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CHAPTER NINE

Storm

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They are in the forest again.

Peeta watches, entranced, as Katnisse comes to him. Her hair is long and loose, the way it was on the day he found her singing her father's lullaby. It streams behind her like a gossamer veil floating on a gentle breeze. He had always thought her beautiful, but today she is radiant like the sun.

There is a bundle in her arms: a baby girl with dark hair. He thinks it is Finn and Anni's daughter, Unna, until she opens her sleepy eyes to reveal that they are as blue as a summer sky.

His heart is so full, he is afraid it might burst.

"Mine?" he asks softly, even though he already knows the answer.

Katnisse nods. In her silver eyes, he finds peace. He sees the future. "Ours."

And then she kisses him softly, her eyelashes fluttering on his skin like butterfly wings. "Peeta," she breathes. His name on her lips is sweeter than honey. "Peeta."

.

ooo

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"Peeta. Peeta, wake up." Gæl was prodding him with his foot. "It is time to go."

Not yet, Peeta thought, struggling against consciousness for a little while longer, clinging to the feeling of Katnisse's lips on his. Alas, it was too late. Even as he desperately grasped at the last wisps of his dream, they were already slipping through his fingers, disappearing through the cracks in his memory.

It was not uncommon for revelers to spend the night in the feasting hall, on account of being too drunk or too tired to make the journey home in the dark, but in this case he had dozed off in Haymið and Eyfri's house. He had fallen asleep sitting down on the ground, leaning against the wall, with a piece of parchment in his hands.

"It is a good drawing," Gæl acknowledged gruffly.

Peeta looked down and traced the strokes of charcoal with his fingertips, the events of last night flooding back to his disoriented mind. The tables groaning under the weight of so much food, mead, and ale at the harvest feast. Katnisse gazing in fascination at the drawings he had brought with him. Anni giving birth to twins. His own rapture at holding little Unna, then her brother Sægeirr, in his arms.

His last memory was that of drawing Katnisse, carrying Unna and glowing with happiness as she did so. By the time he had finally captured the light in her eyes and committed it to parchment, he had been awake for nearly twenty hours, and he had passed out in sheer exhaustion.

Peeta looked up, and looked around. Margaretha was sleeping next to him, as she did every night. The jarl and his family were most likely in their private room. Finn and Anni lay facing each other, with Sægeirr and Unna nestled between them.

His heart leaped when his eyes came to rest on his muse. There she was, not ten feet away from him, sleeping beneath the same roof as him. She was curled up with Prim and Jó. With her jaw unclenched and her guarded expression gone, Katnisse looked youthful, serene, and even lovelier than she had in his dreams.

"You should give it to her," Gæl said. "She will like it."

"You do not mind?"

Gæl paused for the briefest of moments, then shook his head. "Not anymore."

Another memory: Gæl's friend Thome declaring his intention to make Margaretha his wife, and Gæl's unexpectedly hostile reaction.

"About Thome..." Peeta began hesitantly.

"I will be grateful if you do not speak about it to her." Gæl's tone left no room for negotiation.

"I will do as you say," Peeta said. "But I—I want to tell you that I admire what you said about freedom. If Margaretha knew, she would, too. I am glad that she is with you."

The warrior inclined his head ever so slightly in an almost imperceptible nod. There, in that moment, Peeta knew he had gained a new friend.

"My mother is already outside with the cart and the horses," Gæl said. "You should join her."

Peeta glanced at Margaretha. "Shall I wake her?"

"It is all right. Leave it up to me."

Peeta watched as Gæl knelt down and slid one arm under Margaretha's neck, and another under her knees, scooping her up as if she weighed nothing at all. She stirred at Gæl's touch, and for a moment Peeta thought she would awaken. But instead she nuzzled deeper into the warrior's chest, winding her arms around his neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Peeta cast his eyes down, feeling not for the first time like an outsider in someone else's story.

He tucked his drawing under Katnisse's hand before leaving.

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ooo

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Katnisse awoke to the sound of babies crying.

"Shh, shh," she heard Finn whisper. "Father is here. Mother is very tired, so let us be quiet and allow her to rest."

For all his boasting and preening, Finnbjorn Oddarson's singular devotion to Anni was well known, and no-one who saw them together could ever doubt their love. Katnisse would not be surprised if Finn, a skillful fisherman and the most highly regarded fighter in Tolv, proved to be an outstanding father as well.

The shieldmaiden's chest tightened as she recalled her own father: the rich baritone of Eyvind's voice as he sung her to sleep, the strength of his shoulders when he hoisted Prim up over the crowds in town, the sparkle in his eyes when he held Gísla close.

The memory filled Katnisse with—envy? Resentment? She had never given love a second thought since she was twelve, when she swore to always rely on herself first, instead of pinning her hopes on some man as she was expected to do. Just last night, she was convinced that marriage and pregnancy and childbirth went hand in hand with madness and that nobody, not even Finn or Gæl or her own father, was worth the suffering Anni and countless other mothers before her went through.

But after the twins were born, oh, the joy in Anni's eyes. Katnisse had never seen anyone look more alive.

"It is some sort of unearthly magic," Jó had pronounced. "A spell that babies cast on perfectly reasonable adults, to make them forget about the pain that comes with having children. And it is not only childbirth of which I speak."

Katnisse understood what her friend was trying to say. Jó had been inconsolable when she lost her sister, like Anni was when she lost her brother. Children died every day—of sickness, cold, hunger, violence, or the unpredictable whims of the gods. Even if they survived to adulthood, tragedy still lurked behind every corner. It had come for her father and for Gæl's. If losing her father could cause Katnisse so much grief, what would it be like to lose her own child? Was it not infinitely better to never have something, than to have it for a moment and then lose it forever?

Prim shifted in her sleep, and Katnisse adjusted her own position to accommodate her. As she did so, she heard a faint, vaguely familiar crackling sound under her hand.

Katnisse's mouth fell open when she realized what it was. It was a piece of parchment, a charcoal portrait of her holding one of the twins. There was no question as to the artist: the skill, the exquisite detail, it was unmistakably Peeta's handiwork. But even though it was plain to see that she was the young woman in the drawing, Katnisse did not recognize the smile that seemed to leap off the page. It was not a smile she expected to see on herself. She never thought she could look that... happy.

Her heart pounded in her ears. Peeta had looked that happy; she distinctly remembered commenting on it out loud, then thinking to herself that it would be nice to have Peeta always look that way.

All this time, she had been denying that she was in love with Peeta, but she never once stopped to consider the reverse. Did Peeta love her?

It was not possible. He had sworn an oath to his god. And even if he did, even if she loved him back, it was not as if they could be together.

It is only a matter of time, I think, Jó had said, before Haymið frees Peeta.

No, not even then. The very idea of it was absurd. It was madness. It was... insanity.

Insanity is the only reason I would willingly subject myself to this.

Oh, gods.

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ooo

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At Gæl's house, Peeta's imminent departure had inevitably broached the subject of sleeping arrangements anew.

"Six people should fit nicely in the new house," Hejsel said at the morning meal. "It is bigger than the old house, and it has two rooms besides."

"I do not want to sleep next to Róry again," Vik complained. "He kicks."

Róry scowled in response. "I only kick because you keep rolling over like a log going down a hill. In any case, there would be more space if Gæl were to share his room. It is hardly fair for five people to squeeze into the main room, while he gets the other one to himself."

"I know who should share Gæl's room," Pósy declared confidently.

Gæl's eyes flickered towards Margaretha. "Pósy, I told you—"

"Me!" the little girl crowed.

"Oh," Gæl said. Margaretha thought she could detect the slightest hint of disappointment in his tone. "Well, in that case."

"Whom did you think she was referring to, Gæl?" Róry asked sweetly.

Margaretha's cheeks were pink at the implication, but she silently shook her head, as if urging the eldest Hallvardson to remain calm. Remember what we talked about.

Once again, it was Hejsel who came up with the solution. "Margaretha, Pósy, and I will stay in the private room," she resolved. "You boys will stay in the main room."

Everyone nodded their assent, and nothing more was said.

Yet for the rest of the day, Margaretha could not help wondering if Gæl had truly been disappointed at Pósy's answer. A traitorous voice inside her head told her that she, for one, was.

.

ooo

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"I am going to miss you a great deal," Margaretha whispered to Peeta, the night before he returned to the jarl's household.

She reached her hand out to him across the bedstraw. Peeta accepted, squeezing it firmly. "I will miss you, too. I am glad that we came to be friends."

"You were my first friend in Tolv," she told him. "Perhaps my first friend in the world. I do not know what I will do without you."

The young man chuckled. "If you need more language lessons, Róry will be more than happy to assist."

"It is not just that," she said. "I will miss our talks at night, like the one we are having right this moment. The stories about your brothers, about coming to the North… your thoughts about God and your philosophies, they all fascinate me so. Even in Panym, I did not have anyone I could talk to the way I could talk to you."

"You lie," he teased, wiggling their interlocked fingers. "I saw you at the feast with Gæl. The two of you were deep in conversation for hours. And these past few days, you have spent more and more time together. He actually smiles so much now, I can barely recognize him. The children have noticed how much he has changed. Pósy looks like she is going to explode with joy."

Peeta did not have to look at Margaretha to know that a blush was creeping up her cheeks. "That is different," she said. "That is Gæl."

"What does 'that' mean?" he wondered aloud. "Please, enlighten me."

"You know what I mean," she said. "He is my master. That makes all the difference."

Peeta sighed. "I suppose."

"You sigh," Margaretha said. "That means you are thinking of Katnisse."

He thought of denying it, but there was no use. "Am I truly that transparent?"

"Yes," she replied, smiling. "But it seems that you have finally admitted it to yourself, so that is progress."

"And have you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you admitted it to yourself?"

"What is there to admit?"

"Gæl," Peeta said simply. "You love Gæl."

"I enjoy our conversations," she said. "He has many opinions that interest me, and many amusing stories. I respect how hard he has worked to support his family. But everyone knows that he loves Katnisse. If you are hoping that I could tear him away from her, you are mistaken."

Peeta wished he had never made that promise to Gæl in the first place. He withdrew his hand and sighed again. "Let us not argue about this, Margaretha."

"I am sorry," she said softly. "I did not want to argue about it. You took me by surprise, and I became defensive."

"It is of no importance. If you say you do not love Gæl, then I shall believe you."

It was not until much later, as he was falling over the precipice between awake and asleep, that Peeta realized Margaretha had not actually answered his question.

.

ooo

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The next day, Róry offered to bring Peeta back to the jarl's house, and so the monk bid goodbye to Margaretha, Gæl, and Gæl's family.

Peeta waited until they were well out of earshot before he turned to Róry. "All right. Where are we going?"

"What do you mean?" Róry asked innocently from where he was seated on his mother's horse. "I volunteered to bring you to Haymið, and that is where I shall take you. I have no ulterior motives."

"I was thirteen years old myself, not too long ago," Peeta reminded him. He rode in the cart with his meager belongings. "I never volunteered for anything that did not benefit me in some way. There is always an ulterior motive."

"I suppose we could make a quick detour to visit Prim," Róry mused.

"You always visit Prim," Peeta pointed out. "You have never thought to bring me along."

"That is because my brilliant idea did not present itself until the night before," Róry said smugly.

"And what, pray tell, is this brilliant idea?"

"Their mother is visiting Anni today, but Katnisse watches Prim like a hawk," Róry explained. "But if you were there... she might not, and Prim and I would have some semblance of privacy."

Peeta groaned. "Róry. Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Margaretha last night?"

"Of course I was," Róry said easily. "Do not worry, those secrets are safe with me. But, speaking of which, thank you. There is a bet that I think I shall be winning very soon."

.

ooo

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After her moment of clarity just days before, Katnisse did not expect to see Peeta again so quickly. Nor did she expect that it would take place in her own home, while she was surrounded by a multitude of dead birds.

It was not the most romantic of scenarios.

Nevertheless, the sight of the handsome blond priest caused a quickening of her pulse and—if she were to be completely honest—in her womb. Peeta smiled shyly at her, seemingly unperturbed by the scene.

"Róry!" Prim cried, jumping up to greet Gæl's younger brother. Almost immediately, she sagged downwards, her legs giving way after hours of sitting. She and Katnisse had been hard at work all day, plucking feathers and down off geese that had been boiled in water.

The dark-haired boy caught her by the waist before she landed on the ground. "I knew you were falling for me," he joked, kissing Prim on the cheek.

Prim blushed prettily. Katnisse scowled, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. Gæl's friend Bristl had called it the legendary Hallvardson woman-luck. She was glad that she herself never fell prey to it.

As for Prim, the younger Eyvindsdottir had carried a small but steady torch for Róry since she was ten years old. When it was decided that he would be staying with her and her mother over the summer, while Katnisse and Gæl went pillaging together for the first time, the prospect of spending every waking moment with Róry was almost enough to distract Prim from the very real possibility that her beloved sister would not return from the raids.

"Peeta is going back to the jarl's house," Róry said. "We thought it would be nice to visit our favorite girls along the way."

"We will not stay for very long," Peeta said. Katnisse noted that he did not dispute Róry's designation of the Eyvindsdottirs as their favorite girls. "Right, Róry?"

"Why not?" Katnisse found herself asking. She cursed herself immediately afterwards. Why did she always go against what other people said?

Peeta looked surprised. "Well... we do not want to impose. And Haymið is expecting me."

"You have plenty of time," Katnisse said. An idle comment from conversations past resurfaced in her mind. "You promised to make me your famous lamb stew."

Out of the corner of her eye, Katnisse saw Prim and Róry exchange a meaningful look.

"Yes," Peeta said slowly. "Yes, I did."

"It is settled, then," Katnisse said. "You shall stay."

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ooo

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Hours passed, and still there was no sign of Róry. Margaretha peered nervously out the door, glancing up at the skies where ominous clouds had gathered on the horizon. "Should we be worried that he is not yet back?" she asked Hejsel anxiously.

"If I know my son, he has taken this opportunity to visit Prim," Hejsel told her. "I would not trouble myself about it."

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

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ooo

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Margaretha was moving her belongings to the room Gæl had previously claimed as his own when the rain started to fall.

"Vik!" she heard Hejsel exclaim from the main room. "Look at yourself!"

"I was rushing to get out of the rain," Vik explained. "I slipped and fell."

I should see if there is anything I can do to help, Margaretha thought as she put a bundle of her clothes down on the sleeping platform.

As it happened, the precise moment that she turned to leave was also the precise moment that Gæl barreled into the room, his clothes soaking wet.

A squeak escaped from her lips as she crashed into him. But Gæl had quick reflexes, and he grasped her shoulders to steady her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Her hands, which Margaretha had held up to shield herself from impact, had landed flat on his chest upon their collision. She could feel the beating of his heart through his shirt. She realized what she was doing and rapidly pulled away.

"Yes," she managed to say. This had happened once before at the harvest feast, before they went outside and she vomited into the bushes. But they had not been alone in a bedroom, and Gæl did not look the way he did now—water dripping from his brow, his shirt plastered to his lean torso and leaving next to nothing to the imagination.

Silly girl, she scolded herself. It is just Gæl. She tried not to think of what Peeta had said the night before, or yesterday morning's entire discussion over sleeping arrangements.

"I should go," she blurted out, and turned to leave.

She was almost out the door when he called after her. "Wait," he said, his voice muffled. "Come back. I need you."

Margaretha cursed herself for her inability to resist those words. She turned again, and nearly fainted at the sight.

"Help," Gæl said. "I seem to be stuck."

He sounded apologetic, but Margaretha could not check his facial expression to be certain. That was because he had started to pull his shirt off, but could not get it past his shoulders. The result was that his arms were trapped above his head, and his face was lost somewhere in a sea of wool.

"Sit down," she ordered him, trying to ignore the broadness of his chest, the hard ridges of his stomach. The fascinating way his muscles responded to even the slightest movement. "You are too tall for me to reach over your head."

He retreated blindly until the edge of the sleeping platform touched the back of his knees. He sank down obediently, careful not to sit too far back and get water on the bedstraw.

"Why are you wearing one of Róry's shirts?" Margaretha wanted to know, acutely aware of the heat emanating from his body as she positioned herself in front of him. She put her hands on her hips, trying to form a plan of attack. "You know they are too small for you."

"It has been raining for the past few days," he replied. "I have run out of larger shirts. Would you rather that I went shirtless?"

Margaretha felt her face flame at the thought as she struggled to yank the sleeves of Róry's shirt off Gæl's arms.

"Pull it up at the sides," he suggested. "Under the arms."

She swore under her breath.

"Did you just call me a stinkfart?"

"Of course not," she lied.

"Yes, you did. I heard you."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I wanted to see if you would admit it."

For some reason this infuriated her even more. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Yes. I apologize. I will behave myself."

Margaretha moved closer, planting one leg between his knees for better support. She used her fingertips to work the sides of the shirt up slowly, gently, inching it higher and higher.

Gæl yelped as her nails scraped the side of his ribcage. "It tickles."

"You are such a big baby," she chided him.

She continued in this fashion until at last she managed to get the shirt past his broad shoulders. Once that was accomplished, Gæl bent over and she helped him shuck the rest of the shirt off. When at last he emerged, his face was flushed and his hair was tousled in a way that made Margaretha's mouth dry.

Now that the task was done, Margaretha realized how this would look to others. The warrior, naked from the waist up and drenched from the rain, sitting on the edge of the sleeping platform. His thrall, holding his wet shirt in her hands, standing with her legs between his knees.

She wobbled slightly, and he reached out to steady her. Even through multiple layers of clothing, the feeling of his hand on her hip was enough to set her on fire.

In the end, Gæl was the one who broke the silence. "Thank you for undressing me," he said with an impish grin. "It seems I have the rain to thank for that."

Margaretha stepped back and tried her best to look at him with disdain. "I am not going to help you with your breeches," she snapped, "so do not even think about it."

"By saying it, you have guaranteed that I will think about it," Gæl protested, his eyes lighting up merrily.

She tossed the wet shirt in his face and fled.


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A/N:

Realistic drawing styles, the use of light and shadow, perspective, etc. were known in antiquity, but we associate it most with the art of the Renaissance. Either way, I like to think that Peeta is always ahead of his time, no matter what universe he's in. :)

Finn's father was named Oddr, which was another word for "spear" or, specifically, "spear-point". From what I understand of Old Norse grammar, this would form the patronym Oddarson.

In the Viking Age, most people slept on raised wooden platforms or benches that were built against the wall. For warmth and comfort, they used bedding made of straw and covered with linen, wool, or fur. There is also some mention of cushions stuffed with feathers and/or down. Doona, the Australian term for comforter/duvet, traces its origins to dúnn, the Old Norse word for down.

Is it bad that I'm already daydreaming of stories featuring Sægeirr, Unna, the Everlark toastbabies, and a small army of Gælsons and Gælsdottirs?