Chapter Text
25 Mörsugur, 856 (Óðinsdagr)
“Eivor!” Styrbjorn’s gruff voice, deep and booming and harsher than the one she was used to from her Father, cut through the chill winter air. “I know you are up there. Get down from there!” There was a scolding tone to his voice and she flinched away from the sound. She flattened herself down between her parents, curling tightly against her Mother’s side. Earlier he had caught her trying to climb the pyre and he had been so cross with her for it.
“Have some mercy, would you, Styrbjorn?” Svala’s voice followed and Eivor buried her face against her Mother’s cloak. If she tried really hard she could still smell the herbs and flowers her Mother had always packed with their clothes clinging to her. Tears pricked her eyes again and she shuddered against her Mother’s body. It was too still, too cold… too quiet. She couldn’t even hear the soft thump of her heart anymore.
“The rite starts in an hour, Svala. She is too o-”
“She is a child still, Styrbjorn. Go, deal with other matters. I will handle Eivor.” She couldn’t hear anything for a while, and then the soft crunch of boots on old snow. They faded away, and near perfect silence reigned. Eivor fisted her hands in her Mother’s cloak. Around the small village other pyres had been erected as well. They were mostly larger, but not as tall. As the leaders of their Clan, her parents had the highest pyre. It had been hard for her to clamor up the frost dampened logs to get up here, and she wasn’t going to come down this time. Her neck ached in a constant throbbing pain where the bite had been cauterized, and her arm hurt, and her leg hurt. All of her hurt, but it was nothing compared to the aching in her chest.
“Eivor,” Svala’s voice was soft where Styrbjorn had been demanding. Eivor sniffled loudly and did not answer her, preferring to pretend she could not hear her. She was going to stay with her parents. She wanted to go to Valhalla with them. “Eivor, child, you will have to come down soon.” Eivor shook her head even though Svala could not see her. But while she expected Svala to come up onto the pyre after her, nothing happened. Instead she heard the soft crunch of boots again after several minutes.
“I can get her down,” Sigurd’s voice cut in. He sounded tired, weary. But his voice was enough to make Eivor lift her head. Still, she was not getting down. Not even Sigurd could make her leave. She heard Svala sigh gently.
“You may try, Sigurd. Be gentle with her. Go on, I will stay down here.” A few seconds later she heard Sigurd grunting as he climbed up onto the pyre, and less than a minute later he was crouching on the edge of it. Watching her. Eivor looked at him, eyes as red as her wind-burnt cheeks, puffy and swollen from her tears. He gave her a sad smile and moved to join her, carefully sitting down in the narrow space between the two bodies. Sigurd was clearly very uncomfortable being up there, but he reached out to gently touch her.
Eivor let go of her Mother’s cloak with one hand and flung herself against Sigurd, burying her face against his chest and wrapping her free hand around him. The tears started to flow again and they wet his tunic as she felt his arms wrap around her carefully.
“It’s okay, cub,” Sigurd spoke softly, but a hint of tease in the not always kind nickname he had given her, as he held her. “You can cry it out. But you know you can’t be up here.” Eivor shook her head against his chest and he sighed softly. “I know. But you can’t.”
“I want to go to Valhalla with them,” Eivor cried against his shirt.
“Valhalla isn’t ready yet for someone like you,” Sigurd reached down and touched her hair, getting her to look up at him. “You’re way too scary for Valhalla right now. Odin would soil his pants if you showed up. No, I’m afraid you’re too tough.” Eivor managed a sad little giggle and shook her head. She let go of her Mother’s cloak and wiped her nose that was running from crying so much. Sigurd let out a dramatically heavy sigh.
“No no, I’m afraid you can’t go to Valhalla. You’ll have to get old and fat before they’ll let you in. You’d scare off Fenrir all by yourself and leave no fight for anyone else.” Eivor looked up at him with wide eyes and shook her head.
“Would not! I’d let you kill Fenrir, Sigurd!” Some of the sadness had left Eivor’s voice now, distracted by Sigurd’s mentions of glory and Ragnarok. “Like the heroes of old!” Sigurd laughed and nodded.
“You would share your glory with me, cub?” He beamed a warm smile at her and Eivor nodded emphatically. “Well to do that we’ll have to climb down from here, okay?” That returned some of the crushing sadness and Eivor looked over at her Mother’s body. Her lip trembled but she nodded stiffly. Sigurd stood up slowly, keeping his hold on Eivor. She followed him to the edge and let him help her down. Svala caught her, lowering her safely to the ground.
----------------------------------------
The sun had fallen from the sky and darkness would have reigned over the dead village if not for the half dozen funeral pyres already burning around them. The pyre of Varin and Rosta remained the last to light. Eivor could feel the frigid winter wind on her neck and the faint prickle of heat it carried with it from the other fires.
Eivor stood next to Styrbjorn, facing the crowd of people. Survivors of Kjotve’s attack, members of the Raven Clan who had come from Fornburg to help after. Sigurd was on Styrbjorn’s opposite side, looking stoic. Eivor, for her part, looked numb, staring blankly ahead. Sigurd had managed to calm her, but there was nothing anyone could do to blunt this moment for her. Styrbjorn was talking, addressing the gathered mourners, but Eivor wasn’t listening.
“Eivor,” Styrbjorn’s voice finally cut through and she looked up at him. He held a torch out to her in one hand, watching her expectantly. Eivor stared at the torch, the bright light of the flames burning her already tear burned eyes. Then she looked up at him and shook her head slightly. He frowned and pushed the torch at her a little more insistently.
“I don’t want to,” she said in the tiniest voice, afraid to tell him no in front of everyone. His frown worsened for a half second. Eivor remembered her Father explaining to her what it meant for them to have a King now, that a King was someone you must obey, by your oath. Tears started to wet her eyes again as Styrbjorn twisted and started to kneel down for her. She turned and ran away from him.
Eivor did not get far. Svala caught her at the edge of the crowd, stepping into her path. She crashed into her hard and started to tumble back, but Svala’s hands were around her in an instant, catching her and at the same time holding her close. Eivor buried her face in Svala’s dress, clutching at her tightly. Her soft, reassuring hum reached her eyes and she was calmed by it a little.
“Easy, Eivor. Breathe, child.” Svala’s voice was feather light and soothing. Eivor could not look up to see the rather ugly look she was giving Styrbjorn while the rest of the attendees stood by in awkward discomfort. For a few minutes there was nothing but uncomfortable silence as she tried to ease Eivor back to calm.
“What if I help you, Eivor?” Gunnar’s gruff voice, sounding like his throat was lined with sharp rocks, was surprisingly quiet for such a loud man. He already wore the blue tunic of the Ravens but he squatted down next to Eivor and Svala. Beneath the tunic a series of bandages only just held his arm in place where his shoulder had been dislocated in the attack. Svala smiled at him faintly.
Eivor turned her head a little so that she could peek at him with one eye. After a second of hesitation she nodded. Gunnar smiled at her and reached out for her. She peeled herself away from Svala, who’s firm and comforting grip softened to release her. Gunnar scooped Eivor into his good arm and stood, face twisting in pain at the act.
“You’ll have to hold the torch, little berserker. My arm is all full up of you,” he balanced Eivor against his side, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he carried her back to Styrbjorn and the pyre. To his credit, Styrbjorn looked both saddened and chastised by Eivor’s strong reaction. Gunnar gave him a nod and Eivor reached out with both hands to take the torch, then he carried her up to the edge of the pyre.
“Put it there, among the straw,” Gunnar guided her and Eivor laid the torch there carefully. The flames spread fast as he stepped back, and within a few minutes Varin’s cloak caught fire. Eivor’s lip wobbled dangerously as she watched, tears rolling down her cheeks anew.
“It is okay to cry, little berserker,” Gunnar whispered to her softly, his own voice tainted with tears. When she looked up at his face she could see water gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Even wise Odin weeps before a pyre.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
15 Tvímánuður, 869 (Sunnudagr)
Harken well in the hall of kings
It started with a single warrior, belting out the steady beat of the words easily. Before he had even finished the line the heavy thump of fists on chests filled the longhouse. Eivor left her plate and cup, rising silently and retreating to the dark doorway of the longhouse. She leaned against the frame, her entire body tense and her eyes cast down at the floor. It had actually been quite some time since she had heard the song, most of the warriors here did not sing it when she was around. A great many of them could still remember.
On ocean-steed my words gain wings
It was less the betrayal that forbade the song, but a girl sobbing and screaming for her Mother as the song rose to fill a longhouse. She was still embarrassed at the memory of it, though Svala had told her that even the great warriors felt such things inside of them. She had carried her out of an eerily silent longhouse, to the docks, sat with her while she cried. Told her that her tears did not make her weaker than any great drengr, it was not her fault she was too little to hold it all inside of her.
Odin’s mead, I forth will bring
When the song did break out, usually Sigurd would help her slip out unnoticed. Or he would make the singer stop. He’d always been rather protective of her, which made sense since he had saved her life that night. But tonight he was rabble rousing with the rest, revelling in the attention as he mounted one of the tables. He sang as loud as the rest, louder maybe. If she stopped to look at him she could tell he was well into his mead by now. Not that Eivor wanted him to intervene. She wasn’t trying to ruin anyone’s evening.
For noble deeds, thine honour sing
Shutting her eyes only made it worse. With her eyes closed she could see her Mother laughing, feel her Father’s arms supporting her as he swung her about with him. So she kept her eyes open, staring down at the floor as the song shook the rafters of the longhouse. It had been years since she had let the song truly upset her, and she wasn’t about to let it ruin her own brother’s wedding. Sigurd was excited about the wedding. And who could blame him? Randvi was an undeniable beauty. Eivor had only spoken to her a few times.
The brave men slain, Valkyrjur wakes
“Are you unwell?” The soft voice broke Eivor’s defensive silence. She looked up to find Randvi standing close to her, concern showing plainly on her face.
“I am well,” Eivor answered automatically. She was not going to spoil Randvi and Sigurd’s important moment with her childishness.
“I am sorry, but you look as if a dark cloud hangs over your head,” Randvi prodded gently, moving to lean against the frame with her, their shoulders touching. Eivor sighed and cast her eyes around the room. The revelry was only just picking up as everyone in the hall took up the song.
Reward for strain to Valholl takes
“I do not care for this song, that is all.” If only it were such a simple explanation. Eivor could swallow a great many things she did not care for, but never this. It haunted her. She turned her eyes away from the room to look to Randvi instead. “You do not sing with the others?”
“I cannot sing when I see one of us so unhappy,” Randvi answered with seeming ease. Eivor felt something tighten in her chest. She swallowed against the uncomfortable feeling.
“You have adopted us so quickly then?”
“Some more quickly than others, I should think.”
Then horn resounds the mighty hall
Eivor let silence fall between them as the song continued to rush in her ears like the pulse of battle. Randvi’s presence was comforting in a way she could not ever remember feeling, and she barely knew the woman. But she did not want her to leave, or take her silence as disapproval. Eivor was grateful for her attention.
“My father was singing this song when Kjotve…” the words felt like such a heavy thing on her tongue. Randvi would know of Varin’s death. Tales of Kjotve’s attack that night had spread throughout the Norse world. Such betrayals always did.
For those who fight, for those who fall
Eivor looked to Randvi again and was surprised at the honest regret and sadness she saw there. In her experience few people displayed their feelings so easily.
“I am sorry. I did not know.” Eivor could only just hear Randvi’s voice over the noise of the singers now. The stamping of boots and pounding of chests, the echo of Sigurd’s prowess as he leapt between tables to enjoy the revelry. She only shook her head at Randvi’s apology.
“Do not apologize. The burden sits on me for allowing this to disrupt your wedding feast.”
“You are hardly a disruption, Eivor.”
For those who fight, for those who fall!
Eivor had to look away at Randvi’s answer. It felt weird. Too close, too raw. And it made her chest clench again in a way she did not at all like. Between them there was silence again as the song continued.
‘ We’re under attack!! Kjotve’s clan -’ She shook her head, trying to force the memory to banish itself for her. When she looked back at Randvi she forced a change of subject.
“This is the grandest wedding feast I have ever seen. Sigurd is a lucky man to have you as wife, Randvi.”
“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Randvi smirked.
Warlord weaves his web of fear
Eivor relaxed a little as the new verse filled the air. This part was easier. Kjotve’s clan had attacked before they got this far, so it did not ring inside her head like a warning bell in the same way. She managed a smile for Randvi, a little uncomfortable with the concern the woman was showing for her. It felt different from the protective concern she was used to from Styrbjorn and Sigurd. Even that concern had evaporated as she grew older, grew strong enough to protect her own emotions.
“I would see you return to your wedding feast, Randvi.”
Each man gets his fated share
Randvi was quiet for a moment, and Eivor was struck with it being the first time that Randvi had not had an immediate answer for her. She studied Randvi’s face in the dim light of the longhouse and was again struck by her beauty. But there was more to it than her features: the sparkling depth of her eyes, the sunlit fire of her hair, the subtle spread of her eyebrows when she was trying not to smile. Eivor had spent a lot of time studying Randvi’s face in the short week she had known her. Maybe too much time.
Blood red search the warrior shield
“And I would see the best drengr of the Raven clan with a jug of mead in her hand, a smile on her lips, and a light heart,” Randvi finally answered, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smile. Though she had not seen it, Eivor got the impression that Randvi actually had quite the sense of humor.
“I am afraid you are much too concerned with me at the moment. This is your wedding. You should be at least half as drunk as your new husband.” Randvi laughed and Eivor felt all of her insides tighten violently.
Ravens scan the battlefield
“While I can certainly hold my own in a drinking battle, I hardly think a dead bride is a good omen at a wedding,” Randvi teased, the laughter still lifting her voice. Eivor felt as if just hearing that sound every day for the rest of her life was all she would ever need again. She gave her head a slight shake. That was a weird thought. Where had that come from? Wherever it had come from, it needed to go back there. Eivor could not think such thoughts about her brother’s wife.
“If I drink, you will go back?”
Ravens scan the battlefield!
Eivor arched an eyebrow when Randvi shook her head in answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but Randvi beat her to it.
“No. I will go back to the feast when I know you are okay.” There was that twisting, tight, uncomfortable feeling in her stomach again. It was followed by confusion. Eivor barely knew Randvi, and Randvi barely knew her. So why was Randvi so bothered? No one else was. And why was she so bothered by Randvi being bothered.
Eivor’s head reeled at the circle of thoughts she was letting herself get trapped in. This was bad.
We beat and blazed our trail of red
After a moment of silence, Eivor finally nodded to Randvi.
“Alright, very well. You win this round, ulv , ” and Randvi’s responding smirk made a dangerous assault on her insides again. She would kill a thousand men to see Randvi smirk like that. “I promise you that I am fine. It is an old wound, one that bothers me but will not send me to Valhalla.” This time, when she smiled at Randvi, it felt real. Judging from the way Randvi studied her face, it looked genuine as well. After a moment, Randvi straightened away from the frame of the door.
Till Odin gazed upon the dead
Randvi seemed to believe her at last, and the truth was she did feel better. About the song, at least. The way her chest seemed to alternate between a crushing weight and a weightless fluttering depending on Randvi’s expression was far more bothersome. Eivor smiled as Randvi straightened away from the door frame and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Good. Then I expect to see you with a mug in your hand in a few minutes.” Randvi’s smile was like the sun, even in the dim light of flickering torches and moonlight. Eivor could not help returning it.
Then horn resounds the mighty hall
“Then you had best tell them to fetch another barrel, I can drink Sigurd under the table,” Eivor taunted back with a lightness she both did and did not feel. This earned her a laugh from Randvi and her own smile widened.
“I shall have them fetch two then. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen a wolf drink, Wolf-Kissed.” Before Eivor could make retort, Randvi was walking back into the longhouse. The short redhead was swallowed up by the crowd of the clan, but Eivor’s eyes did not leave her. As if Randvi was a beacon in the dark.
For those who fight, and those who fall
Eivor let out a breath she had been holding for a thousand years. Randvi blended into the Ravens so smoothly, as if it had always been her place among them. Sigurd was swaying dangerously atop a table, he roared Randvi’s name when he spotted her. With all the drunken grace of a blind boar, Sigurd dropped down onto a bench and reached for Randvi, tugging her up onto the table with him. Randvi was laughing as she joined him, their hands joined as they began to dance. Randvi was saying something to Sigurd, but he pulled her into a kiss.
For those who fight, and those who fall!
Eivor looked away even as those not singing cheered their approval. Her stomach twisted, but even in that discomfort, she could feel the warmth of the feast’s energy seeping back into her bones. Eivor would keep her word to Randvi, and she would rejoin the feast. She would drink herself into a stupor the likes of which she had never felt before. That was what weddings were for. And maybe that would be enough to make whatever this was go away and never come back. But even as she thought it, she knew she was not lucky enough for that.
May horns resound the mighty hall
Whatever this feeling was, she could already tell it had set up residence in her heart and would not be leaving soon. Eivor shook her head at herself as the song worked its way to its conclusion. Good riddance. It was a misery having the most popular hall song tied to such a torment, but she had long ago given up on the hope the pain would fade. Her eyes found Randvi again as she laughed and danced upon the table with Sigurd. Others had joined them now and Sigurd stumbled, nearly taking himself and several others off the table.
For we who fight, for we who fall
Eivor shook her head and stepped away from the door frame. She cast a look up at the shining moon that hung alone in the sky.
“Not you, Eivor. Not just yet,” she whispered to herself. The pain of it grounded her, reminded her of who she was. Of what she had yet to do, and she would do.
“Eivor!” Sigurd’s drunken shout broke through the fading din of the song and she turned, an easy but false smile on her face as she threw her arms in the air and moved back to join her brother in his celebration.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
12 Gjø, 871 (Frjádagr)
Eivor settled onto the furs laid out on the floor of the Seer’s hut. She waited while Valka prepared whatever she needed to before the other woman finally joined her on the floor. For the most part, Eivor liked coming to Valka, just as she had enjoyed coming to Svala. Sometimes she still sought Svala out specifically, but Valka was every bit as good of a seer as her Mother was.
“I appreciate your help, as always, Valka.”
“Of course, Eivor. Now… was it a dream?” Valka sat across from her as the soft smell of burning herbs filled the hut. Even when she was upset, there was something very calming about the seer’s hut.
“No. This is… a more practical matter.” Eivor did not have many people she felt she could talk to. Especially with Sigurd gone, but he would not have been an option in this case anyway. “I was hoping you could advise me on what to do.” Valka nodded to Eivor.
“Very well. What is the issue?” As always, Valka’s voice was even and measured. It was reassuring that Eivor had yet to bring anything to Valka that had rattled her. She was always composed, always ready to help. But this was hard to say out loud. It felt wrong even admitting it, and so a silence lingered between them for several minutes.
“I… I think I have fallen in love.” Valka’s eyes widened noticeably and Eivor could tell she had truly surprised Valka with that.
“Are you wanting marriage advice? I am not the best resource for such, Eivor.” Eivor shook her head quickly, earning a quizzical look.
“No. No. That’s, not an option. I need to know what to do with this feeling, because I cannot do with it what I wish to.” Eivor dropped her eyes to the furs beneath her feet. Valka made a soft sound of understanding. Silence filled the hut again for several minutes.
“Love is a complicated emotion, Eivor. You need to examine it within yourself, examine why you feel barred from it.”
Eivor sighed heavily.
“It is not that I feel barred from it, Valka. I can’t… she is married, Valka.” A touch of desperation slid into Eivor’s voice and she could not bring herself to admit more.
“Ah,” Valka said, understanding. Eivor looked up at Valka finally to see her smiling sympathetically at her. “Randvi.” Eivor flushed bright red.
“Valka… I would never- she is Sigurd’s wife. I would never do anything, I swear it!” Eivor felt a sense of panic that Valka had named her. She did not want anyone to know.
“Relax, Eivor. I know you would not. But as for this feeling… you will need to harness it. Do not cage it. Love that is caged becomes a poison. Love is about the best parts of ourselves. What you would pour into the person you love, you must find a way to pour out into the world instead.” Valka rose slowly, indicating that she was done with her advice. Eivor did not feel particularly helped by it however. The seer’s advice always came cloaked in vagueness, even when it was Svala who gave it. She sighed heavily and lingered for a few more minutes before standing up.
“Thank you, Valka.” Valka said nothing and Eivor turned to leave. She stepped through the heavy fur that hung over the doorway and found herself colliding with the wide, solid body of Dag. Her eyes widened in shock and without thinking she pushed him back, following him so that they were a couple steps outside of the hut. “Dag! What are you doing here?” He looked furious, but he usually looked at least a little pissed off so it did not necessarily mean anything.
“I heard you, Eivor.” Dag’s accusation was venomous and Eivor blanched.
“Shut up, Dag.” She could feel panic surging inside of her and she realized in that second that she had no idea what she was going to do. On a purely physical level, she could handle Dag, but if he told Sigurd what he had heard…
“She belongs to Sigurd! That you would betra-” Eivor shoved Dag hard, cutting off his words. He stumbled back and Eivor followed, her panic turning into white hot rage. She closed the space between them, standing over him. Dag was a big man, but he was broad, not tall. And Eivor was tall. She used it now, looming above him.
“She is a person, and she belongs to no one. I have committed no crime, broken no oath. You will keep your mouth shut, Dag. Or I will tell all of Fornburg how you lurk outside the Seer’s hut to overhear the secrets whispered inside.” Eivor spoke with an aggressive hiss to her tone. Dag had never much liked her, and she had never understood why. As children, she had done her best to try to convince Sigurd’s best friend to like her, but he had only ever treated her as an unwanted tagalong. Years ago she had given up on him and settled for letting his low simmering animosity be what it would be. But he did not blanch at her threat, instead simply sneering at her and then storming off. Eivor watched him go as he trudged back toward Fornburg down the slick mountain path.
Fuck!