Nature had decided to be merciful with mankind again. Trees were showing buds and leaves, grass was back, instead of the cold mud usually covering the roads, the sun was gracing the sky again and everything seemed more lively. The air was getting warmer, the snow had been swallowed by the ground and the evenings were filled with birdsongs and the distant coupling of wild animals. That, of course, called for proper celebrations. Many maidens had been wed to fine warriors this week, and that called for even more celebrations! Not that Arne would complain of course, it meant drinks women, mead and brawls — anything he could ever ask for, really. The last days had been a blur, between his tankard and his bed, he couldn't always tell which was which, but it was fine by him.

Tonight was no different. He didn't know who was getting married — he didn't know if someone was getting married at all — but the longhouse was decorated, animated, ladies were all dolled up and men were already armwrestling each other in a show of muscles and battle stories. Everything was loud, bright, just like Arne liked it. In some far corner, a skald, who had had the great idea to come by the village to try and gain a few coins, was getting challenged to a drinking contest and it seemed to amuse the youngest maidens a lot — the man could barely stand up straight, in another corner, desperate, foolish young men were all trying to court a lady — Astrid, if Arne recalled? — the talk of the town since she'd been declared fit for marriage by her mother.

Arne, for his part, was still sober, a miracle considering the sun was setting and he was usually past out drunk by that time, or in some stables with a thrall. Leaning against a wall, near Erik's chair, he was watching him tenderly kissing his wife while his daughter played in his lap. When Gudrun finally took the small Idunn in her arms to make her eat something, Erik turned to Arne.

“I think I might need to ask the völva to cast a spell on you to make you see reason some day, Arne! Look at you, with mead in your hand. You should be productive. Plow your field, court a maiden, find a spouse... Stop wasting away like a teenager.” Erik exclaimed, exasperated — this was probably the millionth time he'd tried to make his friend see reason.

“Ah, I did a lot of plowing, but it was not my field, and I did a lot of courting, but still no spouse!” Arne replied with a cheeky smile. “But if it is of any comfort to you, I have begun considering perhaps the possibility of a wife.”

Erik wiped a hand down his face. This promised a long and tortuous way until Arne could eventually find a wife — and then she'd have to be either like him or extremely patient because he was sure no woman would withstand such a boor for the remainder of her life. He wouldn't blame his potential prospect for rejecting him, though he'd keep trying to make him look for a wife rather than a pretty thing visiting his bed once or twice.

“By Odin, there is really no hope for you my friend. I will either lose you in battle or in a barrel of ale.” Erik sighed, addressing a silent prayer to the aesir, to whoever would listen really, for someone to put some sense in his friend.

It seemed the gods were either really bored or eager for some excitement because barely ten minutes after that — ten long minutes of Erik complaining and Arne making it worse — Arne went dead silent. His eyes widened, his mouth went quiet for a while and he even dropped his alcohol. Erik feared he might have been struck by a sudden death — of too much idiocy perhaps — but he followed his gaze and understood.

“Who is that?” Arne asked, jaw gaping, eyes so wide they might pop out of his skull.

“That, my friend, is the village woman you'd know if you got your head out of your cup.” Erik replied, mockingly.

“Hold my beer.”

And just like that, Arne was off with single-minded focus. He'd never admit that he had actively been considering marrying, praying to the goddesses for their help in finding a good match, that would mean admitting Erik was right and he could not suffer such dishonor. But for her, by Odin even her name sounded like a blessing — he'd put his pride aside for a second and make the effort. That was... in his own clumsy way, of course.

“Woman!” He called out, brows furrowing, his gruff voice echoing even in the party's cacophony. “Drink with me!”

At the other hand of the hall, Erik let out a deep, hopeless sigh: his friend would die unmarried, that much was clear.