Too many had been slain on both sides before a flag of truce was raised over the battlefield, and yet I felt no pity for the Æsir as I helped tend to our wounded. They deserved every loss they'd suffered for the pain they had caused us. Their need to rule had brought us to war, and war had stolen too many sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters.
"Ouch," Ing complained as I took hold of his arm to inspect the nasty looking gash which marred it.
"Stop complaining, brother. There are teenage girls in here with worse injuries who are making less noise. How you can dive headlong into battle then wince and whine at being healed, I'll never understand."
"You aren't healing me, though," he muttered, glaring. "You're manhandling me, and I'm too tired to fix my arm myself. Just leave me to sleep, sister, and I'll sort myself out in the morning."
"I am not leaving you to bleed out through stupidity, you big oaf, now hold still or I'll end up growing you an extra arm rather than fixing this one."
"You wouldn't dare!" he stated indignantly.
"Not on purpose," I agreed, then flashed him a slightly evil grin as my magic wound into him. "But accidents happen."
"Now, now," our father chided as he came up behind me. "You're both too old to be bickering like child. You are a lord and lady of the Wen. Lets behave with some dignity, eh?"
After quickly stitching together Ing's wound, I turned towards my father, grateful to see he was in one piece and safely returned from negotiating with Odin. I had wanted to go with him, but he had seen too much anger in my expression as I watched our wounded return to camp and he had forbidden me from inflaming tensions further. It didn't matter. I already knew the terms of peace, and I already knew my part in them.
"What demands have they made of us?" my brother requested and my father sagged, reluctant to give the Æsir what they requested.
"They want a trade," I answered in my father's stead. "Some of us for some of them. Some might call us hostages, others a gesture of friendship. Some of the Ésa will come to our lands, and some of the Wen must go to theirs. Odin had requested you and father join him where the Æsir hold council. I will go with you."
"No," father replied, shaking his head. "We've discussed this. You must stay and lead our people."
"That is not my destiny," I answered, stubborn. "Whatever future I have lies in returning to Ésageard. My fate lies in Ésageard."
I felt my brother's eyes on me, scrutinising. He knew me too well. He knew my temper. He knew the indignant fire which demanded I seek revenge for what had been done to our people. "You would turn peace into war."
"I will do what must be done," I responded, not denying the possibility but also sticking to the truth as I saw it. "I'm still learning to wield the gifts I possess, but I understand them well enough to know I must return to Ésageard. You cannot stop me, father. Not unless you lock me up, and it would prove difficult for me to lead from a dungeon."
Neither my father nor my brother looked pleased with my observation, but my father knew when he was beaten. "You are your mother's daughter, Fréo. I suspect I cannot gainsay you, but do try to keep the peace."
###
I had little inclination to keep the peace. After all, the Ésa had slaughtered hundred of my people, they had tried to murder me, and now they demanded by father and brother become hostages around which peace could be maintained through fear od reprisal. I had been denied the right to wage war for my people, and I did so want to fight. My palm had itched for a weapon as Ve and Syn showed us to our suites in the palace, gilt cages where we would remain in luxury. It had itched for a weapon even after I'd bathed in rose scented water, washing the dust of the road from my skin, and donned fresh clothes. Even as we were lead into the gardens, summoned by the king of Ésageard himself, still, I longed to fight, to rebel, to remove Woden in a very final sense.
