Interlude: Elder Loboda

"Elder Loboda!" A young boy shouted, running into the tent and awakening the sleeping man. "Elder Loboda!"

The man awoke violently, swinging his fist and nearly clipping the boy who darted back to avoid the hit. "What is it boy?" Loboda hissed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he grabbed his clothing and started to pull it on. It must have been urgent for a messenger child to run into his tent, everyone was aware how little Loboda tolerated his privacy being invaded.

"The western scouting party," the boy panted, nearly out of breath and sweating heavily. He must have run quite the distance. "They've returned early."

The western scouting party wasn't due back for another half-moon's turn, and Loboda knew this boded ill. He sent a brief prayer to the Old Gods for his son's safety and dressed quickly, pulling his furs on over his sleep clothes and stomping his feet into the large furred boots.

"Have you awoken the others?" He questioned, grabbing his spear in afterthought as he left his hut.

"The other elders have already been told. Thule is getting the Magnar."

"Good," Loboda commented idly, walking to the edge of the village and halting beneath the gates where he could just make out several figures in the distance. "Go grab yourself some food," he dismissed the boy, resting his weight on the spear and watching the slow progress of the distant figures.

He was standing alone for quite some time as the village awoke around him. A goat bleated angrily as their owner pulled them by their horns back to their pen where they had escaped. Children were just starting to leave their homes, rushing outside to the frustrated yells of their parents. The forge was bellowing and people were chattering as they started their daily chores. They were familiar sounds, sounds Loboda had known all his life…and yet today they filled him with nothing but anxiety.

The group that was approaching was significantly smaller than the group that had left only a few days before.

"Worried, my old friend?" Einar joined his silent vigil at the edge of the village. Einar was ancient and withered. His skin wrinkled and leathery, marked by a lifetime of scars. He had been an elder long before even Loboda's father was born, but his back did not stoop, and his grip on Loboda's shoulder was still strong.

"They've returned too soon," Loboda replied, fighting the urge to fidget as the dark eyes watched him. "And less in number."

Einar turned his gaze to the forest below, the village elevated against the mountain wall as to overlook the entire valley. "Worry will not change what is," the old man offered some of his wisdom. "And yet is in our nature to worry still."

He released his hold on Loboda's shoulder, giving it a soft pat as he turned away. "The others have gathered in the hall. I think I shall join them."

Einar did not ask Loboda to join him, knowing that the younger man would not. Instead, he turned and made his way back to the village, his steps unhurried and his posture relaxed. Loboda envied Einar in his peaceful mind.

The village was fully awake with its people well into their morning chores when the western scouting party was escorted to gates. He recognized Ólafur and Arnar, but the girl that trailed them was entirely unknown. Of his own son, he did not see. The several warriors escorting them stopped at the gates, their hands fisted tightly around their weapons as the young girl passed them, the girl didn't notice the tension, or if she did, she was very good at hiding it.

"Ólafur," Loboda called out, approaching the group, watching the two men relinquish their weapons to the guards at the gate. Arnar was gesturing vaguely to the girl, her head tilted curiously, hand upon the hilt of a finely made sword on her waist. Her hand rested there, not out of hostility, but out of what appeared to be convenience. She also appeared not to understand that Arnar was asking her to surrender her weapon as well.

Loboda was distracted by their interaction, even as Ólafur stepped up next to him. The larger man turned to stand next to the elder, taking in the scene of Arnar's rising frustration as the small girl continued to blink up at him. Loboda wondered if she was simple, though the tense shoulders of the others belied something much darker than the girl being simple minded. If Loboda didn't know any better, he would think that it was fear.

Whatever it was that threaded all their movements in a deep seeded caution – even with mounting Arnar's frustration at the lack of understanding – he made no move to take the weapon away from the young girl.

"What happened?" Loboda asked after a long moment, turning his attention back to the warrior at his side. "Where is Halvar? Where is my son?"

Ólafur shook his head slowly. "He did not make it, Elder," Ólafur replied after a long moment. "He died bravely in battle against the dead. Stigr and Gyda died with him. We burned their bodies and set out at dawn."

Loboda blinked at him, eyes dark and shielded as he tried to understand what he was being told. Last winter he had lost Dagny, the love of his life and Halvar's mother, and now he had lost his only child as well. He silently cursed the gods, trying to understand what he had done to offend them so…to have them take all he held dear.

"What happened?!" He hissed, turning fully to face Ólafur, ignoring the others that had joined the argument to get the child to surrender her blade.

"The dead happened," Ólafur replied, voice more weary than Loboda had ever heard. The elder reared back, eyes wide and face suddenly pale. It had been a long time since Loboda had felt the cold, but know he felt it in his bones as Ólafur said those words.

"This close? In the valley?!"

Ólafur nodded his head slowly, turning to walk further into the village. The Magnar needed to be told immediately. Though Loboda wanted to ask desperately what had happened, he knew that the first accounting of the attack were not to be spoken only to him. All the elders and the Magnar would need to be told first.

"Everyone is gathering in the long hall," Loboda gestured towards the largest building in the village. "The Magnar needs to be informed."

The had begun to move towards the hall when Arnar called out to them. "She won't give up her weapon!" He sounded annoyed, his arms moving in small jerky motions as if he wished to reach and pluck the small blade from the young girl.

Loboda was about to ask the guards to take it from her when Ólafur stepped up. "Let her keep it," he sighed before turning back to him. "We can't take it from her even if we tried."

The elder blinked in confusion, a deep feeling of trepidation rooting in his chest, but he nodded his head once and the guards stepped aside. Loboda had known Ólafur for a long time, had trained him when he was but a boy in hunting and fighting, and had been present for the naming of his first two daughters. If Ólafur said to let the girl keep her blade, she would keep it…and if he said that it couldn't be taken, then Loboda believed that as well.

The girl darted up to stand just next to Ólafur and he. She was much smaller than he thought, only coming up to his chest. But she was clean – cleaner than anyone he had ever seen not just out of the baths – and she appeared in good spirits. She wore a bearskin cloak, nearly twice as long as she, dragging in the snow behind her.

It took him a long moment to realize that it was his son's cloak she wore, the claw carved into a clasp Dagny had made was prominent in the front. Loboda made an abortive move as if to take it off of her, but Ólafur's grip on his arm stopped him.

"It was given," Ólafur whispered to him, hand tight around his arm and tone urgent and pleading. "Not taken."

The words helped…a little. Loboda shrugged out of the grip and approached the girl until he was towering over her. His eyes roamed her face, taking in her lack of scarring except for a little jagged lightning bolt on her forehead, pale silver and clearly old. Her hair was black, unshaven at the sides as the shield women wore it, unbraided and undecorated. She wore it like a child, loose and untamed in wild curls that cascaded down her back.

Her eyes were the most unusual colors he had ever seen, bright green and laced with purple that seemed to make them glow. It was eerie, being under her stare, but Loboda refused to let her see how uneasy she made him.

The cloak rested on her shoulders, and through the opening at the front he could see she was practically unclothed from the waist up. How she was not shivering, he didn't know…and how she had come to be so bare worried him. Though now that he was closer, he could tell she was no child.

Her body – that of it he could see – was that of a woman's…though she was smaller than any woman he had ever known. Newly a woman then. And though he took his time observing her, she didn't seem to be put off by it at all. She seemed more curious than anything, her eyes still holding a form of childlike wonder as she darted her gaze from him to the buildings, to the villagers making their way to the hall, the animals in their pens, and the warriors still idling at the gates.

Barely a woman indeed. A girl her years would still be living with her family…how she came to be in the company of their scouting party Loboda was very interested in finding out.

Sighing softly, he cut a glare to Ólafur who was still hovering uncertainly near him and reached forward to pull the cloak more firmly closed to hide her from prying eyes. He jerked back suddenly as he was adjusting the clasp, a small white head darting out to snap at his fingers.

The cloak shifted and a small beast climbed from beneath to perch on her shoulders. It was as white as new fallen snow, wings and fins splashed with glorious colors as it shrieked at him. Its eyes were near identical to the girl's, reversed in color…but just as eerie.

"Is that…" Loboda trailed off, uncertain how to finish the thought let alone the questions. The girl was speaking to the beast, talking to it softly in a language he couldn't recognize.

"A dragon?" Arnar grunted with a shrug. "Yes…one of many."

"Many?"

"We need to speak with the Magnar," Ólafur cut in before he could ask more questions, his pointed stare at the warriors still lingering enough to prompt Loboda into movement. He spun, marching towards the long hall in quick steps as the two men and young woman darted to keep up.

He needed answers, and he needed them now.

The long hall was only partly made out of wood. The double doors large enough to comfortably fit a giant when they came to visit and trade. The entryway ended where the cave began, though the wooden floor continued all along the hall.

The long hall was carved into the mountain wall, massive enough to fit the entire village and all their livestock comfortably during the long winters. A hearth lay in the middle of the floor, dividing the hall in half as it stretched nearly twenty paces, coming to a stop at the raised dais at the end of the cave, where the Magnar and his family sat now.

The tables were filled, food served, and music already playing when Loboda led the group into the main hall. Servants were coming and going through the halls that led further into the mountain, where the kitchens and various storage rooms lay. The were all unscarred, their hair cut short to distinguish them from those born Thenn. They were all captured in various ways from other clans throughout the years of feuding.

One of the women, her hair slightly longer than the servants, sat at one of the tables and laughed uproariously with the man beside her. She must have been taken than…and promoted from being a servant to being his woman. While it wasn't common, it did happen, and Loboda only blinked at them dismissively as he passed, making a note to congratulate them later.

The hall had quieted by the time they came within sight of the Magnar, only the sound of the fire crackling filling the silence that had descended quite suddenly. Everyone turned to look at the approaching group, taking in the two survivors and their strange companion. It took longer for the whispers to start up again as the small dragon made its presence known, twisting its head this way and that, hissing periodically, and fluttering the fins along its back as its tail swung lightly behind it.

"Elder Loboda!" The Magnar called down to him from his raised chair. It was large enough to fit him comfortably, covered in furs and decorated with various animal skulls. Loboda had known Keld before he had become Magnar, as all of the elders had, but the man that sat before him looked nothing like the carefree and gentle boy that he had once been. The man that looked down at him now was severe and his eyes and lips were tight with tension. "Tell us, what has ailed the western scouts to have them return so soon?"

"Magnar," Loboda began, tilting his head in respect before he gestured for Ólafur and Arnar to step beside him and begin their story.

"We were attacked by an Other," Ólafur spoke carefully, voice projecting so the entire hall could hear. Whispers broke out once more, frantic and loud enough for the Magnar to gesture for silence. The line of his lips grew tighter. "The dead followed him, nearly a hundred!" He had to shout now to be heard.

The Magnar had to stand to quieten the hall. "And where did you see these dead? Where did you see this Other?!"

Silence stretched once more, eyes wide and locked on Ólafur as he answered. "In the valley, six days from here."

The villagers were shouting now, gesturing angrily as they spoke, fear heavy in each word. "If they speak truth, we must abandon the valley!" Elder Inghard stated, slamming his cup down in order to silence those nearest.

"We will not abandon the valley!" The Magnar declared, speaking more to the elders than to the people. "Not while I am still Magnar!"

The people were still shouting when the Magnar returned his attention to them. "Silence!" He yelled over the hysteria, bringing the hall to a sullen quiet. "Do you expect me to believe your words?" He questioned angrily, gesturing for a nearby servant to bring him a drink. It was early still for fermented goats' milk, but Loboda wished he could ask for one as well. Near a hundred dead was difficult to believe, and if it was true, that boded even more ill.

Perhaps it wasn't Loboda that had offended the gods, but all the Thenns. Perhaps that was why he suffered so.

"If there had been an Other, how are you standing here now?" Elder Einar asked from the table just below the raised dais. All the eight of the elders sat there, appointed as a sign of respect, and Loboda noticed his spot at the bench had been left open for him.

"It was the girl," Arnar replied as Ólafur struggled to find the words. Arnar gestured to the young woman, stepping aside so the Magnar and all the elders could look upon her. "We found her the day before, standing in front of a god tree."

"We took her prisoner," Ólafur continued after a moment. "And she did not fight, though it wasn't from a lack of ability." Loboda thought it odd that Ólafur made certain to emphasize that point. "She came willingly. And the next day the Other came. The dead would have overwhelmed us immediately had it not been for her."

The Magnar was observing the girl curiously, eyes skeptical as the entire hall observed her as well. She bore the scrutiny well, her eyes straight ahead, staring right back at the Magnar, and refusing to acknowledge the others around them. She seemed used to the attention.

"This girl?" The Magnar questioned, tone amused and disparaging as if the thought was too outlandish to be anything but a joke. Chuckling and soft laughter broke out amongst the people. "Tell me girl, how did you help?" When no answer was forthcoming, the Magnar's amusement faded. "Speak girl!"

"She doesn't speak the Old Tongue," Ólafur cut in before the Magnar's anger could rise. "She doesn't speak any language I recognize," he added after a thought. Ólafur wasn't skilled enough in languages to speak them, but he had heard enough to recognize the languages of the other Free Folk and the Common Tongue.

"The dead came for us, and she used some sort of magic to stop them," Arnar stated firmly and silence settled heavily over the hall once more. "She summoned fire, felled the dead before they were close enough to reach, froze them in place, and then when the Other attacked…a sword appeared in her hand that did not shatter when it met its blade."

"She thrust her sword through the Other and when it fell apart like ice, the dead fell as well," Ólafur continued where Arnar had trailed off. "And her dragons did the rest."

"Dragons!?" Elder Inghard questioned, standing to see better with his failing eyes. "Did you say dragons?"

"Aye," Ólafur replied with a small nod. "They came from the sky and burned the dead with their fire."

"And where are these dragons?" The Magnar asked, flicking his fingers to get the nearby servant girl to refill his cup. "I only see one…and it's so small I doubt it can win a battle with a fox." He laughed, though it sounded tight. Many laughed along with him.

"They took off," Ólafur confessed. "Once they saw the smoke from the village, the girl spoke to them in her strange language, and all but the little white one left."

"And you didn't stop them?" The Magnar asked, though from his tone Loboda knew that their leader doubted the existence of these other dragons.

"They were dragons," Arnar replied. "Though no larger than a small pony, they were many, and breathed fire. We couldn't stop them even if we wanted too."

The Magnar was observing the girl once more, his eyes dark and hard as he watched her and her little dragon. He flicked a glance at the table that held the elders, took in the scared faces of all the people present, and then glared down at the group that stood before him.

"Did you think the timing odd?" He asked after a long moment of silent deliberation.

"Magnar?" Loboda questioned hesitantly, suddenly feeling an entirely different sense of apprehension.

"You find this girl," he gestured angrily at the young woman who was staring placidly back at him. "And then you are attacked by the dead. She kills an Other, and you bring her here?"

Loboda frowned at him, his gaze darting to the tight and anxious faces of the other elders. "You think she brought the Other?" He asked in disbelief.

The Magnar blinked at him, flicking his gaze away dismissively. "Who could know…but Ólafur and Arnar both attest to her strange magics. If she killed an Other, she could have just as likely summoned it. Burn her."

"Magnar please!" Ólafur shouted to be heard over the chaos as the doors opened and some of the more zealous of the Thenns went to gather wood for a pyre. "You will dishonor us if you do this. She saved our lives!"

"Or perhaps she only made you believe you were seeing an Other, and she killed the others in your group herself. We can't take that chance."

"Lord Magnar!" Loboda took several hurried steps forward, stopping at the bottom of the dais. "If they speak truth and the child saved their lives, it will anger the gods to kill her."

"And if I speak truth?" The Magnar asked lightly. "What then, we let an enemy eat in our hall and sleep near our children?"

Loboda turned to look behind him as the little dragon started to screech threateningly. Warriors had approached while they had been conversing, surrounding the girl and the two surviving scouts. The girl looked apprehensive now, her hand on the sword the guards had failed to take from her, but she hadn't drawn it yet.

"Take her to the Seer!" He shouted; the words left him as if pulled from his chest. All movement stopped and even the little dragon quieted. "Take her to the Seer."

The Magnar's face twisted, his expression tightening further as he gripped the dog skull on the arm of the chair tight enough that Loboda could hear it start to crack. The glare that the Magnar gave him was of one of fury and hatred, but he hid it quickly. Not even the Magnar was above the Seer, who spoke directly with the gods, and now that Loboda had invoked her title, the Magnar knew he would have to oblige.

His lip curled, but he nodded his head once and his warriors backed off. "Take her to the Seer."

Loboda turned back and approached the girl. Her hand was tight around the decorated hilt of her sword and he could see a few inches of the blade that she had pulled from the sheath. The dragon was tense on her shoulder, breathing heavy and eyes narrowed as it tried to watch everyone at the same time. The girl's own unique eyes were wide and though she looked scared, she did not falter when Loboda stepped up to her.

He set his fingers gently on the back of her wrist and applied pressure until she fully sheathed her sword and released the hilt. Nodding to her once, he gestured to the open doors at the side of the hall. All the elders stood and made their way to the tunnel, a young boy running in front with a torch to light the way. Ólafur and Arnar turned to follow as well, and after a moment's hesitation, the girl trailed after them.

Loboda as the second to last to arrive, the Magnar no doubt just behind him. The room that the Seer claimed as her own was barely large enough to fit the party that now occupied the space, the eight elders already seated upon the floor, pressed against the walls that dried herbs hung from. Loboda moved to join them as Arnar was gesturing the girl to sit in front of the small fire that burned freely in the center of the room.

The cave was thick with smoke he could barely see through, the burning herbs making his head feel heavy. Once the girl was settled, the little dragon crawled down to lay in her lap, Ólafur and Arnar took their leave. The girl watched them go, a question on her lips in a language he had never heard. It was lighter than the old tongue, almost musical. Arnar gestured for the girl to stay before he exited.

They had no place here, where the Seer foretold and the elders listened.

The Magnar had just entered when the Seer left her sleeping rooms and sat opposite of the fire from the girl. She was old, older than Loboda even knew, and yet she also looked young as well. She seemed ageless and all knowing. Her milky white eyes were lined in coal that streaked down her weathered face like warpaint.

Skulls and bones of little animals were braided into her thick black hair, streaked grey and white from chalk…red from blood. The worn furs she wore did not close in the front, and every time she moved, he could see her heavy and ancient breasts sway.

She smelled foul, like much of the room they sat in. Her appearance was difficult to look at, and when she spoke it scraped at his ears like metal on metal.

"Who do you bring to see the Seer?" She cackled, smiling with her blackened teeth. Her eyes saw nothing of the realm they lived in, but she seemed to be looking directly at the girl…and the girl looked right back. She did not flinch under the milky white gaze, she didn't cringe at the woman's appearance, and her face didn't twist from the smell.

"A girl," The Magnar replied, sitting himself close to fire. "A deceiver."

"Or a savior," Loboda cut in, refusing to back down though the Magnar cut him a scathing glare.

The Seer laughed, her withered jugs shaking and jiggling with the sound. "Perhaps the girl is both!"

"Tell me," the Magnar returned his attention back to the ancient hag. "Tell me what you see when you see her."

Still chuckling, the Seer leaned forward and spit something black into the fire. The flames jumped, changing to a pale blue for just a moment before returning to orange. On the opposite side, the girl shifted uncomfortably, her hands tangling around the small dragon as she spoke softly to it. The dragon climbed up to press his head to her cheek and the girl seemed to calm.

The young woman reached up to the clasp of his son's cloak and pulled it from her shoulders, letting it pool around her and on top of the dragon. Her laughter was a soft twinkling thing as the dragon hissed at her, clawing his way from beneath to resettle on her lap. He could see Einar frown at the girl's appearance.

The pants she wore were of a thick leather like material he couldn't identify with some sort of pelt wrapped around her hips. It was grey and white, and it appeared to be some sort of wolf. She was wearing a thin black material that covered her back like a cloak, though instead of a clasp, she had her arms through holes much like a coat that had no sleeves. It did little to cover what she wore beneath it, and what she wore beneath was very little.

It was a white hide of some sort, from a creature that Loboda couldn't even begin to recognize. Compared to the dragon she held in her lap, the white hide she wore had perhaps just a hint of blue and was speckled with colors from blue to purple that he could only see when the light hit it just right.

The hide itself was beautiful, but it was so tight she might as well have not been wearing it at all. It left very little to the imagination, and Loboda feared that others would take an interest in her due to the portrayal of her woman's body. In Loboda's eyes, she was a child still…but she wasn't his child, so he only grimaced as some of the elders continued to stare and returned his attention back to the Seer.

She was hovering over the fire, arms wide while she pulled the smoke to her face and inhaled deeply. When she leaned back, she was chanting in a whispering voice, an odd wheeze on every word. Her furs parted further, baring her torso fully as she pulled a blade from within and cut her hand to throw her blood in the fire. The fire crackled with the liquid, and the young girl was enthralled by the Seer swaying back and forth in her chanting, though Loboda noticed she tried very hard to only watch the Seer's face.

The hag fell forward suddenly, collapsing into herself as she continued her chanting. Her arm, blackened with swirls of ash and dirt, presented the glade to the girl. The young woman leaned forward to take it carefully, twisting the old blade this way and that before she looked around curiously.

It was only as their eyes met did Loboda realize she didn't know what to do with the blade. He lifted his own hands, miming the action of slicing his palm open. The girl turned to look down at the dragon, whispering to it softly, and the dragon…the dragon answered her with a nod and a crooning noise.

The girl lifted the blade and slid it across her palm, only wincing a little as the blood began to run. Before she could do anything else, the Seer lunged forward to grab her wrist and bring the bleeding hand to her face. A long, blackened tongue snaked out of her black mouth and dug into the wound.

She tried to jerk her hand back, but the hag's grip was too tight, and the Seer only released her once she consumed what she needed. The old woman swallowed most of the blood and then spit the rest out into the fire. The flames turned purple, and this time they stayed that color.

"Ask your questions," the Seer spoke, her voice like scraping metal.

"Did she bring the Other into our valley?" The Magnar asked, leaning close to the foul-smelling woman.

"Yes," the Seer replied and Loboda winced at the Magnar's triumphant look.

He looked ready to end it there and have her pulled outside to burn, but the contention on the faces of the elders stayed him. He would continue to ask until the fires returned to normal, as was their way. "Why did she bring them?"

"They follow her," The Seer laughed as she pulled more smoke into her face. "They covet her. They could feel her, sense her…they wanted her for their own."

The Magnar frowned returned and Loboda felt something in his chest ease a little. The girl had brought death into their valley, but it hadn't been by choice. He didn't know why he wanted to see her spared from the flame, already there were two accounts of her being called a witch. But there was something about her, an innocence that had once been in his woman…an innocence that had once been in his son.

Halvar had given the girl his cloak, the cloak his mother had made him. They had so little left of Dagny after she passed…Halvar wouldn't have given the girl something he held so dear unless he too saw something in her.

"If she stays," the Magnar began, words thick and stilted like it pained him to speak them. "If she stays, will she put us in danger?"

"Yes," the Seer cackled a hacking laugh that had spit dribbling from her black lips. "Death follows her like a parent, always watching, always waiting. Wherever she goes, Death will trail behind."

"That settles it then," the Magnar stood and dusted his hands off. He towered over the still laughing hag as he began to make his way out of the cave. "She burns…tonight."

"Magnar," Elder Asger stood as well, using a thick walking stick to pull himself upright. Loboda could hear his bones creaking with each step as he approached their leader. "The fires have not returned; you have questions unasked that needs answering."

The Magnar frowned at the old man, turning to look back at the girl who was still kneeling before the fire, gazing up at him curiously. "And what question could I possibly have left?"

Loboda frowned as well as he thought upon the answer…and then it came to him. "What happens if we kill her?" Loboda asked the Seer, ignoring the annoyed snarl of the Magnar. The Magnar was usually the only one who asked the questions, though the elders were allowed to seek her out as well. He was overstepping himself with the Magnar present, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. His only child was dead, and the Magnar wanted to burn another child that his son had favored.

"Death!" The Seer shrieked the words. "Death! Death comes for us, our bones will freeze, the snows will fall, and we shall rise. Eyes blue and cold and dead!" She looked up suddenly, milky white eyes staring straight at the Magnar. "In her death we will all perish. In her life," she began, answering a question that hadn't been asked as the flames darkened. "In her life she brings Death. Death to her enemies, death to her friends, death to her loved ones. And in their death, I see life."

Silence descended as the fire crackled and the Seer's voice quieted to a whisper so faint that Loboda had to strain to hear it. "In her life I see your death, Magnar of the Thenns. In her death I see the end of all Thenns, I see the end of all Free Folk. Choose, Magnar…choose, and suffer the consequences of your actions for how ever long you have left."

The Seer cackled as the fires returned to normal and the Magnar fled the cave, the haunting laughter chasing him like a distant echo.