RP:The Sister-wives Meet

The Fallen Star Inn

It’s been a long day for the party of Plains Riders who’ve accompanied Raidh on her journey to the Stone Barn – she frowns at the men when they mock the city of Venturil with that name, these days – all are weary, but elated that their demonstrations for the king went so well. The tavern reeks of sweat, human and equine both, and there’s a loud discourse going on between the Plains Riders and a band of locals, apparently concerning the question of whether barley grog or fermented mare’s milk is the more potent drink. Many tankards and skins of both liquids are being passed around, scoffing is aplenty, challenges are being made and met as to who will drink more before keeling over like a tiny girl child and who will stay upright like a man. Ironically, the only girl present is one of the last ‘men’ standing, though her blue eyes are somewhat glazed and she’s laughing more loudly than she usually would. Someone’s playing a set of herdsmen’s pipes by the fire, and another man beats a skin drum. All in all, it’s loud, it’s noisy, smelly and Raidh is sitting on a table, re-braiding her long, wheat-coloured hair, while telling a man with half of arm missing that their grandmother can belch louder than that – and her grandmother’s dead!

Jerica entered the tavern much to the disgruntlement of the four guards with her. They'd been with her for a long time now so this turn of events wasn't entirely too surprising. Although the closest of them leaned down, way down because Jerica was short, to whisper in her ear while she looked around with interest, "Lady, we shouldn't be here. I don't think the King would be overly pleased to know his future wife is frequenting taverns." Jerica just reached up and patted the scruffy cheek close to her own, "Don't worry. I'll handle Eboric if he gets upset about this." Breaking away from the large burly men, Jeri made her way to the bar where all she ordered was a glass of water. She had learned her lesson about consuming alcohol a long time ago; she'd ended up a few coins lighter.

One of the Riders they pass on the way in isn’t so soused that his ears aren’t working, and half a moment later there’s chuckles and mumbles passing ‘round the crowd, until the chain of amusement reaches Raidh’s brother, who is already eyeballing those guards like they might make good fodder for a brawl. Avaldi Half-Arm grins at the man who just now elbowed him, and in turn nudges his sister’s leg – she’s still sitting on the table to avoid her hair getting soaked in the sops of ale all over its surface, while she braids it. The girl leans down, Avaldi speaks a few words to her, and she is suddenly upright again and apparently a little bit more sober than she was a moment ago. Her boots hit the floor with a thud, and the men quiet their racket somewhat, while pretending not to pay attention to either woman, nor to those four guards whose companions-at-arms were mostly slouching over their drinks or stuffing greasy bits of meat in their mouths. All eyes furtively follow Raidh’s path to the bar, though, and Avaldi still wears his grin but his axe is close and he palms the handle just in case the four Kingsmen who’ve entered decide to throw their weight around. The girl herself, tall and rangy of figure, pale of hair and bronzed with the sun, attempts to get Jerica’s attention despite the wall of muscle and armour protecting her. “You, let me through,” she mutters at one guard, before glancing back to the Riders. Things could get really ugly in this booze-barn, really quick. She decides to take a less confronting approach than scuffling her way through, and simply hollers, “Jerica!” The king’s fiancee will find a woman in braided leather armours waving and smiling, while ducking the guards’ attempts to keep her at bay.

Jerica just received the glass of water when one of the guards, the one who had been speaking to her, gave her a nudge and nodded towards the Riders. "We have visitors, my Lady." Jerica nodded and while the guards and Riders were sizing each other up, she calmly sipped the water. "I know, Toby." She couldn't wrap her tongue around his actual name so she'd given him the nickname. It was about then she heard her name and turned to find the leather clad woman smiling and waiving. She blinked a few times before moving away from the bar and out from behind the other three guards. Really, they were a nuisance all by themselves but Eboric insisted. "Hello. Do I know you? I don't remember meeting..." her words trailed off and those brown eyes widened. "Ooh," she breathed, "You must be Raidh." Really, this wasn't exactly how she'd thought she'd be meeting the 'other woman'.

Raidh nods, maybe somewhat more emphatically than she might were she less full of kumis and ale, her half-plaited braids swinging. “Aye! I am Raidh Jorgunsdotr.” Now it's clear to Toby and company who this girl was, Raidh risks causing a minor spate of international warfare by shoving past Jerica’s appointed guards and catching the smaller woman up in a hug, if Jerica allows such a thing to happen. “Sister-wife!” she laughs, in any case, her breath sweet-sour with fermented horse milk. Clearly the young woman is delighted to meet Jerica. “Ale!” she calls, eyeing the glass of water. “Wine!” And more quietly (but not much) says to Jerica, “Or we soon will be. Sister-wives. Once you marry the King too. He said there has to be a ceremony of some.. Avaldi!” Raidh has interrupted herself, to call out to the man with the missing hand, who is edging closer to his sister, still eyeballing those Kingsmen. “Come meet our sister, come give her honors, my brother!” Raidh beams. Obviously, this meeting is not at all awkward for the girl.

Jerica was extremely--well-- surprised and felt like a rag-doll in that swept up hug. Her guards did back off though, quite aware that if she wanted to Jerica could take care of herself. "I don't-" she cut herself off catching a stern look and slight shake of the head from Toby. "I would love a glass of wine. Erm. Sister-wife." Jerica was obviously not the political one of the royal couple but she tried to smile for Raidh and Avaldi. And she tried to make it friendly. "It's nice to finally meet you. Hopefully the ceremony will be soon." She really did hope this and once the water was replaced with wine, Jerica sipped at that nervously.

Raidh’s brother is the less oblivious of the two siblings, astute and cautious even in his cups. The tall man (all of the Riddarnir share no paucity of height, but Avaldi towers over the women and guardsmen both) catches his sister by the arm before she can reply to Jerica, “You’ve had enough to drink,” he mutters, and ignores the girl’s resulting scowl. To the King’s fiancée, he dips his head slightly, a mark of deep honor indeed, for the Riddarnir bow to no-one. “Lady, forgive my sister, she’s dumb as a bag of wet straw.” He is handsome, despite his many scars, blond as summer-pale grasslands, his beard cut neatly, in a style that is traditional. “We will another time more formally welcome you to our family, but for now allow me to call you ‘sister’, as I, Avaldi Jarlsson, am to you now ‘brother’.” Which is more words than he’s spoken in hours and that said, he falls to silence with a warning glance of icy-blue toward Raidh.

The shield-maiden smacks her brother on the stumped arm and pretends he hasn’t said anything, “Well met to you too, Jerica,” She isn’t quite so exuberant in her enthusiasm now, though, thanks to Avaldi. “We do not have such ceremonies, among the Riddarnir. I’m not sure what to expect.” She glances about, “Is your boy with you? Eboric told me of him, and I am eager to meet him.”

Jerica took a deep breath when she could again and gave Avaldi a grateful smile, that turned pleasantly surprised at his manners. "There is nothing to forgive, really," she was quick to assure. If she noted the man's good looks it was only passing. She was quite happy with Eboric and, though he may not be pretty or handsome in a conventional sense, she found him really quite attractive. Another sip of wine. "I would be just as honored to call you brother." And then her attention was back on Raidh. Now that what passed for pleasantries were done with, she relaxed and easily held that glass of wine and drank from it only sparingly. "Aethelric is with Eboric's father and will be traveling with them to attend the ceremony." Reaching a hand out towards the rather tall woman, Jerica invited, "Lets have a seat and I'll tell you about a wedding ceremony, or at least, what I know of them." Having a sister of any kind again should have been exciting but all Jerica could think about was Danika and how she'd already failed one sister.

Eboric wouldn’t be aware of it – yet. But the tale of the King who married and didn’t know it would be fireside fodder for many a jest in years to come. “How does the King of Venturil know when he’s married?” goes the current favourite, to which the response is, “When she throws his coin back at him!” This is the source of a great burst of hearty mirth among the patrons in general while Avaldi retreats, leaving Jerica and Raidh to their women’s business.

Raidh is chattering away, clearly excited, for she has never had a sister who lived past a few days “Yes, we’ll sit, and..” she snags a skin of kumis while Avaldi isn’t looking, and follows Jerica, “.. to be honest, I am glad for any advice, for I wouldn’t wish to make a fool of myself, or worse, cause offense to your traditions. One of the Kingsmen told me I have to wear a great white gown of many layers and ruffles, like snow on a fir tree,” she looks horrified at the prospect, “No breeches under it. How do you ride, in a thing like that?” The plainswoman slides to a seat, “Avaldi says we must bend like the grass and learn new ways, but it’s all so strange, so many things I don’t know or understand.” She finally shuts up and looks to Jerica expectantly.

Jerica finds a table, her men giving the women room as well but keeping their charge within eyesight and earshot. Keeping quiet had always worked well for Jerica to learn about people and what she learned about Raidh was, well, interesting. The woman could talk. A lot. With her glass of wine barely touched, Jerica tilted her head at Raidh and stared a moment before realizing she was expected to carry conversation as well. "Oh! Uhm. You don't have to wear a gown if you don't want to I suppose. I'm getting something simple, myself. I don't wear dresses too often either." Jerica sipped the wine more for the interruption it provided than because she was thirsty. "I don't ride in dresses simply because it's awkward so I wear breeches whenever I can" At least they agreed on that. "What sort of marriage traditions do you have, Raidh?" There was genuine curiosity in the question she asked and it was her turn to wait expectantly for an answer. She was really hoping for the information she suspected hadn't been told her by her beloved King.. bloody bear that he was.

Raidh’s relief at the news she did not have to wear a gown is palpable. “We don’t,” she says, wiping kumis from her lips with the back of her hand. “Not like it is here, with a great feast and everybody in silks and finery. A man simply goes to a woman’s family, or she to his, and offers them trade or service. Of course, everyone knows why they’re there, but no-one talks about marriage. When the trade is struck, the desired one is part of the deal, and that’s all. The haggling can go on for days, though, over horses and iron, and many people come to offer opinions on whether there’s enough iron, or the bloodlines of the horses and so on. There’s always lots of food and drink when the families strike a bargain.” She shifts topic now, Raidh being likewise curious about Jerica. “So you ride? Many of our people believe the fine ladies of the Stone.. the, er.. City of Venturil, go everywhere in carriages made of ivory and silver so their feet may never touch dirt. What bloodline is your horse?”

Jerica listened raptly and remembered Eboric mentioning trade with the plains people. He had also mentioned not knowing that Raidh was part of the deal. Not until later. "Oh, I don't have a horse of my own. I walk, mostly, but I don't think I've ever cared for any horse's lineage that I've ridden. I used to ride and perform on horses. I wasn't nearly as good as some of the others, but I was learning." Jerica should probably explain, "I grew up in a circus, a traveling carnival kind of thing and we did tricks and performed magic for people who paid to see them."

Raidh’s mouth hangs open a little bit by the time Jerica is finished speaking, first in disbelief that the woman did not know the lineage of her horses, then at her description of her own ancestry. “Tricks?” she’s a little breathy, at this news. “On horses?” Her smile is wide, her blue eyes shining, “We must ride together, very soon! For I would see your tricks!” She reaches out a hand to clasp Jerica’s, weathered and callused, bronzed with the sun. “Truer sisters than I imagined, than I hoped for!” A thought occurs to her then, and her momentary joy fades a little, her hand retracting to reach for the kumis-skin. More quietly, she speaks her mind: “My father did not know that Venturil’s Kings had forgotten our dealings of old,” she pauses for a loud roar from the men gathered at Avaldi’s table, somebody’s won a bet or something, “Eboric did not know what my father offered,” she continues when they quiet again. “The greatest among us, men and women both, often marry several times. But I understand this is not the custom here.” there’s pink rising in her cheeks now, “I have no wish to.. That is to say, technically I am First Wife. But you have the King’s son. It’s all very…” she is clearly floundering now, “complicated.”

Jerica stammered what might have been a refusal to the invitation to ride and possibly perform some of those tricks but Raidh was talking over her and anything Jerica might have said was lost to the ringing in her ears. Her hand wasn't as soft as some ladies and Raidh might encounter calluses to match her own. "I haven't ridden like that in years. I doubt I would remember how." But she did remember and probably could do them without much practice and just a well trained horse or pair. Then, her -for lack of a better term- sister-wife was withdrawing and Jerica took a final sip of her wine. Maybe, she thought after Raidh started talking again only quieter, she should have ordered something stronger. "Eboric has only taken the throne from another not too long ago, Raidh. He couldn't have known of the customs. The old kings are long dead." Although her fiancée happened to share his body with one of those old kings; perhaps it was just something that was forgotten to be mentioned. A slow smile touched her lips seeing the embarrassment on Raidh's so clearly coloring her cheeks. "In many places I'm already married to him because I have had his son. Life is complicated and we don't want to offend you or your people and their customs. That is why I agreed to this arrangement, Raidh. I won't lie and say it made me happy but, meeting you now, I think we can get along and become friends. We will share a husband and a household but I am his first wife, Raidh. We haven't followed my people's customs or his but we were engaged long before he met you.. Betrothed, you might say, which is only a step below married. Or handfasted, which would be as binding as marriage. We will work this out and figure out how we fit, okay?" Jerica was not going to be shuffled to second place, the stubborn tilt of her jaw stated as much. At 4'9" she might not appear intimidating to most.

Raidh holds her tongue through Jerica’s speech and for a little time after. This woman sitting opposite her is no powdered debutante who’d never lifted a finger, she’s – well, she isn’t too unlike the women from back home, and the shieldmaiden suspects those hardened hands of Jerica’s might just wield a sword pretty adeptly, too. Raidh is smiling now, the red fluster fading from her cheeks. “Among the Riddarnir, the duties of First Wife are many. She who marries a Jarl first has more than any other, for it she who bears iron and rides to war at the Jarl’s command. She must learn the arts of battle, strategies, all the ancient ways and prayers of war.” Raidh is still speaking quietly, though here she pauses to summon a giggling serving-girl away from her brother’s men. “A platter of samplings of your finest fare, and the best wine in the house,” she tells the wench. To Jerica, then, she offers a weak grin, “Negotiations go better on bellies full of good food and drink. My point, sister, is that Second Wife is the one who bears the children and is,” she thinks about it a little, “You could say, she is the queen of the home. If it please you, I have no desire to be a queen of strangers. I am born for war, I shall live as a warrior of my faith and people, and very likely die in war. And unless you meet your gods before I meet mine, the affairs of the castle are yours, primarily. As is the bed of the King. The rigors of training make a body too hard a bed for a baby to grow in.” There’s that flush of pink again. “If I bear a child to him, it will be raised with you, for how can a woman mother a child with axe and shield in her two hands? This is our way, the old way of the Plains. Perhaps it’s not so difficult for us find a fit in its structure, after all?”

Jerica 's weapons of choice weren't so grand as a sword, but they had come from hard work. She had chosen her art of death to be made from a distance. However, Raidh's explanation of what the order of wives meant to her people, the order of food and more wine was hardly noted, made the tiny assassin lean forward to try and catch every word and nuance of expression. It was how Truth was sought. "So, in your mind I'm already the second because of Aethelric?" She shook her head, "Don't misunderstand me, Raidh. I bore his child and I love them both with all my heart and soul, but I do have a job. I may not ride into battle but I take care of our enemies in my own way." The food and wine came, Jerica's glass was refilled and she drank deeper this time. She needed the fortification of the alcohol. Toby kept a close eye on his future queen. He'd not seen her drink more than one glass in the entire time he'd known her. "This is going to take a lot of work, Raidh. While I respect your heritage and people, we are seriously going to need to lay down some ground rules and work from there. But, not after I've been drinking." She took something off the platter that dripped with grease and smelled absolutely divine and popped into her mouth. Chewing, her words were a little thicker until she swallowed the food, "For now, lets work on the being friends thing, okay?"

Raid tears a bit of meat off a roasted leg of something (actually a small dinosaur, but let’s not tell her she’s eating roasted Nidhoggr, okay?) and nods as she eats it. “I agree. But I must make this clear, for you seem to have misunderstood me. Second Wife is no fat baby-maker, she has the rule of the yurt and the people of the camp. And a city.. well, it’s just a big stone yurt, is it not?” She seeks Jerica’s eyes, hoping the woman finds humor in the image. “She is the fierce mother of the den, the one closest to the Jarl and therefore best equipped to feed his enemies iron at close quarter. Avaldi’s mother is Second Wife,” she gestures with the bone of the dinosaur-leg to her brother. “Who raised me, when my mother died. My mother was First Wife, and carried my four older sisters into battle in her belly.” Blue-sky eyes avert to the table-top. “All died in battle, as did she. I was torn from her body as she went to meet the gods. This.. “ she looks up again, “.. is not a life I think would suit you. Not because you are soft like that serving-girl, there, but because you love your King, truly love him, and you are already the heart of his home and always will be.” She shuts up for a moment, now, long enough to stare at what she’s eating, and lay the bone down slowly. “Anyway. You have to ride with me. Or the gift I had Avaldi bring you from the Plains will be useless, and that would be a terrible insult.” She’s nodding emphatically now. “Unforgivable. It might cause a war. So ride with me, you must.” It’ll be hard to tell whether she’s joking.

Jerica found she couldn't argue with Raidh. Truthfully, she liked the woman for all her brash and strange ways. Jerica smiled at the images brought to mind and even laughed a little. She turned sad when the plains woman spoke of her own mother but only because of thoughts of her own. "I'm sorry you lost your mother," she meant it and reached out to offer a squeeze of her hand. "You're right. That is not a life that would suit me at all." Neither would staying at home all the time but she wouldn't mention that. However, it was true that Jerica would be first in line to protect Eboric if he found himself threatened. That is if he didn't take of the threat himself or his soldiers. She smiled again when talk turned lighter and back to riding. "Alright. I'll ride with you. I wouldn't want to cause a war this soon."

Raidh’s callused hand squeezes back, though she holds little sadness for her mother’s demise for the woman died in battle and so sits in Great Hall rather than haunting Draugheim, and this is a fortunate thing. She appreciates Jerica’s sentiment, however, which she makes plain enough with her smile, which brightens considerably when Jerica agrees to ride. “Ah, it is truly for the best. Now, I offer you another choice, sister – stay here and drink the rest of this wine with me, and watch the men become more foolish than they are, or come for a walk to see your gift. It’s not far, and not going anywhere, and this wine,” which she gulps a mouthful of, to make her point, “Is almost as good as my father’s kumis. So either-or.”

Jerica looked around. The tavern wasn't a bad sort of place. It was clean and warm, had good food and good wine which she could attest to from the second glass she was having. That's what she told herself. But it wasn't the outdoors. "Alright. Lets go see this gift. I could use some air." The second glass was getting to her and she could feel her head swimming. Jerica started to get up and Toby glared at her when she shook her head at him. He walked over and whispered quietly in her ear, "Are you sure you should be going out alone with..." he nodded towards Raidh. Jerica whispered back, "Yes I am sure, Toby and if you follow me I'll put something in your drink that will make you feel like bugs are crawling all over your skin for a week." She could do it, too. Toby paled and backed away with a nod. Eboric would have his balls if anything happened to her but Jerica's potions were feared just as much. He had seen what they could do. "Lets go, shall we?" she chirped to Raidh.

The guard’s trepidation does not escape Raidh’s notice, and it is yet another reason for her to smile as she gathers her helm and weapons from the pile by Avaldi’s table. She spends a few moments speaking quietly to her brother, whose paler blue gaze settles on Jerica for a moment.

Avaldi nods, and pulls on one of his sister’s braids. “If not, I’m sure Leikna will knock all the bragging from her.”

Raidh frowns at him, and strides off to gather Jerica for the short walk to the stables. It’s a pleasant evening out, if a little chill, and Raidh gulps the fresh air as if it was better than that fine wine. “Men smell,” she observes. “Especially those ones.”

Jerica followed Raidh outside and breathed almost as deeply. The lingering chill of winter helped clear her head some. "Did he imply I was bragging about something?" she asked with a small laugh in her voice. "Sometimes they do smell. Sometimes, it's not a bad smell." Jerica grinned and shook her head. The wine had certainly loosened her tongue some and not even after a full two glasses. She took another breath. "The stables, right?" Jerica started walking in what she hoped was the right direction.

Raidh snorts, “My brother is very drunk,” she states, plainly. “It isn’t often the Riders make merry, but when they do..” she shakes her head and laughs again, leaving the rest to Jerica’s imagination. “He said he doubted a fine lady from the Stone Barn could handle a… our gift. I believe he was just jesting, though.” Her features betray a modicum of doubt about that, however. “And yes, the stables. Good guess.” An elbow finds Jerica, for a gentle nudge in the shoulder, an easy thing to achieve considering their difference in height. “I think not much gets past you, Lady. And tell me, what made the king’s man turn the color of old whey, back there?”

Jerica had the grace to blush when called out on her guess. She didn't address it yet though. "I can only imagine what your people are like when they really relax," she returns dryly. Jerica chuckled a moment later, "He would probably be right if I was a native here. I guess I'll need to prove him wrong, hm?" The nudge drew her warm brown gaze upwards and she felt she had to explain, "You said you had brought me a gift. Given that your people are known for their horses I just assumed. I'm sorry if I overstepped some bounds. I would really like to see what you brought." Now she was excited. A horse of her own would make traveling so much easier when she had to. The question about Toby's change in color made the assassin laugh out loud. The kind of laugh that had a person throwing back their head and putting one hand on their stomach as she did. "Oh, that. I told him that if he followed us I would put something in his drink to make him feel like bugs were crawling on his skin for a week."

The shieldmaiden shakes her head, “No offense taken, sister. But could you really? Do such a thing to that man?” Her gaze widens with the question. “There’s women among the Riddarnir with skills like that, they are respected highly,” she laughs, too, “Is the way we say it, to save face. Really, they are terrifying. My Amma, grandmother, knew how to cook potions like that, among other things. She was our greatest shaman.” There’s a clop of hooves behind them, steady and sure, though Raidh doesn’t turn around to see what’s making the sound. If Jerica looks, she’ll find a sturdy-limbed mare, deep chocolate brown in color, following the women. Raidh continues, “She did not die in battle, but of old age, in her bed. It is a poor sort of death, but for anyone of her kind. The shamans of our people do not haunt the realm of ghosts when they die, but are reborn as a fine horse. We say my Amma is riding the mare, rather than saying she is gone from life. Our ways must seem strange to you, sister. I’d like to know more about yours.. they are wanderers, you said? Not native to the West?”

Jerica nodded solemnly, "Yes, I could." There were many things she could do with the right combination of herbs. "He has seen what some of my concoctions can do and doesn't want to experience them himself." Recently she had offered the aide of her knowledge to a friend who had turned it down. Jerica still worried for him. Glancing back, Jerica saw the horse and her eyes widened. It was a beautiful horse to be sure but she cleared her throat. "Does your Amma follow you?" Jerica hadn't noticed the mare before. After Raidh answers the question, Jerica answers hers, "My people are performers. They travel around and set up huge tents inside which they have many acts. Acrobats, flyers, horses and other trained animals. I guess you could say we, I mean they, are wanderers. I haven't seen any of them in about ten years.

Raidh said, “Do you miss them? I admit, I am missing my own home, but fortunately it is only a few days’ hard ride from here. I would like very much if you come with me, soon, to meet my people as a sister of our nation. As for Amma.. “ she glances behind, “haha, yes. That’s Nidrun, daughter of Villingur, sister of Glaesir the Black, whom my father has gifted to the King. My Amma rides her, so she was given to me.” The girl sighs lightly, “Once I am adept at the art of war, I will follow Amma’s path into the realms of the shamans. It’s a heavy geis to bear, but I am proud to do so.” She pauses in her striding, to allow Nidrun to catch up, and strokes the mare’s glossy neck. “Nidrun’s bloodline began a thousand years ago, in the days when the greatest of dragons still flew the skies above the plains. She is a worthy mount for my grandmother.” As she sets off again, Raidh waves to the guardsmen at their post, the sentinels who watch the gates the Wildlands, where the dinosaurs ( or Nidhoggr, as Raidh calls them) roam. They are all familiar with Raidh by now, and Jerica’s presence sets them whispering for of course they recognise her, too. Raidh assures Jerica, “Almost there. I dislike that the stables are so close to the Nidhoggr, it makes the horses nervous.”

Jerica replied, "I do but not as much as I used to." She had decided that if they ever missed her enough to lift the banishment; she probably wouldn't go back anyway. "I'd be honored to meet your people, Raidh." Jerica paused long enough to listen to the mare's lineage and marvel at how many generations had gone into breeding her, and apparently the horse given to Eboric as well. "We all have our burdens," she observed with a low murmur. Passing the guardsmen, Jerica nods a greeting to them, on the watch for those reptilian hunters that also worried Raidh. "Perhaps we can find a safer place for them?"

Venturil Stables

Raid is truly starting to like Jerica. “I think that is an excellent idea,” she smiles, as they traverse the rough road leading to the stable-yards. “Though Eboric says it will become safer here, soon, still the stink is upsetting the horses.. And I am pleased you would some to the plains! The Jarl has made it clear that he wishes to meet with Eboric in person, so it be wonderful if we could all go together.” Raidh chitchats about various things Jerica might enjoy there, giving not too much away so there’ll be surprises for her new sister, too. “… and the goldsmiths all try to outdo each other, men have died over someone mocking a single, misshapen link.” And they reached the stables, Raidh knocking thrice on the main barn door to let the men and horses inside know somebody was entering. Nidrun nuzzles Jerica in the small of her back, warm breath exhaling through wide nostrils, then the mare gives her a powerful, playful nudge. The barn door opens, and a rumpled-looking Frethwi stands before them. He’s about to bawl a few choice phrases at whoever’s roused him from his dozing, but his mouths shuts before he can make such an error once he realises who’s woken him. His gaze flicks back and forth between the two women, then he simply bows deeply and pushes the door wide. Raidh gives him a hard look as she passes into the barn, which smells quite a lot better than last she was here. Two long rows of stalls greet the women, and sleepy horses can be heard shifting their weight from foot to foot, or snorting at the disturbance. At the far end of the stable, a man who is clearly a Plains Rider is leaning the door of a tack-room, though he stands up straight when he sees who’s entered. “Hvitr,” Raidh calls, “Bring Leikna.” The man nods and moves to do her bidding, vanishing into a stall. “Come,” Raidh beckons Jerica down the path between the stalls, where velvety noses now peek over stall rails. She stops to pet a few, as they go. “Larketian, these. Tall, and strong but short of wind, and not as brave and intelligent as Plainsbreds.”

Jerica listened and though she might say little, she would remember everything she learned about the Plains people and their customs. She smiled hearing how competitive their economy could be and just shook her head. Nidrun's warm breath on the back of her neck made Jerica turn around and look at the horse with curiosity before she stumbled forward towards the barn just as Raidh knocked. Not quite sure what to say to the rumpled and grumpy looking man who opened the door, Jerica only gives him a smile and nod in passing. Jerica paused when Raidh did to stroke the fine noses of horses as their heads appeared. She looked past to the lines of back and legs, making almost the same conclusions. Their chests weren't deep enough and the muscles of their legs weren't as strong looking as some. "No, but they do look nice with a prettily dressed Lady on their backs." Looking down the stall lined isle, Jerica waited to see what Leikna looked like. She may not have shown it, but truthfully, she was excited.

Raidh looks aside to Jerica, “I hope you make my brother eat his words…” Hvitr appears, his hand resting on the neck of the horse which, without halter nor rope, allowed herself to be guided out of the stall. She is white as the light of stars, not a single dark hair marring the purity of her. Typical of her ancient breed, she is deep-chested, thick of neck and round of rump, but not too heavy for speed. Her long mane and tail are spotless, plaited and let loose so they ripple with gentle waves, and her eyes are as cold and clear a blue as those of Raidh’s half-armed brother. On her face she wears filigree armour – a face-plate of purest mithril, incredibly intricate in design. “Leikna” Raidh breathes, while Nidrun whickers a greeting to the mare.

Hvitr strokes Leikna’s neck, calming her. The white mare is clearly eager to be free of the stables, and is restless.

Raidh gestures to the man to leave the mare, and nudges Jerica forward. “Her blood is that of ten thousand warriors. Let’s hope she likes you.”

Jerica stared at the beautiful mare coming down the isle towards her. She couldn't stop staring. Perfect in every way, the mare moved with grace and restrained power. "Oh. My," she murmured and didn't need to be encouraged to step towards her gift. Jeri hoped the horse liked her as well. Those eyes held so much intelligence that the assassin didn't for a moment believe she wasn't being sized up as well. One hand held out, palm up for Leikna to smell and lip at as she would, Jerica waited for the horse to give a sign it would be okay to run a hand down the elegant curve of an equine neck. "Raidh, she is just beautiful." Brown eyes danced over the horse's lines and she could see the power and endurance stored in those muscles. The rounder, deeper chest was designed for long runs, drawing in the oxygen needed to fuel the twitching muscles she could see. To the mare, "Leikna. I bet you'd love to go for a run now wouldn't you?"

Raidh’s own mare is swishing her tail, one lash of which catches Raidh in the face, “Nidrun…” the girl laughs, though, sensing the pent-up energy in the stable, exuding from the horses never bred for being enclosed in walls of wood nor stone. Leikna is pacing lightly in place now, a white fist of power keen to be let loose on the world beyond the barn. “Sister,” says Raidh, grasping a handful of Nidrun’s mane and vaulting to her back. “I think Leikna would be glad of a chance to stretch her legs. Will you ride with us?” Hvitr is beaming, for his family had a hand in breeding Leikna’s lineage and has been chafing to know whether the mare’s new rider was worthy. The way he throws the barn doors wide now suggests that he approves. No-one offers Jerica a bridle or saddle. The barn is filled with excited whinnies and grunts, the Larketian horses all awake now and caught up in the coiled tension of the Riddarnir horses. Raidh grins, and without another word Nidrun uncoils into a gallop through the barn, and out onto the road, heading north.

Back on Main Street

Jerica glanced back at Raidh and since Leikna hadn't outright bitten her fingers off, decided to chance it. She didn't need bridle or saddle to swing up on the white's back as her sister had. A fisful of silky white mane and she swung easily to Leikna's back. Her knees were used for stability and only a touch of her heel to the mare's flanks set the horse bolting for the door. Leaning down unnecessarily to avoid hitting her head on the beam over the barn doors, Jerica grinned like an idiot as they burst through. She ignored the other horses' sounds of excitement and their own need to be out in the open. It was her, Leikna, Raidh and Nidrun. She would be ready if her own mount decided to try anything that would throw her rider.

Raidh’s weight is forward on her mount, not one bit constraining Nidrun’s northward flight up the path to the city’s edge. The shieldmaiden does not glance back until the hammering of Nidrun’s hooves is joined by the fainter beat of Leikna’s. Laughing, Raidh waits for the younger mare to catch her own before casting a challenging glance to Jerica – and making a smooth transition from seated to standing, her weapons and shield of course balanced weights on her back. Raidh looses her axe from its strap and in the same motion ‘beheads’ a signpost as they gallop by, the wood of it exploding into splinters. Let the city wake, let Eboric scold her, but she cannot hold back the ululating cry of the Plains-warrior, axe held high in the sign for victory – she killed that signpost, dead! She slips down to regain her seat now, as Nidrun courses along the road by the palace gates. Oh, won’t tongues wag over this spectacle!

Jerica whooped with laughter seeing the decapitated sign in passing. She had watched Raidh's switch from sitting to standing and her own muscles tensed for the same transition. However, she spoke to Leikna first, "We can do better than that, can't we?" Leikna didn't so much as break stride as she tossed her head in what could have been an affirmative. Jerica eased the pressure of her knees and got first to a kneeling position in the cradle of her mount's back. Slowly her hold loosened in the whipping mane they had been wrapped in. From there she found her center of balance and pulled what looked like a stick from her hair and released the chocolate brown mass to fly behind her. Letting her legs act as shock obsorbers, Jerica opened both ends of the hollowed tube and from the longer end drew out a thin dart. She chose her dart carefully as the non-treated ends were colored based on what toxins she had applied to each, or none. The one she chose was clean of potions. Drawing in a breath and putting the blow-gun to her lips, Jerica stood. First setting one foot then the other. She didn't even use Leikna's mane to keep her place relying instead on her own balance and the horse's sure footedness. Jerica chose her target, drew a breath in through her nose, and blew into the branches of a tree. The bird that fell she would collect later to give away to some poorer family who could use it. Nothing she killed was without reason and that would not be an exception. Unless some wild animal found it first. She didn't let out the same triumphant call as Raidh but she did drop easily back to her seated position and leaned forward to run a vigorous pat along the white's neck.

As the mares and their riders pass the white walls of the city, astonished guards peer down from their posts, some laughing and cheering the women on, some shaking their heads. By the time Jerica rises on Leikna’s back, Raidh has swivelled about and is sitting backward on her mare. She gives loud –woohoo!~ (which is not a traditional cry of her people, merely youthful exuberance) and her legs scissor around as she pivots to the face forward again. The axe is returned to its strap, and Raidh urges Nidrun to diverge from the road, full-steam toward a marketer’s cart, on which the potato-seller himself is sleeping while he waits for dawn and the opening of the city gates. Tipping forward, grasping mane, Raidh sails her mount over the cart, a good ten inches to spare. It once would have been more than a foot, but Nidrun is middle-aged now, and hasn’t the same spring in her hindquarters as she used to have. The mare lands neatly on the other side, barely breaking stride through the whole jump, and they’re racing again, toward the tavern. The potato-seller snorts, wakes, and the guards above are doubled up in mirth.

Jerica was having entirely too much fun. She hadn't had this much fun since the snowball fight with Eboric in Frostmaw. She and Leikna followed Raidh and Nidrun over the potato cart. The future queen looked down at the startled merchant and gave him a salute much the further mirth of the guards. Gods, she loved this horse with her speed and elegance. The strike of hooves on cobbles was music to Jerica's ears. Eboric would have a fit when he heard of this, she was sure of it but it didn't stop her from grinning ear to ear and leaning down to hug the racing horse's neck.

Raidh makes it clear they’re in racing mode now, as they course the last stretch between castle and tavern. Nidrun might be older, but she holds her own when it comes to endurance and speed, and Leikna will find it hard to surpass her. The women and their mares are a clattering rush of colour and air as they streak past a startled Tobar on his way back from a night of drinking and song, and Raidh knocks the trader’s hat off as they pass. But her mirth will shortly fade – for there, en masse before the tavern stands Avaldi and all the Riders with him, armed to the teeth and some already mounting their horses. And there'sToby too, with the other King’s-men in tow, all of them bristling for action. It seems Raidh’s war-whoop was perhaps a bit louder than she intended, and someone’s given a tavern-full of liquored-up fighters word that there’s trouble afoot. Raidh puts her weight down in her seat, enough to slow Nidrun to a steady trot, the aged mare high-stepping with the excitement of the ride, and Raidh’s face is scarlet under the light mithril-and-mail of her helm. Uh-oh, is written all over it.

Uh-Oh

Jerica bore down on Leikna's neck, urging her forward and faster until her hooves slid over the cobble stones and she came to a sliding halt that flung Jerica against the horse's neck. The sound of armor drew her head up to peer between the white's ears with confusion. "What's going on? Has someone attacked us?" Apparently, she wasn't aware that Raidh's war cry had stirred the men. Her joy was tempered by the glare from Toby but all eyes soon turned to Raidh, even Jerica's.

Raidh has slid off her horse by the time all eyes turn her way, and her arms are folded defiantly. She can’t meet Avaldi’s glare, though, icy-blue as Leikna’s but cold with it, now, as he stares down his half-sibling in absolute silence.

Avaldi spares a quick glance to the road they’d galloped, just to make sure there wasn’t something on their heels, before he steps forward and in one lithe motion slaps Raidh upside the head. His gloved fist makes a loud ‘clang’ on her helmet, and it’s only then he finds room for words in the knot of ire he’s feeling, “Idiot.” The tall man shoves Raidh aside and stalks over to Jerica, ignoring Toby and the rest – let them get in the way of an angry Riddarnir chieftain and see what happens. “And you. Down, off that mare.” Like Jerica’s three years old and caught stealing. That intense gaze of his, the bunching of his one good hand that had just now slapped the Jarl’s daughter, might suggest this is not the time to argue with Avaldi Half-Arm.

Jerica watched all this in silence, as did her quartet of men who had pledged to guard her. She blinked in shock when Avaldi smacked Raidh and she would have jumped off Leikna in the other woman's defense if the clink of armor hadn't brought her attention round again to the tall man. Leikna knickered nervously and stomped a foot, scraping her hoof on the ground in reaction to the anger around her. Jerica on the other hand raised a stuborn chin and gave Avaldi a look that Toby knew well down the line of her nose. "No. Leikna is a gift to me from my sister and I am not getting off until - I - am ready and not before." Her tone was imperious, daring the man at least three times her size to nay-say her. "Would you insult me now by taking her back? The finest horse in my stable? I think not." Jerica eased the pressure of her knees and using her legs and body, backed the mare up. "I am sorry that we scared you all into thinking something had happened to us. We were merely racing and as you can see, Raidh won this time."

Avaldi looks aside to Toby, some sort of silent man-thing passing between the two, and then his grim glare is cast back upon Jerica. "Down. Before I knock you down."

Raidh's eyes are watering, but not with dismay (that slap hurt!) as she steps quickly toward an impending fight. "Jerica, best do as he says," she mutters, knowing full well that hell itself rode the heels of Avaldi's rare rages. "So we can sort it.. oof!" And thanks to her brother, Raidh's now two feet from where she was standing a moment ago.

Jerica glanced down at Raidh then towards Toby who was quietly inching closer. Jumping down nimbly from Leikna's back, the woman who topped out at 4'9" stood between Avaldi and the horse. "I'm down, but you are not taking her. Further more, you will remember you are in my city, on my lands, with a sister getting married to my husband. Also keep in mind that while I respect your customs and way of life, I expect the same sort of respect to me and mine within our walls. Make no mistake, Avaldi, I am Queen here and fully intend to exercise that power when and where I see fit." The white lowered her head and nudged Jerica's back much like Nidrun had done earlier. A gentle push not meant to move the small woman.

Raidh winces through Jerica’s scolding of the Jarl’s son, and through which Avaldi remains stonily silent, clearly unmoved. And in the same silence, he stalks past Venturil’s Queen as if she was a stablehand, vaulting onto Leikna’s back. “My idiot sister,” comes his deep voice, as the mare wheels onto the wider portion of the road, “Has handed you far more than some pretty palfrey to trot up and down the King’s courtyards. This mare is a killer, a weapon of war, that you do not yet know how to wield.” He doesn’t appear to move at all, but from a stock-stand Leikna springs into a perfect capriole, hind hooves lashing out perhaps a bit too close to the nearest Venturili guard for comfort. The mare, trained for this from the moment she first stood on the earth, obediently complies with Avaldi’s subtle commands, and Jerica will witness half-passes, a fine example of the levade as the man stabs his spear at an imaginary infantry-man. Then the mezair, and Leikna’s fore-hooves lash deadly strikes against that same invisible enemy. Finally, smooth half-passe brings the white horse back to her new rider, and Avaldi’s boots grit the road. His eyes are not so terribly cold now, but he remains stern. “Until you know what your horse knows, your life is at risk merely by being on her back. I will train you, personally, and as soon as possible, so your husband is not shortly a widower and my sister not bereft of her newest excuse to be stupid.” He clicks his tongue, and Leikna return to Jerica, her snowy hide damp with exertion.

Jerica was both miffed and impressed by the showmanship and skills of rider and horse. In fact, she was slightly embarrassed and glanced over at Raidh with rosey color in her cheeks before settling her attention again on Avaldi when he returned. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to 'train' me at all, Avaldi. I'd rather Raidh did so, this way I know I might actually live through it." Leikna received a pat to her whithers on return despite the steam rising from her back. "Now I have to rub Leikna down, if you'll excuse me." Confident the mare would follow where she lead without need of a lead rope or bridle, Jerica didn't even mind when her guard fell in step with her. Pausing only to glance back with a smile at Raidh, Jerica called to the plainswoman, "Thank you for the gift. I am honored and humbled by such priceless beauty." Truth was, if Raidh followed along, Jerica wouldn't at all be upset.

All this while, Raidh has said nothing, and at the moment is going nowhere. oOne of her palms is pressed firmly across the upper portion of her face. Here we go, she is thinking…

The reason for Raidh's facepalm becomes manifest when Avaldi speaks the ancient word which brings Leikna, and all other Riddarnir horses present, to a sudden standstill from which they all lie down as if he’s killed them all with a word. They are, however breathing, but lying very still. Leikna’s breath comes a little harder than the rest. Raidh peeks through her fingers as her brother strolls up to Jerica, his boots scuffing dust up from the road, and leans toward her casually. His words rumble low, so that Raidh has trouble hearing half of them. “Little sister,” he begins, “Before you go, let me tilt your noble ear for a moment, so I may tell you three things.” He smells of ale and stale sweat, and boar meat, “First.” He makes a fist with his one hand, before the forefinger pops out of it. “You do not yet own this horse. Right now, she has graciously consented to own you. Without proper training, that may change. I am Master of Horses, in my father’s absence. I teach the warrior’s ride. Second.” And his middle finger emerges, to join the first. “My sister is also the Queen of Venturil, but even so it is my duty as Eldest Brother to slap her silly when she is unwise to the point of bringing war to her nation, or death to herself. As you are now also my sister, do not think that your title is a shield, should I need to do the same thing for you. Though neither of you have earned the title yet, as I see it, for what great acts have either of you accomplished for your people? You are to me ‘little sister’ until you do, and even after. Third,” By now Raidh’s visibly cringing, “If you speak to me like a dog before my men again, your husband and I will be hauling axes at each other, for nothing less on land or sky will prevent me putting my boot up your ass.” He says this so only Jerica can hear, then turns aside to speak the word which will bring all the horses to their feet again.

Raidh joins them now, wearing a heavy scowl. “Come sister,” she says to Jerica, while eyeballing resentment at Avaldi. “Lets us walk our horses cool, and discuss the many woes of my not being an only child.”

Avaldi remembers, long after he has finished speaking, to raise his third finger. He then frowns at it.

Jerica didn't often lose her temper easily and until Raidh and, especially Toby who grabbed her by the arm to pull her away, distracted her, she had just opened her mouth to spew a few more ill-chosen words at the man. "What an arrogant--" one look from Toby and she snapped her jaw shut, audibly. But the horses were back on their feet and they were walking with Leikna blowing gusts of warm breath across the back of her neck. "I had a sister, once," Jerica mentions eventually. "She died because of my carelessness. I should have known better with these horses, the way their built, that they could be as deadly as a tiger. I'm sorry I got you into trouble Raidh."

Raidh slides a look behind them, at Avaldi, who is gathering the Riders for the journey back to the long-yurt. “It is a blessing your sister breathed long enough for you to know her, Jerica,” she says, softly. “For I knew none of mine. Just my brothers.” Her thumb jerks in the direction of the nearest one, “He is arrogant, I cannot argue with you there. But he has earned the right to be, for he is a champion of my people – and yours, as well now we’re allied.” She stops to swipe a hand over Nidrun’s flanks, where dust has adhered to sweat, thanks to the Half-Arm. “You didn’t get me in trouble. If I was in trouble, I would be hurting a lot more than I do.” The girl grins now. “He’s an asshole, but he guides me well. And when Death comes riding at me on his pale horse, it is the lessons Avaldi teaches which will guard me from his blade.”

Jerica shrugged at how 'blessed' she had been to have her sister. But Raidh's grin was infectious and as Jerica glanced over at her, she couldn't help the twitch of her lips either. "I'm going to regret every word I said aren't I?"

Toby snorted, "That's the least of your worries, lass."

Raidh is learning to like 'Toby', and his words, and Jerica's had laughter welling in her throat. "Did he threaten to kick you in the breeches?" she says, not so loud as her brother might hear her, and mimics his gruff tone, "Nothing on land or by sea, or which flies, or walks on two legs, or seven, or wears a silly hat, will stop me, if you do such-and-such.." she giggles at her own impression of the Half-Arm.

Jerica felt her lips twitch even more, "Mmm, something like that. He forgot the third finger though." Jerica couldn't even begin to stifle the giggles. They came out as snorts every time she tried. Toby just scowled on over his beard. "I don't think I've ever been so thoroughly scolded since I was a little child!"

Raidh sighs. "Get used to it. He's Master of Horses. Just be thankful it's him and not my father teaching you." The girl rolls her eyes, and laughs again. "Though he was right to scold us, Leikna really is dangerous in inexperienced hands. But Avaldi did not see her accept you more quickly than our horses ever do a stranger and nor did he see you ride, as I did. Perhaps you can make him eat his own boot, when it comes time for lessons." Raidh looks hopeful for a moment, then changes the topic, glancing to Toby. "I don't believe I have met your guard properly..." The horses clop steadily as they cool in the night air, blowing clouds of mist from their nostrils.

Jerica looked at Raidh from the corner of her eye as they walked. Leikna's warm breath feathered over the back of her neck. "I suppose I should be grateful for small favors." She thought a moment, "Is it usually hard for your horses to accept a rider? Maybe the rider is doing something wrong then." Glancing over her shoulder at the mare, Jerica had to smile at herself. "I was raised around animals and most of them were more wild than tame. I've never thought of any animal as a pet but more of a companion and friend." Jerica mused on this for a bit before she let the matter of the horse drop and the coming lessions with Avaldi. She was sure those wouldn't be at all pleasant. Glancing at her armored, and armed, guards the queen blinks as though she had completely forgotten about them. "This is Toby. Not his real name," Toby snorted and rolled his blue eyes, "but I can't wrap my tongue around it." The large man inclines his head towards Raidh, "You may also call me Toby. I seem to have gotten used to it."

Raidh smiles approval at Jerica’s opinion regarding animals, for it is not so different to her own. “The horses we breed and train for war are raised among us closely,” she explains, pressing a fond palm to Nidrun’s shoulder, “They know only Riddarim scent, our words, our ways. The children often sleep in the grass alongside the foals, and orphans may call a mare ‘mother’, such is the bond they make.” Realizing that she’s rambling, she makes her point, “It is unusual for Riddarnir horses of war to be at ease with strangers. It is a very good omen that Leikna took to you so easily,” She spares a moment now, to make a polite acknowledgement of Toby, before continuing, “We do not sell our war-horses, nor give them away. But the Jarl sent a few as part of my dowry, and as I intend to ask you to travel with Eboric back to my homeland, I thought it best that you have a suitable mount in case we meet with bull-men or whargs, or poachers.” Poachers, she doesn’t explain, is the general term for ‘men of Chartsend’, whom the Riddarnir attack on sight in the grasslands of the west. “Leikna is not yet fully blooded in war, but she is ripe with training, and knows what to do. She could save your life, and will die trying to, if she comes to respect you enough.” The horses are cool now, and Raidh draws to a halt, glancing north. “I think this is where we must part ways for the night, sister. Unless you wish to stay at the yurt with me, and commence training in the morning…” But then shakes her head, with a grin. “Perhaps not the best idea, Avaldi will be wharg-headed with ale and kumis when he wakes. So let us say goodnight. Leikna will not rest in that stable, perhaps she can stay in the courtyard of the palace where she can see the stars, as Nidrun does?”

Jerica listened intently to what Raidh had to say about the horses and it surprised her when she understood just how unusual it was for one of theirs to take so quickly to an outsider. In fact, she felt rather honored for it. Her lips quirked a little with a smile. "I wouldn't want her in the stable anyway. She can have free reign of the courtyard and unless someone bothers her," she paused to rest a hand on the white mare's neck, "I don't see a problem. Rest well, Raidh and I will see you tomorrow." And the day after and probably more often as she trained with Avaldi. After, Jerica turned towards the castle and her guard followed along, murmuring amongst themselves.