Dream of Me/Believe in Me

fine timbered halls that would house theirguests. The finishing touches were still to be added but the major work was completed by dint of laboring through each day and far into the twilit night.
    Nor was this respite to last long, for scarcely were the halls finished than it was time to begin bringing in supplies for the feasting. Soon the hunt would ride out, staying in the field day and night while relays of servants brought the kills back to the dozens of women and children mustered to deal with them. Stag, deer, and boar would fall before flashing spear and speeding arrow while the young boys set their traps for smaller game.
    So, too, were the longboats putting out to sea, their great seine nets at the ready to bring forth cod and herring in abundance. The smoke fires would burn without cease. Great blocks of ice hauled from the river the preceding winter and kept packed underground would keep other foods well chilled. Some would be salted, some pickled. Several hundred Vikings would find no complaint for their stomachs' sake while the Lord of Sciringesheal hosted them.
    The lord … Wolf's thoughts strayed back to his brother's question. Lying naked in the sun, letting the warm summer air dry him, he said, “At the last possible moment, when else?”
    Dragon stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “Marriage has taught you prudence, brother.”
    Wolf grinned ruefully. “It's trying to, at least. But I've been thinking, she may not really mind. In fact, she might be relieved.”
    Dragon's look was bluntly skeptical. “How so?”
    “You know what it will be like—hundreds of men staying up all night, feasting and drinking, singing, telling war stories, making free with the whores. Most of them will get falling-down drunk, there will be at least a few knife fights. Cymbra wouldn't enjoy any of that.”
    “Don't know why not. Sounds like a fine time to me.” Dragon grinned again at his brother's look of reprimand. “But you're right, that sort of thing isn't for a lady. Unless, of course, the lady in question thinks she's worked her fingers to the bone to bring it all about and doesn't appreciate being told she can't come.”
    “Well, she can't,” Wolf said sullenly, “whether she
appreciates
it or not. Odin's breath, brother, you know how men react to her! I've called the jarls here to talk, not make slobbering fools out of themselves.”
    “I did wonder if you'd thought of that when you came up with this idea. For all that I don't mind provoking my sweet sister-in-law a bit, she really does need protecting, if only from herself.” He shook his head in wonder. “She still doesn't seem to have any idea of the effect she has.”
    Wolf sighed. As day had passed day and he saw how very hard and well his wife was working to make the feast a success, his feeling of guilt had grown. Yet he did not waver from his decision, recognizing it as the only one he could make.
    “I think what she wants most is what she can never have,” he said quietly.
    “What's that?”
    “A normal life. Just to be an ordinary woman doing ordinary things. In her heart, I believe she's always yearned for that.”
    Dragon leaned back against the mossy bank. “The gods are capricious. They withhold their gifts at will, yet do they sometimes lavish them so greatly as to be burden rather than boon.”
    They pondered that in silence for some little time but soon enough the respite ended. Both men rose, dressed, and armed themselves. As Dragon went to see to the horses, Wolf sought his wife to say a brief farewell.
    He found her in their lodge, bent over as she tried to pull a chest out from under the bed where it had beenstored. Wolf stopped just inside the entrance and stared. His wife was so intent in her efforts that she hadn't heard him come in. He had a very pleasant view of her firm little bottom wiggling back and forth as she tried to get a better hold on the chest.
    “Need some help?” he asked pleasantly.
    Cymbra jumped at the sound of his voice and looked over her shoulder, but didn't let go of the chest. “No, I've almost got it. All I have to do is—” She gave it one more good hard tug and … Too hard. The handle slipped out of her hand and she was flung backward by the force of her own efforts, landing hard on what he had so lately admired.
    Before she could try to rise, Wolf was lifting her, setting her gently on her feet, and looking at her with concern until he saw that she was more