Ingrid and Halla arrived with men who had once served Hardar. Despite her travel-worn clothes, Ingrid still cut a dignified and elegant figure in the sharp shadows of noontime sun. Toki ambled behind, leaning on Halla and Dana. Ulfrik at least did not feel alone in his suffering.
Gunther attended with a few of his closest, standing to the side as an outsider. But his single eye fixed Ulfrik with a mischievous glint, as if he approved of the children at play.
Ingrid stopped a distance away from Ulfrik, waiting to be summoned. He straightened himself, clasping Snorri's arm in a shaking grip for support. "Come forward, Ingrid of Trongisvagur. Stand before me and be recognized in front of this assembly."
She swept across the grass, uncommon confidence and a flair of arrogance in the lift of her brow. Ulfrik forced himself to recognize her strength, but still had come to like her less since their return home. But he needed allies, and he needed peace.
"Kneel and place your hands upon my blade." Ulfrik unhitched his sheathed sword with his free hand and tipped the hilt for her. Ingrid glided to her knee and placed her blue veined hands upon it. Eager to be finished, he drew a deep breath before speaking. "As the price of defeat, I claim Hardar's lands and belongings. But in recognition of the long held traditions of the people of Trongisvagur, I award Hardar's property to his wife, Ingrid, whose father ruled those lands in old times. Ingrid, you must swear your oath of loyalty to me, to serve as my bondsman, to provide warriors for the hird and the levy, and all other duties of a bondsman. Before this assembly of freemen, make this oath and be joined with me."
Ulfrik watched her downcast eyes search an invisible scene before her. At the moment when her silence would become strange, she spoke. "I swear loyalty to Ulfrik Ormsson and accept his generosity with the heartfelt thanks of all the survivors of Trongisvagur." She lifted her fierce eyes to his, and Ulfrik startled at the resolve he saw within their pale depths. But she smiled, and Ulfrik withdrew his sword.
"Rise, Ingrid, and be welcomed." He offered her his hand, which she took gently and stood. Men cheered and Ulfrik even felt a lightness, for now truly a peace had been restored and rebuilding could start.
"You buried my husband," she said in a low voice. "But I wish his body returned to my lands."
Ulfrik nodded, but frowned at the request. He did not expect she held any love for Hardar, but perhaps he had misjudged. He turned to address the others. "We have peace again, but the enemy has still survived. Hardar's cousins have gone north and may one day return. Our union with Trongisvagur will make us strong, and keep them off our shores. Yet we must remain vigilant."
The talk of renewed war drew sour looks and damped the celebration. Ulfrik regretted his poor timing. "But tonight we will feast and celebrate victory! Already my wife is preparing the evening meal, a last feast before winter visits us again."
Cheers renewed and a positive murmur rippled through the crowds. Ulfrik dismissed them to their duties, though he still had a few matters to settle. Before his own hirdmen departed, he called Thrand the Looker to him.
Thrand plodded to him like he carried a stone over his back. White sea salt stained his clothing and when he drew near mead stench flowed from his mouth. Ulfrik felt the pang of guilt at his appearance. Even Thrand's good eye did not meet his.
"Thrand, Njall's death was noble and brave. He is with Odin now, feasting and fighting and drinking."
"Noble? He pitched into the ocean and drowned. He's in Rán's Bed now."
Ulfrik bowed his head to the stubborn sorrow. He wanted to do more for Thrand, who had lost the last of his family while protecting Ulfrik's. But such was the duty of sworn men, and while a good lord tries to avoid it, Fate often had other designs. Ulfrik gestured to Snorri, who passed him a heavy leather purse.
"This is Njall's blood price, and more for your service to me. I will not forget it, Thrand. This gold is not enough for what you did."
Thrand regarded the proffered purse, then shook his head. "Keep it for rebuilding. You're right, though. It's not enough."
Ulfrik forced the purse at Thrand, but he already turned and stalked away into a lonely field.
The celebration was modest compared to the feasts of days past. Were it not for Gunther's men, Nye Grenner's hall would have been half empty. Many had fled or perished under Hardar's rule. Deaths of hirdmen had further thinned the population. Yet still families gathered to celebrate a return to peace and the memories of the dead. They told stories of Hardar's villainy, cursed his name, and proclaimed Ulfrik a hero. Ulfrik, still unable to stand but healing better than expected, sat at the high table with his leg propped on a bench and raised his drinking horn to every toast. Runa and Gunnar sat beside him.
"Mead dulls the pain," he explained to Runa.
She smiled, placed her hand upon his, then adjusted Gunnar who slept in her lap. "Time for your son to get to bed. You will do what you promised tonight?"
Ulfrik rolled his eyes. "As I promised. I've just been waiting for the right time."
Runa laughed, then stood. Laying sleepy Gunnar over her shoulder, she leaned to kiss Ulfrik's head. He watched her leave for their room. Looking back on the hall, hearth smoke laid white over the drowsy guests. Ingrid and Halla, knitted together since their reunion, still chatted among their drunken hirdmen. Toki, with a long suffering look, caught Ulfrik's gaze and raised his mug to him. Ulfrik laughed. Men who had been enemies only weeks before now shared benches in his hall.
Fate, Ulfrik had decided, was unknowable.
He judged it time to keep his promise to Runa. Gunther One-Eye and his men, valuable as they had been, now burdened him. Winter approached and supplies dwindled. Some murmured the foreigners planned to occupy Nye Grenner.
Gunther had swilled a lake of mead and still appeared unsullied and cogent. Ulfrik beckoned him over, and Gunther left his small group to sit beside him.
"You've held a fine feast for such a small place. Your mead is made for the gods."
Ulfrik laughed politely. "I think you have drank the last of it."
"Then make more." Gunther doubled over in laughter, slapping the table.
"Gunther, I have to speak to you about your men."
"Don't say it. I know. We are leaving tomorrow."
Ulfrik's mouth hung open. "It's not that I'm ungrateful."
"Of course not, but you're poor and we've got all we can from you. You've shown me a good time here. I'm ready for something new."
"I would offer you to stay, but with all the chaos we have not prepared for winter. I'm sure we will meet again, though."
Gunther roared laughter once more. "Plan on it. Hrolf the Ganger is one to keep his men busy. Once that leg is better, you're going back to war."
"War?" Ulfrik sat up straighter. "What are you saying?"
"Give it time. Fill your ships with swords and men, and make ready. You have promised Hrolf to answer his call. And he will call."
Ulfrik swallowed and blinked. Gunther, laughing, rose and slapped Ulfrik's back. He staggered away, finally showing a hint of drunkenness. Ulfrik sat alone at his bench, presiding over the mass of people falling into drunken slumber. He glanced at the door to his room, remembering his oath to never again separate from Runa.
The gods, it seemed, still found him entertaining.