Fljótdís- Daughter of the North

by Sanita Trumpika

  Above her was a strangely familiar ceiling. It was covered with carvings she had seen before. But where? Memories of this place came flooding back and joy filled her heart. She was home. Her home. Father must be here. She turned her head cautiously to find a woman sitting next to her bed, murmuring something over a cup with a smoking drink inside. Her heart sank.

  “Irena.” She had wanted to say it strongly, but it came out as only a whisper.

  Her stepmother gave her a practised smile. She was dressed in rich silks and velvet as always. The years had been uncommonly kind to her, as had the King.

  “Ah, there you are, Fljótdís. You’ve decided to return to us at last. You’ve caused us all a great deal of worry, naughty girl.”

  Irena made it sound like all of this was some selfish stunt she had done to get attention for herself. The mists clouding her mind began to recede and in a flash of remembrance everything came back to her in shades of blood and battle, victory, the pain and Erik. She had no idea if Irena would give her the truth, but the questions would not wait.

  “The battle... Tell me the truth, the war has been won? I must know!”

  Irena brought the cup close to her. “Yes, yes, calm yourself, child. We won, thanks to you. Now, you must take your tea.”

  Fljótdís regarded the cup with open scepticism. “What’s in it?”

  Irena’s smile was as sweet as honey. “Don’t be so suspicious, my dear. It’s simply some healing herbs. They will give you strength and help your wounds to mend. More importantly, they will help you to sleep.”

  Fljótdís frowned. She didn’t like the sound of this. Just how long a sleep did her stepmother have in mind for her, an eternal one? She pushed the cup away and found her voice at last.

  “I don’t want to sleep, Irena. I’ve had enough of it. And I want you to go away now.”

  She felt uneasy and vulnerable. She had no strength and she was unprotected against this woman. Irena was a witch, and if she wanted revenge for the death of her son, this was an excellent opportunity for it.

  Irena sighed, turning the steaming cup absently in her hands. “Such a stubborn goat. You never did know what was good for you, even as a child. I told Gunnar you would always be a problem. But there was no convincing him to make you abide by the rules.”

  Fljótdís had had enough. The mere sound of her father’s name on Irena’s lips made her wish her sword was within reach. It was unclear to her how long she might stay awake and lucid. There were things she needed to know about the battle, the King, and where things stood with Torvaldson’s defeat. Even as she was, she was still their Commander. There was no telling what Irena might have gotten away with pouring down her throat while she was unconscious. Her evil concoctions could as easily kill her as cure her.

  She tried to sit up, but the pain sent her back down again. “I said go, Irena!”

  The door opened and Erik gave the pair of them a look of questioning concern. Fljótdís sent those very blue eyes a genuine welcome.

  “My stepmother is leaving now, Erik. I have no need or desire for any of her potions, not now, not ever. Show her to the door, if you will.”

  Irena rolled her eyes and started for the door. She gave the cup to Erik and whispered intimately in his ear. “Make sure she drinks this, warrior. It’s for the good of us all.” She patted his hand a bit more affectionately than was appropriate and left in a cloud of costly perfume.

  Fljótdís groaned with a mixture of pain and relief. “You have saved me from a fate worse than death yet again, warrior.”

  Erik set the cup down on the table near the fire. His eyes came to rest on the bold wolf insignia above the door. It was identical to the one on her thigh and on her battle shield. He sensed that this was a symbol of home and protection for her wherever she went in the world, no doubt a talisman passed down to her from her extraordinary warrior father, such a strong and unbroken heritage of combat and courage. It was a perfect complement to the extraordinary tattoo of the Valkyrie that always flashed on her sword arm when she was in battle.

  “I should go, too, Commander. You need to rest.”

  She wanted to tell him just how much she wanted him to stay, but her head was still in a haze and she needed to be very careful about what she said until she had time to sort everything out. She chose her words cautiously.

  “I’m sure you have duties to attend to, but first, I require a report of where things stand now.”

  “Tell me what you wish to know, Commander.”

  Talking was exhausting her, but these things had to be dealt with. She nodded for him to sit down and he drew a chair over to her bedside. His eyes were too intense for her to handle right now, so she trained her attention toward the fire on the hearth, the hearth of her home. No man had been in her house since Ari. She should have felt protective, defensive having Erik in this her personal sanctuary. But somehow, it felt very natural to have him there.

  Her mind was wandering, undisciplined, and she did her best to sound focused and businesslike. “What is the status with the men? What are the battle numbers?”

  Erik looked to be considering whether she was ready for this information.

  “Report, warrior.”

  His gaze came to rest on the cup on the table. “Almost a hundred fell, my lady. And more than a hundred suffered serious wounds. But most of the wounded have received attention and returned to their lands and their Earls.”

  These heavy numbers hit her hard, but there was nothing to be done about it now except to see to it that the families of the lost were well cared for and that the wounded received the best of help. Her mind was being slow and uncooperative and once again, she had to wonder what Irena had been feeding her. And the pain... She did her very best not to let it engulf her, but it was relentless and cruel. She needed to ask after the safety of Ulrik, Helgi, Hakon, so many. Her mind began to wander down a long and agonising path. What did she need to ask him next? Think.

  “Where is the King?”

  Erik shifted restlessly. “The day after the battle, King Harald rode to Torvaldson’s Kingdom. It was his intention to purge all who were loyal to Torvaldson’s legacy on pain of death. But it seems that Torvaldson was not liked. Those he ruled were glad to have him gone, so the clean up was quick. Torvaldson’s power was lost along with his head.”

  Images of the battle filled her mind’s eye, the largest image that of King Harald holding Torvaldson’s severed head high. Harald had been reminded that the potent intoxication of power was far greater even than that of his beloved wine. The question was how far would this new intoxication take him?

  “Has the King decided where he will have his seat of power now? It will be costly to oversee Torvaldson’s Kingdom and maintain their loyalty from afar.”

  “The King has said that he wants everything to remain here. He will disburse the conquered lands between his loyal Earls and allies and return here.”

  She shook her head slowly, trying to fight back the thudding ache behind her eyes. “I should have been there. I should have kept watch over how things were done. I fear the King will make wild and unwise decisions during all of his celebrations of victory. How long was I unconscious?”

  Erik stroked his beard, unsettled over the memory of all that she had been through. “Nine days. You were in delirium for four days and there was some talk that the arrows might have been tainted with poison. Then for the next five days, you laid there so very still, as if the Valkyries had already taken you from me. I mean that they had taken you from all of us. We all need you, Commander.”

  She wished to the gods that she could clear her head and that her body wasn’t so tormented with pain. He had accidentally said something important, and she wanted to understand and appreciate it for what it was. She had spent so much time and energy fighting against her reactions to this man. Even now, she couldn’t let herself give in to all that she was feeling toward him. But she was coming very close to it. Could there be more to her life than blood and
war?

  She chanced to look at him. “You would be foolish to worry about me.”

  He squared his shoulders, uncomfortable with the idea of sentiment. His sight remained trained on the cup on the table. “Perhaps you don’t realize how serious your wounds are. I—that is, we were all praying to the gods for your recovery. Your leadership is what brought us to victory. You are needed.” He seemed to lose the power of speech.

  “Needed? I see. I remember you from before as being far more talkative than this.”

  Incredibly blue eyes turned to her and she saw the old mischief in them. His smile was as bright as the light of thousand torches and it poured warmth into her broken body, a warmth she was nowhere near to being strong enough to take advantage of. He gave her such a look of pride and satisfaction that she couldn’t help but smile.

  “So, you remember me after all?”

  She considered him with a mockingly serious expression. “I’m not sure. There is something familiar about you, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I might need some reminders.”

  Erik looked heavenward. “Oh, gods, woman! Why do you enjoy teasing me this way?”

  She couldn’t help but give a little laugh and it brought tears of terrible pain to her eyes and a groan of agony. “Is this madness killing me? I want the truth. No lies, do you hear me? Tell me if I’m dying!”

  Erik looked at her with genuine concern. “You caught three arrows. Lost a lot of blood, but Irena says you’ll be alright. You just need some time. And her cures.”

  She held her aching side against the pain. “And if I don’t want to just lie here helplessly while my stepmother feeds me slow poison?”

  He walked to the table and tossed the contents of Irena’s cup into the flames on the hearth. A loud hissing rose as the liquid met fire.

  “When it comes to the rest, you have no choice. With your stepmother, she will have to get through me.”

  The white mist began to wrap around her again. It was calling, taking her to some calm place where there was no pain, no sorrow or fear. But now, she didn’t want to go. There were things she needed to do. And she wanted more time here, more time with this man. He came to stand beside her, but she was having a very hard time making her eyes focus on him. Things were becoming like in a dream.

  “I will let you rest now, my lady.”

  With all the strength she had left, she grabbed his hand.

  “Please, I ask this of you, keep Irena away from me. Find Egileif. She’s a Healer. The only one I can trust.” He began to fade from her sight and it made her feel enormously powerless and alone as she began to slip back into the mists. It was the best she could do. “The only one....trust...you.”

  Erik squeezed her hand gently as her eyes closed and she melted into a deep sleep. “I will find this Healer of yours. And I swear on my sword that I will keep you safe, my la--. My...Fljótdís.

  “You must not overdo things, Fljótdís.”

  Egileif gave her patient a look of stern warning as she helped her with the ties of her armour. The Healer was a tiny woman with long, dark hair and bright green eyes that held no mercy for her stubborn charge.

  “It has emptied my shelves of herbs and medicinals to get you this far. Not a week ago, you still flirted with death. I will be very disappointed in you if you undo all of my hard work now, do you hear me? You cannot expect to go back to your duties without giving yourself more time. Things have been in such disarray without your steadying hand. It won’t do for you to put yourself back in the furs for using poor judgment with your own well-being when your return is so important.”

  “Yes, yes, whatever you say, Egileif. But I am going to the feast, not the battlefield.”

  Egileif looked deeply into Fljótdís eyes. “Be careful, my child. Your wounds are healing well, but you need more time. Even just a little more time.”

  “I’ve heard your advice, Egileif, and I will respect it. But only till the full moon. You know that my duty is my best cure. I hate sleeping in bed all day long doing nothing.”

  Egileif wrapped the beautiful dark green cloak around Fljótdís’ shoulders fondly. “I’ve done my best for you. And now I will pray to the gods that you will have the good sense to take care of yourself for the sake of us all.”

  Ingrid, Fljótdís’ servant shieldmaiden and a person of trust, put the sword belt around Fljótdís hips gently, knowing that the wounds were still very tender and vulnerable. She stepped back and smiled “You look wonderful, my lady, every bit your old self.”

  Fljótdís smiled back. She held her head high and ignored the pain that still snarled at her with her every breath. She was dressed in her best armour. Her hair was done in an elaborate style with many small braids at the top of her head that extended down and joined into a one, long heavy braid that brushed her waist. With her sword at her side and her eyes burning bright with the anticipation of rejoining her army, she was a breathtaking sight.

  Ingrid linked her arm with Egileif’s and beamed with pride. “You look like a queen, my lady, a true warrior queen.”

  Fljótdís smiled her thanks. Her good health and quick recovery were the reason for the celebration tonight. It wasn’t about the King or the victory in their latest battle. King Harald had decided to hold a feast to honour her for her help and for bringing them victory. It was a victory that had almost cost her her life.

  With Ingrid at one side and another shieldmaiden at the other, Fljótdís crossed the corridors. It was a long walk, the longest she had done so far since the injury. The wound to her leg slowed her from her usual swift pace, but with sheer will, she kept her strides even and steady.

  It would have been wonderful to sit down and gather herself for a little while, but that was not an option and she had no intention of showing any hint to anyone that she was not a force to be reckoned with once more. The guards greeted her with hails and smiles as they opened the door to the Hall for her.

  The Hall, which had been ringing with noise and celebration, fell utterly silent. All eyes were on her. She stood in the doorway proudly, looking invincible, powerful, and in charge. Here was the proof they all needed to know that she was back, whole and herself. She smiled and the Hall erupted in cheers, whistles and hails till the walls trembled. The King and his Earls all stood and clapped with true respect.

  As she moved forward through the crowd, no one dared to touch her. After the battle, there had been some speculation that she was a favourite of the gods. And with her survival, the word “immortal” had even been whispered a bit. They still thought of her as one of them, but things were different now.

  As she walked toward the King, she remembered the first time she entered this Hall dressed in her armour. That day she had asked for one chance. She had been so young, so inexperienced, little more than a child who thought that everything would be laid at her feet.

  Now, here she was, entering this Hall like a conquering queen. But her true conquest was not about a war between two selfish kings. It was about the war in her heart that she had won at last, a battle for recognition, respect and loyalty. It had been a war in which men had mocked her for her courage, where for all too long she had been humiliated and in danger as she returned to her home each night.

  Her real victory was in the fact that now she could look every man in the Hall directly in the eye and know that she could beat them all, bring any one of them to his knees. She had fought among them now. They were good men, and she had no desire to bring them down. She wanted to bring them only more victories. But those victories would only be won while she was in command. They would only have what they wanted if she was their Commander.

  She reached the King’s table and nodded to each Earl and to the King’s fragile flower of a wife, Astrid. She smiled at the King slightly and he nodded back with a handsome smile. This was the man she used to know, tall, gracious, powerful, like the kings from olden times.

  Harald came around the table and stood in front of her. She bowed her head sligh
tly. Harald took her hand with an air of chivalry as if he were presenting his next wife. He turned to the crowd and his was the voice of authority.

  “When this woman first came into the Great Hall, she was a young, fierce girl, little more than a child, who in spite of her lack of experience and age was a courageous fighter. She came in dressed in armour with her head held high and proud and she defeated the best fighting man my armies had ever seen, may he feast forever in Valhalla.” He lowered his head for a moment as memories of Ari visited many in the crowd.

  “Tonight she entered this Hall again, not as an inexperienced girl, but as a proud, fierce, skilled and respected warrior revered by all in my kingdom and beyond. For she is the one who has brought us to victory time and again. She is my most valued and trusted warrior, the Commander of my armies. All hail Fljótdís!”

  The crowds were on their feet and they raised their drinking horns as one.

  “Hail, Fljótdís! Hail, Fljótdís! Hail, Fljótdís!”

  The King escorted her to a place of honour at his table as the shouts and cheers grew even louder. He turned to her and raised his goblet of wine.

  “To you, Daughter of the North.”

  The feast was wild with drinking, singing, and raucous boasts of bravery. Everyone sang her praises and wanted to exchange a word with her, especially the young women who now had hopes of one day fighting with their idol. For the first time in her life, Fljótdís really enjoyed this feast. As fierce as she was in battle, she never failed to show kindness toward those she served.

  The King was enjoying yet another goblet of wine as he talked endlessly about his next ambitions. She listened with polite interest, but all the while her eyes wandered through the crowds, searching for the one person she had not seen at these festivities.