A/N: Well I am the worst author ever. Here I am already in Paris and I promised this chapter before the end of July. Feel free to punch me in the face for this, I am so sorry.

And for the record, I am also sorry for this somewhat boring chapter, it doesn't make up for my long absence, not at all.

"Can you tell me what Lady Jane is like?" asked Melisenda. The staff was sitting together at the garden table, dinner among them all, the fires in the kitchen left to smolder until they were needed the next morning for cooking breakfast.

"Well, she is very brave," said Pepper. "She went up to Dragon's cave to save the prince all by herself."

"And very kind," added Rake. "She does anything she can to help any of us. She took me flying once to find new herbs for Pepper, and she helped get me out when I got stuck in a log."

"How did you get caught in a log?" asked Melisenda.

"It is a bit of a long story."

"Jane is like a knight in a story, though," said Jester. "Code of honor, all of that. That is who she is."

"I do not believe that," said Melisenda. "A woman cannot be a story. Knights in stories are gallant and dashing, yes, but they are only stories. Was Arthur truly as wise and good as the stories make him seem? No, surely not, he must have had his own flaws, a bad habit, perhaps he spit! Lady Jane must be the same."

"You will have to forgive us, Melisenda," said Smithy. "With her gone so long we have started to remember her a little differently than she really is. Jane is human as much as the rest of us, but she is an extremely noble squire."

"And what of Gunther? I never knew him, my family's farm is not one that pays rent to him." The reaction there was mixed, no one jumped in with anything of his character. Finally, it was Smithy who spoke saying,

"He is a very complicated person. We all thought we knew him but over the years he has proved us wrong time and again."

"Putting it lightly at that," muttered Pepper. "I used to think he was exactly like his father, but as soon as he took over nothing is the same anymore. And even before that, he proved himself to be different."

Melisenda nodded wordlessly, staring down at the table, thinking. After a moment she huffed a breath and stood saying, "I need to head down home again. I will see you all tomorrow."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay tonight? There is another bed you can stay in."

"Perhaps another night. Goodnight everyone."

"Goodnight," came the varied chorus behind her as she began her walk home. There was so much in how the two squires were described to her that seemed to be missing. Before she had known them vaguely, and now they were painted larger than life, Jane as a beacon of goodness and righteousness, Gunther as a tangled knot, shadowed and contrary.

It made things worse, trying to ask after them, it seemed. No one seemed to be able to describe them as they were, and it only served to frustrate her. Still, she decided that when the two returned she would meet them, that she would greet them upon their return and that she would find out who they were.

The Forêt de Rouvray was where they met Dragon, after bidding farewell to those whom they had seen and visited with. In private, Hanna had even wished Jane luck in English, uncertain but trying. Gunther had them believing they were travelling with a small group of merchants going to Lyons and then to Turin, and privately he did tell her that they would not be stopping there, there was no one to tell there. Instead, he said, they would be flying straight to Milan.

Dragon looked just about ready to burst when they found him among the trees, and upon seeing them, a smile erupted on his large face. "Jane!" he said delightedly, and the young woman embraced his snout, both happy to see the other again. "Jane, you will never guess what I found!"

"Probably not," she agreed.

"I think I found another dragon!" momentary silence followed that announcement before Jane started asking,

"Where? Where did you see them? Were they flying or eating or what?"

"Up north, in a cave. It was not actually very clear, but it looked just like a dragon under the water in the lake there, just covered in rock. If we can get in there and chip them out!"

"You have to show me!"

"Excuse me!" snapped Gunther, and they both turned to him. "Dragon, I want very much for you to have truly found another dragon. But we only have two months to fly to two peninsulas, possibly to the Byzantine Empire, and up to another sea. We do not have the time. You two agreed to help me with this, your own quest can wait until we have gotten home."

"He is right," agreed Jane. "We only have so much time, and our first month is nearly up already."

"Once this quest in done," said Dragon. "Promise you will come?"

"I absolutely promise." Dragon nodded, and as Gunther began to tie down their packs again, filled with dyes, food, and messages of intent to continue trade to present to the king when they returned home, Jane asked, "What of home? What messages?"

As Dragon had relayed all the messages, a fond homesickness began to bloom in Jane's heart. Her parents, her friends, she missed them very much and even meeting all these new faces couldn't ease that. "I think I may have a recipe for Pepper for when we get back. Madame le Mercier taught me something called a dragée, the jardin almonds coated in sugar."

"Madame le Mercier does not cook because of social standing," said Gunther.

"Madame le Mercier had me help her make them myself, Gunther, I would say she makes a few things." A smile appeared on his face, fleeting but present.

"Now where am I flying?" asked Dragon.

"Head south-southwest," said Gunther. "Until you hit the mountains."

"Oh, those mountains? I know exactly where that is! I can even take you to the Meadow Peak before going to wherever it is we are going!"

"Milan, Dragon."

"Right, yes, there. Climb aboard, shortlives."

"Tell me something," said Jane as they soared high above another small town. "Tell me a secret."

"Jane…" sighed Gunther.

"Who do you take as your patron saint? Amand or Nicholas?"

"Neither."

"Neither?"

"They are the patrons of merchants. I do not think of myself as a merchant. I do not have a saint I pray to, not right now. I need to better understand who I am as a person before I can choose a patron."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Telling me a secret." Below them, Dragon snorted before saying,

"I have to get more gas in me, unless you want to crash aground."

"Land, Dragon." And they began to dive down, a gentle angling rather than the acrobatics Dragon was so fond of. Soon enough they were at the edge of a field full of barley, and as Dragon made his way towards the river to find things to give him more lift, Gunther and Jane sat down to their own meal near the growing grain.

From Paris they had brought with them simple fare, nothing more than meats and bread. They ate in silence together before Gunther said suddenly, "Madame le Mercier seemed happier than I have ever seen her by the time we left, and I cannot help but wonder why that is."

"My shining personality, of course," she answered, throwing a bit of bread at his head.

"You two did not speak the same language."

"Well, we did. A little."

"No offense meant, Jane, but your French is still extremely basic."

"I know that. But I had enough French…and she had enough English." Gunther stared at her and she explained, "She learned some from listening to you and your father, but she wanted it to be kept a secret so I tried to help teach her some English and she made me promise not to tell anyone, but…"

"She must have learned the most horrible English from us," Gunther murmured, staring at his own meal.

"She could actually hold a very basic conversation with me, and could explain that her husband didn't know she spoke any English." Concern flooded her and relief seemed to flood him. "What were you expecting she would have learned from you?"

He didn't answer at all, focusing entirely on his meal and refused to speak anymore, until Dragon reappeared and he said, "On y va?"

They rode in silence a long time, letting Dragon tell stories about home from his brief visit there, Jane adding comments here and there, but aware of Gunther's heavy silence behind her. She had long since had various suspicions about how Gunther's father had treated him, becoming more concrete as time went on.

The day dragged on, Gunther slowly beginning to talk as Dragon soared over the fields, forests, and farms of Frankia. He began to tell her about Lyons, what they would miss for not staying there. "There is no family we know there, and we never stayed to do trade," he said. "But the caravans we travelled with always stopped there, so we did as well."

"And what is there?" asked Jane.

"Many things. But there is an Amphitheater there, one the Romans built. I went there once, years ago." He shook his head with a sigh and said, "It is truly a shame the Romans never left anything like that when they left our countries. A place like that in our country…"

"Why? What is it like? What does it have that we do not?"

"Well firstly, I do firmly believe that the entire population of our country could sit there together. I cannot remember if it was the Odeon or the Amphitheater that was where those martyrs died, but it was in one of them."

"Did they have Gladiators there, then?" asked Jane, now intrigued. Below them, Dragon snorted. He had never understood the whole idea of the Roman Circus or the Gladiatorial games.

"I do not believe so. But no one I asked seemed to know either, so perhaps."

"I wish we were stopping there," she said. "That would be wonderful to see."

"We could stop," offered Dragon. "Just for a day."

"No," said Gunther. "We cannot afford to waste time. We are flying to Milan, and straight to Milan."

"No fun."

"We can come back, we are not returning to our executions or anything."

And again they fell to silence. The night threatened to come, and when twilight came all around them, Dragon landed again, this time in clearing in a forest. They made camp quickly, and as Dragon wandered off to find dinner, Jane and Gunther did the same.

Gunther set to building the fire for the night as Jane estimated how long until they would have to hunt for their own food or have to stop in a town to get more. There wasn't much left, they would likely have to start getting food tomorrow. Hunting could wait for the next day.

That was when she heard the humming coming from the youth who crouched over his careful collection of wood. A quiet, haunting tune. She had heard it one or two times before, when he thought no one could hear him, but it never had words. "What are you humming?" she asked, startling him.

"Nothing," he deflected. "Just something I have heard here in Frankia, up by Hammaburg. It is called the Song of Hiltibrant."

"Will I hear it when we are there?"

"Maybe?" but he would not offer any more than that, focusing instead on building the fire.

The rest of the night and the next day passed in the same way, and Jane honestly didn't know what had made Gunther so quiet. When she asked Dragon when they landed to rest the next day, the lizard had only offered that maybe he was in one of his moods.

It felt to Jane as if they had regressed, even a few days ago he had been more open with her and now he was as closed off as always. He had helped her with French every other night but that night he simply lay to sleep, and Jane was curious as to why.

Finally, when they had reached the Duchy of Tansjurania and had stopped in a town to get more food, Jane demanded as they walked back to where Dragon waited, "What is wrong? You have been acting strangely since we left Paris."

"I–"

"You have. And I want to know why."

"I…Italy has always sort of been…mine, in a way. Jester's family is from Italy, yes, but he is not, do you understand?"

"He was young when he came to the castle," she allowed.

"Exactly. And it is stupid, yes, but going to Italy with you and Dragon is…it feels…I cannot describe it, but it feels almost…almost as if I am losing something. And I know I am not, but…"

"Gunther, why do you think I keep turning down anyone who offers to help with Dragon's runes? Decoding those runes, that is something only we do. To let anyone else in on that feels wrong. It feels as if it is being taken. If Italy is the same for you, then I understand." He gave a fleeting smile but didn't answer. And yet this time it felt so much better, now that she knew why he was acting the way he was.

"Welcome back!" greeted Dragon from where he had a small pile of cabbages he likely stole from a few farms in front of him, tossing them into the air and catching them in his mouth.

"We should be near the mountains soon enough," said Gunther. "The Duchy of Transjurania is not far from the mountains actually, we should expect to be there by tomorrow I think."

"And then I will take you to Meadow Peak!"

"We are going to Milan, Dragon."

"Meadow Peak is on the way."

"We can try and fly by it," said Jane, recognizing an argument between the two beginning, and she would be literally caught between them for hours and while she was extremely fond of both, she did not want their argument to be held over her head. "But if you cannot find it, we will not search. That way we are all happy. Agreed?" There was no response, so she pressed, "Agreed?"

"Yes," they muttered, and only then did she smile.

"Good. Now finish your cabbages, Dragon, we have mountains to fly over."

"How exactly could you tell that we were in the Duchy of Transjurania?" asked Dragon as they flew, a good half hour later.

"Dialect, mostly," explained Gunther. "It is like how you can tell that Sir Ivon is from Scotland. Here in the Burgundy region, they speak differently than up in Paris and Harfleur."

"It all sounded the same to me," said Jane.

"Well it is different. The Kingdom of Burgundy all has similar accents, but I can tell that we were in the Duchy."

"But I thought this was Frankia!" protested Dragon.

"It is. Frankia is not exactly a kingdom. It is more like an Empire. So this is part of Frankia, but it is also the Kingdom of Burgundy."

"And also the Duchy of Transjurania," said Jane.

"Yes. It is confusing, I know, but we are nearly to Italy already."

"And to Meadow Peak!" added Dragon.

"Good lord will you ever let that go?"

"Probably not."

"We did agree to fly by it," added Jane. "Is it truly on the way to Milan?"

"If it is in the Alps then it might be. I do not know what mountain you are thinking of though," said Gunther.

Melisenda's mother's parents had had Saxon blood in them, and while she herself knew nothing of the Saxons, through her mother she and her siblings had learned various superstitions and good luck charms and the like. And so when Smithy had managed to burn part of his back with something or other in the forge, she offered to help.

"My mother taught this to me," she explained as Rake brought what she needed, sitting by the garden so they could fetch everything needed. "She told me it is called the Nine Herbs Charm."

"My grandfather told me about it too," added Rake. "But he said that it was Saxon…"

"Well it is. But that does not mean it does not work."

"Rake's grandfather remembered the war," explained Smithy as the burn on his back was exposed, just below his shoulder blades, nasty but nothing deadly. "There were a lot of Saxons on the other side."

"And is it not supposed to be used for poisons?" asked Pepper, coming with the last of the things needed.

"Well yes," said Melisenda, taking the paste they had already crafted but for adding the herbs she had to sing three times to. "But my mother always used it for just when we hurt ourselves, and it worked."

"I am fine with you trying it," said Smithy with a shrug, wincing at the burn.

And so Melisenda set to work, singing what she remembered of the poem itself under her breath. It was true, it was a charm and cure for poisons, but her mother had always done exactly this when she had burned herself on the pot on the fire, or when her brothers had scraped themselves badly while playing when little or when they cut themselves on their knives or when chopping wood when older.

Smithy had always been so kind to her as well, had always given her a smile when she offered to help him carry what the butcher delivered, or when the division of labor in the kitchen left them with free time and she came to see the horses. So helping him however she could when he had hurt himself in his very dangerous profession was the least she could do in return for his kindness.

"I have to sing this into your ears and mouth and over the wound now," said Melisenda. Smithy merely nodded, and turned to let her sing over the burn. She didn't remember all of the charm as it was incredibly long, but what she did remember she sang. And again she bent down by both his ears and sang what remembered again. And finally, she placed her mouth over his in almost a kiss and sang again to heal him. "Wyrm com snican, toslat he man; ða genam Woden nygon wuldortanas, sloh ða Þa næddran, Þæt on nigon tofleh. Þær geændade æppel and attor, Þæt heo næfre ne wolde on hus bugan."

"Sorry but what is happening?" asked a new voice, and Melisenda knew it to be Jester's. Jester had been born far away from the castle, that she knew, and he didn't know any such things as healing charms, be them from those of England or from the Saxons. So she paid him no mind and continued to sing into Smithy's mouth. She could hear Pepper explaining it behind her.

"It is part of the Nine Herbs charm," she was saying. "After this we can apply the salve and put more beaten egg on it, it is all to help Smithy with that burn on his back."

"But why does she have to kiss him for so long?"

"It is not a kiss." There was fond exasperation in her tone, from someone who had to explain things like this often. "She is singing the charm into his mouth. She already sang into both his ears and over the wound, this is the last part."

Melisenda drew back for another full breath of air then, before continuing singing, promising herself to make something for Smithy who was being so patient. "Ic ana wat ea rinnende, þær þa nygon nædran nean behealdað. Motan ealle weoda nu wyrtum aspringan sæs toslupan, eal sealt wæter, ðonne ie þis attor of ðe geblawe." With that she was finished and pulled entirely away, going to the salve she was making of the nine herbs themselves; Mugwort, Betony, Lamb's Cress, Nettle, Chamomile, Plantain, Crab-apple, Thyme, and Fennel all crushed to dust and mixed with soap and juice of an apple.

"Seems like a very complicated healing charm," commented Jester as she worked.

"It is originally meant to banish poisons from within someone," Melisenda said. "But my mother always used it for me when I burned myself on the pot. The more serious the affliction the more complex the method. And it works better than some other charms." And now content with the salve she returned to spread it over the nasty burn, bathed with a beaten egg already. Once it was spread, she bathed it with the egg again, and declared, "We just need to bandage this up and it should start healing."

"I think the bandages are still in the kitchen, I will be right back," said Pepper, before hurrying to fetch them.

"Is the charm an English charm or…" started Jester.

"Well it is now, but I do think it was a Saxon one at first. There is a bit in there about Wodan, he is a Saxon god, I believe. Something about smiting a snake into nine parts for each herb," said Melisenda.

"No one worships Wodan anymore," said Smithy. "It is just part of the charm now."

"Bandages!" said Pepper, reappearing, and she helped Melisenda wrap carefully on the salve, protecting it from being rubbed off by his clothing. "There you go, that should keep you. But be careful, Smithy."

"I am careful. It does not protect me from everything though."

"Put your shirt on and keep working on fixing the pot, please," said Melisenda. "We need it for the stew tonight."

"You will have your pot, Melisenda, I promise you." And he did pull his shirt back on, hiding the bandages and the burn but for the scalded portion on the back, in need of mending. Mending she and Pepper would likely be doing sooner rather than later.

And just as they had congregated to help Smithy, so they dispersed to their work once more, though Jester followed into the kitchens. "You know Saxon spells?" he asked as Melisenda set to chopping up turnips for pies for that night.

"Only the one," she said. "My mother's parents had Saxon blood."

"There are not many Saxons in this kingdom are there?"

"A few, but you are right, not many, and they all came a long while ago, when our grandparents were young at the latest in large numbers. We are very far west, most of the Saxons settled to the east of us, but a few do still come here."

"Then why did they come at all?"

"The Vikings," answered Pepper, hard at work herself. "The North Men, some call them. Abbeys have been looted entirely, they are pagans in search of gold and that is all. But our queen was one of them, they do not attack us because of it."

"It is a fragile protection," said Melisenda. "But everyone knows about it. If the King had married a princess from any other kingdom, then we would not be safe from them at all."

"Once the queen dies, we might not have any more protection though, and there has always been some talk about it. I once heard one of the knights say that a neighboring kingdom was attacked, but they didn't come here because of the queen."

"Honestly Jester, how long have you lived here? You really did not know any of this?" But Jester had a pensive look on his face, and they got no answer out of him. Whatever his thoughts were, he did not share them, and soon he too left for his own occupation, leaving the kitchens to their work.

"Oh. Well." Jane laughed to hear Gunther say that, though she too had no other response to what she saw.

The Meadow Peak was a horrible name, she thought vaguely. It looked more as if someone had dropped a block of stone and wandered off, it was almost perfectly square from this face. There was no meadow, just sheer straight rock. Unless the meadow was at the top, came a thought, then perhaps that was why it was called that. But who could climb that?

"Well it certainly is dramatic," she said.

"You can have lunch on top of it, it is a great view," said Dragon, already angling upwards.

"Oh dear lord," murmured Gunther, glancing down at the unforgiving ridges of stone far beneath them. He never really did get better with flying in the near month they had been in Frankia.

"Are you sure that is a good idea, Dragon?" she asked. "I mean, what if you do not have enough gas?"

"I just need to glide down again, I do not need much gas for that," said Dragon. So up, up, up they flew until he landed atop the mountain, the snow under his massive feet creaking under the pressure. Jane dismounted nearly normally, but poor Gunther keeled over and simply vomited over the cliff edge. Jane pulled him back from falling, remembering that long ago day where he once did the same for her, and rubbed his back sympathetically as again and again his stomach tried to purge itself. "Maybe this was not a good idea," muttered the lizard behind her.

"Dragon I would kill you if I could," groaned Gunther as the heaving came to a stop and he simply lay on the snow, looking dazed and pained.

"Sorry, I guess Shortlives are not meant to be this high up."

"Clearly. And why are you not in my state wounds of Christ my head."

"Stop blaspheming," admonished Jane. "And besides, I suppose I am simply used to it, spending so much time in the air. Headache then?"

"Feels like a sword just cleaved it in two."

"Drink something, it should help." And so he lay there, occasionally moving only for his stomach to expel whatever was left within it, until he was recovered enough to moan a request to move lower on the mountain if it would help.

The rest of the day was mostly spent with Gunther slowly recovering, and by late afternoon they were back on firm solid land at a normal height, and he was entirely himself again but for a vague headache. "It was a good view though," he admitted, drinking fully of the water presented to him to ease the aching of his head. "At least as far as I could appreciate it."

"It was a lovely thought," added Jane. "Shortlives just are not designed for such high mountains, I think."

"Shame too. Thought you would like it," sighed Dragon.

"Your majesty?" asked Jester, and the queen looked up, a delicate brow raising. "May I…may I ask you a personal question?"

"It depends on that that question is, Jester," she answered, setting aside her book, a poem by Cynewulf (and if Jester hadn't taken inspiration from him a thousand times over).

"Forgive me if I offend you, but it is about…about your parentage."

"I see." And she folded her hands primly, as he had only ever see her do while sitting with her husband to hear the complaints of the people. "You want to know if I am sympathetic to the Vikings."

"Not that. Not that, I swear, your Majesty. I…I just wanted to know if what I heard was true. That this kingdom is spared the attacks only because of who your parents were."

"Where did you hear this?"

"I…the new kitchen maid. But she and Pepper both said everyone talks about it."

"She is a very bright young woman then." The queen was full of contradictions, it seemed, Jester had been half terrified to name Melisenda for fear the queen would have her fired. "Jester, my father was a Jarl, do you know what that means?"

"No."

"Something to be said for honesty. It means he was a judge, a priest, and a military leader. He was close to a king, of a sort. But what his title meant is not important. The first Viking attack on this island was in the north east, in Lindisfarne, and that was three years before I met the king when my father, mother, and myself came here. The attack on Lindisfarne horrified everyone here, as it very well should have. But back home, there were riches that seduced most the rest of us to want to come as well. My father however, wanting peaceable relations as well as an escape for his people, should our own Jarlship be attacked, came here.

"If anything, my marriage would protect us only from the attacks planned by my father or by whichever of my brothers succeeded him. But beyond that, to any nephews, there would be no such protection, nor from any other Jarl's command."

"Then we are just as vulnerable as anyone else? As Ireland? As Scotland?" fear crept into his tone, they had all heard of what had been done to Lindisfarne, to Iona, to Kells, to Durrow, to Derry, to Clonard, to every last abbey they could get to. Monks had been slaughtered for the gold crosses the Abbots wore, taken as slaves back to the northern lands, holy buildings burned to the ground. St. Cuthbert's own relics!

"We are vulnerable, yes, but not nearly helpless. Calm down, Jester. Come, sit down, you look like you could faint!" how strange it was, he thought, to be helped to sit by a queen. And still when he did, he didn't feel as if he was about to faint, so perhaps he could make do with the strange situation. "My husband is not a master politician we know that, you and I. But he does do what he can. And what he is surprisingly good at is telling Vikings and their Jarls to shove off elsewhere or their ships will be burned with them on board far offshore."

"Dragon?"

"Dragon."

"I…I do not think he would appreciate knowing that is being done in his name."

"Perhaps." And with a smile, she took her book and left him there, singing to herself. "Drømte mik en drøm i nat um silki ok ærlik pæl…"

A/N: again, feel free to slap me for taking so long, but the plus side is that I still have a lot of free time with my schedule here at Uni so hey I'll have no excuse not to work on this. Notes!

Saints Amand and Nicholas: both of them are in fact patron saints of merchants, and were named saints by the church pre-817. Saint Nicholas is also Santa Clause of course, and is also the patron saint of sailors, fishermen, children, the falsely accused, repentant thieves, archers, pharmacists, pawnbrokers, and Lorraine. Amand is also patron saint of bartenders, beer makers, vine growers, and Boy Scouts

Song of Hiltibrant: the English name for this is actually the Lay of Hildebrand, but the Old Saxon title was Hiltibrantslied, which translates to the Song of Hiltibrant. It was an Old Saxon poem about a father and son, Hiltibrant and Harubrant, who met on a battlefield on opposing sides. The last of the story has been lost to us right after they break each other's shields, so no one knows who lives and who dies

Duchy of Transjurania: it was an area in the Kingdom of Burgundy, ruled over by the Duke of Transjurania.

The Kingdom of Burgundy: Burgundy is now the south of France/north of Italy/a little bit of Switzerland, and its history is fascinating. Once an autonomous kingdom founded by the Burgundians, under the Carolingian Dynasty of Frankia it became part of the Empire, but still maintained its name. Later on, after the Frankian Civil War, it split off again, but rejoined later under other circumstances. It's also where the famous wine came from.

The Nine Herbs' Charm: An Anglo-Saxon spell that probably did originate with the Saxons themselves, as there is a mention of Wodan, the Saxon equivalent of Odin. It was a spell to blow poison from within someone, and required the maker to sing three times over the herbs before over the wound itself, and then into the ears and mouth of the one afflicted before putting the salve made from the herbs onto the wound. The poem, which is what must be sung, is very long and conjures magic from each herb before instructing on how to perform the actual ritual.

Saxon Migration: the Saxons came to England around the later half of the 700s, and they were the ones to create the kingdoms of Essex, Sussex, and Wessex. That is what makes Pre-Norman Invasion England Anglo-Saxon, the Germanic peoples coming over from Saxony, which was at the time being absorbed into Frankia.

What Gunther is suffering on Meadow Peak (better known as the Matterhorn), is altitude sickness. If someone goes too high too fast, it can result in what he is suffering, or even worse conditions like swelling of the brain or fluid in the lungs. There are many other symptoms to altitude sickness, but that is beside the point.

Cynewulf: brief mention, but he was cool so. Cynewulf was an Anglo-Saxon poet from somewhere in the 9th century but we don't know when. He has four surviving poems, two of which (Elene and Juliana) focus around female protagonists, as Anglo-Saxon heroines usually were very active in the stories proper. Both Elene and Juliana are very quick witted and extremely intelligent, and manage to talk demons and the devil himself into submission.

Jarls: Jarls were the aristocrats of the Vikings, they were kind of like kings in a way, but only sort of. They were indeed priests, leaders, and judges all in one. They also organized the raids, which usually had a lot of planning put into them.

The attack on Lindesfarne: Lindesfarne was an abbey in northeastern England, that housed the relics of St. Cuthbert, who was the single most well known and popular saint in England for a long time. Vikings attacked in 793, killed and enslaved many monks, and horrified all of England in doing so. It was the first attack of the Vikings on England, which began a long history of looting, particularly abbeys. However, this did also result in the founding of the city of Dublin, then called Dyflinn.

Iona, Kells, Derry, Durrow, and Clonard: all five of those are also abbeys, on the west of England/Ireland. They all had a history of being attacked by Vikings. Kells may be familiar for the Book thereof. The Book was kept there, and no one is very certain how it survived the Viking attacks so many times.

Queen Gwendolyn's song: The song is "Drømte mig en drøm" and is the oldest secular song from Scandinavia that we know of (excluding perhaps epic poetry being sung). It is written at the bottom of a law code in runes and early musical notation, called neumes. The translation has been debated due to it not fitting with the rest of the content, but it is usually translated as "I dreamed a dream last night of silk and fine furs." The first two lines and their tune are all that is left of the song, however.