Fljótdís- Daughter of the North

by Sanita Trumpika

  She smiled. There was a god in her bed, as beautiful as Baldr and as strong and brave as Tyr himself. This god slept so calmly that she couldn’t bring herself to wake him. When he woke up, he would leave. Her wounds began to ache again, but the hurt of them was nothing compared to the pain his leaving was going to cause her. It was the only thing that clouded the memories of last night. Never in her life had she felt so wanted. With this man, she truly felt like a woman, a woman who was able to love a man in return.

  But they were both bound by their duty to others. She was a loyal protector of her King and Kingdom. And he was one of his Earl’s best warriors. They both had obligations.

  Erik opened his eyes and looked up at her like a little boy. “Am I in Valhalla?”

  She gave him a playful smile. “For that to be true, I would have had to kill you.”

  He kissed her breast and rose up to take possession of her lips. She so wanted to feel him inside her again, but they were running out of time.

  He sat up and looked around for his breeches. “I must go soon. I want to take you with me.”

  Her words turned defensive. “You know that’s not possible.”

  He kissed her forehead, ignoring her mood. “I know. At least I tried. Will I see you again?”

  Her smile was gone now and she looked away. “Who knows?”

  He laid down beside her again. “I will take these memories with me. Memories of your body.” He trailed his finger between her breasts and down the length of her lean belly and kissed the tattoo on her thigh.

  “Your taste,” his fingers found tender territory and she drew a sharp breath.

  He leaned down and kissed her there. She wrapped her hands around his neck and melted into his kiss.

  “You are making me crazy.” His words were hoarse with desire.

  She gave him no mercy. “There’s a way to cure that.”

  He rose to his knees. “I don’t want to go.”

  She sat up and stroked his cheek gently. “Then stay. Serve a king instead of an earl.”

  He smiled sadly and shook his handsome head, denying her request.

  She was back to wanting to hit him again. “You are a damn bastard, do you know that?”

  He became very serious. “We will meet again, goddess. And next time we meet you will become my wife.”

  She snorted at the idea, knowing it would never happen. It was the foolish sort of thing men said after they had had a woman. But if there was any man in this world that she could marry, it was this one.

  She watched as he stood up and reached for his tunic. In the morning light, she noticed a different set of long scars across his back. These were not scars of battle but of something else. So many questions, and no time for any of them. She took her dark green cape from the floor and wrapped it around herself, watching every move he made as she tried to memorize everything about him.

  He came and kissed her again. It was as rough and passionate as the kiss at the Great Hall so long ago. But this was not the time for memories. It was time for reality. She walked to the door with him. The sunlight blinded their eyes. Another kiss and he strode out across the field.

  “See you soon, Commander,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  She watched him disappear into the forest and wrapped her cloak tighter around herself in protection against the biting chill she now felt. She had been left alone many times in her life but never had she felt so bereft of comfort and warmth, so vulnerable and unprotected. She shivered hard.

  This was something her weapons could not defend against. This was what other women felt. Her longing for sisterhood with others of her own sex dissolved and the old coldness descended over her again. Her whole body ached and it was all she could do not to give in to tears of pain. But that was not her way and she would not surrender to weakness. She would stand her ground as she always did.

  From the other side of the forest she saw Ingrid coming, holding a small basket of delicacies. Ingrid gave her a warm smile that hinted nothing of her guesses about what might have happened the night before. “Good morning, my lady.”

  Fljótdís nodded in reply. “Good morning, Ingrid. You will have to help me to get ready, please.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Ingrid nodded and entered the house.

  Fljótdís gave one last glance at where she had last seen Erik. He was gone and she closed the door.

  Chapter 15

  Fljótdís crossed the corridor in the Hall and started outside. Her strides were slow and deliberate. A gentle but unexpected voice from behind stopped her.

  “All is well, Fljótdís?”

  She turned to find Astrid emerging from the shadows. Being Queen fit her nicely. Though still fragile, there was strength in her eyes now. She stood tall and proud in spite of being more like a prisoner here than a queen.

  Fljótdís gave her a small smile. “Yes, my Queen, all is well. Why do you ask?”

  Astrid’s expression was cordial. “You’ve seemed a bit distracted the last few days. Would you care to join me for a little walk?”

  At the very beginning, Fljótdís had not liked this woman. She was so small, so vulnerable and so patient when it came to Harald’s humiliations. But now, after so long, she felt sympathy for this poor woman.

  “Of course, my lady, I am at your service.”

  It was a beautiful, sunny morning. Fljótdís much preferred storms and rain, but for a stroll with the Queen, the weather was quite fitting. They walked in the direction of the market. The Queen took them at a leisurely pace and it was all Fljótdís could do to remain patient with their slow progress.

  The Queen adjusted her silk headcover to shade her better from the sun. “Forgive my inquisitiveness, but are you truly alright?”

  “Yes, my lady. I’m fine. It’s just a passing mood, a restlessness to be back in training. And how are you, if I may ask?”

  The Queen held her head high, but Fljótdís knew what kind of burden this woman carried.

  “I am doing quite well, thank you.” The Queen’s words had a hollow ring to them. “I am still alive after all, so I shouldn’t complain.”

  Dark memories of that night so long ago when Astrid’s father had betrayed and attacked them were still fresh, as was the memory of losing Ari in that terrible battle.

  “You were in no way responsible for the crimes that were committed, my Queen. You couldn’t have known that your father would perpetrate such treachery against us.”

  The Queen paused for a moment to consider some apples in a roadside cart. “And yet my husband thought differently. If not for you, I would be dead already.” She walked away from the cart empty-handed.

  “I only told him the truth, my lady, that you were not a contributor to your father’s deeds.”

  “You did it for nothing. As Harald says, I am useless. Many years and still I have not carried his child in my belly.”

  “I do not think he looks for a child, my Queen.”

  “Indeed. He already has enough bastards to built himself a second army. He can pick any one of them as his heir. Or, maybe you can give him one.”

  Fljótdís stopped and locked her gaze on the horizon. “My lady...”

  Astrid locked her arm through Fljótdís’and they continued their walk. “You know I do not mind. And you can give him what I can’t. I would rather raise your child as the next king than see one of those sons of Harald’s whores running around the Hall.”

  Fljótdís turned to Astrid. She didn’t want to imagine Astrid and Harald in bed. Astrid was so mild, so gentle. And Harald was a cruel man, rough and fond of causing pain. She had seen bruises on the Queen at the beginning, but soon Harald had found new entertainment, sleeping with every woman serving him. He wasn’t a man who was capable of loving anyone but himself. He wasn’t like Erik. She wiped thoughts of Erik out of her mind. This whole conversation was putting her on edge.

  “I promise you, there is nothing between us, my Queen, nothing.”

  Astrid inclin
ed her head to one side and her white gold locks fluttered in the wind. “And why should I believe that?”

  Fljótdís sighed but did not answer.

  Astrid drew in a breath in sudden revelation. “Your heart belongs to another man.”

  “My heart belongs only to war, my Queen.”

  The Queen’s smile was warmer now. “You can lie to yourself all you like, but I’m a woman and I see the truth. You may love war, Fljótdís, but you are in love with a man.”

  “Your pardon, my Queen, but that is not possible. And with your permission, I ask that we speak of other things.”

  Astrid shrugged and they continued their walk, speaking of less damaging subjects. The Queen always loved to hear about the lands they raided. She had seen only her father’s kingdom and where she was now, so she was hungry to learn everything about those foreign lands, their people, their customs. Stories about distant places made her time in this town a bit more enjoyable.

  They approached the harbour and watched the ships come and go, bringing new goods from the East. The trading season was in full bloom.

  The Queen looked at the ships wistfully. “I wish I could just step on a longboat and let it carry me out into an open ocean, far, far away from this place, to be free and without cares, to be the owner of my own destiny.”

  Fljótdís could empathize with the Queen’s desires. She understood the need for freedom and independence. And she understood the power of loneliness. It was something she shared with the Queen. The two of them were not able to nurture true friendship with the women around them. To speak openly was to court the possibility of betrayal or ridicule. It couldn’t happen for either of them. But they could talk to each other more openly because they both had so much to lose. There was an extraordinary feeling of sisterhood between them. And now, seeing the sadness in the Queen’s eyes as she watched the ships, Fljótdís wished there was something she could do to ease the Queen’s pain.

  “Would you do that if you were given the chance, my lady? Would you get on a ship and go wherever it took you, regardless of the consequences?”

  Astrid shook her head sadly. “I am a songbird in a cage, my dear. And that is what I must remain.”

  Fljótdís considered the ships before them. She spoke in strictest confidence. “I could help you leave this place forever.”

  Astrid gave her a doting smile. “And where would I go? Look at me. I was born to be nothing more than an ornament for a man of wealth. Were I to get on a ship, what would I do at the end, milk cows, serve mead in some petty earl’s hall? I am what I was raised to be, nothing more.”

  “You could change your destiny if you wanted it badly enough, my lady. Think about it.”

  With a last look at the ships, the Queen turned toward home. “We can’t all be warrior goddesses, Lady Fljótdís. And duty calls to us both. It’s time to go. The King will soon summon for his Council.”

  Fljótdís gave her a sly smile. “The King cannot wipe his own arse in a time of need.”

  Astrid laughed and shook her head. “You should tell him that one day. I would love to see his expression.”

  Fljótdís pressed her heels to her horse’s flanks and the white mare stormed over the foggy fields. Skodde had been a prize of war, given to her by Ulrik after a particularly deadly battle, and she had instantly bonded with the animal. It was not lost to her that Ulrik might well have seen her mother astride such a mount all those years ago. And for that reason, the mare meant even more to her.

  Her name meant “mists,” and it was perfect for her. It was an incredible sense of freedom to be back in her saddle, feeling those equine muscles pumping so strong and powerful beneath her. They were two of a kind, mares in a world of stallions, both of them battle-hardened warriors every bit as good as their male counterparts, in many cases, better.

  She loved these fields. They always brought back fond memories. But this time, it was not memories of her father that rode with her. Almost a year had passed since that beautiful and disastrous night with Erik. And even after such a long time, it felt like yesterday. The sensations were still so fresh. She had done everything she could to purge him from her mind and heart. Nothing had cured her of thoughts of his touch in the middle of the long nights.

  But now, at last, there was hope for her. Soon, they were going to head west again. It would be a long trip, one that promised blood. That was the one thing that made her feel stronger, the anticipation of battle. It helped to harden her heart and that was a very welcome relief.

  She stopped the mare and closed her eyes, breathing in the scents of the lush grasses and the trees. She would miss this place. The peace of it helped to clear her mind. It felt like something brushed her cheek lightly and she sensed a warm, all-enveloping light. But when she opened her eyes, nothing was out of the ordinary and she was alone.

  With a sense of loss, she rode back to town and tended her mare. There was comfort in caring for Skodde. She was of great value, both on the battlefield and as a kind of sister spirit.

  “Soon we will raid again,” Fljótdís whispered in the mare’s ear. “We will crush our enemies. We will listen to the songs of swords, you and I.”

  The mare shook her white mane and gave a restless neigh. She pawed the ground in agitation and reared back on her hind legs. Fljótdís stepped back. Skodde was an animal of war, not some skittish filly. For her to behave this way was a genuine warning.

  She stroked Skodde’s velvety neck. “Shh, all is well.” She sang to her softly. It was a song about tranquil meadows, wildflowers and waterfalls. She couldn’t remember where she had learned the song, but Skodde quieted.

  When she was certain Skodde was calm, Fljótdís made her way toward the Hall. But halfway there, she ran into an old woman who stepped into her path. The woman was dressed in a dark hood that looked to be as old as the world itself. She supported herself heavily on a gnarled and twisted walking stick. There was an unsettling familiarity about her.

  “Your pardon, madam.”

  Fljótdís was uncomfortable about this encounter and she started to walk away. But the old woman grabbed her hand.

  “Wait, my lady. I see a huge calamity coming. So much sorrow and pain! Great loss. Darkness will drown you, warrior woman, and it will put you in chains.”

  Fljótdís tried to twist free, but the woman’s grip was incredibly strong. She didn’t want to draw her sword against this ancient crone, but it was time for this to end.

  “Let me go, crazy woman. I have no time for your nonsense.”

  The old woman released her hand and shook a finger in Fljótdís’ face. “If you leave all of this behind now, it will save your life. Go into battle and it will be the last one for you. Mark my words well. Have a care! You serve the Hounds of Hel!”

  Fljótdís tore free and hurried toward the Hall. When she turned to say something, the old woman was gone. A hard shiver ran down her back. She was letting down her guard. The mad words of some old hag meant nothing, she assured herself. She had just been the victim of a lunatic. If she started listening to the ravings of every village idiot, she would be useless to everyone, including herself.

  As she entered the Hall, she ran into Ulrik. His dark eyes locked on her with interest and concern.

  “All is well, my lady? You look like you could use a horn of mead.”

  She straightened and put on a strong expression. “Yes. Fine. Has the gathering started already?”

  “Not yet, but there is someone who has returned and would ask for a word with you.”

  Her heart’s rapid beating betrayed her hopes badly, but she kept her facade stoic. The man who approached her was not the one she expected. This man’s red hair and beard could be seen from a distance.

  “Helgi!” She smiled in warm greeting.

  He came and hugged her so tightly that it stole her breath away.

  “Helgi, you are killing me.”

  He freed her, his ruddy cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “Forgive me. Just glad
to see you, girl. I mean, Commander. It’s been a while.”

  Ulrik was not fond of all this display. “Only a year,” he muttered to himself.

  “One long year.” Helgi smiled and poked his brooding friend. “I missed your sour face as well, bastard.”

  “By Ymir’s frozen balls! Helgi!” another loud voice shouted from across the Hall and Fljótdís rolled her eyes. Hakon and Helgi hugged each other. They were all together again.

  “Welcome home, my friend!” Hakon clapped his friend on the back. “Did you wear out all of the Earl’s girls?”

  Helgi laughed and even Fljótdís had to smile. The only one who wasn’t here was Ari. But he now drank and feasted with Odin in the Halls of Valhalla, laughing about his crazy friends.

  Helgi tucked his thumbs in his belt proudly. “The Earl’s girls were nice. He had one with the tits of a giantess. But I truly missed this place.”

  Fljótdís couldn’t resist. “Tits of a giantess, eh? I’m sure your wife will be anxious to hear all about this.”

  Ulrik snorted. “Agnes will have your balls for such talk.”

  Hakon agreed. “Especially since your wife’s tits are of a good size, too.”

  Helgi narrowed his eyes at him. “And how would you know about my wife’s tits, you son of a one-eyed sow?”

  Fljótdís had to laugh. Even the brooding Ulrik smiled. These two were always at it. And she had really missed Helgi. It was like old times and it dawned on her how much she had been missing this, how much she needed this. Helgi and Hakon circled each other as the contest continued.

  “Can I not admire your wife’s tits while you fuck giantesses in another village, Helgi?”

  “You better have kept your admiration inside your breeches, or you’re a dead man. ”