! Where I'm at currently, we haven't got any snow, so I keep reading through the posts to make it feel like winter. Seriously, January in the southern USA isn't winter. I've got true northern blood running through my veins, and I ain't apologizing.
“Well, are you going to kiss me or not?”
Gerhardt grinned at the scowl on her face. “We’ve been over this, your majesty. Kissing you would kill me, and I happen to value my life right now.”
“Don’t call me that, peasant,” Fannara spat back, her mouth twisting in a scowl. “And it wouldn’t kill you. You know this is what your father wants.” She kept her voice low, and he knew why.
Gerhardt’s father, along with all the other chiefs of the northern tribes, stood watching his every move. As well they should be. He was about to pick a woman to spend the rest of his life with, a woman with whom he would lead his tribe, a woman to raise the next generation of chiefs. His father had spoken many times of Fannara’s beauty and her family’s influence among the northern tribes. A union between their two tribes would make a powerful union, to be sure.
But his father didn’t know Fannara like Gerhardt did. He didn’t know the cold, compassion-less temper that lay beneath her crystal beauty.
“Kiss me,” Fannara whispered again.
Gerhardt stared hard at her. It would be so easy to lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. So easy. So simple. One forehead kiss that would seal his decision and proclaim his choice of bride to everyone in the room.
“I’m sorry, Fannara,” he said finally. “I can’t.”
“Coward,” she hissed.
“Don’t make a spectacle,” he returned calmly.
He cast his eyes down the line of kneeling girls beyond Fannara. There were so many they reached to both sides of the igloo, and each one was dressed in her finest furs and jewelry. Various gaps broke the line where the sons of the tribes before him had kissed and claimed their brides. Each man had walked outside to present his choices to the villages gathered, and the roars that had erupted at each appearance would by no means die anytime soon. Once the sons had all chosen their brides, the joyous crowd would rush all the couples off to a wedding ceremony. After that, the celebration would last long into the night with feasting and dancing. He could already smell the aroma of fried fish floating on the chilly breeze.
It was tradition, after all, to have the eligible sons of the northern tribes pick a bride on the first day of winter. Entering the long winter months with a wife was a sign of joy, hope, warmth, and life.
And now everyone was waiting on Gerhardt.
He bore one last scowl from the kneeling Fannara before he moved on to stand in front of the next girl. She was a girl he knew from his own tribe, but he barely saw or heard her. One by one, he slowly made his way down the line of girls, stopping at each one to listen to what they might say to him. It didn’t matter what any of them said to him because he already knew his choice.
Black hair framed her face, the dark locks barely contained in her braid. He took a deep breath. It was time to show his father where his heart had been loyal for the last three years.
“Eirwen,” he said, “what will you say to me?”
Her eyes twinkled in the way he loved as she looked up to meet his gaze. “Only that you should have worn your darker caribou coat. This one is too light. The color doesn’t compliment your skin at all. You’re a disgrace to the tribe.”
He grinned. “And will you take the hand of this disgraceful son?”
Even though he knew she’d been expecting the question, her breath caught audibly. “Are you sure, Gerhardt?”
“I’ve never been more sure.”
“And your father?” she whispered.
He stole a glance at the group of chiefs at the far end of the igloo. In the dim light, he could barely make out his father’s face. “I’ll make him understand. I’m not giving you up. I love you, Eirwen.”
Her cheeks pinked. “I love you, too, Gerhardt.”
His heart soared as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead. Somewhere behind him, he heard a snort of rage. Presumably from Fannara. She would get over it eventually. Even though she acted like a queen, she couldn’t always have everything she wanted.
Gerhardt held out his hand to Eirwen and pulled her to her feet. With her hand tucked securely in his elbow, he led her past the group of chiefs and outside. The setting sun on the snowy horizon blinded him momentarily before the roar of the crowd deafened him to all else. He felt Eirwen’s hand tighten on his arm in excitement.
People crowded around him, everyone wanting to get a good look at the new bride in her furs. Once they were certain of her identity, another roar of approval went up and the tribes fell back to create a path to the place where the wedding ceremony would take place.
The only place large enough to accommodate everyone was the central cavern carved into the side of the mountain. Gerhardt preferred the coziness and icy curves of an igloo to the dark reaches of the cavern rooms, but one could only make an igloo so big.
The short, zigzag tunnel designed to keep the snow and wind from the cavern was small and dark – a stark contrast to the giant, golden-lit expanse beyond. Fires and tables lined the outer reaches of the room, aromatic foods indicative of the joyous banquet to come. Caribou, walrus, polar bear, and fish comprised most of the feast, but the cooks had outdone themselves with dried berries, seaweed soups, and roasted roots as well. But, as hungry as he was, Gerhardt barely noticed the smells.
He and Eirwen took their places at the end of the line of couples going down the center of the cavern. Already, he could see the priests of the northern tribes waiting to unite the new couples in marriage, but no one could begin until the chiefs of the tribes were in place. And, as always, they were taking their time.
Gerhardt wished he could make time move faster. Even with Eirwen clutching his arm now, he still felt that she could slip away from him at any moment. Fannara’s face kept flashing in his mind. She could rant all she wanted, but once he and Eirwen were united before the Lord and the tribes, there was nothing she could do about it. Eirwen would be his wife, and he would be her husband. The thought sent excitement down to his toes. Eirwen must have felt it, too, for she squeezed the thick sleeve of his coat.
Slowly – too slowly – people trickled in, filling every space in the cavern. The crowds still roared and the noise was even more deafening as it bounced off the rock walls.
Finally, the chiefs were in place. The oldest priest climbed up onto a carved dais and spread his hands for silence.
“My people, the tribes of the northern reaches, welcome! The Lord’s blessing shines down upon these new couples tonight. May the warmth and love that each feels tonight carry him through this coming winter.”
The lights went out.
It was without warning, and for a moment silence swallowed the eerie darkness. Gerhardt thought his heart stopped in the quiet.
Then, people began panicking. Shouts for fires, for a light, for anything punctuated against the rock walls. Women screamed. Dogs barked. Tables and food platters hit the stone floor as scared crowds ran over them. If Gerhardt had been capable of coherent thought, he would have described it all as pure chaos.
People began jostling him from every side, men and women and children all racing to find lights or something useful. In the blackness, Eirwen’s hand was wrenched from his arm.
With a shout, he leaped after her. But in the darkness, it was impossible to locate her again, and he ran into someone solid. A thick man, he guessed, by the size and stench of him.
He could hear his father and the other chiefs yelling above people, trying to calm everyone down.
“Eirwen!”
His shout died instantly in the noise surrounding him. There was no answer that he could decipher.
The first light to rekindle drew everyone’s attention right away. It took a moment for Gerhardt to recognize what he was looking at, and when he finally sorted it all out, he realized he was far from the original spot he’d been standing in.
For there in front of him, standing with both feet planted firmly into the rocky floor of the entrance tunnel, was a dwarf. His head came almost to Gerhardt’s waist, and the torch he held in his hand illuminated the scowl on his face.
He pointed a thick finger at Gerhardt. “Bring us the mirror, and the brides come home. You have ten days.”
And with that, he whacked the torch against the wall of the tunnel, extinguishing the light.
Gerhardt dove forward in the darkness. “Ow!” The cold stone of the tunnel greeted his hands and his face, and he crashed to the floor. Everything smarted, but the pain didn’t register.
They took Eirwen. The dwarves took Eirwen.
He didn’t know when someone finally got a fire lit behind him, but soon the light was spreading to every corner of the cavern. Wails and moans filled the space. Gerhardt didn’t want to turn around and see the truth, but he knew what had happened.
The dwarves had snuck in and stolen every new bride. Every girl that had been kissed and chosen that day were gone.
“You should have chosen me,” Fannara hissed at his side.
Gerhardt rounded on her with a shout. “And if I had, you’d be missing right now, too! Did you want to be kidnapped? I’m sorry I ruined such a fun opportunity for you.”
“You know you were wrong to choose her,” she snapped back, ignoring the looks of shock sent in her direction.
“I would never choose you!” he yelled, fists curling.
“Am I not beautiful enough?”
She cares about her beauty when how many innocent girls just got kidnapped? “Eirwen is the fairest of them all, Fannara! You could never come close to her beauty!”
She fell back, shocked and silent. Her face went pale against her dark furs.
“Now that you have made your opinion so decidedly loud for everyone to enjoy,” Gerhardt’s father said suddenly, stepping past the last few people standing between him and his son, “there is the matter of the mirror to discuss.”
Gerhardt felt fire leap up within him. “I’ll take it to the dwarves at once.”
“Oh, no. The council of chiefs must meet to decide that. I believe most would rather let the girls go than surrendering the mirror to those outlaws.”
