Fljótdís- Daughter of the North

by Sanita Trumpika

  A little voice rose in her heart, telling her it was an insult for him not to be here at this celebration in her honour. Who was he not to come as everyone else had? But a second, stronger voice warned her that perhaps this was not an insult, but that something was wrong. It shouldn’t make any difference to her. But it did and she grew restless at the King’s table.

  Ulrik was speaking to the King. When he finished, she caught his attention and gestured subtly for him to come to her. He actually smiled and couldn’t resist a little tease.

  “It’s good to see you. We were all complaining about what a long and difficult job it was going to be to find a replacement for you since you had become a spoiled lady of leisure. I like this better.”

  She smiled back, but her thoughts were elsewhere. “You can put such worries to rest, my friend. As you can see, I’m back.” She made sure the King was occupied in a different direction. “Ulrik, where is Erik?”

  He gave a nonchalant shrug, but there was a touch of mischief in his dark eyes.

  “Getting ready for tomorrow, I suppose.”

  Fljótdís filled her drinking horn, in no mood for games. “For tomorrow?”

  “Yes, he leaves tomorrow with his Earl. Said it is time to go. Said that you don’t need his services anymore.”

  Her heart dropped to her knees. She sent Ulrik back to the festivities and emptied her horn in one gulp. His services? He was going to leave without a word to her? All those days and nights as she was healing Erik had been there for her, close by, watching over her, even acting as her protector. And now he couldn’t even come to this feast in her name and say goodbye?

  Who did he think he was? He owed her more respect than this, even if he only thought of her as the Commander of the King’s armies. Her good mood was shattered and it brought back the pain. She had to get out of the hot and crowded Hall. At this point in the revelry no one would really miss her.

  She turned to Harald. “My King, I am truly honoured by all that you have done here tonight. But I fear I need a bit of rest. Would you mind if I leave now? I want to be fresh for tomorrow’s duties.”

  The King gave his consent with a regal nod. “Of course, Fljótdís. I need you well and able to fight again. Go and rest. We will keep your name in our songs tonight.”

  He watched her closely as she moved through the crowd, estimating the strength of her recovery and calculating her true value to him. She had been of extraordinary use to him and she was beloved by all. Perhaps even more beloved than he was. That didn’t sit well with him. It could be problematic.

  She gave everyone her thanks and bade them all a good night. Ingrid and several other shieldmaidens came forward, offering to escort her home, but she waved them back to the group where they had been celebrating. She needed time alone to process all that was going on in her mind.

  The cool night breezes were a welcome relief and she revelled in the joy of being in the open air again after so many days of confinement. Countless stars sparkled their brilliance above her and the lonely moon stared down at the fields and forests, illuminating the tops of the distant snowy mountains. Spring.

  It was a beautiful night, but far off on the horizon webs of light flashed from time to time. Thor was hitting his anvil again. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen a night that had not had a touch of Thor’s influence to it. It was going to be a long, painful walk home.

  When she drew near her house, she froze. In the pale moonlight, she saw someone standing down at the river’s edge. Out of reflex, she touched the Thor pendant at her throat as memories of another night so long ago rushed back into her consciousness. There had been two of them that night, and she had defeated them both. And in between then and now, she had beaten a thousand men. She was not the naive young girl she had been then. And even though she was not at full strength, she was never defenceless. She drew her sword, not making a sound.

  But her heart understood long before her mind did. It was Erik and it was all she could do not to call out to him in joyous greeting. She had been so sure that she would not see him again. But this was not a moment for joy. He had come to be finished with her. He was leaving, having no doubt grown tired of tending an invalid. She was no longer a prisoner of her wounds, but if he had tired of her, she would simply let him go his way. So why did all of this hurt so much?

  She sheathed her sword and started the long climb down to the river’s edge. Her leg was not up to this and she swiped away the tears of pain stubbornly. But when she stood beside him at last, he seemed too lost in the waters to notice that she was even there. His great mane of hair was not disciplined in the long braid of battle but fell loose and free over his broad shoulders and down his back. She sensed a great sadness, a loneliness about him. It was not the Erik she was used to, and after all the comfort he had given her, she wanted to be able to give some of it back to him. But her pride reminded her that he wanted nothing from her.

  “So, a great feast in your honour, I hear.”

  His words seemed to come from a great distance. He turned to her, and even in the shadows, she could see his sorrow.

  “Yes, but they will do fine with their celebrations without me.” She kept her eyes trained on the moon. The river was very calm tonight. “Ulrik says that you are leaving in the morning.”

  He folded his arms defensively. “Earl Einarr leaves tomorrow. And I with him. My work is done here.”

  She faced him squarely, impatient with small talk. “So, I am not even worth a good-bye?” His silence was thunderous in her ears.

  “I had my reasons...Commander.”

  Commander? So, it was back to this. The word cut her so deeply that she flinched. Commander. It was his way of breaking off with her. He was abandoning her, just as every man in her life that she had ever cared about had done, only this one was leaving her by choice instead of through death.

  They had all left her behind and he was no exception. She had been a fool and he was telling her that fact in no uncertain terms. It was time to hate him. She needed to hate him with all her heart. But how could she hate a man who made her feel whole again just by his nearness?

  “What are these precious reasons of yours...warrior? What offence have I committed that you could not come to my feast and share a horn of mead with me before you march away with your Earl?”

  Erik kicked a stone into the water. “Will you force me to say it?”

  She rubbed her sore shoulder, unsure of what to think. Were his words going to be so harsh and cruel that he couldn’t bring himself to even say them? “I don’t understand why you must go.”

  He walked several paces away from her. “I can’t stand to be near you. I thought if I stayed away from you, if I just left, it might be easier. Easier to...be done with you.”

  She felt tears rise, but she fought them back. Now was not a time for weakness and she planted her fists on her hips.

  “Gods damn it! Then why are you here?”

  He was slow to answer and she couldn’t take it anymore. She started up the hill toward her house, giving no quarter to the terrible pain in her leg.

  He caught up to her at the door and grabbed her wrist. She looked down at his grip and gave him a glare of real warning. But as it had always been with him, he took no heed. She brought her other hand to rest on the handle of her sword and spoke with lethal calm.

  “Let go of me or I will cut off your arm, warrior.”

  He let her go and she stormed into her house. She lit a candle from the glowing embers of the fire on the hearth and leaned against the table, her arms folded, her temper hot. He stood in the doorway, unwilling to stay, unwilling to go. She could see it in his eyes that he was making a decision. The question was had she made hers? He walked into the room and closed the door.

  She wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword again, letting him know that nothing was going to happen without her permission.

  He shook his head at her hostile stance. “I just want to say farewell.”r />
  “Then be quick about it. My patience wears thin!”

  She poured herself a horn of mead and downed a long drink. What the Hel did he want? Why had he even come here? He took a step closer, but she drew her sword in real threat this time.

  He was a warrior and he kept his eye on her weapon. “Kill me if it pleases you. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. But first, hear me out.” The words came from a very great depth, torn free from where they had been chained for so long. “My heart is yours, Fljótdís. It has belonged to you since that first day I saw you so long ago. Send me away, if it is your will, but my heart will always remain here with you, loyal, true, and loving until my last breath.”

  She set her sword down on the table. The battle between what her heart cried out for and what her head told her was not possible raged within her. He was declaring his love for her. Love was for dreamers, for fools, for silly maidens who lived on nothing but hair ribbons and fairy tales. She was a warrior, Commander, it was what she had given her whole life to achieve. As much as she needed this man, craved him, she couldn’t let this happen. It would end up destroying them both.

  Erik stood in front of her fearlessly now. He took her face between his hands tenderly.

  “Have I not proven myself to you, Fljótdís? Do you long only for kings and earls instead of a man of battle? Am I not good enough to deserve you? I need the truth.”

  The carefully constructed walls of her resistance were beginning to crumble, and she tried to make him see reason. “It won’t work, Erik. I’m not the kind of woman who can afford to love. I can’t love you or anyone.”

  He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her lips. Out of protective instinct, she pushed him back, but he held her tight. In that instant, it felt to her like he was demanding for her surrender and she hit him with all her strength. He stepped back, wiping the blood from his lip. His expression hardened.

  “Your pardon, Commander. This was a mistake, as I feared it would be. I should never have come. Perhaps you are right. You are a woman who cannot love anything but the battlefield. And for that, I will always carry sorrow for you.”

  She threw her drinking horn at him in anger. She wanted to kill him because he was telling her what she feared the most was true, that there was nothing for her in this life but war and death. Her heart was destined to wither and die in lonely isolation. She wanted so much more. She wanted him with every breath she took. But at what price? He started out the door.

  “Wait!”

  He froze in the doorway, unsure if she was just hoping for better aim at him. He had reached his limit and his voice was like steel as he turned back to her.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Her heart was thrown into absolute desperation. This moment was about to be lost. She was about to be lost if she didn’t do something that went against her every instinct of self-protection. She crossed the room and looked up into those impossible eyes of his. Right or wrong, this was going to happen.

  “I want you to stay.”

  Nothing more needed to be said. He kissed her like one who had been banished to a dark wilderness for all his life who was only now finding the shining light of home. To her surprise, it didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like redemption and sanctuary. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, mindless of the pain from her wounds. That pain was forgotten as their kiss deepened. It was a moment of ultimate danger that promised ultimate reward. There could be no turning back.

  She quickly undid the laces of his tunic and threw it to the floor. Even in the dim candlelight, his countless scars looked like a map of the world, a living history of every battle, every wound, every brush with death, every victory. She understood these scars better than any other women could because she had earned such scars of her own.

  His chest, back and arms were adorned with elaborate tattoos, tangled symbols of the gods, a stunning raven, a homage to Odin, and numerous legends of the North. There was a thoroughly masculine beauty to all of this, but the one that intrigued her the most was the one she only glimpsed as he pulled his hair back off his shoulders. It was a symbol the size of her palm at the base of his neck, a pattern of three simple, broad, interlocking triangles, something that would not be commonly seen by others. She was very curious about this unusual mark, but she had other things on her mind at the moment. This man had the blood of the Warrior Gods running through his veins and it set to flame her desire.

  He struggled with her many layers of leather and protection and smiled. “I’m not used to taking the armour off of women.”

  Taking pity on him, she stepped back and swiftly freed herself from her garments and boots. She deftly loosened her braid so that her hair fell loose over her shoulders and breasts.

  There she stood, revealing her heart and her body to this man, letting him see every wound, every battle scar she has gained over the years, just as he had done for her. She saw his gaze come to rest on the wolf tattoo on her thigh.

  “It is the symbol of my father’s house and the gods we honour.”

  Erik watched all of this spellbound as if a goddess were standing before his eyes. His mouth hung open in awe and with a warm smile, she tucked a finger under his chin to close it.

  “Fljótdís...you are...”

  She had no patience for words. She pushed him onto the bed and straddled herself across his lean belly with an air of ownership, letting her sex make full contact with his bare skin. Her kiss was fierce and it shook him. She slid her warm hand under his breeches and took a firm grip of his buttocks. He drew in a sharp breath at her touch and she smiled with satisfaction. But he recovered quickly and with one sweeping motion, he had her beneath him, his weight pressing her luxuriously into the soft furs.

  “It will always be a sweet kind of combat between us, I think, Commander.” He grinned and kicked off his breeches and boots. “Glorious secret combat in the furs.”

  The heated skin of his thighs touched hers and it sent a pleasant tingling throughout her body. She wanted this man. Her body was betraying her, revealing her need with the warm honey of a woman’s desire, but she didn’t care. It was time and he was the one.

  No longer satisfied with just her lips, he kissed her neck, her breasts, her firm belly. He was working his way downward to exactly where she wanted him to go. She wanted him to hurry, wanted him there now, quickly, inside her without games or teases, powerful and swift. Her breath came faster and she tangled her fingers in his hair, encouraging him, spurring him on. He kissed her gently at the juncture of her pelvis, then let his mouth take possession of her, pulling her in. When he slid his finger inside her, she moaned and arched her back, starving for more.

  He slid up the length of her and took her mouth again and she wrapped her legs around him hungrily, unwilling to risk ever losing such pleasure. He caressed the Valkyrie tattoo on her arm with reverence. In the distance, thunder cracked across the hills as Thor kept watch from afar. Rain began to dance across the roof, but they heard nothing except the sounds of each other’s rising pleasure. There was no thought of tomorrow or consequences. There was only this moment between them.

  He was not gentle when he entered her. There was no time for gentleness and she cried out at the welcome force of him inside her. At the same time, he kissed her softly, persuasively, coveting her every breath and move. But he needed to know the true depth of her. He moved slowly at first, each strong thrust deeper, each entry more demanding.

  He was driving her wild with these explorations and she dug her fingernails into his back, ready to scream if he didn’t go faster. To her shock and dismay, he started to withdraw and tears of anguish rose in her eyes as she feared he had changed his mind. How could she survive such deprivation?

  She heard him give a laugh low in his throat and with the next beating of her heart, he drove deep and hard inside her to the hilt. The breath caught in her throat and it felt like she might never breathe again. At this moment, that would be all right. She lifte
d her hips to meet him and he thrust into her again and again, each time smoother, harder, stronger and more determined. She wanted all of him to touch the core of her heart, holding nothing back. She wanted the ecstasy that only he could give her. He was deep inside her when without warning, he stopped. He looked down into her eyes, struggling for control.

  “You have my heart and my love, Fljótdís. Tell me you want this.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his mouth to hers, unable to bear it a second longer.

  “I want all that you can give, Erik.”

  He ran his hand along her thigh, committing to memory the glorious tattoo there, a symbol of everlasting power and the promise of Valhalla. His every light touch made her tremble with need. She breathed heavily with desire and he could wait no longer. He thrust hard and fast inside her, the speed and rhythm building like a force of nature itself.

  She pressed her pelvis against him and threw her head back on the pillows, desperate for release. He breathed her name as the warm seed surged into her, filling her to overflowing, proving that she was his alone. Her inner muscles gripped him mercilessly and held him a willing prisoner as her cries of ecstasy echoed against the rafters.

  He laid his head on her breast, breathing hard, and she stroked his hair softly. Their hearts still pounded. Even now, his every small caress sent another wave of pleasure through her. The man had magic about him, good magic. She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was ready to give him her heart, her soul. For the first time in her life, she truly felt alive. She felt loved, cherished. This was a night she would never forget.

  Thoughts of the contraceptive herbs she had taken earlier came to her. She was grateful for their protection against the power and potency of his man, but a very small portion of her rose up and told her that there might come a day when she might not wish for protection from what his love might do. She brushed such mutinous thoughts away, but they would not retreat completely, especially while he was there in her embrace.

  He slept in her arms while she kept the watch, their bodies still tangled in chaos. The bright morning sun came through the small, high windows and illuminated his body in all its glory, his broad shoulders, strong arms and muscular legs. The soft light played along his battle scars and made his long hair shine in all possible shades of golden brown. She chanced another glance at the tattoo on the back of his neck, but he stirred and she let his hair fall.