Of course! Father is waiting.

Shaking her head, Isa let Magnus pick her fur cloak up from the ground, give it a good shake, and drape it over her shoulders. Isa’s cheeks flushed a little in warmth of the thought that he did it exactly like how a husband would give his bride his cloak so all could see his undisputed claim over her. Of course, she knew better. When Mother was still alive, on those cold, dreary winter nights when Father was gone risking his life to hunt one more scrap of food, she would curl up in her mother’s lap and both would be comforted by Father’s scent somehow still clinging to that thick fur pelt.

Rattling the sad cobwebs loose, Isa focused back on the present. Magnus had been guiding her back to the boat, rambling about something. If she had to guess, it would either be about his dreams to become a Varangian like her father had been, or something equally dorky and romantic about how he wished their not-yet-born children could be walking alongside us to take in the beauty He bestowed upon this land. Regardless, she leaned into his embrace, dutifully walking along as they neared the large boat Father had commissioned five summers ago.

The knarr was quite large, ready to transport many tons of goods to whatever destination its captain chose. Through rivers or the tumultuous ocean, it could handle them all, such was Norse craftmanship. Magnus stopped talking, a feat in and of itself, and gazed down at her when she let out a small sniffle. A gentle grip on her chin tilted her head to look up at him. Concern was clear on his cute face, studying her to make sure she was not getting sick from the chills from their earlier playing.

“I am fine, mine own.” A small smile from her melted his concern. Kissing her forehead, he launched back into whatever fantasy it was that he was previously regaling her with. Somehow, she was wrong on her guesses. It has nothing to do with children or his hopeful occupation, but his ideas on their future nuptials. Isa hid her grin as best as she could, lest she somehow inflate his already giant ego. Father had put the terms in simple language to Magnus:

Her beloved either survived a whole year in the Varangian Guard AFTER being accepted and completing the necessary training period, or he accompany them on three more round trips to Constantinople with the one they are currently doing counting as the first one.

Naturally, Magnus chose the first route as not only did it give him a chance at glory besides gold, but it also allowed him to claim her maidenhead that much quicker as he liked to remind her whenever he was feeling particularly randy. Isa was not as thrilled as her sweetheart, fearing that he would die in service to a foreign ruler. It would be the Devil’s curse should he die just days before fulfilling his oath to Father.

Isa gathered her willpower to banish those evil, twisted thoughts. Quick to recite the Lord’s Prayer and pray for Magnus’ continued safety.

The ship came into view as they rounded the last copse of tall pine. She could spot her father standing watch over everyone from his place on the stern. Their temporary camp was almost finished being put away, the last of the dying embers being smothered by river water to avoid any unnecessary attention from the mounted evils haunting these lands.

A smattering of greetings greeted them as they walked into and through the camp so Magnus could deposit her back to the ship safely before heading back to help where he could. Father eyed the two of them, his gaze never wavering even when Magnus kissed the top of her head and whispered a promise to hold her again when they set sail. Isa returned the gesture with a kiss on her beloved's cheek, chaste enough to warrant no complaints from Father and turned to greet the patriarch of the family.

Gorm Frodeson was a tall, wiry man with long tresses of blonde hair atop his head, the sides shaved much like Magnus’. Despite his lack of bulk that most people associate with leaders within their culture, Gorm dominated every room or mead hall he was in with his soft, powerful way of speaking. Even the most rambunctious drunkards would be lulled into complacency by his piercing glare and commanding presence. Having grown up as his daughter, Isa was usually immune to his authoritative powers, especially now after years of rebellious activity.

Father did not say a word, though his eyes conveyed everything she needed to know. He disapproved of her actions, though not of Magnus himself, otherwise he would never have granted the conditions for her hand in marriage. Gorm had always liked the boy, treating him like the son he never had. The joining of his godson and that of his flesh and blood was something that Father craved, Isa knew. Father never remarried, keeping Mother close to his heart every day. Isa studied her father’s chest, knowing tucked behind the leather and wool was a small pouch containing a pinch of her mother’s ashes. She hoped Magnus and her would have that same level of deep love her parents had shared.

Smoothing out her cloak, if only to keep her hands busy under the smoldering gaze of Father, Isa busied herself with helping reorganize everything as the camp was being dismantled. Bundles of fur pelts were their primary trade good going to Constantinople. Beaver, caribou, fox, and otter were the main bulk of it, though there were a few other species tucked here and there in the wrapped rolls. Locked behind the only small door on the ship were the small crates of amber and ivory. Not that Father thought anyone would steal from him, of course. If he had even a suspicion, they would never have been hired in the first place, lest they end up marooned in a strange land with no food or water.

Her gaze wandered over to the men putting up the last remnants of the camp. It seemed Magnus was telling some sort of story and her suspicions were confirmed when he made a stroking motion near his crotch and some of the other men laughed, though a few just stared. Isa let out a soft sigh. She was not even really bothered by the fact that her beloved was talking about what they just did, it was just that Magnus was pushing his luck. If Father ever saw him boasting, his honour would demand that he challenge the braggadocios teenager to a duel.

Isa doubted her father would kill her semi-betrothed, but she did not want to risk it anymore than he did when he was thinking with his upper head. Rolling her eyes at the bravado of hormonal men, she went back to her task of stowing away the recently packed supplies in a superior fashion than whomever it was who did it before her.

Magnus greeted her with another kiss when he got onto the boat, pulling her into his lap as the older men pushed the ship off the bank with oars. The current picked them up, setting a smooth speed as the sun started to dip low into the forest surrounding them. Snuggled close in the warm, musky embrace of her lover, Isa closed her eyes. Content and safe in Magnus’ arms and Father at the rudder. A quick whispered prayer to the Lord Above for a safe and smooth night was met with the soft burbling of the river and sounds of nocturnal animals awakening.