It was the simple and symbolic traditions of the Yule feast that she loved, not the grand displays of wealth and prosperity.
Yes, there was safety and companionship in a settlement, but there was also petty jealousy and feuds. Those she did not miss, nor did she miss Gertrud as much as she’d thought she would. It was a strange bond she had with her half-sister; she thought there was love there, beneath the brittle shell of awkwardness placed upon them by their mothers. The two women had a difficult relationship with one another, and their father had never helped with that lack of unity.
Thinking back to her time in Bergen, she remembered Gertrud had once gifted her with a hair ribbon at Yule. Embla had been deeply touched to receive something from her, especially as she had been admiring the ribbons while braiding Gertrud’s hair. It was an unexpected kindness that Embla had treasured. But Gertrud’s mother had spoiled it almost immediately.
She had yanked the ribbon from her head when she’d had too much to drink, and accused Embla of stealing it. Gertrud had explained after some prodding that she had given it to Embla as a gift. Gertrud’s mother had argued it was a gift she could not give away to another, as it had originally been a gift from the Jarl and was too good for a servant to own. Their father had agreed, and Embla had returned the ribbon. The only gifts she’d received after that were of old and worn clothing that Gertrud no longer had any use for. Perhaps it was habit, but Gertrud had never given her anything new ever again, even after they’d left their father’s Hall.
As she sat down in the chair Runar had made for her, and watched him pour her a horn of mead, she realised that she did not deserve to be treated so poorly, and she wondered if this could be her future instead.
The little straw goats sat in the centre of her feast. There was far too much food for two people, but she did not care. Yule was the only time allowed for overindulgence in the bleak winter months, and as long as there was enough in the stores to last the rest of the season, then she would always create an impressive meal to brighten the darkness.
However, this was the first time she had cooked for so few people, and she feared she had badly misjudged it, and been wasteful. Runar did not seem to mind. He piled two platters sky-high with food, and placed one by his feet for Sten, and then ploughed into the second.
‘You were so busy filling it with side dishes, you forgot to add any meat!’ she laughed, leaning to add a slice of the roasted boar to his plate.
He pushed it away with a gentle smile. ‘You eat it. I have plenty as it is.’
There was none visible on his platter, but she supposed it might be hidden beneath everything else. Sitting back down in her seat, she watched him carefully. He had been quieter since the wolf attack, still affectionate, but even his kisses seemed tinged with a desperate kind of sadness, and she feared her lack of a decision was the cause.
‘Runar?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yes?’ he replied, his mouth slowing as he saw the seriousness of her expression.
‘Would you really like me to stay with you?’
Runar swallowed and nodded slowly. ‘I would.’
Embla absently pushed at the stewed cabbage and apple she had taken such great care over making with precious spice. When she dared to look up at him, her heart was in her throat.
‘I have no idea what I want to do.’
It was the truth, but it pained her that she could not offer him anything more.
A tender smile dawned across his face and he sighed. ‘That is...good to hear.’
‘It is?’
Her heart stumbled in her chest.
He nodded sombrely. ‘It could be worse. The wolf could have convinced you to leave and never return.’
‘I still managed to face it and live,’ she pointed out, and he smiled at the courage in her tone.
‘Yes...but it is also the reason why people don’t live up here alone... It is dangerous.’
She nodded. She could not argue with that, realising it had terrified her at first. ‘But the danger is not the main thing that worries me.’
He set down his eating knife and spoon. ‘No?’
‘There are dangers in Gudvangen too. Jarls go to war, and there is always the chance of a raid from an enemy.’
He scoffed. ‘Unlikely, this far north.’
‘Still...it is always possible... Or one day I might anger Jarl Thorin and be banished like you were.’
‘Why wouldanyonebe angry with you?’ he said dismissively, and she chuckled at his disgruntled tone.
Shaking her head, she tried to focus on what she wanted to say. ‘I do not want to give you false hope, because when the spring thaw comes... I still want to go to Gudvangen.’
