Twenty-six days, twenty-six days since they had told her, most surely, her wife must be dead. The Jarl of Talonhold, must have perished in the ocean.
She knew why, when the news broke like a storm cloud, that Magni's ship had been swept up in a storm at the Jarl's landsmeet. They saw, in that moment, not the wife of the Hold, from an ancient and powerful noted for how they had done war, served in loyalty unto death. But a woman, only two years into her marriage, and well into her seventh month pregnant, sitting alone, and vulnerable in her seat of power. Beginning to slow down in her pace, as she carried the child of a mountain. Waddling about, her belly huge. After all, how could she have gained any sort of loyalty of those around her? The Jarl's little, dark-eyed, quiet and reserved, wife.
They didn't realise - or they did and misunderstood, perhaps, that by the same magic that bound them together by a miracle of a child, she knew her wife had not passed. The words form as she stood, listless, staring, reaching to brush her belly: "A mountain could not be swallowed so readily by the sea". But that did not stop them from trying, vying for her attention, either in the hand of marriage or to intimidate her into giving way.
The worst of all of the was Jarl Aleksander.
He, they, misunderstood who she was. What she was. That after the news broke, Lakshmi tore down the first sign of mourning. That she stood, proud, and declared the words to be carried out to every corner of their lands. The Jarl is not dead, we are bound, I know her to live still. Refusing to declare that her wife was dead in any capacity, to step down from the position of stand-in of rule, of Lakshmi, as Grivenne, and Magni's own mother as second only to her. That every day, despite the people of the Hold coming to pay their respects, she insisted upon it happily, bouying them as much as herself, as daily they would pray with her, ask not of news of the Jarl, but of the baby, if they might approach and give a blessing. She surrounded herself in them, and all others that came to visit the same way. Changing her garments, just enough, that pregnant belly was on display for all to see, and with it, why this chair was hers. Could not be mistaken.
But then came Jarl Aleksander.
His presence so instantly made her glad for Fjorleif and her own mother Baghirathi who had stayed after her father and most of their family had left, as they stand either side of her as she sat in the chair that had been hers since the day she came to this place. She had expected just one more well-wisher. But it was not to be, Jarl Aleksander - a cousin, Fjorleif hissed in her ear, and one with a claim -
But it would never be enough when there are wolves at your door. They crowded in, and as the month had dragged out into the eighth month, she could feel how they bore down. He started with the insistence of paying his respects for Magni's death, for where she had to have died, wondering when this arrangement of Lakshmi and her mother in law, would come to an end? Surely now that she was a widow so young, she would want to go away and mourn. Perhaps back to her mother's lands? Men with him, more cousins, was the explanation, land-hungry, with sons who wanted more land of their own. Then in progress, he did not fear her, why should he? Misread, in some aspects, but right in others. His insistence became more speculatively bold, what did she know that others did not? She certainly protested, so very much, but a month later, who knew the right of it. There were rights, that had to be upheld and she was disrespecting without a good reason why. There were people who had entitlements upon a Jarl's death, that had to be given what they were owed.
It was always going to come to this. Facing down the men that finally decided that her delusion had gone on long enough and demanded she declare it to be truth. That she, in her position, must stand down as just a widow of the Hold. That when the wretched Jarl, speak - it was not to her, his arm stretching wide like he already had declared his right to rule to the people, speaks out, pontificating with a sweeping arm. He did not do it for himself, oh no, it is to speak of that he could not help but wonder she had not hungered after the position for herself.
To that, Lakshmi stands, her voice rising - furious - hot. Her spine pressed straight, her long black shoulder pooling down both her sides. The words fierce in response. "I wonder at the man who so eagerly waits for the demise of my wife, I wonder what he wants from such a thing? "
His smile is wry, dripping, "The good of the Hold, that I do not want to see it passed over to a usurper."
The hall around them bristled, quiet, deadly, deadly quiet.
Lakshmi was not a fool, there were guards, there always would have been guards, absolutely loyal to her, to Talonhold, the babe that grew inside of her. "The Hold? I carry the Hold in my belly, I carry the child of these mountains, and I will never see that children's inheritance passed over to another." Determined, but more than that, her voice raising up, cutting through the tension of the air.
His laughter is rich and mocking: "Of Talonhold? Forgive me, my grivenne, but we all know the Jarl's judgement when it came to trusting whores was poor."
Around the room, the blades slithered against sheaths.
Then the door banged open, and Lakshmi swore the sun blew in on the wind with it. Magni, Magni, Magni. The gasp around the room is immediate, loud, and the tension in the room, shifts. But she did not look to see, she did not need to. It was her wife. Alive. Just as she knew it always would be.
Instead, she fixes her gaze straight on Aleksander. Her face tilting up, imperious, a daughter of great warriors. Her body moving forward. Watching him, directly, unflinchingly as she moves across the room. To her wife. She's alive. She wants to crumble, her legs to give out underneath her. To grasp Magni and kiss her so desperately, over and over and over until she could be sure.
She does nothing of the sort. Instead, in front of Magni she falls to a deep bow. Just the one, before rising up, and then without warning, she snatches the blade from her hip. Pulling the sword from her side, her authority with it, that stood behind her, metaphorically and literally. It was too heavy for what she was trained in, but she didn't falter, no matter how this late in the morning, these days, she was usually ready to sleep. The blade pointed forward, leading her straight to Aleksander. She does not need to say I am right and you are wrong. It stands in front of them. "Leave. Now. Or I will declare that in Talonhold, liars have their tongue cut from their head."
He couldn't move faster as he leaves the hall, and with a broiled over anger she cannot help it, that perhaps, she wished he had wanted him to be less sensible, so she could cut his slippery tongue out. It's then, she turns back, the blade held deliberately so in her hands. ( A wedding day, a half memory away now ). Then drops it, so she can jump up, and fling both her arms around Magni's neck. Dragging her down, with the best of ability with her stomach in the way, into an embrace.
If there is cheering, she doesn't hear it, too busy pressing her face into Magni's neck.
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She knew why, when the news broke like a storm cloud, that Magni's ship had been swept up in a storm at the Jarl's landsmeet. They saw, in that moment, not the wife of the Hold, from an ancient and powerful noted for how they had done war, served in loyalty unto death. But a woman, only two years into her marriage, and well into her seventh month pregnant, sitting alone, and vulnerable in her seat of power. Beginning to slow down in her pace, as she carried the child of a mountain. Waddling about, her belly huge. After all, how could she have gained any sort of loyalty of those around her? The Jarl's little, dark-eyed, quiet and reserved, wife.
They didn't realise - or they did and misunderstood, perhaps, that by the same magic that bound them together by a miracle of a child, she knew her wife had not passed. The words form as she stood, listless, staring, reaching to brush her belly: "A mountain could not be swallowed so readily by the sea". But that did not stop them from trying, vying for her attention, either in the hand of marriage or to intimidate her into giving way.
The worst of all of the was Jarl Aleksander.
He, they, misunderstood who she was. What she was. That after the news broke, Lakshmi tore down the first sign of mourning. That she stood, proud, and declared the words to be carried out to every corner of their lands. The Jarl is not dead, we are bound, I know her to live still. Refusing to declare that her wife was dead in any capacity, to step down from the position of stand-in of rule, of Lakshmi, as Grivenne, and Magni's own mother as second only to her. That every day, despite the people of the Hold coming to pay their respects, she insisted upon it happily, bouying them as much as herself, as daily they would pray with her, ask not of news of the Jarl, but of the baby, if they might approach and give a blessing. She surrounded herself in them, and all others that came to visit the same way. Changing her garments, just enough, that pregnant belly was on display for all to see, and with it, why this chair was hers. Could not be mistaken.
But then came Jarl Aleksander.
His presence so instantly made her glad for Fjorleif and her own mother Baghirathi who had stayed after her father and most of their family had left, as they stand either side of her as she sat in the chair that had been hers since the day she came to this place. She had expected just one more well-wisher. But it was not to be, Jarl Aleksander - a cousin, Fjorleif hissed in her ear, and one with a claim -
But it would never be enough when there are wolves at your door. They crowded in, and as the month had dragged out into the eighth month, she could feel how they bore down. He started with the insistence of paying his respects for Magni's death, for where she had to have died, wondering when this arrangement of Lakshmi and her mother in law, would come to an end? Surely now that she was a widow so young, she would want to go away and mourn. Perhaps back to her mother's lands? Men with him, more cousins, was the explanation, land-hungry, with sons who wanted more land of their own. Then in progress, he did not fear her, why should he? Misread, in some aspects, but right in others. His insistence became more speculatively bold, what did she know that others did not? She certainly protested, so very much, but a month later, who knew the right of it. There were rights, that had to be upheld and she was disrespecting without a good reason why. There were people who had entitlements upon a Jarl's death, that had to be given what they were owed.
It was always going to come to this. Facing down the men that finally decided that her delusion had gone on long enough and demanded she declare it to be truth. That she, in her position, must stand down as just a widow of the Hold. That when the wretched Jarl, speak - it was not to her, his arm stretching wide like he already had declared his right to rule to the people, speaks out, pontificating with a sweeping arm. He did not do it for himself, oh no, it is to speak of that he could not help but wonder she had not hungered after the position for herself.
To that, Lakshmi stands, her voice rising - furious - hot. Her spine pressed straight, her long black shoulder pooling down both her sides. The words fierce in response. "I wonder at the man who so eagerly waits for the demise of my wife, I wonder what he wants from such a thing? "
His smile is wry, dripping, "The good of the Hold, that I do not want to see it passed over to a usurper."
The hall around them bristled, quiet, deadly, deadly quiet.
Lakshmi was not a fool, there were guards, there always would have been guards, absolutely loyal to her, to Talonhold, the babe that grew inside of her. "The Hold? I carry the Hold in my belly, I carry the child of these mountains, and I will never see that children's inheritance passed over to another." Determined, but more than that, her voice raising up, cutting through the tension of the air.
His laughter is rich and mocking: "Of Talonhold? Forgive me, my grivenne, but we all know the Jarl's judgement when it came to trusting whores was poor."
Around the room, the blades slithered against sheaths.
Then the door banged open, and Lakshmi swore the sun blew in on the wind with it. Magni, Magni, Magni. The gasp around the room is immediate, loud, and the tension in the room, shifts. But she did not look to see, she did not need to. It was her wife. Alive. Just as she knew it always would be.
Instead, she fixes her gaze straight on Aleksander. Her face tilting up, imperious, a daughter of great warriors. Her body moving forward. Watching him, directly, unflinchingly as she moves across the room. To her wife. She's alive. She wants to crumble, her legs to give out underneath her. To grasp Magni and kiss her so desperately, over and over and over until she could be sure.
She does nothing of the sort. Instead, in front of Magni she falls to a deep bow. Just the one, before rising up, and then without warning, she snatches the blade from her hip. Pulling the sword from her side, her authority with it, that stood behind her, metaphorically and literally. It was too heavy for what she was trained in, but she didn't falter, no matter how this late in the morning, these days, she was usually ready to sleep. The blade pointed forward, leading her straight to Aleksander. She does not need to say I am right and you are wrong. It stands in front of them. "Leave. Now. Or I will declare that in Talonhold, liars have their tongue cut from their head."
He couldn't move faster as he leaves the hall, and with a broiled over anger she cannot help it, that perhaps, she wished he had wanted him to be less sensible, so she could cut his slippery tongue out. It's then, she turns back, the blade held deliberately so in her hands. ( A wedding day, a half memory away now ). Then drops it, so she can jump up, and fling both her arms around Magni's neck. Dragging her down, with the best of ability with her stomach in the way, into an embrace.
If there is cheering, she doesn't hear it, too busy pressing her face into Magni's neck.