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Post by Sinold Bragasson on Jul 15, 2004 10:25:14 GMT -5
They hadn't seen each other much these past few weeks. the preparations against a possible attack by the Frank was keeping Sinold busy, and Letha was busy helping Lady Loxley with preparing the castle.
He took a deep sigh… he wished for more time with his future bride, with the horses, with enjoying the summer. How should he get to know his bride if they never spend time together any more? His nights were lonely, most often he was so exhausted that he simply dropped into his bed without even caring to undress except for his boots.
He had given Letha her wedding sword, a token of his concern, his love and his hope for their future together. Many things he already had to do the untraditional way here in this land, so he figured, why not continue to be untraditional. Nobody was here who'd look aghast at him for what he was about to do, not even the group of Varangians whose ships lay in the harbour of Windstorm (no doubt making the crew of the Frankish ship most uncomfortable).
As usual, he sat down in the kitchen and began to write:
Strong as an oak and fair as Freya Bright as the sky, Like the radient sun above You walk with me in Midgard Brightening my day and soon lightening my nights My heart and loins are afire when I see your face Your voice I miss but dream about In my long lonely nights When prayers I send to the Gods high above To soon sanction our love and make strong Our union Oh fairest of flowers In this land
Setting down his pen, Sinold looked at the parchment and sighed – he had tried to write a love poem for Letha. Something that could kill a potential suitor in his land, yet here… well, she might like what he had written.
Rolling up the parchment, Sinold wandered out into the garden and selected a flower, securing the purple blossom underneath the ribbon he had used to bind his rolled-up missive. He placed it against Letha's door but not after having placed a kiss onto the roll, and then went back to the harbour. The Varangians needed to be checked out and it would be good to speak how native tongue with them again.
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Post by Halethala on Jul 18, 2004 3:03:19 GMT -5
The sweet, summery scent of the newly cut hay laid up in the stable lofts still clung to her skirts and filled her senses as she strode back towards the castle proper. Feeling rather at a loss in the face of the bustle of activity throughout the castle with the long-awaited arrival of the Frankish delegation, not successfully coming up with any way to be an asset in things, and aiming at the least to not be a liability, Letha often sought the quietness of the gardens when what little help she could render was completed, or tending to the ponies when Sinold was too busy to do so. Which was almost constantly now . .
She missed him . . but understood it was best.
She'd seriously considered leaving Windstorm, riding back to her homeland, now that she had begun to allow the memories to come more freely, to seek more answers . . to be one less female the warriors would need to worry about defending if the negotiations with the Franks did not go well . . . she would argue that she may be safer traveling alone than to remain here in the castle, that it was not abandoning her home when help was most needed, but helping most by not diverting Sinold's attentions from the defence by worrying about her . . In the end, she remained . . hoping she'd chosen rightly . .
Unexpected bright spots had been not only a most cherished conversation with the Lady Loxley near the pond, but there had also been the surprise of coming across the one she found least likely to be gracing the pathways of the gardens, the stately Lord Sighehelm, his sneezing garnering her attentions. She'd welcomed his serene company on a quiet stroll, chatting amicably about anything BUT war . . he had always intrigued her, this warrior with veiled eyes, as he'd called himself to her. His stature alone threatening, yet for some reason, he seemed more a man of peace . . . and his craving for beauty so deep that he would endure whatever it took to savor it was something she could easily relate to. She wished for him the sadness that cloaked all he did would someday be cast aside, and his rare smile a more common sight . .
Why did it remind her to make her way again soon to another quiet visit with the Lady Edfeil . .
Arriving at the door of her quarters, pondering the irony of the fact that even doing nothing all day could be exhausting in these tense times, her eyes fell upon the cheerful little pansy smiling up at her from the fetter it was bound by, and she crouched to scoop it up. She could guess immediately who it might be from, and held it close as she entered, settling down upon her bed as she freed her feet to bareness.
Carefully unrolling the treasure, smiling gently at his blocky script so lovingly printed, noting the improvement in spelling with pride, she was startled as she realized the format . . a poem? From Sinold? He'd spoken of the customs of his homeland, that it was not acceptable to wax poetic to one's betrothed, at the risk of even death to break tradition . . . What had possessed him? With a pang, she realized perhaps he missed her as much as she did him . .
She slowly read the lines, savoring each word as a scrumptuous meal. . did he have any idea how much such a thing was worth to her? Of all the sweet gifts his generous heart had blessed her with, this had to be the most treasured . .
She sat a long time . . and finally simply curled up with it cradled close to drift off to dreams, still dressed . .
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Post by Halethala on Jul 25, 2004 1:58:52 GMT -5
Her upturned face soaking in the warm, brilliant sunlight, still almost blinding through her closed eyelids, though mellowing a liquid calmness throughout her entire tense body. . .
She’d taken to spending endless hours with the ponies, watching them grow, almost literally, it seemed. After feeding them and hauling fresh water, chatting away quietly the entire time, she would hang over the makeshift rail and simply . . watch. Wishing dearly he were here to share time with her . .
One particularly bad day, when the ache of longing for her betrothed was especially hard to endure, she scrunched herself between the slats and stood inside the pen, motionless at first. Every head turned her way . . ears alert, stilled. She simply slid to the ground near the corner post, and sat there . . watching . .
Her attention centered most on her sweet little Behatan . . yet this day, she could not help notice the odd behavior of the mare Idun. She seemed fussy and restless, and snapped at the attentions of Erling, which were quite obvious and almost a bit comical. He would be grazing along, and soon find himself at her side, close, and then soon sniff at her delicately. She would seem to get edgy as he drew near, and if he dared lay his muzzle across her rump or circle behind her, she would butt him away with her head, whirl away to face him.
Letha smiled, knowing what it meant . . soon she would not refuse him, and stand willingly . . and later little Behatan would not be the only foal in the pasture, if all went well . .
She slumped against the post, almost wishing to disappear into the wood, drawing her knees up and tucking her skirts down to cover her bare feet . . a feeling of echoing forlornness swept over her as she watched the Icelandic ponies’ courtship in it’s early stages. She was surprised to feel the wetness upon her face, and soon lay her forehead on the faded fabric of her skirt, allowing a time of selfish release of emotions . . glad that none were about to see her fall apart . .
After a few minutes, she lifted her head as she sensed a nearness . . her face brightened at the curious little face only inches from hers, and she cautiously and gently stretched her nose towards little Behatan’s . .
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Post by Sinold Bragasson on Jul 25, 2004 5:35:47 GMT -5
The past few days Sinold had spend preparing with the castle guards. Even though Lord Hawkmoon wasn’t around and Lady Siya seemed to be busy with her own preparations, Sinold had found that he also could learn a good deal from the guards who were on duty and within the castle. Often now he stood watch with them on the ramparts… it was better that he didn’t encounter any of the Frankish visitors, otherwise only Thor knew what Sinold would do to them.
Looking out towards the harbor and ocean, he could discern a fleet of Norse ships already in the harbor and now a small fleet of ships making their way there as well. How he wished he could be on one of those ships! But one look around him told Sinold that those ships were not his place any longer – the guards next to him, the women, children and guests within the castle, those were his responsibility now.
It was a stand still for now, but soon a battle would rage, Sinold was certain of that. He should have stayed with the guards, observing, monitoring. But he was drawn elsewhere… to his small herd. And to Letha.
With the feeble excuse that he needed to heed Natur’s call, Sinold disappeared from the ramparts and made his way to the small paddock where the herd of Iceland horses stood. But not only the horses he spied there – his Unnasta sat there as well, and from her looks of her she was not the happiest of persons right now. Sinold stood a bit aside for a moment, watching as the little foal nuzzled on Letha’s face…he should be doing that, not that foal!
Without hesitation he stepped towards Letha and the small pony, letting himself slide down along the fence post right next to Letha, draping his arm around her shoulder, leaning his head against hers.
“See, I told you, with time they will trust and cherish you, beloved. Just like this stubborn old Norse did!” he kissed her cheek and could taste the salty tears that had dried on her skin. “All will be well, I am certain of that Letha! I’ll never be far from you as I will be staying here to help guard the folks within windstorm. And my ponies! By Thor, if any of them damn Franks touches you or one of my ponies!!!!!”
Sinold drew Letha closer towards him, hoping to elevate her fears at least a little bit.
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Post by Halethala on Jul 28, 2004 2:32:12 GMT -5
Beyond all hope . . he was there, beside her again . . Not a dream. She cradled his head tenderly as it rested on her shoulder, and when he drew her close, she wrapped her arms around him and clung so closely he surely must have had a hard time breathing . .
Her face buried in his shoulder, she murmured "You cannae be certain of anything, Sinold! How can ye reassure me of what the morrow brings! How can this be?! This was supposed to be a place of peace . . of safety! *She bit back the rising panic, and just simply burrowed in close to him . . as if she never would again . .
His words of implied possibilities of what the Franks may do to the women did nothing to lessen her fears . .
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