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Arnbjorn takes Doug out drinking. He tells Doug that Rannveig apparently has the hots for him, and makes Doug promise to teach him how to do the unarmed fighting thing in return for lessons on how to use a sword. Doug also tells Arnbjorn about Marie-Ange.



Arnbjorn dropped onto the bench - this wasn't their usual meadhall, but then, you couldn't take a friend out drinking at the place where he worked. It wasn't -right-. He set down two tankards. "Rannveig has eyes for you, Aron. I don't know how someone who fights like you do can't see it, but she does."

Doug shook his head firmly. "I'm sure you're mistaken, Ambi. She's just very nice to me, especially because I helped get Ulfr off of her back. That's all."

Arnbjorn shook his head. "Her, and half the wenches there. They think you are 'nice'." He pushed one of the tankards towards Doug. "But if you want to avoid the wenches at Jorundr's hall, I can't blame you by half. Could get you in trouble, I guess, wenching where you work."

Doug took a swig of ale and coughed. This stuff was definitely not watered the way Jorundr had been doing for him. He took another swig and shook his head. "No wenching at all for me, Ambi. I have..." He fished around for a translation for 'girlfriend'. Unfortunately, Asgard didn't really have any cultural equivalent. You were either sleeping with someone or married to them. "...I'm betrothed," he extemporized.

Arnbjorn's eyes widened, and he clapped Doug on the back. "You should have said! Which girl?" He frowned, trying to remember if he had seen Aron with any of the wenches from Jorundr's. He couldn't remember any, but he supposed that Aron might have found love before he came to be a bard. Or maybe while Arnbjorn was not at the meadhall. Or passed out drunk. That happened a lot too.

Doug chuckled. "Nobody you know, Ambi. She's from my home. She is a...seeress. A dream-reader." He gazed off, smiling goofily. "She has hair red like flame, and eyes that are as grey as a dove's wings. I miss her so much."

Arnbjorn clapped his tankard down on the table, expression mournful. "Then we should go find whoever took her away from you and reunite you!" He smacked his other fist down on the table to puncutate his statement. "You should have told me days ago, I would have gotten horses ready."

Doug put his face in his palm. If Hugaldr reminded him of Belgarath, Ambi reminded him of Lelldorin, with all the attendant Arendish hot-bloodedness. "I don't know exactly where she is, Ambi," he explained patiently. "The spell that brought me here has separated us, which is why I'm trying to find my way home."

"Then we will drink to your continued luck in finding a way to go home and be reunited with your lady!" Arnbjorn drained his tankard and slammed it on the table loudly. He gestured at Doug's mostly full tankard. "It isn't that bad, is it?" He looked inside his own as if he could examine the non-existant contents for quality. "I thought it was fairly good..."

Doug shook his head. "Just trying to take it easy. I'm not quite used to ale this strong, so I've been trying to build up a tolerance. It's very good ale, honest." Doug swigged back a healthy mouthful to prove it.

Shaking his head a little, Arnbjorn squinted at Doug. "Has Jorundr been watering down your ale? That isn't very fair of him. I always thought he was fairly decent, but if he's cheating you.. unless you don't pay for it? I suppose if it is free, then it would be okay to water it.."

Doug patted Arnbjorn's hand reassuringly. "I haven't been paying for it. And he waters it down so I make sure that I don't get too drunk to sing. Besides, I'm much smaller than you, it doesn't take nearly as much to get me drunk."

"We should fix that." Arnbjorn nodded. "The more you drink, the more you can drink before you get drunk." He gestured at one of the serving wenches to bring him another tankard. "You are smaller than I am, but you fight like a demon. How did you know Ulfr was going to hit you?"

Doug paused for a moment. Explaining the body language aspect of his mutant power would be difficult. For that matter, explaining mutant powers would be difficult. "Training," he replied. "I learned from a warrior at home."

Arnbjorn set his tankard down carefully. "I have an idea." he said, carefully. Ideas were, in his mind, usually liable to get him snickered at. "I noticed you don't have a sword. If you teach me how to see when someone is going to hit me, I could teach you how to use a sword." He said, grinning amicably. He had been mulling over that idea for quite some time.

Doug grinned back. "That sounds just fine to me," he replied. He could see that Ambi was a little nervous, and it was hard to not want to do something nice for him, anyway. He was like a little puppy in the body of a large red-haired Viking.

"Then it is a deal, little brother." Arnbjorn clapped Doug on the back, and gestured towards his tankard. "And we should drink to it. "

Doug grinned and clanked his tankard against Ambi. "A deal it is, Ambi."

---------------
The next morning, Doug wakes up with the mother of all hangovers. Rannveig is there to take care of him, and propositions him. Doug very gently turns her down.



Doug whimpered and clutched a hand to his head. This was the reason that he drank watered ale. He hadn't enjoyed a hangover the first time he'd had one, and this one wasn't any better. He looked assessingly at the window and wondered if he could make it there to throw up if he had to.

A -very- quiet knock sounded at his door, toned very carefully to be as quiet as humanly possibly, and still heard over the morning noises of people moving outside. After a moment of silence, a soft female voice called. "Aron? Are you there? Ambi said he did not know where you had gone to after you both left. "

Doug whimpered more at the knock. Not to mention the idea of Rannveig seeing him like this. "Gnarfle," he said with feeling, not really managing to be coherent through the throbbing headache.

His door eased its way open, and a moment later, the blond-haired girl stepped inside, carrying a tankard and a loaf of brown bread. "I thought you might be off your cups." she said, knowingly. "You left your door unlatched."

Doug swallowed back a bit of acid at the sight of the tankard. "Noale," he mumbled. He most definitely did _not_ want the hair of the dog that bit him last night. He couldn't remember much past his agreeing with Ambi to learn swordfighting in return for teaching him some hand-to-hand martial arts. That included how many tankards he might have had, but judging from the way Ambi didn't seem to know how to stop until he passed out, it was probably entirely too many.

"No ale. Ale is not healthy for you in the morning." Rannvieg nodded, and carefully sat down, setting the tankard down on the floor between her and Doug. She patted Doug's hand gently. "Bread and goat's milk, so your stomach does not tear a hole in itself."

Doug whimpered softly again. One of the things he _did_ remember about the night before was Ambi telling him that Rannveig was sweet on him. He sighed. The girl was nice, but he was going to have to let her down gently, and he had _no_ idea how to do that. He reached for the bread and tore a small piece off, nibbling slowly on it.

Rannvieg watched the young bard eat very slowly. He must have had quite a lot to be this ill in the morning. He looked positivly green. Still handsome though. More so now that she could see that under the loose tunics and vests he favored, he did have -some muscle. After minutes of quiet, she smiled at him. "Are you feeling better?"

Doug flopped backward, having eaten some of the bread and drunk some of the lukewarm goat's milk. "A little bit," he replied. "At least the room has stopped spinning."

"Good." She scooted closer to where Doug was lying down and put her hand on his forehead. "You do not have a fever. Good. Eating will help, but you should try to get some more rest. Let Hugaldr perform tonight. You can take a break."

Doug pulled one of his furs up over his chest a bit more and shrugged slightly. "We'll see how I feel a little later. I imagine Hugaldr isn't very impressed with Ambi or me, is he?"

"He has not said anything. Yet." Rannvieg smiled. "I think he is waiting to lecture you in person." She brushed some of the longer locks of hair from Doug's forehead. "You really should get more rest. You look like you slept badly."

Doug chuckled wryly. "Try at all. And I seem to make a habit of disappointing Hugaldr with all the stupid things Ambi and I get ourselves into."

"I never did thank you for keeping Ulfr away from me. He is ... " She frowned. "He doesn't know what no means." She smiled at Doug fondly. He was really -very- sweet. "Does your head still hurt?"

Doug nodded. "A bit," he said. "But I suppose that's my punishment for drinking entirely too much last night." He couldn't decide whether it was better to head Rannveig off at the pass or wait for her to make the first move. It was a little hard to think through his headache.

Sidling up a little closer to Doug, Rannvieg ran her fingers gently through his hair. "You could get some more rest" Bending lower, she whispered quietly in his ear. "Or not rest, and just stay here with me. There is enough time before either of us have to go out to the main hall.."

Doug swallowed heavily. Oh dear. There it was, right out in front of god and man. He coughed slightly. Well, time to bite the bullet. "Um. Rannveig, Ambi told me last night that you might have feelings for me. I didn't realize it until he said something. I'm flattered, I really am. But...you should know, I'm betrothed to another, at my home." He sighed. The odds were good that she wasn't going to take it well, and that saddened him, because she really _was_ very nice.

Rannveig pouted. "She is not here though, and I am." She trailed a finger over Doug's shoulder and smiled at him. "Your home is so far away, and you must be so lonely..."

Doug captured Rannveig's finger in one hand, then clasped her hand in both of his. He smiled sadly at her. "It is far away, and I am lonely. But it would not be fair to you, Rannveig, to be with you while thinking of her. You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who will treat you well, more than just a simple tumble in the furs. And I can't give that to you. And I am very sorry."

Rannveig stood slowly. "The fates must hate me. The first man I have met who does not treat me like a common wench, and he's bethrothed. " She shook her head sadly, and brushed her braids back over her shoulder. "I hope you make her happy, when you get back home. "

Doug pushed himself up on his elbows with a wince. "I am sorry, Rannveig, I truly am. I wish there were something I could say to make this hurt less, because I do not want to hurt you. But I don't think there is anything I can say, is there?"

Rannvieg smiled sadly. "Probably not, unless you have a brother." She walked towards the door, looking over her shoulder before leaving. "Should I tell Hugaldr that you will be late?"

Doug smiled slightly to himself as he remembered the nickname Ambi had given him the night before. 'Little brother', he had called him. Perhaps, with a little work... He smiled at Rannveig. "Tell him I will be down as soon as I can."