"Saga" - Chapter 25, Part 1
Content - Saga is a Brokeback AuAu fic taking place in the Viking era (Scandinavia, ca AD 850). This chapter rated PG-13, and ca 4,500 words long.
Disclaimer - The original Ennis and Jack who inspired this fic do not belong to me, but to Annie Proulx, Diana Ossana, Larry McMurtry and Focus Features. I intend no disrespect and make no profit.
A/Ns - Links to previous chapters follow after the cut. Explanations of names and terms follow after each chapter. Thank you to Soulan for betaing this chapter!
Links to all previous chapters are available here: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/43336.html
Saga - Chapter 25
Eoin woke in the early morning, listening to happily trilling bird calls and the whisper of breeze through new leaves, and sensing the solid warm form pressed close to his side and warming him in the dewy chill of dawn.
The previous night Einnis eventually tore himself away and walked off for a moment, returning with a couple of saddle blankets from the stable. Then they took off together into the night, happy as raiders with arms full of riches, barely able to keep going since they were nearly overwhelmed with the longing to stop, touch and kiss every step of the way.
They slipped stealthily through Torgeirr’s sheep fields to the copses of wood beyond, scaring up a flock of ewes and their lambs as they passed in the night. The two of them settled at last on a patch of grass in the farm outfields. All through the night they spoke but little, letting their bodies express what mere words would never fully be able to convey.
In the middle of a clump of birch trees, oaks and beeches, hidden from view under the leaf-rich branches, they finally fell asleep on the rough blankets smelling of horse, hay and manure. With morning approaching they were light of heart but physically drained, having enjoyed each other twice more before contented dreams stole them away.
Even in sleep they had steadfastly remained in each other’s arms. Einnis was lost to the world, lying crushed against the body next to him, breathing evenly and deeply, one sleep-heavy arm resting on Eoin’s chest and one strong leg hooked around his thigh. Einnis’s relaxed and unguarded face was so close to Eoin’s that they were breathing the same air. Eoin lifted his free hand and touched Einnis’s cheek with a light finger, then reached out to stroke his broad back. The affectionate hand wandered across the shoulders, moved from neck to buttocks and back up, the slow caress repeating itself over and again as Eoin rejoiced in the solid reality of warm, supple skin.
Abruptly Einnis opened his eyes. The field beyond the copse was flooding now with morning sun, and the chorus of bird calls intensified and washed over the two of them like a beautiful hymn of praise, their cathedral made of fresh foliage; tall spires of vibrant green adorned with golden sunlight reflected in bright jewels of dew.
“There you are,” Einnis whispered, leaning in to nuzzle Eoin’s cheek, kissing his slightly parted lips with slow sensuous nips. “You’re really here…”
Eoin smiled, stretching his body languidly and sitting up on the blanket, making Einnis roll to the side.
“I’m really here,” he confirmed. “I’m here with you where I most longed to be. It was a long journey from Kaupang, and I ached to go faster, had a hard time not just kicking my horse into a gallop and leaving the others in the dust. Muirenn’s sickness kept slowing us down.”
Einnis looked at him, distracted despite himself. “Muirenn? That’s Sverri Torgeirrson’s mother, the one I thought you’d surely marry? Is she ill?”
Eoin rolled his eyes at him. “Marry? You think I need to repeat all your mistakes?”
Einnis sat up in his turn, shrugging, not letting himself be riled. “No mistake. It was necessary. Arna is a good wife to me and I’ve got two fine little daughters now to show for myself and the clan.”
“So you do. Well, then I think you’ll probably be familiar with Muirenn’s kind of sickness.”
Einnis arched an eyebrow at him, but didn’t follow up on this. Torgeirr’s Irish ambatt had receded to being no more than a vague presence in his conscious mind now that she had no obvious role to play in Eoin’s life. Einnis instead got up on his feet and looked out between the tree boles and across the fields to the farm. The lambs’ bleating and the deeper, rougher responses from the nurturing ewes rose loudly over the field as the flock of sheep started their new day with a morning reunion and mother’s milk.
“It is morning already. Everyone will be up and about soon. I have to go,” Einnis said, matter-of-factly.
He turned back and kneeled down, leaning in for another kiss, his whole face melting with bliss as his eyelids sank shut. ”Come here…..” It was slow, sweet and deep, lips and tongues joining in sensual soul-deep delight, a soft sigh of contentment shared between them.
Then Einnis was up, hurrying about in the grass, locating his various pieces of clothing that lay strewn about as if scattered by a whirlwind, all of them wet with dew. He pulled them on anyway, looking about himself in confusion. “Now, where did I put my sword?”
Stretched out once more on the ground, Eoin had lifted himself up on his elbows and was watching Einnis’s efforts. He himself remained bare as the day he was born, making no move to alter that state of affairs. At Einnis’s question, Eoin grinned mischievously and gave his own sated cock a suggestive tug. “All I know is where you put your sword last night, warrior.”
Einnis shook his head at him and looked behind one tree and then the other, muttering something inaudible. “For that matter,” Eoin voice followed him, the chuckle in it plain to hear, “I also vividly recall where I put mine, and surely no better sheath can be found in the whole wide world!”
Einnis peeked back at him from behind an elm bole, his ears going bright pink, shame and irritation fighting a losing battle with lust and laughter in his face. “Who would have guessed you’d grow so cocky, Irishman?” He shook his head, admonishingly. “Now would you hush up! What if someone heard you - or saw you! We’d be done for, and you know it.”
Eoin lay back down, not deigning to respond, looking up to the sun-dappled leaves and the blue sky, smiling, stretching his arms above his head, spreading his legs and curling his toes, a spread-eagled image of joyful contentment, like a purring cat with milk in its whiskers, basking in a patch of sunlight.
“When will we be together again?” he asked of the skies above.
Einnis stepped back out into the grass, buckling on his sword-belt as well as his everyday guarded expression.
“Not while the clan gathering lasts, that’s for sure. We cannot be seen talking together. It’s too dangerous. My sister would notice, and I worry that she sees too much. Sigrid is wise, and has proven before that she sometimes looks into my heart.” He shook his head. “And afterwards, when the gathering is at an end, I’ll am to ride back home with my family, and you cannot come north with us.…”
Eoin rolled over on his stomach, bracing himself on his elbows, his brows drawing together in a frown. “Einnis! After this night you cannot merely leave again without another word or a backward glance! Come, now. Let’s take some time for ourselves once the ættleiding is over. I plan to be riding back towards Kaupang very soon. I’ll leave Gunnar Gavlpryd to do all Torgeirr’s woodcarving alone, so that Muirenn gets to stay here longer with her son. No-one will be the wiser if I take my own sweet time getting back to town.” He stared at Einnis biddingly, boldly meeting his eyes. “Look at me. You will find a way.” It was a statement, not a question.
Einnis grumbled, but he didn’t refuse or deny Eoin’s words.
Eoin smiled, a bright flash of joy. “We’ll ride off somewhere, take some clothes and food, build a lean-to in the depth of the woods, be all alone for a while just like we once were. And then we can talk about what will be.”
Einnis made as if to leave, but he couldn’t stop himself from walking back over to Eoin one more time, kneeling down and looking into the sky-blue, sparkling eyes. He reached out to touch a finger gently to Eoin’s eyebrow, his eyes following the slow movement. “Raven-wing,” he muttered, and leaned forward to place a final kiss on Eoin’s temptingly upturned lips. Einnis didn’t immediately pull back, his lips now instead lingering close to Eoin’s ear as if about to impart a secret.
“Long is one night, and longer are two,
Endless the thought of three.
Often to me has a month seemed less
Than now half a night full of longing.”
With those murmured words Einnis quickly rose, turned, and left, ducking through the leafy branches and stepping out into the green field beyond, walking briskly back to the farm and disappearing from Eoin’s view.
----
The first people were already up and about in the farm’s courtyard. Thralls were bringing pails of milk from the cowshed, carrying wood into the large hall and the kitchen-house, and preparing the cooking pits. None of Torgeirr’s family or guests would be moving about this early, though, since all of them were sleeping late in anticipation of the big event and the long night to come. And though Sigrid surely was up to direct the preparations of the feast, she was nowhere to be seen.
Einnis quickly ducked through the door to the guest-hall. He stopped right inside, drawing a breath and reaching for the dipper hanging over the large bucket of strained sour milk left there for the guests’ convenience. Once he had quenched his thirst with several dipper-fulls of the tart drink he quietly walked through the hall’s dim and crowded interior to the bench he was supposed to have been sharing with his wife and daughter. Arna was lying stiffly on her side, facing the wall. Little-Arna was sleeping next to her mother, facing the hearth, her sweet little face looking innocent and serene. Einnis looked down on them, seeming uncertain about what to do next.
All of a sudden little-Arna opened her eyes and saw him. “Daddy!” she squealed in excitement, causing sleepers nearby to grunt at the piercing sound. Einnis quickly sat down to take her into his arms. “Hush, little one. Let your mother sleep. Why are you awake this early?”
“Can’t sleep anymore. It smells strange here,” the girl said, wrinkling her button nose at the heavy air in the hall. Very many people in such a closed space meant poor air and some considerable stench; the hall was filled to overflowing. There were even people sleeping on the floor.
Einnis hugged her and was about to answer, when Arna suddenly turned around and sat up, her face carefully blank and her eyes lowered. “Where have you been, Einnis?”
“Sat up drinking and talking with some men in the hall. It got late,” Einnis muttered, never lifting his eyes from Little-Arna and her unruly shock of hair.
“I haven’t had much sleep either,” Arna said, a hint of frost in her voice. She paused for a moment before she went on, impersonal calm descending. “Our daughter has not been well - we’ve been back and forth to the trenches several times tonight.”
Einnis tensed and looked more closely at his little girl. “Are you ill, little one?” he asked, worriedly.
Little-Arna placed a hand on her belly and grimaced. “My tummy hurt!” she declared.
Arna patted her back. “You’re better now, are you not, honey-girl?” She swung her feet out over the side of the bench and rose to her feet, reaching for her over-dress, still not seeking eye contact with her husband.
“I think I might as well get up, go over to the kitchen-house and see if there’s anything I can do to help Sigrid,” she said. “If you’re planning to rest here for a spell, little-Arna can stay with you. Otherwise I can take her over to the weaving house. There will soon enough be other children there to play with.”
Einnis told her to go, he would manage the child.
The rest of the morning Arna sat as before on the bench with the tunic she was working on ready to hand. But this time her quick fingers were idle, and the embroidery lay forgotten in her lap. She didn’t go into the hall for the morning meal, and though she appeared at the noon meal she merely pecked at her food. And if her husband had seemed taciturn the day before, she easily outperformed him in similar demeanor on this day, while the rest of the assembled guests eagerly talked among themselves and waited for the ættleiding to begin.
Continued in Chapter 25, Part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/47038.html