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 . . .

 

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 . . .

Spec and Nana’s Morning After.

Together under the Raven’s Tree.

SPECIALEST Dagger wakes up and scrambles out of bed seeing the Jarl’s woman in bed with me instead of my woman “By the Gods! What in Odin are you doing in bed with me?” trying to find my leathers

SPECIALEST Dagger hopping around on one foot as I make way to the stairs falling down them and ending with a thud at the bottom, “By the Gods!” laying on the floor looking up at the roof beams

SPECIALEST Dagger climbs back up the stairs almost crawling as I grab my leathers and my belts which were where they’d been left in a pile last evening. Looking to the bed where the Jarl’s woman was laying, an eyebrow raised as I gather my things so I can get dressed

SPECIALEST Dagger storming down out of the hold, one boot on, one off. My leathers folded over my arm as I walk past everyone wanting to get as far away from the holding as quickly as I can. Grumbling as I walk down the path, my sword belt dragging behind me.

Nana Yngvarrdottir was had been out following the sound of her brother’s shouting this morning fearing he’d lost his mind and nearly bumped into her mate at the gates looking like a sad child that didn’t get dessert “W’ats wrong Ungi?”

SPECIALEST Dagger looking to her with an eyebrow raised, “I woke up,” stressing the next few words, “in our bed and was rolling over to wrap my arms around you and well, hmmm, mmm, Gab’s woman was in there with me instead of you.”

Nana Yngvarrdottir stood there confused now, her arms quickly folding over her chest as she let her head tilt just so slightly in her amusement “Ah see, s’e lost ‘ers mind and yew just comforting ‘er, iie?”

SPECIALEST Dagger sits down on the edge of the bridge looking to her, “I did no such thing! Like I said I woke up in our bed and rolled over and there she was, where You should have been. I have no idea how she got there, by the Gods woman, you think I would take her there! Have you lost yer head?”

Nana Yngvarrdottir stood there swaying back and forth on her heels trying so hard not to laugh at how upset he seemed to have a feisty red-head in his bed this morning “Variety is t’a spice of life and yew scared of a little pepper ?” she couldn’t help it now and snorted trying not to bust up completely “Ah know Ungi…s’e bite Ah t’ink. ” she stuck her tongue out at him and then just lost it laughing ” Ah gots t’a lower side , s’e can take top side ”

SPECIALEST Dagger looking to her as I pull my leathers on and then my other boot. I look to the heavens, “By the gods, what type of holding have you brought me to!” shaking a fist in the sky as my gaze falls back down to her. “Now wait wait and hold your tongue woman there are some things I will never do,” spitting off the wall, “and a real big one is furring Gab’s woman. I might fur every other bond or free I can lay my hands on and thats a big might, but her, that I will never do! You too think I would bring another into our bed on the night where we consummated my claim to ya not long before. Have you lost your mind?”

Nana Yngvarrdottir stood there wide-eyed, well for her, as wide-eyed as was possible, which wasnt much “Meh, lost w’at? ” She rolled her eyes and walked to the edge of the bridge hopping up there next to him “Ita been gone for long time love. Ah accepted yew did Ah not?” Truth of the matter, she would have said no, regardless if she wanted him or not, Her brother was his saving grace, “Maybe yer Gods t’ought it was as funny as Ah did.”

SPECIALEST Dagger looking over to her holding my sword belt in my hand, I look back towards the gate. My eyes following the drag mark it had left when I left the hall in my great haste. “Seems now it must have been Loki trying to mess with my head.” folding my arms across my chest after doing so I look down to her and speak “You know I want you or I wouldn’t have come all this way to claim ya and now I have you. The first night we spend together doing something other than sleeping, ” takes a deep breath, “it’s a real shock to wake up to a different woman then ye went to bed with or does this sort of thing happen around this holding a lot?”

Nana Yngvarrdottir blinked innocently and decided this was just too good to pass up. “So Ungi, just ‘ow much mead yew let t’em girl pour down yer t’roat last eve? Ah was umm..” well she hadn’t thought that far ahead to have a lie all lined up and ready to go…she’d bring a hand up to her lips, and start nibbling on her nail as she thought it over quickly “Ah was out looking for Frisjael” she nodded with a grin “Yew sure t’at was meh?” She forced the straight face she held but was just bursting inside

SPECIALEST Dagger looking to her my eyes bugging out holding a hand out to her. “I think I’m going to be sick.” I stare at her a moment grabbing a hold of the edge of the wall as everything comes up bellowing out. “I did no such thing. It was you that I took last night, I am sure of it!” Wanting proof right then and there as I turn around thinking. There has to be some bruising on her thighs. I pray to the Gods that there is, “Show me your thighs woman! i know it was you. By the Gods as my witness, I know this to be true.”

Nana Yngvarrdottir gasped and jumped up grabbing his wild blonde locks so he didn’t need a bath too later “Ohh Ah was kidding! Ita be meh yew took last sleep ” Na sucked in her bottom lip and now had a healthy dose of guilt for teasing him . Though she had to smile at the thought, just thinking of enjoying another woman had made him lose his meal.

SPECIALEST Dagger crumbles over the wall, my head hanging there as I look back over my shoulder. “Now ye think that be funny to see if I was crazy enough to fur your brothers woman?” I stagger to my feet and sit back down on the wall a little light-headed, miss the spot I aimed for and crash to the stones of the bridge looking to her. “See now you got me all thinking I did something and it nay be true. You can be a cruel woman.”

Nana Yngvarrdottir rushed to him and was going to attempt to help him back to his feet, but soon realized as she stood there before him, that would a small miracle, not to mention about 4 men, maybe 3 if they’d not yet been in the mead and bonds yet ” Ah denna mean ta make ya w’eezy love.” She frowned and turned her toes in on one another and batted her heavy black lashes at him “Ah t’ought yew would laugh….” She shrugged and just bent down crawling through the tree trunk that was her mate, to his lap “Ah guess we can’ot all be as good ‘umored as Ah am…” She ducked under his arms and had herself being help there in his lap and nudged in for a kiss “T’ere Ah make it all better”

SPECIALEST Dagger smiles as I get up “Thats a little better.” letting out deep breath almost gagging again at the smell. I look over the edge of the bridge to the water below walking towards the middle looking back to her. My head shaking with every step, needing something to wash my mouth out and having nothing with me as I drop my sword belt by the wall. I climb up on the edge thinking to play a little game on her. I turn to face her. “May the Gods strike me down if I think of bedding another free woman of this hold!” With that I stomp my boot and slap me leathers. My hand grabbing my chest as my eyes go wide and fixed on her. I fall from the bridge into the water below swimming under the bridge where she can’t see.

Nana Yngvarrdottir had thudded out of his lap and watched curiously as he walked to the middle of the bridge. She canted her head a bit as he leaned over the edge “Dunnt get ta close..Ita be slipper…” She had not got the word out yet before the bosk sized man went diving over the edge of the bridge. There was no scream as she got to her feet, her mouth just a big gaping, silent hole. This time her eyes would have been enormous next to a dinner platter. She finally got both brain and feet to function together and darted to the edge of the bridge, screaming back to the guards “IMS FELL!” over and over. “Specccc!” She screamed down into the foggy water that didn’t appear to have even parted for him it was so thick. She panicked… Great, first time she’d even thought of a mate after Kadluk and Ataneq’s father had passed and not only does she make him puke, but now she had him jumping off bridges. Pretty soon she’d be the talk of all the gossip in the sewing circles of the torv halls if this kept up “SPPPPPEEECCCC!” she called again praying he did actually hit the water and not the banks.

SPECIALEST Dagger swims out the others side taking deep breath as I try to remain under the water swimming towards the fishing dock. Moving silently through the water, only breaking the surface to get a breath before diving back down under the waves, I make my way away from the bridge.

Nana Yngvarrdottir was leaning over the bridge now, feet dangling high above the bridge’s road, trying to see through the mist over the water. She looked towards the gate and growled, as it seemed the guards were either, drunk or sleeping again. All her screams had been in vain. “Well now w’at?” She huffed falling back down to her feet from the wall. “Ah t’ink ita be a sign. No mate for Na…she break em all.” she said to herself, though it came from her lips out loud. She glanced around a few ehns, noticing she and Spec had been the only two out here. Her brow arched as as she started taking quick, purposeful steps back towards the gate. If no one saw her, she’d not get blamed. Thats it! And when they came with word, she would scream and cry and act as if she had no idea. Yes! There you go “Blameless” chimed Na. She turned to run back to the hall, but had a second thought as she turned to run to the edge of the bridge again “Ita be meh yew took last night Ungi. Ah be positive or Ah be at t’a ‘all already but mah ‘ips arent as yew found t’em .. Feast well with yer Gods mah Ungi!” she called down to him.

SPECIALEST Dagger reaching the fishing dock, I reach up and pull myself from the water sitting on the dock. I lay there on my back laughing, looking up to the heavens. “Odin I do thank you for guiding me here to her, but tell that damn Loki to stay out of it.” Chuckling as I get to my feet, I wander up to the fishing shack making my way inside. I lay down catching my breath and trying to warm up some. I think to myself that I shall stay in here for a while to see what happens. Closing my eyes, I soon drift off to sleep.

Rekindled Fire in Yngvarr’s Hall

Warmth! That was the first thing that filtered through to her sleep-clouded brain. She was warm. It had been some time since she’d felt warm. Perhaps Odin had seen fit to take her to his halls and it was his fires that chased the aches from her cramped muscles that the icy winds of the hillside had induced. The smell of freshly baked bread assails her nostrils and she inhales deeply, savouring its aroma. She lays a while longer with her eyes closed, not daring to open them in case she is dreaming again and it would all disappear to be replaced by the biting cold and frozen grass of the hillside.

Distant noises filter through to her: the background hum of speech; the far-off voice of a woman singing a joyous song as she goes about her business; a rhythmic pounding as grain is pulverized into flour, or whatever the action was in, she assumes, the faraway kitchen; laughter, both the deep, booming tones of men and the higher, lighter lilt of women; and something else – something closer.

Her attention now focuses on a tiny snuffling sound that seems to her to come from her own body. Her brow folds into the small furrows of a frown as she listens carefully to try to pinpoint the source of the noise. Is it a small animal come to benefit from the heat of the fire? She ought to look in case it’s something that might do her harm, but she feels so relaxed, so comfortable, that she thinks this unlikely. Her natural curiosity, though, starts to get the better of her so that when she feels the wriggle beside her where she lies, she half-decides to open her eyes. When, ihn later, something warm and wet tugs at her breast, sucking on the nipple, the decision is out of her hands and her eyes fly wide open and she looks down.

“Oh,” she whispers im a long, exultant sigh, as the soft auburn wisps of Thorbjorn’s hair come into focus. Tilting her head forward, her lips press softly against the downy hair and she breathes in deeply the smell of the boy’s head, a smell best known to a mother. Tears well in her eyes and overflow silently from her eyes sideways onto the pillow. Her arm curls around the tiny body and draws it closer as he grunts and sniffles at his meal. She lets her gaze wander around the room, reassuring herself that she is, indeed home again. Familiar objects come into view – furniture, ornaments, the diminutive keg of mead on her mate’s bedside drawers, the pictures she’d made to hang over Thorbjorn’s cradle, bright to catch his eye. She pushes her head forward a little so her face contacts Gab’s pillow and inhales, smiling as his familiar, exciting odour fills her. Yes, she really IS home!

She looks down at herself. Someone has obviously been busy, as the stinking tunic is gone and the caked mud that had covered her body has been washed off. Even the belt Gab had made her wear is gone. Instead, she lies, clean and fragrant, in a soft white gown, her flame-coloured hair flowing round her on the pillow, her son taking his fill of milk from her breast.

She closes her eyes again, this time to pray, her gratitude to Odin spilling in mumbled words from her fast-moving lips. She asks the Allfather to bless her man, and to give her the strength to meet his eye when he comes to see her, as she knows he will. She nestles in the bed with her suckling son, and eventually sleeps again.

Some time later, she doesn’t know how much has passed, she’s woken by a bustling outside as, it seems, the hall bursts into life. She hears running feet, shouted commands, slaps as bonds who are slow to act are sped on their way. The door opens a crack and verandi’s face peers round then pulls back. Hushed whispers outside the door cease after a few ihn and a bond is thrust into the room, a blue gown draped over her arms. “A’ve been told ta dress ya, Mistress,” she says, her eyes on the ground. “Jarl’s on’s way ‘ome. Yu’v ta be med ready, ’em says.”

Frisjael smiles and rises from her bed, laying her tiny son in his cradle. Unlacing the robe she wears, she lets it drop around her feet as she tries to recall, as much as she can, the nature of her home-coming. Her mind is blank on the subject, though.

If I told him anything, she thinks I can’t remember. I’ll have to tell him when he gets here.

She smiles to herself as the bond sets to helping her dress and doing her hair. Then the girl disappears, only to return ehn later with a tray of food. “Ya must eat, Mistress. Jarl says,” she mutters, placing the tray on the table and withdrawing.

The Jarl’s Woman sits herself at the table, eats a little, and waits for her man.

An Old Face New Amongst Yngvarr’s Hall

A life time of change, only a few are brave enough to allow it to show as openly as Olaf the Great. Elder of the Eldest of Torvaldsland.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~The Serve~~~~~~~~~~~~

verandi was still half asleep from having nodded off at the bosk pens, she’d washed up before coming into the hall though her eyes were still sleepy, seeing the Free about she moves gracefully over to the barrel of warm mead, full hips swaying as supple breasts bounce with each intricate step, she peered over a slender shoulder at the stranger, having heard him greet but was gone before she could answer, grasping a large pitcher she fills it with the warm mead, pulling some spice free from a sachet on the table she places it over the ambered liquid, turning on her toes she makes her way back to them

verandi moves over to her Mistress, slipping the tie free at her hip she pulls the horn into her small fingers, filling it to its rim with the warm mead she raises it to her heart not pressing against her skin, whispering a soft prayer before holding it up in offering, her Mistress worked very hard she was sure she could use a relaxing moment “mead my Mistress” she chimed sweetly casting radiant green eyes up to her

Nana Yngvarrdottir stepped back as he settled into the bench but stayed close to take anything he should decide to unburden himself from. She knew her bond would feed him til he could pop . She would settle into the seat further down, staring quite inquired by the rare quest. She glanced back to verandi and whispered a quick “Helisa ” to her, then to him “Torv?” she finally, and rather bluntly bold her normal disposition, asked him

Olaf The Great hunkering down in the seat keeping my walking stick in hand as I look about the hall. My eyes finding the bond with a grin as I watch her licking my lips in a fashion of my youth I little grin and cackle follow . Now there be a good-looking bond . I smile aye that I am I only can be one of the first ones to walk the northern paths of life I have seen many things in my time . Some good and some bad. Now days I am much more a wanderer trying to find out if the old ways are still around . And I am afraid there’s not much left of them anymore. So I am just looking for a place to rest my weary bones till Odin comes to claim me .

verandi tugs on her lower lip as she looks between the two, turning on her toes as her nose turns up towards the seemingly now ready meat, picking the finest selections of roasted bosk meat she arranges it upon a platter, holding it in her hand she makes her way back to the Jarl, whispering a “Helisa my Mistress” before she went, her lithe frame pressing up against the Man, full breasts grazing his shoulder as supple thighs trembled to please him, her small foot grazing up his leg as she placed the platter before him, her green orbs casting over his belt for his horn “Helisa Jarl” she chimed sweetly

nadira: I shiver so as I enter the room and listens close to the free speaking and First girl

Nana Yngvarrdottir had turned her body towards him now, fingers slipping back to one of verandi’s thick thighs in a passing drift “Ims travel alone, feeds ims.” She said softly “T’en Ah can’ot find Ataneq or Kadluk anyw’ere. Ifna yew sees em bring t’em” she then leaned down on a knee, chin propped in a hand , she, too, a fan of stories, as she had already acquired so many in her short of her own. But he, he had to have so many, he looked of age, and bless him, now even shrunken to her size, a welcomed oddity “Iie, Ah ‘ear from mah ako same t’ing ims say between t’a mens…Ita w’y we stay so ‘igh…unnoticed from w’at ‘appen past t’a foot’ills .”

Olaf The Great Looking to the bond, “I have a chore for you girl as my chompers are not used to meats such as these. I will be needing you to chew them for me girl you understand?” Feeling her body pressed to mine stirring thoughts of my youth and a hunger that I have not felt in a very very long time and this one was not for food …

Olaf The Great taking out my horn . Handing it over to her, the horn was well-worn many cracks forming on it that have been patched with every sort of material one could use. Even some barren teeth marks around the rim .

Nana Yngvarrdottir’s eyes widened as she watched these “chompers” snap from his mouth. She had to look away and test her own, for what reason, she had no idea, but she’d never seen such a thing. She looked up from her experimenting to see the beast whom had been kneeling in the snow with her girl. She sat there watching a moment. The beast did indeed stand idle while her bond washed this travelers teeth. She looked back to Olaf , glancing to see if he’d really taken them from his head or if it had been a clever trick , but certainly, his lips now caved in and proved him not magician. ” Mah attention be needed, mah bond is a good girl, yew be in good ‘ands Olaf”

verandi’s teeth trail nervously over her lower lip, full breasts heaving with labored breaths as she listened intently to him speak, setting the pitcher upon the table she trailed slender fingers along the intricate curve of her arm before reaching to the platter for a piece of the meat “yes Jarl” she smiles in response, placing the meat to her mouth slowly, her teeth sinking into the meat as she tried to chew it without losing all of its flavor and juiciest, her full hips swaying as she rocks her tender frame against him, her fingers sliding over his strong body as blond locks graze over swelling breasts, pulling the meat from between her teeth she moves her face closer to his, distracted slightly by the horn she grasped in her hand

Nana Yngvarrdottir then threw a leg over the bench and scooted to the edge until her toes finally dangled to touch the stones “bond” she said quietly looking to the other blonde that had been a party to the mess in the kitchen a few sleeps back and then simply pulled her hangerok skirts back to expose the toe of her boot. She didn’t care whether the girl understood or not, she now living under the shelter of Yngvarrs, word, she’d learn.

Olaf The Great Leaning forward to her taking the well chewed slice of meat between my lips and sucking the juices from it as I swallow the rest with a grin. “That be a fine girl just that way will work for me.” Licking my lips as I look into the bonds eyes, “Your a beauty girl, a rare gem.”

nadira: smiles to the Mistress and listens

verandi smiles brightly as she sees approval of her service, her slender hands moving to grasp the pitcher of warm mead, filling the Jarls horn to its rim she nuzzled her frame against him, pert nipples pressing against his arm as the horn slid up her curvaceous frame, shivering slightly at the warmth radiating against her, stopping at her heart she whispered a soft prayer for him before holding the vessel up in offering, her slender arm moving to grasp another piece of meat, placing it between her teeth as she had before

nadira: she is sorry I do not understand Mistress …

Nana Yngvarrdottir narrowed her eyes and said nothing as she again, this time quite a bit more ummfph in the swing of the her skirts, that had the weather stained leather boot slip further out. She looked down at her boot and then up at the bond, a thin brow arched dangerously high and stare to match. “Yew be a bond, a slave, yer ‘eart, needs and everyt’ing rest in t’a ‘and of someone yew call a Yarl or a mistress and yew dunn’t know w’at t’at mean?”

nadira: this beast is no bond Mistress she was a kajira

nadira: yes Mistress

Olaf The Great leaning over taking the slice of meat from the bonds lips lingering a small kiss to them as I part from them savoring the juices as I swallow. Looking back over my shoulder tapping the walking stick to the side of the table shaking my head. “That there be one of them southern things they be calling a slave. Kick her hard so her lips hit the ground and press her to your boot! Seems the only way they learn anything down there!”

nadira: looks over to the Jarl and listens, then looks back to the Mistress

Nana Yngvarrdottir had to bite her bottom lip, hard, so very hard to not just burst out in a laughing fit ” verandi, silkie ‘ere, from t’a south, on t’ey knees like dolls all day and look at everyt’ing a Yarl step in all day” She kept her eyes squared on the bond, yes bond, her silkie title died in the serpent. Nana repeated her early action yet again “Yew seen enough boot ta know without being told ” Nana said still soft , but a new notably evaluating tone, taking a step closer to the girl.

Olaf The Great slipping the old war-torn shield from my back though its removal did not improve my posture. I attempt to sit up straighter looking back over my shoulder as I crack the stick to the side of the table once more. “Give her a whack with this. It comes in handy for teaching lessons!”

verandi moans softly as his lips press to hers taking the meat from her, leaning back slightly she smiles before a frown momentarily finds her face as she listens to the going ons, flinching at the sudden smack to the table from the Mans stick she felt her green eyes widen, turning her head gently to the side she rubbed a tender cheek against heated slave flesh, her fingers moving to grasp another piece of meat as she again chewed it as before, her small frame wiggling up onto his lap this tame as her fingers trailed down his arm, her small face pressing towards his

nadira: I stand and listen to the thump to the table … then her blue eyes turn back to the Mistress and she waits trying to understand

verandi looks over and points to Nana’s boot and parts her first two fingers, she didn’t know if that was what the right command was but she hoped the slave knew what she meant

Olaf The Great leaning to her taking the meat chewing the juices from it as I swallow. My hands move over the girls arms and down to grasp her firm thighs a little grunt comming to my throat as its been a long time that a bond had even thought of climbing into my lap. The feeling was stirring parts long thought dormant having been unused for such a long time. Though now something stirred beneath my leathers growing once more. A smile forming on my lips as I take up the horn taking a sip as set the stick to the table and grasp at the girls firm breast my tounge slipping out wildly and moving about in a hunger not caused by the food . But drawn alive by this bonds flesh.

Nana Yngvarrdottir exhaled one of those long, drawn out breaths. Slow like the breath a larl let’s go of before that last big gulp of air before the pounce onto its meal. The breath that rumbled in her throat, it could neither be defined or could she make on a normal occasion. Her own beast knew that sound and its meaning. She had heard the thud of Olaf’s stick as well. She wasnt one to refuse the gift of a welcomed Jarl in the house of her blood. ” Bara” she said, repeating the action again, this time a heavy lift of her skirt before the release. “T’a Yarl of t’a ‘all nere ‘ave t’a need ta address yew verbally. T’is ‘all nor t’is ‘ouse willing give t’a privilege of conversing with a free. We, ” she paused and repeated the usually silent command but turned to her , na’s eyeball about boob level, but no matter and said “bara” with a smirk, then stepped back exposing her boot, “‘ave better t’ings ta do.”

verandi grins wide as she sees the Jarl’s eyes brighten, the smile on his face sending shivers down her spine as she lets a soft moan escape her lips, feeling his hands go down to her thighs she raised her tight ass slightly, full hips rolling forward as she trails her tongue seductively over luscious lips, a wider grin forming as she feels the shifting against her heat from his leathers, her small nose wiggled as she twisted her slender frame eagerly against his chest, her head jerking up suddenly as she heard the growl come from her Mistress’s lips, her small frame trembled a moment in fear as she knew full well the sound, her heart thudding faster before realizing she was not in trouble, her heart slowed seeing all was fine she turned her attention back to the Jarl

nadira: lowers her firm figure to the warm fur and listen to the Mistress order and waits for the next command

Olaf The Great Groping the bonds breast in my hand as my tounge moves pass my lips forgetting about the food my mind slipping to other things . Looking to the bond as I take a sip from the horn and setting the horn to the side as my old paw slips between the girls parted thighs running a rough digit over her soft folds of her heat dipping a finger into her as my eyes stay locked to hers.

verandi’s back arches as she feels his lips and tongue graze over her pert nipples, a soft shiver waving over her heated frame, her fingers grasping to his arms as a soft whimper and gasp escapes her lips feeling his finger slip to her heat, rising up slightly on her knees she writhes against him, her green eyes holding his gaze as her lower lip quivers,

Olaf The Great Smiles as I gently suck on the bonds nipples gumming them with a vigorous so-called bites if I had teeth. Rolling my hips up grinding into her heat the leathers stretched some what tight. As I feel her respond to my movements, “You be a fine bond girl to sit upon an old lap such as mine stirring things in me that I have not felt in a long time. Most bonds shy away from me thinking I am to old to give them a proper furring but I warn ya girl, I am still able to take ya like any young man could and even more so sustain it longer I am betting.”

Nana Yngvarrdottir made a face as the beast flopped down to the stone with all the grace of a bosk on a sand pit. She looked back to the girl “Crawl ta mah ako’s guest, beg ims use of t’a brace ims carry, ifna ims grant it, t’ank ims for t’a lesson ims offer yew, because ims ne’re ‘ave ta distract imself for yer needs. ” Her toe now slipped out from under the girls very bad posture and continued “Yer nose ne’re to ever be far from t’a stones t’at yew be unable ta smell t’a age of t’ese walls!” she huffed, stomping her way back to the seat she had taken before, but instead just placed a gentle hand on Olaf’s shoulder “Mah deepest regrets of t’a beast Yarl, s’e be new ta an iron band.” Na’s head lowered in apologizes. “Ifna yew wish a whack yerself for ‘er disrespect, allow ‘er ta mah ‘and, and ne’re waste yer enegry on such a careless beast.”

verandi moans out as she feels his hip move, the cool leathers pressing to her glistening heat, her teeth rolling her full lip as she grasps tighter to his arms, her head delicately tilting to the side as she lets a sweet grin from “I am to please all Free, shying away would be my own whipping sentence Jarl” she leaned forward, her lips trailing over his collarbone as her fingers glide down his chest “I’m eager to please you Jarl” she beamed brightly as she lifted a slender finger, tugging on a blond lock she brushes it over a slender shoulder, shivering a moment as she felt the satin graze over her exposed flesh, her heat aching as full hips thrust eagerly towards his groin

Olaf The Great Letting one hand move from her thigh to her ass massaging the firm flesh as I knead it in my palm. “Ye be a good bond that is fur sure.” Looking to the bounty of the girls flesh and to think that I had given up any hope to finding the old ways still clinging to life . But here they be alive and well my other hand slipping the finger deeper into the girls heat as I grin forms on my lips.

verandi moans out as her mind explodes with fires of need and desire to please him, her heat aching at the mercy of his hand, her sweetness grasping his finger as she writhes harder against him, loud moans escaping her lips as her hands trail and grasp at his biceps, her eyes wild with desire as she whispers melting against him, her full hips thrusting as she tosses them eagerly side to side pressing down against his leathers pleading for more

Olaf The Great A low cackle escapes my lips at her eagerness to please. Slipping the digit from her as I reach between us undoing the tattered leathers freeing ‘The Old One’ from the confines of them, feeling its hardness as I watch the bond eyes. My hips buck with a slight creak from the bench for my effort. Though I am not sure which made the noise as I growl at her, gumming her neck .

Nana Yngvarrdottir snapped out of her daydreaming and realized the bond was gone…she’d been doing that a lot since the dark clouds came over the Valr. She had to stop, else she’d be next. “Mah sons still roam in t’a valr somew’ere, Ah must get t’em before the moons peak” She looked to her beasty. She’d smile, impressed she hadn’t even batted a lash at the unusual man, but that wasnt something she’d give her while she sat by any boot.

verandi grins a little as she hears the cackle come from his lips, a slender brow perked in amusement as she wiggles in his grasp, her heart racing in her chest heaving full breasts with each breast, she moans out as she feels his finger slip from her pulsing heat, her eyes locked still on his gaze as she rises up slightly on her knees, hearing the sound of his leathers unfasten she rolls her hips forward, the dim hall light glimmering off her heated slave flesh before him, her body forming small bumps as her excitement and arousal peaked n his grasp

Tabuk for the Hold

The night of the Dark Clouds had lost the Hold not only a Shield, but the entire take of the High Jarl’s hunt. The Axe remedies that quickly.

~~~~~~~~~~~The Axe’s Hunt~~~~~~~~~~~~

SPECIALEST Dagger packing a few things for the hunt as I reach out grabbing my spear and head out of the hall trekking my way down the path to the hunting grounds which Gab spoke of setting up a tent as I prepare to head out.

SPECIALEST Dagger slipping the spear from my back as I start tracking the game moving threw the brush as I look for a game trail crossing the thicket. Moving from one area to the next, searching for a well used trail, I set up some snares for smaller game and keep my spear close in case I run across something bigger, thicker. Long ways from my camp, far off in the distance, I move silently through the woods every now and then, I stop to listen to the lands around me, each step slow and filled with purpose as I stalk the beasts on the edge of the tree line.

Step by step, I move closer, watching where my feet land as I don’t want to spook them in to flight. Spotting one large buck grazing by the edge of the wood line, I stand slowly taking aim. I rear my hand back a firm grip on the shaft of the spear then as I let it go, sailing through the air, as it strikes home. I watch the spear impale the beast, passing through its side, it is impaled to the ground. With a grin, I move from the trees to the beast, pulling my dagger and cutting its throat. Leaning down, I start to gut him, scraping out the cavity of its belly.

SPECIALEST Dagger taking the buck back to camp, I head out again looking for more meat for the holding. I move through the trees looking and checking my snares, I spot the heard back nearly in the same place as the first time out. Moving further, stepping back into the tree line, staying out of site as I move closer to my target.

SPECIALEST Dagger grips the shaft of my spear, seeking out the biggest buck I can find. Stalking it along the tree line, I get to a spot to have a better shot. Step by step, I move silently through the woods. I get to a small line of bushes taking up my spear, I let it fly, watching it soar through the air and finding its mark. The spear buries itself deep in the beast. I watch it as it staggers about, then falls over. I move quickly out from the trees, running to the beast to start cleaning out the gut cavity. I then hoist it back to my shoulder and move back to camp.

SPECIALEST Dagger returns to camp to start packing up. I then move back through the brush, checking the snares as I go. I get ready to move walk back to the hold. The long trek that lies ahead of me back up through the passes, following the winding path, as I hold on to the two large bucks draped over my shoulders.

The Fire of Yngvarr’s Hall

Tormented by dreams filled with haunting tales of how she’d failed those closest to her, the Fire of High Jarl Yngvarr’s heart let the Gods decide her return to his side…the High Jarl isnt much for fate.

~~~~~~~~~The Fire of Yngvarr’s Hall~~~~~~~~~~
Gab Yngvarr had woken, an odd twitch in my arm. It wasn’t the kind from sleeping wrong or laying on, but the lack of such things. I’d grown well used to the weight of my woman’s head settled into the crook of that elbow as we lay dreaming. In my half risen state I called out to her “Frisjæl?” waiting . . . hearing not even a stir. I sat up to find her side cold, the cradle that had held Thorbjørn, empty as well. I rub my eyes realizing, reliving, what had taken place just three sleeps ago. I growl and rip the furs back. I’d had enough of cold furs and that twitch in my arm. I storm out of alcove to the rails of the great hall over looking the pit where I’d told her to sleep. “FRISJÆL!” I demanded . . . but in response I got only silence. Where was she? I’d not even bother to grab more than just my boots as I make my way down to the pit. Three days now I’d punished her, myself, the boy. Was a coward worth all this? But no, I reassure myself, it’d been her own actions that had brought down on her my law. Making the law and living with it were matters of two entirely different beings. I stand there naked, save my boots to find the empty as well, save a note. My fists clench as I hop down the rises missing all but the top and bottom step.

Gab Yngvarr squatted down as I held the parchment, appearance of tear-stained confusion soaked through the fibers. I read slowly, each word twice, checking them and their meaning in my mind to be sure I understood. I rose to my feet, breaths heated in a raged pants, as the night it’d happened. The woman had lost her mind. Of course, I was to blame partially. I knew this, but would never speak the words aloud. I’d been harsh, unforgiving, with her especially. My mighty roar fills the hall, even the fibers of the rafter ropes huddled together in fear of what that sound meant. “To the mercy of the Gods aye?” I grunted crumbling the note in a fist. “That is not your right!” I say as the parchment flings from my hand to the flames. No one but myself would ever know just how much this had truly touched her. I knew this woman as strength, and I had broken that. I shook my head and headed straight for the doors. I stop only for a cloak, not for myself, but her when I found her. There was only one place I knew of that called to me as a spot even they could not ignore you, and there, I was willing to bet, I’d find her.”

Frisjæl Rúnadóttir had lain one the hillside for two nights with nothing but the wind and rain for company. Hunger and thirst, as well as exhaustion, had grown in her, but she had refused to move, trusting that Gab would come and take her home. Eventually, too weak to keep upright, she’d curled in a ball and fallen into a fitful, dream-filled sleep.

Gab Yngvarr went stomping down the hill, family jewels swinging heavy from the nights I’d not even taken a bond to the furs with me in her absence. The cold wasn’t even a thought as I made it to the gates. I tossed the cloak over my shoulder, and hoisted a booted foot up at the gates, kicking it open. “FRISJÆL! WOMAN!” I yelled across the valr, having it bounce back in my face, as I was close to running to the cliff now. The bridge was merely a few steps as I forgot time and distance to reach that overlook. “FRISJÆL!” I demanded again as I made it to the cliffs. Panting now that I was here, I bent over to a hand on each knee as I scanned the pass, but no, my fire was nowhere. I stand, all that I was, and look up to the sky and growl from so deep in my chest it rattled the cloak down from my shoulder. My words barreled through the valr, searching for her, praying with every breath that they are heard, by her or the Gods, hers or Mine, “Uplumi niriksaptingnik tunilaurmitigut, piunnginivut isumagijungnairkit, taimattauk uvaptingnut piunngitullijut isumagijungnairvigivaptigit. Uukturmanartumut pitinnata piulitigulli piunngitumit!” ((Fast translation ~ My hope is that we will all have a strong heartbeat so we can be healthy together and since it is your heartbeat every time you talk to your heart she will always speak back.)) I break into a scream again that sounded like a war cry should those words fall to ear no longer with me. I could see it already, again my pride had cost me a very heavy price. I walk to the runestone painted in her god’s image and stare at the face daring him to have taken the Fire from my hall “Nakkertok, Pinnirayok” I say to the stone, though meant for my woman. Both hands go to my face rubbing the sweat soaked hairline back to a slick top. I walk to the edge of the cliff and pick off the cloak. If I was to search, I’d have to go back for a tunic and furs. Just as I stand to turn back, the fadest shade of a soft ginger catches my eye.

Frisjæl Rúnadóttir stirs in my sleep and moans. The whispered words, “Ungayok, inoserk” leave my lips and are lost on the chill wind. My body pulls in further, craving warmth, and wild images dance through my head of wolves and Gab and fearsome, savage birds and children. I cry out in my sleep, “Ataneq!”

Gab Yngvarr stood there as the words struggled to leave her lips, my words. She’d answered me back. I had to wipe my face again to come out of the shock of whoever, whatever, hearing my calls. I threw the cloak back over my shoulder and bound down the edge of the cliff rolling her to her side “Frisjæl?” I lift her head and lean into her ear and whisper “Minrusuktok?” and then kiss her forehead having felt her breath on my skin as I whispered, “Aye tired is just the start,” I said and wrapped the cloak around her before picking her up in my arms.  I knew she was most likely many pasangs into that land just before you meet the great parents, but I knew, if she’d heard me then, she’d hear me now. “It’s not for you to decide if you are worthy of standing next to me, it’s not even the Gods’ say woman, it’s mine and I’m not through with you yet!” I march back up the hill, woman cradled to my chest, shouting to the men on the wall, “Get the woman’s assistant. She isn’t well!” There is a flurry of sudden activity as the gates swing out and welcome my woman home again. “No one but you could care for the boy.” I would not yet tell her of the dreams I’d had while she was not in my furs but I hinted. “It isn’t only your strength that brought you back to me woman, blood seeks blood.” Again she’d not hear, but it’d find her somewhere, take her hand and bring her back.

Frisjæl Rúnadóttir’s eyes flicker open and meet yours. Joy fills my heart and spreads across my face as I move my head to find your lips with mine. “Inoserk,” I whisper again, finding your hand and placing it low on my belly. “Inoserk.” My eyes close again and my head nestles on your shoulder as peace fills me and I succumb again to sleep.

Gab Yngvarr looks down at the bundle of my woman and smiles seeing life in her eyes looking back at me but shhh her “Uinrartok, Pinnirayok” I whisper as I take her back to our furs where she belonged. On the way shouting orders at any bond in ear-shot “Bath her, feed her, sit with her!” I finally come to the first girl. “Bring her the boy,” I say not daring to look at the beast. I was sure there was shame written in the recently appearing lines around my eyes. “She is not to leave this room until she looks like she did before we lost our Shield.” I stop before disappearing down the hall to our chambers “If she isn’t . . .” I glare at the beast now “well . . . in her mind, no one but you in my house is to see her.” I then hurry down the hall and arrange her on the furs …

Hardest Punishment

It would take a strong woman to not fall apart after being stripped of her gown and modesty before the hall….but to still hold your head up high while wearing a ragged tunic, strength is not even close to what that is called

~~~~Her Second Night Sleeping away from her Mate’s Furs~~~~

Frisjæl Rúnadóttir lies and stares into the flames, the heat from the fire making her skin tingle. She shifts uncomfortably as her breasts fill, again, at the sound of her boy’s cries and start to drip their contents into the fabric of the tunic. It’s been soaked and dried many times over the past days. She must stink! She frowns as she feels the tenderness in her breasts, more than usual, and puts it down to the discomfort of lying in the firepit and the build-up of undischarged milk. She wonders, briefly, what they’re feeding him, but puts it from her mind and steels herself. She watches the flames, and lets her mind wander . . .

Her thoughts go back to her home, and the faces of her kin float before her eyes. She sees her father seated in his hall, her brothers at his side, and he motions to her to approach. She does so, feeling all the trepidation of childhood fill her again, as it always had under her father’s eye, although she looks at him, too, with some confusion. He studies her for some time while her brothers drink their mead, their eyes twinkling at her over their horns as always. How she misses them! Eventually, he speaks, his voice the deep, warm rumble she remembers. “Well, Skat, what have you done now?” he asks

Frisjael looks up at him, the urge to run and embrace him strong, but confusion still fills her. “How can you be here?” she asks, softly. “I held you in my arms as your last breath left you, your blood soaking my clothes. We lit your pyre. How can you be here now? And you, Thorbjørn, Sofus and I buried on the road after your wounds took you.” She turns to her other brother, his smile warm as he returns her gaze. “And you, too, Sofus, you I saw fall from the bridge, so close to our journey’s end. How can you sit there before me, all three?”

Frisjæl Rúnadóttir’s father’s voice boomed a laugh that rang through the hall, making her jump. “You still question. Your man must have the patience of a rune priest, either that or he’s weak and will-less, and I doubt you’d be with a man who you couldn’t fight, so it must be the former. Have you dishonoured me, Skat? Do you bring me shame, even in the Halls of Odin? Tell me!”

Sighing, she recounts the events that led to where she is now, leaving nothing out. Her brothers laugh at hearing how she stood between the men and shake their heads as they drink their mead. Her father, though, keeps silent, his eye growing ever sterner. For some time after she finishes, he says nothing, giving time for the fears of childhood to fill her spirit. She feels herself tremble under his gaze, recalling punishments at his hand that would have felled some men, let alone a woman. She lowers her eyes and waits for him to speak. When he does, she can barely hear and has to strain and lean closer, although staying out of reach of his hands, even now.

“This took place before the whole hall?” his voice growls softly.
“Aye,” she whispers back, “it did.”
“Bonds as well as Free?”
“Yes, father, all were there.” Her voice quivers as she remembers how she felt, both the shame and the deep hurt she felt. She pulls herself straight and looks at her father, “My man did as he though fit in his hall,” she says, staring at him defiantly, her voice stronger, speaking as the Jarl’s Woman she now was and not the child the shade before her had known

“Aye, he did. But before bonds, Skat. How can you hold your place there now, reduced before their eyes to nothing better than they? You must go forth and think on it. If it’s Odin’s will, your man will find you.” The shapes before her start to thin. She rubs her eyes, thinking she’s seeing something that’s not there, and then smiles, for she knows in her heart they’d never been, in spite of talking to them. They fade, and she opens her eyes to see the familiar surroundings of her mate’s hall.

Frisjæl Rúnadóttir lies for some time, the dream churning through her mind as she tries to make sense of it. She awaits a quiet time when few are about, and none seem to pay her much regard, and slips off to the infirmary. Finding a writing implement and some parchment, she writes a note to her Ungayok, making him aware of her decision, and then takes it to their home, leaving it where only he will find it. She takes a last look about the the room and goes to the door, shutting it gently after her and keeping to the shadows of the corridor at the side of the hall. Seeing her chance, she slips past the guards and off down the path. “My father is right. Odin will decide,” she says to herself and disappears out into the land