An Unlikely Bride 1

AN UNLIKELY BRIDE

================================================================
================================================================

It's been awhile since I've touched this, hasn't it? It feels like a lifetime ago, but here I am revisiting it and certainly not for the last time either. That's right, if you're an old reader coming back to the beginning you might know what I'm talking about, but for everyone else I'm going to say that this is not it.

I've decided that this story just isn't good enough, but instead of my usual regret-delete-regret-mourn cycle I'm going to actually touch it up and make it something I'd feel a bit more comfortable putting my name on. So yes, as of this edit I am declaring it a work in progress draft in the most official and professional way possible except not really. I apologize, dear reader, if your experience is soured by this and I hope I can make it up to you in the final version.

Here is the Discord link for my server, hope to see you there:
discord (dawt) gg / r2AbCMYazM

================================================================
================================================================

A rider approached, his russet hair unhindered, free, just like the thin mare he rode at full speed and with caution abandoned to the sharp winds blowing down off the Kjarvangir Mountains. They brought a whisper of snow, bitter to the nose and throat, the winter's deadly precipitation would mean that his message would be the final word on what was to come.

"Hroki, my boy! What say the king?"

That was Vadgar, a thane from one of the fjord kingdoms; his once brilliant golden locks of his youth had faded into gray, the sturdy, wide-set jaw and high cheekbones of his face were as weathered and beaten as his homeland. An old warrior was not unwelcome in the Reach, few men lived to be ripe in old age with so much danger afoot in the primordial and savage environment. Sabercats took many, some would say that once a man lost the fire in his hair was when he stopped being so frightening to the beasts. Vadgar had no such problems, he wore the warm pelt of one cat foolish enough to pounce, the mighty feline slayed by the two-handed Kingsclaw the man wielded for a blade.

Hroki pulled the reigns and hopped off. "A truce for winter, but it comes with a cost," he huffed, short on breath from the hard ride.

Vadgar laughed. "Cost? What cost?"

"A truce at any cost is welcome," the third man said, pulling his hood down. "This winter will turn even our northern blood cold. I can smell it."

"Tell this to one of your brothers, Thonvar," Hroki laughed with a triumphant sigh.

He had no love for Oddvar and Grulf, but they were first-born and the true sons of Jarl Kargruuf, so bastard whelps like Thonvar were sent off to do the unwanted and dangerous things in his father's name. This suited him, Hroki and the others loved him for it, he was the kind of blue-blood northerner they could respect as he fought, lived, and would die with honor fit for his noble line. His great-grandfather, Jarl Brynjar, was known to be a powerful wight-singer, he was on the field with King Sigismund when they fought the Deathmage of Valdrfalltind at his black tower. Some say such noble birth was wasted on a witch from the southern lands, seducing his father with her vile magic.

Lies, of course, his mother disappeared or died, his father said she wasn't important so he wasn't important.

"What cost would befall them?" Thonvar asked, thankful for being unimportant.

"You don't wish to know, they--"

A flash of fur cut Hroki off, knocking the man aside like he was a straw-filled doll cast off by a fitful peasant girl.

His mare wasn't so lucky, the giant beast had her by her neck and she bawled a skin-crawling cry as it took the steed down. Thonvar and the others weren't fast enough to save her, the bite was fatal the moment the fangs broke the skin anyway, but still they tried. Hroki was first, shouting in concern for his horse, but the second strike grounded the poor man as claws raked his chest.

Blood stained the pale green grass. "Hroki, no!"

"Otar's bane I'll get another!" Vadgar yelled, Kingsclaw unsheathed with a mighty heave as he charged.

Another swipe as the furious giant defended it's prey, the old man was sent sailing through the air and crumpled against the hard ground.

He didn't move.

Then the predator looked at the third human. Fire-red hair, square jaw, piercing blue eyes, his hawkish features half-painted with the blue of his clan's sacred war colors; his fists tight on a readied spear for the imminent battle.

-------------------------------------------------

A horn blew loud to summon men to the crude wooden gate, a truce meant nothing to the ever-vigilant guards of Ivarhold and they rushed to their posts and were ready to receive.

Still, the doors opened, Hroki's blood was enough to get at least that, and quick-thinking men down below rushed out to help the travelers in. Wounded were a priority, especially those stricken with bite and claw from sabercat, the jarl's whitemage was already making her way down to the courtyard to see what needed to be done. A southerner, but one of the good ones, Hroki smiled up at the pretty face as she scowled down at him.

"Infection has surely set in, you fool," she hissed, unsheathing her hand from a mitten.

Hroki winced as he laughed, but he managed to blurt out, "anything to see you, my--"

"Bah! I'll have none of this 'my lovely Sienna' from an idiot who thinks his tongue is silver," the mage fired back, her palm bared to the bloody mess.

Nobody spoke, as was custom of the north. Magic of any sort was a hushed affair, observed only from afar and never interrupted by the whispers and mutterings of those who did not and could not understand it. All eyes were on the mage's hand as raw magicka sprang forth from her skin, swirling in a twin helix as it licked the naked, cold air. Crackles, snaps, and the hiss of the atmosphere giving way to the all-powerful force echoed off the jagged stone walls; the opalescence giving way to a brilliant blue-white shine as the spell took form.

"Please, ah!" Hroki cried, his hands on the offended flesh that stitched up in spite of his interference. "It hurts!"

"Yes, as it should," Sienna muttered as she pried one hand out of the way of her palm's glory. "Remember this the next time you decide to fight a cat."

-------------------------------------------------

Thane Rangvald folded his arms and shook his head, he had clearly never seen a sabercat that large. Neither did anyone else.

"This must be the monster that stalks Bjark's Pass, I'm sure of it."

Several people nodded in agreement with some thoughtful murmurs to go with, but nobody could be entirely sure. A few winters back one of the shield-maidens from further south had spoke of a caravan that had been ransacked, but few believed her estimation on how large the creature truly was. There were large predators, bears for example, and of course the wyverns, drakes, and rare dragon that sometimes came down from their mountain lairs to prey on the wildlife in the Reach, but... Sabercats twice the size of a bull? It was nonsense until one was slain by a Reachman.

"Well you killed it, what do you think?" Rangvald asked.

Thonvar shrugged and admitted, "I've never ventured that far south, I would not know."

"Hillevi was right, though," Hroki added, pointing to the beast's head, "look, the eyes, blue as our own."

A few people leaned forward as he pointed.

"I will say this, blue eyes on a sabercat are rare, nothing about this is ordinary. An old hunter like this, he must be as old as that Vadgar," Rangvald laughed, nodding to the white-haired foreigner. "He must have thought you a worthy challenge!"

"Kingsclaw already took one, I think he was offended by--"

Horns.

They had to leave the corpse alone with the mages anyway, some arcane thing they didn't understand and didn't want to understand. Everyone shuffled out and into the cold, the biting wind had picked up as evening came so many gave up and dispersed elsewhere. Not Thonvar, he kept walking with Hroki and Rangvald, they were soon upon a stubby tower that gave them enough vantage to see the newcomers.

"I wonder who visits us," Hroki wondered aloud, "maybe they're here to see the cat."

Rangvald shook his head. "Only a mage would know so quickly, would they ride up in... that?"

"That" being a train of rickety covered wagons lead by a fine carriage, flanked by southerner mercenaries of all colors and banners. A diplomat? With slaves? Servants? That made little sense, Ivarhold did not host the king. Those wagons were a curiosity, even from a distance it was obvious they were not well-crafted and seemed to be cobbled together from different pieces of wood recycled without much care. A closer look was necessary.

Thonvar hurried down the tower's steps and cut across the grass to the wall near the market courtyard, behind him Hroki and Rangvald struggled to keep up. A few fjordsmen were lingering near the foundation of Ivar's Keep, they seemed to be as interested, but shy and wary of getting too close to the strangers. When he passed by with purpose in his step they couldn't help but seize the opportunity and joined behind him, then others with similar apprehension went as well.

"Hey you!" said one of the mercenaries, stepping toward the crowd with a fist on his sword. "We don't want trouble, so just--"

Halting in place, Thonvar held up a hand and said, "I am Thonvar, son of Jarl Kargruuf, I was curious about who would visit my father coming in wagons such as those."

"These? Oh, these are--"

A woman cried, "kobolds!" before he could finish.

Sure enough, once the secret was out the wagons bustled with activity as the passengers scrambled around inside. Everyone in the reach knew what a kobold was, they were not well-liked or trusted and for good reason too. Thieves, brigands, and frauds, the whole lot of them were never allowed inside a city beyond what was strictly necessary. Stories of their origins spoke of a dragon fornicating with a goblin, or a human depending on who you asked, and she laid the first eggs that would become the kobold race.

Disgusting little creatures, Thonvar had made sport chasing them out of camps too close to the hold's villages.

"Yeah, them, we're here to make sure," the mercenary whacked a scaly snout with his gauntlet, "none of them wander too far. Better than orcs, I keep sayin' to m'self."

"I've never met an orc."

"Don't," the mercenary laughed.

Before he could ask why, a messenger ran up. His father was summoning him, in private, and it was very urgent.

-------------------------------------------------

Apparently Thonvar had missed the kobold chieftain on his way down, flanked by two elves and a southerner diplomat, and they had probably the shortest negotiation of their lives while he was gawking at the ragtag wagons and foreigners. He heard them welcome him in, the kobold smiling brightly at him as best a kobold could smile, his father wearing a strained smirk as the elves explained to him the importance of their meeting. He heard them tell him of his role, his important role, in uniting the north's people and the mountain clans, of ensuring the safety and security of all.

Elves were good at talking.

They knew nothing of honor.

He was still reeling from the look his father had as they explained to him the arrangement they had made with Audun the Reach-King, his father would be providing one of three sons for three different princesses. Of course it was the honor of Princess Helka to wed some handsome knife-ear, and Thane Gunnar of Halvorstadt to win a fine, red-eyed dark elf beauty. There were two others to marry southerners, but he still had trouble believing what was left up to the sons of Kargruuf. Apparently, to keep the bandit raids on their caravans down, the tricksters in the south had made a pact with the kobolds. A human prince for a kobold bride.

Southerners were good at talking.

They knew nothing of honor.

So many southern princes, or barons, or whatever was the name they were giving their noble-blooded had been conveniently promised elsewhere. Elves to marry, of course. Apprentices to dwarven masters of gear and steam, newly-enrolled students of wizards and sorcerers in far-off lands. Fjordmen were not concerned with alliances to the south, or with alliances with kobolds, or elves, or dwarves, or any damn other knife-eared son of a bitch that pranced from their forests or islands. They didn't care because they didn't have to care, all they worried about were trolls, dragons, or pirates. Nobody married to keep pirates out. Reachmen had many neighbors, miles and miles of open land, life was never fair for them so sacrifices had to be made to survive.

Northmen were not good at talking.

All they had was honor.

That was how they sold it to him, it was how he swallowed it along with his pride. A northman would be her husband, one with hair of fire and eyes of ice, but the honor would not be for Oddvar or Grulf. Kobolds spoke of a legendary beast, an old cat born of the ice and hater of all that was warm with life. "Kthiszivalth" is what he heard, he couldn't hope to repeat the old kobold tongue, the name of this white-furred monstrosity that stalked them without mercy.

He was the Slayer. Thonvar wished Kingsclaw had been the one to avenge Hroki's mare and all those hapless kobolds.

"So with that having been said, and believe me, it pains me to--"

Thonvar glared at the elf. "I accept."

His bright yellow eyes blinked rapidly. "Y-you will? You do? Oh excellent! Most excellent, I commend you for your dutiful--"

"That's enough, elf. I've had enough of your words," he said with firm finality. "You have brought her here. Tomorrow morning I shall marry my bride."

A solemn nod from his father was all he needed, the only form of love he ever got, but a twinkle in the old man's eye gave him a moment's pause. Was that a denied tear? Out of pity? Thonvar thought about it as he strode away. His father was not that kind of man, he wouldn't allow such a frivolous emotion to come from him. No, that was... Something his brothers would never know.

Respect.

-------------------------------------------------

They assembled shortly before dawn, when the wind was somewhat low and the sky still danced with the iridescent lights from the night before, somehow just as he always imagined it being on the day of his wedding. Often he hoped it would be to somebody that wasn't awful-looking, he expected that many of the fat or man-figured daughters of lesser nobility would be his simply because he had the misfortune of being as unwanted as they were. None of his wildest fantasies, or most harrowing nightmares, had him standing there waiting for something that could trace her lineage back to a dragon spreading herself for whatever that came by. It was disgraceful.

Yet he stood there waiting. Watching. His short-cropped red hair blowing free in sharp, stinging eastern wind as his skin endured the light flaying of unseen flakes of razor-like ice.

Beside him Hroki stood fast, there for his friend in silence as his best man. His brothers were there, wisely keeping their mouths shut, but he could tell they were thankful he had been the human sacrifice they were destined to be. Oddvar even gave him an early present, a set of silver pins he won in a dice game, a sincere gesture that Thonvar could appreciate.

From the south she approached, clad in a purple robe far too large for her tiny frame, her bare feet placed with careful, deliberate motions as she climbed the rock steps to the Lawstone above. Behind her was, presumably, her father, joined by the chief from before, a few females of her kind, and one of those damned elves. He seemed amused by the ceremony, his smirking face seemed like it begged to be turned inside out by a human fist.

"People of the Reach," the law-giver began, "we gather to give away one of our sons, Thonvar, Son of Kargruuf, in matrimony to a foreigner. What say you?"

"His honor ours," the crowd murmured in unison.

"By our laws and customs of old, it is I, law-giver, who's authority is supreme on this sacred stone. Who approaches?"

All eyes were on the kobolds.

Instead it was the elf who said, "this is the most honored--"

"Silence!" boomed the law-giver, "I did not ask the people of trees! Who there, in that robe, who approaches the Lawstone ruled by Otar, forged by Tongval, blessed by Aera herself?"

Frozen in place, the robed figure took a few moments to squeak out, "A-Anza, I am..."

"A kobold from the mountains comes to us. People of the Reach, what say you?"

"She offers what for our son?" they murmured.

"What does the kobold offer in return for a Reachman's hand?"

That time he looked at the snooty elf who was still visibly flustered. Still, the knife ear answered, "this marriage seals a pact of nine lands in alliance, fulfilling a debt the very wise lord Kargruuf agreed to pay in exchange for--"

"Enough, it's cold out and we have work before winter, we don't have all day. Thonvar, son of Kargruuf, your duty to your jarl, king, and people is to marry this foreigner, what say you?"

"On my honor I shall, if she will have me," he answered.

Nodding solemnly the law-giver motioned to the robed kobold. "Step forward, girl."

Mindful of the cloth she hurried up to the flat stone where he was to stand in front of Thonvar, the double-peaked tent of the hood barely crested level with his biceps. Until that point he had no idea what she looked like, but when she offered a curious glance he caught sight of her sandy-colored scales and... glowing eyes? Surely that wasn't really what he saw, his attention wavered when the rest of her entourage foolishly tried to step on the Lawstone uninvited. Guarded by the best, most capable warriors that could be found, the party of kobolds and elf wisely backed down and waited on the steps.

"Would you have this Son of the Reach for a husband?" the law-giver asked, focusing only on her.

Seemingly confused, the kobold pointed at Thonvar with a balled-up wad of sleeve. "Human? Him of husband for me?"

"Yes."

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I take."

Satisfied with her answer the law-giver stood up straight and looked around. "Seems she is satisfied with how tall and handsome we make them up here."

Amused chuckles broke the harsh wind, Thonvar had to crack a smile at the joke.

"Alright then, would you, Thonvar, have this Daughter of Kjarvangir for a..." the law-giver trailed off.

Thonvar had the first look at what was being offered, the trembling kobold opened her robe to reveal her very nude body for her new husband. Since he wasn't the only one standing there it was inevitable that everyone else on that side of that particular Lawstone got a look as well, law-giver included. Indeed her scales were the color of sand, or perhaps seasoned wheat in the summer sun, but it seemed this color was mostly focused to the tender parts of her chest, belly, neck, snout, and...

"You've seen one of those before, right?" Hroki joked.

Suddenly the northman realized he had never truly seen a female kobold before, they were shaped very much like human women. Aside from her  featureless chest, she was undoubtedly a female with all the figure and curves that every other woman seemed to have. Well, mostly, his skin flushed almost as red as his hair when he realized she was, body-wise, better shaped than some human women he had seen.

"We will have silence from you," the law-giver growled, glaring squarely at the best man. "As I said, Thonvar, would you have this Daughter of Kjarvangir for a wife?"

"I..." He looked up at the elf. "I would. Yes."

Disappointment...? Why would the elf--

"Then let it be so! People of the Reach, do you object to this union here, now, on our sacred Lawstone, between these two to be lawfully married now and forever?"

"We do not," the crowd murmured.

"Does anyone else object?" the law-giver yelled, looking around at the empty grasslands. "Then it shall be done. Rings."

One of the girls around the courtyard, Thonvar thought she might be the Jorunn the cook's daughter, had been selected to be a ring-bearer. With all the grace of a newborn calf she stumbled up the stone steps and thrust out her fist, dropping the rings right into the law-giver's hand.

"Take them, and--"

Anza stuffed the smaller of the two on her finger before anyone had any time to object and retreated back into her robe's concealment with one quick motion. Everyone was caught off-guard for a moment, the rings were not supposed to be exchanged that way, but Thonvar sighed and put his on as well.

"Then it is done," the law-giver declared, hands up high. "Gods protect you, wind guide you. People of the Reach, honored guests, I present to you Thonvar and Anza, husband and wife."

"Hail!" Thonvar called.

Loudly and proudly, the small crowd responded with their own hearty "hail!" before respectfully dispersing. This was their way, even if the ceremony had the normal participants it would have been just as brief. Celebration of the wedding wouldn't take place during the day, not with so much work to be done, but at least Thonvar could... relax... with his new bride. Whatever that meant. He wasn't sure how kobolds relaxed, probably trying to steal everything that wasn't nailed down.

-------------------------------------------------

Kobolds must have learned about human weddings from southerners, they seemed annoyed that the celebration wasn't immediate and boisterous. Even the elves were confused and seemed almost offended that they weren't allowed access to whatever "northern swill" that was on reserve for festivities. Fjordmen were understanding, they knew the Reach wasn't kind and daylight was precious, so they helped with the daily tasks where they could. There would be celebration, of course, but Thonvar didn't have to concern himself at all with it. His work was different, alien, he had to learn to talk and learn to talk to a thing he never would have considered to be worth talking to.

It was his duty, honor demanded they get married and his honor as a husband demanded he know his wife.

"Can you speak?" he asked her finally. "Speak well, I mean."

They had retreated to the upper levels of the keep, the wooden walkway that ran around the boat-shaped main hall where foot traffic was less intense. Above were rafters and shingles, below the floor planks walked a pair of sentries that kept a sharp eye on the horizon and the traffic nearest to the keep. Mostly it felt safe up there, they had a nice vantage point and could see for miles and miles until denied by the morning's mist.

She didn't answer. Instead she fidgeted and tugged at her robe.

"Anza, was it? That's uh..." What did people normally say here? "That's..."

His awkward pause finally got her attention, she looked up at him with her hood back.

He didn't know what to say. They only said things when it was necessary, and even then it was recited lines most of the time. His name, who his father was, where he was from, what he needed, where he was going; facts, pure and simple. What did he say to a kobold?

That was wrong. He needed to stop thinking of her as a kobold.

His wife.

"Your name is nice to hear, but hard to say."

They didn't have eyebrows like humans or elves or anything like that, but kobolds could still express things like they had them. She didn't have cheeks like he did, or a nose, eyes that he could read; from above her head kind of looked like a V-shaped arrowhead which was not familiar at all. From the tip of her short muzzle to her small, nonthreatening horns pointing back, her head seemed to be two flat planes filled in by the shape of her skull and the details of confusion around her eyes. He could see that she didn't know what to make of his words, or how to respond.

Yet, somehow, she looked up at him again and answered, "yes, you too."

Common ground could probably come in worse ways than a name, he thought.

"Can you speak like I can? Well?"

Confusion gave way to an expression of frustration, she looked away again and sighed. He didn't understand.

"So how do you--"

She glared up at him and parted her robe. "You say want Anza, this husband wants."

Despite the differences between them, he was still male and she was still female, and his wife, so he couldn't help looking down at her offering to him. Being that close to her, closer than last time, let him get a good look at the gentle curves along her body that seemed so magnetic. Maybe it was morbid curiosity at first, but his spine tingled with dimmed excitement as his gaze fell on the curves that might have belonged to breasts. At a passing glance she was flat-chested, her most stunning feature from the front was wide-hips, but... There was something there.

"Now you want?" she asked, legs parting as she sat back. "Thunvarr," her tongue rolled the R which made him smile, "you must make husband, ring is," she scoffed and shrugged, "not make you this."

"Here?" he asked, gulping down the anticipation. "We can't--"

"No dummy, not here," she scowled, flicking down the robe again. "Before dawn you make husband or marriage..."

She mimed flicking the ring on her finger over the edge, down onto the lethal fall below.

What was this? She was timid as a mouse on the Lawstone, that wasn't cold from shivering, so what changed? He couldn't figure it out, not right away, he would need to think about her change in attitude some more. Was she trying to mark her territory or something like a beast? Claiming her mate? Well she was a filthy kob-- No. She was his wife, he had to remember that, and her words were true. No marriage was real unless it was made real through that union, maybe it was her... people's custom for that to happen before the night was done. Maybe it was important, who knew what kind of gods kobolds worshiped?

"Before dawn," he mumbled, offering her a hand for whatever she wanted to do with it.

"Good husband," she replied, taking his hand for a... kiss. Her lips were far less cold than he expected. "Happy, this makes Anza."

-------------------------------------------------

Feasts weren't too uncommon at Ivar's Keep, the longhouse had originally been built by a distant warrior-king ancestor specifically for the purpose of entertaining honored guests and friends. Tradition had it that wedding celebrations, no matter how big or how small, no matter if it was peasant, huscarl, thane, lord, jarl, even king, were all to be held at Ivar's Keep if it the nearby Lawstone had been the site of the ceremony. Even the most unorthodox ones. Generations ago a traveling sorcerer had married a female spryggan at the Lawstone after being driven out of nearly every hold to the east, if that wedding celebration happened his had to happen.

So he sat at the long table and waited, his petite bride next to him sitting on two straw-stuffed cushions, the guests slowly filed in whenever they could finally end their day. Of course the kobolds were there, along with the knife-ears, and during the day a signal horn had heralded the arrival of a pair of dwarves and a dark elf. Dark elves were more tolerable, so were dwarves, even if they were all distantly-related to the "cultured" southern elves.

Anza leaned over and whispered, "Anza no like elve."

"Me either."

Northmen were there, of course, Hroki made himself known when he strummed his lute even though there were already bards playing.

"Ah, and here's the noble brother," came a voice off to the side.

Apparently Oddvar had found the dwarves, the tallest one approached with an outstretched hand.

Thonar took it and muttered, "thank you for coming, this is Anza my--"

"Haaaahahaha! So it's true, this isn't all a joke! Ho ho that's great, Klevi, get over," he sharply looked over to discover the other dwarf, Klevi, was right next to him, "you heard it too then!"

Thonvar narrowed his eyes and asked, "does my wife amuse you, dwarf?"

"Oh, oh ho ho, no, no, not like that," the dwarf said quickly, finishing with a hearty laugh. "No, I'm, hah, sorry 'bout that response, we just, we have an... understanding of the kobolds that you aren't aware of. Consider it a... hm."

"What my cousin, Dalgolf, by the way," the other dwarf began, stepping forward with his own out-stretched hand, "means to say is we have something of a 'friendly rivalry' with the kobold race."

"I don't understand," Thonvar admitted, formally greeting the dwarf. "How could kobolds and the dwarves be rivals?"

"Minerals, lad, minerals. Kobolds dig, goblins dig, orcs dig, dwarves dig, you can only go so deep before--"

"Before powerful magic is needed just to breathe!" Dalgolf finished, a fist coming down on the wooden table. "Your wife there, she has the look of a stone-weaver..."

"Tziguko, dwarf," the kobold spat out with bared teeth, "tell husband nothing, is not dwarf's right, is Anza's right."

"Oh, miss, pardon the manners, we know how you kobold maids get!"

He felt way out of his element being thrust into complicated social situations, being expected to... talk... and now he had to understand these things. He didn't understand them, but he didn't like how the dwarf was talking to his new bride. His bride, at his party, in a keep where he grew up.

"Oddvar, take your new friends somewhere else. I don't want them near us," Thonvar demanded, giving his older brother a firm, but easy-going glare.

"You can't talk to me like--"

His eyes narrowed again as he muttered, "I'll have all three of you thrown out."

Realization dawned on the older brother and he wordlessly pushed the two dwarves to the far side of the room, for a moment Thonvar had to just think about what he had done. Did that really happen? It did. Oh, it did, and even better is it felt so good to tell his brother what to do for a change. What would have been even better is if it was Grulf, because that arrogant ass deserved it.

"Well that solves that," he sighed, looking down at his bride.

She was grinning back, smug and satisfied, the expression was unmistakable.

"Anza no like dwarf too."

Thonvar smiled. "Me either."