SND [28] We Celebrate The Victories

Freja watched as Bjorn floated contentedly in the bath so large it should be considered a hot spring. Magic runes along the floor heated the water and cleaned the body. She relaxed back into the water letting it surround her up to her face. Eyes closed she let events of the past two weeks run through her mind. It was the first time she had felt truly safe since her missadventure started. 

There were no trolls or magic beasts hunting them just out of view. No fighting for her life against half treants, familiars or druids. No strangers in a caravan she had slowly come to know and respect. No hastily brewed potions mixed with trembling hands, trying to save whoever she could. There was no high from traveling and learning something new. Just silence. Just stillness. Just her.

She felt the moments death was but a hair's breadth away. Her fingers traced along her left arm and side, feeling the raised scars the troll had left behind. Jagged lines, pale against her skin, whispered of how close she'd come to death. It was a mark that reminded her how fragile she was. But it also reminded her that no matter what she couldn’t give up. She almost did. While she was in the cave she almost gave in to the dark thoughts. 

Freja opened her eyes and sat up, water dripping from her hair as she glanced over at her familiar. Bjorn floated on his back, eyes half-lidded, utterly content. She wished she could be so care free. However, she knew that she couldn’t let her guard down. Once she stepped out of this bath, the weight of the world would return.

The Isi family weren’t nobility, yet. But from what Freja had seen of their estate, the Nazem were clearly grooming them for elevation. They only needed a few military achievements to gain the recognition of one of the Royal Factions. That couldn’t be far off with the war going on, that future was approaching fast.

Which meant she had to be careful. She was a Shai, a girl with no House or clan to back her. Navigating the politics of a rising family like the Isi would require precision and caution. Especially if they are close to gaining nobility.

She exhaled through her nose, calling out, “Bjorn, baby, it’s time to go.”

The lizard hissed in protest and dove under the water with a splash. Freja puffed out her cheeks in exaggerated annoyance as she stood.

“I don’t want to hear your back talk right now young man!” Freja scolded. “Come out or I will drag you out.” 

She sighed when she saw him swimming away.

“The hard way it is.” Freja said.

Freja fastened the final clasp on the new outfit gifted to her by one of the Isi maidservants. It was a simple kvinskappe, far more substantial than the one Helina had loaned her. The robe was long and warm, dyed a soft baby blue and lined with thick black fur. A hood hung down her back, trimmed to match. Once her bindill was secure so the robe didn’t open unflatteringly she looked herself over in the mirror.

The face she saw was hers but at the same time she was surprised at how unfamiliar the girl staring back at her was. She was still Freja after all that happened but something about everything she had done and seen made her almost think she would look different. She had covered the physical scars but she saw pain in her eyes. She went over some different expressions, to liven herself up until she looked normal.

She patted her cheeks then saw Bjorn’s reflection behind her. He was sulking on the bed because she had pulled him out of the bath. He probably thought she would have folded and let him stay but she didn’t. It was important that the two of them acted together while in the domain of a powerful family like the Isi. Control of one’s familiar was also a show of strength and as a Shai she couldn’t come up lacking in personal power.

“Bjorn, it's not like you'll never get to bathe again,” she said in a gently placating tone.

He huffed, turning his heads away from her with exaggerated disdain.

“Really, baby? You're going to act like that?” she teased, crossing her arms.

She waited a beat, then added slyly, “I guess you don’t want to go to the feast then. You just want to go back to the bath, hmm?”

One of his heads peeked back at her, watching her from the corner of a sulky eye.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Freja smiled. “Now stop being moody. We have to meet the patriarch, and you know I need to teach you some etiquette. For wendigo your actions are a direct reflection of me. And I don’t have a family to protect me if something happens. It’s just us.” Freja paused for longer than she meant too as the words set in. “So… so, with that being said you have to behave young man. So come over here and let's get started.”

Bjorn stood up and hopped off the bed and Freja had to go over the intricate array of wendigo-familiar standing, sitting, greeting and eating etiquette. It was a crash course and just as much a reminder for her as it was a lesson for Bjorn. She hadn’t had to practice the noble etiquette since she started attending Dorsehal Academy four years ago. The movements and lessons came back to her quickly as it had been deeply ingrained into her by her mother and Thyra.

A knock at the door pulled Freja away from her practice.

“Come in.” she called.

The door cracked open, and a small goblin woman peeked her head inside. Helina’s eyes lit up the moment she saw Freja’s new outfit.

“You look gorgeous,” Helina said, beaming.

Freja blushed, warmth rising to her cheeks. Especially coming from someone like Helina, who could make rags look elegant. She was in a similar outfit, likely also a gift from the Isi family. The difference of course was stature and of course her figure. Helina’s shorter frame and generous curves gave the robe a striking presence. Freja, catching her own reflection again, couldn’t help but feel a flicker of envy.

Helina had her hair up in a ponytail which bounced with natural curls as she approached. It was the first time Freja saw her with her hair up and she noticed that Helina shaved the side of her head. She also had a mark in the shape of a diamond just above her hairline above her forehead.

“Thank you, you look great too.” Freja said.

“Aww, you’re just being sweet,” Helina replied, waving a hand in mock dismissal. “Now come on, let’s get your hair ready and head out. We’ve got to meet the Patriarch soon. Sit on the bed—I’ll take care of it.”

Freja did as instructed and quickly sat down as the goblin woman styled her hair. She hummed sweetly which just reminded Freja of her big sister. Before Helga went off to war and she went to Dorsehal Academy Helga was the only one that really cared about her. She was her best friend, her most staunch supporter and now she is gone. When she died her family sent her away, whether in hopes she would figure out her magic or in preparation for Ragnar to get old enough to challenge her, she didn’t know.

“We will start your magic training tomorrow,” Helina said, breaking the silence. “Well… depending on how good the wine is tonight. If it’s really good, we’ll start the day after.”

“Really, I thought we were leaving for Lavi and would start there?” Freja said.

“We will be here longer than expected. The Isi want to secure the roads and we are waiting to hear back from Lavi on the Nazem’s response. So, we will get started early. We’ll start with an aptitude test. I am best with Hydromancy but can teach almost all of the elemental magics except the electric ones.” Helina said.

“I’m a wizard,” Freja said with a shrug. “But I don’t really have a strong aptitude for any specific type. I should be okay with whatever.”

“Maybe,” Helina replied, tightening a braid. “But even if you’ve had tests done before, I need to see where you really are.”

Freja hesitated, then asked, “I did want to ask, you and Owen had those spears and machetes, it’s a weapon that…”

“Yes, we both served as soldiers but that was long before this war started. It had been a long time since we had to pull out those weapons. Likely before even your parents were born.” Helina said with a smile. “You should have seen Owen back in his military outfit. He would try to be serious around me but a little teasing and he would crumble like a deck of cards.”

“So, you know war spells?” Freja asked.

“I may have been a war mage but I hope you’re not thinking I would teach you any of those, young lady. You need to learn the basics and how to defend yourself, not how to call down torrents of slicing rain.” She paused, then added, “Besides, war magic takes a group to cast, and I’m two hundred years out of practice. Now take a look.”

Helina held out a mirror and Freja took it and looked over her handiwork. Two slender braids framed her face, winding back to meet at the crown like a woven circlet, while the rest of her hair flowed free to her neck. She was shocked at the result.

“Seems you like it.” Helina said.

“Yeah, sorry… Yes, it looks great.” Freja agreed.

“Good now get up and let's get going.” Helina said.

***

The Isi manor wasn’t much larger than the surrounding houses. It was used mainly for housing the occasional important guest or client and followed the typical function over form the wendigo favored. The furnishings were all meaningfully placed, the runes pulled in ambient mana and heated the space only when occupied and light crystals hung on walls. Everything worked as intended, accomplished their jobs and were designed to last for generations which for the wendigo could be hundreds of years.

The members of the merchant caravan were all waiting in the foyer. They all wore matching outfits which mirrored Freja and Helina’s own. It wasn’t too surprising as none of them were particularly ready for the cold around the Isi town. Winter was still a few months away but here it felt like it was well in the middle of the frigid time of year. It was supposedly colder inside the fort's walls.

“There’s the ladies,” Owen said.

“Yes, it is going to get colder,” Joha said, not missing a beat in some unheard conversation.

“This one does not understand. How is it so cold, hmm?” Sabec asked, tugging his hood tighter around his ears.

“It’s a town-wide magic array,” Owen explained. “That’s what Svan told me.” He raised his voice. “Wyatt! Caleb! Get over here, we’re leaving!”

Sabec’s teeth chattered as he pulled his hood up. “When gnoll practice fire chakra techniques we don’t light our houses on fire, yes? Why must they freeze themselves?”

“I can try to brew you a warming potion once we get back,” Freja offered sympathetically.

“Sabec would pay any price!” he said with a fervent nod. “What does Freja need? This one will ensure she has everything! We can go before meeting the Patriarch, yes?”

“We don’t have time for that right now, you will just have to make do,” Joha said.

The group left the manor where they were greeted by two escorts dressed like it was summer. The Isi and most of the wendigo of Skari could handle the cold not just because of their ice chakra but also because of the snowfallen’s nature. The light skinned wendigo were highly adapted to even sub zero climates unlike the nighthand which fared better in hot and humid climates. 

Freja herself wasn’t bothered too much by cold weather since her mother was a snowfallen. Although she didn’t share the full resistance a full blooded snowfallen possessed. She flipped up her hood and looked down to Bjorn who looked unfazed by the dropping temperature as they approached the fortress barbican. Little flares of fire escaped his nostrils when he breathed and when she touched him, he was hot. Steam started to rise off of him in ghostly wisps. The emotions she felt from him from the familiar bond told her that he was more curious and uncomfortable.

The fortress’s outer bailey was bustling with activity. Warriors practiced forms across a wide training ground, their movements sharp and rhythmic. Barracks lined the inner wall, alongside stables, a blacksmith’s forge, a cooper’s shop, a carpenter’s yard, and other essential workshops.

Freja found her attention inexplicably drawn to the smithy. She strayed from the group, approaching the open doorway. A cold wind met her, far sharper than the air outside. Holding her hood down against the gust, she peered inside.

What she saw made her pause. The forges were cold instead of hot, and the metal a paradox of molten ice. Wisps of pale-blue chakra snaked through it like veins of light, pulsing and coiling as the smith hammered away. She had never seen ice chakra forging before. She didn’t even know it was possible. 

“Freja!” Helina called. “We are moving on.”

Freja took a final look before turning back to her group.

Through the second portcullis the upper bailey held few buildings. The keep took center stage, the temple to the Forest Father to the right and several dependencies which Freja assumed were an infirmary, kitchen and storehouse. 

The fortress was well maintained and Freja could tell it was a point of pride for the Isi House. Freja silently compared it to the Salstar forts she’d seen growing up. Structurally, this one was merely adequate by their standards. 

However, the large-scale formation over the fortress and town could likely do more than make a few miles cold. That was likely where the real defence of the city came from. She didn’t know how chakra formations worked or how they differed from mana based ones, but she did know that focusing formations of that scale was possible and devastating to any enemy.

“This place is very nice, yes.” Sabec said through chattering teeth. “But can we hurry to some place warm.”

“Of course this way.” The young servant said.

The ground floor of the keep appeared to house storerooms and servant quarters, functional and unadorned. They didn’t enter there; instead the group followed the servant up a wide staircase to the second floor of the keep, where tall double doors swung open with an inviting creak. The scent of lavender and exotic spices immediately met them, a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. Sabec was the first to step inside, sighing with audible relief, and the rest of the party soon followed.

A spiral staircase led them up to the third floor, where the warmth intensified and the sound of music drifted down to greet them. The great hall opened before them, a large rustic space buzzing with life. A small band played a lively tune in the corner, and the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meats filled the air. Servants moved with practiced grace, and every person in the room dipped their heads in acknowledgment as the guests entered.

“Honored guests!” A cheerful voice boomed.

At the head of a grand wooden table stood an older man with a broad smile and open arms. On his right sat Tyr, and on his left was a man who could only be Tyr’s father. All three bore a striking resemblance to one another almost as if looking at versions of the same man across the many decades. The Isi blood ran strong.

Where Tyr carried youthful charm, his father possessed a dignified, commanding presence. He was clearly a seasoned warrior with many as not many even amongst the elite held themselves with his demeanor. The patriarch, however, had the air of a jolly old snowfallen: slightly rounded with age, yet still broad-shouldered, with muscle hidden beneath the thick fluff of his elder years. His eyes scanned the group with warmth and scrutiny before he gestured for everyone to take a seat.

A maidservant gently guided Freja to her chair, while another led Bjorn to his bowl nearby. The familiar’s heat radiated off him like a furnace as he settled, sending ghostly wisps of steam curling into the air.

Freja found herself seated next to Embla, who greeted her with a respectful nod. Though still wrapped in bandages, she looked markedly better. Her missing arm had been neatly dressed, though replacing it would likely require the intervention of a royal healer or a king’s ransom paid to the Healer’s Order. For now, she wore her loss with pride as she survived a great trial. 

There was another member of the clergy there as well though he seemed to be a warrior judging by his armor which was reinforced scale armor, but in the shades of brown and black and not the blue and white of the Isi. There was the motifs of antlers etched into his armor. Normally the warrior clergy would carry an ax but it was likely stored in some unseen item during the celebration. 

He met Freja’s gaze and gave a respectful nod. It was then she noticed their hands, his and Embla’s, intertwined beneath the table. She quickly averted her eyes from the couple not wanting to be caught staring.

The patriarch raised a goblet and announced. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kolbein Isi, Patriarch of the Lesser House of Isi. To my right is my only son, Hrolf Isi—our chief combat instructor and head of logistics. And to my left, as many of you already know, is Tyr Isi, Heir of House Isi.”

He paused, letting the formalities linger just long enough before continuing with a grin.

“Now that we’ve dispensed with titles, let’s speak plainly. We’re all commoners here. No need for ceremony or stiff manners. Tonight, we celebrate the brave souls who risked their lives to save my grandson and many others, despite having no obligation to do so. And we also raise our cups to honor Heir Tyr’s successful completion of his Rite. He has officially become a warrior and a leader of men. May he bring honor, may he lead in strength, and may the Trials of the Forest Father make him an ever sharper blade.”

He lifted his goblet higher, and servants began streaming into the room with trays upon trays of food.

“So eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves,” Kolbein said. “Tonight, we celebrate the victories and the lives we saved. Tomorrow, we will mourn those we could not.”

As he finished, the room came alive with the clatter of plates and laughter. Platters of roasted meats, seared to perfection, filled the long table alongside pitchers of mead, wine, and glacial springwater. Freja’s eyes widened in awe at the sheer abundance; the feast seemed to stretch on endlessly, a celebration worthy of heroes.