Epilogue - A Plan
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Epilogue
A Plan
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"Began to fear I'd never see this day come."
The air in Sten's lungs froze, his hands clutching tight the wooden hook and bit of blue wool he'd been trying — and failing — to work into a ribbon.
A very particular sort of ribbon; which was why he should’ve known better, really, than to do this in the Jarl’s Hall where everyone could see.
But it'd been an unusually long Mistide this year, and the misthings particularly active. Most of the Hall was safely asleep at this time of night, blithely unaware of the scrabbling of a hundred tiny claws on stone shingles that’d made it so impossible for Sten to lie still in his cot.
Thumping and bumping and scraping at the edges of the mages’ protections, they’d kept Sten awake at all hours as they slithered and crawled around outside the wards.
He was itching for it to be over so he could race up Rask's mountain as fast as he dared, and launch himself back into the bergsr?'s arms. Until that blessed day came, however, he’d thought to distract himself with his project.
Too distracted, if he hadn’t heard those oh-so-familiar footsteps coming up behind him.
Tucked up in a spare corner formed by a stack of emptied food crates, Sten thought maybe he'd be safe from prying eyes here.
Enough to try and work out what he was supposed to do with the bit of blue wool he'd traded that loudmouth of a weaver for last week.
"Grenson told you, huh?"
"Andris, actually; the brewer's new 'prentice.
You know, I think the rumor mill here is the only thing that works harder during Mistide than the mages' wards?
" Pa said, sinking to take a seat opposite Sten on the floor as he leaned against a crate.
He nodded at the sorry bit of snarl in Sten's hands. "So, who's the lucky girl?"
Sten glanced around them quickly. Thankfully, it seemed what few equally restless souls remained awake were content to gather by the massive hearth dominating the far end of the Hall, leaving no busybodies lurking nearby to overhear.
Talk flying hither and yon about him acquiring wool in the particular shade known as 'courting blue' was bad enough.
He didn't need the whole Hall discussing this, too.
Sten took a deep breath.
“There’s no girl, Pa," he said quietly. "And…there won't ever be."
He'd tried; he really had. Years and years ago, when he'd still been an apprentice, Sten had thought he'd found both a fellow compatriot as well as a solution.
But then Liri had met Giovigia, and decided life on the road as a traveling actor held far more appeal than a sham played out solely for the benefit of their small village.
She'd chosen love and adventure over surety and safety, and honestly — could he blame her?
Back then, he'd been distraught. Lost in anxiety over his own predicament, and too selfish to share in her joy, Sten had been preoccupied only with how her choice had affected him.
But now, with the advantage of time, Sten could only be grateful.
For in choosing to be brave, Liri may well have saved them both — leaving the way free and clear for Sten to find Rask.
He hoped she was happy wherever life had taken her. A shame he hadn't asked his parents then how to make a courting ribbon, though. It would have been far less awkward.
He could feel Pa's eyes boring into him, but Sten kept his own locked firmly on the tangled mess in his hands.
Briefly, he spared a thought for Messy, fingers tightening on the wool.
A pang of longing shot through him to be up there right now with her and Rask, and he swallowed down the bitter lump it brought to his throat.
"You know, feels like we don't get to see much of you these days," Pa said finally. "Your Ma keeps me up to date with all that — whaddya call it? — singing you do with the quarry. Can't say as I understand it, but she tells me you're doing good work. That it keeps people safe."
"Yeah," Sten muttered, not really in the mood to try and explain it all again to his Pa.
He listened well enough, but it was always painfully clear when he didn't get it.
Like it wasn't enough for him to know it was just what Sten did, but that it was somehow Sten's fault for not explaining it better, no matter how hard he tried.
"You must've learned quite a lot from that bergsr? the past few years you've been going up there," Pa continued. "Your Ma told me the thaneskassor's been dropping hints lately. Something about commissioning you to check on Thane Uffark's other quarries, even mines and such."
Sten huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Says he wants me to take on a few apprentices too. Teach them how to talk to the vaettir."
"You gonna do it?"
"Dunno." Sten shook his head. "Not sure I've got the time."
Pa was quiet at that for a long while. "He keeps you busy, doesn't he? Your bergsr?, I mean."
His bergsr?.
Sten's lips twisted. "Yeah."
"In fact, I was worried that if I didn't come track you down before Mistide's end, I'd find you were already halfway up the trail to that mountain of yours. Maybe before they even finished opening the doors, winter or no."
He… wasn't wrong, actually. Grom had gifted Sten a set of snowshoes on his last visit, and the quarry wouldn't be open until spring. The thought of spending another season here alone, shivering in his cottage, when instead Sten could be wrapped up warm with Rask?
At this point, Sten didn't even have to look up to see the Hall’s inner doors in his mind; he'd stared at them long enough the past six weeks, dreaming of the slopes that lay beyond.
Sten looked anyway. He couldn't help it.
"Here, let me see that," Pa said. And when Sten glanced up, it was to find Pa holding out his hand for the snarled-up wool.
Fingers numb and uncertain, Sten handed it over.
"Good thing you didn't ask your mother for help," Pa said, turning it over this way and that as he plucked the strands apart. "Don't tell her I said this, but the one she gave me was absolutely awful. Used it as the strap on my creel just so her ribbon would look better in comparison. Meanwhile there’s her showing off my work, wearing it as a belt until it finally wore through.” Pa’s eyes flicked up to meet Sten’s, humor sparkling in their depths. “Vára’s Oath; if I didn’t start catching more fish whenever I took that basket out with me, though. "
A small smile stole across Sten's face. "Do you remember that yellow hat she made me when I was little; the one that'd only cover my left ear?"
"Do I?" Pa shot Sten an aggrieved look. "Who do you think spent half of Mistide teaching her how, and fixing things when she had to frog her rows? No — your Ma's a smart lady, but the domestic arts have never been her strong suit. That's alright though. Takes all kinds to make a village, right?"
"Uh…right," Sten said, watching Pa bring order to chaos in the form of loose and tidy loops, before winding the remains of the skein into a ball.
"So, this bergsr? of yours…"
"Pa," Sten protested, unable to look away from the ball of wool forming in his hands. "You don't — "
"I'd like to meet him."
"What?" Sten stared at his father.
"I'd like to meet him," Pa said, meeting Sten's eyes. "You've been hiking up there to see him every chance you get for going on… What, nearly two years now? I figure he's got to be a pretty interesting…person, to keep my son coming back up there for so long."
"Three," Sten corrected him, flushing hotly. "Four this summer. But it's not like I can just ask him to dinner."
"Why not?"
"For one, he's…very big, Pa. The house is going to be a tough fit. And two, he's a bergsr?. You don't think someone in the village will have a problem?"
"Honestly? I think seeing him, getting to know him as a person would do everyone here a lot of good.
Between you standing at his side and the amount of booze and confectionery your mother is likely to push on anyone within shouting range, I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't become an annual tradition. "
"The Festival of the Mountain King," Sten mused.
"Oh, now you've gone and done it," Pa said, throwing up his hands in mock despair. "You've named the thing. There'll be no stopping it. Your bergsr? will have no choice but to come visit our village again so everyone can sing his praises."
"If only," Sten said wistfully, eyes falling on the ball of blue wool.
Pa looked at Sten strangely. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Huh?"
"I think you've been going up into those mountains too much maybe," Pa said, shaking his head. "Truth is, the whole town would throw your bergsr? a fete if they thought he'd come to it."
"They…would?" Sten blinked. "They won't be scared of him?"
"Well, I can't deny a goodly number might show up just for the thrill of it," Pa admitted. "But the official reason would be as thanks for saving the quarry. You wouldn't believe how often Ojson talks about it. Claims it should be a local holiday."
"With you and half the village spending it in his pub, I'd imagine?"
"Now who am I to deny that poor man a kind ear when he's talking about his dreams for this town?" Pa asked, giving Sten a wink. "And if he just so happens to have a spare pint going begging here and there, well, it's only neighborly I help him with that too."
Sten sighed. "The skull inside the door is the thing that killed Rask's mate, Pa. I can't see him setting foot in the place even if he somehow managed to fit."
"So we have it outside, like at midsummer or a picnic." Pa said. "We can work out the details later. Or not at all — it could be just us and your Ma and your…friend, if you’d rather. Living up there on that mountain as you've said, maybe he'd be more comfortable starting small."
Sten chewed his lips, but…
"He's not just my friend, Pa."
Pa stilled, and Sten held his breath, worried he'd finally gone and said too much.
"Does he make you laugh?" Pa asked, eyes locked on the wool as he turned the wound ball over in his hands.
"I…what?"