Fljótdís- Daughter of the North

by Sanita Trumpika

  “And this is said by a woman who lets the King fuck her whenever he pleases in the name of her ambition. Do you think anyone in this camp has forgotten what you did to be given this rank?”

  She hit him so hard he lost his balance. “Get out of my tent, you son of a bitch! Get out!”

  Erik spat out the blood and left the tent without another word, leaving Fljótdís alone with her anger.

  Of all the wounds she had received in her life, nothing compared to this pain. A man she still loved thought of her as nothing but a whore. Was that what the others thought of her as well, the shieldmaidens, even the men she commanded? What had the King told them all about her? She had been cursed the day she went to the King’s bed.

  She tossed the mead pitcher in the direction of tent’s entrance and it smashed to pieces. Her clothing was thrown aside carelessly and she slid into her furs. There was no hope for sleep now. She listened to the raucous celebrations outside, feeling more alone and isolated than she had ever been.

  Of all the things she had lost in this life, the idea that she was not truly respected by anyone in this camp was the biggest loss of all. With a few simple words, she had been robbed of everything, and it brought about a sorrow like no other. When silence finally overtook the camp, she let sleep defeat her.

  But even her rest held no mercy. She opened her eyes, her every instinct on the alert. She didn’t remember any nightmares, but something made her wake up in fear. Someone was in her tent. She grabbed the dagger under her pillow. A shadow stood next to her bed. She smelled the mead on his breath, too much mead. She could easily cut the intruders throat, but...

  She sat up, the dagger still firmly in her hand. “I told you to leave!”

  Erik’s voice was hoarse from drink. “I can’t leave.”

  He made a rough and drunk move to grab her. She fought her way out from under him and kicked him hard. He rolled off the bed, groaning in pain and she got up and lit some candles.

  And there he was. The great warrior, the love of her heart, drunk, miserable and dirty, looking as if he had come straight from Helheim. He sat up, growling in pain like a wounded bear. He looked so helpless and Fljótdís prayed to the gods to help her to not feel pity for him right now. She couldn’t allow herself that.

  She wrapped the furs around herself securely. “What did you think, that you could take me by force? I would have killed you and you know it.”

  “Never by force. Your body is a thing to be worshipped. But it would have been better if you had killed me.” He tried to stand but had no luck. “Your hatred will kill me anyway.”

  “You’re talking like a drunken ass, Erik. For Odin’s sake, what am I supposed to do with you now?”

  She needed a drink herself but saw the remains of her mead pitcher on the floor. She spat a curse and paced the floor as he sat with his head hung down. He made her crazy. She loved him and it hurt to see him like this, but the pain he had bestowed on her was far worse.

  He covered his face with this hands. “I am sorry for what I said to you earlier. I was angry.”

  She crossed her arms and looked down at him. “So, you’re sorry, but you still believe what you said is the truth.”

  He looked up at her and those blue eyes threatened to destroy every resistance in her heart. But she forced herself to remain under control.

  He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t believe it. I believe that you were born to be a Commander and that you’ve earned every honour fairly and with courage. But you don’t know what it does to me, to think of you with another man, any other man. It tears me apart. It destroys me. I ask for your forgiveness, even if I can never forgive myself.”

  She wasn’t sure what to believe. But she knew she couldn’t go on pretending to hate him when every fibre of her being wanted nothing more than to be with him. She hoped that if she said words of forgiveness, she could believe them herself.

  “Alright, alright, we’ll say no more about it. Not that you’ll remember any of this in the state you’re in. But my body is my own. Never forget that.”

  Erik took her hand in his, his bloodshot eyes earnest and filled with hope. “Marry me.”

  “What?”

  “Marry me.”

  She tried to calm her heart and maintain perspective. “You’re drunk.”

  He dared to lean closer. “I’m drunk because of you.”

  She pushed him back and he growled in pain as if she had wounded him. It was then that she noticed that the white tunic across his shoulder was red with blood. She couldn’t be sure if she had made contact with her dagger during their struggle.

  “Gods, did I injure you?”

  He shook his head and hit his fist to his chest. “Only here.”

  She rolled her eyes. Men. It was impossible to talk with a drunken idiot. He was like a small child.

  “Take off the tunic. I need to see what’s going on there.”

  She dressed quickly and put her dagger into the coals of the fire. She left the tent, returning quickly with Ingrid who carried a bucket of water, clean bandages and new candles. Erik still sat as she had left him, looking like a miserable beaten bear, his tunic still on. Ingrid gave her a questioning look.

  Fljótdís shook her head disparagingly. “Don’t ask. Go find one of his men and tell him to come here.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Ingrid left on her mission.

  Fljótdís knelt down beside Erik. He looked at her helplessly and she removed his tunic to find many layers of torn cloth tied on his shoulder. They were soaked in blood. She had seen thousands of wounds in her life, and she knew this one did not look good. She smoothed the hair back from his face and realized he was burning with fever.

  She pulled away the bloody cloth with care. It was serious. “Why didn’t you take care of this? You know better. Does it hurt very much?”

  He shook his head. “I feel nothing. But your touch.”

  A young man requested entry from the outside. Fljótdís gave it. She remembered him from the training camp before the battle with King Torvaldson. He regarded Erik with real concern.

  “Olaf Gunvaldson at your service, Commander. He feels no pain because of all the mead he drank. Ingrid told me you wanted to see me.” His attention returned to Erik. “How bad is it?”

  She pushed Erik down in the furs and he closed his eyes. “He has had better days. I’m glad he’s too drunk to feel anything. That will help. What happened?”

  Olaf watched as Fljótdís skillfully cleaned and examined the wound. She retrieved her dagger from the fire and placed a strip of leather between Erik’s teeth so that he wouldn’t crack his teeth in case he was not as drunk as he claimed. She pressed the burning blade to the injury, cauterizing it, and Erik groaned low in his throat as if he were living through a nightmare.

  No stranger to injuries himself, Olaf nodded his approval of her ministerings.

  “We have been in this land for almost a year, Commander. Earl Einarr wanted to explore this region. We made a settlement here. But it all turned into a bloody war with the locals. Very few escaped. In the last battle, Erik was wounded badly. For three days, he didn’t wake up and we thought he was waiting for the Valkyries. He was...”

  Fljótdís looked up at him. “He was what?”

  Olaf was clearly feeling a bit uncomfortable and unsure about what his loyalties demanded.

  “Your pardon, my lady, but he was calling for you, day and night. It was the fever, I suppose. In time, he improved some and it was decided that we would return to Einarr’s lands. But on our way, we met a man who said that King Harald was attacking a village not far away.”

  “I knew you would be there.” Erik’s words were dreamlike and distant.

  “You’re a bloody idiot,” Fljótdís said to him, but there was no malice in her tone. With the wound cleansed and cauterized, she put on some healing herbs that also helped to sooth the pain a bit and rose to her feet.

  “He will stay here tonight, Olaf. With the morning lig
ht, you’ll help me get him to my ship and afterwards to my house. He will stay there till he heals completely. And you will stay with him, understood?”

  Olaf nodded dutifully. “Thank you, Commander. He is like a brother to me.”

  She was not in the mood for soft words. “Then take better care of your brother next time.”

  Erik’s breathing was steadier and his eyes a bit clearer as she looked down at him. “Sit up so I can bind your shoulder. Olaf, you can go.”

  Left alone now, she bound his shoulder securely and turned to put the herbs away. But he grabbed her hand. “Fljótdís, I meant what I said.”

  She freed herself from his grip and washed her bloody hands in a bucket, unsure exactly which words he was talking about.

  “We will talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Damn it, woman, don’t you hear me? I want to marry you. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  She pushed him back down into the furs and just this once, he was too weak to resist. “Tomorrow. Now sleep, or I’ll knock you out.”

  She was grateful to see that Ingrid had brought a fresh pitcher of mead during all of this. She filled a horn and drained it without pause, quickly filling it a second time as she regarded Erik. He was already sleeping.

  It gave her heart joy, just to watch him sleep. And if he asked her again to marry him tomorrow when he was sober? How could she say yes? Just then, he whispered her name in his sleep. And how could she say no?

  Chapter 17

  Hakon was very unsatisfied with the results of the meeting.

  “I’m still hungover from our celebrations over the last battle and now the King wants us to go again and a bigger battle this time?”

  Helgi clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Stop moaning, Hakon. We will do what we must do, right, Fljótdís?”

  Fljótdís nodded, but her thoughts were not on their next battle. They were on the man who was recovering in her river house. It had been only two days since they returned home. She had had to attend the King, so she had sent Ingrid and Olaf to help Erik settle in the house.

  She hadn’t gone to see him there. There were not many things she feared in this life, but she was afraid to find out if his words had been nothing but drunken and feverish delirium. She was also afraid of what it would mean if he still felt the same way sober. In her heart, she was ready to commit to him. But in her mind, there was so much uncertainty.

  “Have you gone to see him?” Ulrik broke into her thoughts.

  She said farewell to Hakon and Helgi and turned to Ulrik’s unrelenting gaze with a shrug.

  “No. I’ve been busy. But Ingrid said he is healing well.”

  Ulrik gave a little snort of reproach. “Why are you torturing yourself, Fljótdís? You love him, he loves you. It’s not so complicated.”

  She looked away. “It is complicated, Ulrik. I am a warrior.”

  “Marrying him won’t change that. I talked to him on the ship. That man wants to marry you. You know countless warriors who are married, Fljótdís. It’s not forbidden by some sacred law. I’ve never known you to be a coward.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t talk about this. I have to go.”

  She rode out of the village at breakneck speed, desperate for relief from all the questions in her head. But even the freedom of riding Skodde didn’t bring her peace this time, and she turned the mare around and headed toward her home. It was time.

  “Bloody bastard!” she cursed into the wind.

  When she arrived, everything was calm. She took a deep breath and entered the house. But the only people she saw were Olaf and Ingrid who were having a quiet meal. She gave them a questioning look.

  Olaf pointed toward the back of the house. “He’s outside. Wanted to get some fresh air.”

  She found him sitting on the river bank, watching the waters flow by. But what she saw was not that miserable man anymore. Now he was clean, strong, his hair shining in the sunlight. He even had his sword in the grass beside him. He was once again as he had always been to her in her heart. How could she not love this man? When he turned to her and gave her a dazzling smile, she felt a wave of heat surge through her body.

  “Good morning, Commander.”

  She flinched at the title, but came to him and sat down, letting the presence of his sword keep a distance between them.

  “How is your shoulder?” She kept her sight trained on the river.

  “It’s fine.”

  She was close enough to smell the mead on his breath. It was not as much as before, but she had to wonder if drunkenness was now a habit of his. Was it to ease his pain, or simply who he was?

  “You’re drunk again?” Her question held no mercy.

  Erik shook his head. “Just a few cups of mead.”

  She hardly knew what to think anymore. Gods, they were like two strangers. Maybe it had not been a wise decision to come here. They had nothing to say to each other.

  “Well then, I will leave you to your mead.” She stood up, ready to leave.

  He grabbed her hand and winced from the pain. “Please, stay, just for a bit.”

  She stared down into those blue eyes and sat beside him again. “Say what you have to say. I can’t take this.”

  “Why didn’t you come to the house for so long?”

  She tossed a small stone into the water. “I was busy.”

  “So busy that you couldn’t come and see me for a single moment?”

  She tossed another stone, harder this time. “You didn’t visit me for a whole year, remember?”

  Erik rubbed his aching brow. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you? You will always hold it against me, no matter what I do. Yes, I made mistakes. But is there no room at all for a second chance?”

  The bitter pain rose up in her heart. “And why do you think a woman who lets the King fuck her in the name of ambition would care about second chances for anyone?”

  Erik bit out a loud curse. “You know I didn’t mean that!”

  She searched his eyes for the truth. “Do I?”

  He leaned closer. “I would never think of you like that. People say terrible things in anger, Fljótdís. Please.”

  It was ripping her apart. “Why did you come back? Was it to destroy my life, Erik? Did someone put you up to this to ruin me? Why did you have to come into my life at all?”

  “What if I told you the gods sent me, just as they sent you to me?” He touched an adoring kiss to her lips and her mood softened.

  She raised one eyebrow. “So, we are going to blame the gods for this?”

  Erik smiled. “Who else? Fljótdís, will you forgive me?”

  She gave him a long look. If she was honest with herself, in her heart she had forgiven him two days ago when he collapsed in her furs. The question was whether she could say it to him. It left her feeling vulnerable. But with this man and only this man that was alright.

  He pressed his moment of advantage. “And more...will you marry me? My feelings since that night have not changed. Be honest with me. Have yours remained the same?”

  It would always be this way with him, she supposed. She would always be halfway between wanting to punch him and wanting to lie down before him and welcome him inside her. It was not surrender. It was love. She had to speak from her heart this time.

  “I don’t know how it could ever work for us, Erik. I will not give up who I am, what I am. Do you understand that? We serve different leaders. There will always be a distance between us. It would never be a true marriage.”

  He took her hand gently. “I do not ask you to give up what you are or what you do. I just want to fight side by side with you, share our blood on the battlefield. And if I die, I want to die knowing that you are my wife.”

  She stood up abruptly, her heart in turmoil once more. “I cannot afford this. Soon you will get better and leave again. Who knows for how many years this time, two, four, ten?”

  He stood up and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Now, listen to m
e. I am going nowhere. At least not without you. Besides, I serve your King now.”

  She took a step back. “You serve Harald? How?”

  “I received a message from Earl Einarr this morning. He says I am more useful here.”

  Something was not right about this. She touched his arm. “Look at me, Erik. What happened?”

  He kept his sight on the distant mountains. “He wants to get rid of me. Einarr heard about the attack in the Saxon lands. Many people are not satisfied with the Earl’s decisions and he fears that...”

  She finished his thought for him. “He fears that they would follow you as their leader instead of him.” It was not a situation she was unfamiliar with in her own experiences with the King.

  Erik nodded.

  “So, he freed me from my duty and threw me to your King. I spent so many years serving Einarr. My service held no value in the end.”

  Erik’s face brightened. “But it doesn’t matter because now nothing can keep me away from marrying you. All I ask is that you let me earn my own place. I do not want to be known as one who has earned gifts because his wife is the King’s Commander. I will earn my success with my own sword. Do you understand this?”

  She nodded. Of course, she understood. She would do the same. It was a question of pride, a warrior’s pride. He wanted to earn his place as she once had, with her sword and leadership, not in the King’s bed. She wondered if he understood that the words he had just said had brought back the earlier pain of his drunken accusations.

  She chose not to dwell on it because such thoughts would only leave her lonely again. And she wanted him even more than she wanted to preserve her own pride. But there was a question she had to ask and it might well end everything here and now. She ran her fingers lightly down the length of his sword.

  “For a man to marry with a woman says he has expectations of creating a family with that woman.” Erik shifted restlessly and she continued before he had a chance to respond. Surely, this had occurred to him. “I am in service to the King and for as long as that is so, I cannot bear children for any man, not even for a husband. Perhaps that seems unfair, but I must be loyal to my service and if that does not fulfil your needs, I will understand.”