Shove him back and demand respect.

Before he knew what was happening, the giant Viking was shoved back against one of the wooden poles of the stable. He could feel the sharp side of a small knifr pressing against his throat as he looked down into the eyes of the farmer's son, who showed strength and courage without hesitation. The warrior noted the stern, tense lips and narrowed eyes of the young Tjorvi beneath the shadow of the hood drawn over him.

"I came to swear an oath to Erling Trygg Jarl and his daughter. Whether that means fighting or farming. Do you wish to tell the Jarl that I do not belong here after my family has provided so much?" His voice was low but firm, applying a little more pressure to the blade against the other man's throat. If any of these men wanted to get into a pointless Holmgang, then so be it.

The giant seemed to stay quiet for a second before he burst out into laughter. "Easy, you bacraut!" Knowing the young man didn't intend on actually killing him, he pushed the blade away. "Guess there's more courage in you than we thought. Now go. Do not sour my mood any further or I will personally send you to the Gods." The others laughed behind the two raucously, chugging lazily at their mead and wiping it from their beads like a crowd of savages.

And just with that, the whole situation cooled down.

As the four others went off to do whatever they planned on doing nearby the stables anyhow, Tjorvi took a deep breath and turned towards the heart of the village. The way was quite clearly pointed out for him - all he had to do was follow the torches and head into the direction of the sounds of the feast. He could hear one of the drunk Vikings calling out that he might want to search for another axe, which was probably one of the only sensible things they’d say this night. This part of Yogsta was laid upon a hill, forcing Tjorvi’s athletic body to exert some strength in traversing forth. He passed a few other Vikings on the way - some slightly familiar faces since his own hometown wasn't a very big place, while the majority were completely unrecognizable due to the darkness or simply because he had never seen them before.

Almost immediately a horn of beer was pushed into his hands as he stopped near the sprawling mead hall in the center of Yogsta. This feast was bigger than any he had ever attended, but he told himself he wasn't just there to drink. He had come to find a purpose, to make an impression on anyone he had to climb away from the rank of being a karl - a farmer, a peasant. Beyond that, he knew the bride personally. It had been long ago since the two had met, being careless children back then. His father, Eldgrim, had always welcomed her father Erling into their dwelling and promised loyalty to Jokulsa.

There was one single person that would be recognized everywhere, in every situation. Natasja Tryggdottir sat on a large chair right in front of the gathering in the mead hall. She was sitting beside her father Erling Trygg and another older man - very likely the Jarl of Yogsta. The two of them were talking and drinking together, celebrating the marriage of their children and the new alliance that would be forged between their territories. They had gotten the blessing of their King already, it helped that both of them had sworn loyalty to the same man. Yet, there had been plenty of conflicts between Jarls, and they were pleased to get over their problems because of the union.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of Natasja's life, and Tjorvi really hoped it was. Either way, she should be thrilled that she would be able to call herself the wife of Bjor Tofisson. He was a young man, yet he had been making a name for himself already. He was a good man as well, Tjorvi could tell from the stories he heard. Despite the wars and minor skirmishes for land, the two villages had always laid very close to each other so an alliance might prove to be important. Now it was Natasja's duty to go along with it, but it helped that she wasn't gifted away to a total stranger. She had proven to be smart, a worthy heir of her father even if she had already decided that she would be leaving him to head to England with her soon-to-be husband and her father-in-law.

No matter how intelligent or courageous she was, it was still outshone by her beauty. Long curly blonde hair fell down past her shoulders as deep blue eyes glanced past the two older men, managing to find Bjor's. A gorgeous smile appeared on her face as she looked over at the man she had married, hoping the gods would smile down upon their fate together. The bright white fabric of her wear was standing out against the darker wolf furs, standing out among the dark place and usually brown-ish clothes of everyone else. A simple dress that fell down past her knees, showing off a hint of cleavage as it was an old dress of her mother, who had passed away three winters before this day. Natasja's bust happened to be quite larger, standing out more to the attention in this dress but she had insisted on wearing it anyhow. Not that anyone was bothered - her father, father-in-law, and husband were more than happy to let everyone know how much of a living Goddess their new 'Princess' was, and would be... Bjor himself was covered in ink; it ran across both arms and the expanse of his broad chest. His dark brown hair had been braided back behind him, tight to the head. A clean tunic, skirt, and trousers covered a well-muscled body beneath. A beard graced strong cheeks and jaw, much like his father that was now graying and old. Icy blue eyes found Natasja's as he leaned in to whisper to her, the two of them seated next to one another at the throne resting toward the very end of the mead hall.

Meanwhile, Tjorvi entered the hall completely under the cover of his cloak. He carefully sipped on the mead held before his chest and bumped shoulders with those about, trying to figure out where to go next...