Words could not describe the sheer elation that the Norskmann felt when he rounded the hus from the side and found Lucky staring at the door. Guthorm had heard the hoofbeats' approach across the fields and so had the horse he was training to ride. Early morning always found him with the horses, working. He turned the wily colt out for some grass and out of curiousity the Norskmann came loping back up to see who it was for visiting.

And seeing his godt friend Lucien was the best gladness he could imagine. The visitor was a sight for joy in a stretch of fate that dictated too much heat in the day, too much work, and not nearly enough time for freedom. It was not often that the warrior's smile beamed this wide and free. He wiped the dust and sweat from his face and squinted into the morning sun.

"Ha det Stranger! You must be chased by demons for riding so fast!" And as Lucien turned, the Viking scanned the demonless heather and laughed. "And if not demons, what brings you to a Norskmann's door?"

He shook his head at the offering of the handkerchief...what was it for? he perplexed very briefly as he turned away from the glare and gladly. Lucien never once took notice of his eyes, but perhaps he understood more than he let on.

"A favour, hmm?" oh, that smile turned sly and his shifty gaze sparkled with mischief. He licked his lips and pushed the door to Hops Hus open.

"Kom on. Tell me this favour over a cool drikke, ja?"

He had reached for two bowls off the hearth, and had filled them with the simmering breakfast of fish soup as Lucien settled at the table. It was a certainty of his Norsk nature never to let a guest in the hus go without food and drikke. Unless of course, he meant to insult a man and challenge him even without words. The chair had barely grown cold from the day before when such an insult was given. But today was not such a day and Lucien was an honourable man and a friend. The Norskmann sett the bowls on the table and added a hearty spoon, fresh, soft bread and butter. For drikke, there was some of Keane's Viking Blonde ale.

Pale eyebrows rose as he sat and listened to his staersman's words. "Ceremony?" And all manner of thoughts raced in his mind. Lucky's smile made him first think of good things for ceremony...but he was ingrained to think too of the so many rumours often spread about Vikings and their ceremonies. Eating children, carving runes in the flesh of berserk warriors, saving the fingers of your enemies, pulling the lungs out of the slit backs of defeated men after battle and letting the organs flop on the ground with the man's last breath. All were false......well, almost all. He was conditioned to expect men to twist and revile anything of Norsk ceremony and tradition. But...he knew better than expect that of Lucien.

And so he let those thoughts pass like lightning in his wondering what Lucien was referring to. The smile he returned to the barrister-shipsman friend of his who had shared adventure and the call of the sea was easily given and full of curiosity.

"I have had many ceremonies for many godt reasons and times. But would you have me bother my stomach for guessing and guessing over breakfast?"

He laughed then and gestured for Lucien to eat. "Better you out with it now, over meat and ale, or keep it until after, and I will wrestle it out of you!" A fist and a flex of his arm, moving to illustrate a throwing down of the shipsman's body made that game clear! It was never too hot or too early to wrestle a friend.

He saw it play briefly across Lucien's face...that split second of answer to the challenge given in godt humour...maybe a game wrestling, eh, the Norskmann's spirit could just feel acceptance and yearning to Move just fighting to get out of the staersman. In fact, in that split second, he was ready to answer in Movement too, coiled to lunge and ready to laugh at the fun of it. But even as his muscles tensed and even as his friend raised a hand and said ja, ja and then...it caught him like running into a rock wall and every eager twitch of muscle and bone skidded intentions to a stop....

"Hva??!" Had he heard that right, beneath the rush of Movement's eagerness?

"Marry?!"

And then the full meaning of the rest of it came to him too. Him?? They wanted him to make the ceremony for marrying? By the gods....he could not keep the smile from splitting his face, no matter how hard he fought it.

"Marry?! Waugh!" The word usually struck fear in him....Dechirant always cornering him and questioning him incessantly, people always asking his friends when he would marry and why was he not and usually that word made him want to run so fast in the opposite direction but....

But....Lucien and Alysia! Ah, they were such a godt match and he knew Lucky's hjerte when it came to her, even if she was a little.....odd.....

"Waugh!"

But, in spite of his grin and the dawning of the meaning, it was his intention before the man could guess how honoured the Norskmann was and pleased, Guthorm turned himself sternfaced and narrowed his eyes and set himself to a little bit of man-to-man teasing.

"Ahhh Staersman, now that you have tasted the kiss of the salt spray and felt the caressings of the wild wind, are you so sure you want to tether yourself to a woman's skirts for the rest of your life?"

Guthorm watched the hands going up and down, up and down and in that movement, he felt the weight of the couple's love measured against the joys of freedom. He knew full well what Lucien felt for Alysia. The man had gone through torment thinking on her at sea, wrestling with his private struggles as the waves sprayed up over the prow. He had seen that struggle in the barrister-staersman's eyes. The Norskmann wondered how they could fall in love, being so different and her being....being...so Different.

He could not guess. And so, as time stretched out in the rising and falling of hands, he felt his own measure of love for Aethelstan, his woman, and he felt the weight of his own freedom...both trying to find a balance. Gods, he needed that Freedom! He thirsted for freedom of Movement, the freedom of meeting and following his fate, untethered, wild, strong, joyful, defiant to the day of his doom. This is what men were born to live for! The very thrill of danger was woven into every bone and muscle of him! It swelled the strong heart in his chest and compelled him to Move!

He tossed his head, bearlike, agitated, and Lucien's hands weighed up and down, up and down....

...Women so often got in the way. They were, by nature, confining. What woman would not try to talk her man out of keeping danger as his closest friend? What woman would not argue to keep her man at home and safe when he had the need to fight and conquer the Fates?

He knew the answer. Marriage gave a woman that right over a man. To argue. To hold on. To interfere. He had seen it so often before. Tightfisted, selfish, jealous women who marched into taverns, hands on hips, looking for their men, wanting to reel them back, making demands of them in public as if they owned them as servants, and never even trying to understand what Drives a man...what makes him Alive!

But.....on the other hand.....there was a need for the undeniable sweetness of a woman, too...

"Hmm. That's a tough decision,". Lucien's voice cut into thoughts. "I don't think you'd believe me...you'd call me a liar outright."

"Mm." The Norskmann nodded and answered Lucien's amused grin with a faintly disoriented one of his own.

"Until my last dying breath leaves this body, I want to be with her." Lucien was fully smiling now.

I want to be with her...I want to be with her....Oh, ja, ja....he knew That feeling as well. When he thought about Aethelstan's smile, her gentle ways, her voice and hands...ohhhhh, gods....he Wanted all that, too. He wanted her Care...he wanted her Love, and he wanted her to have his. He would rip the head right off anyone's, or any thing's body who tried to hurt her. That feeling was as fierce as any he had for the sea and the salt wind....

He turned shifty eyes on Lucien to focus as the man leaned forward and spoke again. "Will you do us the honor, Captain?"

He let a moment pass silent, time for time to catch up to two men sitting over a forgotten breakfast. Lucien was a great friend, and the Norskmann was a commander of ships, and a war leader. He bore responsibility hard and he bore it well. Before he would send Lucien into marriage, he needed to ask questions.

"I might."

The involuntary sliding of his gaze bounced slightly sidelong and past Lucien's easy smile. It was here he could see the man's reaction most clearly. "But before I give you my decision, I would talk with Her. I must know where Her measure lies."

Guthorm snorted in amusement at the man's eagerness to throw himself into the...well, marriage was much like a fray, in the long run, he figured. Ja...much like a fray. Well, when you looked at it that way...maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

For Lucien.

And he saw in his mind's eye again the up and down of hands, and smiled.

"Once you have made decision, then it would not bespeak a man well to tarry around it."

He looked down into the foam of his tankard and then raised his eyes under the hood of brows to glance Lucien's way.

"There is not much ale in here, nor is there so much soppe on the table in my bowl or yours that we cannot drink and eat and be off. Ja?"

He took his time, he did, finishing fr?kost with the st?rsmann, and told him about the horses. One was laid up with an injury to leg. Again. Another one he was planning to load on the ferry for the first time. He expected a challenge then. Perhaps he would ride that one this morning. The colt needed a lot of work. He was planning too, a journey to the west, to see the horses those people bragged about at the docks.

But when spoons scraped bottom and the last of the soppe was captured, chewed and swallowed, the Norskmann made no move to fill the bowls again.

Leaning back, he gave a contented sigh, and looked as though he might lazy there all morning! But he could not keep that game longer than the sly, provoking glance and grin he tossed to his guest. He was not accustomed to sitting and wasting daylight. He needed to Move.

"Kom on, venn." He jumped out of his own chair and reached hard for Lucien's...a pull and a tilt, and he nearly spilled the man out of his seat.

"Hva vil du gj?re? Will you sit until tomorrow or will you take me to her now?"

Oh, the st?rsman caught him by surprise with that urging and that launching into racing, and his own horse, young and still green and excitable, turned in circles! dancing until Guthorm could get him straight and running.

Dristig needed no urging then as the sound of his own feathery hooves thundered through the world, it seemed. They had so much ground to make up! Lucien's horse was swift! Lucien's horse was like the wind and all the Norskmann could see was a flying tail, lean haunches driving the horse in front of him away and away, and Lucien's back hunched and shoulders pumping with each stride.

Dristig's power was something to be gladful of on this crisp morning. Dristig was heavy and muscular...he was nothing near the lean, fast horses of the Arabs in Mikkleg?rd, but he was lithe and quick enough for fighting, and smart, and all that pleased the Norskmann much. Gods, the horse was going to be godt on the battlefield when he learned the lessons of listening to his rider! The black horse was fearless and proud, but willful, and in the heat of the run, he fought to gain ground on the other in front of him.

Guthorm crouched low over the horse's neck and felt the long mane whip his face. Hooves pounded the ground below him, churning up heather and dust...and he smiled to think they sounded like Thor himself, rumbling along Bifrost, casting thunder and commanding the world!

The colt drummed the earth in the wake of the sorrel and wind and dirt flying and eager sport, and hardly meant to stop until the Norskmann bent him with an indirect rein to come to slowing at the sideroad. The pair danced those last few steps in a tightening spiral circle and then Guthorm brought the youngster alongside.

"Your mare taught this boy a lesson about speed today, St?rsmann!" As they made their way down the path, he laughed and leaned to run his hand in the mane along the crest of the colt's neck. "I think he would like very much to give fast chase to your godt mare again sometime soon."

When he dismounted at their destination, Guthorm followed Lucien's lead as well, and gave over the reins to the stableboy. "Walk him, ja, until the sweat dries." And then he was off on long strides to catch Lucien at the door.

This manor was nothing like the hjem he knew as a boy in Hafrsfjord, or the hjem he lived in inside the walls of Mikkleg?rd or onboard ship where he grew into a man. It was nothing like Mytrh's small Hops Hus. Nei, it was...a different world altogether, very foreign and very...odd. He quickly took in what details he could outside and returned Lucien's nod with one of his own, to give thanks for the welcome. "Ja, takk. Det gleder meg." Ducking (out of habit) through the open door, he met the Manor with a sliding narrow iceblue gaze and prickly skin, curious as to what he would find inside such a place.

Lucien removed his riding gloves and tucked them into his pocket as he followed the Norseman into the foyer, his footsteps echoing on the marble flooring. He gave his friend and Captain a moment to take in the manor interior. Stairs framed large windows that opened onto a manicured lawn, leading to the upper floors in a sweeping curves. A delicate chandelier hung overhead and doors marked different rooms to the left and the right. He smiled, observing Guthorm's study of the manor.

"You ought to come by the stables. I'd like to hear what you think about the new colts," Lucien bantered. "And I've no doubt that Dearg would enjoy another good race," he added with a chuckle. "Come, Captain. That was a good race and one deserving a good drink," he remarked as he started toward one of the doors on the left.

"I know Alysia is..." he trailed off as he spied the Priestess' arrival. The man's bearded smile grew. "Your timing is impeccable, Beloved."

Warm magelight, cast by seemingly hundreds of weightless globes and fairy crystals in the chandelier overhead, brightened slightly as Alysia stepped closer. Open emotions flickered across her face before the shadows were chased completely away: curiosity, fondness, perhaps distraction. Lucien?s appearance had prompted a sheepish and unguarded grin from the priestess. And yes, the points of her canine teeth did show with that grin.

?The timing may be impeccable,? she bantered ruefully, ?but I am not. Particularly not for guests. I?m a mess.? Still grinning, she held up her small hands, showing the smears of dust on her sleeves and tattooed wrists, the inkstains on her narrow fingertips. Similar smudges of dust were starkly apparent against the heavy black shadowsilk of her leggings and blouse. She clasped her hands at the small of her back and leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against Lucien?s cheek with a whispered endearment.

Alysia then turned, taking a half-step back to regard the silent Norseman. She seemed relaxed and smiling, contrary to her usual public demeanor, while she observed Guthorm between the space of several heartbeats. She recognized the all-too-familiar hint of wary, coiled tension he carried in his shoulders and considered the implications. She shrugged almost imperceptibly, resigned. What will be, will be. . . .

?Enter and be welcome here, Guthorm,? lilted the priestess. ?I would greet you properly, but would risk offering insult with the state of my hands.? She offered an impish smile which belied her grave and formal bow.

?The pleasure,? remarked Alysia, ?is mine, Guthorm.? As she continued to study the Norseman, her scarlet eyes seemed to glow, probably illuminated by the globes of magelight confined by the chandelier above. The banter-tone entered her voice again. ?But I must admit, this feels like a home away from home.?

The Priestess paused, then volunteered more in explanation. ?Dark Lake Manor was my mother?s, before she tried to destroy it in a fit of rage and fire when I was much, much younger. Even after rebuilding it so many years later, it still feels like her home. Even now!? She chuckled, a distantly self-mocking sound. ?I grew up in other locales.?

Alysia half-smiled and nodded toward an open doorway to her right, Guthorm and Lucien?s left. Daylight spilled out of the room and brightly lit the furnishings within, hinting at windows open to the sun. ?Anyway. We needn?t remain standing here. I believe I heard Lucien offer you a drink??

Guthorm made godt note of the start of details in her telling. He was glad to be where he was and about to do what he would do on behalf of his st?rsmann. Lucien had given him a skilled and steady hand on the st?rs oar and the barrister had not flinched from battle when it came on them. The Norskmann was eager to begin that discussion with them both, and also to have that offered drink in perhaps a larger, brighter space. Even the warmth that flowed from the couple, though he felt it, could not take the chill out of so closed a space of walls as this.

"Your hospitality is well received, Lady, and the drikke will wash the dust of Lucien's winning from my throat." He acknowledged the loss of the race with an easier grin. And a gleam bore itself in shifty eyes...a promise and plan to continue developing the willful black colt to him, to win the next time.

Having caught Alysia's glancing towards his left, he gave casual nod to them both and started that way on long and lanky strides towards the shine of sun in the room just ahead.

And now, it could begin....