Tattered

Chapter 3

The mead-hall was fill to bursting with the king's thanes and their men. They jostled each other on the benches that lined the long tables as barmaids hurried to refill empty mugs with more ale. The royal family and the high thanes were seated at the forefront of the hall, where everyone could view us and give raucous toasts to our good health. I had elected to wear a simple belted tunic in a deep gray. Ingrid looked slightly put out that I hadn't worn her dress. Gregor, seated at my father's right hand, seemed to simply be relieved I wasn't decked out in full battle armor.

"We are honored by your visit, sire," Gregor said in his deep baritone, addressing Lord Halfdan. The great lord took a minute to finish chewing his mouthful of mutton and take a large swig of ale before responding.

"Nonsense, the honor is mine to sup with the great Volsung of the Geats." He inclined his balding head respectfully towards the king. Halfdan had been a great lord once, and an even greater warrior. But it was clear to see that both his mind and his body had waned in his old age. He was fat, his large stomach protruding over the edge of his belt, and what hair remained to him was silvery and unkempt. I knew this banquet was really out of father's longstanding respect for the man rather than a true desire to strengthen relations between our houses.

"Hear, hear," Father raised his goblet. "To our glory past and the victories to come."

"Hear, hear!" The table repeated, and all drank deeply. I drank as well, but was careful to take a smaller sip. Many of the thanes already looked to be deep in their cups, and I wanted to keep my wits about me.

The table then broke off into various side conversations, father talking with Gregor in lowered voices while others sang and laughed loudly.

I would have preferred to keep to myself, but I had the misfortune of being seated next to the most conceited little brat in all of Geatland: Breca of the Brondings.

And he was flirting shamelessly with my sister.

"You are absolutely lovely in that dress," He said with a winning smile. An innocent enough comment, but the way his eyes roved up and down Ingrid's body made me grip my goblet tight enough to dent the silver.

I'll admit that I was prejudiced against Breca from the start. When the new ward father had chosen to take in stepped off of the ship, I immediately disliked him. Why? Because he was handsome, of course. Call me biased, but I have a natural inclination against the good looking. And with his defined features, tousled blond hair, and sea green eyes, Breca was unanimously considered to be more than good-looking by all of the women in the keep, Ingrid foremost among them. I suppose I don't trust anyone who hasn't had to prove themselves beyond their outward appearances. And everything Breca did since then only solidified my preconceived notions. He took every opportunity to taunt and tease me. His favorite little trick was to steal my hood and watch while I frantically tried to search for it while attempting to hide my face. The bastard was good at hiding as well. Ingrid knew he disliked me, but he was always careful to keep the worst from her. Although I'm not entirely sure if it would make any difference to her anyway.

"Thank you," Ingrid answered graciously, twirling a strand of hair around her fingertips. "It's warm enough to wear my summer dresses, finally. Winter dragged on so long this year."

Breca chuckled lightly. "You should come with me to Branno," He said. "I'll be returning soon. Winters are so mild there, you'd never have to wear a coat."

"Branno?" I interjected. "They're letting you return?" This was news to me. Breca hadn't been back to his father's kingdom since being turned away all those years ago. Officially, he had been sent as a ward to Geatland, but the truth behind it was known to almost everyone. Breca and his mother had greatly offended King Beanstan of Branno. I wasn't privy to the specifics, but whatever it was, the insult was grave enough to warrant being kicked out. Beanstan was not a man known for his ability to let go of a grudge. There was no way he would just forgive Breca out of the blue.

He turned to me with a deep scowl and narrowed his eyes at me, an action that, to my great satisfaction, made him look considerably less attractive.

"I just received word this morning," He said, clearly reluctant to be seen speaking to me in such a public place. "It'll be a relief to finally be going back. Brannish women are considerably less... frightful."

"Well, that's a relief. It's my impression that Brannish men frighten quite easily."

Ingrid snorted into her cup.

The oh-so familiar expression crossed Breca's face, hatred mingled with disgust.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you," He said, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard. I had to lean forward to hear him over the noise of men and woman laughing and shouting at each other, as Ingrid, growing bored, went to find more interesting conversation. "You may have already forgotten the trolls' carnage here in Geatland, but Branno remembers." He was referring to Branno's location on the borders of the mountains, a fact that had caused them to suffer more than any other land during the trolls' rampage. But his tone seemed to imply something left unsaid; that his people would not have tolerated a monstrous creature like me in their midst as mine had, no matter my royal blood. That King Beanstan would not be fond of his son's assessment of me.

I stiffened slightly at his words, but did my best to hide it. "As if I care what filth you spew to your father," I replied. I took a large bite of my food and chewed extra loudly just to see the offended expression on his face. "Hasn't he caught you in the middle of your lies already?"

It was only a vague guess at what Breca's crime might have been, but it hit the mark. He visibly recoiled, running a nervous hand through his sandy hair and glancing around to see if anyone else had overheard. A nervous Breca- now that was something I'd never seen before. Perhaps he thought I'd actually figured out whatever it was he'd done to get himself thrown out of his father's house. I still had no clue as to what it was, nor did I particularly care, but either way, it was quite gratifying to see him be the one to squirm in discomfort for once.

His eyes flashed. He opened his mouth and then closed it again several times. He seemed to be working up the nerve to say something. I probably shouldn't have smirked at him, but it was really all too tempting to get in the last laugh.

Glaring with overtly malicious intent, he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and spoke.

"You think you're so high and mighty, huh?" He snarled. "You actually believe that there's nothing weird or abnormal about you? Well I'll tell you a little secret; nigh on three weeks ago, a troll wandered down from the mountains."

I gagged on my ale and coughed loudly.

"What?" I hissed, also keeping my voice low. That was ridiculous. Insane! And yet it was so completely possible that I couldn't help but believe him.

"He demanded an audience with the king," He continued. I didn't like the cruel glimmer in his eyes, but I had to hear the whole story. "And you know what the big ugly brute said straightaway?" He paused for dramtic effect, clearly savoring the moment. "That he'd come down the mountain looking for his daughter- a girl in Geatland he'd fathered on a human lady."

My stomach suddenly dropped down to the floor. I felt like I was going to be sick.

"You're lying," I growled. My fists were clenching so hard they hurt, but if I let go I didn't know what I would do. I was only dimly aware of the banquet going on around me, of father smiling thinly at Halfdan, of Ingrid giggling sweetly with one of the ladies in waiting.

Breca rocked his head back and laughed, every beat of it sending waves of fury down my spine. "Oh, this is too good," He got out between guffaws. "You actually believed it? You actually thought that you were anything but a filthy, ugly, murderous troll?"

I couldn't control myself anymore. With a cry of rage I let my fist fly until it connected with the thick mahogany of the banquet table. The wood cracked beneath my knuckles like glass, immediately shattering in half and spilling food and drink onto the floor. I felt eyes upon me, boring right through me. Father's cold and angry, Ingrid's confused and concerned. Breca's eyes had grown impossibly wide, probably because my fist had missed his pretty little face by mere inches. I'd only been able to restrain myself with the thought that my punch would probably kill him, and while I did hate the little weasel I'd rather not have his murder on my hands.

There was a beat of silence, the interminable moment when the entire hall was watching and waiting for me to act.

I fled the scene like a spooked deer, trying to ignore the stinging in my fingers and the tears pooling in my eyes.