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Post by Sinold Bragasson on Apr 11, 2004 8:28:24 GMT -5
Sigh… why couldn't women sometimes just DO as men asked tem? Why were they always insistent of “protecting” them? While being in the smithy Sinold had a lot of time thinking about his latest little argument with Letha. It had happened the other night…
He had been absolutely joyous to se her that eve, had shown it to her in tender kisses… but somehow the conversation had turned towards a man Sinold had not heard about. Remard. He had asked Letha about him, who that man was and what he wanted. Letha wouldn#t tell, and so wouldn’t Lady Andrea who also was present. It irked Sinold that he couldn’t get a clear answer to his simple question. Only after much poking and some raised temper did he find out what scum Remard had been and had rushed off to tel the man a thing or two about his ways with the women.
However, before he stormed off he had told Letha to not embarrass him in front of other like that again, by not answering his questions. Now he regretted his temper… would he ever be able to curb it when he was dealing with Letha?
With another sigh he continued his work on the sword he was making for Letha. A special sword - a wedding sword. It would be a normal sword, to be used as tool and weapon, and not just hung upon the wall like a heirloom. But it was the sword with which Sinold hoped Letha would cut the head of an enemy, or in these lands, a goat or sheep, and then accepting it to defend his home and children with it. That acceptance would be the way she would be saying yes to his proposal to be the Mistress of his house and bed, and the mother of his children. It was a deep rooted tradition of asking a woman to take someone as her husband. Of course she could refuse, and there was no shame in that for either party. The Norse knew that such bonds sometimes were not meant to be, even if one of the parties thought it was so. More often the bride was gifted to her husband as a child anyways… but this way, of two people selecting one another freely, was also known.
Sinold hoped Letha would accept his sword, eventually.
Some commotion brought Sinold's attention back to the outside of the smithy. People were congregating and then walking over in the direction of the small chapel of the castle. When Sinold asked what was happening, one of the stable lads told him it was Easter, and that they were all assembling to praise their God who had arisen from the death.
A dead god arising from the dead? It was too absurd a believe for Sinold an so he continued to hammer away on the sword for Letha, knowing she would be in that chapel now. But it was not his ways, his believe. He would let her practice should she become his wife, but he doubted he would ever forsake his own gods for one who had let himself be captured and killed. Silly fool, really.
The hammering of Sinold's hammer on the sword soon was in synch with the tolling of the bells for Easter mass… maybe a sign that two so opposite people and harts could beat as one nonetheless!
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Post by Lady Alexandreania (Andrea) on Apr 11, 2004 12:17:10 GMT -5
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Post by Halethala on Apr 13, 2004 8:32:51 GMT -5
((Well done, Andrea!))
Dear Andrea had set her down, such seriousness upon her beautiful face . . . ‘Something concerning Sinold’, she’d said . . Letha had wondered what mischief the Norseman had gotten into yet again, then immediately questioned iffen he’d fallen ill . . and before Andrea could answer, it hit her . . REMARD! Sinold had stalked off to find the man, had he indeed found him? Had Remard . . oh, what had transpired … who had . .
But no, it was none of those . . the relief that Sinold were not lying in state somewhere, ready to be mourned for all eternity had blunted the shock of what Andrea was trying to tell her. When it finally sunk in, Letha didn’t e’en believe her at first! Surely he had merely been at drink yet again, no? No . . he had been stone sober, Andrea had sworn.
How had she put it? “A joining of relations”? She couldn’t remember, but understood the Russian friend, language not being any barrier. So . . there had been some substance to his babbling in the gardens . . . she had so many questions for her, for him, for others . . They had been cut short in their speaking, Lord Hawkmoon and Cap’n Tyrun had come into the Great Hall, and thus Lady Andrea, e'er the gracious hostess, had risen to serve them. Letha’s questions for her simply had to be shelved at that point . . how she longed to have her friend’s ear again . . .
She wished now more than e’er that she had a father she could go to ask advice from . . or a brother, or ANY male kinsman. None lived, that she knew of. Lord Morrowyth had been the nearest thing to a father she’d had, but he would nae be any help to her either. Then she was reminded . . she HAD family now, a large one, and a fine one. She wondered . . who . . then shook her head sighing. She would nae truly need a male relative to approve for her, yet, it would prove such a blessing to do things right this time ‘round . . Perhaps Lady Edfeil could shed some light o . .
She brought her mental hemmoraging to an abrupt halt, and smiled to herself. “Letha, ye silly thing . . he nae ASKED ye yet . . no sense in chasin’ a loose horse iffen he’s still in the stables . . “
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Post by Halethala on Apr 19, 2004 1:18:36 GMT -5
Well . . apparently now the "horse was loose from his stall", in a manner of speakin' . . Sinold had, in his inimatible and unassuming way, made his intentions clear to Letha, still not directly asking her, but forging ahead with his plans . .
And speaking of horses, Lady Andrea had asked Letha iffen she'd noticed anything odd about Varda and Ligea as of late, anything to do with their manes and tails . . Letha had started at the question, though she should not have been surprised. Surely Andrea had noticed the elaborate braidings when she'd been in the stables tending to her own Kadalyk. But Andrea knew the meaning of the weavings, and explained them to Letha . . there seemed no end to the surprises the Norseman had in mind . .
Letha was simply overwhelmed at the growing momentum that had been set into motion by Sinold. . . Lady Edfeil had spoke of a hopechest the "sisters" of Windstorm were gathering together to help Letha assemble . . and then told of Tyrun's agreeing to help with his barterin'. .
Oh . . . it was happening so quickly, almost too quickly, she wondered. . . she wished she could take Sinold off away for a day, perhaps lead him back to the cliff that overlooked the sea where they had ridden before, so they could talk, long and carefully. Could they manage a full day without disaster befalling them, or temperin' their mutual stubborness?
Then she smiled . . perhaps not, both had far to go in reining in their fiery tongues, but they would ne'er truly wander away from the other, not for long. Life would ne'er be dull for them, that were all too certain . . She simply smiled warmly as his face danced afore her thoughts . .
She began to think of something she could find to thank him in return for all his recent gifts . . she'd been to so few weddings, nae knew much of such things. Perhaps she could find Lady Loxley in the gardens again, and ask advice of her. She seemed to know much of so many things, surely this would nae be a difficult thing for her.
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Post by Sinold Bragasson on Apr 19, 2004 3:14:57 GMT -5
Walk under the trees, in the orchard… with Letha. To watch the trees in bloom and later on walk underneath a shower of discarded blossom petals. Lady Edfeil had made the suggestion to Sinold last eve, as something to do to please Letha and make her happy. There weren't many trees in Iceland and certainly not flowering ones, although Sinold had seen them during his travels, particularly during one trip to the Iberian peninsula. He had raised his eyebrows a little at the suggestion – walking under flowering trees was nothing he usually did with the woman he woed.
But then, Letha was special… none of the other females had been like her. None. It had started with 15, when he had been sweet on his first lass, and he even remembered her name - Katla, the neighboring family's daughter…. Lessa, the slave of his family's Jarl… Eirin from Ireland… Rabbaz, an exotic beauty from close to the lands with the sand dunes…Mildri, whom he might have married sooner or later…Sherani, the slave girl he killed a man over and was banished for …Bethy, the one warming his bed during those long first nights in exile.
And now Letha – his shieldmaiden, for whom his heart burned as did his loins. But it wasn't lust alone. This was different, Sinold felt… happy when he was with her! Most of the times, they got along well, and even when they did not, Sinold felt this all could be mended with a kiss or some time. She would learn how to take his words and gestures, as he would learn how to interpret her moods. Bah, such silly things as mentioning old mistresses in her presence, he would learn to not do that, he would not even try to compare Letha with any of the others. For she was incomparable!
And now, he actually looked forward to taking that walk with Letha underneath the falling blossoms of those trees.
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Post by Halethala on Apr 20, 2004 10:27:13 GMT -5
It had been one of those moments that struck so unexpectedly, yet left such profound impressions in its wake . . . she'd been threading her way down the stairs, pondering the softly rising sense of panic that was nibbling away at her like waves that subtly wash at a riverbank until it collapses, trying to find words to frame the unease so that she could bring it out and deal with it, when she rounded the curve of the second landing and caught her reflection in the window glass. Stopping fully, backing up to view it more completely, she looked with a critical eye at what she saw before her . . .
What was it Sinold saw in her? She had to admit that she was not completely unattractive . . she could turn heads e'en yet, the light, golden tresses she'd been born with seemed to draw stares of admiration, often to her consternation at times. Was that what he wished to possess of hers enough to want to court her? Her looks? Surely not . . she had encountered the infamous Bethy a few nights earlier, and had nearly gasped at her beauty. Though still clearly marked with dark bruisings, a tinge of fear still clinging to her demeanor, she was most definitely well fit for her calling, if that is what she would revert to again. In a small, grudging way she could not blame Sinold for seeking out such a lovely creature . . .
What then? Surely not for her quiet strength . . any hope of quietness seemed to flee from her entirely when he unwittingly provoked her. She tried to look beyond the reflection, deeper within. She was not rich, she had nothing of material wealth to give to him . . nothing he knew of, at least. Not even a blade any longer. After losing her mother's to Nola, she'd either lost or destroyed two more hence!
She turned her head to the side, and continued looking steadily at herself. She just wasn't sure . . maybe she would need to ask him, if even he knew . . Then, hearing the soft patter of footfalls a few flights below her, she reddened slightly at the thought of being caught staring into the window like a little girl, and hurried on her way down. Nodding a greeting as she passed the servant, she continued on with her day . . yet the memory of the reflection hovered over her like a shredded cloud half-obscuring the sunlight, not conscious, but not leaving fully either . . .
She reminded herself that clouds were not always evil. At times they provided relief from the heat of the day . . .
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