The Ptarmigan: An Avvar Tale
Even mountains had a heart, once. When the world was young, Korth the Mountain-Father kept his throne at the peak of Belenas, the mountain that lies at the center of the world, from which he could see all the corners of earth and sky. And he saw strong men become weak, brave men grow cowardly, and wise men turn foolish for love.
Korth devised a plan that he might never be betrayed by his own heart, by taking it out and hiding it where no soul would ever dare search for it. He sealed it inside a golden cask, buried it in the earth, and raised around it the fiercest mountains the world had ever seen, the Frostbacks, to guard it.
But without his heart, the Mountain-Father grew cruel. His chest was filled with bitter mountain winds that shrieked and howled like lost souls. Food lost its flavor, music had no sweetness, and he lost all joy in deeds of valor. He sent avalanches and earthquakes to torment the tribes of men. Gods and men rose against him, calling him a tyrant, but with no heart, Korth could not be slain. Soon there were no heroes left, either among men or gods, who would dare challenge Korth.
The Lady of the Skies sent the best of her children—the swiftest, the cleverest, and strongest fliers—to scour the mountains for the missing heart, and for a year and a day they searched. But sparrow and raven, vulture and eagle, swift and albatross returned to her with nothing.
Then the ptarmigan spoke up, and offered to find the god-chief's heart. The other birds laughed, for the ptarmigan is a tiny bird, too humble to soar, which spends half its time hopping along the ground. The Lady would not give the little creature her blessing, for the mountains were too fierce even for eagles, but the ptarmigan set out anyway.
The little bird traveled deep into the Frostbacks. When she could not fly, she crawled. She hugged the ground and weathered the worst mountain winds, and so made her lonely way to the valley where the heart beat. With all the god's terrible deeds, the heart was far too heavy for the tiny bird to carry, so she rolled it, little by little, out of the valley and down a cliff, and when the golden cask struck the earth, it shattered. The heart was full almost to bursting, and the pain of it roused the mountain god to come see what had happened.
When Korth neared his heart, it leapt back into his chest and he was whole again. Then Hakkon Wintersbreath bound Korth's chest with three bands of iron and three bands of ice, so it could never again escape. And all the remaining gods named the ptarmigan honored above even the loftiest eagles.
-World of Thedas Bk 2
Bu-dum
Up her leg goes, twist, and kick! The slow beat of the drums rings out grand in the hushed clearing.
Ba-bu-dum
Up her arm goes, flick, and down! A slight increase in tempo, another drummer joins the swelling music.
Ba-dum-dum
Spin, crouch, and jump! Red, yellow, blue, green, and orange feathers and furs, her bright plumage splay far and wide around her as she tumbles. The beat is quicker now, and shrill tweeting flutes join in. Her feet slap against the barren ground, arms hooked by her side, and she dances.
Ba-dum
The sound reverberates in her very bones, the wild music roaring in her mind, and she twists, turns, and thrusts her arms out with the scorching passion bursting inside her. Never before had her arms waved so gracefully around her. Never before had her legs thrummed with so much power. Never before had she danced with such unbridled strength.
Ba-ba-dum
Is it the hundreds of onlookers gathered around the clearing? The guests and visitors of her father's Hold silently appraising her? Or is it the music coming to life, singing, rejoicing as it swims through the thick air, enveloping her with the live beat of all there is to celebrate? Or is it the appeased Rilla of the Fireside aiding her fluid movements during this grand feast?
Ba-du-dum
No, it's that pair of golden eyes. Those molten amber eyes which bore into her as she dances around the massive bonfire, swaying like the branches in the wind, in time with the irresistible beats of the drums. Those unwavering eyes push her further, challenges her to dance like the Haakon Himself has possessed her limbs. And she does; she dances with power and grace befitting of the Thane's warrior daughter.
Dum-dum
But the music slows down, fades gently as the inevitable end approaches. But she is not finished yet, there's an inferno consuming her from within. She spins around the Hold Hearth, fully faces the seats of the Thanes where her father and the visiting Thanes occupy. She looks to the golden eyes, the amber eyes piercing her soul. The last burst of her essence erupts, and the drums follow the electric energy, races to the climax of the deep night lit crimson by the Hearth.
Dum-dah-dum-dum
Like the roaring fire she reaches for those eyes, spinning, blazing, flickering like the spirits within the hearth flames. Like the wind she rises, higher and higher, into the realms of the Lady as if she had wings sprouting on her back. Like the river she flows, swaying and fluid, pours into those golden eyes that are fixated on her. The deafening cheer grows faint beyond her senses and she dances, floats, and sings for those amber eyes, shining bright like the Sun, steady like the Mountain Father. For that Thane, for the man who appraises her silently, she appeases the gods.
Buh-dum-du-dum
But it is time for serenity now, for the gentle breeze to calm the tempest whirring through the Hold. The quieting drums slows from roaring currents to a trickle of a mountain stream, and she follows like the snowflakes drifting down, like the colored leaves floating in the wind. She bows to the Thanes, arms spread out like wings, her legs steady like the ancient grand oaks.
Thundering cheer and howls of approval shakes the Mountain Father and reaches the Lady of the Sky, but she hears only the loud claps of the man with the amber eyes, sees only the broad smile lighting up his face.
And as she watches he rises from his seat and bellows for all to hear,
"I, Thane Cullen Lion-Lord O Red-Lions claim Criosdan An Signi!"
But his voice leaves a strange echo, a dual voice overlapping one another. She turns to see the other Thane who has spoken as well, also standing proud aside her father.
"I, Thane Geir Oak-Barrel O Dragon-Tooth claim this woman for my own!"
The Hold plummets into deafening silence before a thundering roar erupts, tenfold louder than the cheers earlier. The crowd rolls and throbs, each members of separate Holds vying for their Thane.
She stands still, chest still heaving, the electric sensations of the dance still dwelling in her limbs. She looks around to see the wild Holdsmen, and then to her father who is steady like the beating drums on his throne.
Her father watches the two Thanes, the heated glares they throw each other, the eager hands hovering by their hilts, and the excited Holdsmen growing louder and louder. Until the deafening roar reaches its crescent, and he stand tall and bellows,
"I will not tolerate any spilled blood within my Hold during the time of truce. Those who would break their vow are henceforth banished from this place!"
Only silence follows the words of the wise Thane, as none dare break the sacred vow made under the watchful eyes of the spirits.
"I will not spill blood while under the sacred oath." The golden-eyed Thane growls. "But I will not step aside meek and weak when there's a lass I have taken a liking to!"
"I've claimed this fiery lass. Know your betters, cub." Thane Geir snarls, stepping closer to Criosdan. He reeks of ale and sweat, and stumbles a little as his feet trips over flat ground.
"I fear naught of the old and toothless-"
"Silence!" Her father's voice booms, echoes through the darkening sky. The two Thanes know better than to displease her father in his own Hold's grounds, and promptly obeys.
"Criosdan An Signi, two have laid claim on you while three Holds bear witness." His father speaks once again, the strong voice spreading throughout the night for all to hear. "But only one may take you as his mate."
"Tradition decree I, as the Thane of Stone-Thunder, bear the right to choose the trial to settle this matter. But this dispute between the two is born of them vying for you, and for this once I allow you to choose the trial to be laid before them."
And she speaks, her tongue soft, her voice as strong as her father's. Like the Hold Hearth's flames, her words leap high into the darkness of this night. "I am no spring flower, but a proud warrior of Stone-Thunder! I would demand you to prove your worth in trial set forth by Hakkon Wintersbreath if not for the sacred oath of peace. Hence I set forth the trial by Korth the Mountain-Father. I shall be claimed by the man who brings back the worthy spoils granted by Father Korth by sunrise."
The cheer rises again at her words, crescents and deafens all, drowns the grumbles of Thane Geir as he prepares for the hunt. But Criosdan's eyes are fixated on the golden man, watches Thane Cullen step forward to take the spear his Holdman offers him.
"I will come bearing a spoil worthy of y'a, fiery lass." He gives her a crooked grin, a sparkle of his golden eyes, and a soft whisper that tickles her ear. And before she finds the wit to respond, like a shadow he melts away into the dark forest.
Soft grass sways in the gentle wind caressing his skin. His well-worn fur-wraps muffle even the quietest of sound against the ground and in the dim moonlight the forest almost seems ethereal.
Cullen stalks through the undergrowth, sharp eyes searching for tracks in the dirt, claw marks on tree trunks. He hears the soft trickle of a stream nearby and veers towards it, his motions instinctive after years of successful hunts.
He thinks of the lass's shimmering eyes, her heaving breasts, her radiant smiles as she danced and pleased the gods like none other. By the Hakkon, he would sooner cut off his own limbs than let that sniveling pig touch even a strand of those stark-white hair of that pretty lass.
It is not long before he spots the deep horizontal scratches on a tree bark. The bear's incisors have torn the bark clean off the tree, and gauging by it the one that's marked this territory seems huge. Large enough to please the fiery lass, perhaps.
He follows the territorial marks, and there's aplenty of them. Mountain-Father aids his hunt, he knows. A brown owl hoots somewhere, and wolves howl far off in the distance at the gleaming moon. One step by step he takes care where he places his foot, follows the trail left by the huge bear. A tuft of black fur here, a superficial claw marks on a tree trunk there.
But these marks are far too fresh, the torn branches still smelling of living plants. The black bear is on prowl, leaving these new tracks for him to follow. And Cullen know he is catching up, the footprints less disturbed in the ground the further he walks. Until he sees the darkest shadow lumbering up ahead.
The hunt was spontaneous and unprepared for. He does not have war paints or blood to hide his scent. But Father Korth gives him strength, grants him the chance to strike this grand beast down. He is downwind of the bear – it hasn't noticed his presence yet.
And when it does – it'll only be after it finds a spear buried in its beating heart.
Cullen inches forward, hidden by the bushes. Step by step, not a whisper of noise betraying his presence. He readies his spear, stalks closer and closer until he is mere few feet away from the beast. He has but to thrust the spear forward–
Sudden hoots shatter the masked peace of the night air, disturbs the quiet of the forest. Frightened birds burst to the sky, and the small rodents race to their safe haven. And the giant black bear whips around to find Cullen poised behind it.
By the Lady-!
The bear howls as it brings its front paw down on him with enough force to crush him, and Cullen rolls to his left to miss those claws by mere inches. He has a split second to see the shadow of a man running away, before the bear's growl demands his focus. It's rearing up on its hind legs, towering tall above him with gleaming claws ready to strike him down.
He has no place to escape to, no way to avoid getting shredded by those claws. The bear bores down on him, falls atop him with its massive weight.
Cullen braces the butt of the spear against the ground, aims for the beast's heart. The weight of the bear drives it home, skewers it clean through as the bear crushes him beneath itself. The spear snaps in half, unable to bear the strain. The beast screams, stumbles back as a torrent of blood gushes out from the wound straight onto Cullen. The bloody rain slickens his hands and feet, and Cullen scrambles to regain his balance. The bear's crimson eyes drip with madness and hatred as it recovers from the spear, and it rushes at him again. Cullen once again finds himself trapped in front of a massive black shadow barreling towards him.
Before the fangs can tear into him, before the powerful paws can crunch his bones, Cullen rips out his dagger from the scabbard and plunges it into the junction where the beast's neck meets the shoulder, hangs on with all his might as it cries and stands once more. Blood erupts where his blade's pierced it, soaks his skin and furs even further. The momentum of its charges swings him around, and he braces against the spear-tip poking out its back.
The bear's desperate reaching claws skid along his shoulder and he feels a sharp pang. But Cullen holds on, knows the moment he releases the blade the beast would crush him. The slippery blood makes it near impossible to hold on as the beast thrashes, but by the Lady he holds on. The black bear howls and screams, shakes its massive head, rears up and falls. Cullen clings on, grits his teeth and twists the blade deeper and deeper, stepping up higher with his feet against the broken spear tip.
The dying wail of the beast steadily grows weaker, its struggles in death throes slowing. Cullen pants, waits until the beast crumbles to the ground and lays still, its last heated breath escaping through the bloody snout.
Cullen works the blade out from the bear, twisting and turning until the dagger is finally freed. He wipes the blood off on a nearby tree trunk before sheathing it, staring at the mound of fur he'd just brought down by the grace of Father Korth.
It'd be a miracle if he returns to the Hold in time for sunrise while dragging this spoil.
The bright golden rays of sun peeks through the foliage of the forest, and shines down on Criosdan's painted face. She squints, glares at the rising Sun for being merciless in its timely presence.
"The runt won't be coming." Thane Geir rumbles, taking a long swig from the tankard and wiping the trickle on the back of his hand. In front of him is a huge boar, its ivory tusks intact. "You're mine, lass."
"The Sun is still rising, Thane Geir. Thane Cullen still has time." Criosdan snaps, turning back to face the deep forest he's melted into. The Holdsmen of Red-Lions also awaits, quiet and still. The forest holds its breath, awaiting the coming of the Lion.
"Give up, lass. A pup like him-"
But she spots a dark shadow leaving the treeline, unsheathes her sword at the sight of giant black bear lurching towards the Hold. She flies towards the beast, ready to protect the Hold with her fellow warriors, but it is not long before she sees the man hoisting up the massive bear upon his back.
"Thane Cullen!" She gasps, her sword slips between her fingers.
The man's drenched in blood, his golden curls plastered to his forehead, most of his body overshadowed by the giant beast he carries. She can even see some wounds on his shoulders, large slashes no doubt from the bear's deadly claws. But the breaking of dawn basks him in its glowing light, makes Thane Cullen look as if he is walking on the shining path of sun.
He smiles at her, a lopsided grin that seems radiant in the golden sunlight. And for a moment Criosdan forgets how to breathe.
"Ah, lass. Give me a hand with my spoils, and see if it pleases y'a."
He laughs, laying the bear on the ground for her to inspect. Holdmen of Red-Lions erupt into cheers and hoots in response, and Criosdan and her father steps forward to examine the spoils the Lion has brought back.
It is a massive bear, largest she's ever seen. Strong and healthy, its ebony claws and stark white fangs gleam in the morning sunlight. The boar does not compare to the black bear, the apex of hunters of the forest.
"Mountain-Father Korth favors Thane Cullen, and grants him the right to claim Cirosdan An Signi O Stone-Thunder!" Father declares, and she looks to the Thane, grasps his arm to look up into his eyes.
"Mine at last, lass. I will come steal y'a away one night when it's time." He strokes her cheek.
"One day when y'a ready, I will claim y'a."
And she knows not how to respond, except to say "…come with me, Thane. I will tend to your wounds."
She leads the man through the rings of onlookers, carving out a thin path between the cheering Holdsmen. Out of the corner of her eyes she sees Thane Geir spit and scowl, but he is soon swallowed up by the the rows of tents as Criosdan leads the victor towards the healer.
Eventually the two strolls inside the thick fabric of the tent, hiding them from the rest of the Hold. There Criosdan attempts to wash away the caked blood from his wound, rubbing crushed herbs onto the torn skin before bandaging it with clean cloth.
"Y'a seem nervous, lass." He chuckles as she works, and when she steps back he shrugs and flexes to test his arm.
"What do you mean, when I'm ready?" She blurts out, unable to hold back the question any further. "You've won the right to claim me, and yet you wish to wait? Why?"
"Ah, that..." He rubs at his neck, the lightest flush creeping up to his cheek. Criosdan starts a little at the unexpected sight, but his shy spell warms her heart.
"Ptarmigan." He mumbled.
"What?"
"That is... to me... like a ptarmigan." He fumbles along his words, and Criosdan simply stares.
"By the Lady, how do I..." He sighs, and looks her in the eyes. His eyes sparkle in the dim light, their golden color soaking her in.
"Remember the old tale the elders tell? The one of a ptarmigan and Father Korth?"
"...the one where ptarmigan finds His heart?"
"Yes. Lass, I think ye's like that ptarmigan. Ye's meant for something big, something that is coming. I dunno what it'll be, or when it'll be, but ye's going to be like the ptarmigan who's found Father Korth's heart. And when y'a go to find that heart through the fierce winds, know that I will be by ye's side."
"And when ye's done rolling that heart down the valley, I will claim y'a. I will come steal y'a away, and y'a shall be mine, body and soul. But for now, this will do."
And he surges forth, his muscled arms wrapping around her waist. His bare chest rubs against her, and his scarred lips are mere inches away.
"Will y'a give a prize to the victor of the hunt?" He smiles, a crooked smile with a twinkle in his eyes and Criosdan flushes pink before nodding.
Gently, Cullen gently presses his lips against hers. Soft and sweet, she delights in the pressure before opening herself to him, allow him to taste her. Her arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer as their shared kiss deepens, quietest moan escaping with her breath as his embrace tightens.
Before long he withdraws, only leave a quick peck on her lips yet again. She smiles in return, leans her head against his chest to hear his deep rumble.
"Ye's mine, lass."