May, Year of the Great Kingdom 597
Things remained little changed for them after that. Both would work the fields, trying to yield the greatest crop possible. At night, they would sell the majority of their potatoes to the other farmers and a steady portion of Gormund's alcohol. The charity from the farmwives was eventually refused – with gracious thanks – and the two were able to survive on their own.
To her father's surprise -and anxiety- Telma continued to grow and develop as an incredibly beautiful woman. Now at nineteen years of age, she towered over most of the farmers and soldiers of the west and the curves of her body could make even the most reserved and chaste men blush. But she was always careful to dress modestly and not draw attention to herself if other men were visiting. She did not like how the once judgmental, sneering men now seemed to stare dreamily after her when they were supposed to be negotiating prices with her father.
When her clothing became too tight or too small, the same women who had acted as her tutors years before would return and help her alter and let out her clothing – often teaching her the skills of a seamstress along the way. In these late years, their conversations seemed to always wander to the subject of Telma's future husband and how many children she would bear. "Oh, aye, you'll do just fine by your husband and sons with those blessings the goddess has given you dear!" was often repeated, turning her cheeks red with embarrassment.
Gormund too had begun to turn his mind toward his daughter's future prospects. He was getting older and the toils of the farm and the late nights minding his still were wearing down upon him. His hair was thinning, his beard had turned grey, and his joints ached awfully in the mornings and evenings. He knew he would not be able to care for his daughter forever. "We should talk… about finding you a husband, my dear."
"Oh papa," she answered with a dismissive tone, "We don't need to worry about that. I'll just look after you! Besides… no one would want me." Her father turned a disapproving eye to her, "Now I don't want to hear any of that! You are beautiful, hard-working, and kind! Any man would be very lucky to marry you! We just… need to find the right man." He answered thoughtfully. "Who would he be?" she snorted with disgust, "Some… fat farmer who's first wife has already died of boredom?"
He turned his eyes over to her as she sat at the table, stooped over, and rested her chin upon her hands. She looked miserable – completely crushed at the idea of trying to find a man that would accept her. She believed that any man who would, likely could never give her the life she dreamed of. Wanting to cheer her up, Gormund smiled at her, "He will be a handsome knight!" he offered, encouragingly.
Telma's upper lip curled, "Ugh… not a knight. They're all dogs." "Not this one," he answered quickly, rising from his seat and drifting about the room, describing her future beau, "He will be handsome… tall… and mighty!" he cried, flexing his own arm comically. "Men will fear him… girls will fawn for him… but he will love only you." He finished, gliding over to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "and he'll be rich!"
She couldn't resist a smile, but she still denied him, "Only a dream papa. Knights are dogs."
June, Year of the Great Kingdom 597
Gormund tried his best to find a suitable match for her, but none of the soldiers from the tower (out on patrol) would listen to him, and few of the farmer's sons would even come to see her. One regarded her as little more than an animal – going so far as to asking Gormund if she "could even be bred." Another was only interested in her cooking and warned that he would expect his meals to be prepared properly and on time. The third, was less rude – in that he spoke much less. He just stared at her with his eyelids half raised and mumbled, "Yer pretty."
"He's thick!" she cried, turning to her father. "W-what?" Gormund laughed, "He's a good, strong, working-man, aren't ya lad?" But the oaf just shrugged at him and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "He looks like he's been kicked in the head by a mule papa!" she grumbled with a sour frown. "Just once." The boy answered.