And so he spoke..

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Morton staarde strak voor zich uit terwijl zijn levensverhaal weer eens door zijn hoofd heen spookte. Nee, hij was niet ongelukkig, hij was tevreden met zijn leven en met wie hij was. Waarschijnlijk zou zijn leven lang niet zo goed geweest zijn als hij nooit weg gehaald was bij zijn nu dode biologische familie. Hij was geadopteerd door de familie Skarsgård, al had zijn adoptie moeder het niet zo op hem gehad. Zijn adoptie vader daarentegen wel. Morton had veel van hem mogen leren. Zijn adoptie broers en adoptie bastaardbroer had hij het ook altijd goed mee kunnen vinden en dan bovenal zijn adoptie zus, Freyja. Freyja had hem omgetoverd tot adviseur vanaf het moment dat de zij Lady van Hillerød was geworden. Hij kon het nog steeds niet geloven, maar accepteerde het allemaal. Hij vond het een ongemakkelijk idee dat zij nu zo in het midden stond van alles. Freyja kon niet eens fatsoenlijk een zwaard tillen. Ze was dan slim, maar met verstand alleen kwam je nergens. Nu zij alle macht had in Hillerød wilden mensen wat van haar en de mensen die liever in haar voetstappen treden zouden ver kunnen gaan. Dit maakte dat Morton alert was, op elk moment van de dag. Hij kon goed vechten, was sterk en goed met het zwaard maar ook met pijl en boog.

Morton verliet zijn kamer en liep over de stenenvloer door naar de kamer van Lady Freyja. Hij wilde zien hoe het met haar ging en misschien kon hij wat voor haar betekenen. Hij droeg zijn zwaard aan zijn heup, droeg donkerbruine wolvenvachten en leer. Toen hij voor haar kamer stond klopte hij zacht op haar deur, waarna er een 'come in' volgde. Morton opende de deur en bleef even in de deuropening staan terwijl zijn ogen over zijn prachtige adoptie zus gleden. Hij glimlachte en stapte naar binnen, waarna hij de deur achter zich sloot. "How are you, dear sister?" Vroeg hij vervolgens en ging zitten. Morton had zijn zwaard losgekoppeld en legde deze op zijn schoot neer, terwijl zijn heldere ogen op zijn pleegzus waren gericht.

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Misschien was het ergens jammer dat hij als broer werd beschouwd en hij haar als zus beschouwde. Voor zolang hij zich kon heugen was ze altijd in zijn leven geweest, al wist hij ook dat hij geadopteerd was en dit dus niet zo was. Freyja had mooie lange, fijne rode haren, helder blauwe ogen, een prachtige egale blanke huid met rossige wangetjes van de kou of haar ginger bloed. Ze had een ook prachtige lengte, een hoofd kleiner dan hij was. Ja, als hij haar zus niet was geweest, had hij wel anders naar haar gekeken. Al keek hij zelfs nu wel eens stiekem op die andere manier naar zijn adoptie zus. In feite was hij toch niet haar broer, anders was hij zelf wel Lord van Hillerød geweest. Niet dat hij dat wilde, maar het was wel zo. Als hij echt een zoon van Halldor Skarsgård en Celesse Skarsgård was geweest, was hij nu de Lord van Hillerød geweest.

De kamer van Freyja was een typische kamer van een noordeling. Vloer bedekt met huiden en vachten, een haard die brandt. Niet te groot, zodat het makkelijk was om de kamer relatief warm te houden, al moest je toch altijd goed gekleed zijn om ook echt warm te blijven. In het hoge noorden was het belangrijk om warm te blijven, anders kan je wel vergeten dat je zou overleven. In het hoge noorden was het ook belangrijk om goed te kunnen vechten, want andere groepen mensen zouden altijd bleven azen op wat jij wel had en zij niet. Hier in Falkreath was het overleven, ook als Lord of Lady. Niks niet luxe luizenleventjes zoals in Valyria of iets dergelijks.

Zodra Feryja haar ogen op hem gericht had stapte Morton naar binnen en sloot hij de deur achter zich. Hij liep naar één van de stoelen, ook bedekt met huiden en ging zitten. Morton legde zijn zwaard op zijn schoot en richtte zijn heldere ogen op die van zijn zus. Qua ogen hadden ze inderdaad echte broer en zus kunnen zijn. Morton droeg echter een andere achternaam en had toch andere ouders. Hij was een Svartsson, voor zover hij wist een uitgestorven familienaam, op hem na. Feryja begroette hem door hem broer te noemen en Morton glimlachte. "Why would they say such things?" Reageerde Morton snuivend en trok zijn wenkbrauwen op. "They're ought to have more trust in a smart, clever Lady like you," sprak hij en grijnsde vervolgens. "Besides, you've got some strong and good people behind your back, like me," vervolgde hij en zijn grijns werd nog een tikkeltje breder. Hij gaf haar adviezen en vocht voor haar en hij zou alles doen om haar te beschermen en alles goed te laten gaan. Want ook al was hij adviseur, hij was ook goed met zwaarden, pijl en boog, messen en bijlen. En hij hield er van om zijn werk uit te voeren.

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Morton eyed his sister, searching for any troublesome signs. He wondered if she'd always tell him when something was going on. His number one priority was to protect this young woman. And though she was young, she was potent too. There was no need to feel constantly worried and he knew that. He was mostly worried about the men setting their eyes on her. She was single, virgin, for as far as he knew, a beauty and a Lady. For a single male searching for some power, she was the perfect target. And that worried him. He was a male himself, he knew how a man's brain worked, how his instincts worked and what they craved for.

Morton sat down, laid his sword on his lap and looked at his foster sister. He'd greeted her and asked her how she was doing and she'd reacted rather sarcastic. He'd answered with a question, because he really wondered why the other Lords expected such foolish things about her. Of course he could see that it was a special situation. A rather young woman becoming a Lady, father gone, brothers gone and a depressed mother, with only a bastard brother and a foster brother left. Yes it was a special situation, but they forgot that Freyja was a Skarsgård and that she was raised by her father. So Morton said that they had to have more trust in her, because Freyja was a smart, clever woman. And she had strong and good people behind her back, which included Morton himself. He was her adviser and protector.
And then Freyja started answering his question and comments. He kept silent while she spoke, gathering the right words to react with. His own gaze softened while she spoke and for a moment her eyes found his. She said that she was lucky with people like him, on which he looked amused. "You certainly are," he replied. "Give those Lord's time, you know how they work, they have to see first and then they'll start believing it," he said. "But when they threaten you, tell me, ok?" He wouldn't let his foster sister be threatened. Not only his sister, with that they threatened the whole of Hillerød. Freyja continued and Morton fell silent again. Morton narrowed his eyes while she spoke. She might've been raised by her father, she was never supposed to be a ruler. And now she was. "Dear Freyja," he began while bending toward her. "You are a true viking-lady, and you are strong. The gods have trust in you," he spoke directly looking in her eyes, laying his hand on her knee. And then Freyja told him that their bastard brother was training her. He rose an eyebrow and grinned, "and you didn't ask me first?" He said exaggerated. Then he laughed. "You know I'm a better fighter than he is, right?" He continued, with other words, he wanted to train her.

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Morton was glad that he had some kind of a family. Yes, his foster mum hated him, but he had a sweet darling foster sister and a foster bastard brother whom he liked. His family meant everything to him. Morton still wondered what his life would've been if he'd never been taken away from his own biological, now death family. Maybe the stories his foster father had told him, weren't true. Maybe he would've been a strong ruling viking over his own lands and waters. With a wife and a living family. But he'd decided to believe his foster father and if his family had lived and he'd lived with them, his life would've been one big hell. He would've been a whole different person. Respectless and ruthless. When he went on a raid with his men here, he was quite ruthless, though he kept some respect, especially for women and children. So maybe Morton was quite ruthless, only when needed, though.

Morton told Freyja to give the other Lord's some time. They'd to see her for the woman she was, the powerful strong viking Lady she was. So she had to be patient. Trust comes with time. And Morton trusted Freyja to uphold what her father had built, from alliances 'till trading partners. He also believed that she'd expand what her father had built, that it could only become better. Feryja wanted the best for Hillerød, Morton knew that for sure.

His expression became pleased when Freyja nodded on his words. She had to tell him immediately when someone threatened her. Or Lord or not, it didn't matter to him, when she was threatened he had to know. He was not only the protector of Freyja, he was also the protector of Hillerød itself. When The Lady of Hillerød was threatened, Hillerød would be indirectly threatened too. He listened while Freyja spoke and knew it was nice to have someone who actually listened to you. When she'd told him about how other think of her, he bended forward, laying his hand on her knee. He spoke about the gods, in which Freyja reacted quite severe. As if she was surprised in an unpleasant way by his words. Morton leaned backward and narrowed his eyes. "Of course nobody does, but I like to believe that it's so," he reacted mildly. "Thinks happens for a reason and when the boat sank, the gods knew that you would become Lady, right? Thor, the god of thunder and storm knew," he continued and sighed.

Finally their conversation got a more sober, rather enjoyable atmosphere. He grinned while Freyja spoke in a teasing way. "Well, I'm still disappointed that you didn't ask me first to train you," he objected with melodramatic grievous expression and gave her a soft shove with his feet. He told her that he was better than Athelstan, on which Freyja reacted that he mustn't become cocky. He definitely could get quite arrogant, sometimes. Morton knew he was a good fighter, and not easy to defeat. When the following words came out of Freyja's mouth he laughed again, though he appreciated her concern. "I didn't say that I'm the strongest of them all," he retorted. "I might be one of the strongest, though" he continued with a thoughtful glance. Then his expression became soothing, because she was right, especially about the last words. "You wouldn't lose me that easily, dear sister, and I would never underestimate my opponent," he ensured her. "But, what about me training you, too," he then continued. He liked to see what she'd already learned. And it wasn't a bad thing to have to teachers.

OOC: My late night posts are the worst, sorry~

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