Continuation of: Tales of Their Past - Fænge-Nædl
There was a chill in the night air as all the folk were returning to their homes. Many drunk from their drinking, and everyone else weary from their reveling. The dim lamps shone yellow upon the dirt paths and only two figures remained out that night. They stood side by side upon the path before the Mead hall, silent, still as statues.
The first spoke, and it was the voice of Meadowyn, she turned her gaze to behold her brother and her face was stern. "Why?" She asked the other, and he allowed a moment to pass, frowning as he chose his words, "It was the least that I could do." it was the voice of Meadwine, and he would not evade her question, for he knew of what she spoke when others would not have. "Nay, I would not say the least, Meadwine. For now you and he both will have to bear this."
"Of what do you speak?"
"I speak of deceiving him; it is cruel, even if it was done with good intent. For it could drive him to do something that is brave some day, perhaps. And bravery is often mistook for folly, he will think himself to be more worthy than you. When in truth his skill does not come nigh yours. It is either so; or he will believe that his new sword makes him strong, though he does wield it better than any other blade. His efforts are still not good enough, you know this, Meadwine." Her eyes softened as she watched him think upon her words carefully, and more silence passed and a cool breeze rolled in and played with their hair. The town was silent, save for the soft whinnying of stabled horses. It seemed as though Meadwine could not find his words, and this was seldom his way. "Meadwine?" Meadowyn sought to stir him.
"There is naught now that I can do for it, for I will not undo this. He must find his way to best what befalls him-..."
"And what of yourself and your name? They will all think him to be greater than you, father most of all was unpleased to see this." She asked quickly, interrupting boldly. "Father can think what he wishes, Meadowyn." He started, his tone changing, "I have ever let him do so, I care little for it."
In truth Meadwine was in many a ways a greater at sword-play than that he had showed that night, it was the night of Ægáldred's coming of age, and it was now growing late. Ægáldred challenged his brother to fight and won, however, Meadwine allowed Ægáldred the victory and feigned disappointment of defeat before his family and all the other folk within Grimslade. To Meadowyn it was all obvious, for she knew him best, and she knew his ways of fighting best. She knew that he put little spirit into his sword-arm that night, and a fear grew over her that it shall bring ill to Ægáldred - some day. Perhaps she became protective, for she loved her brother, and so did Meadwine. But they spoke of this no more and went home to find rest, for in the morrow they were to leave to Grimslade and return to their duties.
Dawn came dim when Meadwine had awoken on the next day, and he found himself lying within a familiar bed. The one he slept in when he once yet lived within his father's home, and he felt some delight from this. He stood up at once and sought for Breakfast. The family was still asleep, for they were up late in the passed night. Meadwine then smelt a tender scent in the air, and then he knew then that not all were asleep, for it was the scent of a fresh stew that found his nose and he sought for who was awake.
Continues: Tales of Their Past - The Morning's Calm I
