What had been a feeling of ambitious recollections upon his arrival to these shores, quickly turned sour with the proceedings around him. It was a bitter taste upon Bodvar’s tongue, one that he knew well ( he had swallowed bile for thirteen winters, when thought or word of this place was given toward him ). Aye, he had done what he held desire to do – best Hrethel at his own game, but the lives of his men were at stake. His pride bruised from such little care granted toward him, and his men. They were to aid in this war upon their doorstep – and yes, food and drink aplenty were shared, ( not by his own lips ) but no words. Bodvar and his men remained in the corner they always had of society, stared at – pointed at, but never embraced, nor spoken to. He had been a fucking fool, to expect anything more. Especially from these shores.
He had half a mind to ignore the voice calling out to him – if it were not for the words he was greeted with. Bodvar’s jaw clenched as he turned upon heel toward the direction the voice came. Their king abandons his promise, insults them and their presence here by remaining in his chambers – and now they are offered these words? It was good he had gained experience in such affairs, otherwise his weapons would already be drawn. His men however, were far more restless, and silenced by the raising of his hand.
But he would not be silent – not as he was sure, Hrethel would have it. ❝ — I am no Lord upon these shores. A bastard only, in title and name. Such is evident by the absence of your King. ❞ Would that he could only leave them all to their accursed fate, sooner. It took an ounce of consideration, for the lives of the men at his back, to choose his words carefully. Yet, their edge would not be dulled. They were outnumbered here, yes. That was true – but a berserker can favor no greater odds. If a fight should transpire, he would lead them from these shores, to victory. But all things of this matter cross his mind only, and there is a pause before he responds to the words that wound as they settle.
❝ Do all Geats lack honor enough to not keep their word? ❞
In truth, Beowulf had little regard for their sort. If what he had faced in Zealand was anything to compare, than Beowulf was not surprised that their leader had chosen to throw aside established loyalty and replace it with insult. GRENDEL was a crazed beast in need of being put down and should the need arise for Beowulf to do so again, he would. Without a doubt.
His gaze fixed itself upon the Norwegian leader as he replied to Beowulf’s call out, but instead of appearing to react to insult with disdain all the prince did was let out a boastful laugh to which the hall pleasantly reacted to in suit. ❝ -- OUR KING is absent only in order to make himself presentable for the feast, friend. He offers you not only food and mead but a roof over your hand and a gesture of welcome so grand even the KINGS OF OLD would don it worthy. Yet it is you, the BASTARD of Norway, who turns his back and threatens to DISREGARD ALL HONOUR because you cannot sit patiently. ❞ the tone of his voice, once gentle, now bore a semblance of venom in the end of every word. Yet Beowulf had always been brash, especially in his youth, and did not think to realise the DAMAGING effect this might have on Geatland’s relationship with their newfound company. Thankfully, Hygelac knew his nephew better than perhaps himself.
❝ That is enough, BEOWULF! ❞ The elder called out, pushing through the crowd as to stand by his nephew’s side. A fierce gaze glared at the youth and the moment Beowulf caught wind of it he pulled back his AGGRESSION, like a wounded child scolded by harsh words from a parent.
❝ I apologise for my nephew, but he means only to point out my father means you no insult. KING HRETHEL will be along shortly, if you would be wait a moment longer than all misgivings may and will be responded to. ❞
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