In the evening time, they all sat around the fireplace after the evening meal. Their stomachs were full from the roast they consumed. Full of potatoes, pork, carrots, and lettuce. All grown from the springs farms.
“Are you ready to hear?” Mimir asked, sitting on the floor, with his three children, smiling. His wife sat nearby, knitting once again.
“Yes!” Their children shouted, excitement filling their minds. Their faces were red from the calming fire. The spring nights were still chilly, while their days were hot and often muggy.
Mimir began telling the story of his days traveling across the sea. “…We set our course far from our origins: me, my father, and my two uncles. We traveled long distances,” he said, smiling as his children looked on with amusement. Their faces blushed with excitement at the story.
“…Across the ocean. Further, than most would dare venture. We encountered storms, waterspouts, and other lands. Far from our small home in Santoki. I was young, only a mere ten years old. As old as you, Tate,” their father said, pointing toward his eldest son.
“We visited lands like Greenland, England, and even Oslo. We traded with the people of the lands we visited, and carried their supplies onto other lands. We were merchants selling and buying things from others. Over the years, our crew became bigger, our one ship turned into three,” he continued, moving his hands about, exciting the children even more.
Their faces continued to blush with joy and imagination. “We meet many people on our journeys. From farmers to lords - traders to slaves,” Mimir’s face became sad as he lingered on his last word. He put his hands together, nervously, feeling the permanent scar that sat on the top of his hand. A wheel branded into his hand.
He remembered his children and wife sitting nearby. “What’s wrong father?” Tate asked, appearing concerned.
His father smiled softly. “Nothing,” he said. “Now where were we?” He asked. “That’s right. We even met pirates,” he said, as he heard his children gasp.
“This scary!” Gamela yelled. “I want to hear about England, pa!” Garth shouted, still remembering the lands his father said he visited.
“Me too!” Tate shouted, supporting his brother.
“Alright, alright. I’ll tell you all about England. But I’m afraid there’s not much to tell about it,” he said, scratching his back with his hand. “All I can say is, we went there to sell things, and the grass was lovely. The cliffs as we sailed in, were calming. There isn’t any place quite like England from what I’ve seen.”
Later in the evening, Mimir sat near their fireplace, thinking of the situation at hand. His thoughts consumed his mind. He looked near him where his sons, Garth and Tate napped, their sleep is likely peaceful from the stories they heard of their father’s adventures. Likely mostly true, however, some Mimir made up along the way to make his life more meaningful.
Mimir looked down at his hand, to see a wheel picture branded into his hand. After all these years, it still hadn’t managed to fade. The mark of a slave no doubt. No matter the amount of time that passed, it still served as a reminder. He wore gloves day in and out, drying his skin. But there were always times like these when they weren’t needed.
“Gamela is sleeping. Let’s put Tate and Garth to bed as well,” Mimir heard his wife whisper.
He changed his expression into a smile to not worry Gefion as he picked himself up and held Tate to take him into their room. His wife followed behind with Garth in her arms as they walked passed and into their shared sleeping place, a Refeogensto. They lay them down together in their shared bed.
Mimir looked at his sons. Both resemble their mother more than he does. No dark hair nor brown eyes. He would be lying if he said he never questioned whether he was their true father.
Mimir closed their Refeogensto door as Gefion exited it.
Gefion and Mimir went to sit before their fireplace together. They both sat in their peace as their children slept not far from them.
She sighed from exhaustion. “I always wondered how people have five of them,” she said, chuckling.
Mimir laughed back. “I suppose they’re never busy enough.” He exhaled before continuing. “Besides, most who have those are more poor than we, they need more working hands.”
She nodded. “Or the wealthy, so that they always have someone to continue the line of heirs,” she spoke.
There was silence for a moment while both took in the warmth of the fireplace, heating their bones. There was nothing more special to them than moments like these shared between the two.
“Do you remember during Hestoven, when it was so cloudy we couldn’t even see the moon?” Gefion asked suddenly.
He nodded, remembering the scenery of that day. The moon completely blocked the full-blown moon before it retreated back further.
Gefion chuckled. “It was the worst Hestoven yet. But when we got back home, we had the most delightful chicken roast we ever had,” she continued. “I’m going to go and sleep now, love. Good night,” Gefion said while she smiled. She kissed her husband’s head and went to their Refeogensto.
Mimir sighed after she left and allowed his anxiety to affect his physical well-being as he was left alone.
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