Quendalon/Session22ThorwaldInterlude
The fires crackled in both hearth and firing pits alike and the whole of the clan stood enraptured as the Frozen Tongue finished his tale. Thorvald almost forgot where he was and it was only when Franya accidentally bumped him in the arm that he snapped back to attention.
“…And so Thanandar the Grim died that day and the Fair Folk rejoiced. But though they broke his body and spilt his blood, they could not break his word. And it said that the tree he bound himself to stands to this day and his spirit looms over the valley still.”
The story ended and the gathered people cheered. Some had smiles, some tears but all gave praise to Geldicar Frozen Tongue for in over 40 winters, no man among the Storm Clan rivaled him in tale telling. As the Old Frozen Tongue rose leaning heavily on his staff, Thorvald tried to catch a glance of the old man as he walked out of the hall, the copper plates on his chest jingling as his staff thudded against the hard wooden floor of the Long Hall. The story of Thanandar the Grim, who swore to never fall in battle, was one of his favorites.
“Boy!” A thick deep voice boomed through the hall. “What are you doing still here?”
Thorvald turned and looked up at the massive figure of his Uncle Einar, smock and hammer still in his hand. Though it was well into the night, Einar Arms of Thunder was still at work trying to get weapns and armor ready for the patrol that had to leave in the dawn.
“I was listening to the story, uncle.” Thorvald replied.
“The story is over.” His uncle grunted matter-of-factly. “Get your worthless arse back to the bellows. We have patrols going out tomorrow and I have shields that need resetting and helms that needs have dents hammered out. Do you want our warriors to get their already feeble brains splattered all over the place? Not everyone has a head made of rocks like you. Get moving before I break it open for you!”
Thorvald could hear the laughs and the hooting of the men sitting by the central hearth.
“Oh, leave him be, Einar!” One of the men laughed. “Do you want the boy to grow up foul and soot-stained like his uncle?”
“Don’t encourage this boy,” Einar growled turning on the group. “Especially not YOU fools! If you weren’t so incompetent I wouldn’t have to fix your armor all the time.”
“You should be happy to do it,” a sullen old ranger grunted. “While you cower in your forge fixing armor, we are out there fighting.”
“Hah! Out there failing you mean. A greater bunch of incompetents I have never seen. Half of you run better than you fight, and the other half grovel better than they run, Especially YOU, Qorl. I’ve never seen your armor damaged anywhere but in the rear!”
A torrent of laughter exploded throughout the great hall. Thorvald jumped up to his feet and ran to the forge as quickly as he could knowing what would happen if his uncle had to tell him twice.
And so, he passed another night working feverishly with his uncle. But his mind was on the stories the old Frozen Tongue had told. He thought of Thanandar the Grim who swore an oath never to fall to their enemies but was betrayed by his closest friend and ambushed by the Fair Folk. Thanandar fought and killed over a thousand before his wounds took their toll but he refused to give the Fair Folk the pleasure of seeing him forsworn. He tied himself to the Iron Tree with his magical belt so that when he died he would remain standing. Try as they might, his enemies could not undo the knot and so, though he died, he did not fall.
One day I will be remembered as one of the great heroes of our people.
And so he continued his work fueled by dreams of valor and the fate of champions.
