#theohild

Faustina and Weyland returned at the beginning of the Blodmonath. The winter chill had already begun to set in, yet they came back earlier than planned, after receiving word from Aethelric that Weyland’s long-suffering aunt Saewara had died. They buried her with her husband and son, as well as her distaff and jewelled rings. 

“You must settle your cousin Juthwara,” Faustina murmured to her husband as they stepped away from the burial mound. 

“Can she not live with us? We are her family.”

“Of course she can,” Faustina said. “But I think it is time that she has her own family. She has been caring for her mother for many years now.”

Weyland pursed his lips. “Is there a man she... favours?”

“I believe so. Beornwulf, one of your gesiths.”

A late summer fever arrived not long after Faustina and Weyland had left. In their hall, three houseslaves, as well as Saethryth, were taken ill. 

For once, Aethelric was taking his responsibilities seriously, but as the fever settled over the village, he could feel the strain of his own inexperience. And mostly, he was terrified for his little sister. 

Theohild did her best to help by rearranging household tasks and tending to the sick. However, her main contribution was an appeal to the gods, in particular, the god Tiw, whom she asked tearfully not to take Saethryth. Eventually, a bargain was struck and Saethryth opened clear eyes after several days of delirium. Soon after, the fever passed entirely. 

The boy with the lost dog and the curiosity about witchcraft had become one of Theohild’s few friends. These days, he maintained the belief that she was a supernatural being of some sort, but it was a matter of joking between the two of them. 

At the beginning of Weodmonath, Faustina and Weyland decided to take a short tour of their landholdings. The estate was left to the care of Aethelric and Theohild. They would also have the counsel of the older gesiths should it be needed, but the borders had been quiet for a few seasons now. 

On the day the king and his retinue left, the family gathered to say goodbye to him, as well as one of their own. Weynild and Cuthheard had been wed the day before by the king's priest.

The ceremony was not quite what Faustina would have wanted for her eldest daughter: far too much fear-mongering and talk of this new god’s power, and little of the peaceful tranquility of her own ceremony. She fervently hoped that it was not an omen about the type of marriage Weynild would have.

“You should make amends with Weynild before she leaves,” Theohild murmured, as Aethelric held back from joining the others. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“It won’t matter what I say now that she had gone and married that earsling just to get away from us all, and me particularly. We likely won’t see her again for a good while, if at all; she’ll travel with the king’s retinue from now on.”

“All the more reason not to let her leave while you’re both still angry.”

Theohild was whispering her secrets to the sacred stones when she heard her two elder siblings come into the clearing. Something seemed to be amiss;  Aethelric was following after Weynild, who suddenly turned back to him. 

“Aelfwyna was the one friend I had to myself! Could you not have let her be?!”

“How is it my fault if she finds me pleasing company, and more so than you?”

“She is lovesick over you, you fool. This is not a game. Her betrothed has renounced her and even her oaf of a father can see it. You’ve ruined her.”

“That is... unfortunate. But it is hardly my concern if she behaved recklessly.”

Weynild struck him, and Theohild reeled back behind the stone where she was hiding. 

“She won’t even speak to me anymore. It is you who are reckless... and cruel.”

“Are you a witch?” a voice called out from behind her. Theohild had been out searching along the shore for golden mallard eggs. The serving girl had sworn that mermaids would leave them buried in the sand, and that the best time to find them was just before dawn. 

She glanced over her shoulder. A boy was standing there, a nervous expression upon his face. He was a strange sight, to be sure, with hair so bright it looked like he had been dipped in the snow as a babe. However, he clearly had feet, and not a tail, so he was not the mermaid she was searching for. 

“Who told you I was a witch?” She said, more as if she was wondering aloud rather than speaking directly to him. 

“My brother,” the boy replied, stepping closer. 

Theohild shook her head vehemently. “Brothers lie. You shouldn’t believe everything they say.”

“Freware said so too, the fisher’s daughter. She said you speak to the dead, and animals too, and she once saw you bid a fish jump into your basket and it did, simply because you asked. She said it must have been magic.”

“That would be remarkable,” Theohild agreed. “However, I have no idea of what you speak. What’s a witch?”

The boy looked at his feet. “The king’s priest said they’re wicked women who command spirits do unnatural things.”

“You’ve certainly been talking about me with a great many people. What is it you want, anyhow?”

His mouth twisted. “I lost my father’s hound in the woods and he’ll beat me if I go home without it. I’ve been chasing the stupid thing all night. I thought you could speak to him and tell him to go home.”

Theohild chuckled. “You don’t need a witch or magic to lure a dog. You only need a bit of fresh meat. Stay here. I’ll nick some from the kitchen.”

“Oh. Alright.”