AN: Thank you to Heather, who part wrote this chapter with me. She is the most beautiful beta-reader, who stays up until 2:30 in the morning shouting out suggestions and reading the same paragraphs over and over again. And, of course, to Emily, my other beautiful beta-reader, with her plethora of comments that are always appreciated.
It is said in these lands that the thunder is merely the Sun God laughing, and the lightning is him showing off for his love, the Moon.
The Andersens were a poor family by societal standards, though the lack of wealth did not leave them feeling bereft of the necessities. They held no title, but the land they lived on was theirs; a small manor, and good tilled earth. Sweat and tears watered the fields and crops, coaxing things to grow and thrive in their small kingdom of green. Gentle hands and kind hearts saw that all who worked for them were proud to serve, be it man or beast of burden. Winter was swift and full of joy, and summer was as sweet as raspberry wine.
Marta and Magnus were born twelve minutes apart on the first day of summer when the sun shone the brightest, hottest, and was the highest and longest in the sky. Marta had warm, honey-brown eyes and no hair, but her skin was sun-kissed right from infancy. Magnus was pale and had hair as white as the blazing sun in the heat of summer, his eyes blue like a pool of water in a desert oasis. In the evening of that day, when the sky was painted with rich hues of gold, orange and pink, and lilac purple, the Sun Spirit appeared with his blessing. The little cottage where they lived, their mother often recounted, had suddenly grown hot, like an oven, and filled with a light so bright she had to hide her face in her hands. It was as if the air was fire itself, hissing and spitting like wet firewood. When the coolness of evening returned, the heat dissipated as if it had never been; nothing was even so much as singed.
Their mother was soft-spoken and tender. During most evenings she would sing to her children while they prepared for sleep, then she would kiss them both on their foreheads and whisper words of affection when they were tucked into bed. They were both her blessings, neither one more special to her than the other. 'Family is the greatest treasure you will ever have,' she told them time and time again, 'cherish it, for it is worth more than all of the riches you can fathom.' A saying that both her children came to know well.
Their father seemed a stern man, for all the lines graven into his face from wind and weather, but when he smiled it became clear that no weather could darken his cheery soul. He had a loud, booming voice and a hearty laugh. He worked hard for his family, leaving for the fields before the sun was above the horizon and only returning home when it had dipped to kiss the earth. It was often that he returned with his hands as brown as the soil he worked in, no matter how much he washed. He was good to his children, and taught them much; about the Sun and the Moon and how together they created Life, which spread across the earth. His father spoke of responsibility, the honor of good work, and kind deeds to bird and beast and plant and instilled these things in his son and heir, Magnus. He taught Magnus to thank the Sun Spirit every morning for a new day, since the future was never guaranteed, and to thank the Moon Spirit every evening for the opportunity to rest.
Magnus and Marta were comparable to the wind: a force to be reckoned with, but often blowing in different directions. Marta grew faster than Magnus and often teased him for it. She was slightly taller, a little faster, the tiniest bit stronger. She found taunting her brother to be the finest entertainment, and Magnus' gentle spirit only encouraged her to seek new ways to torment him while they were young. Their mother would often have to pull them apart and mend their clothes, and patch scraped knees (or remove a multitude of stingers after Marta discovered a beehive and threw it at Magnus) with a reprimand to be kind to your family.
Their mother never played favourites, but often had to seek Magnus out after a particularly nasty fight. She'd find him, as mothers always do, hidden in the hayloft and would gather him up and hold him against her chest. She would let him cry into her clothing, soothing him with her hand in his hair on the back of his head. She would tell him she loved him and he was precious, just as Marta was. She explained to him that all siblings do not always get along, but having a twin was the greatest blessing he would ever receive. Marta would forever be there for him, and he there for her. There was no one that could be closer together than they. Marta should be his strongest ally, his best friend, his greatest companion. Magnus tried to protest that Marta was mean, and their mother laughed and kissed him. She said, "You both will grow."
It wasn't until the birth of their younger brother Marcus, 11 years later, that Marta and Magnus began to value their bond. Suddenly no longer the centre of their parents' world, Magnus and Marta's friendship with each other grew. More often they kept each other company, bonding over their mutual dislike for the baby that kept everyone awake at night. The chores that once were no more than distractions among the childish games were now central to their rapidly changing lives; their responsibilities grew as much as they did. Magnus was required to be at his father's side in the running of the farm - tending field and flower, beast and farm hand. Marta became central in managing the household while their mother was tending to Marcus, and later to Magga. Marta learned to manage accounts while doing chores, and to attend village matters when the Village Women's Circle needed an Andersen voice.
Soon, jaunts into the village were their responsibility, to see to harvests' delivery, the purchase of farm implements, and to check in with the neighbours. Adventures in the exploration of the village life soon bonded them through bullies, dishonest merchants, horse-thieves, and brigands. Not that they had dealt with brigands, nor were they ever in much danger being in such a small town, but both the goodness and cruelty of humanity was illustrated to the twins as they matured.
Some solace was found in the Temples of Sun and Moon, where after an afternoon among their friends would see them for an hour or two in the quiet, reading the religious texts, laughing at their day's adventures, or commiserating over their troubles. The twins became fast friends, riding in the countryside, or doing the farm chores together back to back, climbing the apple trees to pick harvest. They would share a hard cider at the tavern from time to time under the innkeeper's watchful eye, or fish by the brook in the early autumn on rare afternoons their parent's dismissed them from their regular duties. Marta's fiery temper got them in as much hot water as Mangus' ability to be beguiled; likewise his level head smoothed ruffled feathers on her behalf, and her sharp tongue defended him when no one else would.
But, times changed.
...
Magnus liked the stables - it's where he felt the most home in this unfamiliar world at court. It was not often he found he was able to get his hands dirty as he did at home. Most of the groomsmen had urged him from the stalls, insisting that they would deliver him the steed of his choice already saddled, and take it away when he returned from a ride. Being related to the Sun Spirit meant he was equated to nobility, and dirty work was below his station. However, during a lull in the afternoon right after lunch, most groomsmen disappeared for their break, and Magnus could slip into the barn unnoticed.
He made friends with a roan gelding, called Snorri, that happily allowed Magnus into his stall with a cheerful nicker and bob of the head. He was soft-tempered and cheerful, eager to please. He stood still while Magnus ran his fingers through his mane and leaned in to bury his face in it, breathing deeply of the distinct horse smell that he loved so much. He could close his eyes and pretend he was back at home. Snorri would lift his feet for Magnus without protest, turning his head to watch as Magnus picked out dirt and stones from each of his hooves.
He thought of his companion back home as he worked, the old dappled gray mare, Skinfaxi, that he loved so dearly. She was old when he first saw her, tethered to the side of a ruined shed at a horse fair. Magnus, 12 years old and full of dreams of his own horse, had gone with his father to seek a new carthorse. Placid in temperament, she seemed almost dumb, or perhaps too skittish to be trained what with her deafness. Magnus' father was reluctant in her purchase, insisting Magnus spend his money on a wiser investment, but Magnus was adamant that she was perfect. Skinfaxi was a dear thing, and with the attention Magnus paid her, she soon became a well-loved member of the Andersen farmstead.
Magnus found Snorri's saddle in the tack room, hanging on the wall below a golden nameplate and brought it back into the stall. The gravel trail from the outer courtyards, winding down the hill past the village and veering west where it widened and followed the banks of a slow-running river that snaked its way through the valley was beautiful - and maybe it would let him breathe a bit, with all the stifling court pomp ruffling his practical-minded feathers.
"Magnus," his whole body cringed and he paused before slowly turning in the direction of Marta's voice. He hoisted the tack onto the stall gate, and soothed the horse he had been about to saddle with a firm pat. Marta was striding with purpose down the stable lane, fancy skirts whisking about her ankles as she picked her way through the dust and straw. Magnus thought that the green looked wonderful against her complexion, and the twining ivy leaves embroidered in gold thread on the sleeves and bodice made him think of the forests they used to ride in.
"I thought I might find you out here." Her expression was pleasant enough, but Magnus knew his sister far more than to trust the thinning of her lips and calming nature in the tone of her voice; her eyes shone with a fire he was all too familiar with. She was angry with him, or with someone, anyway.
"Hello, Marta," he greeted placidly, mind searching quickly at what he could have possibly done to irk her so early in the afternoon. He hadn't even seen her since their shared morning meal - it must be someone else, he thought.
"I was with Sindre this morning," she said, and the smile that flashed across her face, before it was schooled away, was warm and genuine, "we had a pleasant stroll arm-in-arm through the garden." She looked wistful as she let herself recall earlier events and Magnus felt a rush of affection for his sister; she was so undeniably taken with the prince it was hard not to feel gladness on her behalf. But, then her expression soured and she froze him over with a particularly fierce glare. "He said something interesting about you, you know," her tone was eerily calm, "and I have to wonder, Magnus, what were you up to this morning after breakfast?"
"What?" Magnus startled, "I've hardly done anything to catch the interest of anyone at all!" And it was true. When they had first left their little farmland for the prince's kingdom, he thought it would be a grand adventure to stay at a palace.
He daydreamed on their journey north, what it would be like to go to sleep in expensive bed sheets, to have more pillows than needed and then wake whenever one desired with the sun high in the sky. It would be nice after the bruises on one's behind from all the bouncing around in the back of a stone benched' carriage; he would have preferred to ride himself. But, after waiting on a royal summons for nearly a fortnight, sleeping in a giant feather bed had all but lost its lustre.
To be treated like a high-class citizen seemed wonderful at first, but after a while it seemed to dull when those that he would have engaged in conversation now looked down and would not meet his eyes. Servants scuttled from beneath his feet, bobbed curtsies and bowed when he approached. Work he might once have happily have had a hand in was now out reach, and when he tried, he received scandalised, sometimes horrified, looks. He wondered at that, until his father pointed out that they might think that he was criticising their work. It was frustrating. It meant he was at a loss as to what to spend his time in doing, so he usually spent it by trying to be as unobtrusive as possible when he wanted to participate.
Over the past week he had become so bored he could no longer stand it. First thing after breakfast one morning he had made his way to the stables, fully intending to help the groomsmen with their morning chores. He had never having felt so desperate to shovel shit in his life. His plans were thwarted of course, by the stable staff insisting he return to his rooms and do something more appropriate to his station with his time.
Still determined to do something useful, he'd found his way to the greenhouses behind the kitchens one afternoon. He'd managed to sink to his knees in the dirt and started ripping out weeds and tending to small plants in the herb garden when the head cook came out, yelling and waving her ladle at him. The soil beneath his fingernails was a refreshing sensation, but being chastised by the angry, plump woman who fed him breakfast each morning was not worth the relief. He fled, much like a dog with its tail between his legs, wondering how such a large woman could move so fast.
It was this morning he found himself at the kennels, and there his willingness to lend a hand was finally appreciated. Walking the palace dogs had seemed like a simple enough task but, upon reflection, perhaps the staff there had been a little too eager to hand over the fistfull of leashes.
He had barely made it to the courtyard before all the dogs suddenly stopped behaving, having realized their regular caretakers were not going to attend their easy walk through the grounds. They chose one singular moment to wrench free from Magnus' relaxed and trusting grasp. The hounds scattered, Magnus yelled, chasing after them. He nearly caught the leash flying after the nearest, who was elderly, blind in one eye, suffered a limp, and was still faster than Magnus. Their braying and his shouting filled the air as they led him on a chase across the courtyard, through a latticed archway, past the stables, 'round the fountain and sprinting towards the freedom of the gardens beyond the row of low greenhouses.
"Oh. Right," Magnus suddenly remembered and realized what it was Marta may be referring to. When he realized he would not be catching all eight hounds himself by chasing after them, he had paused to catch his breath. That's when he had glanced up towards the palace, and in one of the window was the Crowned Prince himself, looking down at Magnus with an amused expression poorly hidden behind one of his delicate hands. Sindre had his attention called away from the window by someone else in the room and he'd disappeared. Magnus wondered just how long Sindre had been watching him; he flushed then, and now again at the memory of it. He ducked into the stall with Snorri, hoping to dodge Marta's disapproval.
"He said there was a ruckus in the back courtyards, and when he happened to look out the window, he saw you at the centre of it." Marta crossed her arms over her chest, having forgotten about the hems of her skirts and letting them fall around her slippered feet. "We are both very lucky he has a sense of humour under that chill exterior of his. He had the kindness to laugh as he told me this," Marta heaved a sigh, "but, for the love of the Sun and the Moon, Magnus, this isn't our home in the countryside. You can't behave like an idiot. We need to be seen as proper members of society here."
"I was bored," Magnus complained, "I am bored. There's nothing to do."
"Go study in the library! Don't go chasing after every hound that chases after a squirrel."
Marta frowned, stepping into the stall to stand on the other side of his mount, absently scratching a greeting on the nose of the roan gelding. She sighed, her anger seeming to give way to exasperation at the situation and Magnus' clumsiness. She threw him a hopeless look, eyes full of fondness, and Magnus felt himself relax a bit. "You are an idiot, aren't you?" She looked away, and Magnus could almost feel her unease. Too often it seemed to be masked by irritation these days, or bravado.
"I know, but…" he paused, fingering the saddle blanket on the door, before tossing it easily over his mount. With a nod to Marta, he next heaved the saddle onto Snorri's back, settling it there. Marta moved to allow the stirrups to fall, her hands quick to task as his, more out of habit than anything.
"I can't help but feel this is all going to blow up in our faces. You shoulder too much of this. I wish…" he began, then trailed off, wary of their location. He hated that. He longed for their home in the countryside, when Marta would hike out to the fields to deliver him some bread and cheese and, if he was lucky, a crisp apple from their small orchard. "I miss home." At home, where life was honest and simple and there were no grand court events and charming princes. Home was where he'd work himself to exhaustion and he'd collapsed into his lumpy bed and be asleep before his head hit his flattened pillow. He and Marta would sit together in the hayloft and share a glass of their mother's cold lemonade, or talk until the moon was had risen. Home was far away from palaces and Spirits of the Moon and divine duty that was destined to rip apart their family. The Sun Spirit had not blessed their family, he had cursed it.
"No!" she hissed, fingers curling into the well groomed mane, "You know we can't let anything jeopardize this chance. What would Da say?" she winced, and Magnus could relate. He hated the oily feeling of their deception, but he hated the thought of disappointing their parents even more, their lovely and patient mother and strong and good father. He had been told every day of his life that this would happen, that it was a good thing, and yet his gut clenched with a longing ache to return to the life he missed, where he did not feel so bored and so useless. The sudden thought that he might have to stay if all this did work out was an uncomfortable one; it was like a knife twisting in his chest.
Marta sighed again, and she hid her face in the neck of the sturdy horse, breathing the warm scent. Magnus patted his mount, leaning down to cinch the girth and fasten the breast collar leads. He removed the halter, replacing it with the bridle hanging on a peg nearby nearby, scratching Snorri's forelock playfully. The gelding snorted, tossing his head, ill-amused. Magnus missed Skinfaxi.
"Of course I miss home," Marta said quietly."I miss how we used to get into so much trouble…" she took a comb from the bucket of tools hanging on the outside of the stall door. She was quiet a moment longer and Magnus let her find her thoughts. He was afraid to say the wrong thing and provoke her temper, especially when it seemed she did not really want to be angry. Instead, he reached across the gelding's back to touch her fingers still curled in the horse's mane.
"I miss you too, Marta," he squeezed her hand, "but, I can see part of you likes this place more than home - the farm. You like the glamour and the attention," his eyes sparkled with gentle tease. She smiled at that and he found his lips turning up in reply.
"Yeah. I do enjoy Sindre's company, too. He's funny and gentle and so handsome," Magnus wiggled his eyebrows and Marta rolled her eyes, reaching to give him a playful smack upside his head before she continued, still smiling, "and he's easy to talk to. Like you, in some ways. But, I feel like there's a wall between us. I don't think he means to put it there, but he seems to always be very careful with what he says to me. He hides, I think. I am also worried that he hasn't said anything about a proposal…" She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "I feel everyone was expecting for us to announce our engagement at the ball, but… he disappeared for a time after dancing with me."
Magnus blinked at that and withdrew his hand from hers to run nervously through his hair. She did not know that Sindre had found him in the garden and they had spoken (after he made a sufficient fool of himself, falling over the back of the bench). He was not sure how long they had talked, nor did he really remember how long he had stayed to think, once Sindre had taken his leave. When he finally made his own way back to the palace, the dancing had ended and whatever guests remained were milling about in groups, conversing with flutes of champagne grasped loosely in their hands, so he imagined it must have been some time.
"He had seemed to be really enjoying himself," she sighed, "I mean, I felt like we had a connection. His smiles were honest and beautiful but, when he returned… I don't know. Something had changed. I tried asking him about it, but he wouldn't give me a clear answer. He did dance with me again, which was lovely and he was lovely, but then he excused himself and disappeared for the remainder of the night." she sighed again, "he didn't even kiss me." She pouted.
"You like him. Like, actually," Magnus grinned, watching her begin to brush Snorri's mane as she worked out her thoughts, ignoring his tease. "Who cares about what the court expects to happen on their timeline. And Ma and Da - I know they keep questioning you about when they can expect to settle into the palace life."
"Without an official proposal, we are all living in limbo."
"Give it time, you two just met." Magnus grabbed a second comb to work through Snorri's tail, and the horse gave a look of surprise that two people would brush him. He shook a bit, settling to the attention happily. "Try not to let it worry you too much. Everything will work out in the end. I care too much about Sindre and you to let anything jeopardize your happiness."
Marta looked up, "you care about him?" she looked puzzled a moment, a question on her lips.
"For your sake," he added hastily with a shrug. He refused to look up and meet her concerned gaze.
Magnus waited for the moment to pass and silence to settle between them before he spoken again, "I feel useless here. You have Sindre to occupy your time, Marcus has his court studies, and even Magga seems to be taken with the other courtiers' children. I've seen her playing with them and the nannies in the upper courtyards. Ma and Da have been preparing for this since we were born, I think. Ma seems so happy brushing shoulders with the rich and dazzling, and even Da seems to be enjoying the life of luxury. But me? I don't have a purpose here, Marta. I'm too old to be with the school children, I don't have anything to contribute to high society, and I'm no soldier..." he paused to click his tongue in thought, "I have nothing to occupy my time."
Marta watched him, eyes filled with apprehension as the wheels began to turn in his mind, formulating a plan he could already see her bracing for. Her brows rose curious, and somehow perturbed that perhaps this would turn out to be another of his crazy fancies.
"Perhaps Sindre needs a friend," he said slowly. All the real interaction he'd had with their family so far had been strictly with Marta, likely with the heavy expectations of romance to blossom immediately. "What if I were to get to know him as well….? I mean, as to set you up with him, right? His brother in arms in courting women - you. I mean, even princes and courtiers have to confide in someone. It's not like it would be that different from the gangs of youths gossiping on the village green," he grinned. "We would be brothers-in-law, after all. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to make friends with our family and give me something to do besides watch the sun rise and fall each day." Marta furrowed her brows as she listened to him speak, words of disapproval likely on her tongue when he interrupted her thought before she could speak it, "besides, you have all these fancy classes on how to behave like a proper lady of the court to fill your time when you're not with him, right? It's not like I'd be in the way."
"You want to spy on my future husband?" She clarified slowly.
"I want to be his friend and, coincidentally, push him into your open and waiting arms!"
"You know Ma and Da would not approve." She bit her lip. Magnus watched her eagerly, giving her time to consider his idea.
"Alright," she relented, "I suppose it can't hurt if you can manage not to make a fool of yourself. Ma and Da are eager for news of that engagement, perhaps your antics can drive him into my arms," The last traces of worry washed away from her face as she laughed at him, mumbling about hounds and lost leashes. Magnus thought of Sindre in the window, also chuckling at his unfortunate luck. She continued to giggle as she combed more vigorously, focused now on the task. "Come on, let's finish this before the stable boys wonder at what we're muttering about and come to take your ever-so-precious work from you," she smiled at him, honey eyes warm.
Magnus found himself grinning. He could not place just as to why, though he knew it was in part to the fact he felt closer to his sister again than he had felt in weeks. He knew she was feeling the stress, and was glad he could help her in it, even if only for a minute. "Of course, anything for my sister," he said with the utmost of courtly dignity he could muster.
...
Magnus' footsteps echoed off the marble tiles of the now empty ballroom, the space having been cleared of any signs of the festivities from a few nights prior. His strides were not filled with purpose, there was nowhere he needed to be, and he was able to marvel at the room's splendour free from a the cacophony of celebrating courtiers. With the floors empty of frenzied, frilled finery and swirling skirts, he could see the glittering patterns on the tiles spread across the entire ballroom. They shone with recent polish, the floor patterned in alternating tiles of dark and light, like night and day. Without the crowds, he was free to crane his neck and look upwards, to stare as he liked at the mural on the ceiling, backdrop for the crystal chandeliers.
The painting on the ceiling that spread from one end of the ballroom to the other was of the heavens. The Sun Spirit was reaching across the space towards the Moon opposite. In the middle, their hands joined around the earth, their child, Life. Magnus ceased his lazy stroll and stared at the depiction of the Moon Spirit. It was unlike any he had ever seen before. The Sun was always depicted as fiery, masculine and muscled. In this painting, he was smiling widely, almost mischievously. The Moon, in contrast, was always shown to be smaller, more delicate, both in features and in expression. This Moon, however, was lacking the qualities that would normally characterize her as female. She had the same fair hair curling into constellations and serene expression on her narrow face; she had long fingers on dainty hands, but other than that, she was lacking the distinct swell of breasts beneath her robes made of stardust. The cut of her jaw, Magnus mused, could almost be perceived as masculine.
He liked this rendition of the Sun and the Moon. They look honest, he thought, human, and very much how he preferred to imagine them to be as they are, in the heavens looking down on him right now. Were they watching their human counterparts currently? He cast his eyes downwards, wary of being observed by invisible forces. Were they watching him? He shook himself and continued across the ballroom towards the gardens and stepped out into the chilly late-winter air.
The gardens were lovely, even for the season. Crocuses were pushing up through the frost that had come in the night, still blanketing everything despite the sun having risen high in the sky. Splashes of purple and yellow nestled between the grays of stones in a rock garden beyond a low row of boxwoods in a tidy hedge. Gardeners were working wearing woolen hats, tilling the earth by hand and preparing for spring. The terrace was empty and Magnus leaned against the stone railing and watched the workers go about their business, letting his mind wander.
He caught sight of his sister beyond the grand fountain, like a ray of sunshine among the garden of crisp white. Her yellow hair shone in the cold winter sunlight, coiled around her head in delicate braid, threaded with pale pink ribbons. A wine coloured bodice gave way to storm-cloud like skirts, burgundy inset panels enticing the eye to generous hips and dainty steps. A fur short cape was drawn snug about her shoulders, her arm looped through the prince's. She was smiling up at him. The prince was wearing a navy greatcoat, braids of silver and polished buttons along its front, broad sleeves and tall black cuffs giving him an air of authority and confidence. Magnus noted too, to his chagrin, the Prince seemed to wear the courtly gray breeches and thigh high boots far better than he did.
He dropped his chin into his hand as he watched them stroll. Sindre pointed out various plants and Marta did a very pretty job of looking interested - he knew her better than to believe she enjoyed discussing various foliage; gardening had always been more his interest than hers. She laughed at something he said, her cheeks flushing and her free hand coming to hide her grinning mouth. Sindre also looked pleased and he inclined his head, turning just so and Magnus could see his own lips twist upwards in a tentative smile.
He was striking, it was hard to miss why Marta was so drawn to him. It was like playing hide and seek with the moon on a stormy wind-filled night - mysterious and compelling all in the same moment, and coupled with his handsome angular face, he was the portrait of aristocratic allure.
He startled, his heart leaping into his throat, when Sindre suddenly looked up across the garden and met Magnus' eyes. The prince slowed his steps, but did not turn away, even as Marta continued to chat happily at him. The smile slid from his face, but he did not look angry, rather more like he was processing very carefully. Magnus bit down on his lip, torn between the feeling he ought to retreat and leave the prince and his sister alone to their afternoon, or journey down the flagstone steps and greet the pair properly. He hesitated, standing straighter, and Sindre continued to hold his gaze. He felt a tug and his feet began to move on their own, the desire to be nearer to them winning out.
A broad hand clasped his shoulder firmly after he made no more than a half-step towards the stairs; Sindre looked away, breaking the spell.
"They are a lovely couple," Magnus' father stood beside him, his voice was laden with meaning beyond his words. Magnus looked to him, his normally jovial demeanor seemed pinched, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he watched his daughter and the prince with a meaningful expression. "Don't you think?"
"Yes," Magnus quickly agreed, his thoughts awhirl. Sindre's gaze seemed too compelling. "They seem agreeable. Although," he heard himself continue, "I wonder if it is honest, on the prince's part, rather than fabricated for duty's sake." The hand on his shoulder tightened, fingers normally gentle now digging into him. "Marta certainly has taken a shine to His Grace, and the prince seems pleasant enough, but I'm not sure the same attraction-" he swallowed and wondered how to continue his thought, if he should at all. "They have not known each other for very long," he concluded and the hand loosened. He chanced a glance to his father, who was watching him through narrowed eyes. "I was thinking of going for a ride," Magnus said, turning away from the gardens, ending his observation of his sister and the prince. His father's brows rose at the abruptness, and frowned.
"That certainly seems to be one of your few hobbies these days," the words could have been kind, but the tone was biting and his father's expression was still soured.
"There is not much else for me to do, Da." Magnus heaved an exasperated sigh, "There is nothing for me to do," he corrected, "I am not made for these fancy court proceedings like Marta. She's seems to have taken to her part with great alacrity. But what of me? Where do I fit in, aside from being a friendly companion for my future brother-in-law? I do not enjoy the courtly machinations, in that I am not needed!"
His father cut him off curtly, "You are here because you are a part of this family. I did not work so hard my entire life to see this opportunity wasted - here our name can mean something. My children and grandchildren will not have to suffer the indecency of a life of labour, toiling, slaves to the soil and season. You will not ruin this chance for Marta," he said, deep voice intense. Magnus could not tell if he had come to speak these thoughts, or if his outburst had caused the comment.
"I do not have to be here for that to come to fruition," he retorted, equally as firm. It wasn't often he butted heads with his father, but something… he could still feel Sindre's gaze on him in his mind's eye. He had to - this was too important. What was too important? He thrust the thought aside, growing frustrated with the constant interruption of his own internal debate.
"You would throw this opportunity away? Magnus," his father's tone adopted a pleading edge, "here you can be more than a farmer." The look in his eyes was desperate to will his explanations into understanding, Magnus knew, but it didn't help. Magnus only felt as it he was being judged.
"I don't want to be more than a farmer. I've grown up with my hands deep in tilled earth and with the sun on my face - you taught me that life! There is honour in it," his voice rose. He was dimly aware it had carried farther than he had intended.
"You would abandon your family, then," he was angry now. There was disdain, bitterness that seemed to cling to his father's words. Derision. Magnus felt his temper flare! Hypocrite! How dare he accuse!
"Abandon it? I have lived my life serving it!" he shouted now, his words tasted bitter on his tongue. "Here, I am clearly under foot. I am no more than an ornament, with the same amount of use as a lame carthorse!" The frustration of the past weeks seemed to bubble in his chest, seeking outlet. He did not deny it.
"Then make yourself useful, boy! There are things you can do to occupy your time other than watching your sister and her beau. She does not need a chaperone and you could spend your time elsewhere!" His Father's grip became tighter, and Magnus pushed it away roughly.
"No! I hate it here. I want to go home - it's not fair!" he spat the last word venomously.
"Is your sense of injustice so much greater than the love for your family?" The reply was hurt, bitter. He grimaced, trying to control himself. Magnus didn't care anymore. Let the garden watch!
"No, but -"
"Magnus, you will make yourself useful. There are alliances to tend no different than the weeds you love. Your Ma is beside herself with worries and could use your counsel. Build bridges boy." he gestured 'round to the ballroom's tall glass windows.
"I am a boy no longer, Father!" he growled eyes flaring with temper.
"Then act a man!" It was hard as granite.
Magnus looked hurt, then his brows drew down again in anger, "I am a man better than petty ambition!" he snarled, and he shoved past his father's shoulder roughly.
...
Magnus bent low over Snorri, urging him faster. The sun was setting and the trail was disappearing into shadow. He'd ridden this very path enough times he was confident he could avoid the worst of the dips in the road. Snorri responded to the slightest tug on rein easily, trusting his rider, though he otherwise might have balked at the looming darkness. The palace shrank into the distance behind them, no more than a twinkling set of lights like stars on the horizon of a velvet purple sky. A curve in the road took Magnus out of sight and he drove Snorri onwards, his hooves thundering in his ears. The wind from speed and weather rushed past his face, causing his eyes to sting. He should have been chilled, but his skin was still alight with anger and frustration.
The air smelled heavy, charged with an incoming storm. Thunder rolled in the distance, tall clouds billowing into the sky like smoky towers, illuminated by the last glow of light as the sun disappeared. Even should the sky have been clear and cold, the moon's face would have been absent. He reined Snorri in, both of them breathing hard. He felt like the sky itself and Magnus shouted a wordless curse at the gale. Snorri shied, ears flicking between his rider and the thunder now growing closer. A sudden flash arced across the sky and cracked so near that Magnus felt the hair on the back of his neck lift in response. Snorri screamed and fled in desperate panic, veering off the well worn trails and into the shelter of the forest. Magnus thought as he grasped at something, anything to keep him from plunging from the horse's back, "Why did I ride out like this!? In this weather?! I'm such a fool! Gods help me! Sindre!"
Magnus barely kept his saddle, reins torn from his grip. Branches whipped painfully against the arm raised to protect his face, his other hand tangled desperately in the mane at the withers. He called to Snorri, urging him to slow, but his words were lost on the wind as his steed continued to crash through the underbrush, frothing now in terror.
Snorri stumbled, pitching forward and dropping to his knees. Magnus felt himself lift from the saddle and slide up Snorri's neck, and without two hands gripping the mane, he was easily thrown over like he hadn't been holding on at all. He was airborne for only a second, but it felt like minutes as he watched the shadows of the ground pass beneath him. His back and shoulders connected with something solid, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh. He crumpled to the ground and panicked, unable to draw breath. The last thing Magnus heard was the sound of the wind-whipped leaves on bowing trees, like crashing ocean waves.