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It felt good to be home.

Kattegat gleamed off the fjord as they crossed over the final hill of their long journey. Dust kicked up under the horse and cart she was walking alongside of, adding another layer to Lhyrie’s matted hair. She gave the horse an encouraging pat and shuffled the belongings of the cart so they would not tip when it rolled over a rock. Her mother was leading the horse along in front of her and gave an exalted sigh.

In the 5 years they have been gone, Kattegat grew to an amazing network of streets and shops. Vendors stretched out across the plains that used to grow into lakes when the rains were high. Docks were crammed onto the small beach and collided with the cliffs that entombed the city, they stretched far out into the fjord with a boat at nearly every post. The woods even seemed different, the stream a little bigger, the grasses greener. Huts and farms dotted the path to the city for more than a day’s walk, increasing as they journeyed closer. All who they passed mentioned Ragnar’s return.

That was the reason they left and now the reason they returned. After the raids in Paris failed and Ragnar disappeared, her mother and stepfather left Kattegat, fearing that with the King gone, the city was vulnerable to attack without proper defenses in leadership, despite Ragnar’s sons and Queen Aslaug. They got the Queen’s permission, of course, to leave and venture out - to learn new skills, her stepfather said. That, among other things.

And so they traveled, selling medicines and treating the ill. Lhyrie’s mother was a healer although her father and then stepfather disapproved of such actions. In Kattegat, her mother was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Aslaug and a midwife. Lhyrie learned each herb and fruit that gained health and how to use them to their fullest potential. She also trained with her stepfather, fashioning her own shield and sword. She would make it so that she would not be killed in battle like her father and brother before her.

They stayed mainly in Scandinavia, but did venture to parts of Frankia. Everywhere they heard the tales of Ragnar Lothbrok. Some true, some fantasy but when whispers grew that Ragnar had come out of hiding, they knew they must return to Kattegat.

Lhyrie was excited to see her old friends, to see how much they have grown, as she herself had grown into a woman. Lhyrie spent much time with Ragnar’s young sons, being close in age Ubbe and Hvitserk. Her best friend Sigvi would probably be married by now. What could she possibly say to everyone? With how much she had seen, so much she had learned, she wasn’t sure if she was the same person.

"Before we find your brother," Afin, Lhyrie’s stepfather said, "we must visit the King."

"Of course," said her mother.

Lhyrie adjusted the belt around her waist and tried to smooth out the dust and wrinkles in her dress. She took a large breath and attempted to hide the nerves she suddenly felt. All she wanted to do was bath before she met anyone who would have remembered her, much less the King and his sons. She ran her fingers through the ends of her hair and tied half of it with a cord. She gave the horse another encouraging pat and nearly skipped through the gates of Kattegat.

"Welcome," Aslaug said, gesturing them before her. She stood from her chair and descended the few steps to meet them at eye level. "Hiedrun!" She exclaimed and wrapped her mother in her long arms. "It has been far too long, my friend! Is this Lhyrie?" She asked, turning toward her. Aslaug took Lhyrie’s face in her palms and studied it sweetly. "By the Gods, you could have songs written of your beauty!" "Thank you, my lady," Lhyrie responded, blushing. The dirt caked upon her face and fingers proved otherwise and she tried not to look at them while Aslaug was in front of her. "Here, you must be weary. Sit and let me get you something to drink." Aslaug gestured to a servant to bring cups and ale. "Is it true that Ragnar is back?" Afin asked, after taking a large gulp of ale. It is the only questioned that bothered him. Would they leave again if the rumors were false? Lhyrie and her mother shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the large table in the center of the hall. Lhyrie looked around at the new furnishings the hall had. A large chandelier made out of antlers hung above them, the thrones moved directly across from the doors, drapes around the edges of the hall to provide privacy when needed. She knew it was brash for someone so withdrawn to ask an intimate question such as that. Aslaug smiled and sipped silently before answering. "Yes, my husband is back," she said. "Although right now I do not know where he is. I might say he is with my sons or sunbathing. Are you looking to raid again, son of Erlend?" "Yes, my lady," he answered, somewhat sheepishly. "Have your travels taught you that which you wanted to learn?" Silence filled the hall, all but the puttering of servant’s feet. "Then it would please you to know that Bjorn is seeking to explore the Mediterranean then." "We have heard of its wonders." "And I would like to hear of all your stories," Aslaug said, as the doors to the hall were swung open. Sunlight poured in the rather dark hall, followed by boisterous laughter and playful shoving of bodies. Lhyrie shifted in her seat to look at the group of men who entered. "Mother!" One boomed, grinning widely and staggering about. He seemed to completely ignore the others in the room and made his way past those seated to his mother’s side, wrapping her in a half-sided hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. He looked about Lhyrie’s age, but a child gleamed in his blue eyes. The other men scattered, dropping their shields and swords along the walls of the hall and scrapped at plates of food instantly brought out to them. They wore hardened leather, like one would wear to fight but without the sweat on their brow and bloodied tunics. A bloodied nose or bruised eye signaled training. Lhyrie had seen and cared for many men over the years, she knew the look of fierce training over fierce battle. One man stopped in his tracks when he spotting the strangers, freezing mid smile and sentence. His ice blue eyes shone as though he had seen a ghost. His hand lingered over the ax on his belt. "Ubbe! Come here!" Aslaug called, motioning over the man frozen in the doorway. "Hvitserk, do you remember Afin and Heidrun, our healers, and their daughter Lhyrie?" "Of course," Hvitserk said, moving to clasp arms with Afin. "It has been too long." Hvitserk moved to welcome Heidrun and gave Lhyrie a large hug. "It looks as though I have outgrown you at last, Heirik’s daughter." "And you will be as tall as Yggdrasil soon, Hvitserk," Lhyrie answered as he picked her up and spun her around. When Hvitserk placed her down, she looked toward Ubbe, still in the doorway, illuminated by the sun. "Hello Ubbe." "Hello, Lhyrie... Afin and Heidrun," he answered dryly, unmoving from his place. He was still as tense as when he first spotted them. "Where is your father?" Queen Aslaug asked, looking at her second son, who grabbed a horn of ale from a servant passing by. "I believe he met with Bjorn, but I do not know for certain," Hvitserk mumbled, trying not to spill his ale. "Did Mother tell you about mine and Bjorn’s journey to the Mediterranean?" he asked the visitors. "You are sailing with Bjorn?" Afin asked. "Yes. King Harald, his brother and their armies will arrive very soon. I would love to see you join us, Afin." "If it pleases the Gods," he answered, clinking glasses with Hvitserk. "Skol." "Skol," they raised their glasses in unison. Lhyrie drank and peered back to the doorway to see Ubbe. He was no longer standing there, slipped away while they were talking, though a guard ran through the doors out of breath as she looked back. "Budlungr, King Harald’s ship have been spotted coming up the fjord!" "The Gods have seen your return, my lost friends! I must go and welcome them, but tonight we will feast!" He gulped the last of his ale before running out the hall to join the guard, clapping him on the back before sprinting again. Queen Aslaug also rose from her seat. "And I must ready, as well," she said. "If you need accommodations, you will gladly get them here." "Thank you, my lady -" Lhyrie’s mother started. "We will be staying with Heidrun’s brother until we find another house," Afin finished. "I will see you tonight, my friends, for the feast." They rose and gave a remaining hug to the Queen. Aslaug paused once more on Lhyrie’s face, she didn’t speak, just lingered silently. Lhyrie couldn’t place what emotion Aslaug was trying to hide before she turned to walk through a drapery.

Lhyrie scrubbed her skin until she was pink and raw. The water was freezing, not warmed yet by the summer’s sun, though she stayed as long as she could, trying to wipe away the last remnants of foreign travel from her skin. She spent what seemed like hours, ridding the tangles and knots from her brown hair, which showed the slightest touch of fire when lit by the sun. She slipped on a dress she acquired in Frankia, a blood red dress which opened as a V around her neck and had elaborate gold stitching around it. The long sleeves bellowed out like trumpets around her wrists and a gold corset belted around her waist. This was the dress she was saving for her return to Kattegat, when she would be reunited and find a potential husband. She felt flutters again as she was braiding her hair. She stopped and readied herself as she thought again on a potential husband. As much as she didn’t want to be married and under the control of a man, she wanted children and the intimacy of such a relationship. Her mother had been married twice, once to her father and then to his brother after his death. She loved being married and caring for someone else. Lhyrie also thought her mother was quite simple and un-opinionated, raised to be obedient and faithful, something Lhyrie did not think of herself, as she was often scorned for speaking her mind. Lhyrie couldn’t wait to see her other friends tonight. She ran into Sigvi in the market, holding a crying infant in her arms. And she had already seen Hvitserk and Ubbe, although not as joyous as she had hoped her welcoming would be from Ubbe. In her childhood she had spent the same amount of time with Sigvi as she had with Ubbe, if not more. She wondered if she had hidden her disappointment well in the Great Hall or let it shown like she wanted it to. Readying herself, she began braiding her hair again, pulling it into a continued braid around her head like a halo. She could feel a few stray strands peak out around her face and frame it. She took a deep breath, slipped on her simple wool socks and stepped out behind the curtain which separated their makeshift quarters from the rest of her uncle’s home. "Oh Freyja!" Exclaimed Heidrun, hugging Lhyrie. "You have come from Fólkvangr to feast with us." Lhyrie giggled and brushed off her mother, silently praying to Freyja not to judge on hubris. "There will be many Earls there tonight," her mother said, sweeping a hair behind Lhyrie’s ear. "Mother, can I not wish to enjoy one night back in Kattegat without thinking about a husband to settle down to?" "But I want grandchildren!" She pleaded, rubbing Lhyrie’s belly playfully. "And I want your bride price," Afin chirped in from the corner of the room. He was already slurring from too many glasses of ale. Heidrun scoffed and took Lhyrie in her arm. "To feast we go," she said with a smile, ignoring her husband. The Great Hall was flooded with people. Many chatted, drank and ate outside the hall in the courtyard, huddled in the evening air around fires. Lhyrie and her mother snaked their way through the heavy crowd, filled with faces she remembered from when she was little. The King’s throne remained empty, though Aslaug reclined in her chair, goblet in hand. She grabbed a goblet from a servant weaving through the crowd as she looked to spot faces. Her mother had found Aslaug’s ladies-in-waiting and began gossiping with them. Lhyrie knew Sigvi would not come tonight with her little infant, but looked for Ragnar’s sons. She stationed herself by a pillar and fire and searched the crowd.

A few men interrupted her search, introduced themselves and chatted politely, wishing to meet this new aspect. When the men would drag on their tales of heroics or raiding, Lhyrie would gaze across the hall until she saw Ragnar’s sons huddled in a corner of the great room. One man indeed was an earl, from somewhere north of Kattegat, but was awful fat and old. Thankfully, a young man with long blond hair tapped him on the shoulder and butted in. He had a curious brown spiral in his right eye.

"Sigurd!" She exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug. "You are all giants now!"

"Except for Ivar that is," he replied cheekily.

"Are you still hard on him?" She asked, think on how they had teased him so when they were younger. Lhyrie always felt sorry for young Ivar and would spend time each day with him, if Aslaug would let her.

"When he needs it, which is always." He smiled with a smile she knew well. All of Ragnar’s son, including Bjorn, had the same devilish smile. "Why don’t you come over and drink with us?" He asked, pointing to the corner of the room where the brothers were sitting. Aslaug made her way over and sat with her sons and two other blonde women there.

"Sigurd," she began, grabbing another horn of ale and drinking, "why is Ubbe cross with me?" Lhyrie noticed Ubbe glance over in their direction several times as she spoke with different men, but quickly looked away and seemed aggravated.

"I don’t think he is cross with you," Sigurd defended his eldest brother. "He was always sour over you leaving, that’s all."

"Hmm," Lhyrie mused, sipping from her drink. "And who is that woman speaking with him now?" She asked, as one of the blonde women talked in his ear.

"Oh... that’s just a slave. Margrethe," He said, looking longfully over his shoulder.

"Margrethe... she is beautiful," she said, wondering if, by the way Sigurd talked about her, she was more than just a slave.

Sigurd stayed and talked with her, asking about her travels and people she had met. They shared many more glasses of ale, which Lhyrie could feel blurring her vision in the warm hall. She felt herself smiling more, playfully poking Sigurd as they talked, and leaning far too much on the pillar behind her to keep her standing.

As the night drew on, men and women made camp on the outer walls of the hall and Sigurd left her to her pillar and glass of ale. When Lagertha arrived to wish her son off, that is when Ragnar made his appearance. He slipped in silently, behind the commotion she caused and scuttled around the edges of the hall and back into the sleeping quarters. He paused briefly to look at his sons before disappearing behind a curtain.

The more the night went on, and after chatting with Lagertha, her shieldmaidens, and Bjorn, Lhyrie’s mind returned, unwilling, to Ubbe. Why was he avoiding her? He was the only Ragnarsson not to welcome her openly. Ivar even passed her in the Hall and said a few welcoming words. She glanced over in his direction, unmoved from his seat, with Margrethe now draped on his lap. She acknowledged that she was indeed jealous. Ubbe was her first kiss after all when they were children and she always felt they had a close relationship. That was, before she left. She was sour with her stepfather, as well, for leaving Kattegat. But as a child, she could not change her fate. Now, she could decide and challenge and ask questions which burned her.

A young man, Jagar, a farmer, approached her, handing her yet another horn of ale she gladly took. He was attractive, tan, and she could see the outline of hard-earned muscles through his tunic. She flirted loosely and let him stroke her arm and play with a curl fallen from her braid. He was attractive, but often caught herself looking over at Ubbe and the woman on his neck.

"Will I see you at the sacrifice tomorrow?" Jagar asked her, nearing the end of the night.

"Of course. We will meet tomorrow."

Jagar planted a kiss on her cheek and she tried to suppress a childish giggle with the warmth that filled her body. When he parted, Lhyrie noticed Ubbe, wide-eyed, looking over at her. Now only Hvitserk was seated next to him in front of the fire. Lhyrie took a final gulp of her ale and pushed herself off the pillar she camped at for the evening. She tried to steady herself as she walked across the hall without tripping on rug. Suddenly, she felt the room start to spin around her and took a deep breath, defiantly storming against the voice in the back of her head to stop.

"Ubbe," she snapped curtly.

"Lhyrie." He replied, adjusting in his seat and cleared his throat.

"You have hardly looked at me since I returned. Have I done something to offend you?"

"Now, why would you think that?" He cocked his head sharply.

She felt the heat rise into her, up into her ears, where anger peaked. She wasn’t quite certain why she felt the sudden rush of anger at him, but knew it didn’t feel unnatural. "You haven’t talked to me, nay looked at me!" She near yelled.

"Lhyrie, there’s no need for hot blood," he said, calmly yet forcefully.

"You cannot tell me what to do, Ragnarsson. I am not one of your slaves!" She quipped back, unfortunately right as Margrethe walked back into the Hall.

Hvitserk shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to look awkwardly away. Others near them in the hall quieted themselves to listen, while those further remained in their drunken conversations. Ubbe shot up quickly and took one leaping step to stand but a few inches from her. He glared sharply at her and breathed heavy.

"This is not the time or place for this," he hissed at her, towering over her so that Lhyrie needed to crane her head to look up at him. Abruptly, he turned on his heel away from her and brushed her with the handle of the ax on his hip. He grabbed Margrethe’s hand and whisked her away behind the curtain to their sleeping quarters.

Lhyrie was breathing heavy with rage at this lack of explanation and looked toward Hvitserk for answers. He gave her a shallow look and shrug before moving toward her and planting a kiss on her forehead before he left her to go behind the curtains too. Standing awkwardly in the hall, Lhyrie turned herself and made way for the doors. Some people looked at her with side glances as she walked, again trying to steady herself and walk in a straight line. She took several deep breathes before forcing the great doors open and walking into the cool night.

She immediately regretted not wearing a cloak to the feast, or had she and just forgotten it in the hall? She also regretted not paying closer attention to her journey from her uncle’s house to the hall. She had known it as a child but with the new buildings and shops in Kattegat, as well as her drunkenness, she was awfully lost. Suddenly she was aware of hordes of people also drunk and unfamiliar in the city with her. Scurrying a little faster, Lhyrie rushed by every alley and dark corner, wishing she had a knife with her at the very least. She stayed pressed along the walls of buildings, hoping to remain hidden from anyone wishing to do ill this night.

After a while, she stumbled upon a lighted area she recognized: The Great Hall and courtyard. She had made herself a circle and took a moment in the light to try and regain her sense of direction. She readied herself and set off again to find her uncle’s house. As she was walking she heard moaning coming from an alleyway. Not uncommon in Viking culture for people to have sex in public, but Lhyrie was withdrawn from Viking culture for several years, and blushed when she heard it. Trying not to invasive, but as curiosity got the best of her in her current state, she peered around the corner. Unbeknownst to Lhyrie, she saw Margrethe pressed against the side of the barn with Ubbe half-dressed. Lhyrie huffed and stomped her foot, trotting away, but not before she saw both Margrethe and Ubbe glance in her direction. As she stormed off, she heard Margrethe giggle.

Not long after, and not as far away as she thought, she found her uncle’s house and slipped inside. She carefully peeled down to her underdress not to tear her Frankish one and quietly slipped under the fur to sleep next to her mother. Rage still boiled in her and she drifted off to sleep.

Before opening her eyes against the bright, headache inducing sunlight, pans clattered Lhyrie awake with the boom of Thor’s anvil. She heard her mother whisper a soft "Sorry" in her direction, before continuing to search for the right scrap of metal to cook breakfast on. Lhyrie groaned and rolled over onto her back, silently cursing her mother for waking her. She rubbed her brow and carefully peeked her eyes open, careful not to blind herself.

"Wake up, little one. You have wasted half the day already."

Lhyrie groaned again, cursing herself for feeling this way – hungover and filled with regret. She couldn’t remember the exact words she spoke with Ubbe, but her tone was clearly not pleasant or polite. She was quite embarrassed for making a slight spectacle in the Great Hall and she prayed no word would spread to her mother or Queen Aslaug. She should have gotten him alone and talked about it but the Viking ale had gotten the best of her. Alone... like in an alley.

Erg, the alley, she lamented. What was she thinking? She wasn’t one to be jealous or stalk people, or one to want to make other people jealous. But she was sure that she accomplished that when she was talking to the farmer, Jager, from the way Ubbe looked at her when he left. How could she fix what she had done? Any resolution would have to wait until after the sacrifice tonight and after the thousands of men, women and traders left for their far-away journeys. Hopefully by that time, she cooled her head.

"Sváss, we must start the day," her mother called again.

"Yes, Mother," Lhyrie yawned, stretching her arms in a wide arch above her head and shaking her head. She loosed the braid that hung in strands around her face and allowed her hair to flow in waves down past her shoulders. The clanking her mother made resulted in an egg frying on a pan above the fire, but the smell made Lhyrie nauseous. She still felt the room spinning slightly as she stood. She reached into the trunk at the side of the bed and pulled out a small jar. It was filled small shards of tree bark and Lhyrie picked out a slice and chewed on it carefully, hoping to rid the headache she could feel forming.

Her stepfather was lounging in the corner of the room, seeming not to have moved from the night before. He was picking at an axe and had weapons scattered about him.

"So you are raiding with Bjorn?" Lhyrie asked, walking out from behind the curtain.

Her stepfather looked up at her, bewildered and unamused at her sleeping late. "Yes, I know some Frankish and have seen their armor and weapons. I would be very helpful to Bjorn and Hvitserk on their way to the Mediterranean, especially if they cannot reach Rollo."

"I heard Ragnar is also sailing to England," Lhyrie replied, taking a seat at the small table with her mother, who handed her a plate with the egg on it.

"I heard that as well," Heidrun said. "The handmaidens were talking of it. He is taking Ivar with him! Queen Aslaug is not pleased."

Afin dropped his axe, aggravated with the gossipy chatter. "Yes, your brother is joining him," he said. "Did he not tell you?"

"No," Heidrun replied, shocked. "I did not see him this morning before he left to barter, and he was passed out drunk when I returned from the feast. You will not join him?"

Lhyrie pushed the egg around the plate with no intention of eating it, as she felt it would not stay down for long. She tried to stay on the topic of her uncle raiding with Ragnar, but her thoughts shifted to the farmer she met last night. Jagar would be joining Ragnar in England, as well. That is where she learned of Ragnar’s plan. He was so proud, gleaming with joy as he told Lhyrie of the fate the Gods had planned for him – for his first raid would be with the famous King Ragnar Lothbrok. Initially Jagar was going with Bjorn and Hvitserk, but when he and his father learned Ragnar was returning to England, they set out to return there with him, where farmlands were once promised and settled, and perhaps, able to settle again.

"No-," her stepfather cut into her thoughts. "I would be better off with Bjorn." He picked up his axe again and ducked his head, signaling the end of the conversation.

"What is the plan today, Mother?" Lhyrie asked, shoving the uneaten egg over to her mother.

"We should find a stall to sell medicines and a place to bandage and heal," she replied, taking a bite of the fried egg. "I was thinking by the docks, if there is space, so that the traders sailing in could get easy treatment for diseases."

"Or by the gates," Lhyrie added, rubbing her temples again, trying to nudge out her headache.

"Anywhere that is cheap," her stepfather added.

"With Drun sailing with Ragnar, we could stay here longer and not find a place of our own. He would be overjoyed that someone was keeping his house safe. We would save money that way."

Afin grunted and resumed his interest in his axe handle. Lhyrie yawned as she rose to change for the day ahead.

The day seemed warm already, but Lhyrie was hesitant on wearing a simple smocked dress near the cool breeze of the fjord. Frankia, where they spent the previous 2 years, and even Denmark was warmer than Kattegat, being more south. She would have to get used to the colder North winds Njord blew in. Lhyrie picked out a simple beige tunic that hit her mid-thigh and brown leather slacks. It felt like home. She would wear it when she trained or hunted for herbs and found it infinitely more comfortable than any dress she owned. She threw a belt around her waist which held a small knife and a brown vest over her shoulders, concealing the knife on her hip. Sliding into a pair of knee-high boots, Lhyrie felt truly herself. She quickly pulled her hair into a single braid down the back of her head and set off with her mother.

The sun told Lhyrie it was already mid-day when she and her mother ventured out into the busy streets of Kattegat. The once simple village had turned into one of the more prominent and luxurious trading centers in the region, sitting at a pass of seas and rivers. Sailors from many foreign lands, speaking foreign languages squabbled with natives, trying to speak the common language of trade. Livestock roamed the streets under the careful watch of their herders, fresh meats hung from stall pillars, metal clanged and fire spurred at the various blacksmiths.

Lhyrie looked around and gapped at the new sights of her hometown. She felt as though she was transported back to the port in Frankia where they stayed. While they were in Bruge, talk of Viking raids struck ill in the town and caused hysteria among the residents, so much so that they started building a fort around the town. Lhyrie began to wonder why larger outposts and provisions were not in place at Kattegat yet, especially with the King leaving so soon. She saw guards stationed at the docks, but most had ale in their hands and were chatting with men and wooing women as they were trying to load boats for the raids.

"Helga has been tending to wounds and such while we have been away," Heidrun said, as she linked arms with her daughter and squeezed through a congested street. Lhyrie tried to avoid tripping over a basket of fruit instead of running into a larger man and his goat, but some toppled over. She called back and apologized to the stall owner before her mother whisked her off, farther down the beach.

Though the beach was so congested with trunks, shields and tarps it hardly seemed like a beach at all. Lhyrie watched as the boats bobbled up and down in fierce waves, and was glad to have grabbed the vest as she pulled it closer around her.

"There you are!" a voice cried out from ahead of them. Lhyrie couldn’t place where it had come from until a woman ran out of house several yards ahead with her arms spread joyfully, waiting for a hug. She was short and plump, wearing a tattered dress smeared with blood, her wiry grey hair pulled into a messy bun atop her head. Heidrun half-ran to greet her and wrapped her into a large hug.

"Helga!" She said, then motioned Lhyrie to move faster to greet her sister-in-law. "Age has seen you well. How goes you?"

"Ah, enough to keep me busy and worried when the men are away," Helga replied, wiping sweat off her brow as Lhyrie tried to bundle closer. "Lhyrie, you look awfully cold. Let me warm you," she said and enveloped Lhyrie in a warm hug.

"The Frankish winds have grown me soft," she replied with a slight laugh.

"Well come in," Helga said, moving them into her home. "This is where I have been practicing. It is well when the men come home off the boats." She showed them the tables and jars placed out underneath an awning where she worked. Rags dripping in blood hung over wooden beams to dry and herbs were laid out on racks above a fire to dry. It was a quaint area, a good size for one or two people to work and tend and substantially better than the often cramped quarters they had in their travels.

"You can work here, with me," Helga said, sitting on a table. "Both of you," she winked at Lhyrie.

"That is a wonderful offer, Helga," Heidrun answered. "But we could not possibly. This is your space."

It would be wonderful to have a space by the beach. It would be away from the Great Hall, Lhyrie thought. Away from the Ragnarssons, for a little bit atleast. It would also allow Lhyrie to bear the winter winds again as well.

"I insist. My age had kept me from working as I would like, and I do not wish to buy slaves to help me, so if you two would help, it would benefit everyone," Helga explained.

"Lhyrie, what do you think?" Her mother asked.

"I agree. I believe it would be beneficial," Lhyrie said. "Someone could always be here tending, while others went and gathered supplies." She ran her fingers along the edges of the table and a small knife that was lying there. Lhyrie spotted a jar of leeches sitting on a stool.

"She has her father’s mind," Helga commented, causing Lhyrie to smile. Helga grazed her cheek with a sincere smirk.

"I agree, and I think it is a good plan," Heidrun said. "But we will pay your dues."

"Fine, fine," Helga said, waving off an argument and accepted her sister-in-law’s proposal. "Did you hear about Drun raiding with Ragnar?"

"Yes, and my husband raiding with Bjorn. As if we did not just travel all that way!" The two women laughed as Lhyrie explored the small space more and became acquainted with her future workplace. Grasses and roots were labeled in chalk in bins and jars, some which Lhyrie knew and was accustom to from her travels and others not. She became excited to learn their properties and uses. She leaned on the railings and looked out on the beach while the two women chatted.

A few men carried a chest to the dock and rested upon it for a moment. One looked toward Lhyrie and smiled. He clasped hands with his partner and made his way over to her, his long brown hair fighting the wind. Jagar smiled widely as he came closer, but became more reserved when he noticed she wasn’t alone. He approached the awning slowly, wringing his hands.

"Hello, Lhyrie," he said, brimming ear to ear. "It is good to see you."

"Jagar," Lhyrie responded with a smile. "You have a tear in your shirt," she said, pointing out a rip in the arm of his tunic. There was a slight cut of blood peeking out underneath it.

"Ach, yes. The chest has a sharp corner on it and jabbed me," he said, rubbing the cut.

"You have come to the right place," she said, motioning to the jars and fabrics used for healing. "Would you like a salve?"

"The healer," he said with a grin, as Helga and her mother walked out of the house, hearing voices. "Hello, I am Jagar, son of Efferend." he said politely.

"Hello," they called in unison. Heidrun beamed with a wide smile at her daughter. "Have you met before?" She asked. Lhyrie blushed in embarrassment. Her mother would tie Jagar into a marriage before he leaves.

Yes, at the feast last night," he responded. "I will set sail with Ragnar to England."

"Ah..." the two women exclaimed.

"Mother," Lhyrie began, "If I am no longer needed here, may I go with Jagar to celebrate the sacrifice?" It was later than Lhyrie thought, as the skies seemed to darken already.

"We will see you there," her mother said, still smiling.

The stir of a sacrifice filled the air with electricity as only it could, as to feel closer to the Gods. As if the streets were not crowded enough, more flocked to the city center in order to bear witness and get a blessing from the Gods. Thousands of fires illuminated the sky and provided the warmth Lhyrie desperately needed, despite the encroaching hold Jagar had on her shoulders throughout the night.

He pushed her forward so that she lingered on the edge of the pathway where the ram would be lead, up to the courtyard where a skull and table were laid out for his final moments. Jagar stood behind her, with his arms wrapped around her waist. King Harald Finehair and his brother began chanting in perfect harmony suddenly under the glow of the skull, and the crowd grew quiet. Many craned their heads forward to get a clear look of the festivities.

Up walked several men, forcing the ram by his horns to the middle of the courtyard. Lhyrie felt a discomfort as she always had with the sacrifice of animals. If the Gods wanted them to be sacrificed, they would choose them and have them walk up without fear and without the persuasion of people. When humans are sacrificed, it is without such fear that animals display. But, even then, it takes a gentle push to be sacrificed to dine in the halls of Valhalla. Many years ago, she bore witness at the Temple of Uppsala, where nine sacrifices of each animal, including humans, took place. She was no longer squeamish with the thought of blood spilled.

Behind them, Queen Aslaug was almost unrecognizable. She wore a mask of blood and tar, clothed in all white, in a trance – she immolated a Goddess. As the party approached the table and grand fire, the crowd silenced so much that a flap of a wing would resonate completely, as if the entire world was holding their breath. The men tied the ram from the pillar that stood with the fire, as Queen Aslaug slowly lifted a silver dagger in front of her. Almost as time stood still, she deliberately wielded the sword to the ram’s throat and blood poured steaming into the table and bowl.

Once the blood had been drained and collected, the priest dipped his brush into the bowl and began throwing the God’s blessing onto the crowd. He turned but a few feet from Lhyrie and flicked blood from his brush. She felt the hot, sticky burn of fresh blood on her forehead, as Jagar gasped in exaltation. Queen Aslaug turned and moved toward the beach and boats, that is when Lhyrie noticed her sons behind her, almost directly across from them. Ubbe was staring hard at the ram hanging in the middle of the courtyard, almost as if to burn a hole through it, almost straight through her. Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk turned to follow their mother, as Ivar stayed and moved toward the table in the middle of the area.

Jagar gently took Lhyrie’s hand, guiding her to follow the party down to the boats. He smiled like a gleeful child. Down at the boats, the Ragnarssons, including Bjorn and his wife, Torvi, were standing, waiting for their blessing. People on boats were already flinging blood onto the others and their shields, afraid to miss a single item being taken on their journey. Jagar gleamed, trying to take in the entire spectacle, as if it something foreign. Growing cold, and not wanting to stay and look at Ubbe standing on the docks any further, Lhyrie pulled Jagar away, back up the Great Hall, where some men started a roast of the ram and a hog.