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“I am no seer but I foresaw our situation long ago. Not Gunnar’s wedding but our success.”
“How do you mean our success?”
“I mean to say that I saw our settlement flourish through our victories in war and in diplomacy. And from the day we set out from Norway, I knew that you would make a fitter leader than Sigurd. It was never in his character to lead. It was always within yours.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“You might have warned me.”
“You would not have listened.”
“Fair.”
“I do hope you see it now in all that you have done for us.”
Randvi moved to sit on the log overlooking the calming roll of the waterfall in front of them. If only her nerves would settle as easily as the water cascading over the rocks.
She meant it. She truly hoped that Eivor saw her leadership capabilities in the way in which she had conducted herself throughout their time in England. Gods, even her time before England, Randvi had always thought Eivor to be a far worthier leader than her husband.
Husband.
Her stomach churned again as she momentarily contemplated what she was about to reveal to Eivor.
Perhaps it wouldn’t change anything.
Perhaps it would change everything.
Randvi had always admired Eivor’s heart. She gave everything she had to everything she did. Her days in Norway were marred by an internal fire that had plagued her for almost two decades but even then, their fierce drengr was always the first to help, the first to offer, the first to care.
Their days in England had shown Randvi that Eivor’s selflessness saw no bounds. She did not hunger for the power and glory that Sigurd had chased across continents. Her intentions were always for the good of the settlement and their people. Her intentions were always pure.
She recalled the story Eivor had told her of the “green walkers” in the forests of East Anglia. The children that had stolen from her and created elaborate tales of their adventures. Eivor had laughed delightedly as they sat around the hearth late into the night telling Randvi of their antics.
Watching Eivor speak of her interactions with these two children made Randvi feel a joy that she only ever saw glimpses of.
She would feel it in full force when Eivor would return to the village, brimming with pride and stories to tell.
She would feel it fade as she watched the drengr sail away to make yet another alliance for the sake of their settlement.
She would feel it glimmer fleetingly when Eivor would smile at her from across a table in the longhouse or bring her a freshly baked loaf of bread from Tarben.
Eivor was the joy.
It was this realisation that had Randvi falling a little more in love each time it sparked in her chest.
Eivor had continued to return to the “green walkers” whenever she made her way through East Anglia. Packing an extra satchel of supplies for her young friends, Randvi always adored the way in which the woman expected nothing in return. Her intentions were pure.
Closer to home, Randvi had watched Eivor help countless members of their clan in Ravensthorpe over the years. She would go above and beyond for anyone that was in need. To think that they were not “her people” at the time made Eivor’s actions even more selfless.
Randvi’s heart warmed as a particular memory came flooding back.
After Eivor returned from Lincolnscire having helped to rid the city of the traitorous Bishop, Randvi had been inundated with correspondence. Some good, asking for the assistance of the heroic “Eivor of the Raven Clan” and some not so good - calling for the “The Scourge of Mercia” to leave their land and go back to the frozen wasteland from which she came. On top of her usual mounds of daily paperwork, Randvi had felt utterly overwhelmed by the volume of parchment in front of her.
Eivor had been making her way back into her chamber after a long day of helping around the settlement, when she quickly checked in with Randvi. Noticing the strategist was tenser than usual, she had pulled up a chair across from her and waited…
Randvi had assured her that all was well, and she need not worry herself with the “boring” work. Eivor had never called it as such, but she knew the woman well enough to recognise the look of perplexed fear she got when reading through all that Randvi did.
Eivor had not moved. It wasn’t until Randvi finally admitted that she was feeling the pressure of the extra correspondence that the drengr made to actually do anything.
Picking up the large pile of parchment and then marching out of the map room, Randvi could do nothing but follow Eivor like a lost puppy. She had plonked the work on a table near the hearth and then moved to fill them two mugs of mead. With her hands full, she had given Randvi a smirk that still made her knees weak to this day.
Randvi had sat beside her hesitantly at the table as Eivor separated the parchment evenly between them.
“We’ll do it together.”
Those four words had made Randvi’s insides turn to mush and her brain stop working for a short time. She could almost feel the warmth of Eivor’s body across the small gap between them and may have “accidentally” touched her leg to hers every so often underneath the table.
With many refilled mugs of mead, the two had sat there until the early hours of the morning working through what needed to be done.
Randvi had always wondered if perhaps there was more to Eivor’s willingness to help her. She had noticed the fleeting glances and the hesitant touches.
It was time to find out.
“Eivor, I want you to know that Sigurd and I are…”