Fljótdís- Daughter of the North

by Sanita Trumpika

  The dream changed. A beautiful woman emerged from the flames, dressed in golden armour and holding a golden spear in her hand. The woman walked through the inferno as if it didn’t exist. She knew this woman. A Valkyrie, the one who hadn’t visited her dreams for quite a while.

  But this time, there was no warm smile. The Valkyrie’s face was clouded and dark, not with anger, but with worry. Her black hair danced around her beautiful face as she walked forward. But when she was so near that Fljótdís could almost touch her, the Valkyrie vanished, leaving nothing but blinding light.

  She awoke to find only darkness in the room. Erik slept calmly next to her. It was a simple joy to hear his strong and steady breathing. Cautiously, she slipped out of bed and grabbed her cloak on her way outside.

  It was an hour before dawn. Far off in the mountains, Thor was crashing his hammer, illuminating the sky with bolt after bolt of energy and light. The air was fresh with a promise of rain. The waters of the river flowed by, singing their gentle night songs. A loud crack of thunder sounded from the hills, echoing through all of Creation.

  Erik was the Earl’s nephew. Moreover, he was the heir to the title by right. And now his life was in danger. It wasn’t enough that she had to protect the King. Now she was duty bound to protect Erik as well.

  For all these years, nothing had held her back. No one had defeated her because she had no obligations other than her duty, no distractions or complications. With Erik’s coming into her life, everything had changed.

  Before, she had had nothing to lose. Now there was Erik. If she lost Erik... But he was a proud man. And a foolish one to think of protecting her from harm when it was she who must really do the protecting. She needed him to accept her, not just as a wife, but as an equal, a friend, a sister in arms. Would his warrior’s pride ever permit him to do that?

  It was a strange sensation to feel herself longing for a bit of peace. Peace was not what she was born for. It was not her calling. She couldn’t continue to serve the King forever. And at that moment, she realized she wouldn’t want to, even if she could. She was duty bound to protect the King and she would continue to do so, but it no longer felt honourable the way it should. It was an obligation, rather than a privilege, and more and more often now, it was an obligation that rubbed her the wrong way. What mattered to her now was Erik, being his wife, a partner at his side, and most importantly, championing his battles. Things were going to get messy.

  She tried to imagine what her father would say about all of this. He certainly would be surprised that his daughter would soon become a wife. She suspected that he would approve of Erik. But would he be proud of her? Or maybe he would be angry that she was letting herself be so distracted from her true course in life. She just hoped he was proud of her for the things she had done so far. Only the gods knew what the future might hold.

  This thread of thought was cut short when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see Erik striding toward her purposefully. He took her into his strong embrace.

  “I woke up and found you were gone.” There was a hint of scold in his words, but he took it no further and looked toward the horizon. “It looks like there will be a storm.”

  Being in his arms felt so luxurious. “Or a battle.”

  He laughed softly. “You really look forward to it, don’t you?”

  She nodded, her tone now serious. “Yes.”

  Erik watched the lightning skid and flash across the sky. “What are you doing out here?”

  She pulled away from his arms and tightened her cape against a sudden chill in the air. “Thinking. About the future. About us.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, unsure what these thoughts of hers might be. “I see. And do you still wish to be my wife?”

  She was shocked that he could still ask her this question. She punched him on the arm for his foolishness.

  “Of course, I do. Whatever happens, that won’t change. Learn that, you bloody fool.”

  He gave her a smile of genuine relief. “Our future is safe, Fljótdís. As long as we fight side by side, we are safe.”

  “I know.”

  She smiled at him warmly. They were united, heart with heart, steel with steel, an unbreakable bond. But her smile faded as her attention returned to the approaching lightning. “It’s not just a storm, Erik. I can feel a battle coming in my bones.”

  “I know, Fljótdís, I know.”

  Chapter 18

  Fljótdís found Ulrik waiting for her at the bridge. His expression was intense.

  “Any news?” he asked.

  She nodded solemnly. “Yes, and it’s not good. Einarr refuses to relinquish the title of Earl and Harald is ready to kill him.”

  Ulrik looked at her in earnest. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Fljótdís, combat, a battle to lay waste to Einarr so you could win this thing?”

  She turned the knife in her hand over and over. Of course, she wanted Einarr’s death. But Erik’s pride was an issue here. It was his fight, not hers. Since the King had become involved, things had become far more complicated. They couldn’t just sneak into the Hall in the middle of the night and cut Einarr’s throat, no matter how enjoyable that might have been.

  This had become a new obsession with the King. Harald wanted war and he wanted Einarr’s wealth. The King knew nothing of Erik’s rightful claim to the Earldom. If it had come into play, Erik’s life would have been in jeopardy from both sides of the conflict. And now, she wasn’t ready to lose the best of her men over the King’s fresh hunger for more gold than he knew what to do with. Moreover, when they defeated Einarr, it would be a question of clever tactics to see if Harald could be persuaded to put Erik in the role of Earl without revealing the truth.

  She slipped her knife back into her boot. “I do want a battle, Ulrik, but the King must make the first move. Let me remind you that no one else knows about who Erik is except you and me. If the King learns that Erik is the first in line to the chair... The King wants those lands regardless of what it takes. And as a result, I must protect Erik at any cost, even at the risk of my position and my honour.”

  Ulrik gave her a philosophical look. “His Fate was written long ago, Fljótdís, as was yours and mine. We live and die as the gods wish it to be. You shouldn’t worry so much. We live a warrior’s life, each of us, and the only route to Valhalla is through battle. So, we must fight. The choice you must make is whether you will fight to benefit the King or fight for justice for your man. I think you cannot have both.”

  He never failed her with his wisdom. “Love makes me weak, isn’t it so?”

  “No, Fljótdís, it makes you stronger.” He brought his hand to rest on the hilt of his sword. “Wars come and go. They blaze up and die. But this thing with your man is about the blood of life instead of the blood of battle. It will sustain you. I see it in you. You are a better person for it.”

  She gave him a doting smile. “Who would have thought that you were such a romantic, my old friend?”

  “Be careful with your words, girl. I might be old, but I could still best you with a sword if I chose to.”

  He pretended to be gruff, but she saw right through him. She gave him a playful punch to the arm.

  “Don’t be so serious, old man. Come, the others are waiting for us.”

  The camp was hidden in a forest, not far from a river. It was a gods-forsaken place near the bridge that led to Einarr’s village. She had only thirty men with her. This was not an army, but these were her best and most loyal warriors, men she had fought together with through many hard battles. She had tried to convince the King to stay behind, but Harald was too blood-thirsty and he hadn’t had a good fight for a while.

  The King greeted her like an old friend as he leaned over the table in the middle of the camp.

  “Fljótdís! We were just discussing our battle plans.”

  Fljótdís looked to Helgi. He shrugged.

  “Perhaps you could have waited for me, my lord, so we could have all be
en in accord about our next moves.” She stood next to Helgi, giving him a reproachful look.

  Harald diminished her words with a wave of his hand. “You were busy elsewhere, Fljótdís.”

  She wished she could dismiss him as easily. “And what is the plan of attack you have decided upon, my lord?”

  Harald looked damn proud of this plan of his. She didn’t like that he was doing all of this planning behind her back. She was the one who led the army and it was up to her to decide the right strategies for their victories. Harald was cutting her out of the leadership role and it did not sit well with her. Still, there wasn’t much she could do about it, particularly not now with so much at stake for Erik.

  The King regarded the patterns of stones set out on the outline of the location. He stroked his beard, trying to look very official.

  “You see, if we split into four groups, we can surround the village from all sides and surprise them. No one will escape.”

  The plan was foolish. Fljótdís saw it on the faces of the men. They looked worried, but they dutifully awaited their orders. She couldn’t let this happen as the King wanted. She turned to Harald, fully aware that this could go badly.

  “My lord, your plan is brilliant, of course. But we are few in number. If we split our forces, we lose our advantage. Perhaps it would be wiser to strike with stealth.”

  Harald had never been one to hide his displeasure. And now it was there for all to see, anger, disgust, mortification, and the hint of lust. He brought his attention from the map to her face.

  “And just what exactly do you suggest?”

  She held her ground. “I suggest that we attack after midnight. No torches and we leave the horses at the bridge. We make for the Hall and drag Einarr out of his bed. Less blood and no men lost. You will have your victory in a few minutes’ time and Einarr will no longer be a problem for anyone.”

  The King radiated anger. “So, you would have us sneak in like thieves and murder him in his furs without a fight? I am no thief, woman, and I will have my victorious battle.”

  She was in this now and she had to keep going. “I ask only that you give me nine men, my King. We will kill the guards and bring Einarr out. Then you will ride into the village as the victor and take his head for all to see. The glory will be yours.”

  Harald weighed her proposal as he filled his wine goblet, the wheels of his mind turning in a dangerous direction.

  “I’ll give you five men. Three flashes of a torch from the Great Hall’s roof will be the sign that you have completed your task. If we do not see the sign by midnight, it will be known that you have failed and we will attack the village, is that clear?”

  She held on to her temper by a thread. “Very clear, my lord.”

  He gave her a look laced with ice. “Good. See to the preparations. You’re dismissed.”

  She escaped to her tent and poured herself some mead. How could he speak to her like that? She had brought him so many victories, most often because of her own battle plans. How dare he humiliate her in front of all her warriors, ordering her around like one of his whores? The anger churned inside her and she emptied her cup to try to cool herself.

  She heard someone come inside the tent. The only one who would enter so boldly was Erik, she turned with a relieved smile. But it was not Erik. It was the King. He stood in front of her, cocking his head to one side with a teasing smile. Now she understood his boldness. He was drunk again. And the lust she saw in his eyes right now didn’t promise anything good.

  “My lord, I don’t wish to keep you from your duties.” She kept a wary eye on him.

  He crossed his arms and swayed a bit. “You insulted me out there, Fljótdís.” He came closer and she stepped back. “Everyone is laughing about me now, saying that you are running things and that I am nothing more than your puppet.”

  She stepped back again. “My lord, I did not mean to insult you.”

  He gave her a lurid smile. “Stop all this formal pretence, Fljótdís. When you were under me screaming, you always begged me for more by my name. Have you forgotten it? Have you forgotten the kind of pleasure only I can give you?”

  If this had been any other man, she could easily cut his throat without having any consequences. But this... He was the King. She didn’t want his bloody hands on her anymore. She didn’t want to obey anymore. And yet she owed everything to this man.

  She felt around for the knife with the King now breathing in her face, his breath stinking from far too much drink. He grasped her neck so tightly that black spots began to appear before her eyes. Still, she searched for the knife, but it was already in Harald’s hand. He put it to her face, tightening his grip.

  “I am your master, Fljótdís. I rule your every breath,” he whispered, squeezing tighter and tighter. “You will obey me in all things. You are mine!”

  She could barely hear what he is saying. She couldn’t breathe. His grip was so tight that everything was starting to go black. She felt the cold steel at her cheek and the blood that flowed down, but she couldn’t resist. Death was near. She felt it. And she felt him harden against her thigh.

  Her every instinct demanded that she fight back, that she save her own life. But did she have the right? Was it her duty to forfeit her life, not in battle, not in combat for his defence and glory, but for the sake of his drunken jealousy and lust? Was her father witnessing this from Valhalla? Was she duty-bound to simply let herself be killed to indulge his madness?

  “You belong to no one but me, whore.”

  He tossed the knife aside and released his grip a bit as he tried to tear open her tunic. It gave her just enough time and she kicked him hard. He groaned and stepped back. With the next hit of her fist, the great King collapsed to the ground.

  She grabbed the table for support. Her lungs ached, but she was so thankful for breath. She looked down at the whimpering man at her feet and spat. How miserable mead made men.

  The air still rasped in her throat. “If you ever dare to lay a hand on me again, I will send you straight to Helheim. Do you understand me...Harald? King or no King, it will be done.”

  She grabbed her cloak and staggered out of the tent. Ulrik walked toward her with a look of concern. But before he could say anything, she shook head and hurried deep into the forest. When she could hear no more sounds from the camp, she dared to stop. She leaned against one of the trees, still struggling for breath.

  Mead woke up an animal inside the King and it was only a question of time till he came after her again. She knew it. Any respect she had ever had for him was gone.

  She slid down the base of the tree and pulled her knees to her chest, trembling. She couldn’t let anyone see this. Not now. Not before the battle. All her life it had been this way. She never felt safe, except when she was with Erik. When he was near, she didn’t fear anything. While he was at her side, the whole world could tumble down in ruins and she wouldn’t care.

  Oh, how much she wanted him to be here right now. But that would be a huge mistake. If Erik learned what the King had tried to do... She couldn’t even dare to think about it. Erik might well kill Harald and where would that leave them?

  Daylight faded and she realized she had been gone for too long. She felt disconnected, out of touch with herself. Still, she had to get back. But as she started toward the camp, it dawned on her that she had no idea what awaited her there. What if all she had achieved was now gone because of one kick to Harald’s balls?

  It was a relief to find her tent empty. Harald was gone and no one else was there to harass her or take her into custody. It was time for their plan to take the Earl. She, Ulrik, Erik and two other men, would sneak into the village and drag that damn bastard Einarr out of his bed. She would do it, not for the King, but for Erik.

  She hid a knife in each boot and fastened the straps of her sword’s scabbard. She trailed her finger along the blade. It glowed in the candlelight, so slick and so sharp. As long as she had this weapon at her side, she was safe. It was
her strength, her comfort. She saw her own shadow thrown at the tent’s wall. Armoured. Had she earned a place at Odin’s Table yet?

  Someone entered the tent and she whirled defensively, but it was only Ulrik. It was a great relief to see him tonight. As much as she wanted to see Erik, she would not be able to look him in the eye and pretend that all was well. But it didn’t change the fact that Ulrik could read her. He watched her with genuine concern, having seen the way she left earlier and witnessing the King emerge from her tent.

  She gave him her brightest smile and gathered the last of her weapons. “Are you ready, my friend?”

  He did not smile in return. “Yes, everything is ready. Erik is talking to the two brothers about our plan. Olaf will come with us as well. He refuses to stay while Erik is having all the fun.”

  She turned back to face him. “Bloody men, never taking anything seriously.”

  She saw the questions in his eyes. But there was no time for it now. There was a duty to perform and right now nothing could stand in its way. Nothing could keep her from her goal.

  “Let’s do this, then.”

  Fljótdís emerged from her tent with Ulrik following close to her. Four men, Erik, Olaf and two twin brother Skol and Mani, were already waiting for her. She gave Erik a small smile and they all mounted their horses.

  Olaf glanced around. “Where’s the King? I thought he would want to give us a send-off.”

  Fljótdís met Ulrik’s gaze and quickly looked away. “The King is not at his best just now.”

  She touched her heels to the white mare’s flanks and rode out of the camp, followed by her most trusted men, a woman leading men on a dangerous quest, men who were ready to follow and protect her with their lives in return.