Post by Eivor on Feb 28, 2023 9:28:30 GMT
It was tempting to ask mother, but frankly satisfying her curiosity wasn’t sufficient reason to open that particular nest of vipers.
Eivor shuffles away her cards. She knew now who it wasn’t, which was a start.
“Don’t worry about it now, we’ll identify the miscreant in due course,” she replies. “Finish your tea, and I’ll send word of your arrival. Wait here Your Majesty; I’ll get fetch someone to attend you.”
Placing down her mug, she set out into the snow to put things in place. It was only a short stroll into the village when she found a couple of girls throwing snow balls at each other.
“Sigrid! Freya! The king is here,” Eivor said. “Gather some provisions and show him some hospitality. Hurry!”
While the startled girls picked up their heavy skirts and headed towards the hut, Eivor continued her walk, avoiding the boisterousness of the long house where the elders would be deep in their cups as always. If the path turned just this way then that you could make out the distant kingdom of Norje, a shadow of its former self waiting to be roused from its long slumber by the return of a promised king. When she gazed on the distant battlements she could see it in some way resembled distant Eshanta, but the people were dressed in furs and altogether less gloomy despite the cold. There was no maze to trouble them here, and once the king was joyously welcomed he would be free to set down his thoughts in a journal so the sages could compose tales of his exploits in a far away land.
Satisfied, she turned back and followed a different path back to her shack, collecting a sturdy horse and carriage from a duke that no longer had need of it and driving it to the steps of her hunting lodge where the girls would be waiting, no doubt excited to witness the arrival of a carriage so far from the lowlands.
“Is my king ready to travel?” Eivor asked.
Eivor shuffles away her cards. She knew now who it wasn’t, which was a start.
“Don’t worry about it now, we’ll identify the miscreant in due course,” she replies. “Finish your tea, and I’ll send word of your arrival. Wait here Your Majesty; I’ll get fetch someone to attend you.”
Placing down her mug, she set out into the snow to put things in place. It was only a short stroll into the village when she found a couple of girls throwing snow balls at each other.
“Sigrid! Freya! The king is here,” Eivor said. “Gather some provisions and show him some hospitality. Hurry!”
While the startled girls picked up their heavy skirts and headed towards the hut, Eivor continued her walk, avoiding the boisterousness of the long house where the elders would be deep in their cups as always. If the path turned just this way then that you could make out the distant kingdom of Norje, a shadow of its former self waiting to be roused from its long slumber by the return of a promised king. When she gazed on the distant battlements she could see it in some way resembled distant Eshanta, but the people were dressed in furs and altogether less gloomy despite the cold. There was no maze to trouble them here, and once the king was joyously welcomed he would be free to set down his thoughts in a journal so the sages could compose tales of his exploits in a far away land.
Satisfied, she turned back and followed a different path back to her shack, collecting a sturdy horse and carriage from a duke that no longer had need of it and driving it to the steps of her hunting lodge where the girls would be waiting, no doubt excited to witness the arrival of a carriage so far from the lowlands.
“Is my king ready to travel?” Eivor asked.