Interlude 3
After the carriage had passed out of Glaðsheimr’s main city gates and traveled for some distance, it stopped, and Fagrahvél got out. He turned and bowed to the girl who now looked at him with a lonely sadness, in complete contrast to her earlier carefree excitement.
“Well, then, I shall take my leave,” Fagrahvél said. “I wish you a safe journey, Lady Rífa.”
“Y-you are sure you cannot come along?”
“I am sorry, Lady Rífa, but there are many things I must remain here to do, in order to conceal the truth of your absence.”
“Y-yes, of course. Then there is nothing for it.”
“Please rest assured, I will have Erna and Thír travel with you and guard you in my stead. Both women are capable Einherjar, so please feel free to ask anything of them that you might wish.”
“Ohh, you have truly thought of everything... I shall never forget this debt of gratitude, Fagrahvél.” Rífa was momentarily overcome with emotion, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I am unworthy of such kind words,” he answered. “I only did what was natural and just as your retainer.”
Rífa hesitated for a long moment before replying. “Please come to the wedding ceremony. The seat of highest honor will be reserved for you.”
“Of course, Lady Rífa. I am sure you will look so beautiful in your bridal gown that even the gods in the heavens above would be smitten. There could be no greater prize than the honor of seeing that in person.”
“If it were possible, I would have liked to take you as my groom, though.”
“Please do not jest so,” Fagrahvél reproved her. “Surely you know that I am not qualified to take your hand.”
“Even so, compared to that, you are far more worthy.”
Rífa glowered hatefully as she nearly spit out the veiled reference to her groom-to-be. It was a moment of vulgarity unbecoming of a woman of such noble standing, and an indication of just how much disdain she held for her future husband.
Even so, she could not refuse this marriage, and it did not matter how she felt about it.
It was a political marriage.
“Well, though that one may well stake his claim to the sacred bloodline of the þjóðann this way, he must lay with such an ugly, worthless failure in order to do so, so we are equal in our misfortune,” Rífa chuckled disdainfully.
“L-Lady Rífa, that is not true! You are very much a woman of beauty and purity!” Fagrahvél raised his voice in protest.
Rífa looked at Fagrahvél with both affection and envy in her eyes, and said, “Hearing those words from you only upsets me further. Well then, thank you for looking after me. Goodbye.”
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