[center][h2][color=a36209]Gwillim Gunnvaldr[/color][/h2][sub]Husband of [color=E3a777]Scyrvensrel Talyrrth-Gunnvaldr[/color] [@Amethyst] and [?] of [TBA] [@"?"]
Interacting with: [color=E3a777]Scyrven[/color] [@Amethyst][/sub][/center]
That evening, saw Gwillim polishing the armor his mate liked to wear. She intended to use it for the tourney tomorrow and he wanted her to look absolutely striking. His own armor had been carefully seen too before the journey and was standing on a rack in the courner of the room glinting from the shadows, as Gwillim worked by the light of setting sun. He wore a pair of thin cotton trousers that came to his knees, with a plain broad leather belt, while he worked. His wife was seeing to her hair at the moment with several attending slaves. He was careful to wipe away the grimey dust of the road, and courtyard below, a smile dancing across his lips as he recalled the match they'd had. Alfhildr had apperntly been challenged by a boy a few summers older than her, a fool of a lumbering ox, strong in muscle, sinew and bone, true. Alfhi had trounced him handily by all accounts, using her speed and wits to outmaneuver the bigger boy. Gwillim was quiet proud of his girl for that. Her first challenge, unofficial though it was, and she'd won easily. He was oiling the leather now, and working the tough hides in his thick calloused hands. The scales were of excellent quality, taken from some of the more vicious creatures hiding in the crags of the Spine Mountains. Those mountains were impassible to Gwillim, no matter how many paths he tried to cut, something always stood in his way. It was a wonder that Drakken had ever found a way across. 

Still, it wasn't Geminia that Gwillim wanted access to, no he wanted the trail of the Anathos. The legendary warrior swarms that had been threat enough to unite all drakken. But their trail lay across the spine from his family's lands so there was nothing he could do about it. he would try traveling south this year, searching for his own path to the Anathos. Gwillim checked the clasps and straps next, if one these failed it could cost him his wife, and she was worth far more than a hundred brides. Even if she didn't find him appealing, she understood him, and he her. True it wasn't everything he'd hoped for, but... it was still so much more than most got. He would not begrudge her for liking the company of other women more than his. So long as she was willing to fight with him, he would be content. He looked forward to the paired tourney tomorrow. Most of the younger Drakken disdain the paired tourney, thinking the reliance on a team mate to be weakness. But the king valued it all the more, as it showed which of his Drakken lords could work together, could set aside difference for a common goal, no matter how briefly.

Satisfied that the armor was spotless and ready for the tourney, he hung it on it's own rack. Stepping back he did a quick check to be sure that all their gear was there, and it was. He then went to the small balcony attached to the room to enjoy the last of the sunset, that glowering eye that reminded them all of the mother's hatred for her first children. He liked watched the hatred fall below the horizon, hoping that one day, the eye might see the land for what it was. That the mother might remember the works of her own hands, and forget her hatred. But it was just a dream, and he knew it. So he turned his mind to the opponents he and his wife would likely face in the tournament tomorrow. 

[hider=Summary]Gwillim checks all their gear for the hundredth time, and wonders who they'll face in the arena while Scyrvensrel dries and tends to her fiery mane.[/hider]