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
Posted on: Sun, 21 Jul 2013 07:25:27 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015