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Updated: June 6, 2025
Then, like lungfuls of fresh air, it entered into her that she was not really the naked fledgeling she felt herself. She was in the toils, surely, but there was a shell around her. Glad to hide her face for a moment, she seized the goblet and drained it slowly to the last drop. If only she could remember just how Fridtjof had borne himself!
Rothgar got upon his feet and towered over her, his Jotun-frame appearing to swell with irritation. "Do you not know how provoking your words are, that you are so glib of tongue?" he thundered. "Tell shortly what you think of their case; can they last one day more?" The black head nodded emphatically. "Can they last two days?" Another nod. "A week?" Fridtjof the Bold took refuge in sullenness.
You know not what you say." Offense stiffened the figure under the cloak. "It is you who do not know. Now, as always, you think about Canute what lying English mouths have told of him. I know him from my father's lips. No man on the Island is so true as he, or so generous to those who ask of him. Time and again have I heard my father bid Fridtjof to imitate him.
Slowly the man's wandering gaze focussed itself; a silly laugh welled up in his throat. "It would be no strange wonder if I did not," he chuckled. "Odin has changed you greatly; your face was never so beautiful. But this once you cannot trick me, Fridtjof Frodesson." There came a time when this mistake was a source of some comfort to Randalin, Frode's daughter; but now she stirred impatiently.
"It should have been a great joy to me that he was still safe and happy... and I should have found some hope in it, also, for as long as he is in England there would always be the chance that I might see him again... And perhaps, after a long while, when he had quite forgotten how I looked as Fridtjof... if I should be able to learn many graceful woman's ways from Elfgiva... and if he should come upon me when I had on a very beautiful kirtle... so long as he likes my hair..."
The glacier was here imprisoned between two mountains of 15,000 feet, which we named after Fridtjof Nansen and Don Pedro Christophersen. At the bottom of the glacier we saw Ole Engelstad's great snow-cone rising in the air to 19,000 feet.
Now she looked up to answer the jesting words, and the man in the passage saw her smile and shake back her clustering curls with a gesture so familiar... so familiar... Rothgar's gloating eyes detected light breaking in his victim's face, incredulity, amazement, consternation; and he began to jeer under his breath. "A great joy is this that you see your Fridtjof again!
The King's ward made no other answer than to regard him with a strange mixture of attention and aversion; but the Etheling reached out and pushed the boy farther behind the great chair. "Fridtjof Frodesson is my captive and no longer concerns you," he said briefly. "Give him no further thought, but come to your message."
There are lads in Denmark who would give their tongues for the chance. What say you, Fridtjof the Bold?" For a time it looked as if "Fridtjof the Bold" did not know what to say. He stood without raising his hanging head or moving a muscle. Silence filled the tent, while from outside leaked in the noise of the revel.
The hot tears gathered under her lids. If only she could get to her father! He would be glad to see her, and he would be proud of her; Rothgar himself had said it. Even Fridtjof would not be ashamed that she had borne his name. She must be very careful about that, she realized suddenly. He had never known what the word "fear" meant; even in Valhalla he would turn from her, should she disgrace him.
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