At the Faire
As promised after returning from Canada and before school started in the fall.
Roger took Freya to the Canterbury Shire Renaissance Faire and marketplace held annually at mid summer.
They had joined a small caravan of faire goers heading south to Silverton, Oregon near Salem, Oregon.
After following the line of vehicles down the dusty road and into the faire grounds, they were directed to a parking space where Roger stopped their van and shut it off.
They had pulled in right behind Helen Larsen's minivan and next to them had stopped the Shannon family.
Roger grinned at his towering young companion and said cheerfully, "I think you'll have fun here, I haven't been to a Ren Faire in ages!"
He chuckled and remarked, "Don't worry about toning down your accent here, they'll like hearing it!"
Freya smiled back and replied merrily, "Anita an' Deirdre hae said th' same thin'!"
Getting out of the van, Roger belted his carrying pouch around his waist and checked the chain mail purse that held his money, it was cleverly made out of fine chain mail to foil cutpurses.
Roger had filled it with one dollar coins for making small purchases and tipping the tavern maids as a part of the faire experience.
He hooked his wooden tankard behind him and smiled.
He was ready.
Freya's outfit was the new clothing her mother had given her for her 14th birthday when they visited her parents to deliver Sasha's pups.
It was similar to the traditional outfits she'd wear at home in Canada except it now had a more adult cut to it and a heavily embroidered grey silken bodice first made for her by Zenobia and embroidered by Silky to match the embroidery on her shirt and grey trousers.
Laced up her front, the bodice emphasized her swelling bosom and slender waist, driving home the fact that she was now a young woman and no longer a child.
Around her trim hips was belted a tooled leather pouch and money purse cleverly made of fine chain mail to thwart cut purses.
Her feet were protected by tooled leather boots from home and her hair in addition to her usual thick braids, was confined by a leafy crown made of ivy with meadow flowers woven into the ivy circlet.
The effect was that of a fair young maiden of fourteen going to a summer fair.
Her friend from school, Deirdre Shannon was dressed as a young shop girl heading off to work in her parents faire booth..
Anita Larsen went in for a loose, ankle length skirt and a white peasant blouse with a simple light blue bodice to match her skirt.
A straw hat warded off the sun and in one hand she carried a formidable looking hand bound book of bawdy poetry.
Her 'secret weapon against louts and puritans', as she had put it.
Her mother, Helen, briefly home from her overseas job was dressed as a mature tavern wench as she worked in one of the ale stands.
Deirdre's parents were dressed as the shop keepers they were, they had a booth at the faire and were heading off to open it for the day.
Paul Shannon grinned at his daughter and said cheerfully, "Make sure you introduce Freya to all of our friends here!"
She grinned at her parents and replied, "Of course! They'd ne'er forgive me if I didn't!"
The Shannon's and Helen Larsen strode off towards the workers entrance while Roger, Freya, Anita and Deirdre strolled along towards the faire entrance.
As they neared the entrance, more and more people were stealing sidelong glances at Freya, she was now fourteen and stood just about eight feet tall.
Only the faire "giants" were taller than her.
An older gentleman with gray streaked, reddish hair and an impressive beard, approached them and spoke up, "Good morrow! I ne'er forget a face, verily I cannot recall seeing one so beauteous fair as thee. Hast thou been here before? Forgive my impertinence, fairest of all maidens!"
Freya smiled at him and replied cheerfully, "An' a guid morrow tae ye guid sir, thes is me first time tae thes wondrous faire, Ah hae heard sae much talk ay."
The older man smiled and replied with a grin, "Thou speaketh very well my young lady, though the accent is foreign. I am guessing thou art from Flanders?"
Freya grinned and replied cheerfully, "Nae guid sir, Ah cam doon frae th' north lains, Jotunheim be th' land Ah cam frae."
The man smiled and replied, "I have heard tell of a daughter of old Jotunheim visiting our fair lands, verily I pray they are to thy liking?"
"Yea they ur tae me likin', e'en if they get a bit tay warm fer me likin' durin' th' summer months."
Deirdre grinned at the older man and said softly, "I would have brought her to faire before grandpa, but she was always going up to Canada to spend her summers with her family."
He grinned back and said merrily, "Tis not a problem granddaughter, 'tis better late than ne'er, I always say!"
They hugged briefly and he turned to Roger with an extended hand.
As they shook hands he said, "Hail and well met, good fellow. I thank thee for bringing such a fair maiden hither. Verily the queen herself wouldst enjoy meeting her. Prithee, what names shall I convey to her majesty?"
Roger smiled at him and replied, "My name is Roger Tate and I am her guardian. My young lady's name is Freya, daughter of Sigurd and Gudrun, we came to convey our respects and good wishes to your gracious queen."
The two men grinned at each other and the older man said quietly, "Do you partake?" as he held out a small silvery flask.
Roger smiled and replied quietly, "I have been known to take a sip now and again."
He raised the wee flask to his lips and took a small taste then handed it back to Deirdre's grandfather while saying, "You have good taste in rum my friend."
Her grandfather grinned and slipped the little flask into a hidden pocket with a conspiratorial wink.
He bowed and said with a hint of regret, "Good Gentles, I bid you anon. Perchance we can hoist a tankard this e'en, after close of faire?"
Roger grinned at him and replied, "The first round is on me."
The older man grinned hugely and moved off into the throng, his voice booming out greetings and salutations to the crowd.
Roger and the girls moved closer to the entrance of the faire and listened to the leather throated hawkers, extolling the virtues and rarity of the wares sold only at their particular booths.
One of them drew attention to Freya's great height by declaring that she was using stilts to get a better view of him.
A female voice cried out in reply, "You must be from Flanders, that lass really is that tall!"
The hawker grinned and retorted merrily, "Pray, forgive my ignorance, I was not aware that the fair maidens of this shire grew so tall, nor so beauteous!"
He swept off his great hat and bowed low towards Freya who, as if on cue, blushed prettily and held a hand before her reddened face.
The woman who had spoken in Freya's defense turned out to be Ingrid Hansen, the former captain of the women's volleyball team at Portland University.
Ingrid grinned at Freya and cried out as she came towards them. "How are you?! I've really missed you guys!"
The two women hugged each other briefly and Ingrid said happily, "This is my boyfriend Mike, he plays on the Trail Blazers basketball team."
She smiled at Mike and said, "This is Freya, that girl I was telling you about!"
Even though Mike was a very tall man himself, standing about six foot ten, he felt dwarfed by Freya's eight foot plus a fraction height and said in wonder, "Wow, Ingrid wasn't kidding about your height and you play too? No wonder they wanted you on their team."
Ingrid laughed and said gaily, "Coach Phillips wanted her on his team so badly he could taste it. No one could ever get a shot past her on the courts. She is very light on her feet and hellaciously strong, don't let her size fool you into thinking she's clumsy!"
Mike chuckled and remarked, "Honey, I've seen the videos on view tube, the one where she went one on one against a top WNBA player when she was only eleven? Yeah, she beat her at the end, but she earned her victory. That shit was real!"
"So what brings you here, as if I need to ask!" said a grinning Ingrid Hansen.
Roger smiled and replied, "Freya has already gone home for the summer and so, we figured she'd like to see a Ren Faire!"
Roger grinned at Ingrid and remarked, "I see you're all garbed out yourself."
She grinned back and replied, "I've been going to faire since I was little, my uncle had a booth here at one time and I was a real faire brat, running all through the faire site chasing all the other faire brats."
There was a fanfare of trumpets and a herald bellowed, "HEAR YE, HEAR YE! Ye Olde Canterbury Shire Summer Faire and Marketplace is now open! Come one, come all!"
A cannon boomed in the distance and the wooden gates opened to the faire.
The crowd slowly filed through the opened portals where bags were checked for contraband and tickets were collected.
Once inside the fairegrounds they were greeted by a bevy of well wishers and more hawkers extolling their wares and giving directions to their booths, all of them 'over yonder'.
Freya was delighted by the sight of so many people dressed in period garb and speaking with accents somewhat similar to her own, her smile really lit up her pretty face and she radiated happiness.
They had only gone a short way in when a tall, elegantly dressed man, clearly a noble, approached them.
He stood straight and tall while declaring, "Have I the honor and the pleasure of addressing the young lady known as Freya, daughter of Sigurd and Gudrun?"
Freya smiled at him and replied courteously, "Ah am Freya, tae whom dae Ah owe thes honor?"
He smiled back and replied, "I am her majesty's emissary, John Thistle, Earl of Canterbury Shire. Thy presence is requested at her court. An thou wilt followeth me, I wilt lead thou thither, forthwith!"
Freya glanced at Roger who merely smiled and she replied courteously, "Ah thank thee m'laird!"
His lordship turned and said to them cheerfully, "Her majesty wilt art most pleased to meet thou, young lady of the north. She had heard tell of thy arrival in our shire some years ago and has anxiously waited for thy arrival in her court."
Freya, without skipping a beat, replied courteously, "Ah pray fer 'er fergiveness as Ah oanly recently became aware ay Canterbury Shire. Most years Ah war oop north wi' me fowks when access tae th' shire was available."
Lord Thistle of Canterbury Shire smiled indulgently and replied diplomatically, "Her Majesty is well aware of the situation that is beyond all our control and graciously accepts thy apology."
Moments later, they approached an imposing structure by faire standards.
In a throne, on a dais under a brightly painted canopy, sat a red haired woman in an elaborate Elizabethan court dress.
She was smiling serenely at a troupe of jugglers and acrobats tumbling, leaping and bounding while busily keeping a number of colorful balls and slender clubs whirling through the air above their heads.
One by one, all the gaily dressed courtiers became aware of Freya's presence, even though she had not moved.
An eight foot tall, red-gold haired, lovely young woman was hard to overlook under any circumstances.
The near legendary giantess of Portland, Oregon was standing at the entrance to her majesty's court.
She was dressed in a white linen blouse with an elaborately embroidered light grey silk bodice over it.
She wore roomy trousers gathered just below her knees and tucked into a pair of well tooled leather boots.
A matching tooled leather belt held up her holding bag, drinking tankard and chain mail purse.
On her head was an ivy wreath with many small white flowers woven into its green vines.
Her red-gold hair was confined into two thick braids hanging nearly to her waist.
A fair young Jotun maiden at a summer faire was she.