[center][color=RoyalBlue]Geirlaug Åsmundottir 
Jarl of the Broken Hammer Clan[/color][/center]

The doorway to the Kings Hall, like everything else south of the Northlands, was made for folk a good deal shorter than Geirlaug Åsmundottir despite it's two wide halves that could easily accommodate a horse drawn cart. She was forced to bend sharply at the waist to enter the hall and the Queens Guards took a visible step back as she straightened to her full height, and then passed one of them her long sword which was nearly as long as he was tall. Then her shield, two axes, and short sax, a blade the length of a regular long sword. They went into the pile with all the rest, no weapons but those belonging to the Queens Guard would be allowed in the Hall. Drunk Broken Landers and weapons did not go well together.

The Hall was filling with other lords as she took a seat toward the rear, looking toward the main dais where the throne sat empty for now. She had come alone, save for the Brazen Sword representative, she drew enough attention without two hulking Jotunn at her side. 

Evar Varvudda, Jarl of Sentinel and Master of Askan, was to the right of the throne on the lower floor drinking, but not excessively she noticed. No doubt his desire to become the next High King would be tempering his attitude at the moment, better to have sober allies than drunk enemies.

She stretched out her long legs as she sat against the rear wall. The Broken Hammer Clan would not bring coin, great wealth, or a thousand ships to either side. Their true value lay in their feats of strength and arms. The Broken Hammer had never known a day of peace, waging a constant war with the savage creatures of their homeland and the hordes of Pale-men. 

"Mead, m'lady?" A voice spoke at her side and she turned slightly to see a blonde woman offering her a mug of the beverage. The mug was hardly of any size in her hand and she noticed the simple silver band about the girls neck, a household slave. 

She grunted her thanks and took the mug, draining it in one quick slurp before passing it back and waving the girl away. It was unlikely they made any drink here strong enough to even put a dent in her sobriety. She continued to look about the hall, trying to remember faces, and preparing for what was to come.