Too much. Too much, oh... As soon as a breath of fresh air filled her lungs, Elyn's head began to swim and she could feel her excesses catching up with her.
"Lort."
The contents of her stomach splattered the ground between her feet and the side of the tent she had just escaped until only a dry retch remained. A heavy cough wracked her body and she retched again, to no avail. Remaining doubled over she took a deep breath and spat before straightening herself. The sounds of heavy carousing came from the tent and suddenly she felt as if she did not just have too much mead and spirits. She clenched her teeth and stumbled back into the tent, if only to wrench the drinking horn from her brother Yule's hand. His companions laughed as she took a long draught and left the tent again. "Your sister really hit the drinks tonight", were the words that accompanied her outside before she drowned anything further by noisily rinsing her mouth and spitting the liquid onto the dry soil.

Before knowing where to go her steps had carried her to the fresh mound of earth piled a small plot in a Christian graveyard and Elyn stared in consternation at her traitorous feet. A low sound emitted from her throat, an ill-bred cross between a drunken giggle and a sob.
A simple wooden cross made from two staves were all that marked the place where Isabell Lachesis, one time Queen of Denmark was buried.
Finally the sound give itself up and became a giggle as the recollection of the haphazard funeral came flooding back.

* * *

"You will do as you are bid, you wet-son of a mangy dog. My mother was a good Christian and will have her burial as she wished!"
A young, scared looking man in a cassock was pressed against the rickety looking wall of a wooden church somewhere at the Baltic coast of Poland, his feet almost off the ground, held there by a large hand belonging to Yule Halfdanr Maleusson, eldest son of Maleus.
Around him, a band of about 15 young Danes all made up in armour and brandishing axes and swords stood, guffawing with laughter as the priest trembled.
To his credit, he didn't wet himself.

He conducted a rushed and shaky service in Latin and if he was surprised at the solemn demeanor of the Danes, he did not show it.
The majority of the party did not understand the Latin words, but three of their number, two boys and a girl, seemed to hang on every sentence tumbling from his trembling lips with their intense blue stares and remarkably similar faces.
When finally the earth covered the grave and the fiercest of the young men had rammed a makeshift wooden cross into the ground next to the grave it finally dawned on the priest whom he might have in front of him.
There had been talk of the Christian woman who had married the King of the Danes. Some said out of free will. And after seeing the devotion of her heathen children, the priest crossed himself and decided to pray for her soul. As he did so, he saw that the girl was watching him intently. "You have nothing more to fear from us. We will leave your village and church alone. Have this.." She looped an exquisitely carved necklace of rosary beads from her own neck and handed it to him. "She thought she would go to hell. Perhaps if you keep using it, she will not." Only after she had rejoined the group of young people he realised that she had spoken to him in Latin.

* * *

It was eerily quiet on the churchyard and Elyn looked up at the small tower at one end. The moon was in the sky just behind it and made the building look black against the landscapes bathed in silver. "Well, mother, your wish has been fulfilled", she whispered sullenly and frowned. Why the thought filled her with bitterness, she couldn't quite figure out. Perhaps it was the disappointment that even in death her parents were now divided, Maleus waiting for Ragnarök in Valhall while her mother languished in what she had called purgatory.
It struck the girl as profoundly unfair and the sound of her own teeth gnashing prevented her from kicking at the soil. With disgust she turned on her heel and stumbled away, her vision blurred with tears that had stayed away during her mother's decline and after she had died.

Dawn crawled in lavender hues over the horizon when finally Elyn walked back into the camp. Her feet ached from walking and she stumbled into her own tent before falling onto the jumbled pile of furs that represented her bedstead.
After what felt like minutes, she could feel a cold hand touching her cheek and she opened her brilliantly blue eyes to stare into identical ones. "Hrafn", she croaked, throat parched dry.
"You cried", the boy observed solemnly before handing her a pitcher with fresh water. He was still young but his face had always been serious, so much like mother's.
"So what." She snorted and impatiently pushed a strand of hair from her face. Still, she cast her brother a grateful look as she accepted the vessel and drank deeply while Hrafn watched on. Finally she sighed and pulled him down onto the furs, placing an arm around her shoulders. "You cried too. And I am sure Yule wanted to. Who should care and why?"
That brought the ghost of a smile to his face and for a few moments she sat quietly before she rose. "I need to wash. I smell worse than Leikr." Finally the gurgle of a giggle rose from Hrafn's throat as she ushered him out of her tent and just before she poured the pitcher over herself.
During her night she had reached a decision. And neither of her brothers would like it.
Her sister most likely didn't care.

"YOU WILL NOT! I FORBID IT!"
Unimpressed by the volume of her brother's roar, Elyn stuck her fingers in her ears and rolled her eyes, goading Yule into viciously kicking the tentpole hard enough to make the section of the tent collapse. Incensed, he freed himself from the heavy oiled cloth and advanced on his sister who stared at him cooly. "I mean it, Elyn." He was breathing heavily and his cheeks were red with barely suppressed fury.
"So you forbid it. You're not my father. My mother is dead. And I am going. There is nothing here for me and I don't want to be a part of the politics."
For a moment he looked puzzled and crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. "Politics? What does that have to do with anything?"
"Don't pretend you haven't heard them talk. Marry the daughter of Maleus to some old King to forge some alliance."
Her brother's silence was telling and Elyn frowned before her features turned soft. "Do you not remember Yule? When we went to visit the Protosebastos with Seighin? The palaces and the ships? He has Norse guards! I want to see it again."
The storm in Yule's blue eyes died and he sighed. "I remember. I have a mind to send Hrafn there when he is of age. Here we can only try and live up to the legacy of our father."
Brother and sister stood quiet for the space of a few heartbeats, both remembering. "I don't like it, Elyn. No child of Maleus should have to hire out her sword."
"I don't have to, Yule. I want to. I want to learn, I want to earn the respect and when I am ready, I want to see the lands that we visited and beyond."

And so they had parted company. Her brothers were to return to Denmark and Elyn.. Elyn was free. Free. Unbound.
The few belongings she could carry strapped to her back, her mother's sword at her side.
She had given her horse to Hrafn to look after and so it took her a number of days to reach a port on the Pommeranian coast.
Soon she found a trade ship bound for her destination and after making sure the Captain realised that her purse was not for the taking unless he wanted to leave his fingers in recompense, a deal was reached to set sail the very next day.