The Winds of Ysgard - Part One

[Tom]

The room the innkeeper had provided for him and Troia was empty when Einan entered. Their satchels sat by their beds, and the floor was pristine and uncluttered. Sunlight filtering in the window made the whitewashed walls fairly glow.

Einan stopped in the middle of the floor, and stared, suddenly feeling out of place. The dark wooden walls and dirt floor and homey chaos of his own house seemed so far away. His eyes fluttered closed as he took a deep breath to steady himself. He could see, in his mind's eye, his mother bending over the cooking fire in the middle of the room, his father griping about the damp spring air as he mended a bucket that had sprung a leak, his younger brothers and sisters tearing through the house or playing up in the storage platforms or torturing the chickens in the yard with sticks.

His eyes snapped open. Loneliness would do him no good. Moving quickly, purposefully, he shed his fur-lined overtunic--the warm air was making it cling to his back with sweat--and unwrapped the strips of cloth from his forearms and lower legs. There was a mirror on the wall, and he ran his fingers through his hair, making sure it looked presentable.

From the inner pocket of his satchel he fished out his green glass pendant, and looped its leather cord around his neck. It had once been borne on an Elf-made silver chain, but that delicate thing had long ago snapped under the strain of everyday wear.

Then he was leaving, shutting the door behind him with a loud, decisive clunk, and down the stairs and out the front door of the inn. He followed the tracks that the others had left, though he didn't think he could forget the way to the castle, even through the Hintercrown's unfamiliar streets.

A young boy hanging on his mother's arm pointed at him as he passed, and he heard an exclamation that included the word elf in it. He ducked his head and sped up to a jog. Soon the castle doors were before him.

 

[DMThaane]

Loke stood in the centre of his hall, around him the weapons he would choose from. Weapons were his art, his nature. Steel ran through his blood; tears wept only in battle. Any one of them would serve, but how many?

He'd need at least two shields, but should he bring a third? How many throwing axes? A spear was obvious, but what of other hafted weapons? And what of knives?

He separated the obvious: the two shields, a long seax for battle, a short one for camp, a spear, and his hand axe.

His hand axe was his finest weapon, made of the best wood with a leather wrapped handle. The head, although smaller than most would expect, was made of fine blue steel inlayed with silver in the pattern of stylised dragons. He was nothing if not consistent in his choice of symbols.

"So it's true. You've joined the dragonrider expedition."

He turned to see his son, Asbjorn, standing by the hearth, gripped equally by excitement and apprehension. Still young. It was hard to think that Loke had already killed his first elf by that age.

"Yes, it is true." Five throwing axes, he decided. They were small enough and could be carried together. "I will need Snorri prepared."

Finally, he chose a sword and set his chosen weapons aside.

"And you," he said, his smile turning rueful. "You will need to remain and keep this place, provide shelter for any old friends."

He half-expected his son to be angry but instead, Asbjorn merely chuckled. "The thought of you with a party of strangers under the command of Farrun Dragonrider. I'm sorry but… it's hilarious."

"Yes, yes. A very funny joke."

His weapons chosen, Loke sat by the hearth, inviting his son to sit across from him.

"So," Asbjorn said, taking his seat. "My father will become a dragonrider. Unless." His smile darkened. That was the problem with having smart sons. "You don't think you'll return, do you?"

He closed his eyes, seeing himself falling, a dragon rising up to meet him, its maw stretched open. "No, I do not." In truth he could feel Vyrhel's breath on the back of his neck. He had for some time. He was claimed by her, he always had been, and she would not stay her hand forever.

"So typical, father. Standing alone, even when surrounded by friends." His son pinched his brow. "Standing alone against the very touch of Winter Herself." Now he was angry. "When will you learn, father, that there's no shame in leaning on others outside of a battlefield!"

"You have been talking to Aster."

"Of course I have. She's not waiting to die. She fights for an honourable cause and yet she always returns." He sighed, leaning back in chair. "I'm not even angry, father. Just… disappointed." The boy shook his head. "Besides, I like Aster. I like the stories she tells of mother."

Yes, Sigrun. He needed only to close his eyes and he could smell the scent of her hair, hear the sound of her voice. He was not a man prone to love and he did not lie with another without attachment. "She loved us both," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was why, when I asked her..." He trailed off. "She couldn't bear to choose between us."

He wished he had something to drink, but no, he would not drown his sorrows in a bottle. That had never been his way.

"She left you too soon. She left us all too soon. Soon I will have left you as well but you are strong; you have her spirit. And at least you will have Aster, even if she is a terrible influence."

"Well, at least she can teach me how to fight." Asbjorn put on a brave face. He was used to loss, the company he was born into. Loke had failed to protect his son from that. "You better hope you find a dragon. You might actually beat her, for once."

He grabbed for his son and the boy tried to duck away. Loke caught his arms, pulling him in and hurling him up with one arm, ruffling his hair. "I can still beat you!" he declared, setting him down. "When you were smaller I could hold you over the fire, threaten to cook you alive. At least I can still order you around."

He ruffled his hair again. "I have things to pack. You have a horse to prepare and all these weapons to pack away. Oh, and do not forget to clean them while I am gone. They must remain in excellent condition."

"If you die, I'm selling them all and buying a title."

He dismissed the boy with a wave of his hand. Asbjorn was young but he was strong and he would not be alone. Josun would stay, as long as his foot remained missing, and Aethmer had his two sons. The boy would be fine… better, perhaps.

There was no use thinking of such things. He had a bath to run and perhaps he would compose a poem. The day had been full of spectacle and it deserved words in its honour. It had been such a dazzling picture, after all.

 

[Tom]

The halls of the castle were cool and shadowy, a shock after the warmth and sunlight and dust of the city outside. Einan walked as quietly as he could, which was not hard for the elf--no, for the hunter that he was.

The silence of the castle lived and breathed, just like the silence of the woods did. But this silence was different, he could tell. It was less the peaceful stillness of trees content to drink the earth, and more the slow, almost watchful stillness of a sleeping creature. He tried to imagine what kind of creature would sleep like that, and all that he could see in his mind was the bronze dragon's cunning green eyes and the huge spread of his wings.

Thanks to the direction of a guard, he knew he was getting close to armory, where some of the others were grouped. But he lingered in one particular corridor, its walls lined with tapestries depicting scenes from the far past. His gaze snagged on an embroidered map of the known world. Its once-colorful needlework was now faded, and the cloth beneath was stained with a shadow of what looked like old blood. The Hintercrown hadn't always been a human holding, he remembered, and it had been won back with death and bloodshed.

With a curious lump in his throat, he touched his fingertips to the stitches that spelled out Iridhe. What was it like, that land he should have grown up in? What were the people who were supposed to be his like? That familiar, empty ache in his stomach returned--sometimes it came on him in the woods, other times when he felt the weight of the pendant around his neck, or when he remembered that his ears were pointed and his parents' were round.

He snatched his hand away, and left the tapestry behind without a second glance. It wasn't worth dwelling on. What was in the past would stay in the past. Yet even as he entered the armory, the outline of Iridhe on the map lingered in his mind's eye.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison relaxed in the steaming waters as a young maid waited, back turned, towel held in her pale hands. "Temp'rature's perfect," Addison told the maid. A pretty little thing. "Ye can join me if you'd like."

To Addison's relief, the maid took the offer to be in jest. "I fear I would crowd you, milady."

"Then I best get out to make room for ye." Addison stood. The maid lowered her gaze slightly as she brought the towel. Addison remained standing, hands on hips, until the maid made eye contact with the smirking Huntress. "Never understood the concept of averting the eyes."

"So as not to offend milady." The maid patiently awaited Addison's acceptance of the towel. She wasn't sure where to look.

"I'd think it less offensive if ye keep your eyes raised when I'm in me birthday skins, but then I ain't quick to take offense." Addison raised her arms. "Hope the wolf-queen won't take offense o' me looking in her eyes. Queen or maid or killer beast, always look her in the eye." As she looked the maid in the eye, she saw confusion. She broke the awkward silence with a question, "Are ye gonna dry me or count me freckles 'til the water's dripped off?"

The maid blinked twice. "Oh! Forgive, milady."

The maid began drying off the Huntress. And a good thing she finally did. I'd a mind to handle the drying meself, but didn't want to make the poor girl feel she's no more useful than a towel rack.

 

[Nimue]

Farrun had seen the terror in Rikhard's eyes, clear as day. Brow furrowed, he approached the young man carefully, offering him a hand up. "Sorry, I must've clapped you harder than I thought, don't know my own strength," he said, rambling, anything to give Rikhard an excuse.

What shadow was that? He had the urge to reach out with a touch of soothing magic--but many men didn't want magic worked on them, healing or no, and had good reasons for it.

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard nodded, his face flushing. He accepted Farrun's hand and stood, then brushed the dust off his knees. He felt he should explain his reaction, but had no idea how.

"Don't worry about it," he said after a moment. After a pause he added, "Just... next time, please announce yourself before you do something like that."

 

[Tom]

Voices sounded from the armory as Einan approached, slightly muffled through the door. He frowned as he heard Rikhard--he sounded strangely shaken, as if he were fearful.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping in. Troia's eyes met his from across the room, her expression worried. Ari milled at her feet, ears twitching back and forth, whining in confusion and concern. He knew something was going on.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

The maid let out a soft sigh when she had finally squeezed Addison into her qipao. "Chee… pow," the maid slowly repeated.

"I don't make up the names," Addison insisted. "And I ain't much in touch with the fashions, truth be told. Just a girl who knows what she likes is all."

Addison donned a necklace and bracelets of bone, ivory, jade and other precious stones. A peacock feather shawl covered her bare shoulders, fang anklets decorated her bare feet.

Spoiler: necklace and bone/tusk bracelet

The young maid's eyes scanned the Huntress' entire outfit.

"You're eyes're averting all over the place," Addison observed. "Hope I ain't overdone it."

"You are having an audience with the queen, milady."

"That I am, me lady." It seemed the maid wasn't used to being called one's lady. "Aw, you're as much a lady as I am. Ever see a dog in a sweater? That's me. An animal out o' the woods, cleaned up, and dressed up, for—"

"For an audience with the queen…" The young maid's eyes fixed on Addison's. "…milady."

"I can finish me own sentences meself, lady." Addison offered her arm. "Now, if you'll be so kind…"

Without finishing Addison's sentence this time, the maid led the Huntress to her meeting with the queen.

 

[Gryphos]

Bendalitz was walking the halls, as he sometimes did. How ever pleasant the view from his window overlooking the courtyard was, he found that an ever changing scenery better prompted his thoughts. At the current moment his thoughts were of the exact phrasing of one of his philosophies, but when he came to an intersection and saw Addison and a maid approaching, curiosity for this new matter snuffed the previous thoughts out.

"Overdressed, aren't we?" he said with a raised eyebrow. "I mean, I appreciate making myself look good as much as the next person, but there's a time and a place, and unless you're meeting the queen herself, this isn't it. In fact I doubt it would be even if you were."

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison replied, "As a matter o' fact, I'ave arranged to meet Queen Hala." She turned to the maid and whispered, "I say it right that time?" She sighed in relief as the maid nodded, then went on to Bendalitz, "And I'll have ye know a qipao is an evening gown, and it's evening, ain't it? So this dress is as appropriate as they come, if you ask me." Turning to the maid, she added, "And he did ask me, din't he?"

"Yes, milady," said the maid.

"Rhetorical question," Addison said.

"What's that, milady?"

"Much like the question he asked me, but didn't I go on and answer it anyway?"

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard sighed and turned as Einan, Troia and Ari entered. The flush did not fade from his cheeks -- the last thing he needed was an audience for his pain. "It's nothing. I'm fine. I fell down, that's all."

 

[Gryphos]

Bendalitz cared not for Addison's tone, and showed it with a menacing squint. "Fair enough. It is evening, after all. And it is the Queen, after all." He walked towards them, and then past, and as he passed by he muttered to Addison, "Try not to curtsy."

He continued down the corridor, turning out of sight without another look back.

 

[Nimue]

"I startled Rikhard," Farrun said, turning to see the young elf in the doorway. His smile didn't seem forced. "He was deep in thought, methinks… I'll be sure not to accost you like that," he told Rikhard.

"Come, let's go see those rooms."

--

Up a flight of stairs and across a gallery that overlooked the steep fall of the crag behind the castle, they came to a series of rooms that, as Farrun explained, were often used as quarters for visiting merchants, ambassadors, and other guests of honor. They were spacious, with a generous arch to the rafters, wide scrubbed floors, and pale stone fireplaces back-to-back. Green-and-gold hangings and a proud elk's head decorated one room, a black bearskin rug and russet bedcurtains decorated another. The beds were broad and heaped with furs and fine wool covers.

"Just down that stairwell is the common dining hall," Farrun told them, pointing. "There's always something to eat to be had, though you can ask one of the men or maids if you'd like food brought up." Somehow, he didn't think this lot would be asking the servants for much, but they'd been told to serve them. "Ask them for anything. A bath by the fire, if you like."

A man in a russet and silver tunic came up to Farrun and cleared his throat. "Addison Lane is in the last chamber, milord," he said, in a respectful tenor. "She will be meeting with the queen this evening."

Farrun's eyebrows climbed upwards. "Wondered where she had gotten to. Will she now? Hope she enjoys it." He nodded his thanks to the manservant, who departed, and turned back to the others. "I'm off to the practice yards myself," he said. And then the tavern. "Tell me if you need aught, will you?"

--

In a long hall of mullioned windows and old stone pillars, the Wolf Queen sat in a mahogany chair. It was no throne--another chair stood beside it, tilted in confidence, and a small table was beside them, carrying a crystal decanter of brandy. A scribe's desk sat nearby, ink and parchment spread. On the high wall opposite the windows, twoscore shields hung on the stone, sunlight glittering on their rims and bosses. Some were ancient, some battered by cuts and splinters, some bright with new color; all carried their own Ysgardian crest.

A man in fur-trimmed velvet sat in the chair next to the queen, discussing something. When the doors opened, the queen placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Arvalt. I will give your concerns to the guildmasters." The man gathered his cloak, bowed deeply, and strode down the hall.

"Addison Lane," a guard in a green tabard and a grim helmet announced, his voice rolling in the hall, echoing and dim though the sun had just begun to set.

The queen's head turned. She had changed the bright armor of the ceremony for older leafmaile, covered by a long, full surcoat in royal blue, embroidered with silver and gold over insets of cream silk. Her scarred and damaged left hand was covered by a steel gauntlet, her left shoulder set with a pauldron in the shape of a wolf's head. She wore a heavy sword at her side, always. Instead of the ancient crown of Ysgard, she bore a simple circlet against her forehead, beneath her wolf-grey hair, smoothed back into a pinned-up braid. She was in her mid-forties, and strikingly handsome despite the scars that crossed her face, cutting her left cheek and the bridge of her nose, running up into her hairline. It was in her bones, in the sculpture of her jaw, and in the strong angle of her pale brows.

"Addison of Caern," she said, her voice clear and throaty. "Have you come to tell me something, or to ask something of me?"

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard claimed the room with the bearskin rug and russet curtains for himself. Once he was alone, he doffed his travel-stained cloak and boots, and sat on the edge of the bed with his hands in his lap. He chewed on his lower lip as he looked around. This might not be luxury by Farrun's standards, but it was more than Rikhard had ever had. It only reinforced how out-of-place he felt, how adrift in a wide sea.

Sighing, he laid back and stared up at the dark red canopy above him. Maybe a good night's rest would help. And a bath wouldn't be a bad idea either -- he couldn't recall the last time he'd had one.

Finding a manservant to draw the bath for him was easy; convincing him that Rikhard wished to bathe entirely alone, not to be waited on hand and foot was harder. Rikhard sank into the tub and sat gazing into the fireplace, one arm draped over the edge of the tub. The hot water did little to ease the pain of his many wounds, even the most recent.

He tried not to lose himself in memory again as he lathered up his hair with the soap, but without distractions it was a difficult task. Every time he glimpsed his burned and calloused hands or felt the lash marks on his back as he washed, the Captain's laughter echoed in his head. Perhaps he ought to start wearing gloves more often than just in the winter. Lucky for him no one had yet asked about those scars he couldn't hide.

He decided to get out before the water could cool or his skin could wrinkle, and dried off with a warm, soft towel that felt nearly as thick as the woolen blankets on his bed. He changed into one of his clean outfits and stretched out on the bearskin rug beside the fire, letting the warmth lull him to sleep. Tomorrow's worries could wait until then.

 

[Tom]

"Here's your things," Einan said, handing Troia her satchel. They stood in the hallway between his room and hers, both in just their undertunics and trousers, Troia with her hair down for the night. Strands of it curved around her face, highlighting her strong bone structure.

"Thanks," she whispered, taking it. Then she stood on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss. "Goodnight."

"Hope you sleep well," he replied, drawing her in for a hug and smoothing the back of her hair. "Tomorrow's a big day."

With that, each of them returned to their rooms, Einan giving Ari a farewell scratch behind the ears.

As Einan shut his door, he took a good look around his quarters for the night, wondering at the feel of the smooth-polished wooden floor beneath his feet and the midnight-blue curtains that covered the windows. A rug of white fur lay in the middle of the floor, and he walked over to it, letting his toes sink into its warm softness.

With a final glance around, he laid down on the bed and blew out the lamp on the table beside it, and the room was enveloped in darkness. For a time his eyes refused to close, his mind bursting with thoughts, speculations as to what the next day would bring. But after a while he felt himself slip away slowly into sleep, and allowed his dreams to pull him in.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison Lane stood before the throne. So, this queen didn't just sit and bark orders. She was a warrior. Addison truly was impressed, and she didn't mind letting that show on her face.

"Pleasure to meet ye, Queen Hala. I just came to meet me host is all. I can't just go and eat at your table, sleep in your guest room, and not thank ye for it. It's a… well, maybe it's not a custom. But it should be, shouldn't it?"

That was a rhetorical question, so Addison rambled on.

"Like when ye meet a young, pretty maid and tell her so without asking nothing of her, or when ye see a boy who can't ride so ye teach him how and maybe cheat a bit with druidry so he don't fall off, or when a lady walks down the hall and ye think her dress is too gaudy ye say something nice anyway—though come to think of it, when he said it he also told me not to curtsy, and I think I'll take his advice on it." Addison tugged slightly at her dress. "These side slits go up so much if I tug it wrong, I'll show the guard back there one o' me buttocks, and wouldn't that defeat the whole point o' the curtsy?"

Her point being…

"Me point being to thank ye. So…" Addison placed her right fist against her left palm and bowed—feet together, legs straight, body folding at the waist—and she looked Hala in the eye as she did. "Thank ye for having me."

Addison was a bit surprised at her nervousness. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"And sorry to go on so much about customs. Spend most o' me days away from people, so I just try me best to treat 'em right when I see 'em."

And speaking of treating people right, Addison thought she should let the queen get a word in before going on again.

 

[Nimue]

To the queen's credit, she had not so much as batted an eye at Addison's dress. But at her words, a slow, suppressed smile spread across her face, tugging at the elegant lines around her mouth.

"So you've come to say hello, and get nothing else from the meeting?" the queen wondered, reaching over for her glass cup of brandy. Her shoulders settled into a comfortable line as she took a sip. "Not heard that in a while. Reminds me of the days when I held court out of a tent, and knew all my captains by name and face. All we're missing is Farrun standing in the corner like a lump. He could probably be fetched."

Her blue-hazel eyes watched Addison shrewdly. "Don't thank me for being here. Thank the druids for their dreams, and more, for being willing to get up and walk in the world. Thank Farrun for arguing and begging after these rumors until the commanders let him leave the border. And you'd better thank Thoros for being the fire behind that."

The queen tilted her head, and lightened her tone. "I hear that you are a huntress. Did you kill the snake that's swallowed you now?"

--

Farrun sweat out the mead he had drunk on the practice field. Aiming himself at straw and leather targets helped clear his mind, and then he went into the yards and traded gossip and watched the bouts until someone inevitably called him in. By the time he had pounded the second fellow into wheezing, jovial submission, he had said his goodbyes to his friends in the Queensguard without ever having put it into words.

He washed away the sweat and dust with a sluice of cold water in the soldier's bathhouse, threw on a clean shirt and breeches and a plain jerkin, and headed out into the city at evening to face a more daunting goodbye.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison relaxed herself.

"It was a nasty thing, long as four o' me. Where those live, ye best not sleep under the stars. Can't imagine getting swallowed's a way to go."

Trying not to ramble, Addison thought a bit before saying, "Me surname means 'warrior,' but I think its meaning applies to you more than me. What I'm about to do's a hunt, and I'm up for it and everything with it. But I know I'm gonna have to kill a person—an elf—maybe dozens in the long run. No avoiding it, and I know slavers and baby-killers'll deserve what's coming. But all I ever killed're beasts."

Addison allowed herself a little laugh at her own expense. "Look at me, going on about me fears when there's so much wonder. I started me day bugging Farrun about a suspicion I had about meself--one he later confirmed: a bit o' magic in me, just a way with animals. And speaking o' that, I've always been fascinated by you're being known as the Wolf Queen. Don't suppose you'd share the meaning of it?"

 

[Nimue]

"You will kill to save your own life," the queen said calmly. "For every Yvalhyn elf you meet would gladly take it from you, if they knew what you were destined for."

"Beastspeaking should stand you in good stead, though it is a strange skill for a huntress," she commented, then lifted her glass. Amber sunlight glittered on steel as she drained it, and turned her formidable attention back to Addison's question. "I killed a greatwolf with my hands when I was younger," she said, almost dismissively. "I was the She-Wolf before I was the Wolf Queen, in exile in the south. But the question of why that name has stayed with me... I sometimes wonder if everyone would respect a mere Queen as they do me." She smiled, arching one eyebrow. "Perhaps I should only be flattered, and not think on it."

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

"Well, if you're asking me opinion as one who's just heard it, I rather like the sound o' Wolf Queen. Knowing it's meaning now, I hope you'll always be the Wolf Queen far as the world's concerned. It's your roots and more than that. I always feel we've got a beast in us, and that greatwolf found the one in you's stronger than he was expecting."

Addison would remember that word: Yvalhyn.

"The beast in me's no one's prey. Your words put it in perspective though I won't kill Yvalhyn for self-preservation, not just that. We got some in their teens who ain't seen war, so if I have me doubts, might be one o' them pays instead o' me. I won't let 'em die o' hesitation."

Addison now understood why Bendalitz thought her overdressed. This was not a queen who sat in a frilly gown in her inherited palace. She earned her place on the throne. But such formality was not completely out of place here. As queen, it seemed clear that Hala wasn't used to merely chatting.

"I had to cancel me fashion show to join this egg hunt. Got a dozen and half me armors and dresses on display, and now I'll need to store most o' that here at the castle. Just a li'l gathering really; only a small circle even knows of it. Maybe the letters calling it off'll get out in time. Anyway, I'll have about fifteen o' me outfits in storage here. Half's armor, but o' the other half... well, I thought maybe if any o' your maids wanna borrow 'em--not the pant-suit! They can burn that one for all I care--but I was thinking about the nice girl who drew me bath. So if her or her friends or other ladies o' the castle're interested, me clothes'll be here anyway. No harm in letting others help 'emselves to it, is there?"