This is Talonhold. A cold place, by the measure of some. Forests and mountains that hold greater wealth than can be easily guessed; here, the offerings of the mountain and the sky have made them rich in their spirits, but it is the bounty of the mines that have given them most of all. Seams of precious metals, and in the hands of very capable smiths—

yes, the wealth of Talonhold is known. The family that rose with that wealth, perhaps less so. Their name is new and evolving, the tradition of changing by generation. The wedding of the wealth and potential of that line to a respected name, reputation, to those whose blood is proven noble in character and generations of established rank and dignity, is essential.

Magni Fjorleifdóttir's heart had betrayed her, in the past, and so it was that she and her family consulted to secure her a wife before scandal could sabotage such a possibility. So here she stands, a mountain of a woman standing in the courtyard, while the sky threatens a deluge.

Was this right, for either of them? Did it matter, if it was what would secure the happiness of so many that they each held dear?