DREAM OF ME, sihtric & finan

1. tova

"Neither Father or Ragnar are here yet," Tova tells her Grandfather automatically, used to updating the man on things he could not see but only hear. He hadn't always been blind, she had been told, but when he became it, her Father took over being Earl, Ravn becoming his advisor instead. Tova thought all the men in her life were smart, but she was just a child, everything they did fascinated her. "Oh! I see my brother!"

Ragnar came through, his arms hooked around another's shoulders — Ubbe, he was called, somebody Tova did not mind for he made her giggle — as they appeared.

"Ragnar!" Tova's call wasn't heard, making her frown and clutch her fingers around the wood, sitting up on her knees that rested on the chair base. Her brother goes to fetch ale, more laughter being shared as the men dressed in funny clothing were pushed around, ropes being tied to their hands and feet. "He could not hear me."

Ravn did not reach out for her, his hands would move without direction known until his fingertips reached anyhow. "Perhaps you should go to him."

But the way the man who was muttering something underneath his breath was being hung up with ropes to his wrists, on display, made her shake her head, pushing herself away from the railing. "Father would be unhappy with me."

As she settled back into her chair, almost hiding away from what was happening in the main hall just below her, Tova did not pick her flowers back up, only fiddled with the material of her dress, wishing for her Father to return.

"They have hung a man up," She whisper-yells over to Ravn, who hummed — in amusement of her tone, as if it was a crime, leaning her body forward before slamming herself back again, "And my Father is still not here."

"Are you sure?" Ravn makes her question herself, "I feel he has arrived."

For a seccond, Tova's blue eyes stare into the man, her Grandfather feeling the hardness of the questioning linger, before she's hurrying to grab the wooden railing again, looking over the top with her hair flying around her shoulders. She does not spot Earl Ragnar, and even her brother has seemed to disappear in the mist of it all. She reminded Ravn of his son as a young boy, all too eager and curious, and much too gentle for a time.

Her eyes fell on a young girl by the stairs up to where they sat, she was crying as a Dane pulled her around like she was nothing more than a rat, Tova's eyes widening in slight fear before she jumped away, off the seat and past her Grandfather who did not move, even when he felt her hair skim his left cheek.

Perhaps her Father and brother would not be happy with her if they knew or saw her becoming involved with any of the drunken men and their ways, but she was racing down the steps before she could think about it, her long blonde hair flying behind her, most of it having escaped the braid her Mother did that morning from all the playing.

"Get off her!" Tova shouts, landing at the bottom and grabbing the man's arm, who turned to look at her. Everybody who travelled with Earl Ragnar knew of his children — the only daughter of Ragnar's that did not mind to be around other Dane's. "You are hurting her."

"She is a slave, young Tova." The man tells her, his voice to her not quite the same as his hold on the girl. "She has no importance."

Tova's eyes narrowed, bright blue not happy with such words, "She does to me!" She reached out to put her hands around the crying slave's body, almost protecting her with her own. "Leave before I — I —"

The man was amused, cheeks painted with war signals and blood of the fallen Saxon men that he had battled against, at the young girl whose cheeks grew red as she tried to think of something to say. She was only trained with a bow and arrow, her brother not yet teaching her the ways of a blade — a sword was too heavy for her, her Father would say.