Page 35 of Heart of the Mountain King

"In fact, I was worried that if I didn't come track you down before Mistide's end, I'd find you were already halfway up the trail to that mountain of yours. Maybe before they even finished opening the doors, winter or no."

He… wasn't wrong, actually. Grom had gifted Sten a set of snowshoes on his last visit, and the quarry wouldn't be open until spring. The thought of spending another season here alone, shivering in his cottage, when instead Sten could be wrapped up warm with Rask?

At this point, Sten didn't even have to look up to see the Hall’s inner doors in his mind; he'd stared at them long enough the past six weeks, dreaming of the slopes that lay beyond.

Sten looked anyway. He couldn't help it.

"Here, let me see that," Pa said. And when Sten glanced up, it was to find Pa holding out his hand for the snarled-up wool.

Fingers numb and uncertain, Sten handed it over.

"Good thing you didn't ask your mother for help," Pa said, turning it over this way and that as he plucked the strands apart. "Don't tell her I said this, but the one she gave me was absolutely awful. Used it as the strap on my creel just so her ribbon would look better in comparison. Meanwhile there’s her showing off my work, wearing it as a belt until it finally wore through.” Pa’s eyes flicked up to meet Sten’s, humor sparkling in their depths. “Vára’s Oath; if I didn’t start catching more fish whenever I took that basket out with me, though."

A small smile stole across Sten's face. "Do you remember that yellow hat she made me when I was little; the one that'd only cover my left ear?"

"Do I?" Pa shot Sten an aggrieved look. "Who do you think spent half of Mistide teaching her how, and fixing things when she had to frog her rows? No — your Ma's a smart lady, but the domestic arts have never been her strong suit. That's alright though. Takes all kinds to make a village, right?"

"Uh…right," Sten said, watching Pa bring order to chaos in the form of loose and tidy loops, before winding the remains of the skein into a ball.

"So, this bergsrå of yours…"

"Pa," Sten protested, unable to look away from the ball of wool forming in his hands. "You don't — "

"I'd like to meet him."

"What?" Sten stared at his father.

"I'd like to meet him," Pa said, meeting Sten's eyes. "You've been hiking up there to see him every chance you get for going on… What, nearly two years now? I figure he's got to be a pretty interesting…person, to keep my son coming back up there for so long."

"Three," Sten corrected him, flushing hotly. "Four this summer. But it's not like I can just ask him to dinner."

"Why not?"

"For one, he's…very big, Pa. The house is going to be a tough fit. And two, he's a bergsrå. You don't think someone in the village will have a problem?"

"Honestly? I think seeing him, getting to know him as a person would do everyone here a lot of good. Between you standing at his side and the amount of booze and confectionery your mother is likely to push on anyone within shouting range, I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't become an annual tradition."

"The Festival of the Mountain King," Sten mused.

"Oh, now you've gone and done it," Pa said, throwing up his hands in mock despair. "You've named the thing. There'll be no stopping it. Your bergsrå will have no choice but to come visit our village again so everyone can sing his praises."

"If only," Sten said wistfully, eyes falling on the ball of blue wool.

Pa looked at Sten strangely. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Huh?"

"I think you've been going up into those mountains too much maybe," Pa said, shaking his head. "Truth is, the whole town would throw your bergsrå a fete if they thought he'd come to it."

"They…would?" Sten blinked. "They won't be scared of him?"

"Well, I can't deny a goodly number might show up just for the thrill of it," Pa admitted. "But the official reason would be as thanks for saving the quarry. You wouldn't believe how often Ojson talks about it. Claims it should be a local holiday."

"With you and half the village spending it in his pub, I'd imagine?"

"Now who am I to deny that poor man a kind ear when he's talking about his dreams for this town?" Pa asked, giving Sten a wink. "And if he just so happens to have a spare pint going begging here and there, well, it's only neighborly I help him with that too."

Sten sighed. "The skull inside the door is the thing that killed Rask's mate, Pa. I can't see him setting foot in the place even if he somehow managed to fit."