"Saga" - Chapter 20, Part 1
Content - Saga is a Brokeback AuAu fic taking place in the Viking era (Scandinavia, ca AD 850). No warnings for this chapter. This chapter rated PG-13.
Disclaimer - The original Ennis and Jack who inspired this fic do not belong to me, but to Annie Proulx, Diana Ossana, Larry McMurtry and Focus Features. I intend no disrespect and make no profit.
A/Ns - Links to previous chapters follow after the cut. Explanations of names and terms follow after each chapter. Thank you to Soulan for betaing this chapter!
Links to previous chapters are available here: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/43336.html
Saga - Chapter 20
In the days after Christ mass the mood in Gunnar’s little house was awkward, however much Eoin and Muirenn tried to get back to where they’d been, pretending that nothing had changed between them. A hint of distant politeness marred their talk, and both felt hurt and unhappy at their seeming inability to recapture the closeness they had shared these past many months.
Muirenn busied herself with Sverri, who was suffering from a cold and was fretful and fussy. Eoin found tasks around the house - chopping wood, practicing with his sword, working on simple wood carvings in order to hone his steadily improving skills further.
They were both of them secretly relieved when Gunnar returned four days into the Yule celebrations. He came traveling back home on a sleigh borrowed from the master of the manor where he’d drunk Yule, and was so dead drunk that he could neither stand nor speak. The man who drove the sleigh was glad enough to be rid of him, for he’d been violently sick several times during the ride.
Eoin and Muirenn did the best they could to take care of Gunnar and get him settled into his previous sober habits. For days he drifted in and out of consciousness, was unable to eat, and was ill whenever he tried to force down even the tiniest morsel of food.
Over the last few months Muirenn had made a point of collecting recipes for potions that might help in such situations, anticipating this very emergency. She now diligently prepared the various brews and held Gunnar as he tried to drink them. She and Eoin took turns in assisting Gunnar in his near-helpless state, and in waking over him during the first few nights. They had both come to like and respect Gunnar over the months they’d been living in his house, and now pitied his inability to govern his drinking, rather than condemning him for it. Muirenn showed the wood carver every bit as much care and patience as she did little Sverri, and once Gunnar improved enough to be able to move about, Eoin took him to the nearest bath house and sat by him in the scaldingly hot steam for a long time, making him sweat out the last lingering effects of the binge drinking.
Their joint struggle to get Gunnar back on his feet helped Eoin and Muirenn regain a sort of common ground, and they felt easier being around each other. Nevertheless the bridge spanning the newly formed gap between them was still tenuous, and when time soon came for Eoin to follow Gunnar out of Kaupang on the winter’s first major assignment, there was still a small unvoiced element of estrangement to Eoin and Muirenn’s parting.
The two men traveled on horseback to a manor south of Kaupang, a pack horse carrying Gunnar’s many carefully cleaned and oiled tools. They would be staying at the manor for a time while Gunnar with Eoin’s assistance carved a set of elaborate new high seat poles. Muirenn in the meantime took Sverri and moved into Torgeirr’s clan’s house in town, where some of Torgeirr’s distant relatives were spending the winter. A woman could not live in a house by herself unless she had kinsmen or guards on hand to protect her.
In this manner the winter months passed as the year moved slowly and steadily towards the one-year anniversary of their liberation.
---
Late afternoon one overcast, chilly day in early spring Svein came riding at full tilt into the Einstad courtyard. Both he and the horse were covered in mud-splatters and weary to the point of exhaustion. The spring thaw had made every track slippery and wet, and riding over normally dry land at places seemed almost like struggling through a bog. On shadowed stretches there still was deep, wet snow to wade through. Only the most pressing errands would make men travel lengthy distances under such trying conditions.
Svein swung down off his horse in a stiff and tired motion, leaving the horse standing with its head down, and at once asked to see Einnis. He was shown into the hall while still wiping mud off his face and hands with a piece of cloth one of the thralls had handed him. Einnis came to meet him as soon as he stepped inside, and looked at Svein with worry etched across his face.
“Svein, what is it? Do you carry bad tidings?”
Svein nodded even as he glanced around.
“I need to talk to you under four eyes, Einnis Elmarson,” he said.
Arna had stepped up behind Einnis, the bulk of her prominent belly causing her to move more slowly than she used to. She put a hand on Einnis’s shoulder and spoke calmly in a low voice.
“There’s no-one in the weaving house at present, husband, but it’s warm there, and there’s still fire on the hearth. You can go there to talk, and I will have ale and food sent over.”
Einnis sent her a grateful look and ushered Svein out the door and along the paved track to the small nearby building. Svein sank down on the bench just inside the door and looked up to Einnis tiredly.
“Your brother told me in no uncertain terms to leave well enough alone, and gave orders that you shouldn’t be bothered, but I had to let you know. I have served your clan all my adult life.”
Einnis sat down next to him, making an effort to breathe evenly and speak slowly.
“I know you care for our honor. Just tell me what has happened,” he said.
Svein drew a breath.
“Ketil…. He has accepted Ulv Sigurdarson’s challenge to a Holmgang. The fight will take place the day after tomorrow, and they have agreed it will be a fight to the death!”
Einnis stared at him, eyes wide.
“Neither has claimed that the winner should get the other’s property, though,” Svein said reassuringly. “It’s a matter of honor between them, not of gold and goods.”
Einnis shook his head to clear it. “You’d better tell me everything from the beginning,” he said.
Svein explained how Ketil had traveled down the valley to join the funeral rites for the master of one of the largest farms in the southern part. The man died from an illness with coughing and raging fever after falling asleep drunk outside in the snow, and his clan had hurried to prepare a proper burial mound once they realized the inescapable outcome of the illness. Every man and woman of standing among the valley neighbors had been invited to the interment and the funeral feast. Ketil had traveled there with Svein and two of his other men.
There had been no incidents at the funeral, but on the way home Ketil’s horse slipped on a muddy patch of the track, and went down. Ketil managed to roll off and away unharmed, though his fine cloak got completely soaked in dirty runoff water. His horse favored a hind leg once it got back up on all fours. Ketil stood bent over, feeling the horse’s leg and judging the damage when Ulv Sigurdarson and his brothers happened to ride up. They too were on the way back home from the funeral.
Ulv had laughed with scorn at Ketil, bent over and muddied from top to toe, and had made a comment that Ketil’s looks and posture now fit his character. Ketil had responded in kind, one word taking the other. After the two men had traded various heated insults, Ulv had asked whether it was true that Ketil had called his wife-to-be a slut. There could be little doubt that someone had related to Ulv the words of spite Ketil had spoken of him and Helga both. Now Ketil had merely shrugged, righting himself to his full height, and coldly asked if Ulv held anything against people for speaking the plain truth. Ulv had turned scarlet, his jaws working and his eyes bulging with rage. He’d jumped off his horse and stepped right up into Ketil’s face. This was an insult to his wife’s honor, and therefore to his, and he knew well enough how Ketil treated women, he had grated menacingly. He offered to put a stop to Ketil’s slander and lies, once and for all, and to rid the valley of such a poor excuse for a real man, and challenged Ketil formally to a Holmgang.
Ketil had laughed at him mockingly, called him a little boy and a childish one at that, who would end up losing his hot head, and accepted the challenge with a shrug. They’d agreed on fighting three days hence, and by then both had taken leave of any kind of sense and reason, and in a joint fit of fury swore to fight to the death even if Ulv’s brothers and Svein all had tried to dissuade them from going that far.
Ketil had mounted one of his men’s horses and had returned home without saying another word. He’d ordered the men not to notify Einnis, and had otherwise behaved as if nothing untoward had occurred.
Einnis had winced while learning the level of insults traded between Ketil and Ulv. Now he sighed.
“You did the right thing, coming here,” he told Svein, just as Arna pushed through the door carrying a platter with food and a bowl of ale for Svein. Einnis looked up at his wife.
“You needn’t be walking about like a servant-maid, Arna!”
“I thought perhaps things would be happening here that servants need not see - or hear,” Arna answered evenly as she put the platter beside Svein on the bench and went to sit down by Einnis’s side.
“Ketil needs me with him,” Einnis said, turning back to Svein. “Ulv will have all his family there to support him, I’m sure.”
He bit his lip and sat for a little while, considering. “I haven’t seen Ulv for more than a year,” he said. “How does he look now, and how good of a fighter is he?”
“He’s grown to full manhood, I would say, though he is slim and somewhat gangly. He is well-liked in the valley, and normally is thought of as cheerful and friendly, strange as that may sound just now. He’s rumored to be a good fighter, and he certainly seems to have the temper of a berserker,” Svein said pensively. “But Ketil is strong, and much more skilled with the sword… when he’s sober. He’s fought in battles and wars and has bested warriors in Holmgang before. I would easily bet on your brother to win.”
“Yes,” Einnis said after a beat, speaking slowly. “I think you’re surely right. But the easier his win, the more Ulv’s father and brothers will resent him, after.”
He sighed and turned to Arna, taking her hand. “I need to travel down to my brother’s farm tomorrow. He’s fighting a Holmgang the next day. I must be there.”
Arna’s lips compressed in exasperation for a brief moment. She squeezed his hand. “Be careful, Einnis. Don’t get involved in fighting yourself, husband mine. Remember that in less than two months your son will be born, and he needs his father.”
“I know he does, and I won’t act rashly to rob him of that. But he needs his uncle too,” Einnis muttered, and rose to his feet, helping Arna up. “Finish your meal, Svein. I will have one of the men show you to the bathhouse and then find you a sleeping bench. We ride at first light tomorrow.”
---
Einnis and Svein rode into Ketil’s courtyard the next day. It was raining, a persistent cold drizzle from low, dull skies. The two men were weary and chilled to the bone.
Einnis looked around the yard. There was no-one about, and silence hung heavily over the farm. The poor weather would be keeping people inside, working in the hall and the sheds, but nevertheless the emptiness and quiet gave the normally so busy farmyard an eerie appearance.
Einnis shuddered slightly as he loosened a bundle strapped to his saddle and walked heavily towards the hall. Its door swung open at his approach, and a woman stepped outside, her head and shoulders hidden under a heavy woolen shawl. She wore a fine dress though, and even more tellingly, had many keys, needles and a scissor dangling from her elaborate domed brooches. It wasn’t necessary to see her face to know her position.
She looked at Einnis from under the shawl and smiled, a wan and joyless grimace. “Thanks be to Freya that you have arrived, Einnis Elmarson. I was relieved to see Svein ride north. I do not know what to do with Ketil, I’ve never seen him like this.”
Einnis nodded his head to her formally. “Mistress Ragnhild, well met.” He looked at the closed door behind her. “Is Ketil in there? Is he….?”
“No, he’s not. For once he is completely sober, but he’s in a strangely fey mood,” Ragnhild responded. “Come inside, I will have warm water and clean clothes fetched for you, and then food. For Svein too, of course,” she added, seeing the other man standing by the horses in the rain.
“Come inside, Svein,” she called. “I will have one of the thralls look to the horses!”
Einnis stepped through the door warily, his eyes seeking the high seat. Ketil was sitting there, leaning forward, head tilted slightly sideways as his chin rested on one of his fists. His eyes were closed as if he were sleeping. Various servants and free-men were sitting on the benches along the walls, eating, drinking, or doing repair work, but no-one in the hall were talking much.
Ketil heard the door opening, followed by Einnis’s steps, and his eyes opened into slits, gleaming in the firelight from the hearth.
“Welcome, righteous little brother. I might have known there is no keeping you away. Come sit by me.”
Einnis did as bid, sitting down and looking Ketil over warily.
“How are you, Ketil Efni?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Doing good. Did you expect me to be concerned about tomorrow? I have fought far better men than that sorry-looking stripling, and have always emerged the victor. And even if Ulv were a warrior with the strength of Tor himself, there would be no reason for me to spend time worrying. No man lives beyond the fated day, and that’s that.”
Einnis placed the bundle he was carrying on the table in front of the high seat. “I’ve brought you Holmhogg to use, brother. It’s brought you luck before, would that it will do so again!”
Ketil sat up, gripped the bundle and carefully unwrapped the sword, holding it up and looking with surprise and admiration at the gleaming blade.
“You’d truly let me have the use of this, Einnis? It is yours now, and its luck too has passed to you.”
“I want you to have it and to use it tomorrow, Ketil. You must know I am not happy about this fight. Sigurd will likely be our enemy, should you kill his son tomorrow, and that’s a feud we should have avoided. But Svein tells me it was Ulv who challenged you. You could hardly refuse without being deemed a coward.”
“True,” was Ketil’s only response. “Very true.”
He leaned his head back against the wall and said no more. Einnis for his part stepped quietly down to the side bench to wash and change out of his dirty tunic, as a servant-woman now brought him a bucket of steaming water, towels and a change of clothes.
The brothers shared a quiet evening meal, and sat up afterwards over a bowl of ale. Ketil drank very little.
“How is married life treating you, Einnis Eldhug?” he eventually asked.
“It goes well enough. Arna and I have a good life. Soon our child will be born. I am content,” Einnis replied.
“You should be,” Ketil said with emphasis. “You should be. Well enough? Is that all you have to say for married bliss, after you nearly broke your back for a full year with the building of your farm, winning Mjod’s daughter to be your wife?”
“What do you want me to say, brother? I am not one for many words,” Einnis mumbled.
Ketil sighed.
“Tor’s balls, I don’t know…. Maybe I want you to use words I can recognize in myself, words that will resound like dvergamal in my mind.” His hands moved, a small defeated gesture, and he looked away. “Maybe I want words that can describe Helga, the way I feel when she visits me in my dreams at night.”
Einnis frowned and cast a disapproving look in Ketil’s direction, but his brother looked serious, pensive and sad. For once Ketil Elmarson was speaking in earnest and had put his boasting and lewd bluster aside.
“Do you mean…….?” Einnis didn’t know how to end his surprised question.
Ketil shrugged unhappily, a far-off look in is eyes. “I’ve spoken worst of her that I least wished harm. ´Wise men oft into fettered fools are made when marked by love’, isn’t that how it goes? Then imagine what harm it can do to someone stupidly unwise, like me!” he grinned widely, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. “I thought the worst I’d ever have to do was go back to apologize to her. By all the trolls in Utgard, the bleeding shame of that - to have to crawl to a woman! But I was wrong. The worst has been these long months afterwards….”
Einnis stared at him, incredulity marking his every feature. “I’ve hardly heard you speak one kind or respectful word of her since that day we went to ask for her hand in marriage,” he said wonderingly.
Ketil laughed. “I guess I haven’t. I’ve tried very hard to convince myself and everyone else that she’s a worthless bitch… but I haven’t succeeded. ”
“Well then, have you thought about what tomorrow will bring her? It will hardly improve her opinion of you if you kill her betrothed shortly before they’re to marry. It adds fresh injury to previous insult. This Holmgang will set our clan back many years. Helga is a formidable woman, she’ll prove a formidable enemy.”
“I know,” Ketil said approvingly. “She is proud, and strong-willed, and has a mind of her own. And she looks like Freya when she’s enraged, those bright eyes blazing.”
Einnis was speechless, and Ketil cast a look in his direction. “I can’t do anything else than leave it up to the fates. Perhaps there is yet a way for me where Helga is concerned, though I can’t see it. If not… If worst comes to worst, I’ll at least die with honor in battle, and feast in Valhall every day after. I’m tired, Einnis. I’m through with all the aimless drinking and whoring. I aim for better fame:
“Cattle die and kinsmen die,
thyself too soon must die,
but one thing, I deem, will never die -
the fame of a dead man’s deeds.”
“I’ve never known you to quote so many ancient sayings, Ketil. You’ve never been one for talking about your fate.” Einnis’s voice was low and insistent. “Take heart, brother! We can weather this storm too. If you want to be known for your deeds, as do all good men, I think you should consider all that you’ve still got to do here in Midgard, all that it will take to improve your standing, and plan on living a long life in honor. Ulv was the one who challenged you - he will just have to take what’s coming.”
Ketil cast a glance in his direction, as if gauging his mood, and hesitated for a moment. “I have reason to think of fate,” he eventually said. “Einnis - I saw my fylgje today.”
Einnis blinked, shaking his head in immediate denial. “No!” He leaned forwards, voice raw as he whispered urgently to his brother. “Where? When? How?”
“I saw it this morning. I was walking behind the Hall, coming back from taking a piss. There weren’t any others back by the trenches, and mist was rolling along the ground, almost like white smoke. It was like walking in the netherworld, and the silence… there was no sound at all. Then it appeared, loping out of the fog right in front of me, and stood there, completely unafraid, staring at me with shining yellow eyes. I knew immediately what it was. I recognized it as easily as if it had walked next to me every day of my life.”
Ketil bit his lip and shrugged. “Then all of a sudden it was gone, and I sensed a chill down my spine as if the cold fingers of Verdandi were tugging at my life thread.”
“What did your fylgje look like?” Einnis asked in pale-faced dismay.
“A big wolf.”
“A wolf!” Einnis huffed, and suddenly grinned with frantic relief. “That can’t have been your fylgje, I’m sure. You’ve been thinking so much about Ulv Sigurdarson lately, you’re just dreaming of him with open eyes! He stalks your mind, don’t you see?”
“Perhaps. Frey’s cock and balls, Einnis, I don’t know….”
Einnis continued right on, overriding his brother. “Maybe it was a real wolf - it’s not unheard of that they come down to the houses. Did you check for paw prints?”
“No matter, Einnis. Tomorrow will show me the fated way forward in any case. And where that way leads, who knows?” Ketil said evenly and rose from the seat. “I’m going to bed. I need to be rested for the fight. We’re meeting at noon by the northern lake-shore. Good night, brother. I’m glad you defied my wishes and came here to stand by me.”
Ketil gripped Einnis’s shoulder for a moment, giving it an affectionate squeeze, and then walked quickly out of the hall. Einnis watched him going, and he was not alone in doing so. All eyes followed Ketil Elmarson as he left his hall with firm, decisive strides.
Continued in Chapter 20, Part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/44443.html