Warriors don't show their hearts {open}

Morton had multiple weapons. A tall, long sword, an axe, bow and arrow and some small knives. Those knives came out handy when you seemed to be out of weapons, you could surprise your opponent with them. If you were a good thrower, you could also throw them in the chest, leg or wherever you wanted. Small knives were always handy, as a tool and as a weapon. And in times like these, you could better be at your fittest, especially when no-one seemed to be trustworthy. Men were having their eyes on Freyja, his younger foster sister. She was a beauty indeed and he understood those men, but those men weren't only longing for a beauty of a wife, also for power, maybe mostly for power. Ever since the boat sank with his foster dad and foster brothers on it, men came to Hillerød like sharks to a bleeding man in sea. Morton narrowed his eyes and grabbed the axe. He liked his foster sister, more then he would admit and it made him frustrated that all these men were preying on her. Men from all over Falkreath.

Morton left the great hall en stepped outside into the snow. He walked to the place where wood lay to be cut into pieces. It was a perfect exercise, but also a perfect way to abreact your emotions. He grabbed his axe with a single hand and put a piece of wood on the tree trunk, with a single swipe he slashed down his axe and cut the piece of wood in two. The pieces of wood were perfect for fireplaces to heat up the hall and rooms. He put another piece of wood on the tree trunk and slashed it in two with a grunt. And so he went on and on, releasing his emotions in a manly way.

Morton couldn't stand the thought of his sister lying with another man in her bed. When the thought, the image came into his mind he slashed again with his axe, both pieces of wood flying away at both sides. His beautiful sister, with her beautiful red hair, being used because of her beauty, because of her kindness, and mostly, because of her status as Lady of Hillerød. Morton never thought why the idea touched him so much. It was kind of normal that men would try to get a place beside her. Every Lady needed a Lord, right? But when it came to Freyja, it felt wrong. Another piece of wood was cut into two with a fierce blow. He was so scared that the worst would happen to her, that the man she'd choose would be the wrong man and that he would try to pick her place, setting her aside and threaten her. That she would be beaten whenever she didn't listen, but that her bruises would never be visible and that she'd stay silent about it. He grunted again and two pieces of wood fell to the ground. He stopped and sighed. What could he do to protect his foster sister? He prayed to the gods that all those bad scenarios would never happen to her.

The voice of a woman asked him what those logs had done wrong to him. Morton turned around to take a look at her. A rather beautiful lady with ginger hair and a wolf at her side. Morton narrowed his eyes a bit. "You don't know how these logs spoke to me, ma'am," he reacted and a small grin decorated his face. "And why not use full force while cutting them? It makes us stronger, you know," he followed then. He walked toward her and eyed the wolf. "What a prodigious wolf you've got there, ma'am," he spoke. Morton knew that the wolf didn't like him, didn't trust him, though, there was no need for it. He wouldn't harm a woman, not when she didn't ask for it. The woman and the wolf were the reason that his troubles about Freyja had left his mind. These were the perfect distraction for now.

OOC: Mijn Engels is ook echt niet perfect hoor, mijn woordenschat is nog aan de kleine kant en oefening baart kunst, plus, ik kan je post gewoon lezen, dus t is goed genoeg en zeker niet slecht ^^

What would he do, what would he do when he found out that his foster sister was mistreated? He'd probably kill the perpetrator, slowly, and he'd make him suffer. Morton prayed to the gods that all these scenario's in his head would never happen to her, to his dear foster sister, Freyja. He eyed the pills of chopped wood and knew that there was enough firewood for the time being. He sighed and stopped with the wood chopping.

The voice of a woman attracted his attention and Morton turned around to see her. A ginger woman with a wolf at her side. She'd asked him what the logs had done wrong to him, on which Morton replied that she didn't know how those logs had spoken to him. She answered that it must've been rather rude, what those logs had said. "Indeed," he reacted after which he rumbled a short laugh. Morton came closer and examined the wolf, who seemed to find it irritating. Morton found it still impressive to see such a wolf at the side of a young woman. So he gave a remark about the wolf. The woman followed his gaze and chuckled, after which she excused for the wolf who was rather grumpy. A chortle left his mouth. The woman explained why the wolf was that grumpy and again he chortled. "Poor wolf," he commented. The woman laughed and ruffled the wolf, who let out a growl and left. "Grumpy indeed," he noted. Then the woman introduced herself with the name Athena. Morton placed the axe on the ground and leaned against the wooden handle in a casual way. "The name is Morton Svartsson," and now she knew that he was the foster brother of Lady Freyja Skarsgård and that he was the adviser and protector of Hillerød, something to be proud of. Also, his surname was a known one, though he was the last one to carry it. His biological family used to be a powerful group of fierce and fearsome vikings. Morton didn't know if he was proud to be a part of that name, though, he didn't really care either. Athena asked for what's on his mind, on which his eyes narrowed a bit. "What's on my mind is not your business," he replied calmly. He wasn't going to tell his thoughts, nor was he going to make something up. "You're not from here," Morton then concluded, rather curious. He knew that she wasn't from here, because most people knew each other in Hillerød, since it wasn't that big. And if you didn't know the name, you'd recognize the face. And he didn't recognize hers.