“We come to receive the thegn’s counsel,” Lugh says, then adds, “and to offer our own.”
It’s a bold statement. The past few weeks have left us all haggard, exhausted in body and mind, and I’ve no doubt it shows. Whatever misgivings Breoca may have, his voice is warm as he assures, “Seidhr, the doors of Meðalhall stand open to you always.”
The crowd fills in behind us as Breoca leads us into Meðalhall. Heavy beams extend high above us, lifting the roof like an offering to the gods. The fires quickly melt away our ride’s chill, and illuminate the tapestries and decorations hung around the cavernous space. Elaborately carved doors separate the private chambers of Aage and his family, as well as the most luxurious of the guest quarters and the tribute stores from the rest of the hall. It’s taken decades of painstaking work by Aage to provide his people with this kind of luxury.
“My thegn,” Lugh calls, well aware of the curious audience at our backs. The friendly greeting tells me he has no intention of telling Aage the grim news right now. No doubt he’ll request a private audience before bringing it up.
“Seidhr,” Aage calls back, rising from his fur-draped chair. He’s a mountain of a man, nearly as tall and broad as me and his smile is wide and bright. “Poet, and all my old friends. What brings you to Eyjar?”
“A long ride and a desire for friendlier faces,” Lugh answers. “We’ve been away too long.”
“Your return is a blessing of the gods,” Aage says. “Remain with us as long as they can spare you.”
We were nervous the ill will we experienced on our journey through the Mainland Wylds might extend to Eyjar, though we believed our old friend would welcome us back. We were right to trust in Aage’s grace and sincerity. Hearing his formal invitation aloud, in front of his people, relaxes us all. The atmosphere of the hall transforms quickly to cheer and a call for community. Cybel, Armel, and Drest wander off to greet old friends and past lovers. Lugh and Aage begin talking. A small horde of children descend on me, happy to inspect the poet they’ve heard about from their parents.
I answer their questions, sit beside them when the first course of supper is brought to the tables for sharing, and try to be good company by sharing a few short, amusing stories. To my surprise, soon they’re reciting my tales to me with far more embellishments than I could imagine. Their creativity is incredible, though it’s odd to hear others’ interpretations of events I remember so clearly. Their parents taught them my tales well, but they’ve built on them. If we survive this war, perhaps I’ll be blessed to hear their children tell me new versions. Perhaps I’ll live so long at Lugh’s side, watch so many generations grow up that the stories may someday be unrecognizable, even to me.
I wish Lugh were here to laugh with me over our transforming legend, but his conversation with Aage is more important. They eventually join us at the table, still talking in hushed murmurs, but more at ease.
“We’re meeting again tomorrow,” Lugh murmurs when he takes the seat beside me and helps himself to dinner. “We’ll have more time and greater privacy then.”
“Do you need my help?” I ask him.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“When you know, tell me. I trust you, Lugh. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
He glances up from his plate with a faint smile. “It’s that easy for you?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“What now?” I ask. “Did you want to stay and mingle? They’d be happy to hear me share more stories tonight, if you’re up for the attention...”
He shakes his head. “I need to plan for tomorrow’s audience. You...you wouldn’t mind coming with me, would you? You wouldn’t have to do much, just let me try to organize my t
houghts aloud.”
“Finish eating and we’ll get to work.”
He relaxes after that. Later, after our meal we make our excuses and leave for our chambers.
We move down the halls on memory alone. Lugh opens our door and heads inside; I brush my fingers over the carved serpent in the doorframe and follow him, shutting us away in this private space. The room hasn’t changed much; only the furs on the massive bed have been switched out. The spaciousness, the crackling fire, the elegant furniture... There’s pleasure in recognizing the same sanctuary Lugh and I have claimed time and again since Aage’s rise to power.
Lugh sits at the small table without another word, while I go to the bed and fall backwards onto it. I raise my arms and lace my fingers together behind my head, lifting myself enough to have a clear line of sight on Lugh. “What do you plan to tell him?”
Lugh fidgets with the hem of his sleeve before admitting, “I thought it might be easiest to tell it like a story. I know that’s your skill, not mine, but there’s so much to share with him and I don’t know how I’d keep it all straight in my head otherwise.” He offers me a sheepish grin. “I can’t remember what stories I’ve read from books, but I can always remember the tales you tell.”
“Make it a story then,” I urge him. “The hardest part about it will be knowing when to shut your mouth. No matter how tempted you are to rattle on, trust yourself, Lugh. Stop speaking and leave the final decision to him.”
“How will I know when to stop though?”
“Tell me your story, and we’ll figure it out together.”
He sputters, but soon enough, he begins laying out his version of events and weaving his persuasions into the flow of his tale. The room echoes with the passionate rise and fall of his voice and I close my eyes, soaking it in, enjoying this moment of peace together before we face the war’s reality tomorrow.
Lugh