Word Count: 18,097
Summary of Events:
Aðalbjörn went to the silversmith to get him to make a special holder for the stone he had acquired so that it wouldn't be damaged, which could bring about a curse; but because he was loathe to leave the stone out of his possession he had to go to the stonemason to get a replica fashioned out of a less valuable stone for the silversmith to use as a model. Friðljót was so upset and depressed about her betrothal that she didn't eat and wouldn't get out of bed, but stayed alone with her thoughts, yearning for the handsome young warrior she'd dreamed of, but with no hope of finding him. Once the replica was finished Aðalbjörn took it to the silversmith and then went to the meadow his siblings regularly played in, where he found his mother was on duty to mind them, and she asked him to sit and talk to her, beginning with conversation about the warrior his father had sent off to Gammelhjem to investigate the reports of the merchantmen . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
“How long has he been gone?” she asked.
“Nigh unto a week,” Aðalbjörn replied.
“And you wonder now?” she asked.
“Of what?” he asked.
“She who is to be your bride,” she replied.
“Of a token,” he admitted.
“Only a token,” she said, as if astonished.
“I am shocked to know that I am betrothed,” Aðalbjörn admitted, looking at his mother’s eyes, the very same shade of blue as his own. “I feel unready.”
“And why does the first of my womb feel unready?” she asked.
“I cannot . . . say,” Aðalbjörn replied.
“You do not wish to tell me?” she asked.
“I know not how to say it,” Aðalbjörn replied.
Her hand reached across and gently her fingers slid into his hair, running close to his scalp and filling him with a soothed sensation as the action had always done.
“Do you feel it wrong to be happy when Marúlf is gone?” she asked.
A stab of pain hit his heart. “Part of me does.”
“There is more to it,” she said.
“Yes,” Aðalbjörn replied.
She sighed and drew her hand from his hair to resume her needlework.
“Part of me feels it would distract from my duty,” Aðalbjörn said.
“Your duty?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“What duty have you which would be hampered by marriage?” she asked.
“The duty to Marúlf’s daughter,” he replied.
“You have a duty to her?” she asked.
“I pledged her father,” Aðalbjörn replied.
“That you would be as a father to her?” she asked.
“No,” Aðalbjörn replied. “I pledged that I would guard him with my life.”
“And you intend that pledge to be carried on to his seed?” she asked.
“Yes,” Aðalbjörn replied.
“And you think a wife would inhibit that?” she asked.
“I would have a duty to a wife,” he replied.
“Surely you could do both,” she replied. “Your father has duties to his wives, children, and people, and fulfills them all. One day all three duties will be yours, and you will need to be able to do them all without compromise, as your father. Surely having a duty to a brother’s child and a wife will give you good practise.”
He nodded, she had a point there; but he wasn’t sure how he would succeed; only the hound lounging on his belly beside him and the handsome stallion in the stables knew about the misgivings he possessed regarding his even being king. He had failed Marúlf, how could he come through for anyone else? Even his people as king?
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