of the gods is strong.” He paused and picked up the bracelet in progress, testing its weight as he thought. “I am not sure how you wish us to progress so let me make sure I understand your feelings. You seek a mate and to build a family? And you have considered me as a prospect?” One of his brows quirked but nervously rather than skeptically. It was difficult to see a woman wishing to partner with an untested stranger who held no land and owned only what he could carry on his back. “I have no land, no beast, not even a single slave or a mead horn to my name. I am sure your family would be shamed for you to mate so lowly.”

She listened to his words and they surprised her somewhat, but then she gently shook her head. “Lowly? No. The only man who would be ‘lowly’ is man of no honour. Do you have honour? Do you protect what is in heart and mind? I have no land. I have no beast. All this . . .” her hands lift up and spread out as if showing the Valr, “. . . is not of mine. It is the HighJarl’s. All that I make, all that I do, is of borrowed. When I come here, I come here with a single bag with a few trinkets, memories. A story fur from long times, but that is all. My mother is only adopted, she is not of blood and only she has of wealth. I hardly see of them, but I care of them because when I became Freed Woman, they immediately took of me in to protect of me so that no man would try and toss me to circle of bonds. So that I would not end up back as slave, but stay Freed. I am of darken skin. I am foreign here and there was many men wanting to keep me of collar, but that is the only thing they give of me. So you and I . . .” she motions to him and then to her “. . . we are of same.”

Dev looked at her thoughtfully, the crease between his brows smoothing and the ghost of a smile coming to his lips. “I see then.” He stepped closer to her and reached one hand out as if to place it on her shoulder. His hands are rough from his work; the backs of them have many small burn scars which shine oddly in the light. “I have honour and I protect that which is important to me, what is mine. But I have nothing to give to a mate, I will not take one until I have a life to give her.” He looks at her wistfully, wishing to say more but finding it difficult to speak. He wishes some of his natural bravado could be used in this situation – the fake smiles, the shrewd eyes, the loud laughs – but he found he could not bluff to her. Instead he said, “I will work hard and make my fortune. I will hunt, craft, and take slaves. Then I will have something to provide for a family.”

Feeling the weight of his hand on her shoulder she smiled at him nervously, listening to the words he spoke. “If you have of this honour and hold of bravery to meet of adopted family, I would like you to do so.” Now, here is where she imagined he would run for the hills. “My family is of olden ways, that if man wishes to claim woman, he speaks with Father and tasks are given. My sister’s mate went through this and they have been together for a long time. It is to show if a man is willing to work hard and give all to make of intended his own.” Yes, she was getting this all out on the table now. “When you want of this to go to that placing, let me know and I will seek of my father. I want to learn you. I want to know of you. No rushing, but at least I am not to hide behind nervous smiles and glances any more. You know of my feelings now and I am feeling better to know of yours.”

The metalsmith looked relieved and his smile broadened, becoming genuine. His voice, somewhere between a rich tenor and a high baritone, was warm as he spoke. “I would be pleased to meet your family. When you go to visit them . . . perhaps I could accompany you as a guardian . . .” She followed the Northern ways of courtship, it seemed, and he was glad to know it, it was the way he was familiar with and the way he had intended to court his eventual mate. Not one to fall for a woman quickly, he was left somehow off-balance but it was not an unwelcome feeling. “I too wish to learn of you, but perhaps we act less like children meeting for the first time and simply speak to one another. Perhaps we should just talk about ourselves.”

Keez smiled warmly as he spoke of her family, “I would like of you to accompany. It is a short journey as they are of my Northern family, but,” and then her smile formed into a small grin, “I have sent letter to my mother telling her I wanted to come and visit, so hopefully I get a response soon and she will send the serpent for me.” Her heart was dancing as if finally coming through a harsh winter and feeling the sun upon her for the first time in a long while. “Yes, less of children. I am not good at mating dance, but I would like to move like adults. Thank you for listening with me, Deviathan.” and leaning up, she placed a kiss to his cheek, a gentle touch of her lips to his flesh and lowered back down to her heels. “I should find of my bed soon, it is early day tomorrow, but now I have much to look forward to.”

Dev smiled as her lips brushed his cheek, tickling his stubble. “I hope you hear from her soon, then. I look forward to meeting your family and would be honoured to accompany you.” He gently stepped away and looked back to his work, thinking upon it, new ideas flitting through his head. “Rest well, Keez. I should also ask if it’s all right to call you that. I find your long name difficult to pronounce.”

Slowly drawing away, she replied, smiling, “You may,” and with a sweet “good night”, she turned towards the hall and her dreams.

. . . looking at her now, Dev smiled to himself and reached out a hand to gently brush away a lock of hair that had fallen across her face. He settled on a nearby fur, and fell asleep, too.

Olaf Tells Tales of Yngvarr’s Hall

Olaf The Great smacked Nana’s arse with his stick. “Be good little woman.”

Nana Yngvarrdottir looked at Olaf and raised her brow in a very quirky lift as she looked at him out of the corner of her. . . well, blind eye. She’d never told him the story, nor did she think his eyesight would have been good enough to see that she really wasn’t looking at him. “Mah feelings be ‘urt Olaf t’a Great..Yew run t’rough ‘ere and promise ta entertain us wit’ stories t’en yew disappear. Ah t’ought mah breath stinks or somet’ing.”

Olaf smiled at her. “Well, ye little one, when the mead flows stories do to. ” He tapped his cane to her backside again. “And I could tell you a thing or two about this here hold.”

Nana grabbed her skirts swooshing them from her backside. “Ah ever wit’ ‘old mead or a belly full, or t’a girl ta c’ew ita for yew before? Ne’er.” She looked back at her work and flicked a few things around “Ah be sure mah mate be just as ‘ospitable as mah ako ‘ave been wit’ yew.”

The Ancient looked at her with a sly grin. “There are a great many things you don’t know about the lands you walk upon but there are still some that know them well.” He chuckled. “So be kind and I might just might tell you what I know.”

The diminutive woman had always been overly nice to the Elder, and the dramatic blast of stepping over so many lines by another of her hold, her family’s hall – HER mate’s now – it’d been stressful with her heavier state. Emotions were raw as it was. “Mah apologizes Olaf t’a Great.” She reached out offering her hand to him. “T’ems drunk stone carvers got t’em selves taget’er Odin ‘elp ems but Ah still guide yew mahself ta a table.”

Olaf The Great took her hand with a toothless smile.”Aye, be kind to weary bones as I not need to hurt a hip or thigh walking through these lands.”

Nana regarded him with a smug little grin marked, only by her deeply creased eyes. “Of course not. Mah steps be just as gentle as yers t’ese days.” She said beaming with pride, though her eyes went straight to the path. She would follow him as she always had. He’d not had a horn last time he’d visited and a quick glance at his belts revealed to her she was right and he was hornless. She made a mental note to mention to her mate that she’d like to give the Elder a horn. He’d earned the right to have his own, and why he didn’t she wasn’t sure. She continued on to the table on the left of the rise and and let the tap pull back filling a pitcher to the brim with mead. She quickly grabbed a horn and tucked it under her arm before sliding a platter out. A few choice strips of meat were pulled from the roasted tarsks and then a hunk of bread. She rushed back to him. She had no desire to sit anywhere else but amongst the people. That other chair up there intimidated her unless Spec sat above her and even then . . she didn’t think it was right. She just slid back in next to him where she’d sat last visit. “Ah doubt Ah be much use for c’ew yer meat Olaf t’a Great, because mah appetite gonna make meh swallow it. But Ah rip it tiny for yew.”

The Elder smiled as his hand pressed to the table, glancing at her. “‘Tis all right, little lass. I been around long enough to know when a kindness is given but I don’t take that kinds lightly these days, so I do thank you for the hand, as you have shown this old one more respect than I have seen in ages. I have walked many lands and most of the time my passing barley gets noticed as though I was just ghost passing in the breeze . But why would such a pretty one want to know of this ones history?”

She stood back up realizing, she’d not even gave him a chance to wash his mysterious wanderings from his hands. “Oh! Wait, Elder.” She said quickly, embarrassed, as she ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a small bowl and filled it with water that had been warming on the hearth. She reached for a new rep cloth, barely able to keep her balance, mumbles of “lazy girls and empty halls” leaving her lips as she dashed back out to the belly of the Great Hall. She slid the bowl across to him and then walked back to her seat next to him and held the rep out ready to dry his hands before he ate. She’d still not poured the promised steady flow of mead. But he hadn’t started a story either. “W’y would Ah not want ta know, Elder? T’a past write t’a future. Ifna yew don’t know it, ‘ow do know yew w’ich way yew sypposed ta go?” She looked over at him, now really turning the good eye to him “Mah family try ‘ard ta escape ‘istory..ita be wrong, we suffer for it..”

The wizened old man dipped his hands in the bowl, washing the day’s travels from each of them, a crooked smile on hi lips. He took up the bowl, swallowing a mouth full and swishing it back and forth before spitting it back into the bowl. He reached out to take the cloth and patted his mouth dry and dried his hands. “Now lass, the stories I could tell you might surprise you in many ways.” Tapping the stick to the floor hard enough that the stones echoed from under them as he flashed her a wink. “But that time may not be now for the telling, as what you seek my lay at your feet and you just cant see it.” His chuckling echoed around the hall.

Nana watched the man and tried not to let her face show her queasiness too apparently. She finally poured that promised mead and handed him the horn so she could start ripping the meat into tiny pieces as the sudden hit against the stone about made her jump from her skin. She paused and looked up at him. “Yew see t’a ‘all form? T’a Gods t’eyselves did is w’at t’ey say.” She said and wrinkled her nose as she debated on chewing his meat, but in no way, shape or form would she do it as her bond had. She finally decided her mate probably would not object because the man had no teeth, except wooden ones. She quickly popped a piece up to her lips and chewed, fast and furious, before setting it out on the plate. “Ita big place Olaf t’a Great. Yew tell meh ifna t’a stone all fly tagether. “ard ta believe but Ah saw stranger t’ings…” She looked at the mead pitcher wishing she could have a horn herself, but no, no, she’d not do that with the babe. She turned back to him, picking up a second piece of meat to keep him up a steady supply of pre-chewed food. “Yew know, each of us t’at came ‘ere with mah Ako were seeking different t’ings.. some pure, others not…T’ey ne’er make it past t’a door without ita catching t’em and t’a ones not pure, t’ey werent looking for t’a same as Ah mahselve look for”

He heard her words and smiled at her, taking the bite of chewed meat. He popped it in his mouth and his eyes grew bigger as the horn was filled. Greedily, he reached out for it and took a few quick sips, leaning back as he shuffled his arse to face her a little more. “Down through the ages stories have been told and told again but it’s hard to find one that was there at the first telling, and even more rare to find one that had been there as it unfolded.” He took a few more swigs from the horn. Tapping the floor once more an echo came from under them. His eyes lifter to hers. “These lands here are such a place I have walked before. These stones seem old to you but to me, I walked these stone when they where freshly carved.” Taking up another bite of meat, he slid it between his lips, savouring the flavour of it before adding another sip of mead to wash it down. “How old do you think I am, lass?Do I look frail to you? Has the passage of time made me diluted in mind and spirit? I think not, as I have seen things you have only heard about. I have stood with the great ones of the past and I bring you their words, not in a handed-down story but as a first-hand account, as I was there with them..

verandi came in from tending the farm. Seeing the Free sitting at the table, she moved gracefully with quick strides, stepping over to the tarsk and mead barrels. She grasped the horn serving vessel at her hip and she filled the large intricate horn with warm mead, her fingers reaching for the sachet of spices, sprinkling them over the top. She secured it firmly in place back at her hip. She reached for a large platter and pulled the juiciest, finest selections of meat from the roasted tarsk, placing them on the platter, then turned on her toes, blonde hair flowing across heated slave flesh, full breasts heaving, and made her way to the table.

Nana sucked in her bottom lip and started chewing as frantically as her nervous habit allowed her. She would have scooted back from him, because yes, he was one of the oddest-looking living things she’d ever seen in her whole life. But the intrigue kept her glued right where she was. She cringed a bit and rubbed her hands together on her thighs before reaching for meat to chew, hurrying to make a pile for him because she didn’t want to miss this first-hand account of his tale. She looked down at the tap of the stones again and it was only now that she’d heard the echo she’d missed the first time. Her eyes dropped down at second before looking back up at him. How old could the Ancient really be? She herself was well into her 332 year of life. She considered herself young, but old enough to understand that some things were indeed best heard from the source. “Ah couldn’t even come close and Ah ne’r wish ta insult yew, Elder,” she said as she heard the pat of verandi coming in behind her “Heilsa mine. His meat is ta t’ick for ims.” She scooted back finally and allowed her room to crawl up on the table.

The old man chugged a big swig of mead and his brow furrowed. “At the dawn of time we came climbing the great cliffs between the two great mountain chains of the high north. We were the first ones to place a foot on this land you now call home. I was here as the first stones were quarried and then laid. These hands . . . ” holding them up to her now with age they shook ” . . . have been used to construct this hall . These eyes have seen many secrets which you are likely not even able to guess at. But for me they are not that far away.” He looking at the bond with a smile “Greetings, girl, ” he said, scooting back for the girl to climb up. “When you came here I am betting all you saw were mere remnants of the hall you have rebuilt now and I also see not one stone of the floor has been touched. Am I right? But what lies at your feet is worth more than you could ever have dreamed of.” He stared directly into her eyes “What you walk upon everyday and not even give a second thought, like where all these stones came from, as I am sure you have not seen any mines or quarries anywhere near here have you?” A broad grin came to his lips as he waited to see her response.

verandi grinned as she leaned forward, placing the large platter of meat upon the table, seeing the one there was looking slim for pickings. She looked at her Mistress’s horn and, seeing she was in need of more, she pulled the vessel at her hip free, filling the horn to its rim with the fresh warm mead. Her fingers slid gently over her Owners, and she whispered a sweet prayer for her well being as she smiled brightly a her before turning on her toes. Seeing the handsome ole Jarl she remembered from earlier, she grinned brightly and slipped up onto the table before him. Grasping a piece of tarsk meat, she placed it gently between her teeth having remembered the routine. She reached forward for his horn as she held the serving vessel ready in her hands and grinned over at her Mistress. “Heilsa, my Mistres.” She turned back to the Jarl before gaving him a sultry wink as her heat ached and her belly burned with desire remembering her last encounter with him. “Heilsa, Jarl” she said, as she held the meat between her teeth.

The Red Hunter woman listened with a gleam in her eye that had been recently glassed over with all the stresses haunting these halls. First the horrible days the dark clouds refused to leave the hills, then her ako handing over the symbol of struggle and strife, Spec disappearing, then Gab again, Halls echoing in history that shouldn’t have been repeated but was, over and over . . . until it couldn’t house life any more. She’d heard the tales too, just different on her side of the great barriers. “Ah saw loose, Elder w’en we first marched t’ese ‘ills.” She looked up at verandi satisfied that she had a girl that served all Jarls…Gods know Nana herself might have thought twice only because the man’s appearance scared her. “But loose isnt w’at Ah really found w’en ita be all Ah see at first.” She looked down at the stones again that he continued to gesture to. She’d heard that portion of the tale as well. But that wasn’t her interest here, although it was of others. “Olaf t’a Great, second t’ought maybe ne’r, but being grateful does make yew wonder w’at lay beneath. Somet’ing so wonderful t’at it can come back ta life if yew just take a deep breath and s’are ita wit’ it instead of just being greedy?” She sat back now pulling a leg up; she thought about his question, and for the first time realised she’d not, but Vil always seem to find ore practically leaping from the grounds around the hall.

verandi grinned as she saw the Man scoot back in his seat, her supple thighs parting wider as she wriggled on her heels. Her soft legs wiggle upon the wood of the table as she slipped down onto his lap, a wide grin on her face. She pulled the chewed meat from between her teeth, blonde locks falling to graze over heaving breasts, pert nipples pressed against his chest as she shifted on his lap. Her fingers trailed down his arm and she leaned forward, her luscious lips grazing over his collarbone. Holding the meat gently in her fingers, she waited for him to finish speaking so as to not interrupt his wise words, her heat aching as she longed for his slightest touch. Her mind raced with the nights she’d woken with the wise man in her mind. Her radiant green orbs danced over his aged skin, not of being old – the marks and lines he bore were of pure wisdom that none other she’d encountered in all her years had yet to match. Her lithe frame swayed slightly as she dazed off into thought. Her mind momentarily lapsing off, she looked at her Owner.

Olaf The Great leaned forward to her taking the bit of meat the bond had chewed. He took the morsel, kissing her and nodding to her. “So, lass, what is it you seek from these lands? A home? Perhaps a place of safety?” His eyebrow raised “Or perhaps you seek something you don’t even know you’re looking for yet?” He leaned closer to her. “This land has riches beyond your wildest dreams.” Taking a sip from the horn, he reached to his pack and removed a small bottle of black iron ore, tipping it over on the table, watching as it spilled onto the wooden top. “You know what this is, lass?” His gaze went between the woman and the bond. “This is why I came when I saw the hall has been rebuilt and life once more has sprung forth from the lands.” Taking the bit of meat, one hand moved down her side, coming to rest on the bonds arse. “You bring life to a hall I once loved and gave my blood to and now it is reborn, raised from the ruins in which you found them and in turn you have found yourselves, also. Am I not right?” A slight chuckle came from his lips. “Now your mind is racing, the thirst for my words becoming even greater to know the secrets of the lands you now walk upon.”

Nana glanced up at verandi and slipped her spoon from her belts and popped the bond’s thigh to get the girl’s attention back on chewing meat. His teeth had Nana doing it herself until she’d walked in. Na then lifted the spoon to her lips and whispered a “shh” and pointed it to Olaf as if telling her to listen. She then looked back at Olaf and found herself propping an elbow on the table so her chin could rest in a palm, leaning in. Of all the days Spec took to the walls again and Gab was missing, Olaf finally tells what he knows of these lands. Nana could feel the close bond he’d had with the lands the day she’d found him sitting outside the hall and had immediately welcomed him inside, though she’d been told not to allow anyone in. He’d become a fixture here of wisdom, though, so her intuition hadn’t led her wrong. She looked now at the thud of the heavy material he crashed out on the table from that satchel. She’d always wondered if it had been the cause of his deep lean, rather than age, and just shook her head. She’d never seen the pure ground form of ore . . . any ore. She looked at verandi with a questioning look. Surely if Nana didn’t know the bond wouldn’t either. She then looked at Olaf again, turning her body completely to side so she could watch his face when she spoke. ” T’at ne’r be somet’ing t’at Ah would call treasure Elder.” She said slowly, “But like yew be as right as yew ever are. We found ourselves in t’a ruins of a ‘all t’at was said t’a be long forgotten and t’a ways t’at constructed it, forever lost. T’a treasure ta meh was t’a way t’a stones spoke ta mah Ako, called mah mate ta meh, leading ims ‘ere after, and cleared t’a valr for us ta find it . . . and give us ‘ope our travels ne’r be in vain..” She looked back to the clump he’d rolled onto the table and pointed a single finger out to poke it “But t’at Ah dont know.”

verandi grinned as she leant against him, her small frame jumping slightly as she felt the spoon hit her thigh. Her green eyes quickly peered down t her leg before turning to grasp another piece of meat. Putting it between her teeth speedily, she began chewing softly, looking between the two. Shifting her weight on his lap, full hips rolling softly, she leaned forward. Pressing her small outstretched finger to his chest, she began drawing small shapes as she’d seen on the ruins in the caves, her mind trying to focus on the chewing. Perhaps paying a bit to much attention to different tasks, she looked up as her eyes widened having eaten the piece of meat. She looked between the two furtively, seeing them lost in conversation with each other. She grasped another piece of meat, popping it deftly in her mouth, hoping it hadn’t been noticed that she’d already taken one. She chewed it much more carefully this time so as to not devour the juicy meat, then held it between her teeth for his taking.

The Ancient let out a cackle as he reckoned that she wouldn’t know what the ore was. He reached up, grasping the bond’s iron collar, shaking it lightly. “See this? You know what it’s made of, right?” His hand moved to the ore on the table. “That’s what her collar is made of, aye, though this may not be smelted and refined. It is iron ore, lass, and these stones upon which you walk cover the greatest iron mine in all of Gor ” Taking up my walking stick this time he brought it down to the stones with a greater force. As the wood hit stone, the echo was plain to hear for all nearby. “And this hold sits atop it all .” Smiling at her, he leaned forward taking the morsel from the bond as he quickly chased it with a sip from the horn. “So, lass, are my words true or not? Do you really think that this hall could sit upon the richest iron mine in all of Gor? Have you searched for its entrance? Do you hunger to know where it is, or shall I end my tale here and speak of the rest at another time?”

The tiny woman looked at verandi’s neck as he yanked on her collar that was riveted to the girl’s neck by the hand of her missing ako. The importance he’d placed on it told Na it was very precious, but precious, just like the word treasure, meant so many things to so many. She looked back at Olaf now and wrinkled her nose as she sat there thinking over what he was saying. This hall? Her blood’s hall, her mate’s, sat on the biggest settlement of this iron, that she herself, at one time in her life, so long ago had to fight her inhibitions to earn? That she’d watched too many a girl demand so much of herself to earn? That was a treasure in its own mark? A slave wearing the very metal that defends us all in the hands of of the men trained to wield them. Precious to both in very different ways . . . worthless to others. She looked back over to verandi as she curled around the odd older man with worn skin and knowledge Nana only wished she could understand. She finally looked down at the stones. Her toe traced over the curve of the intriguingly placed stones, twisted with care this way and that, and the perfect mortar so precisely pressed between them. She looked back at the tip of the walking stick. Her eyes then drifted back to the wrinkled portrait of a living soul that somehow defied odds on the great scales. “Olaf t’a Great, w’ile Ah only wish ta know one t’ing, many in t’is ‘all wish ta ‘ear t’a end. Could Ah hear both t’en or do Ah only get ta pick one? T’a answer ta t’a question t’at always burn in mah mind, but ah just now piece taget’er, or just t’a end of t’a tale yew say now, fictional or not…yew ‘ave yet ta say either.” She looked back at verandi a split second and then Olaf. It was not fiction, she was sure of it, but no one would never know unless they sought it, like Vil. He’d just been wandering yesterday. Her own curiosity grew as to how a man his age, condition and appearance could make this hike and survive . . . for the good of the hold.

verandi raised her chin as she felt the Man’s fingers wrap about the iron riveted to her throat. Her small frame trembled as she felt the shake given to it. Her heart raced and swelling breasts heaved in anticipation. His strong touch melted her being; her heat ached as she longed for the strong touch of such a wise well-educated Jarl. Her small head remained raised high baring her collared neck for his will; her eyes peering over to her Mistress before returning to the Jarl. “Yes, Jarl, it is made of the finest iron brought from house Yngvarr, said to be the best in all of Gor, Jarl.” Her eyes glimmered with pride as she spoke. She knew she belonged to one of the most sought after and finest houses of Gor. She turned her small upper body, reaching slender fingers over to the platter as her eyes remained locked on his. Pulling another piece of meat in her small hands she pondered an ihn how much tarsk could one Jarl eat. A wide grin formed on her lips as she struggled to not slam her small hand onto her thigh and shout out, “So that’s how he keeps such stamina.” She grinned as she wiggled upon his lap. Reaching up, she filled his horn again from the pitcher she still clung to in her other. Her Mistress’s voice pulled her from her thoughts as she tilted her head to listen. She smiled as she narrowed her eyes, not in rudeness, but as she tried to defragment her words. She always did love listening to her Owner speak; the longer the sentences the funnier the game of Mistress scrabble got. She’d almost mastered this task as the words she didn’t understand she simply nodded in agreement. She grinned brightly knowing one day such an action would bite her in the butt when the unknown words would not be in her benefit. She raised a slender hand to rub her cheek as she turned back to the Jarl.

A Wide grins crept across the old man’s lips as he waved the girl off his lap. He rose to his feet standing fully upright, almost forgetting himself as he hunched over once more, with a groan at the weight of the pack. Raising the horn and draining it in one fluid motion, he said, “Now come with me, lass, as I have one thing to show you before the tale can be completed, and since your mate sits at the head of this hold it shall be only your eyes that shall see what I have to show. You must swear to me an oath that only you may know of this till it’s time. A sign from the gods will show you when it shall be told to your mate after that.” Looking about he noted the walls where not where they used to be, but the floor was intact and would show the path as he lead her away from the main part of the hall, checking behind them to make sure they were not followed. “Come closer, lass. This is only for your ears for now but in time you shall tell your mate what you have learned here this night.”

Nana looked over at verandi and shooed her away She watched as the deceptively old looking man got to his feet, hump still intact as he rose stronger than she’d seen him before. He seemed to just have a presence about him tonight stronger than she had seen or felt the first moon’s rising when she let her intuition control her thought. She stood up, hesitantly, too. She looked at verandi again…She’d taken that girl everywhere with her but she’d not now. Her eyes turned down to the stones and again she traced the stones. When they’d first arrived, she had sat at the edge of the ruined crumbled walls and just stared at the floor. It had always confused her how all but the floor, the foundation of all that had held up all the crumbled, decrepit pieces on top, had remained the framework for her ako’s stone masons, had held fast through the downfall that had let this hall die before they’d arrived with a vengeance. “Iie, is true mah Ugi head t’is ‘all but ita be meh yew wish ta s’ow and not ims?” She was blushing again as she had when Vil called her Lady of the HighJarl. She couldn’t get her mind around the fact her ako . . . gave up. It terrified her. Tannik and his Ghost. Gab never ever gave up. She looked troubled as she held her hand out to the enigma with a wrinkled face. “Brace on, meh Elder” she said as she always allowed him to do.

Olaf took her offered arm and led her from the hall to a passage way e knew very well. He upturned the walking stick and it seemed to glow with a life of its own. He stood firm, unaided by it. He rose further looking over her as he touched the tip with a twist, revealing an oddly-shaped key. He scanned the floor, a gleam in his eye, as he took the staff and drove it into the stones where five came together. A clap of thunder echoed throughout the hall as the staff was driven deeper into the floor. A finger went to his lips, chuckling, as the floor parted and a stone turned under the one next to it. “This here, lass, is its entrance and down in the depths you will find the treasure. Before this time only the gods knew where it was and now I pass that onto you to keep it safe and not to let it be known past these walls.” Gripping her shoulder, a warmth passed from his hand, and he looked deep into her eyes “You may be feeling things deeper now and a change in you is growing as blood become blood so you shall be renewed. Wait for the sign. You will know when it is. ” With that said, he slumped over once more, the gleam fading from his eyes as he became what he once was the first time they met. Taking the staff, he pulled it from the floor as what was one now became two. “Take the staff, lass, and hide it well.”

Nana looked over at the man as they glided through the hall , his weight becoming lighter on her offered hand as they walked down the hall that she always thought looked out of place. Nana was a thinker, not a speaker, and had passed it to at least one of her sons. The other was just wild from her womb, which she knew had purpose as well, but her and Ataneq’s gift of watching and absorbing was something she’d come to survive on. She looked down at the floor where they’d stopped and saw nothing, then up at Olaf again. Her eyes, both of them, even the blinded eye, saw Olaf, not the wrinkled hunching elder that she had come to admire just for the wisdom that came from his weathered sunken lips, but the heart that it took to keep going when no one listened any more. So many had stopped listening. He was Olaf the something, but it lasted only a breath, and then her one brown eye found a familiar face again as Thunder struck down around them though it never showed itself. Tootega was running hard tonight, and Na prayed she found steady foot and would bring the Hunters of this hall that had gone missing home. She gave the the strength of her chase to her mate as a key of sorts past from one old-aged, well-lived hand to another soft, hard-lived young hand. She looked back down to the stones and she saw, without seeing, what was there. Her breath stuttered as she stepped back. She didn’t want such responsibility, but who was she, but a woman, to tell this ancient Elder no. She looked back at him, eyes wider than platters of roasted game and steamed greenery. “Olaf t’a Great, yew are just as yer name say…T’is ne’r be mah treasure, but t’at of men. W’y yew keep meh t’is?” she asked as she looked back at the wind echoing hall that had a whole new light. “Ah dont deserve t’is secret.”

The Elder looked at her and placed a hand on her swollen belly “This is why, blood of my blood.” Turning to head back to the hall as the weight once again returned to his back, hunching over and gripping the staff with a shaky hand looking once more old and frail. “Lass, you have just seen what until now only the gods knew about. Take my words to heart as you have brought life back to my home and once again the walls shall echo with the sounds of life. He walked back and headed up the stairs to the alcove she’d shown him the first time he’d gone there, having to stop at the fist landing to catch his breath, then set forth to finish the climb. “I do thank you for your kindness.”

The small woman stood there. Her expression was a mixture of many things, and confusion was not even close to describing what she felt. She was sure she’d heard him right. Had she? She just looked down at the man’s hand and then he was gone. She fell back against the stone walls and closed her eyes as a hand went to her growing treasure . . . yes her treasure. All the iron in Gor could not take the place of what grew inside her now, had grown inside her and now protected these walls. She opened her eyes again, closing one at a time, but no, the blind liquid blue eye was devoid of life and sight again. She could still feel an old withered hand over her belly, but when she looked down, the Old Elder was gone. Had he even been there to begin with? She pushed up from the wall and stood there, swaying, with something buzzing in her head. She took an unsteady step as she turned towards the entrance. She was pale, shaken, and she walked in silence as she needed another look at her mate now. She must see his face while the flash of clarity was still fresh in her mind.. He’d think she was crazy, she was sure. “OLAF WAIT!” she screamed down the hall as she took off after the ghost of Torv..

She was as pale as a the ghost she’d just seen. She stopped just short of Soec and just stood there, neck craned back to a position that would have hurt most but she’d grown accustomed to this awkward view from the bottom of his chin. She never said anything, but instead reached up, pushing as high as she could get on her tip-toes until just the tips of her slender fingers could reach the end of his beard. She pulled it to get him to look directly at her. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, because it’d been so illuminated it would have blinded those that weren’t already, and maybe that’s why she saw it. She would stare at him deeper than she had ever before and then gasped and dropped his beard. She took a few steps back as her hands went protectively to her swollen belly again. With two steps back, she turned and ran to the cabin over the pass bridge they shared. She needed something. Her odd behaviour wouldn’t even phase her, but it would most likely alarm him. It didn’t matter.

Spec raised an eyebrow not sure what had just taken place, wondering why she’d acted the way she had. The look on her face was strange; her eyes seemed to look at him for the first time. Not sure of what was going through her mind or the reason it had happened, he took a long draught from the skin, hoping she heard that he needed more mead. He decided to wait to see if that’s why she’d run off in such a hurry.

Nana was out of breath by the time she reached the cabin. Clusters of snow clung to the hem of her skirts and weighted her steps until she stomped her boots free on the threshold of the door. She went straight to the little chest he’d recently given her and dropped to her knees, digging through the jewellery, coins and finery he’d gifted her until she found that one thing she had added herself. It’d been just a glimpse peeking from the ground when they arrived. She’d dug it out and hidden it in her skirts. It was a drinking horn with the strangest marks she’d ever looked at. Nothing she’d seen before came close and it even seemed to glow. She had been told that maybe the gods, their gods, had built these walls and it always made her smile to think she held a horn the lips of a god may have touched. She pulled it out and then replaced its position with the key that had been entrusted to her. She still couldn’t figure out why. She was just a woman that watched the hall . . . though more than that really, HighJarl’s woman . . . sister of the former missing HighJarl . . . it all confused her so badly and carried a weight as heavy as the mjolnir surely felt like to her ako. But this horn didn’t belong to her any more. It’d sought its owner and found him. She pushed up to her feet and ran back out in a mad dash, wrapping the horn in her skirts as she ran.

Spec was standing at the wall, drifting in deep thought as calm washed over his frame. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath, inhaling the cooling air, though he did not feel a chill. As his chest filled with the air, he raised his eyes to the heavens and words started falling from his lips in a language most would not understand. Almost in a hushed breath, he spoke, standing there feeling a warmth wash over him.

His woman returned, huffing and panting and reached up, tapping him in the small of his back because that was the highest she could get. “T’is be yers Ugi,” was all she said in broken pauses. The glowing horn came rolling from her skirts, massive in her hands, but she was positive would fit his. “Ah found it.” Her words were still trembling with the experience she’d just had. She couldn’t sort it; she was lost.

Spec took hold of the horn, looking at her and thinking she’d made it for him. A smile came to his lips. He reached down and lifted her up to taste her lips. “I love you, my woman.” He held her close to him and it felt good to feel her so near and the taste of her drove him mad with desire. Setting her back down, he looked at the horn. His gaze was transfixed on the horn. As he held it in his hand a strange feeling came over him as if he’d once held it before but his mind could not place when or where it might have taken place.

Nana watched as the horn changed hands, from her own to the rightful owner. She would not tell him just yet why she brought it to him or what had happened in the hall and it would absolutely eat her alive keeping things, one thing, from him. She stood there and looked at him a moment longer. She would only hear her brother’s words as she walked to the hall . . . “We are favoured and blessed amongst the mists. Only those that belong will make it this far. The men and their offspring will return a blessing on those below the mists because these men, they are the leaders.” She stopped at the bottom of the towers. She looked down at the snow . . . ani . . . her eyes closed again searching for reasons she’d probably never find, answers that she would chase for many moons. She looked back at the towers and then just shook her head . . . lost – no that wasn’t the word . . .

Keezheekoni Vayandar moved into the kitchen to find a basket so that she might see to some of her chores. A song was on her lips and she hummed, truly in a good mood. She paused, spotting a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye as she passed through. “Hou Spec. You slept well?”

Spec looked at the woman, “Greetings, Keez. I haven’t slept, Too much on my mind I’m guessing.” He leaned forward, taking up his horn and taking a long draught from it.

Keez nodded and then smiled. “Whatever we needed to speak on, do not bother of it. I am gone of my anger from being insulted by visiting friend of yours, but if he shows again..” Her smile faded a bit “do not be surprised if I leave hall if he comes in here. I rather freeze in snowstorm than worry about being collared. I bring your friend here to rest and have of mead and because I do not understand some Gorean saying, he insult by calling me barbarian, saying I am not of this world. Then further insult by claiming that if I born of this world that I should know all of Gorean. Wrong. My people do not naturally speak of Gorean and only One.. ” she holds up one finger to emphasise “tribe in all of Barrens speak it. It is insult to my people to speak Gorean, but Dust Legs do because we trade. We are link to tribes and Goreans.” a shake of her head, “Regardless, he told of me should he had not of other business, I would have looked good in his chains.”

Spec leaned his elbows on his knees as he listened to her. His brow furrowed and he took a sip from the horn emptying it. He stood after hearing what she’d said, looking at her. “And you come to me for what this man said? Why? For some reason of his the words hurt you and you want me to do what about him?”

Kees’s eyes narrowed a brief moment. “No, they did not ‘hurt’ of me. They insult of me. I should not have to have worry of your friends collaring of me because they are of stupid and do not know all they say that know.” The fires within her were being stoked, finding that spark again. “If he come again, all I ask is you keep his chains from ending up on me, because I will fight if I must to keep neck free of collar. I did nothing to the man until he spoke first and insulted me and not only me but my people. I follow the Northern ways now, yes I understand that I am still of learning, but never again I deal with that. I understand he is of man, but no woman of this village should fear visitors being able to collar or threaten with collar so easily and get away with.”

The big man clutched the horn in his hand, his knuckles going white as he gripped it tighter. Stepping off the platform, he walked closer to her, his fist raised with the horn. He turned and threw it at the hearth, where on impact it shattered sending shards across the hall. Balling his fist, he moved every closer. “And what of you, just the other night speaking without thinking that I could not afford a gift for my woman, talking of gems and jewels and gold like was too poor to offer her anything nice?” Spinning back around to face her once more, he growled,”Did he take a collar from his belt? Did he show you a leash or cuffs?”

Keez jumped at the shattering of the horn against the hearth and slowly backed away from the approaching Spec, a look of fear upon her face as her body began to a tremble. “You assume..” she spoke quietly, “I never ever said you could not afford of a gift for Nana, never I say that. Those words never leave of lips, I only offered gems to be put to use as they are but tokens to me. I do not understand value of stones, my people see more value in other than pretty trinkets. ” She shook her head and began to move further away. “Forget I say anything and no longer will have to worry of me bringing forth upsets. Sorry to have taken up time.” With that, she moved further away, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest that had formed.

“Woman! Here! Now!” Spec’s voice boomed across the hall. “Step forth before me ” It took a few short strides, for him, to the centre of the room.

The woman stopped retreating, but shook her head. “I have upset of you and bring useless words to you. My words seem to bring forth anger instead of listening.” Slowly, she took a step forward, keeping her eyes upon him, but knowing at least three directions she could flee should it come to that.

The bond hummed softly as she wandered into the kitchen. Tying her long dark waves to the side, she crouched down to tend the flame beneath the hearth, adding a log to keep it from dying. She moves to the stack of dishes and began washing them methodically, her eyes glazing over as she lost herself in thought while completing the mindless task.

“So he spoke of collaring you?” asked the HighJarl. “The same thought crossed my mind that night in the pit, but did I say I should collar you? Did I say you belong on your knees when you insulted me in front of that man? I did not, as I knew you have no clue or idea of how much wealth I have, so I let it pass. And for my friend, if he wanted you in a collar or chains you would be. He is not one to cross, a wepaon-master that I have called upon time and time again to help me to be able to defend a holding from any attack, even from kurri. So you think I should take his words as a threat to your pretty little neck?” He paced a few short steps closer to her, walking around her, his eyes roaming over her flesh like she was a beast and not free woman. “But he did nothing of the sort, merely spoke words you did not wish to hear, is my understanding and for that reason you want me to what? Go after him? Or what did you have in mind? You think he would come here and say ‘I’m Sorry!’ for talking to you in such a manner?” He laughed. “I think not. He s a man of Gor. It his right to speak his mind. And take what he said as you wish, I know the man, and not once has he ever collared a free in my hold.”

Keez listened to all of his words and shook her head, turning and walking out. “Never again, I come to you or offer anything of helping for you take as insult when it was not meant of insult. I will not give of bother to you any longer. Have of good day, Spec.” She had to get away from the man before she spoke things that would surely place her in collar before the day was done.

Spec balled his fist and started out after her, his blood boiling. He barked at the guards, “Which way did she go?” and set off in the direction they pointed., scanning the village for any sign of her. He rolled his shoulders as he [aused on a high knoll, looking and not seeing any sign of her. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called loudly, “Hear me, woman! You better come forth and not make me have to search for you.” His teeth ground together as his jaw clenched.

“Tal, Jarl.” Spec turned, hearing the voice, his fist raised, thinking it was Keez, then growling finding only a bond. He lowered his hand. “Fetch me mead, girl, harta!”

The bond tugged on the HighJarl’s horn pulling it from his belt. “Yes, Jarl. You look thirsty and need to knock one back.” She giggled and ran to fill his horn

Spec moved from one hut to the next looking in each as he came to it. “I know you’re here, woman. This is not over till I say it is.” His temper rose with every step. He pushed on the door feeling it’s locked and brought a heavy fist to the timbers. “Open the door, woman,” he growled, “I said OPEN!”

She felt the vibrations of the hut as he banged on it, but she wasn’t foolish. She eased to the back and with careful climbing, slipped off the balcony and dashed towards the water, knowing she had a skiff nearby. She was running on pure fear and adrenline at this point.

The huge man reared back and placed a foot to the timbers, feeling them give way. Growling, he started tossing skins to each side of the room searching for her. With another growl, he left, walking to the wall each step purposeful. He climbed the walkway to stand watch. He set the barrel of mead on the wall and took out his axe, raising it high above it. He brought the axe down, striking the barrel’s top and cracking it. He tossed the axe to the side, lifting the barrel up, and started drinking from it, the mead splashing about, some going in his mouth, most flowing over his cheeks and through his beard, and running down his bare chest. He growled again, trying to cool down. He set the now half-empty barrel down, wiping his mouth as he scanned the lands, looking for her. He leaned on the barrel and the wall, his temper starting to fade just slightly. Raising the barrel again, he started to drink, getting more on him than in him, but that didn’t matter. It was filling his belly. “I’m waiting!” The HighJarl stood, stern eyes turned on the pair approaching the hall.

Deviathan Coldforge came forward, Keez secured in one hand. “I thought I would find you here. This woman has informed me that she and you had unresolved business.”

Spec looked at them, his hands gripping the broken barrel. Seeing the woman, his brow furrowed and he threw what the barrel’s remnants against the wall. He turned to face them both and his hand instinctively went to his whip.

Keez could feel her teeth chattering and it wasn’t due to the night wind. Dev would surely feel her shaking in his grasp as her deep green eyes looked at Spec. The moment his hand moved towards the whip, her own hand quickly covered her mouth to prevent a cry of fear from escaping.

Dev held his free hand up in front of Keez to protect her. “Please, HighJarl. Let us discuss this rationally first before meting out punishment. I promised Keez that I would witness and ensure she was punished fairly.” He cleared his throat. “I am out am not clear about what occurred to bring about so much rage?” He raised one brow as he looked back at Keez.

The woman, still in the grip of the man beside her, looked at Spec and then at Dev, shaking her head. Slowly her hand lowered and in a soft whispering voice, tone strained, she spoke, “Last time . . . I speak of . . . to him, he come for me . . . destroy of working hut, destroy of my things . . . even after he told of me to speak freely, to speak of my mind to him.” Her eyes dart back to Spec, unable to stop her shaking.

The big man scrutinised them both. “Greetings.” He looked at the woman, waving a hand towards the grandeur of the hall. “We have something to finish, you and I, something that was started out here and that will end there in the hall. Let us go now and all can hear what I have to say and the reason for it.”

Deviathan waved a hand to gesture the High Jarl to lead on, his other still on Keez’s arm to prevent escape. “That would be preferable, yes. Lead on.”

Going through the great doors, Spec stopped to wash his hands, raising the bowl to take a mouthful of the water and spitting back into the bowl. He set it down again before drying his hands. Dev released the woman’s arm and simply stood before the HighJarl’s seat, awaiting his explanation with a concerned but passive expression.

The HighJarl stepped up and took his throne, looking down on the woman then letting his eyes roam the rest of the hall. He leaned an arm on one knee. “Now, woman, you came to me with concerns of a free man saying you should be in chains and that I was willing to let pass. Then you sat there with this man, Dev, offering up your gems to make a gift for my woman that I could give her -” and he stressed the word ‘I’ “- not thinking that would insult me by implying I being not wealthy enough to provide such a gift for her myself. I am the HighJarl: I don’t have to prove my wealth to any here, but I do have great wealth among the northern holdings. I am a leader of men and for you to even think that I cannot provide for my house also brings into question whether I am able to provide for this holding. But then to not stand and hear my words and turn and run, that was the reason you are here before me at this time.” They were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door and Spec, on hearing it, waved a hand at Dev. “See who’s there, my kin.”

Dev glanced at Keez, the crease in his brow smoothing somewhat as things take a more diplomatic turn. He is merely curious to see what the woman will say for herself. Glad that he was there the evening this insult took place, it would lend a less biased ear. He frowned at the dismissal, and gave the woman a serious look as if to say, ‘I’ll return,’ and turned without a word to answer the door.

Nana Yngvarrdottir hadn’t been feeling well, with the added weight caused by Little Odin spitting at her. She really just wanted to crawl in her mate’s lap and make him feel just as sorry for her as she did that her little bundle of impending joy was wearing on her so harshly, but she only made it to the very edge of the pit before her mate’s heavy-toned words reached her ears. She stopped and immediately did an about face to go and listen from the alcoves. She knew better when Spec lost the laugh in his voice than to get involved. She held her breath, even as she reached the end of the alcoves over his chair, and silently listened, especially now that she saw Keez in front of him.

Keez looked at Spec and then at Dev and back again, waiting for this to begin. As Spec began to speak, she listened, trying to calm the building nerves and the sudden need for ‘flight or fight’ surrounding her. Upon the completion of his speech, her eyes widened and her head shook. “Spec, you misunderstand of me. I never, ever, ever, ever mean of insult of you, to you. I never think you could not provide for woman, for family or for hold.” Her breathing was erratic, ragged as she spoke. “To me, those jewels, they are not of worth because from small child I was of raised to not have of value in stones. Value come of honour, integrity, heart, blood, not of items, but when I see of how importance they are . . .” a shaking hand motioned to Deviathan, ” . . . when he said of how nice they are, then immediately I want to give to people that find value in them, that find of value in something that I have because then it is gift I can, too, give.” A sigh left her chest softly. “I never meant of insult to you, Spec, that is never intent to happen. I would rather see of jewels go to gift than collect of dust beneath bed, that is all I meant in offering them to be of use.” There was a long pause before she asked, “Why do you think I would want to insult of man who allow me, not only to stay within Hold, but be part of village? That would be like poking a big larl and not expecting it to bite or attack. This . . .” her hands raise then lower, almost in defeat “. . . is only of misunderstanding. I ran…because you scared of me..then you destroy of working hut so now I cannot provide of for village, but those things can be fixed. It is thinking of insult that can be fixed, too, I think. But . . . if I insulted of you, then I apologize, for that was never intention to make happen.”

“A woman I am not familiar with has entered the Hall,” announced Dev, returning, accompanied by a woman and her guard.

The newly arrived woman nodded. “Tal, HighJarl. Gud teh see yew again. If Ah bae disturbin jest send meh out.” Hearing the man’s words, she points to the bench and motions that she will just sit here.

Spec reached to his pouch. He took out the heavy coin bag and undid the ties. Standing, he upended it. A mélange of gold coins, jewels and rare, precious stones showered onto the floor. He stepped down from the throne. “My wealth is not the issue here, woman. It’s your words to me, which I may have forgiven before you ran from me as one, you are a ward of my house, are you not, and two, I am your HighJarl, am I not?” He walked to face her directly. “That is why I am angered, at the lack of respect you show me. I deserve, nay, I demand it in this hold, from the bonds to every free woman and man. This i will not tolerate from any that are of this holding. Even our former Shield learned this lesson the hard way when I threw him off the cliff to the rocks below.”

Deviathan, standing by Keez again, raised a brow at the mention of the apparent death of the former Shield but he said nothing and only looked between the man and the woman as they said their pieces, intent on simply witnessing. He would not put himself into the situation unless it became dire. He had interest in remaining a member of good standing in the hold, though he also held interest in the young woman.

Keez closed her eyes even as Spec stood and emptied out his pouch, hearing the coins hitting the hard floor. She listened to him stalking over, those heavy pounding feet announcing their arrival, and when she felt him near, she opened her eyes again to listen to the bombardment of words fired at her. Part of her wanted to merely give up trying to be understood, trying to reason with the man but after a moment, she drew a breath and spoke, softly. “When have I not shown of you respect, Spec? When have I disrespected you and of home? of people of hold? Tell me of these things because I do not understand how I did of this. Only reason, the only reason I run today because I thought you were to of strike me, of collar of me, of hurt me. You told of me to speak my mind of to you about your friend, then next it is about assume insult. I never wanted or meant to insult of you and I do not what more have to say to prove of that.” She stood there a moment shaking her head, trying to figure out where she went wrong and then, something hit her. She leaned down and withdrew the blade from her boot, bringing it up. She looked at him a moment before sliding the edge swift across her palm. “I bleed now for home. I give of life blood to Hold and to of you. What more can I offer to show I respect of man you are and position you hold?” She felt the droplets of blood leaking from her flesh and staining the stone she now stood upon, unshed tears lining her eyes.

Pru looked shyly at the table brushing her hands over the wood. Wood was what she came for, but her timing was clearly poor. She tried to appear busy, looking over the hall and the ornate carvings and paintings, feeling for the young woman, for she knew the HighJarl is one of firm mind set. When he has decided one’s fate there is no changing him.

Spec reached out with a hand, slipping his fingers into her hair and gripping it firmly. Tightening the grip on her locks, his eyes turned to Dev, then his brow furrowed as his gaze moved back to the woman in his grip. He pulled her head back so she looked at him. “You will learn that you never run. Even if a man thinks you should be in chains, you will stand there and take what is dealt in punishment. My word is law in this hold. I does not matter if this is the first time you have ever disrespected me or not: one time is one too many and my judgement is that you will be punished. As I am a Torvaldslander, a Jarl of the North, Odin’s hand, HighJarl of Valr, I wait to pronounce my punishment.”

Deviathan stepped away as Keez was grabbed by the hair. His face was set and his blue-green eyes hard as stone as he watched, lips pressed firmly together with enough force to render them white. His gaze flicked to the blood that has pattered to the stones and collected in the cracks. He wondered absently how much rusty staining would be seen in this hall should the stones be overturned. He returned his attention to the HighJarl and the woman and simply waited.

The woman felt his fingers lacing through her hair and gripping it. The movement caused blade to go clattering to the ground as her first instinct was to pull away. “Let of me go!” she shouted, feeling the long braids start to unravel in his grip, fear replacing whatever calmness she had so briefly found. “Please . . . I tell you, I never meant of disrespect . . . why won’t you listen to me?!” Her tears were running freely now as she twisted and turned in his hand, trying to free herself. “Please, HighJarl . . . I beg, let of me go! I did nothing! I run because of you scaring.” And it is as though all Gorean leaves her mind. “Aspelya eii mita hilunu! Aspelya eii mita hilunu! Aspelya eii mita hilunu!” Her hand shot forward to brace against his chest, blood smearing from the wounded hand.

Pru jumped as the woman cried out, wincing as she struggled with the giant of a man. She started to rise, then sat back. Nothing she could do here . . . the girl’s fate is chosen even though she may think not. Begging will get her a collar, sadly . She ran her finger over the woodgrain. her breath hissing from the chill she felt at the tableau she witnessed.

Dev stared at the flailing woman in surprise and made a move to stop her before realizing that the HighJarl likely did not need help reigning in a single woman. Instead, he worried more that the Savage is making things worse rather than better. He said urgently, but sternly, to her, “Keez, stop struggling. If he wishes to punish you he can and will. Do not make it worse.” He carried on, reproachfully, “You are shaming yourself, be strong. Only bonds should beg.” With that he speaks to the High Jarl, “What will you do with this woman?”

The huge man reached to the top of the woman dress. “You will be stripped and chained in the front of this hall for seven passings of the moons. There you will be on display for every free to see and they will understand this is my judgement.” He ripped the front of her dress clear to her belt, tearing at the fabric, tossing remnants aside. He stripped the woman down to her bare flesh before all that had gathered in the hall. He slid the dagger from the sheath at his back, cutting her belt in one fluid motion then replacing the dagger whence it had come. His hand moved to her dress, tearing the fabric to her boots. “Take them off now,” he commanded., looking at her as he spoke in her tongue. ”Toit tämän itse, kun juoksi ja sitähän rangaistus.” [Translation: “You brought this on yourself when you ran and that is what the punishment is for .”] He stripped the rest of the dress away.

The Red Savage woman barely heard the words of Deviathan as he spoke behind her, but for a moment they seemed to register – until the punishment was spoken. “Noooooo!!” Her cry screamed out as the fabric of her dress was ripped away, buttons flying everywhere. She brought her blood-stained hand forward quickly, trying to shield herself from being treated in such a way, more and more flesh being revealed as her hair spilled about her shoulders. “Please, stop of this, please, stop!” The fabric fell from her waist as she darted her hands down, struggling to keep it up. When he demanded her boots be removed, she looked at him through blurry and tear-stained eyes. “Even of bonds do not go of barefoot.” She looked ready to go to the floor, and with hands that are trembling so much she barely manages to remove them, sobbing hard to be treated in such manner, especially in front of the hall and of Deviathan.

Deviathan Coldforge cleared his throat quietly and stepped forward once more, his feet dodging the strips of cloth that had fallen to the floor. “Spec, if I may give an opinion of my own on the matter?” His brows raised, wondering if he would be heard at all. He continued, nonetheless. “Though I do not disagree with the punishment in general, she has acted out of hand. However, out of anger, only comes waste. I have heard that the leather-working hut has been destroyed. Perhaps more use could come from making this woman work rather than have her sit and feel pity for herself. She has begged as a bond, make her work as one. Within reason of course, I imagine once the week is up you will allow her her clothes and dignity back?”

The visiting trader, Pru, wondered if it was possible to just slide under the table and slip away, but not having keys to the door would just make it impossible. Hard enough to face this within her own kin, but to have the presence of an outsider didn’t help matters. Her mind strays to Baldr. Hopefully that tabuk would lead him a long chase and he wouldn’t return to add his tactless bits to this.

Spec pulled a coffle from his belt and placed it around her neck. His other hand still gripped the woman’s hair. He turned to the side, half pulling her, and dragged her to the block which he’d laid out at the entrance to the hall. He looked at Dev. “You may have her after the seven passings of the moons to do just that.” A grin crept to his lips. “She will be in your care, as she will learn from this or forever shall she remain on her knees to this hold. After everything is done she will remain as she was before. This an upstanding woman of this hold. She is not to be used, just displayed before the hall.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed darkly towards Spec, anger starting to blossom from this humiliation. As he took the coffle and placed it about her neck, she struggled not to bite at him, but rather bit her bottom lip instead. Their words buzzed around her, but she could not make sense of them. She felt herself dragged to the block.

Confusion covering his face, Dev spoke to Spec. “Wait, what? You’re giving her to me to be freed as a ward or kept as a slave?” This was certainly an interesting turn of events and he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not. At the very least he would have time to sort out the leather-working station while the woman was otherwise occupied with being a temporary fixture of the hall.

The HighJarl took hold of one chain, motioning Dev to grab the other. He snared her wrist, closing the cuff on her arm and turning the key in the tumbler to lock it. He went on to Dev, “After the seven passings of the moons she will be under your care to clean up her shop, as is her just punishment. Do with her as you will then; free her or collar her, whatever you see fit.” He tossed him the key to the cuffs and let go of the woman’s hair.

Keez shot a quick glance at Dev, a mixture of emotions upon her face, but she didn’t speak a single word, as though she had lost her tongue along with her dignity. Her hand moved to the coffle and pulled on it a bit with her still bleeding hand, but finding the rope secured firmly, she dropped her hand away and found a place on the wall to stare at. She jerked her wrists from them both after they were secured and hissed, “Get away.” Such anger rose within her at hearing of the possibility of her remaining like this. She shook her head.

Hearing her outburst, Spec reached into his pouch and took out a stick. His lips curled as he placed one hand at the back of her head, pulling it back hard as he secured the stick in place. “And that’s for your mouth,” he said to her calmly.

The woman jerked her head away, growling at him as he tried to secure the stick and he found another fight on his hands as she tossed her head. It took more than a mere second, but eventually it was secured and she glared at him again, such seething hate leaving her body. She had respected the very ground he walked on before this. It would be interesting, she thought, to see if it remained so after.

Dev fumbled but caught the key as it was tossed and placed it between his teeth while his hands clasped the other bracelet around her wrist with a decisive snap. He looked at her with interest and said simply, “Hold still, Keez. Stop making it worse. You’re in for the long haul so start getting used to it. At least you’ve not been tossed into the bond circle, chained outside in the snow, collared and tossed to men. It is the HighJarl’s right to do as he pleases; women are only free because men allow them to be.” He said more gently, “And if you don’t hold still, your hand will continue to bleed. At least let me get a cloth for it. It was a foolish thing to do.”

The HighJarl raised his voice once more for all to hear. “This woman here is not to be used in the manner of a bond but to hang here for seven passings of the moons and after that she will be under the hand of Dev to clean her hut that is my word. That is the law.” He looked around the hall, his eyes lighting each one gathered. “It is done.” He turned back to the main part of the hall and took his place on the throne, calling out for mead. His gaze turned to the free sitting at the table. Pru sat, uncertain, once he had entered, thinking it better to let his ire calm. Spec, however, smiled at her. “Good to see you once again, Pru. What brings you to this hold?” He leaned back on the throne, unhooking his horn and placed it on his lap,throwing a leg over one arm of the seat.

Pru rose and stepped closer to the fire and to warm her hands, waiting for him to speak the first word. She smiled wryly; he’d recovered quite well after all. “Greetings, Spec. “’Tis gud tae see yew in that chair again. Ah bring greetings from the Skerry of Varr. My apologies. Meh brother, Baldr, was with me but a passing tabuk took his attention.”

Spec smiled. “Indeed, that can happen. Hows is old Baldr anyways?” he asked with a smile. “It’s good to see old friends here in this hall. As you can see, you came at time of a reckoning.” He leaned back further in the throne.

Dev strode into the kitchen, the work area homey with the smells of cooking and industrious work. Sighing noisily through his nose he rummaged around for a clean cloth. Pulling one from a shelf, he tucked it into his belt and started to walk away before stopping and taking a roll with him as well. He stuffed the latter in his mouth and strode back to the front of the Hall. He returned from the back of the Hall with the bread stuffed in his mouth. Chewing as noiselessly as possible, he pulled the cloth from his belt and reached for her arm, one brow raised to see if she would allow him to touch her.

Keez hadn’t seemed to have moved since he walked away, her eyes closed, soundless tears rolling down her cheeks to stain in mixture with the slowing blood upon her hand. Hearing footsteps approach, she didn’t even lift her head to acknowledge them, rather shielding her face within the long locks of her hair. When he reached for her, she did not shy away, but held her position, though the stick was in constant movement as she tried to dislodge it from her mouth.

Dev took her injured hand and wrapped the cloth around it. Speaking in an exasperated voice, but attempting to be soothing, he said, “I’m no healer but I can at least stop the bleeding for now. If the healer looks at it maybe she can prevent it from scarring.” He reached a hand up and grabbed the gag, holding it still. “Stop worrying that stick, you’re like a kaiila chomping at the bit. If you can keep your tongue to yourself, I’ll remove it. Then when you are calm we can speak more.”

Keez slowly opened her eyes when she felt the cloth being wrapped about her hand and looked at him with blood red eyes, swollen from crying, and within them such a mixture of fear, hate and sorrow. She was trembling now as he spoke his words with soothing voice. A few more tears to rolled free from the corners of her eyes, but she kept her attention on him, listening, and did not seem to pull at the iron that kept her locked in place, despite the faint scratches that had appeared from her having fought against them. When he reached up to still the stick, she stopped the movement of her tongue, but her lips continue to tremble. At his words, she gave a soft nod, to show she understood..

Dev removed the gag, giving her a dark look of warning that if she did anything untoward, he would happily put it back. The hate in her eyes gave him a twinge of disappointment in her but he only continued to look at her, his eyes roaming to the brand on her thigh. He didn’t dare touch it, but his eyes lingered there a moment. “Well, Keez. Keep your head high. A hand is not so long.” He still made no mention of what would happen at the end of the hand. Perhaps he hadn’t decided himself. The woman was attractive in the coffle and chains, her body clad only in her long hair.

The woman did not feel the natural heat rising in her cheeks as he looked over her body nor did she follow his gaze. Rather, she shifted hers away to stare at the doors while the bit was removed. She brought her hand up instinctively to wipe her lips, but found the chains short, leaving her unable to and bowed her head towards her hand, eyes closed. Lifting her head again, she watched him gazing at her thigh, the dark branding mark there, and frowned, almost in shame of it. It was something that could not be hidden. “And,” she softly, almost in whispers began to speak, but carefully so, “after . . . punishment . . . what will come of me?” Her eyes glanced to the key in his hold and then back up to him.

Dev shrugged faintly and stuck the key to the bracelets into his belt pocket. “We will talk about after your punishment when you have calmed down and I have thought more on the matter. You would make a lovely bond. Then again, a bond is a common creature.” He mused quietly. He scratched at the stubble on his cheek with a rasping sound and said, “Well, in the coming days I will begin setting your workplace to rights, repairing the building.” Seeming to consider, he pulled the key back from his pocket and unclasped her injured hand, allowing her to rest more comfortably. “Wipe away your tears, Keez. Regardless of what occurs after the seven days, you will be mine.”

The woman seemed to tense as he mentioned her being a lovely bond and she just stared at him with sad eyes, the glisten of tears on her cheeks. Thoughts ran rampant through her mind, but she didn’t dare to speak of them and even as her tongue would lift, she placed it back down, growing very quiet for the time. She watched him as he put the key away, only to retrieve it once more and unlock her injured hand, and allowed her eyes to drift down to the wound across her palm, “I . . . was of foolish to . . . think words I spoke gave of matter when mind was set.” Then she used the cloth’s clean ends to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Much I learn tonight . . . much more then maybe he mean for me to of learn.” All her words were spoken in faint whispers, leaving her dried lips, having spent all the tears she could spend.

The man sat down on the floor near the platform and leant his back against the stone of the pillar that formed a part of the wall. He nodded at her words and said rationally, “I believe this was done only to encourage you to learn. If he wanted you as a bond, he would have done so.” He chuckled slightly and said, “And if I truly wanted you as a bond, I would have offered coin back to the HighJarl and requested to purchase you instead.” He picked a crumb of roll from his chest and mused aloud, “I suppose I’m being far too kind to you.”

The captive woman shook her head. “No, this was of done to punish and to humiliate of me, to make me worthless in eyes of all. That is what I am now and only if I’m subservient to this punishment will I walk Freed, but only if you choose of me to walk of Freed.” She shifted around, coming to sit on her hip, rather than resting on her knees, her body already proclaiming its discomfort. As he spoke, she looked at him. “He make of it his law to ensure that none of this village make use of me like ‘common’ bond, but what stops of his friends? What stops of visitors? He is not of always nearby and now I am like fodder for wild animals.”

He rolled one shoulder back, popping it loudly. He looked unconcerned, “Perhaps we could have someone erect a sign. It would be degrading, of course, but no more so than being used like a bond by a guest.” He pursed his lips, “I would make one, but I cannot write. Em can, can’t she? I’m certain I remember her saying she could write scrolls. Of course, if the guest can’t read either . . .” He trailed off, his brow furrowing in consternation. “Hmm.” He shrugged again, his shoulder popping again. “There are some problems with this set-up of course.” He counted on his fingers several things which had not been thought of in the heat of the moment. “Who will feed you, how will you relieve yourself, and of course the problem you bring up as being mistaken as a bond which is for use.” He grunted slightly.

She looked at him a steadily for a moment, and all his shrugs and seemingly unconcerned attitude, then merely shrugged herself. “Perhaps that is more of punishment that I am to starve and relieve myself where I sit – sleep in it, rest in it, smell of it – but if I am not of eating for seven moons then should not have of that problem.” Her voice was distant in her words, almost numb now that her fury had passed. “I respected of man before he does of this to me.. and still I am to respect of him after? How does that make of sense? I did nothing of wrong except run out of fear. Next time, I will not of run, but I will not speak to him so there should not be of next time.”

Dev laughed at her, more unkindly than he intended. “Don’t be so melodramatic, woman. I am quite certain he would not leave you here to starve or sleep in your own waste. Not even the bosk are allowed to do that. Besides, it would make the Hall much less pleasant to be in. I am simply surprised he did not stipulate what is to be done. I will ask him when he is less hot under the collar about it. Not to mention I have no idea where he went off to.” He scratched the stubble on his chin hard enough to leave a series of lines there from his uneven nails. “Not speaking to the HighJarl will be difficult. That is just another way of running. It is better that you simply keep calm and keep your head raised. Act like a woman, not like a petulant bond which has been denied a sweet and he will respect you. I will respect you.” A smile crossed his face and he reached up and brushed his fingers along her chained arm.

Keez lowered her eyes to watch his fingers moving along her chained arm and gave the chain a soft jerk. “I’m..trapped like some.. beast..” Her lip gave a faint quiver that she was swift to shake off. Being forced to remain inside the walls was slowly trickling back memories of being a bond within the Axe; the suffocating of the walls that about drove her nearly insane the last time she was forced within them. “This is like.. sleen week all over again.. but least then I could move.. I could walk.. was not trapped.” There was a slowly forming tightness within her chest and she shifted her eyes away, closing them, drawing on inner strength once more to keep her head. “May I at least have of a fur to keep warmth? The night will be of cold with constant door opening..” and it would be a small way to shield her body from the horrible stares of pity..or laughter.. she was bound to gain.

Dev stood with a grunt and strode casually to the fire pit and tossed the nearest seating fur to her. “Here, keep warm with this for now.” Sensing her struggle to keep her head he said soothingly, “This is your home here, not a cage. All you own is still safe upstairs in your alcove, the possessions of a free woman. Imagine it is the dead of winter and the snows fall too thickly to trudge outside. It is time for song, drinking, and playing the Game. You have no need to go outside.” Still standing he stretched as the HighJarl walked in. “I will speak to Spec a moment.” He almost told her to wait there, but stopped himself. How could she not?