Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (100 page)

“I need to know how to impress a woman.”

The Dwarf offered a slight frown.

“What?” Odin laughed.

“I’m guessing this is part of your ‘show’ then, isn’t it?”

“Sadly,” he sighed, “yes.”

Carmen reached up and took his hand. “Follow me,” she said.

Poised on the floor with his legs crossed and his arms hanging limply at his sides, Odin allowed the Dwarf to run a comb through his unruly hair and tried to remain as still as possible while she struggled to reach the highest parts of his head. Occasionally jumping to run the comb along his head, then reaching forward to grip the lengthened portions along the back of his skull, she ran the comb across his scalp over and over again until it appeared as though his hair had hardly any curls at all. The sight itself, which seemed almost impossible given the state of his travels, was enough to make him openly gasp.

“Wow,” he said.

“You really should have something to adorn your hair while you’re here,” Carmen said, beginning a vicarious attempt to braid his hair into one single strand. “If you want my honest opinion—and it might not be the right one, given that I’m much older no than I used to be—a woman likes a man’s hair to be well-tended. Do you suffer from dandruff?”

“Not that I
’ve seen.”

“I
’d imagine not, considering you’re part Elf and all. They always do have pretty hair.”

“Virgin
’s is beautiful,” Odin replied.

“Can I ask you something, if it
’s not too big an issue?”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you
just
queer, or…”

“I
’ve never really been attracted to any particular woman,” Odin said, “but I have thought about marrying one day and having a family.”

“You
’d make a great father,” the Dwarf said.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“You don
’t know how much that means to me,” he said, smiling as he watched the Dwarf’s progress through the mirror leaning against the wall in front of him.

“Oh, I
’m sure I do. It’s a nice compliment.”

“Have you ever thought of children?”

“Sometimes, yes, but not too often. I’m getting to the age where it might be a good idea to have one now before my insides get too unruly.”

“Is there a limit to where Dwarves can
’t have children?”

“Not t
hat I know of, no, but Elrig… he…” Carmen sighed. “He’s incapable.”

“Oh,” Odin sighed.

With a slight frown he hoped hadn’t been recognized, he leaned forward and allowed Carmen to finish braiding his hair. Shortly thereafter, she crossed the room to a dresser, where she haphazardly scaled its lengths by securing her feet along the individual drawer’s knobs before grabbing something from the top.

When she stepped forward, she held within her hands a rose the color of bright ruby crystal.

“That’s beautiful,” Odin said, almost unable to believe the jewel before him, which gleamed orange at the center as if there were a fire within its depths burning brightly throughout the night.

“Elrig gave it to me when we first met,” Carmen said, taking care to
secure its teeth into his hair, then clasping it around his braid. “It looks good on you.”

“I don
’t want to take it from you.”

“Oh, don
’t worry—you’re not. I’m just loaning it to you. How’s that?”

“That works,” Odin said, standing, then turning to examine the hairpiece. “I can
’t believe what you did to my hair.”

“I figured you
’d like it the way it is. You might want to consider letting Katarina cut the ends off. They’re a bit dead, if you want to know the truth.”

“And probably a bit singed from all the close encounters I
’ve had,” Odin laughed.

Turning, he kneeled down, lifted his hand, then smiled when Carmen reached up and slapped their palms together.

“The ball’s coming up pretty soon,” the Dwarf said. “Are you ready?”

“Not particularly,” he replied. “But there
’s not too much I can do about it.”

Carmen merely shrugged.

His suit was tailored to royal expectations.

Standing before the mannequin upon which held the ensemble he would wear come the night of the ball, Odin found himself almost unable to comprehend what he was looking at in the strange, ethereal half-light that streamed in through the far windows. It was, by all definitions, beautiful, and could not be described in but a few simple words. In looking at it, however, Odin felt his heart swell with pride and his conscience brim with fire that could not have been found anywhere but in the kingdom.

“It
’s,” Odin started, but stopped when the tailor stepped forward.

“I did my best,” the man shyly said, stepping forward and running a hand along one of the long sleeves. “What do you think of it?”

To think that he could ever explain his feelings made his head spin, for it seemed that he could not immediately piece together the way the creation was made by simply looking at it. His eyes fell first to the sleeves, unnaturally-long with white lace cuffs, then to the golden chest-piece, where beneath the frilled breast rested a white shirt adorned with black buttons. Upon every piece of golden fabric ran flourishes of brown threading that held mastership often only seem in paintings, and while the pants, though brown, were simple, with the promised belt holding it in place, the boots were black and shined as if polished by spit, creating upon any who looked upon it an impression of novelty.

“I don
’t know what to say,” Odin said, awestruck by the masterpiece before him.

“That doesn
’t settle my conscience any,” the tailor murmured.

“No. It
’s not that. It’s just…” He paused, stepping forward to run his hand along the jacket, which seemed to have been made from lace.

“It
’s just… what, sir?”

“Beautiful.”

At this, the tailor’s face beamed, shining like sunbeams reflected from diamonds. “You really think so, Sir Karussa?”

“I couldn
’t have asked for a better suit,” Odin said, turning to face the man before reaching out and shaking his hand. “Thank you, sir, for giving me a masterpiece to wear at the ball.”

“A masterpiece,” the man said, looking up at his creation before them. “My work has never been called such things.”

“The details in it are absolutely amazing. Even this bit of threading, here, on the sleeve is just… it’s art, sir—pure, utter art.”

“That means the world to me, young man.” The tailor reached forward and began to disengage the mannequin
’s limbs. “Would you like to take this now?”

“I would, yes.”

While waiting for the man to arrange the clothing, Odin couldn’t help but smile.

It thrilled him to no end to know that he would be attending the ball as a royal man.

“You look so handsome,” Virgin said, stepping up from behind and placing his hands on
Odin’s upper arms.

“Thank you,”
Odin sighed.

“What
’s wrong?”

“I wish you were coming with me.”

“You know that’s not possible,” the older Halfling said, patting Odin’s arms before taking a few steps back. “I’ll watch from afar.”

“You won
’t be anywhere near the ball.”

“That
’s what I mean. Afar.”

The smile Virgin gave did little to settle Odin
’s nerves.

Why can
’t things be simple,
he thought,
and straightforward?

Would the members of the royal family really have a problem with him sleeping with another man?

Unable to know and not wanting to dwell upon it, Odin set a hand on his hip and began to toy with the smooth surface of his belt, that of which seemed to have been made from the highest-quality leather the area could have offered.

“Are you going armed?” Virgin asked, breaking Odin
’s concentration from his reflection in the mirror.

“I
’m the king’s champion. It wouldn’t look right if I weren’t.”

“I
’m sure there will be enough security to ensure that nothing will go wrong.”

“You can never be too sure, especially when we
’re still in the midst of war.”

Virgin had nothing to say.

Odin bit his lower lip.

A knock came at the door.

“Odin?” Katarina asked.

“I
’m here,” he said, stepping forward when the door opened to reveal the woman’s smiling face. “You said you would cut my hair before I went?”

“If you
’d like, yes.”

“I still need to put it in the braid. And use the rose Carmen gave me.”

“I’ll do that for you. Take your shirt off and come on out into the kitchen—it shouldn’t take terribly long.”

The eve of the ball came early and with a surprising amount of people. Come that evening, the individual members of the royal family began to make their way up the road and toward the front gate. Upon horse-drawn carts, carriages, of things mortal and earthly and bearing upon their shoulders an essence of royalty, they did much to attract the attention of the newly-flourishing town. Odin himself, standing on Nova and Katarina’s front porch, found it hard to believe that so many people would be attending, and for that began to shiver even though the chill was not severe.

“Here,” Virgin said, draping a cloak around his shoulders. “It
’s too cold to go without a cloak.”

“It
’s not that far of a walk.”

“I know. I just don
’t want you freezing on the way back, especially if you return late.”

“I
’ll be fine,” Odin said, reaching down to briefly touch Virgin’s hand before pulling it away. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You look great!” Carmen chi
med in, peeking out from around Virign’s long legs to look Odin up and down. “Turn, please.”

Laughing, Odin did as asked.

“Perfect,” Katarina said.

“Thank you for cutting my hair,” Odin said, taking Katarina
’s hand in his and kissing her knuckles. “And thank you, Carmen, for letting me use your hairpiece.”

“Just bring it back whenever you happen to return.”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

Turning, he looked up at the still-developing crowd, both royal and peasant, before taking his first step down the stoop and
turning to look back at the group he considered his family.

So,
he thought, giving each of them a nod when he stepped into the snow beneath the stoop.
This is what it feels like to be wanted. To be loved.

When his eyes fell on the Halfling, Virgin gave him a slight, almost-unnoticed wink. Odin returned it promptly.

“I’ll be back before the night is up,” Odin said, checking to make sure his swords were secure before taking his first few steps toward the road. “If I’m not, don’t worry—just assume I stayed at the castle.”

“We will,” Virgin said. “Have fun.”

I’ll try.

With one last
smile, Odin melded into the crowd, content that he would be attending his first royally-significant event in months.

To describe the ballroom as exquisite would have been to diminish its presence and insinuate that this royal occasional was little more than a formal gathering, for upon first impression Odin could do little more than stare. The walls freshly-painted, in hues of red and gold; the chandeliers bright, strung with beads and hanging like flowers; the tables many, the few sparse lined with people; the attendees tall, strong and agile, in shades of red, gold, brown and yellow—to look at the sight and decipher it was like laying one’s eyes on the pinnacle of existence and trying to calculate its regards. One could have compared it to seeing their first child born, bloody and slimy with placenta fresh from the mother’s womb, or like watching the sun explode and disintegrate everything around it. In looking upon the sight, and in taking in the amount of people, Odin became so overwhelmed that he nearly backed out of the ballroom without even taking one more step forward.

Too many people,
he thought, panicking, his breath rasping in and out as if he were an old man lying on his deathbed.
Too… many… people…

However nervous he happened to be, he could not allow himself to
break away from his duty as the king’s champion, and while not alone—as he had, of course, arrived with guards flanking his sides and his swords at his belt—he seemed to be the first man standing before a hill and trying to gauge just what it was this mountain truly happened to be.