Of birds and braids

[Sinold Bragasson]

The last few evenings were of a very mixed quality. Of course Sinold was overjoyed and content when he saw Letha and they could spend time together in the great hall or outside of the castle. But also, each time the talk came upon some matter that touched their future union, there would be disagreements between them.

Like last night, when talk came to the fashion Letha should wear her hair after she would be Sinold's wife. It was a matter of fact for Sinold that a married woman was to wear her hair pinned up or underneath a veil, to signify her status as belonging to a man and thus not being available to any other. It was customary where Sinold came from to thus shield the married woman from any unwanted attention from other males… attention which surely would cost those interlopers their lives.

However - Letha saw differently and balked at the notion of not being able to wear her hair open any longer after she would become Sinold's wife. She didn't see it as important, and Sinold tried to explain. For naught. Lady Edfeil and Lady Andrea again had to intervene, especially when Sinold almost blew his top when a statement he had made about men thinking her a harlot if she wouldn't wear her hair up when she was married was entirely misunderstood by Letha. he ended up braiding her hair in the traditional Norse fashion, and he thought Letha looked absolutely lovely with them. But he wasn#t so sure letha saw it that way.

Compromise - their whole union would be one of compromise, that was became clearer each day for the Norse. She was not a woman to bend easily, proud and independent as she was. And likewise, Sinold was raised in traditions so foreign and apparently so strange to her that conflict was a given at almost every turn. He, too, would need to compromise, and thus he suggested that maybe braiding would be something to accomplish the measure of propriety Sinold expected of his future wife. He just hoped their love would survive all the trials the Gods would throw in their way…He loved Letha and would do his utmost to try and be accommodating, as much as he could.

And then there were these birds….

Sinold had been entirely surprised when during her last visit to Windstorm the woman known as Emma had gifted him with two white doves, for his and Letha. The birds were perfect and quickly Sinold had found a cage for them. They would be the perfect sacrifice for Freya, the Norse Goddess of hoe and hearth. Their blood would bless their union and ask for her blessing of their union with many children.

But for the time being e would not mentions his intention to sacrifice the birds during their wedding ceremony, lest he would encounter Letha's kind heart which would inevitably lead her to protest and free the birds. So much to consider… and so many things to compromise about.

[Halethala]

The brisk and chill wind that had buffered the land all day had mellowed to a whisper as night fell. She’d settled down near the cage, watching the beautiful doves for nearly an hour, lost to the time that passed. Several of the stableboys had slowed as they passed, curious as to why she did not move, all but one fellow sensing she did not wish to be disturbed. The bewildering hurt slowly in her breast died to a calm just as the wind had, and after a time, she’d arisen and fetched a bucket of water to plunge several handsfulls of the sweet smelling straw into. Settling in again near the caged birds, she finally spoke, softly and low. “I do not know how to try any harder, little fægernes (beauties) . . though I set my will with all my heart not to anger him, it seems I am not able to find success. More, and I should break my spirit entirely, and not be what he wishes then either. I know much weighs heavily upon him, worries that would be hard for any man to bear. I’ve heard before that love, though the most lofty and dearest of emotions, can easily sear with unfathomable depths of pain, and until now, had not believed it.”

Opening the cage door, she slowly reached in and offered her finger to the smaller female. After a time, she pecked tentatively at it. Letha was in no hurry, and sat transfixed. Soon the trusting bird hopped onto her finger, and she drew it out, closing the door against the other, knowing the female would not stray far from her mate. She made no attempt to soar free, and Letha stroked the soft feathers soothingly. “I would offer you and he your freedom, but it is not mine entirely to decide your fate. A gift given to us both, Sinold would need to agree, and I fear he would not. It is safer in your cage than in the wild, little fugol (bird). Restraints are not always evil.”

*Sighing, she soon replaced the dove with her anxious mate, and picked out some of the wetted straw to work with her hands while she continued her verbal meanderings, smiling softly to herself now.* There is no other place on earth that I’d rather find myself than in his arms, his lips . . as today. Would that I could replay our meeting, little fægernes . . but as the bowstring sings, an arrow shot forth cannot be recalled. Why he will not trust the depths of what I feel, I do not understand. Perhaps he simply wishes more than I am able to give him. Needs more . . *twisting the strands together, dipping them back in the water as they dry, gaining skill as she goes, she likens the intensity of her feelings for Sinold to a searingly hot bath after days of not having any. Slipping into the warmth, asking that more steaming buckets be added until she nearly faints from the heat, savoring the pleasure that grows to verge on being boiled alive . . *

Soon it is almost too dark to see what is in her hands any longer. Choosing the best of her attempts, and keeping another for herself, she rises and gently hangs it on a peg near Ligea’s stall, where he is bound to see it. Tossing the lesser creations for the horses to trample underfoot, she leans to speak once more to the doves. “Sleep well, little ones . . . our pathways are not of our own choosing always.”

(This is somewhat what it looked like, minus the full beards at the bottom) (edited: *smiles* like the friend below has gifted)

[Sinold Bragasson]

Sinold had left the castle in a lousy mood last night and had fully expected to be away the whole night. As it turned out, he was in fact only returning home when the first rays of the morning sun touched the horizon to greet a new and hopefully bright day. The rain had stopped towards morning, but Sinold sure could feel the cold of his rain-soaked clothes creeping into his bones and chilling him to the core.

But something much worse had gripped his heart this last night as he sat by the cliffs, a place he and Letha seemed to have elected as their special one. Now that it was clear he would not find employ with the castle guards... how was he supposed to care for a wife and soon children? The thought of a ship’s commission from Tyrun, as Letha had hinted at, had not held much appeal for Sinold would loath to be away from her for long periods. But now, with this new situation, it might be the only means of earning coin left to him. His mind reeled at the prospect of having to think like a merchant. He was none... maybe Tyrun would understand if he chose another to do the trading for Sinold? Bah, selling the bear’s hide before he was killed, Sinold thought and lay back onto the wet grass, raindrops hitting his nose, his eyes, his lips...

How he longed to be in Letha’s arms right now and be shown the love he knew burned deep inside her, and him. But there, too, trouble had reared its ugly head. They had quarrelled again. Not loud, not in so many words, but somehow he had interpretetd her chiding about being away on a boat for many months and her rather cool response when he had kissed her onto her neck as a sign of her displeasure with him. He had over-reacted, he knew now, and had left her in the stables to tend to two doves...

Would he ever do something right with her? Or would he react so adversely again and again to things that may not even had been meant as criticism? Why was he so harsh to her when inwardly his heart sang each time he saw her and longed to hold and love her?

Seemed another apology was in order... he knew full well how she was feeling right now. Hurt, rejected. Just like him. And if he didn’t like that feeling, he was doubly certain she wouldn’t either. It wasn’t so much a question as to whether he would apologize or not, but how he would do so. What could he do or say to make his ruffness with her right? To hold her in his arms again?

First Letha... then Hawkmoon. The crashing waves thundering at the base of the cliffs reminded Sinold that it could all be very easy – he could jump onto the next best ship ad be sailing again. Away from these people with their preconceived notions about him and his people. But that would be tantamount to running away... had he not done just that this night? Of course he had, and thus he had handed the victory over ... that man. Sinold didn’t even want to take his name into his mouth any longer, and so he wouldn’t. But win he would not! As long as Sinold would have Letha by his side, win Hawkmoon would not, and that would irk the arrogant Lord hopefully until the day he died a miserable death!

For the first time since he had left Windstorm to do some manly pouting, Sinold could smile at that last thought. And thus it was at the break of the new day that he mounted Ligea again, ignoring the cold which had seeped deep into flesh and bones and also ignoring the running nose he had caught along with a scratchy throat, and made haste to ride back to the Castle and seek out his beloved unnasta (“beloved”)!

[a friend]

a gift.......it is not perfect, but I loved the challenge.

[Sinold Bragasson]

When he returned form his ride to the cliffs, not only had Sinold picked up a pretty bad cold, but also a pretty bad conscience. Had he over-reacted towards Hawkmoon? As Andrea had said - he nae had said no to Sinold. But if that had been the case… why the questioning? Why did Hawkmoon doubt Sinold’s sincerity about serving his family in the way he had suggested to him?

Be that as it may, there didn’t seemed to be a way back, Sinold just knew he would not go to the Lord and ask him yet again. He had his pride… maybe the only thing he had left after all these months in exile.

How strange these people were. Even after almost half a year having lived amongst them, Sinold still felt like a stranger at times; unable to connect, to understand, to adjust.

And then there was his temper…

As he returned Ligea to her box in the stables, something immediately caught his eyes - a wreath in the shape of a heart. Sinold had no doubt who had left it there for him to find. Reverently he touched the bound and shaped straw, let his fingers run over its coarse surface… it brought back memories of Letha’s face; how hurt she looked when he had left her here in the stables, alone. And yet she had found the time and set of mind to make this wreath…

“Why can’t I be more gentle with her? Why do I keep misunderstanding her? Freya…why is it so hard to understand a woman at times?”

A loud and hearty sneeze, followed by a cough, interrupted his train of thoughts. Sinold made sure Ligea had fresh water and hay for the night, picked up the wreath and carried it with him to his room. He would place it onto the mantle piece of his fireplace to remind him what precious jewel he had in Letha and how easy it would be to lose her again.

[Halethala]

((*hugs warmly* thanks, "friend"! Perfect))

She'd seriously considered never undoing the braids he'd woven in that day . . but the whisps and stray strands that began to finally loosen were making her look like a fallen haystack after a sudden spring storm. Still, it was amazing what those hands could do, she treasured the feel of someone else fussing with her hair. 'Twas a luxury she'd not often experienced, not since early girlhood when she'd had to learn to do it herself . . .

He didn't seem to be healing from his cold very quickly. She wondered just how much rest he actually was getting. He seemed to be more than sick of body alone . . but perhaps the cold had simply zapped some of his brightness from him. She unwound the braids and watched the waves fall free . . it was such a lovely feeling, to have her tresses fall softly around her, surrounding and encasing like canopy one could hide in, almost it seemed. Impractical sometimes, and a genuine nuisance at other times. How much it mirrored one's spirit . . left to itself, to wander freely, a thing of exquisite beauty, yet even then, more lovely if tamed by a comb. At other times, one simply needed to restrain it to achieve more usefulness . . also a thing of beauty, and often more admirable . . especially if woven by skilled hands . .

She bound her hair partially upwards again in simpler braids at her temples this time, letting the greater part fall loosely. Smiling softly as she recalled his obsession with hair and the disagreement it had brought about, she set out to see if she could find some stune to brew yet another tea for him. Reaching far back into her memory, she seemed to recall it was good for coughs. At the least, if they could not heal him with the remedies they were pressing upon him, maybe they could simply FLUSH the cold away in a sea of tea . .