Winter has so far been marked by, if anything, a great deal of boredom. Snows are deep and travel is largely cut off. Few merchants or other travelers make it through, and cabin fever is not uncommon. Other than feasting and drinking, there is often little to do over the harsh winter months of the North. As a result, when there are days good enough to go outdoors, all manner of brash contests and dares are set forth and participated in with alacrity — even if the occasional knocked skull or broken bone is the inevitable result. In addition to these physical contests or wrestling, hunting, and general feats of strength (or idiocy), there are also riddling contests, singing or chanting the sagas by skalds and would-be skalds, and games of hnefatafl and other types of challenges that you've participated in.
You have been ordered to appear before your jarl, Olaf Henrikson, Jarl of Halfstead, greatest city of the Northlands. For young members in service to his household or visitors who have wintered there but have no immediate plans for pursuing their wyrd, this is a moment of both hope and fear. Hope that he assigns you a glorious task that allows you to prove your mettle, but tinged with fear of his wrath should you fail. Your jarl is a good man, strong and battle-tested, with many famed heroic deeds to his name. Most importantly, he is a ring-giver, one who is generous to those in his service who prove themselves deserving.
After making yourself presentable, you and a few of his other retainers and guests walk through the gates of the great hall’s stockade and present yourselves to the guards at the carved wooden doors that mark the main entrance. After exchanging a few jests with these household warriors that you have known for as long as you’ve been a part of the jarl’s household, Ari Hrokson, your jarl’s herald, comes for you. "I needn’t remind you to keep polite and let the jarl speak first. And do not keep too much of his time, this is a busy day," the old skald states. He then announces you to the jarl, in order of your social precedence.
"My lord. I present Aella Iceeyes, daughter of Thollvar the Unslain and Brida the Wyrdweaver - huscarls Aðalbjörn and Haldorr - Dvallar, Hirdwoman of Bloodrock Farm - the godi O∂ørn the Drowned - and Helle Stinar, a cunning woman."
The hall is dimly lit, for this is a normal day and not a cause for feasting. Only a few huscarls stand about the room, but several thralls busy themselves putting up garlands of flowers and green boughs, preparations for the upcoming Feast of Freyja. The jarl is seated at the end of the feasting table in his chair, an ornate piece of work carved from the trunk of an oak. He is leaning in and talking with a stranger, a well-dressed man with the bearing of an envoy. As you approach, you hear the jarl say, "...and thirty-five cattle, that’s all her dowry will be."
The jarl turns to you. "Good, you have come quickly and well comported. This speaks kindly of you and your kin. Sit and partake of an early meal; you will need it, for I have a task for you. My three daughters, Inga, Fastvi, and Runa, wish to go out this afternoon and gather flowers for the feast. As this is a rightful thing for young girls to do, I am allowing it. They need to be guarded, and this is the task I set before you."
"I know you have longed for a chance to prove yourselves and rise in my favor as well as allow your mind’s-worth to shine, but there is no spear-din today and no chance to shed battle-dew. All I have is this task: Spend a spring afternoon watching young girls as they pick flowers in the meadows. When you have your own halls and have seen the swans of blood sip on many a foeman’s wound-sea, such a day as this will be a boon beyond naming. So remember it well and pray that you have many more like it. Now, let us eat. But before that, allow me to introduce our bread-brother this morning, Ottar Gundrikson, skald and herald to the Jarl Ref Solumundson of the Vale."
The meal consists of black bread, butter, the last of the winter’s pickled flounder, fresh spring greens (cooked with white beans and a ham hock) - in addition the beer flows freely.
When Aella takes a seat Helle tries to slip into a seat next to her. She looks nervous, and keeps trying to smooth her skirt and straighten her hair. Watch the jarl's daughters? That sounds simple enough, I think I can do that.
She leans toward Aella and speaks quietly, "The closest flowers are not far away. I saw some just this morn on the way to the hall."
She carefully fills a plate, and listens to the conversations around her while eating.
Aðalbjörn sits, leaving one seat between him and the visitor, close enough to hear and join the conversation but no so close as to imply overfamiliarity. He is about to tuck into the meal with abandon, then checks himself and follows the example of those around the table.
Dvallar winced inwardly as the herald casually bared everyone's name, but had long enough experience with humanity to keep her face stony. As the implications of the presence of a herald's of Storstrøm Vale became clear she bit her lip slightly. Still, she nods politely when bade sit, and takes her place between Haldorr and O∂ørn. She notes - with dissaproval - when Helle steals the place next to Aella.
Seeing the Skald and the Jarl alloyed in the tale-telling in which humans revelled - names and boasts mixed like salt and water - she turned to her right, where sat O∂ørn. "Have you news? How goes the new ship?" she asked quietly "Does she sail well?" The changes she had made to the rope-rings were minor, and the result of a decade's thought, but she hoped to incorporate them into future designs. Perhaps one day, a century or so from now, they would bare her name.
Haldorr pulls up a chair next to Aðalbjörn, smiling politely at the huscarl. He sits in his chair with a relaxed posture, feeling right at home with the Jarl and the many other familiar faces surrounding him. He notices the large amount of liquid spirits that have been prepared, and looks over at O∂ørn as if passing judgment.
Haldorr slowly sips at his beer, picking at the black morsels in his plate as he listens to the conversations around him.
Excited with the possibility of defending the jarl's daughters, Haldorr turns to Aðalbjörn. "Ah, it's been quite some time. Have you -- and your fists," he grins as if he knows something no one else does, "been well?" He continues, remembering the tales of Aðalbjörn's skill in combat, "I think it would be of little task for a warrior such as yourself to stand guard in these fields, and I've no hesitation in helping."
O∂ørn listens quietly while Jarl Olaf tells him his duty. He is not accustomed to performing such duties as watching young girls picking flowers. Besides, the children of the village had taken to falling quiet when they saw him, though whispers soon started when he passed them by. He suspects that something of his appearance frightened them. Still, he would not refuse his Jarl's command, no matter its nature. He does not know this herald Ottar nor his Jarl Solumondson, but the man was a table-guest of the Jarl, so O∂ørn would pay him all due respect.
When the meal is served, he is glad to take his seat next to Dvallar. He eats and drinks little, particularly savoring the pickled flounder. Truly, Rán was generous in the pleasures the sea provided this year, though not all of his gifts were without cost, he thought as he looked at his table-mates.
He was so deep in thought that he almost missed Dvallar's question. "Aye, the ship sails admirably. Her captain, Einig, boasts of her as if he had built her himself."[b] He pauses to look over the ship in his mind's eye, trying to think of what contributions Dvallar might have made in particular.
He recalls that the iron rope-rings in the rigging seemed to bear a quality resembling some of Dvallar's work that he had seen previously. [b]"The captain is young, so he may not praise your craft in the improvements you made to the rope-rings, but let me be the first to congratulate you on their design. Rán honors those who serve him well, as you have done in this."
Just then, as he looks at Dvallar, he notices Haldorr glaring at him. This one seems to have taken offense at my words. Perhaps I should simply listen for a time. With that, O∂ørn turns his gaze back to his plate and continues picking at his food.
Aðalbjörn turns to Haldorr... And smiles.
"no need to dance your words on my account Haldor quick-eyes. Your fight is a clean thing, a skilled thing. Mine is an ugly thing, a brutal thing. I know this and am content.
As for the task, I dearly hope we are not needed. The Jarl's daughters are young, too young to see first hand what the likes of you and I are capable of."
Aðalbjörn seems happy that Haldorr has chosen to talk to him.
Aella sighs as the herald announces her name with mentions to her parents as well as the fact the Helle's name was the last spoken, specially after Haldorr's name.
Someday I'll be announced with my sole name, without the shadows and burdens of my parents... and someday the name of good people, cunning people, will have more weight than of those dishonored and kin slayers...
She hears the other jarl's name just before sitting. So we'll probably have a wedding soon... That was her first thought, soon to be put aside to more troubling ones. ...but why does the jarl need all of us to protect his daughters while picking flowers? This will only weak him unless he expects some sort of problem...
Aella wasn't against the notion of protecting the jarl's daughters, for family and community was the most important things to fight and die but the problem was that the girls needed protection. In the Northlands, unlikely in the lands to the south, the jarl wasn't a king and his rule wasn't hereditary so when the good jarl passed away, his daughters would need to prove themselves to attain their title and they would not achieve that by needing protection every time they decided to pick some flowers.
At Helle's question, Aella nodded before answering. "You are indeed right, Helle, but there is nothing that indicates we'll be after the closest ones..."
Seeing Dvallar, Aella smiled and waved at her, genuinely missing her old mentor.
It has been a while since I last spoke to her... I shall correct this today!
Haldorr continues talking to Aðalbjörn. "I had not considered that," he admits, thinking back on his days as a thrall and how he had been treated back then. Surely his daughters cannot be strangers to the sight of combat and injury. A pragmatist in all ways, Haldorr found it difficult to empathize with the thought of a young girl seeing the horror of bloody combat.
"Regardless, if they are put in danger, we must listen to the Jarl's requests. Perhaps we can," Haldorr sips from his mug, "Try to be a little diplomatic, if you will, with whatever threatens them, should that be the case." He swallows the beer and grins cockily.
Overhearing the conversation Dvallar had been having with O∂ørn, Haldorr's expression changes. Ah, a sailor. And a follower of Rán. Perhaps he has changed his ways from years ago.
"Custom rope-rings, is it?" Haldorr jumps into Dvallar and O∂ørn's conversation, now with full attention to one of his biggest interests. "Of all my travels on longships, I had never seen such a thing. Hmm, but what custom work have I seen... Well, on my last travels, the rough cloth sails had been flecked with bits of mithral. A very sturdy material, as I'm sure you know. Really quite amazing, in fact, the way the wind would whistle across them, buckets of air forming as the masts creaked, all while we came ashore to raid."
His rambling quickly stops when he notices the paladin looking down upon him further down the table.
"I am glad she sails well." answered the dwarf - blushing slightly "You're very kind. - they're just a little idea I had. Doubt the captain'll see much difference really." Keep your head, girl - these Northmen'd sing the praises of a rock as a hammer to be polite
At Haldorr's comment she shakes her head in wonder "Mithril doe have the best strength-to-weight ratio... but the cost! The sail must have cost more than the whole boat and everyone on it!" she pauses and continues with awe in her voice "Fool of an idea." If you could minimise the amount of material to keep the costs low, then... No, still more than I've ever seen.
Aella's smile was met one with woven from sadness and fear. They'll not long let her stay a warrior now. I hope she's not thrown away her chance.
"I had not thought that we wouldn't go to the closest ones." she says to Aella. This is probably some kind of test. There must be better ways to do that than putting his daughters in danger just to see what we can do.
She notices Dvallar's disapproval, and looks even more uncomfortable. Then she sighs, and sits up straighter. I'm a Cunning Woman. It's a noble calling. I have to start acting like I know what that means.
With talk turning to matters of craft and flower picking Aðalbjörn keeps his eyes on the table eating in silence. Barely containing his urge to burst in upon the private conversation of the Jarls, much more his sort of meal-table discussion...
Seeing the distaste in Aella's eyes as she glances in Haldor's direction Aðalbjörn lets an ugly scowl cross his features.
Helle wants to contribute to the ship building conversation, but she's no sailor. The last time she was on a ship was when she arrived at Silvermead Hall.
She asks Haldorr, "Mitrhal sails? That must have been something to see. Did the sails sparkle in the sun from the metal woven in the cloth?"
Haldorr turns to Helle, proud that she has taken interest in his sailing. "Sunlight would shine off of the mithral as if Freyr himself had been smiling down upon her sails. To the Godi on the ship, this was a blessing, and awakened the courage in them they later used to rush upon other ships during our raids."
"It was magnificent." He nods at Dvallar and Helle. "Heavy, yes. Expensive, even more so. But I had never seen such resilient sails as long as I've lived, and perhaps the courage lent by the shine of the mithral meant we had more success in raids than we would have had otherwise."
Despite his resolution to merely wait and listen, Oðørn's attention was inevitably drawn back to the conversation about the mithral-laden sails. He slowly raised his head and addressed Haldorr, "Your Godi spoke wisely, for the gods would surely be well pleased with the magnificence of such craftsmanship. Aye, the gods themselves would be well-pleased to sail aboard such a vessel themselves! The courage and honor you and your shipmates showed in battle would be pleasing to them as well. Oðørn raised his mug to Haldorr in salute of his and his fellows' deeds, and takes a short draft of the golden ale. May we similarly honor the gods and ourselves in the task the Jarl has set for us, he concludes, now looking around the table again.
As he looks down the table, he sees Helle and recalls seeing her around the town, picking herbs and flowers for her work with Brida. He turns to her and asks, "Tell us, Helle, have you any wisdom you might offer our young charges as to where they might find the most becoming flowers for the coming celebration? I have seen you at your work collecting herbs for your potions and poultices, and wondered if you might have some particular insight that would aid the girls' efforts."
Helle is a little startled that someone would ask for her opinion. She thinks for a moment, and says "There are some nice flowers nearby not far from the gate. They aren't the prettiest I have seen, but they would be the safest to gather. The prettiest and most delicate are further outside the gate to the north."
Without looking away from the task of feasting...
"The Jarl's daughters deserve nothing but the best flowers. I'll not compromise that for the sake of making my own task simpler."
Oðørn nods approvingly and says, "Well said, Aðalbjörn. We are Northlanders after all, and if we can't go a bit out of our way to find excellent flowers in service of our Jarl, then what good would we be for more challenging tasks?"
Haldorr also nods enthusiastically in agreement with the two. "As a huscarl, I cannot understate the importance of service to the Jarl." He raises his mug back at O∂ørn and takes a drink.
Putting it down, he turns back to Helle. "You have spent some time in the woods, haven't you? Perhaps you have knowledge of what flowers would be the most suitable for them. Surely there are some that are more precious than others, or some that may even have healing properties."
"Amongst some cultures in the south there is a language of flowers, the flowers that a woman wears or grows say something about that woman. I wonder, does something like this exist here in the north?"
Aðalbjörn looks up suddenly, as if just realising he is talking aloud. Blushing he looks to the food again
Showing my ignorance again, I should keep my mouth closed when in the company of more knowledgeable folk
Helle turns to Haldorr. She looks excited at the chance to talk about the different types of flowers that can be found near the hall. "The white flowers that grow in the area are called Skrubbær. It can be found in the woodlands and the moorlands. Blålyng can be found in the open moorlands. It's a purple flower that the girls might like. My personal favorite is the Tiriltunge. I think the yellow flower looks like ladies dancing. It can be found in the meadows."
"Humans are creatures of the open sky - how do you all feel when a winter blizzard finally clears and the sun can once more be seen? It could be" points out Dvallar quietly "That the girls don't so much care about the flowers so much as the freedom. If that's the case it'll be the furthest flowers they can find."
So the night comes and goes, you get to sleep off any ale you had too much off, settle full bellies.
Soon you are all in the Meadhall again, a lot less full and crowded. His three daughters are already with him, Inga, Fastvi, and Runa.
"Greetings, these are my treasures, the loves of my life. Protect them, do not let harm come to them." you can see the pride, and the seriousness of a powerful father behind his eyes
Helle dressed in her best clothing again stands before the Jarl. She smiles at the girls politely.
Taking a deep breath, she braces herself and says, "Sir and young ladies, what kinds of flowers are you interested in finding? I spend much of my time in the woods, and may be able to lead you to what you are looking for.'
Haldorr arrived promptly and eager to assist in what had been spoken about last night.
"Rest assured, we will let no danger near your daughters, my lord." He forms a fist and looks over at Aðalbjörn. "As huscarls, we are sworn to your service." He turns and greets the women with a warm smile. Perhaps I should get to know them... It is likely that one may pose more trouble than another.
Now in full regalia, shield and spear strapped to his back arms hanging loosly by his side, Aðalbjörn is an imposing sight. He is aware of this and hangs back from the group not wishing to startle the young ladies
At the Jarl's words he rumbles in reply
"it's an honour Jarl, my blood be drained afore any of your blood are slain"
He nods at your promises.
"Very well, I leave them in your care. I expect them back before the feast. Great things will happen tonight! And they need to be back before then. You may take your leave" all three girls are very excited as they gather their things and follow you.
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Dvallar trudges along, bringing up the rear so the brave humans can travel at the front. This puts her close to the girls, and desperately she tries smalltalk "So...." she trails off "Flowers, is it. What do you use them for? Some sort of human ritual, isn't it? Representing the transient nature of love by picking something that dies quickly?"
Realising this might be a sore topic she quickly moves on "So, uh, what skills are you learning at the moment?"
Runa gives her a smile as she shakes her head
"No. None of that. We simply want to make the feast more enjoyable with getting fresh flowers. Father seldom uses color. So My sisters and I want to add to the festivities"
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Having remained silent through the conversation with the Jarl except to pledge himself to protect the girls, O∂ørn maintains his solemn silence. The girls' gaiety is almost disconcerting to him now. Once, he might have joked with the girls, teasing them about their girlish task and boasting of the manliness of life at sea. Now, he walks along a few paces ahead of the girls, deep in thought about the gods and the tasks they allot to men and women according to their kind.
After several minutes of these thoughts, he turns to the girls and quietly says, If such flowers are available, perhaps you could locate flowers that in some way relate to Wotan. As the Æsir presiding over travelers, a sign of his favor would speak well of your father welcoming his guest. His voice trails off into a murmur, and he resumes his quiet concentration on placing one foot before the other.
Helle walks near the girls. She directs the group to turn north out of the gate in the direction of the best flowers she knows of. She speaks to Runa as they walk, "Color after a long drab winter is always welcome. Some flowers have healing properties. Are you interested in learning about healing?"
Aðalbjörn walks a tactical few steps behind the girls, far enough back to assess any evolving situation clearly, close enough to step in if the need arises. He leaves the head of the group to those more familiar with the trails of the wild.
His shield is strapped to his arm but his right hand is held empty, ready to pluck flower, grab spear or crush bones.
He remains silent as the group progress, eyes constantly scanning and muscles held tightly wound like a spring.
Haldorr walks near the girls, his greataxe hanging from his back, its iron blade recently sharpened. Although lighter than most armor, his chain shirt will offer sufficient protection should the need arise.
"I know quite little about trivial things such as flowers, but please, if you need anything, do let me know," the ranger says to the girls, offering a smile.
He peers into the distance and around, alert to whatever threats may arise, almost to a paranoid level.
The twins happily move to Odorn.
"Sure! We can look for those if you wish. Are they pretty? What colors? Diffirent? What do they smell like? Are they tall? Short?" the two bombard you with questions
It looks like Runa is about to respond, when a loud howl could be heard. Loud enough. But still sounded very far away
Wolves are not suppose to be this active this time of day. They tend to come out at night
The twins seemed a bit spooked, so is Runa, but she quickly shakes it off
"Maybe one day, i think it will benefit the clan if i do healing. If father does not marry me off too soon"
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"Is there anything you can do about that?" Dvallar asks, a tone of dread in her voice. Drawing closer she confides in a much quieter voice "My father had much the same plan for me."
Alarmed by the twins' barrage of questions, O∂ørn begins to mumble about not being an expert on flowers, but he searches his memory to see if he can think of any plants sacred to Wotan that the girls might find appealing.
Unable to think of any plants that fit this description, O∂ørn points the girls toward Helle and says, I am sorry, my ladies, but my knowledge of herb-lore is far inferior to that of our Cunning Woman in training here. Perhaps she knows of such a plant that would honor the gods and please your eyes.
As the howl rings through the air, Haldorr perks up, a flutter of adrenaline being sent down his veins.
Not wanting to alarm the jarl's daughters any more than they already might have been from hearing such a howl, he mutters lowly, "Just what was that?"
Aðalbjörn begins to hum under his breath, those familiar with such things recognise the tune as a battle hymn sung on the journey to a fight but it is not an unpleasant tune, not angry or violent. It is a song of comeradery and brother/sisterhood
He is still casting around as before, still tense.
Helle hears what Odorn says to the girls. "Wotan? Flowers for Wotan? Hmmm? I'm not sure he's favors a particular flower. Now Freya, she likes them all. My personal favorite is the Tiriltunge. It looks like ladies dancing. The yellow color would be a nice contrast to the dark wood in the hall. What do you think about finding those flowers,Inga and Fastvi?"
She tries to distract the girls from the howl by chattering to them about the different flowers found in the area.
Both girls soon forget about the howl, and start buzzing about the flowers again, eager to learn more
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Dvallar sighs at Haldorr's comment. "Not sure. Dogs? Just in case, though... Alright, if something comes for us and we need at least three people to form a Shield Wall. Form up with me in the middle. Girls, Helle, you stay behind us."
Haldorr moves ahead and lines up with Dvallar, quickly reminded of the impenetrable wall he had formed so many times while at sea. "We do not wish to alarm you, we simply would like to keep you three safe," he says, looking back at the girls.
I do not know how well three young girls will take this... Perhaps it really is only a harmless dog out there. Either way, I will let no harm come to them this day.
He motions towards Aðalbjörn and O∂ørn to fall in line as well.
Aðalbjörn walks over to Haldorr and places his hand on the younger man's shoulder
"one wolf shouting in the distance is no reason for us to loose our heads, if a shieldwall is necessary I will stand with you. But wolves do not attack in straight lines. We may well need to defend with a line, then again we may need a circle. we may even need to retreat, today is about getting three girls home safe and happy, not killing wolves."
With that he returns to his position.
"Helle, are there flowers nearer that we may visit? Time may be short..."
Helle looks around and points left. "That way. There are some very lovely small white flowers in that clearing."
She tries to get the girls to go in the direction of the field.
And so they start. The three are all over the place as they move from one bushel to the next
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O∂urn does not engage in the discussion between A∂abjörn and Haldorr, though he agrees with A's assessment of the situation. Wolves don't attack in straight lines. If they were going to attack, it would be from an unexpected direction, probably the back, if not from multiple directions.
As soon as the girls break off into the clearing, however, all thoughts of this discussion cease, and O∂ørn goes on high alert. Searching every possible hiding place for a sign of movement or of shining yellow eyes.