Barely old enough I am obscurely allowed to take part in the evening’s festivities. Tomorrow our men go across the sea. Many will not return. I suspect this is the only reason I am welcome though nothing could keep me from this night. I know, the one whose eyes I hunger for leaves on the morrow and I know not if I will ever find those haunting hazel eyes on mine again. I serve all the warriors and shield maidens, meat and mead with a smile regardless of errant hand, easily scolded. It is clearly known among us who has eyes for whom and although this knowledge has me flushed with embarrassment tonight is not a night for such qualms. If not now, perhaps never and this is not our way.
I catch his eye; he is a little older than me yet his bravado out weighs his knowledge in war and in love but he, as I, knows this is the moment. As I fill his mead horn his eyes drink my all and I welcome it. I would welcome his errant hand but he is content to wait and the fiery smoulder between us grows. I feel the flush of passion fill my body in a way I have never felt before. I remember the first flicker of this flame, it was a few moons ago; I knew it was because I had found my kindred soul and that it meant I was becoming a woman leaving my childhood behind. How I wanted him to be mine. I wanted him to be the one to explore this feeling with me, to take me away from prying eyes and taste my lips to drink of me for this first, and perhaps last, time. As I watched him I poured this intent into my eyes and offered soft prayer to the goddesses and gods that it would be so.
Finally he moves toward me taking the mead jug and platter from my hands he placed them on the table then lifts me effortlessly into his arms. We leave the hall to a cacophony of jubilant cheering and blessings. Once outside in the cold air he looks deeply into my eyes and smiles. Lowering me to the frozen earth he brushes stray hair from my face, kisses each of my eyelids and then eyes locked to mine brings his lips to taste of me. The flame that scorched through us leaves me flushing with heat. The steam of our breath in the frigid air mingles as we gaze at each other with naked want and mutual understanding. He gathers me into his strong arms again and carries me toward his home voice raised loudly in song of gratitude to the beautiful Freyja for bringing him such a fine woman, such a fine wife.
Image courtesy of Cerine from deviantART