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CHAPTER SEVEN
Jarl
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When Anni's labor pains began, the jarl's wife swept in and took command. Eyfri instructed her thralls to take Anni next door to the jarl's residence, where she could give birth while the feast continued in the great hall. "What a big, big day this has turned out to be!" Eyfri gushed as she bustled about.
They found Peeta and Katnisse outside. "What are you doing here?" Eyfri demanded.
The two of them jumped apart. "Looking at drawings," Katnisse said without a trace of guilt.
Anni moaned in pain. Finn, who was carrying her, looked alarmed.
"Katnisse, go and fetch your mother," Eyfri ordered. "This might be a difficult birth."
"Difficult?" Finn cried out. "What do you mean?"
"Silly man," Eyfri chided him. "Can you not tell?"
"Tell what?"
Eyfri gently placed her hand on Anni's enormous belly. "Your wife is having twins."
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"So..." Jórunnr said slyly, when she and Katnisse were on their way to get Katnisse's mother. "Drawings, eh?"
Katnisse ignored her friend's knowing tone. "Yes, drawings. Peeta is a marvelous artist, and I have asked him to help me record my parents' knowledge of edible and medicinal plants. With my father gone and my mother not as she once was, I do not wish to lose the valuable lessons they have taught to me and Prim."
"I am not worried about Prim," Jó laughed. "But I can see why you would need a record, brainless."
It was times like these that Katnisse wondered why she was friends with Jó.
Or rather, she knew why, but it was times like these that she questioned the wisdom of it.
Jó was the only other shieldmaiden in Tolv, and she was a berserker to boot. She had lost her sister to sickness at a young age, and while she never said so in as many words, she treated Katnisse as somewhat of a surrogate. She lavished onto the archer all the love—and all the relentless teasing—that she would have given a true sister.
"I cannot believe that, after multiple marriage proposals from the mighty Gæl Hallvardson, it would take a meek little Christian priest to melt the icy heart of Katnisse Eyvindsdottir."
Katnisse clenched her jaw. "For the thousandth time, I am not in love with Peeta. And I cannot believe you are accusing me of having an icy heart. I have refused one man, while you have rejected countless others."
"It is no fault of mine that they failed to defeat me in single combat," Jó said breezily.
"Not everything has to be settled by a fight," Katnisse reprimanded her.
"I fight; you moon over pretty Saxon men," Jó shrugged. "To each her own."
"Have you been talking to Gæl?" Katnisse asked suspiciously.
"It is harder to get a word out of Gæl, than for shit to come out sideways," Jó pronounced. "Why do you ask?"
"He is like you, convinced that I love Peeta."
"Interesting, then, that we separately came to the same conclusion."
"Peeta and I are just friends. Although—" Katnisse bit her lip.
Jó's ears perked up at the slight change in tone. "Yes?" she asked eagerly.
Katnisse turned bright red. "Nothing."
"You would not have mentioned it if it were nothing."
The archer finally relented. "He saw me naked. Last washing day."
"In the name of all the gods," Jó hollered. "Why have you not told me until now?"
"It is not a subject that comes up naturally," Katnisse defended herself. "And besides, he did not do anything. He turned away immediately, and apologized over and over again."
"How did he come upon you?"
"I had just finished bathing in the stream—"
"The stream in the forest?"
"Yes."
"The forest where you and Gæl go."
"Yes," Katnisse said impatiently. "What of it?"
"In all the years I have known you, you have never bathed outdoors, by yourself, somewhere your lovelorn hunter could find you. Somewhere any half-witted man could find you."
"That was not a choice I made on purpose," Katnisse said sourly. "I just... never thought to bathe there before."
"But now, apparently, you do. Now that Peeta is living with Gæl, and would certainly be wandering thereabouts." Jó watched in amusement as her friend squirmed in silent discomfort. "Why did you reject Gæl, to begin with?"
Katnisse sighed. "Have you forgotten? I have sworn never to marry."
"I would never marry a sullen idiot myself, but Gæl would certainly be good for a great many things other than marriage." Jó waggled her eyebrows. "And you were not open to any of those things, it seems."
"I would never have a relationship with someone I did not intend to marry," Katnisse said, scandalized. "It is just not in my nature."
The way that Jó looked at her compelled Katnisse to explain herself. "It is my parents' fault, I suppose," Katnisse said grudgingly. "They were so in love. And when my father died, a part of my mother died as well. To love someone so much that his absence would change who you are... that is my greatest fear. But at the same time, it is the only reason I would ever want to marry someone."
The smile on Jó's face was sincere. "That was beautiful, Katnisse. I never thought you were capable of such eloquence."
"I am Eyvind's daughter, remember?" Katnisse said. "There is another thing. When Father died, leaving a family of three women behind, Haymið went to visit us. He counseled my mother to find another man and remarry immediately, saying it was the only way we could survive the winter. When she refused, the jarl turned to me. I was twelve years old, but some girls my age were already married or betrothed. He gave me the same advice: to marry as soon as possible, so that my family could be provided for by some man. And it made me so angry."
Jó's countenance darkened. "If Haymið told me that, I would surely kill him."
"I know now that he was merely being practical, but at the time I felt like he was insulting my father's memory, and trampling on everything I learned from my parents about love and marriage. So I told Haymið I would never marry, and as the years passed nobody gave me cause to reconsider."
"Not even your best friend?"
"I felt… betrayed, I suppose, when Gæl said he wanted to marry me. I thought we understood each other, but I was wrong. All the efforts he made to convince me—reminding me of the benefits of formally uniting our families, building a house for me—they were the same arguments Haymið had made when I was twelve. That was not what I wanted."
A lump formed in Katnisse's throat, but she carried on. "Perhaps that is why I am so comfortable in Peeta's company. He is a thrall, with nothing to offer me in the way of wealth or property or security. He is a priest, sworn to never know the marriage bed. With Peeta I can be myself, the way I am with you, the way I am with Prim. The way I was with Gæl."
"What if Peeta were to renounce his vows and take a wife?" Jó ventured. "Gæl's new thrall, Margaretha, for example. She is beautiful, and she is from Peeta's homeland. They have been inseparable since the day they first met. It is only a matter of time, I think, before Haymið frees Peeta. Who knows? Maybe Gæl will free her, too."
The thought had never occurred to Katnisse before. "Well, then... I would support Peeta, because he is my friend. Whatever makes him happy."
"And what if it were me?" Jó teased her.
Katnisse scowled. "Peeta could never beat you in a fight."
"A lovely little boy like Peeta could persuade me to change my policy," Jó cackled. "He would not even have to renounce his vows. I have never seduced a priest before. I imagine I shall enjoy it greatly."
"You would not dare."
"I am your friend too, am I not? Would you not want me to be happy?"
"That is not happiness," Katnisse rebuked her. "That is—"
"Bliss," Jó supplied, smirking. "Ecstasy. Raw, unbridled sexual fervor. I could go on."
"Jó!"
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After Katnisse left with Jó, Peeta made his way back to Margaretha. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of Thome still holding her hand. "Thome," he greeted the warrior.
"Peeta," Thome replied cordially.
"What is going on?" Margaretha cried.
Peeta's smile was like the sunrise. "It is the most wonderful news," he told her. "Eyfri says Anni is having twins."
"Twins," Margaretha said dumbly. The word made her dizzy.
"Yes, twins," Peeta repeated. "Are you all right?"
Thome touched her arm. "What is wrong?"
"I—I have to go," she mumbled. She could not breathe.
She stumbled into Gæl's arms on her way out of the hall. "Margaretha," he said, engulfing her narrow wrists in his large hands. He looked stricken. "What happened? Did Thome—"
"Please," she croaked. "I just need some fresh air."
Gæl led her out of the hall and watched helplessly as his thrall retched into a nearby bush. As it happened, Haymið and Beetee were just passing by, and the shipwright shot his apprentice a look of disbelief.
It is not what you think, Gæl wanted to shout. I never touched her, I swear.
"Let me handle this, Gæl," Haymið told him.
"But—"
"Go back inside."
Beetee put his hand on Gæl's shoulder and steered him back into the hall, shaking his head.
"You told me—" Beetee began sternly.
"I was telling the truth!"
The door closed behind them, and Haymið turned to look at Margaretha. "You look far too sad for such a joyous occasion."
Margaretha hurriedly wiped the moisture from her eyes. "Tears of happiness, my lord."
Haymið smiled ironically. "Dearest Margaretha, I did not achieve my station by being easy to fool."
"I did not mean to offend you."
"Of course not. No offense was taken." The jarl looked up at the night sky. "Tell me, Margaretha, do you know why I gave you to Gæl?"
"I—" Margaretha was confused. Why was he asking her this now? "Because by killing my husband, he won the right to me."
"That was one consideration, and a rather convenient one at that," Haymið conceded. "But it is not the whole truth."
"Then why, my lord?"
"Gæl is a complicated man," Haymið said. "He is full of fire, as you have doubtless learned for yourself. But he is tempered by his love for his family. He had the benefit of being raised by a strong mother, a shieldmaiden no less, who would never allow a woman to be abused in her home. And when all is said and done, he is his father's son, and Hallvard was the most honorable man I have ever known. His pride and his sense of justice was... maddening, to say the least, but we all respected him for it. He was the one man in Tolv who never took a thrall, not for labor, not for pleasure, not even for appearances or status. If I could trust one man in Tolv not to harm you, it would be the son of Hallvard and Hejsel."
"I thank you for your concern, but you have given me more questions than answers," Margaretha said. "Why do you care so much about my welfare? Why did you not bring me into your own household, where you could see for yourself how I was being treated? For that matter, why capture me at all?"
"Perhaps," Haymið said, "this will make things clear." He dipped his hand into the collar of his shirt, that he might reveal what he was wearing around his neck.
It was a mockingjay medallion.
Margaretha gasped. She had tucked her medallion into the folds of her wedding dress, into the bundle Pósy had mistaken for swan maiden garb. Margaretha slept with one hand on it every night.
"How did you—" she began. "That belongs to me!"
"It is mine," Haymið corrected her. "Maysilleigh gave it to me, to remember her by."
The blood drained from her face.
"The first time I saw you at your wedding feast, I knew," Haymið said. "You are the image of the woman I loved when I was myself sixteen. Are you her child?"
"She was my aunt," Margaretha whispered. "My mother's twin sister. She died when I was just a baby... I do not have even a single memory of her."
Haymið nodded sadly. "For a moment I had believed... I had hoped against hope you were Maysilleigh's daughter. Hers and mine. You would be the right age."
Terror struck her heart. Was it possible? "No," Margaretha said. "It cannot be."
"The mockingjay, is it not the sigil of your mother's house? Why do you not carry the sigil of your father's house?"
"My father was an orphan," Margaretha said. "He was a ward of my mother's family. When they married, she took his name, but they kept her sigil. It... it has a special meaning." The mockingjay was a symbol of rebellions past. Of a revolution that was yet to come. Or at least, that was what Lord Undersee and Earl Heavensby were working towards, before their demise.
"I suppose it does not matter," Haymið said. "You remind me of her, and that makes you precious to me."
"How did you know her?"
"It was my first time to go on the summer raids and I had gotten separated from the other warriors. She found me half dead, and she took care of me. I was never as good a fighter as Finn or Gæl, or their fathers Oddr and Hallvard before them. My strength is in my cunning."
"How long were you... together?"
"Only for one month, just until I was rescued. I wanted her to come back with me to Tolv as my wife, but she did not want to leave her sister."
Margaretha nodded. She was told that her mother was once a high-spirited woman, full of life and vigor. But after Maysilleigh's death, Lady Magthilde became somber and withdrawn, prone to headaches and nightmares. She was never the same again.
"How did she die?" Haymið asked. "Please. I must know."
"She... she was ill for a long time," Margaretha said. "I am sorry, but that is the extent of my knowledge. It pained my mother to speak of her beloved sister's passing."
The grief etched on the jarl's face was something Margaretha could never forget in a hundred years.
"It was not meant to be," Haymið said at last, his voice heavy with sorrow.
"But you have moved on," Margaretha reminded him. "You have a beautiful wife, with whom you have many children." Young children, she realized. Despite herself, her heart went out to Haymið. He had waited for a long time.
The jarl nodded. "Eyfri made me smile when I thought I could never again do so. She and our sons are all I have. I thought I had no regrets until I saw you. You, Maysilleigh's own flesh and blood. I knew I had to take you away from Panym, away from the horrors Peeta had described to me. But out of respect for my wife, I did not want to install you in my own household."
"What if you had been right?" Margaretha dared ask. "What if I were truly your child and Maysilleigh's?"
"Then I would recognize you as mine," he replied. "I would buy you from Gæl and grant your freedom."
"But it was not meant to be," Margaretha said, echoing the words of the man who, in another life, might have been her father.
Haymið reached out and touched her cheek. In his dreams, she would always be his daughter.
"No," he said regretfully. "It was not."
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Sufficiently convinced that Margaretha was not pregnant and that Gæl had not made her his bed-slave, Beetee let his apprentice go. Once allowed to take his leave, Gæl immediately sought out the last man he had seen in his thrall's company.
"What did you do?" he demanded. "It was something you did, something you said, that made her so upset."
Thome was pouring himself more ale. "Hello yourself, my friend," he said calmly.
"It was not Thome's fault," Peeta said. "She seemed affected by the news that Anni was having twins."
Gæl glared at Peeta, and the thrall fell silent.
"I am glad you are here, Gæl," Thome said. "I have not seen you for a while, though I do not blame you. If I had your thrall, I would never care for anyone else's company."
"You could have visited us at my home at any time," Gæl replied, struggling to keep his voice even. "You did not need to wait until now to get acquainted with her."
"Haymið forbade the men from approaching you regarding her. He also forbade us from approaching her without other men and women present."
"That is news to me," Gæl said. "But it explains a great many things." He recalled Cato's hateful glare, coupled with the berserker's uncharacteristic silence and inaction, from earlier.
"However, here you are now, approaching me," Thome said. "Therefore I would like to speak to you, as one man to another."
"As one man to another," Gæl said, "speak freely."
Thome drained the contents of his drinking horn and set it down firmly. "I would like to buy her from you. Name your price."
In many ways Gæl expected this—it was only a matter of time—still, it caused him great distress to hear the words from his friend's lips. "Margaretha is not for sale."
"Did Haymið say so?"
"No," Gæl said slowly. "But I made a promise to my sister that I would not send Margaretha away, and that is worth more than any oath sworn to the jarl. Pósy is very much smitten with her."
"So am I," Thome said. "You knew this to be true from the very start."
Gæl nodded. "I am sorry, but I cannot sell her."
"We are good friends, are we not?"
"Aye."
"Then you know I will treat her well. I will free her and marry her. Surely your sister will agree to let her go, if it means her freedom."
"Is it really freedom if it is granted for the purpose of marriage?" Gæl found himself asking. "True freedom means allowing Margaretha to choose whom she wants to marry. Would you still free her, if you knew she would choose another?"
Thome raised an eyebrow. "I did not know you felt so strongly about it. If that is the case, then you should free her yourself, and I shall present myself as a suitor. From the little time we spent talking, I am confident she will return my love."
How can you be so sure? Gæl wanted to know, feeling his blood boil. You have spoken with her for five minutes. I have lived with her for two months, and she is still a mystery to me.
"I told you," he said, trying not to sound like a petulant child, "I made a promise."
"You promised not to send her away. Freeing her does not mean sending her away. By your own definition, freeing her will give her the choice of staying or leaving of her own accord. Therefore, sell her to me as a thrall, or release her so I can win the heart of a freed woman. I do not understand why you are being so difficult."
"You are the one being difficult," Gæl argued. "You cannot tell me what to do with my own thrall. That is none of your business."
Realization dawned in his friend's eyes. "You have had her," Thome accused him.
"I have not!"
"You have taken the virtue I fought to protect." Thome stepped closer until they were almost chest to chest. He was nearly as tall as Gæl.
Gæl was vaguely aware that a crowd had begun to form around them. "Margaretha owes you nothing. Even if I had been the one to save her that day, her virginity would not be mine to take."
"You love her, then," Thome said. "That can be the only reason."
Before he knew what he was doing, Gæl's fist connected with Thome's jaw, fueled by a rage he never knew he was capable of.
Thome touched his face, feeling where the bruise would start to form. He let out a hollow laugh. "Does she know?" he taunted Gæl. "Have you confessed your desire for her?"
When Gæl did not answer, Thome snorted. "I know you, Gæl Hallvardson. We grew up together. I know of all the girls you took to that wrecked ship in the harbor."
"If I recall correctly, that was a favorite pastime of yours as well," Gæl said. "And besides, that was a long time ago."
"That is true," the other man agreed. "That was before Katnisse. It makes one wonder... how would Margaretha feel, knowing she could never compare to Katnisse? That even after you inevitably take her and get her with child, she would always share your heart with another?"
Gæl's vision turned black and for a moment his senses registered nothing but the metallic clang of his sword leaving its sheath.
"Put that away, Gæl," another voice warned. It was Bristl.
Bristl placed one hand on Gæl's chest, the other on Gæl's sword. "It is always entertaining to watch men fight over a woman," he said quietly. "But you are both dear to me, and I do not wish to lose either of you on the day Finn's children are born."
Gæl lowered his sword. "For your sake, I hope I will never see you speaking to Margaretha again," he said, addressing Thome.
Thome's grey eyes glinted. "Ah, but you have caught yourself in a predicament, Gæl. If you keep her as a thrall, you cannot marry her yourself. But if you free her, you know I will be here waiting."
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A/N:
I named Gæl's father after Hallvard Vebjørnsson, the patron saint of Oslo, who was martyred while trying to protect a pregnant thrall. Katnisse's father was named after a known skald.
Haymið is younger here than in THG. This takes place 16-17 years after he met Maysilleigh, not 24 years like the interval between Haymitch/Maysilee's Games and Katniss/Peeta's.
The Viking Slag Heap was inspired by and is dedicated to Solaryllis. :)
If you were wondering where Hejsel was while Gæl was picking fights, she was with Anni.
I love Thome to pieces, and I swear he's a nice guy, but he is a product of his time and didn't have parents as progressive as Gæl's. Not to mention that, sometimes, a nice guy can turn into a Nice Guy™.
Canon doesn't say whether Bristel is male or female, but Medea Smyke imprinted me with male!Bristel in the seminal Gadge fic, An Extra Dividend.