»For all those companions who carry on in this lay,
Until all the fire's gone blown away,
Forth to lands beyond.«
Narration by Frøydis Dreikedottír
Many years ago, not long before King Elessar assumed the throne and reunited the old Kingdom of Man, I lived in the mead-hall of Jarnsalr, that was ruled by Hofding Tyrgrim along with his cousin Torgrun, the Mighty. It was them who granted a home to me and my mother, who is Skjalddís the Fire-Drake, of whom some say that she may be a dragon having assumed the shape of a woman.
It were these days of yore that Tyrgrim proclaimed a great quest to acquire the legendary mead of the Beornings and a call went through the land calling upon those brave men and women who were strong of hand and sharp of wit. Among them, as friend of the back then young Hofding was the man called Alfknutr, whom the gods denied the luck with my mother and who was still to me like a father. It was him from who I learned the trait to weave rope and word. This man, a ragged but kind face adorned with fire-red hair would be the shepherd, the captain of the company of Twelve that came together.
My mother told me ever so often how each of them had their hearts forged by the four winds upon an anvil high up in the sky:
There was Friðbjørn, the son of Guðbjartur and Kringskjöldr and his shield deflected every blow that would have smitten true on his friends. Next to him stood Vallen, a woman ever kind to me and of beauty that I adored. But as beautiful as she was, so terrible was she a foe with the sword. There was Threarn, the Dwarf and he led the company with wisdom over the Mountains of Mist. Threland, a farmer from Bree, of wit so sharp as the rays of the sun would sting in one's eye. His humor and relentless optimism was the chain link unmissed that bound them all in camaraderie. Also men of Rohan were there and their names were Desten and Redwick. I got to know them as young men with their minds on mischief and ale, but without their services this quest would have been a great failure. There was Therwen, a warrioress and close friend to my mother for together they hewed many a foe. Rykka, a fierce lady with a dark background and although she left the companions ere the end, her role was important in the weaving of Luth, god of all fates.
With dour but unexcelled wisdom served Drandr, a man of Dale. He was a friend of Alfknutr, who I call father. He was the shepherd of this company, walked first to lead his wards safely upon a long road. To his side stood the quest-givers; Hofding Tyrgrim and his cousin Torgrun, both mighty of hand and hailing too from the lands of Dale.
Of all this told me my mother Skjalddís, Brundreki who fought and laughed and wept with all of them. They shared drink, luck and laughter and were tested by the gods ere the very end of their quest.
So it occurred one day, that ...
