To the Danelaw

[Sinold Bragasson]

Their first meeting after their short but important spar had gone rather well, Sinold thought. Last night, when Lord Hawkmoon and he had met in the Great Hall, they had greeted each other with polite nods and addressing each other by name. To any who had seen them these past few months that must have looked like a big milestone in their relations towards one another. Of course there were still tensions, which broke way last night when Sinold had tried to engage the Lord into a more or less playful mock fight with daggers. Hawkmoon didn't quite take the bait although showing much prowess with his weapon. Before the past weekend, such a fight might have easily escalated into a full-fletched fight, but yesterday it had not. Hopefully a good sign.

Sinold couldn't fail to notice that even such slight tensions were beginning to grate on Lady Edfeil's mood, and Sinold vowed to restrain himself a bit more in the future.

He needed to journey abroad the lands of the realm for a week or so anyways, thus giving himself some time to consider his new-found relation with the captain of the guards. There were things a Norse needed for a wedding he simply couldn't get within Windstorm's realm, and he knew that Tyrun the old sea bear was busy with his own affairs. Besides, it would be much faster to try and procure the required items in the not too far away Danelaw than asking Tyrun to set to the high seas and try and find the things Sinold sought for him. The Norse still had extensive settlements on the English isle in the area known as the Danelaw. His ride would take him east first, skirting the kingdom of Kent, then heading north towards East Anglia. Sinold was certain he would find what he needed in one of the many Norse villages there.

He hated to leave Letha behind, but it looked as if she was herself quite busy with her own personal affairs. He would miss her, but he knew her heart was always with him, as she had been during his fight with Lord Hawkmoon.

Sinold wrote two letters, as usual for him now, in the kitchen. One was to the Master Sergeant, a man Sinold had learned to not only respect but also to trust.



Master Gerben,

Urgent, if pleasant, business will lead me away from Windstorm for a while. I should be back in about two weeks from this day on. I have a favour to axs of you: will you please look after Lady Halethala? I cannae take her with me (as that would spoil what I have in mind) and she will chide me for leaving her behind. Alas, it cannae be any way other.... I entrust her safety and welfare to you, Master Sergeant. Your endeavors shall not be left unrewarded upon my return.

My heartiest thanks to you!

Sinold



The other letter was to his Letha.

Beloved,

I will need to be away for a short while, maybe as long as two weeks. There is urgent business I have to undertake in the area known to you and others as the Danelaw, seeking something which I hope will please you once you'll see it. My way shall lead me to the east first, along the Kentish border and then further north to East Anglia where there are Norse settlements. I have axsed Master Gerben to look after you while I will be away. You cannae accompany me on my journey as much as I wanted this meself. For if you did, it would spoil the gift I will bring back for a later time this year. Please understand and listen to Master Gerben. He is a good man and I trust him.

Till I return to you my sweet unnasta!

Sinold


He looked over both letters once more. his spelling had improved ever since Lady Edfeil had started to give him writing lessons. He had one of the servants deliver these letters to the respective persons, and then rummaged through the kitchen for a few provisions of dried bread, ham and fruits. A small bag that would last him for the first two or three days was readily packed. From his room he collected his sword, dagger and a boot knife, as well as the bow which had brought him so much luck during the archery competition. To this he added his water pouch and tool set for starting fires and making repairs to his tack and bow if needed. A blanket, a spare shirt and pants and a heavier cloak in case of cold and rainy weather - Sinold was all packed.

It took him a mere half hour more before he was ready, sitting on top of Ligea, driving her out of the stables with his heels, the hope to find a special wedding gift for his beloved spurring him onwards and out the gates of Windstorm.

[Sinold Bragasson]

Riding alone was an not really to Sinold's liking. When he had traveled before, it had been in the company of his fellow Norse, of fellow warriors, and although rowing a Longship was hard work, there was always something to talk about, stories to tell and songs to sing. he missed that aspect of comradery here on the road... but in truth, he also missed that aspect of rowdy sportsmanship and good natured teasing and baiting back in Windstorm. Most of the ladies were too refined for such talk and rowdiness (except, maybe, Lady Laurestina who really did seem to like to indulge in the sweet grape wine once in a while), and the Lords...? Sinold shook his head. even old Tyrun behaved himself when visiting in Windstorm.

Sentiment against his kind still ran strong, he figured, and tempers might rise should he be seen by the peasant folk. Sinold was content and skilled when it came to living on the road and off the land. his bow brought him rabbit and grouse, the forest began to provide berries and roots, and streams he crossed served to replenish his water skins and an opportunity to wash and take care of other business. He made the best of a dour situation and sang quietly while riding, not on the main roads but most through forest, avoiding the busy streets.


"Iceland, fortunate isle! Our beautiful, bountiful mother!
Where are your fortune and fame, freedom and virtue of old?
All things on earth are transient: the days of your greatness and glory
flicker like flames in the night, far in the depths of the past.
Comely and fair was the country, crested with snow-covered glaciers,
azure and empty the sky, ocean resplendently bright.
Here came our famous forebears, the freedom-worshipping heroes,
over the sea from the east, eager to settle the land.
Raising their families on farms in the flowering laps of the valleys,
hearty and happy they lived, hugely content with their lot.
Up on the outcrops of lava where Axe River plummets forever
into the Almanna Gorge, Althing convened every year.
There strode Gissur and Geir, Gunnar and Héðinn and Njáll.
Heroes rode through the regions, and under the crags on the coastline
floated their fabulous ships, ferrying wealth from abroad.
"


As he did each evening, he soon found shelter in a grove of trees, binding Ligea on a bough and rolling out his blanket onto the ground. Collecting firewood only took a little while and soon a small but warming fire lit the approaching night. So he sat there, placing the remainder of a second rabbit he had hunted the day before on a stick, roasting it on the fire and thinking of home... and his beloved!

[Halethala]

She'd not been well for days . . . whether the little nibbling worry over Sinold's spar with Lord Hawkmoon, or perhaps her dabbling in an attempt to learn to make a decent semblence of oxtail soup that had gone awry (apparently, one should either skin the tail and bob it, or someone had pulled her leg as to the use of a tail in the first place) . . she probably would never know, but she had suffered miserable stomach cramps since and found it not wise to stray too far from her quarters.

The servant that delivered the missive stood with his head down, she couldn't read the look on his face, even when she used her sweetest charms in thanking him. He simply nodded and left. She knew immediately it was from Sinold, and lifted the scroll to sniff at it, savoring the scent uniquely his. It had been so long since she'd even seen the Norseman . . why couldn't he have delivered it himself . . or better, come spoken to her? Perhaps he had been too busy, or truly was wounded in the sparring, or was so upset at her not coming to watch, or . . . A little seed of apprehension sprouted in her . .

Glancing over the large, loopy, painstakingly written printing, she smiled, and lapsed into one of those sidetracked thoughts one often did when they wished to hold uncertain news at bay a bit longer . . she imagined trying to hover close, helpfully, to gently offer improvements for his writing skills . . pointing out the good strokes, subtly suggesting improvements, demonstrating sometimes . . then realized such would perhaps never be. . . if they could not even face each other in the pits without temptation of closenes, there would be even less chance of success in such a cozy setting . . her smile broke even wider as she thought of his energetic enthusiasm and zest for life . . how she missed him . .

Finally, she read his message, crestfallen . . . TWO WEEKS . . two whole weeks . . . why had he not come to speak with her of this first? Why leave so suddenly? Was he in trouble, was there some other cause he'd not wished to mention so to worry her? Or .. was he leaving forever, simply not wishing to say a final goodbye?

She curled on her bed in a fetal position, knees tightly pulled inwards to ease the cramping pain that again gripped at her stomach . . the note still clutched tightly in her hand . . Perhaps once she felt better, she would seek out Gerrad . . Maybe he knew more than she . .

"The road leads both ways, Deorheorte . . return by its pathway, with safety encompassing thee . . and my love a soft quilt to comfort ye, Sinold . . return, return . . " She whispered as she gently rocked in pain . .

[Sinold Bragasson]

Another evening by the campfire, this time it were two perch he had managed to snatch from their watery hide-aways. He should have made some stockfish for the journey... In all honesty, the idea to get Letha one of those traditional Norse wedding crowns had actually come quite suddenly. It rued him now that he didn't even tell and kiss her goodbye. He hadn't even told her about the outcome of his spar with Lord Hawkmoon ... maybe because after all it had ended with him on his knees in the dust. But subconsciously he figured he had feared her pleading eyes to be allowed to accompany him; or alternatively her pained look when he would have told her no. He so hated to see his beloved in pain, fear and doubt... yet more and more it occurred to him that in this case he had been the one in doubt and proving to be quite a coward.

"She will like what I'll bring back. Maybe a wolf's pelt or two... for the morning gift." They would make good material for warm winter clothes, or trimmings for some of Letha's dresses. He had seen women wear wolf's pelt on their hem.

The first fish was ready, providing a hearty meal together with some of the by now hard bread he had taken with him. He hummed another song, now wishing he could share this one with his love. There would be times, he hoped, when Letha and him could just do that. until then, he would concentrate upon the road ahead and make haste on his way, so he could be back into Letha's arms as soon as possible.

[Halethala]

((Slight timeloop)) Hugging her pillow very close, she drifted in and out of sleep . . the Healer's cure had taken a mighty toll, yet it had seemed to break whatever was ailing her. She felt so much better, though empty and weak . .

How many days until his return? Was it merely an estimate, and he'd be gone even longer than the two weeks promised in his letter? Where was he now? Was he safe? Who was he speaking to . . drinking with . . bartering with . . and what, pray tell, was the gift he'd mentioned . . . she knew how much he hated mysteries, yet he left one for her like this. Not just one, but the entire trip was shrouded in mystery, as far as she could see . .

Sighing, realizing that to worry herself would not bring him back one moment sooner, she eased herself upright, waiting patiently for the wave of dizziness to pass, then took up a quill and parchment. Dipping it carefully, she settled back and began to edge the page with tiny scrollwork . . . slowly, simply to fill the time for now, practicing . .

She soon realized they were beginning to look much like very small running horses, too small for much detail. She thought of Ligea, and her precious cargo . . . and smiled softly . .

Waiting for the ink to dry fully, she began to compose her thoughts in her mind, what she would set down inside the border . . normally that would come first, but this was not for any eye but her own. Just . . practice . .

[Sinold Bragasson]

The days of traveling passed relatively uneventful. Except for two ruffians who had surprised Sinold in his sleep, demanding coins as well as weapons from him, who were then consequently beaten off by the Norse’s sword after one of them lost half his hand, the paths he traveled were quite deserted and quiet.

Once he had to find shelter in a cave from a horrendous thunder storm… not realizing that the cave was also occupied by a young brown bear. The animal was a young one, likely he had left his mother just a few weeks ago and this was his first cave. Both man and beast stared at each other, Sinold making sure he kept as much distance from the bear as possible, humming tunes to try and mollify the creature. His companion had kept rolling around, sleeping and snoring and finally, when the rain had ended, making his way out of his den, passing Sinold by as if he was just some uninteresting small flea or other insignificant nuisance. The Norse send a small prayer up to the Gods and then moved on himself.

Soon he began to skirt the border of Kent, the home of two of Windstorms guests Sinold remembered. He and one of those Kentish giants, Sighehelm by name, had started off on not the best terms, the man’s looks towards Lady Edfeil having brought on Sinold’s protective streak towards the young heir to the Windstorm throne. Shortly before he had left he also had seen the brother of that Lord – an identical twin, as far as Sinold could see. He had no strong believes about the phenomenon of identical twins. As long as the men did act honorably and did earn his keep, there was nothing wrong with either. In fact, Sinold could think of a few fun things one could play as an identical twin when it came to bed games…one man, twice the pleasure for a lass… or lad, Sinold grinned.

He would skirt Kent nonetheless. Sinold also knew that the Kentish coast was one of the prime targets for Norse explorers and thus his kind might not be very welcomed there, apart from his own personal strife with one of the Kentish Lords.

But as he rode, one question became more and more pressing in his mind: a man should earn his keep. Something he wasn’t doing exactly right now. Sure, he earned a little bit of money looking after Edfeil’s skiff for her. But he still had no real occupation. The thought of trading for horses popped up in his mind again. Even if Lady Andrea was in charge of the Windstorm horses and breeding them for the castle’s own supply, trading the beasts with local and even farther away land would be far beyond the Lady’s interests, Sinold thought. he would address this with her when he came back, and if she would not object he and Tyrun would make that trip to Iceland to bring back a small pony herd.

Letha might enjoy helping with the ponies… she seemed to like horses, and since she would be in charge of the family finances, she could nicely help managing whatever profit they would make…. Sinold shook his head – he was no merchant, no trader and savvy businessman like Tyrun, even if raising horses had been an old family tradition. By now he knew the way of the sword much better than that of the plough, and managing money never had been his forte, even though he liked horses and thus would soon find a taste for bartering and trading them.

Letha… would she be very mad with him? he didn’t fear her being lonely, she had Lady Edfeil, Loxley and Andrea to keep her company. Certainly she would be doing many womanly things with her sisters… laugh and dance and knit and bake. or whatever these spirited womenfolk of Windstorm saw fit in doing. She would be doing fine… although he wondered if she had the same urges and desires for his company as he had. More than once during his journey he couldn’t help but finding relief by himself… his thoughts on Letha and all the things they would do once the time had come….in so many long hard months!

He sighed deeply, there was still much he needed to think about. Right now he was hungry, he should have passed into the Danelaw since the past night and thus he decided to start looking for a farm and then one of the Norse settlements in this area where he could start his inquiries into a wedding crown for his bride to be.

There… a few lights in the distance beckoned him closer, Sinold counted about 20 individual lights from houses. This would be as good a place to start his quest as any. He gave Ligea the heels and slowly made his way towards his first stop in the Danelaw.

[Sinold Bragasson]

Travelling to the first small hamlet yielded little but the first warm bed in about a week, and the information that there actually was a wedding going on in another larger township about another 15 leagues from where Sinold was staying now.

Thanking the good people with a quick repair of one of their sheep enclosures, the Windstorm man was then on his way to Maldoc and the happy couple.

When Sinold arrived , it seemed the whole town was in uproar, even if in a most pleasant one. People were staggering along the main thoroughfare of the town, holding horns filled with meade and ale high, toasting towards each other and soon also to Sinold. Slowly he rode through town, simply following his ears to detect the large farm house from which the loudest laughter, hollering and music was audible. Finding a room proved difficult since many of the rooms were already occupied because of the wedding, but Sinold found himself in luck. A room had became unoccupied just the night before; the gossiping tavern lord told Sinold that the man having lived there for the past few day to attend the wedding had made the foolish mistake to fool around with a sister of the brides and was beaten out of town soundly and squarely by the girl’s brothers. “Oh I will heed yer advise, Goodman. I’,m not looking for already my heart is full with one woman only!” He smiled and brought his belonging into the room, placed Ligea into the tavern’s stables and then set out on foot to find the celebration.

Drum beats made his steps quicken, the rhythmic beats speeding his approach to the large farm house where revellers stood outside, in more or less drunken states, some more crawling than walking to the stables to sleep off the worst of their drunkenness for the next round of ale and meade. Grinning, Sinold made his way inside, the noise almost deafening. Immediately he was handed a full horn of meade, he drank deeply after the long and dusty road behind him. Oh, it was good to be in the company of his kin again, and for the first time he thought how wonderful it would have been if Letha had been here with him to see how his people lived. Maybe after their own wedding…

For now he was content to let the meade do its magic, joining in with the singing and congratulating of groom and bride.

it was almost as good as being back home, in Iceland!

[Danelaw]

The old crow sqwarked "Godewine's brother hath returned, beware!!"

The elders turned and looked,* Gasping in horror* He hath returned!!

[Sinold Bragasson]

(Post has been revised)


The day was bright and sunny when Sinold woke up to a new morning, stretching and yawning, smacking his lips. The taste in his mouth was quite foul, stale and just nasty. A slight hint of the meade he had drunk in quite some quantities last night still lingered… aaaah, and what a sweet meade it had been. Only a wedding’s honey wine could taste as sweet, made as heady and brought one to heaven so easily. Only the best honey was collected for this meade especially brewed for and the month after the wedding.

Risking an eye, Sinold stared up against the ceiling of the main hall where apparently he had fallen asleep in. Ah yes, the snoring coming from a number of others having spend the night in the main hall of the house as well. He heard the slight cracking of the still glowing embers from the great central fire… groans from other revellers as they woke up….pit-patting feet of servants bringing in water bowls for the morning toilet …he turned his head, his eyes still partially closed, a sleepy grin on his face…

It hd been a nice night, but he needed to move on. he thanked his gracious hosts, collected his belongings and Ligea from the Inn and left the village, heading further north.

[Sinold Bragasson]

He finally found what he had sought, why he had come to this land where his kin lived peacefully on the isle of the English. An old woman, without any family any longer, was willing to sell Sinold her own bridal crown, and thanks to the Ranger's generous gift in coins Sinold gave her twice what she asked for it. An old woman, alone… she would need all the coins she could get to get through the next winter.

The thought of her being alone in the dawn of her life brought sadness to Sinold's heart, and more than ever he vowed not to let that happen to his Letha.

Then, after a good 10 days in the Danelaw, Sinold turned Ligea around and rode back south towards Windstorm.

He was close to what he knew was the Kentish border when his luck turned bad, however. During a night's rest, a pack of wolves had decided to try and get a good meal out of Ligea. Before Sinold was up from underneath his blanket, one of the predators has torn into the horse's left flank before Ligea was able to kick in the skull of her attacker. By then Sinold had unsheathed his sword and killed two more of the beasts, then was brought to a fall by a root, one of the remaining wolves locking ist jaws into Sinold's right calf, causing the Norse to yelp out loudly in pain, shaking his leg and slashing his sword in direction of the wolf to get it off of him. A second one was on him now….Sinold grabbed his dagger and rammed it into the second animal's chest. It dropped dead next to him.

Fnally, the sword caught the wolf still attacking Sinold's right leg by its ear, slashing it off clearly. The wolf cried out once and then slung away, providing Sinold an opportunity to get up onto his knees at least. One more wolf fell by his sword when it tried to snap at Sinold's bad leg… and then it was over as quickly as it had begun. The wolves were gone, leaving man and horse injured and bleeding.

With effort Sinold made it up onto his feet, using Ligea to pull himself up. He could barely place any weight onto his right leg, but he managed to stand. He was more concerned about his horse…. The wound did look nasty, it bled as profusely as Sinold's own wound, but was not life threatening. However, he doubted Ligea would tolerate his riding. He would have to walk with her.

Before he left the scene, he quickly skinned the two dead wolves and rolled up their skin for later treatment. Letha would have some nice wolf skin for her dresses after all, and it would be a good addition to whatever would be negotiated as the bridal price.

Having secured the skins to his saddle, Sinold grit his teeth and started the long trek home on foot, hoping Odin would give Ligea and him strength to endure.

[Righarde]

*The sound of the horn blew soundly across the winds. A volley of horse hooves resounded through the ground as they give chase to Lord knows what. They came closer, closer still till suddenly the leader on a fine white stallion appeared and came to a galloping stop. He had the look and confidence of Sighehelm*

What, Ho!

*Righarde commanded his men by a simple raise of his arm to go on till the deed was done. Eyes of slate grey looked at the stranger and then at the horse*

your horse needs tending to, as do you. come Sir

*The urgency in his voice was clear. Righarde turned and looked to the servant who had stopped just then before him*

Quickly fetch Edger with two horses and have him take this mans horse to the stables.

*Then he turned with the devil of a grin on his face. The Serving man, a youth named William bowed then quickly turned back where he came*

It seems my good fellow that we are to have you as a guest a while. Come let me bandage your leg and maybe I will be rewarded by your name

*grinning still he went to his saddle and fetched some clean white rags*

[Sinold Bragasson]

Holding himself steady on Ligea's mane, Sinold blinked as he heard the sound of a horn and soon a whole troop of men approaching. His sword was affixed to the left side of the saddle, the side he was walking on, and instinctively his hand went to the hilt. The main group of men, however, passed Sinold by, chasing into the opposite direction the Norse was coming from.

Only one man and a young boy remained, the boy soon send off to fetch two horses, and the other man address him. He looked and spoke like Lord Sighehelm, and wearily Sinold looked at the man, yet let his hand leave the hilt of his sword.

"Aye, we are in bad shape, and help will be appreciated. But whatare you doing here, Lord Sighehelm? I thought a certain lady had yer mind and heart all set to stay in Windstorm?"

Sinold smiles, letting himself slip to the forest floor gently, wincing as he stretches his injured leg out in front of him.

[Halethala]

*Smiling at herself, how much she’d changed since coming to Windstorm, trading her wariness and distrust more easily than she’d ever dreamed possible . . yet there were times when her old longings for solitude would stay her from the presence of others . . more often than not when she found her mind unable to overcome a worry of some sort. This, coupled with the lingering weakness after the tainted soup, had driven her to seek solace in the highest room she could find open . . she would have tried scaling the ramparts or the very roof of the castle, if the Guards and her strength had allowed it.

More than a little pleased at having snatched a peek at the exquisite embroidery work of Lady Andrea upon yet another gift she was fashioning for her future, Letha decided to try to add a few more items herself, by her own hand. Hands that ached for more to occupy them . . the time seeming to slow to a crawl since Sinold was off on his mysterious journey. Mingled with the lingering annoyance that he left so suddenly, without farewell, was a growing concern as each day passed and yet his face did not appear again . . no journey was without dangers, of many sorts . . Was he faring well? . . . Other fears, more deep and nameless, she just couldn’t even form in her mind . . she would simply need to try and trust more . .

Glad that there had been a lovely carved rocker in this room, she’d questioned the maids to see if she could keep the dust from gathering on its seat from time to time. Settling in for long hours, she kept vigil . . watching the comings and goings of the riders that dotted the roadways in the distance . . watching for the one most familiar . . the handwork in her lap forgotten for the most part . . . ‘twas better than twiddling idle thumbs, but barely . .

[Righarde]

*he did not speak as he mended the mans wound. How neatly he thought that he did not add his name to his words. Yet still Righarde could see that the man was mistaken*

I am sure that it would be so, if I were Lord Sighehelm.

*rising he looked pleased to see Edger. He walked over to him and spoke in private a moment then turned back.
Edger turned to tend to Legia afore Righarde offered his hand*

Your name Sir?. I would have it afore we travel.

*he looked the man over*

can ye ride a horse Sir or doth ye need ta be carried?

*That proud bearing from a man as tall as a young tree looked on the man before him*

[Sinold Bragasson]

There bandaging happened in silence, Sinold wondered why this man who was clearly not his friend, would be helping him as he did right now.

But then… this might not be the man he thought he was, and looking up Sinold first looked at the servant who had brought two fresh horses to the site. "Be careful when tending Ligea. I hope ye have some boiled cow's urine for her and me," he saw the disgusted look on the man's face, "for our wounds! Although if ye drink it, it'll kill any worm you may have inside yer bowels!" Sinold grinned at the man, only partially jesting, then his attention was back on the noble before him, his hand now extended to help him up.

"If ye are not Lord Sighehelm…who are you then? As for me," He took the offered hand and stood, still not placing much weight onto his right foot, "I am called Sinold, on my way back to Windstorm. You must know it, you…or whoever looks like you, has been there."

Sinold barely was able to walk over to the other horse, but managed all the same. "And I can ride, thank you. A little doggie's bite won't affect ho my backside fits onto a horse!" With a grunt he mounted up, sitting straight on the horse's back, ignoring the thumping and aching radiating up his whole leg. "I could still outride you, milord. And what shall I call you, so we will be on equal terms?"