Chapter Text
Jack and Thorgil peered into the icy blackness of the cave in front of them. They both shivered, from chill as well as from foreboding. Jack tried to ignore the cold of the ground that was seeping into his boots and stealing the warmth out of his toes. The cold did not bother Fonn and Forath, who both walked into the yawning dark without a second thought. If there had been second thoughts, of course, Jack would have heard them. He trudged on miserably, not daring to complain of the dark or of his seemingly guaranteed frostbite. He did not wanting to risk Thorgil’s chiding. Every bit of the dreadful trek through the cave reminded Jack unpleasantly of the wretched tunnels that twisted through the Nine Realms he had been forced to travel through. Damp, dark, and disturbingly quiet. In the cave, the whispering thoughts of the trolls didn’t even seem to reach him through his black mood. It was like being near Hel.
A low rumble reached his ears as soon as the thought crossed his mind. It was Forath laughing.
Jack, we may enjoy the cold more than the creatures of Life you are familiar with , came Forath's voice in his mind.
"But we are nothing like Hel, and our realm holds no likeness to hers.” The troll maiden exhaled slowly, and then smiled. “Come, we will show you how different we are," said Fonn.
Thorgil took the words to heart and was the first to continue through the tunnels. She was never one to back down from a challenge, especially if she somehow got to shame Jack by winning.
“Freya’s teats, it is cold!” she cried cheerily, happy with her blaspheme.
Jack did not go so easily in the tunnels. Much as he tried to put it out of his mind, the tunnels that criss-crossed beneath the ground of his homeland plagued him. The icy black beneath King Yffi’s palace, now King Brutus’, was also close to mind. The boy absolutely detested being underground. It was a wonder the boy did not put forth more protest about the destination of his quest! He had just never had good experiences with being below the earth. He liked his feet on solid ground, beneath the sun. Forath, in her quiet way, reassured Jack by taking his hand in her much larger one.
Her hand was much hairier and heftier than Jack expected from a maiden, but the gesture was still appreciated. He tightened his hold around St. Columba’s staff and let Forath guide him.
“Thorgil, stop there.”
They had been walking in the dark for a long time. Or perhaps it had just felt that way. Jack was still feeling slightly ill from the weight of rock above him, and that may have lengthened the minutes for him. Fonn held out her hand to stop Forath and Jack. Thorgil stopped her long strides, and though Jack could not see her in the blackness of the tunnel, he knew she was shifting her feet in impatience. Jack was the one who had originally dedicated himself to being a wandering bard, but Thorgil had mastered the art of being restless long before he had. She was tapping her fingers against the hilt of her sword. Jack just barely heard the huff of exasperated breath she let out through the dark. He imagined the white puff of air coming from her pink lips, slightly upturned despite her whining tone. He was rather good at imagining her face.
“What are we doing?” she asked. “Why do we wait so long in these black and icy tunnels when Mother is so close?”
Patience, shield maiden , Forath thought. As soon as her words came across Jack’s mind, he could suddenly see. Light did not flood in, it appeared from every side and flickered. It was not torch light, but something far more awe inspiring. Something magical . Fonn’s arms were outspread, and her dainty fangs glittered in the bluish light that was pulsing behind the icy walls of the tunnels. The two humans laughed in delight, and Jack cried,
“How did this come to be?”
“You are not the only race blessed with magic. And fire is not the only bright thing in the Nine Worlds.” said the troll-maiden. “Now, we will go and see Mother.”
The four of them climbed steadily upwards through the tunnels, and soon Jack and Thorgil were putting forth so much effort to move upwards that they hardly noticed the cold anymore. The tunnels were still smooth, but they were not level any longer. One could tell that they were inside a mountain. At one point, Jack's leather boots lost purchase with the cool floor of the cave, and he flung out a hand, catching himself on the grooves carved into the icy walls. He had not noticed the carvings before, and stopped walking. The trolls stopped as soon as he did, sensing his movement. Thorgil kept going forward several paces before turning her head to glare at Jack. Then she saw what his eyes were turned upon, and she did the same.
"What are these?" Jack asked, tracing his fingers along the glowing carvings. Thorgil did the same, her hand lit up like silver once more in the cold light. Jack forced himself to stay looking at the wall, instead of at the way the shield maiden’s grey eyes shined and her skin glowed.
"We are passing into the tunnels that Mother's harem lives in," explained Fonn. "The louts carve the ice with our tales. This is where they begin."
They tell the story of our race. From our birth, to the sinking of Utgard, and into the now, Forath's voice sighed in their minds. Have you heard the full tale?
"We heard your song about Utgard when we first visited your palace,” said Thorgil. “Is that it?”
Nay, shield maiden. Our tale goes back much further.
"The world was created when the All-Father and his kin destroyed the giant Ymir," began Fonn. She gestured at the wall to their right with one of her great arms. "Ymir was created by the cold and scorching winds from Niflheimr and Múspellheimr. The two great forces coming together created the fearsome giant. The heat and cold and the conflict between the two created a being as large as the largest mountain, with an anger as deep as the sea. That is why he had to be slain. But before Odin smote him, he slept in the void of Ginnungagap for an age.
"While he slept, the first jötnar grew from his armpits— it is not strange, Jack, it truly happened— and that is how our kind were created. We were almost destroyed by Ymir's blood when he was slain, in the great flood of it. It was only due to Bergelmir, a strong lout, that we survived and were brought from the darkness of Niflheimr. He and his wife were the ones who walked across the sea. Yea, they tread upon the water to Utgard. They would begin the rebirth of our people."
And that is all written , Forath said, stroking the deep gouges in the ice. Jack and Thorgil looked upon the carvings in the pulsing blue light. History unfolded before their eyes, detailed as any saga, richer than anything recorded in a tome. The humans saw the jötnar springing fully grown out of Ymir's armpits. They saw the exploring of Niflheimr, the searching and piercing eyes of frost giants peering through skillfully carved mists. Several jotun kings and queens were carved, each of the line of Bergelmir. Their names were carved underneath in runes, showing their power and wisdom.
Thorgil traced the softer lines of Bergelmir's wife, who was carved fleeing across the newly-formed ocean of Ymir's blood. The carving was so detailed that she could catch the glint of her fangs: dainty, businesslike.
Vafdís was her name , Forath said when she saw Thorgils curious gaze. Bergelmir saw that the jötnar kings of the past did not lead our people well. They did not foresee the slaying of Ymir the giant, and how it would slay us as well. They had no foresight, and were concerned only with a full belly and a joyous hall. There is more to ruling than that. Seeing the flaws in the men of our race, he gave the right to rule to his wife. Vafdís was the first queen of our people, but she was not the last.
"Further down are the tales you will recognize, Thorgil Silverhand. You will find the louts have carved the stories of Skaði and Jàrnsaxa and Gerðr, and many more."
"Do you not honor the male jötnar?" asked Thorgil.
"We do,” Fonn conceded. “They are just not as important."
"The tales I have heard put more stock in your men," Jack said. "Were these lies?"
Of course. It is the job of humans to lie, and the job of jötnar to keep the truth. Our womenfolk are larger and more powerful, and the tales told by your skalds twist the truth and glorify the louts. Unforgivable..
"I knew I liked trolls for a reason," said Thorgil with a satisfied smile.
“I meant to ask earlier,” Jack said, interrupting that line of conversation. He did not like the sound of it. “Why do we take these tunnels instead of walking across the ice bow?”
“The one you melted?” asked Fonn, raising her bristly eyebrows. Her gravelly voice was tinged with something like irony.
“Er… Yes, that one.”
The ice bow guards us from invading humans , explained Forath. But the tunnels are an easier and safer entrance used by the jotnär. You are friends of our people, for now, and so you take our paths.
The history continued all through the incline. Beautiful pictures told a story, and little carvings aside in the ice let one know a little something about the louts who carved them. Regardless of which queen they belonged to, they obviously had a penchant for swear words and lewd anatomy. This was nearly as interesting as the tale being etched out. Jack was so distracted by the stories on the walls that he almost did not realize when they reached the residential part of the tunnels.
The only real notification that they had reached the living space was the stench of the louts, and the buzz of their voices in his mind as they approached. Humans , they said. They smiled with crooked teeth, and self-consciously brushed their meaty hands through their bristly hair when they saw the shield-maiden in their midst. And Thorgil Silverhand is one of them!
The louts all patted Thorgil on her back and sniffed the braid that Forath wove into her hair that morning. Thorgil looked quite calm, surrounded by a over a dozen hulking trolls. This was to be expected, since they probably reminded her strongly of her brother. Though she was wiry and slight in comparison to the louts around her, it was still obvious that each one in the group was a warrior. The shield maiden smiled every time she recognized a lout she played Dodge-the-Spear with so many years ago. The trolls exclaimed over her new battle scars and the sword strapped to her hip.
What is its name? asked one, shyly.
"It is not named yet," said Thorgil. “For I have not seen much battle while learning the ways of the wise. Those in the kindly West have no time for the clashing of swords, when they are so taken up with chanting to squirrels and picking leaves off trees. This iron has not yet earned a title. But it will surely cleave some of your heads in the days to come! And then I will give it a suitable name for doing the world such a kind task.”
The louts laughed at the threat and continued chatting with her. Jack stood aside. He did not mind standing alone, for he did not fit in well with the louts. While they were loud and coarse and rude, he was small and mild-mannered. Jack’s voice was suited to songs of bees and trees and babbling brooks, while theirs favored odes to strong ale, or that distinct and pleasing noise of a skull detaching from the spine. These brutes, nice as they surely were, would not appreciate Jack’s interests or his skills. No matter how well he sang, he would never be able to cleave in a skull or wear a necklace of war trophies around his neck. Though his staff meant he was deserving of respect, it did not grant him camaraderie. They let him be.
In all the talk of her weapons, Jack wondered why Thorgil did not mention her numerous other weapons. They had been together for some time during this final exam, and he had seen her in various states of undress several times. He hadn’t gotten a look at anything he shouldn’t have, but he certainly got an eyeful of various sharpened metals, strapped to convenient as well as distinctly uncomfortable places. But then perhaps it was in poor taste to draw a silver knife in the house of a friend. Daggers and knives were less honorable than swords, and less expensive. And anyway, he did not wish to ask. The louts couldn’t be bothered with him, even if he had wanted them to.
"It is because you are a fire-wizard," Fonn told him, hearing his thoughts. She and her sister had yet to depart. "And also, Thorgil is quite beautiful. You, dear Jack, are not."
"Trolls are nothing if not honest," said Jack stiffly, trying not to show that he was hurt. It was only to make himself feel better, of course. All the trolls could read him like an open book. Why should he care what trolls thought of his appearance?
Fonn quickly amended her statement, not wanting to bruise Jack’s pride. "Do not be offended. You have not seen enough battle to be seen as winsome, little skald. You are clever, but you are not a warrior. Thorgil has many a fight beneath her belt. Her scars and epithet make her all the more attractive to my people's eyes."
"She is beautiful," Jack said. "But I never thought she would be seen as such by trolls."
"Thorgil is tall, strong, and fierce. But you need not be jealous. Her heart lies with someone else."
“Does it?”
“Someone in this room,” Fonn added. She laughed, low and guttural, at the flush of Jack’s ears.
"Oh," said the boy.
“I can read minds, you know. She isn’t even guarding those thoughts. Perhaps she wants someone to notice.”
“You think so?” asked Jack, his voice slightly higher than usual. He felt a little warm, and more than a little sweaty suddenly.
Fonn laughed, rather than replying. The group of louts gathered around Thorgil turned to see what was so amusing. Or perhaps just to look at Fonn. As far as Jack knew, she was considered a very beautiful troll-maiden. Her laugh was probably winsome as well. One of the louts stood up tall and straight, and Jack saw that it was Bolthorn, Fonn and Forath's father. The troll had replaced the y-shaped stick that held up his brow ridge: it was now gilted.
"Come with me," he said in an almost impossibly low rumble. He did not meet anyone’s eyes, but Jack and Thorgil did not need to ask who he meant to say it to. "I will prepare you to see Mother."
The sea of louts parted before Jack’s staff. The two humans followed the heavy, shambling step of Bolthorn further through the tunnels. "It is good to see you two again," he said. It was hard to discern the words from the growl coming from Bolthorn’s throat, but Jack somehow managed it. "Though the years pass slowly here, you both are almost fully grown."
“And you haven’t changed at all, Bolthorn,” said Thorgil brightly. The lout smiled at her, showing off his yellow and mossy teeth. It was quite a sight.
"How have the years been in this realm?" asked Jack. His question wiped the soft smile off the troll’s face almost immediately.
"The warmth steadily consumes the land," said the jotun, sadly. The melancholy in his voice made it even harder to understand. "I fear we will have to uproot our people once more within the next two centuries. Disregarding that, we have been prosperous. No one is sick, and two cubs have been born since your last visit."
"I should like to see a troll child," said Thorgil.
"They are precious, indeed," said Bolthorn. Trolls could not lie, but Jack was confident that troll children were precious only in the eyes of other trolls. And perhaps Thorgil.
They walked further through the icy halls. His breath misting in front of his face, eight feet off the ground, Bolthorn told an attentive Thorgil all about troll children. To Jack, it seemed they were much like human babies. However, they were much hairier and hungrier. And when they were hungry, they were not averse to chomping off one or two unsuspecting fingers. And the nappies were a nightmare to deal with. After a few minutes, Bolthorn led them into his rooms, which took up a large cave. Each compartment was sectioned off with a sheet of ice, creating a common space, a bedroom, and what must have been a privy.
Lay your weapons down in the doorway, the troll thought as they stepped through the doorway. He was too busy for vocalizing. His massive furred shoulders strained as he pulled a heavy oak chest into the center of the cave, onto a carpet. Jack leaned St. Columba's staff against the wall next to the door, and Thorgil did the same with her sword. She detached her axe from its holster on her back, and laid it on the floor. She also stook away the knives strapped to her thighs, the one blade attached to her hip, and the three daggers stored in her boots. It took a pointed look from the lout for her to take off her short bow. Then, a threatening grunt to remove her quiver.
"And the last dagger," said Bolthorn. Thorgil grinned and pulled her last blade out of its hiding place in her leg wrappings.
"From his weapons on the open road, no man should step one pace away," she said, quoting a Northman proverb.
Bolthorn ducked his great head, agreeing. Jack was terrified for the stick sitting atop his nose, as it seemed like it might fall out if it was jostled too much. And who knew what would happen to the lout’s brow ridge then?
"That is true,” he said, “but you are no longer on the open road. You have no need to fear us while you are under Glamdis' hospitality.” He adjusted the y-shaped stick that was holding up his brow ridge, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The troll then opened the oak chest. Thorgil leaned forward to get the first look at the contents of it. It was full of clothing.
"You should not have an audience with Mother clothed like peasants," Bolthorn said. He nodded at the packs on their back as the two humans thought of the formal wear they had brought with them. That which had been gifted by Partholis. "Neither should you approach her dressed like elves. These shall service you in our realm, and wherever you may go after this."
He pulled out the clothes and laid them on the thick carpet. It took him several minutes to do so, as there was a good deal of clothing inside the chest.
"What will we need so many outfits for?" asked Thorgil.
"We have several celebrations planned during your stay," said Bolthorn. "Many feasts, as well as a dance. And much of the clothing in this chest is meant to be worn during your journey to Niðavellir. You will be moving through a great deal of frozen land to get there."
Jack almost asked how the troll knew they were travelling to the realm of the dwarves. But then he reminded himself that frost giants could read minds. The quest was always floating around in his head, demanding acknowledgement and planning.
That is not the only reason why I know , thought Bolthorn.
He spoke aloud then, saying: "Someone travels ahead of you, spreading your destination, though not your purpose. Sindri knows of your approach."
"Who!" cried Jack and Thorgil. "This was meant to be a secret quest!"
"It is still secret, though not fully. You will still be able to steal your ring."
"Do not say it aloud!" Thorgil hissed. "Who knows who may be listening?"
"No jotun will betray you," said Bolthorn. He smiled again with his jumbled up teeth, shaking out a fur cloak. "We are too honest for that. The dwarves' knowledge of your approach has some benefit, besides. They know not yet of your planned deceit. They just know their court is receiving two visitors. They will be sending you a guide."
"We do not need a guide," Jack groused. He knew the way to the realm of dwarves, as best as any human did. The way may be shorter with a dwarven guide, but he did not want that kindness when he was going to later thieve from those benefactors.
"It will not hurt," Thorgil pointed out. She did not even have deceit in mind. Northmen believed in the power of hospitality, and she would never go behind someone’s back to steal something. The shield maiden would fight for it. "Now, Bolthorn, is that a silk tunic?"
It was, and it was not the silvery-grey fabric of spider silk. It was bright blue, the sort of silk that came out of the East. It smelled faintly of the spice that had been traded along with it. There were many pieces of clothing of that ilk, made of rich cloth and lined with beautiful furs. Nothing else was to be expected, within the hall of the Mountain Queen. Most things were heavily embroidered, and blue and green and purple gems were sewn into cuffs and necklines. The clothing had weight, ceremonially and literally.
After a long while of picking through all the pieces of clothing, both Jack and Thorgil decided on what they would wear when they reunited with Mother. It was all properly trollish. Thorgil wore a bright blue tunic over a grey knitted shirt. Over it all she had on a long jerkin in a paler blue. On the jerkin's back was a design of a hand, picked out in silver thread.
"It was made just for me!" cried Thorgil, when tugging it on.
A gold belt was knotted over both of them, and though Thorgil was loath to cover up the design on her back, she wore a heavy coat of marten fur. She also had on kidskin gloves, their edges embroidered in green thread. Her leggings were a deep purple, and she wore red silk leg wrappings over thick woolen socks. She had on boots of caribou skin, the hair turned out so that they could grip the icy floors of Glamdis' halls. On her head was a pointed cap of red fabric.
Jack's raiment was in similar cool shades. He wore a deep purple tunic over a shirt of pale blue. He had on loose-fitting blue trousers in the style of the Rus, tucked into the same sort of boots Thorgil was wearing. Instead of a long fur coat, he wore St. Columba's cloak, held together with a golden clasp in the shape of a twisting beast. Woolen mittens covered his hands, their palms reinforced with some sort of pliable leather. He wore nothing on his curly head, save a woven crown of yew leaves that Bolthorn handed to him, saying that they came from Forath's greenhouse.
"You are both ready," said Bolthorn. "Do not return to your blades or your staff. Such things should not go into the halls of friends. You shall leave your weapons in here. Glamdis will not permit such things in her throne room anymore. She says she is through with the tricks of fire-wizards."
Jack had the grace to duck his head and blush. Thorgil took his gloved hand, and they followed Bolthorn through the twisting tunnels. The passages steadily lightened as they approached the sun-lit throne room of the palace. When they entered, there was only one person in the room. Granted, it was a rather large individual, and she took up more space than any human could have— save Olaf Onebrow, of course. Glamdis stood at the foot of her throne, her furred arms spread in welcome.
“Welcome back to Jotunheim, my children,” she said. “We have been anticipating your arrival for many a night.”
Jack was always more stringent with his emotions, but he cried, “Mother!” along with Thorgil. It had been a long time since they met, and the long years of absence made the heart fonder. The two humans ran into the troll-queen’s awaiting arms. They only slipped on the polished silver floor once.
“Try not to knock my crown off,” Glamdis laughed, once the two humans barrelled into her arms. “It was made by the dwarves, you know.”
“Dwarves.” Thorgil gave Mother a quizzical look. “What do you know about dwarves?”
“It is admirable that you wish to keep your quest a secret.” Glamdis let go of the two of them, and she looked down on them sternly, her bushy orange brows drawn down over her eyes. “But you cannot hide the truth from the jötnar. However, my people will not betray you. Who would we tell? But you should know that someone travels ahead of you. He gave us first word of your journey, and your purpose for coming.”
“Who is this being? Is that why your daughters collected us after the battle?”
“Well, you were on the way,” Glamdis said matter-of-factly.
“Who was it?” Jack asked. “Who travels ahead?”
“He goes by many names,” said the Queen. “I swore not to reveal him, and I will stay true to my word.”
“The only people who know about the assignment are at the School,” Thorgil thought out loud. “Doubtless we know them, and we will give them a good thumping if our paths cross once we arrive in Niðavellir.”
Jack had a good thought of who it might be. He did not say it aloud, however. The look Glamdis gave him made him think that he was right. Anyone who said frost giants could not feel emotion were clearly wrong. The sly, gleeful look in Glamdis’ walnut-brown eyes would discourage anyone from that thought.
“That is enough speaking,” Glamdis rumbled. “Both of you, go take a bath, and prepare for tonight’s celebration.”
“Yes, Mother,” the two questers said. They bowed low, and exited the throne room.
Bolthorn met them outside, and he led them through the ice palace.
“My people do not bathe often,” said the lout. Like most sensible folk , Jack thought. “Or at least, not us louts. Our stench is considered attractive, you see. Thorgil, you can use the princess’ bathing chamber. I will lead you there. Jack, you can come back with me to the harem tunnels.”
The baths were part of the system of the caves the louts lived in. Nothing but the best for Glamdis’ harem. In a large cave off a side tunnel, there was a wide stone-lined pool, the water stirring slightly but empty of louts. Jack shuddered to think of what it would look like when the harem was taking advantage of the bath. Yards of flaking flesh and bristly orange hair would in no way be improved by having it all bared. Roughhousing, naked trolls were not something the boy would ever wish to see.
There were furs and blankets lining the side of the bath. Jack had never been to a communal bath, but he had a general idea of what you did.
He hesitated in taking his clothes off, but he figured there was no point in being modest in front of a frost giant. If they saw the innermost recesses of your mind, what was the issue of them seeing your body? He began to strip off the splendid clothing Glamdis had given him, folding it carefully and placing it in Bolthorn’s arms. The troll watched Jack as he took off his clothes. Jack would have been embarrassed by the close attention, but his body was obviously very different from the troll’s. He only hunched in on himself a little as Bolthorn’s brown eyes studied the scars on his back.
“What are those white marks?” asked the lout. “They are not wounds from a blade.”
“Elf-shot,” Jack told him. “The light elves have a bit of a grudge against me. Whenever I encounter one— which is relatively often, on the Islands of the Blessed, since the barriers between worlds are thin— they are very eager to express their displeasure.”
“The light elves are vengeful. What did you to do them?”
Jack told Bolthorn how he, Thorgil, and Pega ended Partholis’ reign in the Land of Silver Apples as he took off the last remnants of his clothes. It was easier to strip when he had something to distract him. Though Bolthorn has surely heard the tale before, through the saga of Thorgil Silverhand, he listened attentively as Jack described Midsummer in Alfheim. Bolthorn did not speak, but Jack felt his displeasure as he described the heinous entertainment and purpose of the huge bonfire Partholis had built. Jack himself shuddered as he described what the bonfire eventually revealed itself as: a yawning pit into hell, crawling with imps and demons and worse.
“And that is how Thorgil got her title,” said the lout approvingly once Jack was done with his tale. “I have heard it told, but it is something else entirely to hear it from one who was there. You must tell the whole saga at the feast tonight.”
“If you think so,” said Jack, a tad shyly. “Shall I get in the water now?”
“Yes. I will wait here until you finish.”
Jack bit his lip. “Could you turn around?”
Bolthorn’s browridge raised interestingly over its stick, but the troll did as he was requested. Jack did not enjoy bathing, but he would do what Glamdis told him. He stepped into the water.
And shouted, because the water was freezing. And much deeper than Jack would have thought! He was completely submerged in the pool unless he tread water. Of course, it would only come up to a jotun’s waist.
I should have told you it was cold for a human. Didn’t even think to.
Jack scowled and tried to wash as quickly as he could. There was no soap, but he could still scrub himself and get off several week’s worth of dirt.
He got behind his ears and between his toes. He washed his hair and shuddered as cold water ran down his back. He wondered how the Northmen could do this as often as once a week.
Once he was done washing, he wondered vaguely how he would get out of the pool. The way was to hoist his leg onto the lip of stone that bordered the bath, but he was cold and wet, and the stone was slick. He didn’t want to lose a tooth, or continue the rest of his journey with a broken arm. Before he could think of the best technique to get him out of the water, however, Bolthorn extended a fur-clad arm for Jack’s aid. The boy gratefully hooked his arms around it, and the lout lifted him out of the bath with astonishing strength.
Jack was only standing naked, shivering, for a brief time. Bolthorn quickly fetched a thick fur robe from the ones stacked and folded along the walls and wrapped it around the boy.
Wouldn’t want you to catch your death of cold. We have many celebrations planned.
The young sklad quickly shuffled into thick socks and his boots, and followed Bolthorn back to his chambers. It was an odd sensation to be unclothed underneath the fur, but Jack almost couldn’t be bothered, since he was warm as he followed the lout through the harem.
“We have more clothing prepared for you,” Bolthorn rumbled. “I will choose something for you while you dry off.”
“Will I be sleeping in the harem, Bolthorn?” asked Jack as he shook his hair out.
Certainly not! thought Bolthorn. “No, little skald,” he continued in speech. “Only those the Mountain Queen has courted may sleep within these walls. We will have some louts move your things during the feast tonight.”
“Where will Thorgil be staying?”
“With my daughters. You will still see plenty of her, though.”
A while later, Jack found himself at the end of a line of sixteen louts. They walked onto the frozen lake than functioned as Glamdis’ feasting hall as a group, and Jack felt a little foolish as they all filed in. The louts all preened and displayed themselves in a way they surely thought was fetching. He supposed it was true that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, as the lady trolls’ approval floated through his mind. Jack personally saw nothing appealing about bristly orange hair, rotten teeth, and flaky skin, whether it was accentuated by a loincloth or covered up by heavy furs and dense wool.
Once the Mountain Queen sat down, the feasting could begin. For their celebrations, it seemed like the only rule was that you had to keep one foot on the ground. There was no assigned seating, no restriction on conversation, and practically no limit on the food or drink. Once Jack loaded a trencher, he made his slow way across the lake, to where Thorgil had already set herself up nicely. Glamdis had provided a smaller table and two chairs for the humans. Thorgil was chatting amicably to a young lout in a loincloth, her boots propped up on the chair that was meant for Jack. He hadn’t seen her so comfortable in months, since they left the Islands of the Blessed.
Jack nodded politely at the lout, keeping his eyes firmly off the loincloth. He kicked Thorgil’s feet off his chair, and sat down to enjoy his food.
Thorgil had loved Jotunheim when they had travelled there as children, and it was just the same now that they were adults. The Northmen and the jotuns were natural enemies, but she got along swimmingly with the youths. They enjoyed all the same things, and laughed at the same crude subjects. They were evenly matched in their games and competitions, except for the drinking contests. Though they were destined one day to end each other during Ragnarok, they were as friendly as anything before then.
Jack was a little jealous. He and Thorgil had been through many things together, and had overcome many evils. But they were not a perfect match by any means. Their personalities and ideals clashed. For every minute they were friendly, there was practically an hour of them being at each other’s throats. He held her closer to his heart than any other person in the world, but sometimes it seemed like it shouldn’t be that way. Sometimes it was easy to remember the terms they had started on, more than any of their shared experiences.
The lout heard what Jack was thinking, and leered at him unpleasantly.
But maybe Thorgil heard as well. She hooked her arm around Jack’s shoulders and pulled him and his chair closer. Though it made it inconvenient to eat his salmon, the skald leant into the touch and listened to Thorgil discuss the best way to crush an elk skull.