The cool night air carried the smells of fresh mutton, uncorked mead and the songs of drunken vikings along the riverfront and beyond. Warm orange light flowed through the wooden slats of the longhouse, creating a beacon of warmth and guiding you in with blue, decorative flames that adorned Ravensthorpe's many paths. A large fire glowed bright in the main dining hall of the longhouse, drawing out the deep thrum of sailors songs. It was a feast to rival all feasts; at least it felt that way to Randvi, who watched from afar as her lover laughed and sang with her comrades.

The people of Ravensthorpe made sure Azar and her crew felt the true spirit of a Viking feast. Fresh pig and venison adored every table like centerpieces, while seasonal fruits and vegetables complimented every dish. Barrels of mead sat at the end of each table, aiding in an endless supply; no mug or horn was left empty as the vikings drank the night away. Drunken sailors sang their shanties and danced by the fire until the mead took hold and they could dance no more. Everywhere you looked, there was a drunken viking with mead in one hand and meat in the other.

"If this keeps up, I may never leave. I feel like a king!" Azar joked with Eivor as she enjoyed the feast laid out before her. Grease highlighted the peak of her chin as she gnawed on the meat in front of her.

"Do not think I won't take you up on that offer. If it takes a feast to make you stay, I will prepare a feast for you every night!" Her loud and robust voice conquered the sounds of the festivities.

Azar laughed along with her rosy-cheeked friend. Eivor's fun and ambitious behavior cut through the depression that had won over her heart as she allowed the mead to settle in. This was the Eivor she had met in Ireland; loud, happy, and a true conversationalist. The only thing that stayed down her gullet was the mead that didn't run down her chin and the meats that seemed to disappear in a blink when they neared.

"Don't threaten me with a good time." she winked, although to Eivor it probably just looked like she blinked, as Eivor's gaze met hers once more. She watched as Eivor's brow furrowed, then jumped up, leaving her with an eager expression.

"Come!" Eivor stood suddenly and wrapped her fingers, sticky with mead, firmly around her arm and pulled her from her seat. There was no fighting a viking's grip, especially a drunken one. "Why don't we see who is better with an arrow?" They waded their way through the sea of drunken vikings and into the dim-lit darkness outside of the longhouse. There was no talking her out of it.

Azar acted as a counterbalance as Eivor stomped along, slowly teetering forwards as she concentrated on finding her destination. A low rumble of song followed them into the darkness and to the treeline where targets were littered. Hay bales with bullseyes painted upon them came into view along with hanging targets and wooden mannequins were placed into what looked like an arena of sorts for short and long ranged archery practice.

Eivor slammed her mead down onto a barrel nearby, splashing most if its contents onto the ground, and stumbled to the nearby corner of the range where bows and arrows laid. Azar rubbed her arm where Eivor's tight grip had left a bruise as she allowed her ears to re-adjust to the quiet of the outside and her eye to settle into the darkness. The air was almost knocked out of her as a bow and quiver were thrust into unsuspecting arms.

"Eivor, I don't think this is a good idea." Her face contorted at the scene. She was always down for some good fun, but shooting arrows with drunken vikings? She preferred to keep the only remaining eye she had in usable condition.

"Why is that?" Eivor caught herself as she stumbled back a step as she attempted to sling a quiver onto her back. "I think we each have a fair chance. I am drunk and you only have one eye." She pointed at her own eye and squinted to mimic her before cracking a toothy smile. "Don't worry, I won't shoot you." Her hand shot out dismissively before turning to the targets.

Leaning from one side to another, Eivor grew irritated with her body's unwillingness to cooperate. Her feet danced drunkenly in the dirt as she attempted to balance herself, and her eyes squinted and blinked as she tried to line up a shot. Azar kept her eye trained on the tip of her arrow as it traced shapes in the air, legs ready to spring into action at any moment. The failed display was quite the sight to see.

Eivor did, eventually, fire a well-aimed shot straight past all targets and into the dark forest. It must have taken a moment for her to notice she had missed by the extended lack of reaction and leaned squinting. Azar wasn't entirely sure she hadn't fallen asleep standing up by how long it took her to speak.

"Well, that could have gone better. You go." Eivor grunted, spinning on her heel and almost falling from the sudden movement.

"I think I am more content watching you try to hit a target. That was not the kind of shooting I would expect from you, even when drunk." Azar teased and sat the bow and quiver down on a nearby stump. Not only was the bow not her preferred weapon, she preferred not to have someone without all of their wherewithal to show her the proper stance and aim.

Eivor scrunched her face at the insult and steadied her feet once more. "I am a great shot, no matter the occasion. I just had bad footing, that's all." She readied herself once more and focused for an extended period before letting her arrow fly, missing again. She cleared her throat and looked at Azar, who watched the arrow stab into the side of a tree with a smirk.

"At least we know where that one is." She shrugged.

"Give me a moment." Eivor dropped her bow to her side and grasped her mug with her now free hand. "There is nothing more mead cannot solve." Without a second thought, she chugged down the last of her mead and slammed it back down onto the barrel. "Now! Let us settle this once and for all."

"Well, that was…uneventful." Azar teased as Eivor drug herself back into the longhouse, her mood now soured with not a single arrow from either quiver landing on a target.

"I must be having an off day." Eivor hiccuped and plopped down onto a nearby bench. Her body slumped over to one side as she watched Azar sit across from her.

It was obvious the mead had caught up to her and almost every other viking there from the abundance of drooping eyes and limber bodies littering the way. The music had all but died and the tables were cleared of all meaningful amounts of food. It amazed her at how much food her people could eat and how much mead they could drink when they put their minds to it, or lack thereof.

"You will have to visit Dublin and show me your skills once you are back on your feet." She knew Eivor was a skilled archer and needed no display, but it made her smile to see some of the light come back into her eyes at the mention of another contest. She could not leave her friend in such a somber state.

"Yes, I will have to redeem myself." Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment before shooting open, soberness taking place. "Are you leaving already? At this time of night?" Her voice was frantic, only just catching the hint Azar was dropping.

Azar laughed. "No, I am merely stating that you must come visit me so I may treat you to some Persian customs of my own, so I may repay you for this magnificent feast."

"There is no need for repayment, but I will make sure I take some time to visit Dublin again." Her words were sincere, but they carried the weight of a sadness she did not understand.

"I must be going now, Eivor. I must get some rest before we set sail in the morning. Take care of yourself." They shared a moment before Azar took off for her cabin, leaving her to fend for herself in her mead stricken state.

Everyone had dropped like flies as the mead finally ran dry and all excitement died down; it was time for Eivor to hit the hay before she ended up in another stack of logs. She pulled herself from the bench, legs wobbling like she had just trekked across England on foot, and not so carefully maneuvered the aftermath of the night. Groans followed her steps as she failed to avoid beards and fingers, but the sounds of protest were quickly replaced by loud snores.

"Have you had your fill, Eivor?" Sigurd called as he made his way across the room much more nimbly than she. "It has been some time since I have seen you like this. It is good to see." He slapped his hand across her back with a smile, nearly knocking her over in the act.

"Yes, I hear I have not been myself." She smiled weakly at the reminder. Even drunk, grief still tormented her.

"Take care of yourself, sister." he gripped her shoulder strongly. "I would not be here without you. We would not be here without you. This life, it is not easy, but we will make it through, together."

"Aye, brother." She squeezed his hand firmly and nodded with a smile. Even if he had changed, he still possessed the words to say to keep her mind on a straight path.

"Now, get some sleep. I will see you in the morning." He patted her shoulder and made his way to his side of the longhouse, doing his best not to trip over limbs extending off of haphazardly scattered bodies.