Sometime during the afternoon, Ulf found Hardrada sitting in the Royal Gardens, crouched over on a marble bench, studying an orange as if it were the most amazing thing in the entire world.
He sat down next to his old friend and breathed in the thick perfume of jasmine. “I often wish we could take this with us.”
Hardrada raised his head, “Eh?”
“This place. I wish we could put it on a ship and sail it back home.”
“The winter would kill it.”
“Aye, but the summer, Harald…” Ulf shook his head. “Of all the places I have been, this is the one I will forever keep in my heart.”
“You sound like a poet.”
“Do I? I thought that was you? I"ve seen you writing, scribbling down the words. Whenever you"ve a moment, in the aftermath of a battle or … a love affair … that"s when you write.”
Hardrada
