I just want to start off by saying thank you to everyone who sent my love and support for this story. You guys are all brilliant and awesome and so many other things and if I could give you all hugs I so totally would. That being said I kinda want to apologize for my rant. I was more than a little stressed out at the time and the comments I'd been getting was the straw that broke the camel's back as it were. My opinion on the matter hasn't changed, but the rant I admit may have been a bit much. Sorry for that.
This chapter is a bit shorter than I wanted but I figured after the long wait no one would care all that much. I also didn't proofread it, but again, after so long I just wanted to get something out there. Job hunting has been taking up most of my time right now, so I don't know exactly how much I'll be able to write for the time being. I'll try to work on this and my other stories as much as possible.
Until then...enjoy! :D
Lifa waded through the sea of bodies, ignoring the few wandering hands and shouts for attention as she tilted her head this way and that in a feeble attempt to see over the much larger men and women. She could only catch glimpses of the front dais where Ragnar sat in his throne. A second throne had been erected beside his, draped in furs but distinctly empty otherwise. A man calling out and lifting a mug of ale stepped in front of her - almost on top of her really - once again blocking her view. She huffed quietly in annoyance brushing a lock of blonde hair out of her face where it mingled back into the braids and curls her sister-in-law had wrangled her hair into. Helga had opted to stay at the inn, too exhausted from her reunion with her husband to want to deal with the rowdy revelers. Lifa didn't blame her. The noises issuing from their room had been traumatizing enough; she'd hate to see how the others would react to Floki's wife looking thoroughly debauched.
She managed to squeeze herself through two drunkards, only for her foot to catch on what felt like someone's boot, sending her tumbling face first to the ground. Instinctively, Lifa threw her hands out, grasping at whatever was nearest to try to catch herself before she became intimately acquainted with the grimy floor of Ragnar's longhouse. Soft fur and worn leather tangled in her fingers in her attempt to remain upright. A grunt sounded above her but she paid it no mind, concentrating instead on steadying her feet and turning a glare to the man behind her who was quickly retreating. Not that she didn't recognize that coat. She'd mended that coat many times over the years before she left, and again before leaving Helga at the inn. Her brother would have a lot of explaining to do when she tracked him down.
A very familiar noise of annoyance brought her attention back around to the man she'd latched onto in her bid to stay standing. She gave her family's signature manic grin and took the horn of wine clutched in Rollo's grasped. He sighed in exasperation as she tipped the remainders of his drink down her throat before handing it back to him and clapping him in the shoulder. His eyes narrowed, making her smile wider and giggle lightly. She pushed herself back into the crowd away from her childhood friend and toward the Earl.
Ragnar greeted her with a smirk and a hug. "Shield-Sister," he slurred into her hair, clearly intoxicated. "I have a request."
"You mean order," she chuckled, gently pushing him back to his seat. She eyed him carefully, noting that though he had too much wine, his eyes were still thankfully clear of any fog. "What is it, then?"
He leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair, beckoning her closer. She rolled her eyes with a laugh as she dropped to her knees beside him resting her hands on the same armrest. He leaned so close she could smell the sharpness of the wine on his breath. His finger came up to point in her face, nearly touching her nose. She went cross-eyed trying to keep it in sight. He huffed out a laugh while still attempting to keep a straight face.
"You speak her language," he spoke lowly so no one would hear despite knowing the others were far too interested in making merry to be concerned of their leaders conversations.
"Whose language?" she tilted her head to the side curiously, grinning sharply when he quirked an eyebrow in response.
"My wife's."
"She is not your wife yet, dear Earl," she shifted forward to tap her forehead against his lightly. "And if you truly intend to take her into your marriage bed, you should perhaps learn her name."
He blinked at her, "Her name?"
"Yes, Ragnar," she grinned. "Her name. Temperance."
His brow furrowed, "What so of a name is…Te…Tem…"
"Temperance." Lifa grinned in amusement at his stuttering. She wasn't certain if it was just the wine or the inherently English name that was stumping him.
Ragnar shook his head, "I'll have to think of something different."
"You can't just change her name Ragnar!"
"I need you to go back and get her ready," he continued as if she'd never spoken.
Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly on a sigh. There was no way to make Ragnar see the foolishness in this decision. It would be best for everyone involved if she were the one to assist the princess in any way possible, to prepare her for what was to come. At the very least Lifa truly was the only one capable of communicating with the girl. So rather than arguing, she gave him a hard look, something she had always done when he forced her into a situation she didn't agree with. It didn't happen regularly, but often enough for him to immediately recognize it. He smirked at her as she stood, brushing off her knees, and turned away from him.
The door leading to the back, private rooms stood to the left behind the thrones in a more secluded area. Not even the servants would venture close. That was strange considering they still had a princess to prepare, but Lifa assumed as none of them could speak her language they must have given up.
"You!" she called as a slave girl tried to scurry past without being seen. The girl turned back, big brown eyes wide with nervousness as she tried to balance the large pitcher of mead in her arms. Lifa took the pitcher and handed it off to another slave. "Come with me," she told the girl, turning and walking away without looking back.
Shuffling footfalls followed her through the door and into the dimly lit corridor behind. A handful of rooms lined the hall, leading to the Earl's personal quarters. A flickering light shone from beneath one of the doors, signaling where the princess had been roomed temporarily until the marriage ceremony later that evening. The blonde didn't hesitate to push the door open and peer inside, startled when it appeared empty except for the furniture. Lifa blinked into the candle light, wondering idly if the princess had actually gathered enough courage to run away, when she heard it. A muffled sob coming from the other side of the bed. She stepped in fully, motioning for the slave to close the door behind them, and braced her hands on the thick furs atop the bed large enough to fit three Rollos. The first thing to greet her eyes was the top of a bent head, dark brown curls in complete disarray from slim fingers gripping them tightly in fear or frustration or both. Temperance still wore the tattered dress from the voyage over the sea. Her pale skin was raw from harsh winds and smudged from dirty living conditions. Her entire frame shook quietly from suppressed emotions.
Lifa sighed as silently as possible and moved around the bed. It wasn't until she was blocking the light from the candle across the room that Temperance's head shot up to blink at her with wide fearful eyes. It was a moment before the Englishwoman recognized the blonde, pink slowly returning to her cheeks in embarrassment at being caught in such a state. She rubbed angrily at the tear tracks etched in her skin and sniffed delicately, averting her gaze. Lifa turned back to the slave girl momentarily, ordering her to draw a bath for the Earl's future wife and to have her bag from the inn brought here. Helga would know which one she meant.
Once the two women were left alone once more, Lifa lowered herself down onto the floor in front of the princess and waited for her to compose herself before reaching out. Her hand curved over the woman's slim shoulder, drawing Temperance's attention completely to her. She didn't say anything, simply looked steadily at the other woman for a few moments until the brunette nodded once. The two rose from the floor and wandered over to the seats closer to the fireplace on the far side of the room.