Chapter Text
Will you search through the loamy earth for me,
Climb through the briar and bramble?
I'll be your treasure
I felt the touch of the kings and the breath of the wind,
I knew the call of all the song birds,
They sang all the wrong words
I'm waiting for you…
- Johnny Flynn
For that one whose crappy doodles make me see stories
Randvi sighed at the note in her hand. She had been staring at the mess of scribbles, strange letters, and crossed out notes for a while.
Dwolfg’s sad, big eyes peered over the edge of the note. The hound sniffed at the scrap of vellum, then whined sadly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Randvi said tiredly. “I don’t know when Eivor will be back either. Come on, get out.”
She followed the large hound outside. The note still irked her, but that would not get any better.
Dusk had settled outside of the longhouse. Randvi and Dwolfg both squinted into the cloudy sky. A cold drizzle greeted them. Dwolfg sniffed at the damp air and returned to the dry warmth of the longhouse.
“Suit yourself,” Randvi called after him.
She made her way through the drizzle to the small hut. Crouching underneath the window, she banged on the window sill, hoping to to at least startle the single occupant inside. Instead, a perfectly calm and friendly voice called out, “Come in, my friend.”
“No,” Randvi called back. “I’m tired of sitting inside. You can come out.”
She waited patiently. Whatever Hytham had been reading had to be put away carefully, in just the right place. Then he would come out, lamp in hand, and hang the small filigreed light over the door.
“Nose in your papers again,” Randvi grumbled.
“Not this time,” Hytham shook his head. “Azar left me a rare treat to pass the time.”
Randvi looked at Hytham’s smiling face.
“A book,” she guessed. There was a happy nod in response.
“You miss having books around,” she commented.
“I do,” Hytham admitted. Then, to Randvi’s dread, he pointed to the note in her hand. “Is that for me?”
“Yes,” Randvi mumbled.
“Then hand it over, please” Hytham said, sitting down. Randvi passed him the note. Hytham examined the writing on it carefully.
“You had trouble with this one,” he nodded. “Perhaps we need to go over it again?”
Randvi slumped on the bench against the wall of the hut.
“Greek language makes no sense,” she muttered.
Hytham shrugged.
“If you think Greek is hard – “
He picked up a small stick and twirled it over a muddy patch of ground. Randvi stared at the lines that flowed behind it.
“And that’s a word?”
Hytham laughed.
“No, that is a sentence. In my native tongue.”
Randvi eyed the swirling marks in the soil.
“You miss that too,” she said.
Hytham’s smile disappeared as his eyes roamed across the river. Randvi decided to say nothing. She sat next to him in companionable silence, hearing little else but the sloshing of the river against the docks. Once she had judged the silence had gone on long enough, she glanced sideways at Hytham.
“Look at you. You could sit all night like this, staring at the sky.”
Hytham offered her another smile.
“Waiting quietly in the shadows has been a great part of my life, as you can imagine.”
Randvi sighed. “I will continue with the Greek lessons, but not tonight. My head hurts and my eyes are tired.”
“Perhaps you would like one of the stories from my homeland instead?” Hytham offered. “I could tell it in Greek.”
Now Randvi smacked at him.
“You would talk your way through your own wedding night,” she accused him.
Disappointingly, Hytham did not look insulted. He frowned as though trying to remember something.
“It is most interesting you should say that,” he said slowly. “As a matter of fact, the book that Azar gave me tells of young woman who did exactly something of the kind, and – “
Now Randvi grinned.
“Oh, those are the sorts of books you’re reading now? About young women’s wedding nights?”
“I – “
“Perhaps I should leave you to read it alone,” she went on, the grin growing wider.
“If you would let me explain –“
A door slammed somewhere in the village, with considerable noise and force. Hytham and Randvi turned around.
“Go away, Hemmingson!” a voice boomed. “Go and bother Tekla!”
“I did, and she slammed the door in my face!” came an equally loud, but slightly slurred response. “Can you not spare a single drink for a thirsty – “
“This is not a brewery, I told you already! Now let me sleep!”
Something else slammed.
“Oh, no,” Randvi said with mild horror. Hytham grimaced.
“What is the problem... This time?” he asked.
“Sounds like someone’s run out of drink,” Randvi replied, laughing. Hytham, however, seemed unduly disturbed by the noise.
The distant argument was apparently over. A lonely song, sung off-key, reached them instead.
“Claaaaad in a cloak of dew – “
Both listeners grimaced.
“Some people sing better when they’ve had a few,” Randvi commented. “But not Vili Hemmingson.”
The song neared, growing both louder and more disjointed.
“Heeeeaaar the wilderness whisper from seidr’s deep heart springs – “
Hytham got to his feet, seemingly intent on heading back inside.
“Where are you going?” Randvi hissed, pulling him back down. “This will be the best entertainment of the night. Sit down and wait.”
No waiting was required. The tall, broad shape of Vili Hemmingson stumbled into view, the next verse of the song interrupted by an occasional misstep.
“Carried by the northern wiiiiind – “
“If the elves had sung their runes the way you sing, Hemmingson, Ragnarok would have already been upon us,” Randvi called out, one hand still holding Hytham in place. “Why do you pester the good people of this village?”
Vili stopped in mid-step and valiantly righted himself.
“Randvi?” he peered into the gloom. And then, apologetically, “I was only asking for a drink.”
“He sounds like he’s had plenty already,” Hytham muttered.
“I heard that!” came an insulted cry. Vili stumbled into the light of the lamp, cloak askew and shirt half-undone. He put a protective arm around one of the straw men near the hut and peered through the wet bangs that fell over his eyes.
“I do not need more insults,” he stated firmly, one arm around the straw man. Then he cheered up and smiled at Randvi. “But I would not refuse a drink,” he added.
“No drinks here, I fear,” Hytham muttered.
Still hugging the straw dummy, Vili turned around.
“I was not talking to you, little man,” he growled.
Hytham stood up. Randvi giggled at the two figures. Even standing on the step by his hut, Hytham was barely on eye-level with the tipsy warrior.
“I am not going to stand in the rain and argue statures with you,” Hytham said quietly. “If drinks are all you are after, I cannot help you.”
Still staring up at Vili, he added, “Arse-stick.”
The pronunciation was so perfect and the tone so much like Eivor’s that Randvi burst out laughing.
“How did you even remember that!” she howled.
Vili’s mouth dropped open. He looked ready to charge at Hytham in the next moment.
Then his head fell. He patted the straw dummy on the head gently.
“I can tell when I am unwanted,” he muttered, turning away and stepping out of the light. “I shall seek solace elsewhere in this miserable, rain-washed – shit!”
The curse was followed by a loud splash. Hytham grabbed the lamp from its nail.
“Is he alright?” he asked, waving the light into the rainy gloom.
“He just slipped over, the big oaf,” Randvi said. “Let’s help him up.”
They stepped over the small ditch by the road that had been Vili’s downfall. Vili was lying on his back, cursing and frowning at the rain. Randvi prodded him gently with her foot.
“Get up, drunkard.”
“No,” came an angry reply. “I come seeking companions and solace from loneliness, and I get insults in turn,” Vili replied from the ditch. “I shall stay here and perish in silence.”
Randvi took the lamp from Hytham and swung it over Vili’s face.
“The closest you’ll get to perishing is children pelting you with mud in the morning,” she advised. “Now, get up.”
To her great amusement, it was Hytham who knelt down and tried to lift Vili into a sitting position.
“I apologise for calling you an arse-stick, Vili Hemmingson,” he said in his usual, polite tones. “I have heard Eivor call you that, so I did not realise it was an insult. I would not have – “
Vili, half way to a sitting position from the ditch, simply leaned back with a heartfelt, insulted wail, almost pulling Hytham with him into the mud.
“Listen,” he slurred. “Listen to you. Look at you.” Now comfortably lying back in the ditch, he laid a hand on Hytham shoulder.
“If I’m an arse-stick,” he mumbled, his eyes glowing but slightly unfocused, “Then you... You... You’re a twig!”
He smiled triumphantly and settled down, the hand still on Hytham’s shoulder. The next thing the two heard from him was a soft snore.
“Will you help me get him up?” Hytham called over Randvi’s hysterical laughter. Still giggling, she helped Hytham pull the sleepy Vili onto his feet.
“What do we do with him now?” Hytham asked, bent over the weight of Vili’s arm around his shoulders.
“I’m not carrying him around in this rain,” Randvi replied. “Put him on your porch to sleep it off.”
They dragged Vili up the low steps and settled him by the door.
“It is not a warm night,” Hytham said with serious concern.
“He’s slept in colder,” Randvi waved her hand. “He will be fine. Throw something over him if you are concerned.”
To her further delight, Hytham walked out of his hut with a thick woolen throw and another bundle. She looked on without comment as Hytham carefully covered the drunk Vili, and wrapped another cloth into a cushion to gently ease it under Vili’s head.
“Thank you,” Vili muttered, startling them both. He half-opened his eyes.
“I was wrong to insult you,” he said, blurry eyes trying to focus on Hytham. He lifted one hand to Hytham’s cheek.
“You are kind to me... Twig,” he whispered. With a slight smile, he rolled over and fell asleep once more.
Randvi nudged Hytham gently.
“You can stand up now,” she said.
“What was that all about?” Hytham asked.
“He does not do well being cooped up, I think.” Randvi suggested. “And he may be a little lonely,” she added.
“I can understand that,” Hytham admitted. “Do you think he will be alright here?”
Randvi snorted.
“I’ve told you, he’s probably slept far drunker in far colder places,” she said. “If you are that concerned, you could bring him inside, I suppose.”
The look on Hytham’s face was her crowning achievement for the night, she told herself, even better than escaping another Greek language lesson.
“Thank you for the company, and for the help,” Hytham said seriously. “Take the lamp with you, it’s already dark.”
“Always welcome,” Randvi winked. She clapped Hytham on the shoulder before stepping away into the night. “Sleep well... Twig.”