Parted

[Halethala]

It had been days since he had last seen her. With curiosity, Sinold held the soft leather in his hands, and fumbled with the knots that bound it. Reaching in, he pulled the missive out, wrapped with two thick cords . . one light blue, the other a deep crimson, knotted yet more. His eyes widened at the familiar hand, and with an anxious heart, he read:

My Love, My Heart . .

Ye’ve had to forgive much from me in the short span we’ve known each other, yet this time I fear I need ask once more of your forbearance . . A letter came, the claim beyond hope . . of course, I cannot tell if it be genuine. Yet . . I cannot simply ignore the chance to hold again the one thing I have left of my former life. I will chance it, and go. Not escorted this time . . I grieve yet the loss of life from my last excursion, and will not endanger these whom I’ve come to love . . most especially thee . . I know it be foolish of me, know all too well.

I will return. Ye must trust in that, hold onto that hope. The cords, they be nae simply to tether this writing together. The blue speaks of understanding and patience, which ye shall need to seek in abundance for your foolish betrothed . . the scarlet, of courage, strength, and passion . . All which I hae seen in thee, and pray ye will draw on as the days fly by ye . . There be aught that that ye could endure iffen ye hold these values dearly, and dinnae forget your Letha’s deep love for ye . .

The key . . ye still have it? Iffen it be so, then use it now. I hae left sommat for thee in there, sommat I have crafted by my own hand, Though it lacks complete hemming, ye can still wear it. The color of freshly churned butter, rich and soft, to cling and encircle thee, since I cannot. Wear it often. Perhaps the Lady Edfeil can embroider sommat lovely on it, iffen ye can bear to be apart from it . . it’s rather plain as it is, I fear . . not unlike your Letha. But each stitch was crafted with thy merry laughter ringing in me head, thy lively face ever bringing a smile to my lips, the feel of your strong arms ever about me . . . may it warm thee well, like an embrace of remembrance . .

Grant an extra measure of mead and reward him kindly, the one who bore this to thee . .

With an ache of regret, and longing,
Your Unnasta,
Letha

[Sinold Bragasson]

Sinold sat on his bed, shaking his head. He couldn’t understand it. Over and over he read the letter which a messenger had brought him from Letha. She had gone on a mission of some sorts, without him. Without even telling him. After a few minutes, Sinold’s puzzlement had turned to frustration and then to open anger. He stood up from his bed, pacing his room, the letter still in his hands.

“What did she think she was DOING! Odin, you have given me a bride who does not know manners! She didn’t even tell me! ME! Her betrothed!!!”

After a bit more of pacing, Sinold tossed the letter onto his bed and stormed out of his room, fumbling with the key he always wore around his neck until he came to her room. Fumbling some more, he opened the door to her chambers. Just as she had told him, there was a shirt laying upon her bed. The one she had made for him. Sinold’s rage abated for a bit when he picked up the heavy fabric, bringing the shirt close to his nose – it still had her scent on it. Anger was supplanted by longing and fear, but then his anger returned. Grabbing the shirt in his hands, Sinold left Letha’s chambers, bringing the shirt to his room. He wouldn’t wear it, wouldn’t chance it getting torn and soiled in what he would be doing now.

“You think you will go out there without me, when those damn Franks are still lurking in corners and Odin knows where? Oh no, Letha… I’ll find you and then we go together or I will drag you back here!”

A new determination set upon his features as Sinold hurriedly grabbed a few supplies, a one of his old shirts, his weapons and then made for the stables to saddle Ligea. Before he’d leave he would find Gerben, or Lan. They had accompanied Letha on her last sojourn to her old home, maybe they would know where she would have gone.

[Sinold Bragasson]

Sitting on Ligea’s back, Sinold could see the commotion around him. Rangers, guards … Sir Loxley, all assembled and ready to go out and search for lady Dream. A pang of guild crossed his mind – should he not be with them to look for the lady? No… he didn’t have time. Each moment he waited meant another mile that Letha was out there alone. He needed to go on his own personal quest, surely the Lords would understand.

When he approached the gate, two of the guards held up their hands, one taking Ligea’s reigns. A flash of anger shot from Sinold’s eyes, and if these had been any other men, not his comrades and brothers in arms, he would have ridden through and over them to get through the gates.

“What is this, Jorret? I wish to pass, helping in the search, fo … Lady Loxley.” A small white lie wouldn’t hurt, and since others were passing on just that purpose, Jorret would not continue to stand in his way.

Unfortunately, Sinold had miscalculated, the guard would not budge, Jorret only taking the reigns in more securely. “We are sorry, Goodman, but this is the King’s order, ye are nae to leave Windstorm for any reason, until the business with the Franks will be concluded. We cannae let ya pass!”

The rather apologetic, and even pitying look on Jorret’s face didn’t mollify Sinold’s temper at all. Leaning down and growling in his best threatening voice, the Norse looked straight at the guard. “Ye will le me pass, immediately, or by Odin, I shall have Ligea trample you to the ground! This is urgent, I need to go look… for the lady!”

Jorret wouldn’t butch, instead he had his hand on the hilt of his sword, trying a smile. “ Goodman Sinold… we cannae, the King wishes that ye remain here, within the castle. Now, ye can do as he tells ya to… or ye will have to go through Thomas and meself!” Now both were beginning to slowly slide their swords out of their sheathes.

Pointing his finger directly at Jorret, Sinold stared at the man for a long infuriated moment. Then he turned Ligea around, and around again, riding up right next to Jorret who still held his blank weapon in hand. “Ye will remember this day, Jorret. Remember it from the broken bones and scars ye will bear, for once this will be over, ye and I have an appointment!”

Still furious as a queen bee whose hive had been attacked by a bear, Sinold shouted a few expletives in old Norse and then rode Ligea back towards the stables. He would need to speak with the king … and he would give the man an earful about hindering him from going to make sure all was alright with Letha!