Good Morning, Smár Einn!
For those interested, I have a q /discussion thread in my Facebook group, fanfic for nerds. Join us there and ask any question (about the story so far) and see what others are saying and guessing!
Thank you to Mel and Jill!
.: Tuttugu ok Fjórir :.
It's been several days since Tove came to the house. I haven't heard anything about her, but judging by her full belly, I know I'll see her sooner rather than later.
It's bright out after supper, the summer sun lingering in the sky, not diminishing. The family has retired for the evening to pursue their own delights, which has given me a free moment.
I watch Edvard head outside, and emboldened by the ale I've consumed with dinner, I follow him.
Now that we can mostly communicate, I look for any opportunity to speak to him.
We don't get a lot of moments. Edvard is the busiest of anyone in the house. He works long hours in the day, and by the time he returns to the home to sleep, he is usually so exhausted I feel bad wanting to try to talk to him.
The sun is low on the horizon, but I can still see it through the trees as I step outside. Edvard is near the garden, retrieving a large fishing net that has been piled near the gate. I watch as he settles on a stump, pulling a bone needle out as he gets to work, repairing the net. I wander toward him, curiously watching his steady movements. He glances up at me as I approach, his stitches never faltering.
I move to sit on a stump next to him, glancing up to meet his gaze to make sure this is okay. His eyes are warm and open, and for some reason, it makes me blush. I shift on the log, looking back at the net.
I know there is a river nearby. It streams out from the lake where we all bathe. I don't know how far the river runs, but I know that somewhere along its course, Edvard sets the net out. He sets it every few days, as soon as we eat the stores his last trip has fetched.
"What is on your mind, Smár Einn?"
I have to fight a shiver of delight when he calls me that. Through some careful listening, I've come to determine that his nickname for me means something along the lines of Little One, and while it's never been a term that I've heard used for anyone before, I can't deny how much I love it.
"I'm just thinking," I say slowly, still somewhat self-conscious speaking his language in front of him. "Of my…" I hesitate. "...my other life."
Edvard pauses his work, his eyes focusing on me. I don't often talk about my past life. I don't know how to speak about it in my own language, let alone theirs.
"My life was very…" I stop, trying to think of a word that I know in his language that could accurately depict the hollowness I once felt. "It was very lonely." I look up at him, my heart swelling in my ribs when I see his gaze focused on me. "I didn't have anyone. I didn't know anything. I just was." I have to look away from him as I admit it, staring down at the dirt under my toes. "You have all taught me how to be stronger and smarter and kinder than I thought I would be." I look up at him again. "I know you found me in the forest, but what you don't know is that you also rescued me."
Edvard is quiet, and I wonder if I've said any of it correctly when he nods slowly.
"Bella, I often feel as if you've been sent to us by the gods." His fingers flex over the fishing net. "There is still so much you don't know, that we don't know, but you have come to mean a great deal to us all. Like you were meant to be with us always."
My stomach is sliding around inside me, fluttering anxiously as I process his words.
I want to be worthy of this life, and part of that means knowing as much as I can.
"Edvard?" I ask, my voice soft. He leans toward me slightly. "Will you tell me about your world?"
He lets out a breath, smiling softly as his fingers resume their work with the net.
"Of course, Smár Einn. What is it you want to know first?"
"Tell me about the village?"
Edvard looks at me in surprise. "It takes the time between dagmál and eykt to walk from here," he says. "Though it is faster if you take the horses." I try to remember the approximate hour references he's using. My guess is something like two hours on foot.
"Why don't you live in the village?"
He glances at me. "My mother needs to live on the mountain for her herbs."
It's the first time anyone has confirmed the relationship between Edvard and Eydís. I've suspected as such, but I couldn't be sure until right now. I lick my lips.
"You didn't want to live in the village?"
He frowns, his heavy eyebrows dipping over his brilliant eyes.
"This is my home."
He says it like it's so obvious and I look down to hide my blush. If the home belongs to Edvard, I have to wonder how Josurr and Arni play into it. Or does he simply mean he lives here? I still don't know nearly enough of this language to be able to understand these kind of nuances.
"Is the village big?" I ask instead, looking back up at him.
Edvard takes a moment to consider my question. "It is not as big as some villages I have seen. When we go out on the raids, we often encounter very large villages."
I frown. "Raids?"
"It's the way of my people," he says, matter of factly. "Every summer, an expedition of fighters sail out to the southern lands to trade or raid. It's how we make most of our money."
I look at him. "Edvard, are you a…" I pause, not sure that the word will be familiar to him in English. "Viking?" I don't know much about history, but I know large brutish men sailing and raiding checks off a lot of Viking boxes for me. Edvard looks at me in surprise.
"Vikingr? This word is known to you?" He pronounces it so differently, I almost shake my head, but then I think about it and nod.
"Yeah, I've heard of the… how did you say it?"
He repeats the word, and I do my best to copy him. He grins when I clearly fail, and I roll my eyes.
"Is that what you are?"
Edvard frowns.
"No, that is not the name which we are known by. While we are at sea, during the raids, we are vikingar, but not here. I am a bóndi," he says, motioning to the land in front of us. I turn to look at it, trying to figure out the word's meaning.
"A farmer?" I wonder, having to use the English word since I don't know it in his language.
Edvard shrugs.
"That word is not known to me."
Of course it's not. I look back at the land, thinking about all that is done to and around the house. They raise livestock and grow crops, so perhaps he does mean farmer.
I look back at him. "What year is it?"
Edvard frowns. "This is my twenty-third summer."
I shake my head, though it does answer another of my questions. "No, that's not what I mean."
When he looks at me, waiting for me to elaborate, I sigh. "I don't know how to say it," I tell him.
He nods, understanding. "How many summers have you lived?" he asks. I look at him in surprise.
"Uh, eight and ten," I say, not knowing the word for eighteen.
Edvard looks surprised. "Átján," he says in answer. "You look younger."
It makes me self-conscious, the way he says this. Has he not paid any attention to me because I look like a child?
I turn my head, looking down at the ground, when Edvard reaches out to push my loose hair back up over my shoulder. His hand is large and warm and sends shivers through me. "Tell me," he begs quietly. "Are you konungrdóttir?"
"What?"
He smiles a little. "Dóttir of a konungr."
I repeat the words to myself, and it helps because my lack of accent starts to translate the words for me. "Daughter of a king?" I ask, surprised into using the English words. Edvard shrugs lightly. "Are you asking if I'm a princess?" I have to ask all of it in English, because I have no idea how to say it in his language.
Of course, he doesn't know the word, but it doesn't matter. I laugh, shaking my head. "No. My father is…" I pause, not sure how to explain my father. He's not even born yet, so does it matter? I look at Edvard and shake my head. "No."
Edvard frowns. "Never have I met a woman so small and clean," he explains. "I thought perhaps your father was a king."
It's a backhanded compliment, I think. I've struggled keeping up with his family in physical strength. I've gotten stronger and I've gained weight since I got here, but I know I'm still weak in comparison.
"Where I come from," I say slowly. "We don't work. Not like this."
Edvard looks surprised and I shuffle my feet, looking back down at them.
"How did you find me, Smár Einn?"
My heart flips in my chest when I look up at him. I know what he's asking, but I honestly don't have an answer. I still have no idea how I came to be here, nor why I came.
"I think," I whisper, speaking in English because I'm too self-conscious to say this to him directly. "It was my destiny to find you."