The town of Mjordiannr was a large township on the shores of the isle of Angles, a port full of trade and a stop for rest bite for drakkar and knarr ships alike on their long voyages north and south, east nor west, travelling the to the four corners of the known world. The Mjordiannr Township was ruled by the chieftain that migrated from the home country in hopes of a warmer climate and greater yield in crops. The shore was empty except for a few local fisherman boats; the whole town was in a lull in the traffic as the Midwinter celebration was upon them, men and women, old folk and young folk took the steep journey up the craggy road up the hills to the Chief’s house upon the crest of the cliff overlooking the ocean’s horizon.
“Come on, MacDougan!”
A group of boys ran about, the importance of this holiday lost on them as they weaved about the migrating townsfolk on the road, earning a few grumbles from men and women folk alike as they barged past bodies in earnest to get ground between them and their chaser known as Lloyd MacDougan.
“Guys wait up!” their chaser called after them breathless before halting to gain his breath, bent bracing his knees.
A boy ceased running and approached the prostrate boy.
“Oi, Erik!”
“Leave him!”
“Come on! We’ll miss the feast!”
The chorus made him turn round but he waved them off dismissively with a calming smile.
“Go on ahead!”
The boys were at a loss as of what to do before the largest of them nodded and turned back to their destination and did has he was bid, ushering the younger boys with him.
Erik approached Lloyd, that had finally got his breath back, his large blue eyes staring up at the tall boy in front of him.
“Why—do you even—play with them?” he asked, his voice laboured still as he swallowed down the watery feeling in the back of his throat.
Erik just stared at him, his green-blue eyes full of mirth and a large pointed grin on his clean shaven face that almost made him look sinister as he casually shrugged before slinging one of Lloyd’s arms around his shoulders to steady him.
“Eh, I entertain them and they entertain me,” he simply replied as he began to walk in stride with his heavier set friend.
“Nay, they play with you because you’re a prince!” Lloyd objected loudly, his deep voice booming in his friend’s ear before he could stop himself from voicing his thoughts. “I-I-I meant no-no disrespect, Prince Erik!”
Erik looked side long to gaze at his friend’s face, Lloyd was his junior by a season yet with his square jaw pebbled with hair growth – especially upon his top lip- he looked older, more wizened like a warrior with his thick set body, strawberry blond hair and twinkling blue eyes, he was the apple of many of the maidens’ eyes. Yet his lifelong friend held his gaze with wide fearful eyes before he gave him a small reassuring smile that eased his worries somewhat.
“Aye, you’re right, friend, but are you only my friend because it was forced upon you in our younger years?”
“NAY!” Lloyd called back in outrage. “You are my friend by choice, and my blood brother!”
A laugh bubbled up his throat at the outraged look upon his friend’s face, his skin flooded red in anger which made him look hilarious with his sandy orange hair.
“I jest, dear friend, and brother of mine” his rich hearty laughter causing curious glances as they staggered along arms linked on each other’s shoulders.
“Aye! You better be!” his friend passionately declared, a mischievous glint in his twinkling in his eyes that ceased Erik’s laughter into nervous fits before ceasing, arching a quizzical brow before he felt himself falling, his world arching to the left as his friend shoved him into a passer-by that dropped their load to grab the young man and stable him on his feet.
“Ay, Lad, watch where ya going!” the old croon chastised in a raspy voice, her gnarled fingers lingering on his arms longer than appropriate if she were younger.
“I’m terribly sorry!” he apologised humbly, “My Friend—“, he began before glancing over his shoulder to find his friend but didn’t see him, he moved from the old woman’s grip to look over his other shoulder to find his friend waving at him on a boulder on the side of the road before hopping off into the throng of the crowd and running up the hill. His face fell into a scowl before he mumbled something under his breath before getting whacked around the crown.
“No need for such language in one so young!” the old woman crowed again before bending down with great difficulty to pick up her dropped cargo.
“Here—let me get that!” Erik obliged, swiftly squatting as he gathered the spilt sprigs of heather into the wicker basket.
“Say, what be your name boy?” the widower asked, well, Erik presumed she was a widower, he had never seen an elder travel without her family around her.
He looked up from his gathering, the woman had straightened to her full height, her back was hunched over in her older age, her face was aged with deep wrinkles marring her withered skin and heavy bags framed her sharp blue eyes that seemed clouded over.
“Prince Erik of Mjordiannr,” he replied, his voice racing with pride as he fought with his grin and miserably lost as it split his face with even white teeth. “You’re not around from these parts?”
“Nay, travelled far and wide…” she replied, he could hear the smile in her voice as he finished gathering the fallen heather back into the basket. “…searching for what I lost…..years ago, I’s did.”
Erik stood, holding the deceptively heavy basket that was stacked high with heather – still in bloom with its rusty purple petals small and delicate for such as sturdy plant.
“Excuse me for being so bold, but may I ask what you lost?”
“A question within a question; ye have already asked – I shall reward you for your word play” she replied, a mischievous smile on her thin lips as she regarded him through hooded eyes that made him want to squirm from what foot to the other – the gaze felt penetrating, his heart fluttering in his chest in trepidation or excitement he wasn’t sure – all he knew is he was fighting the urge to flee from this woman.
“I lost a son – a babe he was – taken from me by the gods – drifting on the tide under the setting sun. Lost to me – yet I still seek – for the babe of the sea.”
Her chanting rhyme seemed well practised, her alluring voice made him take a small stuttering step towards her beseeching hand, her palm open in invitation, the voice changed to his ears, it seemed more masculine and lyrical, lost was the rasp of age and replaced with honeyed youth. The old coon’s form shimmered; a veil that resembled water rippling obscured her features, a shadow of a tall masculine figure stood behind her. A shiver rolled down his body, his eyes closed on reflex and the illusion was gone, the old croon stood before him with a grimace on her thin lips.
“I-I-I’m sorry for your loss,” he shakily replied as he tried to recover himself, he took a step back to a more appropriate distance and offered the wicker basket to the old woman. He coughed to clear his throat, the strangled noise threw the woman from her stupor and she grasped the basket, her long fingers brushed Erik’s before he relinquished his grip in haste to rid himself of the vile feeling as bile crawled up his throat. As the contact was lost the feeling was gone, he swallowed in earnest.
“Good Midwinter to you” he offered in departing, he turned to leave but the old croon halted him.
“Stop”
He turned to her, his body stiff and guarded as he looked her side on.
“Take this with you, for your journey”
She offered a sprig of heather, presumably from her basket of offerings for the Midwinter celebration. He couldn’t refuse it for honour sake, he hesitantly took the sprig of white heather, his jaw tightening as he fought the wave of disgust as their skin touched for a fleeting moment in transaction.
“Thank-you” he replied, inclining his head before departing, grasping the white heather tightly in a fist, wishing the break the supple stem as he urged himself not to run all the way up the hill to the King’s palace. His gaze fleeted from the heather in his clenched fist and the space ahead of him, his footfalls slowing, his boots scuffing the earth as he dragged his feet until he stood still, the trickle of passers-by giving him a wide berth but he didn’t pay heed as he gazed down at his hand that he painstakingly opened slowly, his mouth ran dry and his breaths were light to nigh on none existent. He eyed the sprig of white heather with a mixture of disdain and awe, he let out a stuttering heaved breath that startled him out of his silent scrutiny of the cutting – it was just heather!
Yet as he continued his march to his Father’s home, he felt a rolling shiver race up his spine to the base of skull, it was icy like a bucket of freezing spring water had to been tipped over him, and a part of him felt that something was amiss, a stench of foul that only he could taste on the breeze – he fumbled into his shirt and fished out a band of gold and rubbed his thumb on the pendant instinctively in his worry, mumbling his concerns to the gold in a gaze before he dropped the cold metal that had warmed under his touch as he was assaulted. Burly arms grappled around his neck and a weight jumped onto his back making him bow under the strain.
“Yeeeyyhha!”
Erik snarled throwing the weight over his shoulders and in a blur straddled the crumpled form on the ground, a forearm braced against the young man’s throat in warning.
“Mercy!” the boy croaked out, Erik snapped himself from his daze – blobs of green cloth, tanned skin, blonde hair and blue eyes caught him before he relinquished his hold and stood without a word and carried on his way through the great arches, his march a formidable pace.
“Wait, Erik!” the young man cried out hoarsely, Erik could hear hurried footsteps on the frost-hardened ground. He crunched frosted grass under his foot; a second pair of feet came into step.
“You didn’t have to throw me like that--” Lloyd groaned as he rubbed the small of his back with a pained expression on his face.
“I’m not in the mood for games, MacDougan,” Erik ground out, his patience warn thin as he finally noticed his hands felt light – the heather! – He dropped the heather. He reined in his panic as soon as it came to him yet the rapid beating of his heart told him otherwise.
“What’s eating you?” Lloyd whined.
“Nothing”, Erik snapped back.
“Sure-Nothing, it wasn’t that old croon back on the road was it?”
“I dunno”, Erik answered honestly, his voice a mere whisper as they passed the guards. He saw the calm, open face of Lloyd – something he knew as the ‘confide in me face’.
He sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders as he made his way into the Great Hall, it was a hive of activity, servants were rushing about placing offerings on the Offering table at the end of the hall near the Head Table, others were scattering fresh straw on the flag stone floor, the first sparks in the pit began to flame.
He watched Lloyd as he turned about the room, snatching two honey buns from the overflow table for the Offerings, he had that cheeky grin on his face as he threw a bun at Erik which he easily caught.
“Oi-Erik, no playing about-!”
Both of the young men wanted to groan, it was just their luck getting caught by Erik’s kin, Erik hastily thrust the untouched bun into Lloyd’s hands but it just got swatted away and fell onto the ground, scraps for the hounds, they both groaned, watching the bun rest askew on the straw littered floor.
“That – is an offering for Midwinter!”
Erik and Lloyd returned their attention back to the burly man in front of them, he gestured to the sweet cakes palmed by the boys.
“Oh come on, Bjorn, having a few honey cakes won’t anger the gods enough to land us in never-ending winter!” Lloyd joked, pulling apart the sticky bun and popped it in his mouth in statement.
It took a great deal not to laugh at the half-arsed attempt of Lloyd’s stifling laugh and failed miserably, which startled Lloyd into promptly choking on his mouthful. A smug smirk was on Bjorn’s square face at Lloyd’s plight, his brown eyes twinkling with mirth which turned to rage as Lloyd coughed it up and onto the floor. Erik knew that look of barely contained rage and it sobered him enough to step between them and intervene.
“What he meant, Dear Brother, is why spoil a sweet treat that we have so few of this season when Asgard is bound to be bountiful with treats and ale!”
“Brother, that is not the point-“
“True, but the point is we have no want of offerings even without the few cakes we took, Bjorn the Brave, the gods won’t miss these if they never made it to the Offering Table,” Erik interrupted, working his guile for words against his warrior-headed brother. In truth they did take them from the over-flow table.
“Indeed!” Lloyd chimed in, his voice raspy.
Bjorn gave him a sideward glance before storming off in a huff.
Erik and Lloyd watched him go, kicking a stray chicken into the air, clucking in alarm before making an exit into the private quarters.
“That was close” Lloyd exclaimed, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow before smiling comically, Erik gave him a stern look that made his grin all the more wider.
“We were lucky that it was Bjorn instead of Byar, Aragon or Fangral”
“or worse, your Father – he wouldn’t allow a Gael native to take from his ‘precious gods’” Lloyd sneered, popping another piece of bun into his mouth.
“Remember Lloyd – their mine and your gods too!” Erik ground out as he began to walk over to the private wing, Lloyd in tow.
“Oh, Erik, I didn’t mean it like that!” Lloyd gasped, rushing to Erik’s side. “I mean, King Bergi allows us to celebrate our gods and I’m glad he doesn’t condemn my kin – well the older generation that didn’t convert after Bergi saved us and all-“
“Yes Lloyd, I know the story – My Father settled and the generation long famine lifted..” Erik jabbered on, exasperated.
“And in honour the first children to be born were converted in Bergi’s honour!” Lloyd finished. “Your gods are my gods”
Erik looked at him, Lloyd looked very sincere as he looked back at him, his eyes imploring and saddened, Erik mused he believed he was the cause of his ire.
“It’s not you, Lloyd, It’s that woman from the road-” Erik began to explain as they entered his private rooms.
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