Chapter 15 - Village X
Arroch and Syn were sleeping in. Arroch had taken to calling Syn his "little omen", and it had become his own pet name for her. Simply because in the old speech, that was what her name meant. The night prior, as they were nestling to get warm into woven wool blankets, the last thing Arroch had thought about falling asleep was his plan.
The plan that he felt was both divinely inspired, and divinely guided. With his eyes closed, silently, as he was fast losing consciousness… the last thing he remembered was asking Odin for whatever help was needed to convince Wulfgar his plan was wise.
Arroch awoke in the night, and he did not really know how early or late in the evening it was. He rolled over and easily fell back asleep. He remembered asking Odin falling asleep for the help convincing Wulfgar of the soundness of his plan, and slumbered again. He remembered dreaming something about moving goats around. Ryeamund was there. They were discussing which village to drive the goats towards for coin.
The next thing Arroch knew? He was being prodded and poked and pushed by Syn. As he shook sleep from his head, all he heard was:
"Quit worrying, Arroch! The matter is fine! Do not worry!"
When he quizzed Syn groggily, why he was being all but beaten and berated while asleep? Syn explained as she rolled over, that he had been dreaming. Mumbling, rolling around. Demanding the goats go wherever it was they were supposed to go. Now that she had awoken him? They could both get back to sleep, it was not morning yet.
Arroch was no longer confused about things and how they worked, he felt he had a pretty good handle on everything. In Arroch's mind and his own personal frame of reference? He had woken up, he had recalled falling asleep asking Odin for wisdom dealing with Wulfgar, then closed his eyes. It had then seemed only a few seconds until Syn had all but yelled in his ear, awakening him. As per usual… bold news.
Arroch smiled, and rolled over and went back to sleep. Odin had answered him. He did not have to worry about anything at the moment, that worry weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.
Ryeamund and Eira and Wulfgar were all early risers. They were getting up earlier, and socializing before the other three couples were up most mornings.
Wulfgar was different around Eira and other non-work family than he was around "the men", quite naturally. In truth, the man popularly nicknamed "death" behind his back? Was actually thought of as a quiet, quaint man among his own people. Again, that's how they thought of him outside of his work. Everyone knew that his work could at times be stressful or grim or both.
Wulfgar couldn't decide if he was amused or annoyed that Arroch and Theyer and Sooth were all still influenced by their childhood milk-skull stories. Those six would stay away from him socially as much as they could, if only on account of the men. Eira's girls? Knew Wulfgar an entirely different way than the men did at work. It amazed the guys that not just Eira but the three Valkyrim as well were capable of giving Wulfgar lip service. Not one of the oxen ever once woke up and decided that trying it themselves would be a wise maneuver.
Eira would jibe and tease Wulfgar similarly as she did Ryeamund. Ryeamund was always fairly quiet, and Wulfgar seemed to be done feeling him out. In Wulfgar's code? A predictable man was a dependable and safe man. If nothing was amiss? Ryeamund was tickled pink to sit and sip tea. The sugar available almost free like the salt? Again, made him giddy. Wulfgar's code liked predictability. Therefore, Wulfgar's code liked Ryeamund.
Wulfgar one morning, sat and seemed somewhat detached. He observed Eira and Ryeamund, and sat there with what Eira pronounced "the look".
"Ryeamund. Would you mind terribly if I were to… examine you, about your life down in the south-lands? I am just curious about that district. There have been a number of little things that I have heard you say, that make me really curious."
"Eira. The village and the area Ryeamund describes coming from. I looked it up, again because I got curious and did not know why. Ryeamund, why are there so many blacksmiths in one place like that? I thought it was odd that you always say 'the blackSMITHS' and not 'the blackSMITH'. Simply because I know the size of that village, again I looked it up."
And Wulfgar started to use his overly sweet prying voice he used for such soft interrogations. People that knew Wulfgar, knew to let him go when he was on a roll. Ryeamund, ever predictable, would sit there and munch on foodstuffs and tell the man absolutely anything he wanted to know about everyday life there.
Wulfgar kept fishing, and got curious about how many men were cutting wood up in the high hills, on long trails. The high number of blacksmiths. The lease farmers? Ryeamund was describing the most bizarre thing Wulfgar ever heard of. A farmer, somehow managing to more or less almost starve every year. That shouldn't be possible.
There were a lot of hunters, and potters. Leather-working. Earthenware stuff. Ryeamund was describing sword making and shield and helmet making. Armor too. 'Fine smith work' that had to be high-grade steel and fit and finish. Plows and axes could have irregularities and work just fine. They sold a little cheaper as well. Wulfgar sat back and wanted estimates on the sizes of the forges, sizes of the bellows.
Wulfgar got descriptions of a conga line of men with carts loaded with charcoal coming in and out. He couldn't make enough tea. He was all but joking and laughing as best he was able to, a sort of deadpan wise-ass sense of humor.
Eira was curious where all of this was going, but she let him go. Whatever it was, it was going to be something big. Arroch had come out, then Theyer, and finally Sooth. The girls heard the men talking about whatever and went and stood nearer to Eira. Arroch and Theyer and Sooth naturally gravitated to Wulfgar politely interrogating Ryeamund. Eira asked the girls if they could retire to elsewhere, as Wulfgar was addressing the men on work matters. Eira promised to come and get them for food when the conversation was over.
"Okay Ryeamund. I am pleased. Can we make pork bellies now? Or is it too early for noon meats. Arroch. Your man Ryeamund here, was telling me all about where he is from. You know, after hearing your informal report on the whole food and coin situation you described, I looked the place up."
"Now, Rye here confirmed what I had already been informed, as to about how many people live there. It's a fairly small village, not that different from many around here, in most ways. A small village is a small village. Do you know what I find curious, Arroch?"
"Nay."
"Well. How many blacksmiths do we have in our village here."
"We… have just the one."
"Exactly. Now, I can understand a little bit bigger of a small village, might have two blacksmiths. Maybe one does plows and axes, like Rye here describes he can do. And the other smith would do finer work. Nice dishes and pots. The fine smith would do armor and such as well. Would you agree with me, Arroch? Would not two blacksmiths be more than enough for any of our small villages?"
"Aye. Surely. The second would be a blessing."
"So, the main foundation of this matter, then… is why Ryeamund is describing six or eight blacksmiths. One, the drunken blacksmith, the one Rye here says used to chase him around with a hammer when he was drunk, as a seedling doing apprentice labors. The other six or seven, all doing fine work. The new smiths, are the last couple winters… notice, that the drunken blacksmith? Doing plows and axes? Was all that was needed, until recently."
"Now, Rye here tells me he can make a rough plow or ax that will work, very hard. Yet, he could not keep being a blacksmith, because he could not do the fine work. Then? Rye becomes a woodcutter. He is describing numbers of men cutting hard wood and laboring it back."
"Then? He describes huge bellows for the blacksmiths. Carts of charcoal at a time. Declare me a madman if you will, yet, this alone makes me very curious indeed. Now, Arroch… do you wonder what is going on down there?"
"Wulfgar? I have been wanting to talk to you about the south-lands. Talking with Ryeamund here? I do not like the starving lease farmer tales. I am trying to come up with a plan to properly examine the tax man first."
"Arroch. You continue to impress me. I am very curious about even more things now. Rye here was telling us how fortunate he was, to labor for the drunken blacksmith as long as he did, because there was a pile of swords that broke, and he could get one to fashion a free steel plow for him and his father. I was under the impression that lease farmers were to be provided with things like plows and fence timber and boards and nails and hammers and shovels and axes. Rye here describes working three jobs, while lease farming, to pay for those things."
"Arroch, do you see the point I am making about the number of blacksmiths in that little village?"
"Aye. That is a war village, plain and simple. Maybe in a merchant district, on a big trade route, you might see that many. No way in a little farm village."
"So, Arroch. I want you to get started on those pork bellies. You see, as long as I put food and tea and morsels in Ryeamund's hands? He sits there and tells me anything I want to know about that village. And, the more I hear about that little village, the more curious I get."
"Now Arroch… you were concerned about the starving lease farmers and the tax man. I am more concerned at the moment about the existence of one war village. I wonder, how many more there are? Ryeamund describes several villages in the area, the situation is the same all over."
"Arroch. You have been mulling over a plan to examine the situation there, I am now mulling over some plan I need to create as soon as I can, to see how widespread this war village matter is. Now, Arroch… you are keeping my pork bellies off to the side of the fire hole, yes? Poor Ryeamund here, was farming pigs, and rarely had pork bellies. I do not want them burned for the man. Do take some care."
"Arroch, I would not normally share such information with you, yet, you can guess that someone checks up on the North Star's gold, can you not? By that, I mean, someone who sometimes checks to make sure that someone is not trying to melt down the king's gold, and take some of the gold, and replace it with lesser metals and attempt to re-forge the coins. If you follow me."
"I follow you. That would be all but stealing out of the North Star's own coin purse."
"Yes. Well, there have been reports about hard coin, being too hard, if you follow my words. Now, Arroch… would you care to guess where this is happening?"
"An arrow shot in the dark with my eyes closed… the southernmost district. Where Ryeamund comes from."
"Very good, Arroch."
"Ryeamund? Why not me and you, go and look at some armor and weapons I have in a side room here. I would like to see if you can pick anything out, that you might have seen before… Arroch? Do not burn my pork bellies. Just keep them warm when you think they are done. We will be back shortly."
Ryeamund went with Wulfgar, and other than traditional North Star weapons and armor, he was able to pick out several other items. These were similar but not exact, to the things the fine smiths were making.
When they got back, Wulfgar was pleased with the condition of the pork bellies. He recommended Ryeamund cut them onto small chunks of sliced cheese and bread and dried sausages. He got some dried fruit out, and an earthenware jar of pickled eggs. Eira made a platter for the girls and took it in to them, in case this informal war council went on much longer.
"Arroch. Ryeamund here, just picked out Saracen style weapons and armor as the closest thing that matches what he saw. They have their own style of everything, and, it varies on the long trip to here, as you can imagine. Why are they making it? Who are they making it for? For what purpose? Why is the high king paying to make all this, is my next question. I can only assume this is where the king's stolen gold is going."
"Not to mention, Arroch. You do remember the oath you took, when you became a kingsman? Then you took another oath when you became a Heyermannen. The North Star's friends, will be my friends, the North Star's enemies, will be my enemies. The way these… war villages… are being set up in the south-lands. In small villages. Out of the way. Off of the main merchant routes. I would guess that they are not helping the high king's friends. A person does not hide, when he is helping his friend. Do you see where I am leading you, Arroch?"
"You would believe… the southernmost district is helping the high king's enemies."
"I will not believe for long. I am going to have to dispatch a special band of long range RavinLunden. It is a simple matter for them to follow the war supplies out of one of those villages. My ravens will figure out where it is going. This petty king is racking up a grave list of errors."
"Wulfgar… you would not go down in force, immediately?"
"Would you, Arroch? I am just curious. Why would I wait. Let us test your wits."
"There may be a slight chance, that all is not as bad as it seems. You want to make sure."
"Good. Any more?"
"You always want more wisdom. You want to know how many more pigs are in on this."
"Good, Arroch. You see, there are a lot of problems with going down in force. While the lands of the far south are not exactly the crown jewel in the North Star's kingdom? Those common people down there… are not the high king's enemy. If I go down in force, I risk having to fight them. I would rather avoid that. The petty king could easily convince the common people we were the enemy. When we go down with an army? We look like we are invading. Do we not?"
"We… can do that later on, if we want to. Right now, we have surprise on our side. You want to find out who and how many are against us. If that is the case, and it looks like it is."
"Excellent, Arroch. The worst thing I can reckon, is that the petty king is working against us. Supplying an enemy slowly. The enemy attacks, takes a land. Then the far south joins with that land. Tries to get other lands in on this bargain, even. Now, I wonder if any other south-lands are in on this plot."
"Why starve the farmers?"
"Oh. It takes more than weapons and armor to fight a battle. You need to feed those people. This has been going on a long time. The food taken off of the lease farmers? I believe that would be where it is going. Food in a long and distant battle, is a major problem. They will be saving up certain grains, getting ready. Hard flour cakes? They keep forever almost if you keep them dry. It is not much, but, it goes a long way when traveling. They stock hard cakes of flour and other grains, then, they make dried food the last year before they set off."
"How big is this, we do not even know."
"Well, we can guess. We know what is in one of these war villages. We almost all know roughly how many days it takes a blacksmith to outfit one man. I would guess, four measures of one hundred. Every Village. Every year. Depending on how many villages, and, how long this is going on…"
Wulfgar sipped his tea, and stared off into space a few moments before finishing.
"This is not the sort of thing for raiding. This would be for an open invasion. Being planned. Slowly. Carefully. Now, I would rather not fight in my own lands, if I can avoid it. The high king will want his own lands secure. No… I want to find out who and where. Then, I can go there and put a stop to that end of the matter. The petty king would then be on his own."
"Now, Arroch. Two matters. One matter, is you keep this under your helmet, for now. The second matter, is that I do not want you to feel that I am displeased with your wits on this matter. I would have reckoned similar as you have, when I was younger and bolder. Wisdom comes with age, if it comes at all."
"Theyer. Sooth. It goes without saying, the same goes for you two on those same matters. Ryeamund? We want to keep this a secret, for now. You too, Eira. I need to know I can trust my little war council here. Agreed?"
"I will not tell the girls."
"The oxen will not tell the girls."
Everyone agreed. Wulfgar idly admitted he had to go see the high king's steward, then dispatch a number of RavinLunden scouts. They could travel on horseback in weeks what took months pulling a slow cart. It would get him new and novel information. Then when they were completed with that initial mission, he would have someone there to help out with whatever and whoever else went down afterwards on command.
"So, Arroch. I am going to trust all of you, in my own great-house while I am gone. Honestly, I have the smallest farm known to man. It will be no trouble for all of you, I assure you. You are welcome to any food or drink you find here, I should not be gone that long."
"Ryeamund. Did you enjoy your pork bellies?"
"Yes. Very much."
"Well. I am glad you enjoyed it. I can not believe my good fortune. Rye? You and your dog Thann, you eat whatever you want. I can not believe, that with all the resources and spies and scouts at my disposal? I get better information from just giving food and drink, to a southern lease farmer."
"Arroch? I want you to think about what you were planning before we had this talk. When I get back? We will see where that might fit in with all of this going on around it."
Wulfgar apologized for his sudden haste, and went and got his horse ready. Arroch and all three of his men went and helped, and all bid him well on his mission. They all asked if he wanted to be escorted, to which Wulfgar declined. He explained he was safe in his own lands, and he could move around faster on his several stops by himself. He reminded them he had grown up a RavinLunden hunter; he could easily cut across roads and trails to make great haste on trails that both he, and his trusted horse, both knew well.
Ryeamund had been rubbing the horse's chin and nose, and whispered to the horse to be well on his journey. Then he nodded at Wulfgar, who nodded back. They both tapped their breast and both dipped their heads, and all the other oxen did as well. Then Wulfgar pressed his heels gently into his horse's side and both he and his mount were speeding off. The man and his horse were not even yet around the bend of the trail cum road, when they veered off into the underbrush and were off. Within seconds, there was no trace of them. Out of sight and out of sound, but not out of mind.
Arroch addressed Ryeamund quietly.
"Ryeamund? I know me and these two men are always talking, when we are without you. I would ask of you, not to consider it any matter. I want you to trust your Ox, that we are not working against you."
Ryeamund seemed to study Arroch's face and in particular his eyes for a few seconds, before he shrugged and spoke quietly.
"I believe the ox… I trust the ox. If you men meant me any harm? I would not be here, and you would not have Farst me what you gave me. And? Ye eyes are not the eyes of an animal being unruly. So… talk of what ye will."
Ryeamund started to go back lazily into the great-house, when they asked where he was going.
"I am going in to have tea with my wench, Eira. And… I will look through the pantry. Wulfgar told me to have whatever I want. I always find something new up here to eat. One fine day? I can not wait until I can just work my little farm, and trade for the dried and smoked morsels in the Raven village."
The oxen wished him well. Good old dependable Ryeamund. All the poor man had ever wanted was just a little bit of food everyday, and he would have been content where he had once been.
Arroch was smiling his new broad smile he often enough sported these days. Theyer realized it first. He now knew what it meant.
"Arroch. What of ye oracle. I am fast learning ye face on the matter, ox."
Arroch sighed comfortably, and explained what had happened in the night and the morning. His bold news. Sooth and Theyer gave each other a look.
Sooth spoke first.
"I will say it first, then. I will not make sport of this. I could not believe Wulfgar's words. It was as if…"
And Sooth ran out of words to adequately express what he felt. Theyer kicked in.
"Aye. Arroch has caught the high king's madness. Now? We two have also caught the madness."
Sooth chimed in as well.
"Aye, well said. In truth, I do not know if I am scared or not."
All three just stood there eyeing each other up. Looking at the great-house where Ryeamund had disappeared. Back to each other. No one spoke any further words. There was no need. They realized Arroch was able to demonstrate, on command, his Odin oracle.
Arroch waited a little while, until they all quit looking around. Then, he practically whispered to them.
"Now. Ye either believe me, or, ye are all as mad as I be. Aye?"
"Aye."
"Aye."
Arroch continued whispering. He filled them in on what he had first figured out. The great bolt of lightning. The storm when Ryeamund had been born. How he knew what he knew from the far reaches, traveling for young fun to the land of fire and ice. What he believed Ryeamund's father had been. Who he thought Ryeamund's father actually was. What he thought, no check that, what he felt, what he knew was in that fire hole from the great bolt of lightning that had sprayed loose dirt down off the hill on top the barn that night he had been born.
No one spoke. Out of fear. Out of respect. Out of awe. They all knew the old stories from the people in the villages into their grays, telling them the old way's stories when little.
Ryeamund's mother had died, and did not have a chance. Human women can not give birth to a god, it kills them. Little Rye's mother had freely given up her life to see him born, and refused to trade his life in for her own.
They simply stood there a little while. Quiet. Ryeamund had grown up in the far south-lands, where the old ways had all but died and were slowly being replaced by the forces at work around those lands. No one needed reminded of Ryeamund's words before he fought the Bear in the man's own great-house. But, each repeated a line they remembered Ryeamund had spoken.
'I will be back. I am going away… it is always like this.'
'I am two men. I see what he sees, I hear what he hears.'
'Do not worry. This other man? He will follow you also.'
One thing Ryeamund had said, when he was changing before the fight, and then after it. Calmed them greatly, each of them, inside.
'Do not fear me, brothers. I would not harm ye.'
Though none of them said those words, each of them inside remembered it, and felt it. None of them were exactly sure why those words kept repeating over and over in their heads. None of them decided to share what they felt internally with the others.
Theyer spoke in the little calm first. Softly. Reverently.
"I think we have found Loki."
Sooth followed.
"Aye. I think the earth is going to tremble. This spring."
They both looked to Arroch afterwards. Quizzically.
"What then."
Theyer and Sooth exchanged glances, before Theyer spoke, and Sooth merely agreed.
"Do ye reckon, ye should seek audience with the North Star?"
Arroch did not answer, and the other two did not press him. There were limits to mortal men's bravery, after all. It was widely whispered, and freely, that the high king was a madman. Everyone knew, you dealt with the high king's steward. Not with the madman himself. Only Wulfgar was at his ease with him.
By the time they were done looking at each other and scuffing their feet on the ground and started walking back in, they were fairly quiet. Once back in, Eira and Ryeamund were talking at the table in the small kitchen. They simply shuffled back to their rooms to spend time with their individual girls that were staying with them. Later on they would no doubt have some self regulated and self inspired sword practice. For now though? Leisure idle time. They left Eira and Ryeamund talking softly, even though the two of them bid them to stay.
Eira was as gently as possible, trying to ease back into a short conversation about Ryeamund's mother and father. Ryeamund didn't get angry or forbid it, yet he was obviously not seriously interested in the discussion. For Ryeamund's part, he more or less knew what had gone on. He had gotten over it gently with Eira's scheme, yet he did not want to dwell on the subject.
Eira changed tack.
"Ryeamund? I know this is hard for you to talk about. I suggest, let me talk just a little bit, then we can talk about more pleasant things. All right?"
Ryeamund said and did nothing for a few seconds, then nodded silently. It was clearly not his favorite topic of conversation. Eira took a deep breath, and pressed forward, but as gently as she could.
"Ryeamund. I do not want you to have any bad feelings about what happened with your mother and your father. Now, you were a farmer for a long time. I am sure, every now and again, you and your father ran across an animal that just for one reason or another, simply could not have babies. It just happens. You know this, right?"
Ryeamund shrugged. Then nodded and assented the basic fact.
"When two animals kept in a pen together, can not make babies? You could take each of them out, put each with a different mate, then see what happens. Am I right?"
Ryeamund nodded.
"Now, when you do this… give each a new mate… you find out that one was capable of making babies, and the other was not. Is this not true?"
Ryeamund nodded.
"It should now be obvious, when you look at the situation as such… that your father was not able to make a baby, and your mother was able to make a baby. Do you agree?"
"Eira. My Mother and Father? They were not animals. They were my parents."
"I know, Ryeamund. Your mother and your father clearly loved each other very, very much. Your mother married and stayed with your father, even though they were going to be poor and have very little in this world. Your mother clearly married for love, not for coin."
"Your father? It was not his fault that he could not make a baby. It was nothing he could control. I want you to remember, that there are kings in this world, that can have and do anything they want, and even some of those kings can not make a baby. It happens. Sometimes, the king has no heir. Your father was such a king. It is simply the will of the gods, and there is nothing any mortal can do about it. In the end of all things? We are all of us, simply the playthings of the gods."
Ryeamund looked down at the table, but he nodded slightly.
"Now. When someone a person loves, is having problems, and is sad about it. It hurts to see it. As an example? When you had your… problems, with the village boys? Your father tried everything he could think of, to help you."
Ryeamund continued studying the wood grain of the polished wood table, but he did nod ever so slightly.
"Now. At some times, people have to do the wrong thing, simply because there is no other way. As an example, I would suggest the little piglet game, that all the starving lease farmers had to play, to get a little bit of meat to eat. You were not thieves, you had no choice."
Ryeamund nodded.
"After a couple of years, it became very clear to your mother, that there was not going to be any baby. Your father desperately wanted a baby. I heard you say he told you how he prayed nightly to Odin, to send him a son. A strong son. It was his fondest wish."
Ryeamund nodded.
"Your mother, loved your father so much, it hurt her that there was no baby. Your mother wanted desperately to give him a baby. And so… simply because there was… no… other… way… she went and found someone, to try to give your father what he prayed for, night after night."
"No one really knows when the lease farmers all let a few piglets loose. I am sure, deep in my heart, that your mother thought no one would ever know. All your mother was guilty of, was simply that she loved your father so much, that she wanted to give him what he prayed for, night after night."
"I am sure, that your father was very happy, and very excited, to have a baby. Your father prayed for years to be sent a baby, and eventually the gods sent him one. Your father was examined by the gods, perhaps even Odin himself. Your father did not cast your mother aside, and try to have a baby with another woman. Your father loved her enough not to do that."
"Your mother loved your father so much, that she did not want to cast your father aside. All your mother did, was to grease up a piglet, so that it could slip through the fence and escape. To make food. To help. To give."
"Your mother took great care, to select what she thought would be the person best able to make a fine, strong, son. Strong. Handsome. Powerful. High born and high reckoning. A man of the highest sense of honor, Ryeamund. The Dark Lords? Would never harm a defenseless woman. A defenseless child. An old frail person in their grays. The Rhyshian Lords will only kill those people that attack them and want to fight."
"Ryeamund? You have to believe me. The Rhyshian Lords… would never take a woman against their will. They are simply not ordinary low born fighting men. They have a high sense of honor. A Rhyshian Lord? Will kill his own men under him, if he catches them looting and raping commoners that are not in the fight. The men that a Rhyshian Lord commands in battle? He takes their oath on it, the same way that Wulfgar takes a man's oath. If a man swears a false oath on such an important command? They forfeit their lives, and the men under them know it."
"Ryeamund… does anything I have said, sound like a lie, that you do not believe?"
Ryeamund continued his studious inspection of the grain on the table, running his finger over the polished lines. He shook his head no, he did not smell a lie, nor suspect she was wrong about anything.
"Your mother did not go to some tavern and go gallivanting with just anyone. It would have been very difficult for her to meet that Lord. She would have been scared to meet him. How she bargained with him on the matter, I do not know. But bargain she did, and the proof of that bargain, Ryeamund… is you."
"Ryeamund. When the time came, that your mother had to make a choice. A choice of saving herself, or saving her unborn baby? Your mother chose to give up her life to give you life. She died happy, knowing she had given her husband a son. She got to hold you in her arms. She saw a fine, strong, son. She traded her life, to give the man she loved the thing she knew he wanted most of all."
"When a person volunteers to give up their life, to save another? There is no greater gift that person can give in this world. If a man gives up his life freely, to save another, we all know he goes to Valhalla. To be honored. When a woman gives up her life freely, to save another, we all know she goes to Valhalla as well. To be honored."
Ryeamund continued his examination of the woodwork, and quietly stated.
"Is this examination done, Eira?"
"Yes, Ryeamund. I just want you to know, and I mean this with all of my heart… I want you to be proud of your father. Both of them. I want you to be proud of your mother. I want you to be proud of yourself. No matter where you live, no matter where you go, no matter what you do, no matter what you eventually become… you are a good man. Your father obeyed your mother's dying wish, and he raised you as best he could. Your father's wisdom he gave you growing up, was truly great."
Ryeamund simply looked up at her. Nodded. Went into the pantry, and came back with a small bag of some dried fruits with salted nuts mixed in with it.
Eira walked behind Ryeamund as he sat munching on the small dried morsels, and leaned over and hugged him from behind. Placed her face in the hollow of his shoulder and neck. She kissed his neck lightly, and whispered in his ear.
"You are a good and decent man. Both of your parents were good and decent farmers. You come from a long line, of good and decent hard working people. Do not ever be ashamed of who you are, and where you came from."
"You grew up a farmer, Ryeamund. Farmers plant seeds. Those seeds grow into wonderful things. Sometimes, does the farmer not drop a seed somewhere unexpected? Does not sometimes that seed grow, in the strangest of places, into a wonderful thing? You are the wonderful result of that seed dropped, in the most unexpected of places."
"It is said, that the Rhyshian seeds, can grow anywhere. Some Rhyshian Lord, dropped a seed in an unexpected place. Your father raised and nourished that seed, as well as any high born Rhyshian family could have done. I do not think many men down in that village where you come from, could have done half as good a job as your own father did."
"You are strong. You are brave. You are wise. You are a hard worker. You are true. You are kind. I can not say the same, of those boys and many of the others from your village. Arroch and your oxen brothers, saw this quality. They rushed to put a coin on you. To claim you as their own. I saw your quality. That is why I rushed to put my coin on you as well. To claim you as my own."
Eira then arose from him, and left him to contemplate everything. She tousled his hair gently, as she slowly walked away light to some other room, to occupy herself doing something else.
Ryeamund eventually got done with eating simply to eat, and stood up. Stretched. Walked idly around for a time. After a while, he found himself walking around the small great-house main room. He stopped. He inhaled slowly and fully, then exhaled slowly. He supposed that perhaps, he felt better.
Ryeamund looked down, and saw Thann following him quietly around. Stopping and sitting when he stopped.
"Come, little Thann. This is not our land, yet we are here. We should walk around, and examine things. Would you like that?"
Thann seemed very content to follow his new master around, and see about the little farm that Wulfgar claimed he mismanaged to hell and back, yet he still had to give away more food than he ever could eat himself.
Ryeamund had always found solace with the animals, and the small farm, and with nature. He was fairly certain he was doing small labors that did not really need done, but it was something to do and it made him feel better.
Thann seemed to agree with him.