"I will always honor my ancestors.
I will always impress my Gods.
I will always respect nature.
I will always speak my mind.
I will always fight for justice.
I will always defend myself.
I will never stray from honor.
I will never break an oath.
I w...
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"Tell my husband I'm tired and retiring for the night," Svea speaks into my ear and stands from the bench we're sharing. Her hand lingers, cupped to my elbow, "Be sure to take care of your face and use the medicine. I will question you in the morning." She warns me playfully squeezing my elbow before she steps away from the crowded table.
Turning, I return my heavy-lidded gaze up at Leif who stomps across the tabletop speaking loudly as he recounts every exaggerated detail of his raiding to us all.
But, of course, we soak it in.
He's a true born storyteller, even with the ale flowing heavily through my veins I can see the shores of Africa and Langbarðaland (Italy) just by the beautifully crafted words that surely could be written into a poem.
I've always loved his stories. After my father was killed and my clan slaughtered I'd spend my nights suffering from night terrors. But, out of kindness, Leif began filling my nights with his fantastical stories until I finally fell asleep in his arms and my terrors were vanquished by his colorful spoken tales.
The table is assaulted with pounding fists as Leif reaches the pinnacle of his story. Raiding a small island near Langbarðaland (Italy) . Before he reaches the end he snatches up a full cup of ale and gulps it down wiping the spilling liquid from his chin and then looks down at me with a prepossessing smile.
He squats before me, holding my captured gaze, and swipes my cup resting between my hands, then continues strutting down the table knocking cups and kicking plates. "We took and we raided. We burned and killed. For two winters I learned what it truly means to be a Vikingr (Viking)." By now he has everyone eating from the palm of his hand, including myself. "When I take my place on the throne we will live as voracious Vinkingr! Fighting and raiding and always voyaging for a new coast!" Everyone's eyes are on him as he turns and sweeps back down the table. "For when my clansmen reach the Corpse Halls* they will arrive as master warriors!" This time I join the cheering and the hall echoes with chorused chanting.
Leif climbs down and takes Svea's empty place and wraps a heavy arm around my shoulders taking a long gulp from my stolen cup. "I wasn't finished drinking that," I chide bubbling with laughter.
"You've had nearly double than I, I'm afraid I need to catch up." He smiles, licking his wet lips then sets the ale down. I make to take my cup back but he grips it tight, taunting me with a lifted brow.
"Two winters away," I say and shrug his arm from my shoulders, "I'm no longer a little bird as you and your father liked to call me. I can handle my ale."
Leif hides a scoff by taking another large haul from the hollowed wooden cup, "'Little Bird', I said it only to tease you. You got so angry." His tongue darts out, licking the remnants of the drink and my stomach churns unexpectedly.
"S-Svea returned to her -- your-- chambers." I falter and snatch my almost empty cup wanting to drink away the uncomfortable pit within my stomach.
