Her Viking Wolves(74)

His own father had married for love and had thus proclaimed his children could do so as well. However, there was much fortune to be had by a marriage to the right she-wolf, and this particular Gotar fenrir was rumored to have a comely daughter.#p#分页标题#e#

The rumor proved true. He did have a pretty enough yellow-haired daughter. However, the Gotar fenrir proved little to either of their liking. He seemed to have no care for his family. Barely making introductions, before making great show of a sword he’d taken from a “sickly human” the last time he and his wolves had made their way East along the river to raid. It was a fine sword to be sure, bearing a distinctive pattern upon its surface that put FJ in mind of flowing water. It also had beautiful wooden hilt and a well-rendered wolf pommel—a later addition to the sword by the Gotar fenrir, FJ guessed. Unless his father’s old gods really did wish that this Gotar fenrir would take a sword whose pommel told the tale of his true nature from a man who could not himself defend.

In any case, the Gotar informed them that he, like the Fenris’s own father, had decided to dub his new pride: The King Maker.

“Unlike you, my kingdom was not handed down,” he told FJ’s father, the current possessor of the original King Maker sword. “And if I am to unite the Gotar wolves as your father united his North ones, so must I follow in the example of a great sword.”

Insult or compliment? The Gotar fenrir seemed to excel at speaking lines that walked the dangerous territory betwixt both. And soon was FJ ready to leave this conceited male’s longhouse almost immediately after he stepped into it.

“My grandfather named his sword after uniting the North Wolves under one fenrir,” FJ informed the Gotar king. “A great fortune to his ancestors indeed, that he did live his destiny rather than boasting about it before it had even begun. And you are correct about the boon of a well-named sword. Did my father find this out when he used The King Maker time and time again to defend his title against all who did come to take it when he was only fourteen winters old.”

Having giving up his own weapon soon after entering the Gotar king’s house as custom dictated, FJ let his words serve as his sword in the case of this overprideful southern fenrir.

“Well-spoken, Fenrisson, Ever the Man,” the Gotar king answered with a tight smile. “May we all hope your skill with words will serve where your wolf cannot.”

The Gotar fenrir was, FJ did realize in that moment, what his mother termed when speaking of she-wolves who did slyly question his sister’s refusal of all grooms: “passive aggressive.” And did FJ wish mightily in that moment that he shared a mind bond with his father as he did with his brother, so he might relay the words, “Let us leave this place, Father. Now.”

However, his father could not hear his son’s mind. And even if he could, they were bound by custom and grace to take the night meal with the Gotar fenrir, his extended family, and his poorly named sword, which he tactlessly wore to the table. During the tense silence, FJ did think much of his mother’s stories about the horseless carriages in her land, and men who did drive prettier ones to make up for the assets they did lack.

The night meal, though lavish, was a truly uncomfortable affair, with none but the Gotar fenrir and his male family members doing the talking. For the she-wolves in the dark kingdom house spoke only when spoken to, and did seem to know much fear.

The reason for their fear soon became clear. At one point during dinner did the Gotar fenrir take issue with a young serving woman who splashed mead upon his table.

Though she did offer up great apology, the Gotar fenrir did not hesitate to push her over the table and take her in a manner most foul. With his queen, daughter, and family all looking on, listening to the screams of the unheated she-wolf beneath him.

FJ was disgusted and enraged at this turn of events, and did his eyes go to his sword where it stood propped up against the door with all the other weapons.#p#分页标题#e#

“No, my son,” his father said in a low voice before FJ could rise. “This would only make matters worse. You must never take action in anger.”

It was the first time FJ came to understand why his father was known as Fenris the Serious. In their land did his father appear a most congenial and well-satisfied wolf to all he did meet—especially when at his mate’s longhouse table. But in foreign lands, his father’s wolf changed its fur. He became one who kept his own counsel, spoke little, and betrayed nary a feeling behind his gray eyes.

At his father’s command, FJ let himself settle back into his seat and forced the anger to drain from his face. But the appalling scene did disturb him greatly. So much so that when the Gotar fenrir asked FJ which of the servant she-wolves he might wish for to draw his nightly bath, he was able to produce little more than a terse, “None, thank you.”