The fire crackled in the central hearth of Chieftain Torbjorn’s longhouse, casting flickering shadows across the rough-hewn walls. The aroma of roasted venison and wild garlic filled the air and was mingling with the earthy scent of fresh-baked rye bread. His family sat around the table, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of tallow candles. Platters of steamed mussels, tender spring lamb, and foraged greens lay barely touched before them.
Astrid's voice cut through the tense silence, a mix of hurt and frustration. "How could you agree to this, Father? It's bad enough you're marrying me off to a stranger, but Sigrida? She's not some... some object to be traded away!"
Yrsa's eyes narrowed at her daughter. The Viking woman’s patience was clearly wearing thin. "Oh, for Loki's sake! Are we truly going to have this conversation again? Dear gods, give me strength." She stabbed at a piece of fish with her eating knife, her movements jerky with irritation.
Torbjorn gaze darted between his wife and daughter as he shifted uncomfortably on his bench. "Now, Astrid, we’re not giving Sigrida away. Well, perhaps it may seem like we are…but that's not... What I mean is, you're looking at this all wrong," he began, his voice strained. "She’ll be accompanying you. For companionship. You'll have a familiar face in your new home."
Astrid looked at her father with astonishment. Her voice trembled with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You and Mother agreed to give Sigrida to Jarl Gunnar as dowry! She'll belong to him. That’s giving her away!"
In the shadows behind them, Sigrida stood motionless clutching a pitcher of ale tightly to her chest. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes as she held the earthenware jug. She bit her lip, struggling to maintain her composure as the family discussed her fate as if she weren't even there.
Knut, Astrid's younger brother, suddenly blurted out, "I don't want Sigrida to go!" His childish outburst highlighted the family's affection for her and the unpleasant reality of what awaited the slave girl.
Asbjorn cleared his throat, his discomfort evident. "Father, perhaps there's another way. Sigrida's always been good to us. It doesn't feel right to—"
"Your father has given Sigrida an easy life here," Yrsa interrupted sharply, "but don't forget how the world works. Sigrida was born to her place, just as you were to yours."
Asbjorn and his wife, Ingrid, exchanged uncomfortable glances, the silence between them speaking volumes. They had long observed Yrsa's quiet fury whenever Torbjorn showed the thrall girl the gentleness reserved for daughters. Ingrid reached for her husband's hand under the table, squeezing it gently.
Torbjorn's eyes darted to Sigrida, heavy with guilt, before he looked away.
"We still have time to consider Sigrida's future is all that I’m trying to say," Asbjorn offered carefully, lifting his ale cup to his lips. Astrid's angry gaze snapped to her mother, though she held her tongue.
Yrsa's eyes flashed with irritation as she reached for a wooden bowl filled with glistening lingonberries. "Oh, spare me, all of you!" she snapped. "If you truly care for Sigrida, then honor her work by eating the food she's prepared. It's going to waste with all your moping!"
She spooned a generous helping of berries onto her plate, her relish for the tart red fruit a contrast to the lost appetite of the others. Torbjorn kept his eyes downcast as he stirred his food listlessly, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.
Thoroughly exasperated, Yrsa shook her head at Astrid. "By Thor's hammer, girl, do you think you're the only one who's ever faced this? I didn't want to marry your father either!" she exclaimed, gesturing with her spoon.
A brief silence fell over the room. Torbjorn's face flushed, while Asbjorn and Ingrid exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Realizing what she had said, Yrsa rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm just being honest," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I accepted my father's choice and did what was expected of me, and look at us now - we're so happy together!" She reached over and patted Torbjorn's arm, leaving a faint, berry-stained mark on his sleeve.
Torbjorn grimaced, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else. Astrid stared at her mother in disbelief, struggling to process how her mother could dismiss her concerns so easily.
Yrsa turned her attention to Ingrid and Asbjorn, her pointed look demanding their agreement. "And just look at your brother! There isn’t a more contented husband in all of Skogstrand."
Asbjorn placed a protective hand on Ingrid’s arm as her hand moved instinctively to her swollen belly. The tenderness between them was evident, a silent testament to their bond.
Ingrid smiled gently as she tried to console Astrid. "Love can grow in time, Astrid," she said. "It doesn't always happen right away, but it can blossom if you let it."
Yrsa nodded vigorously, clearly pleased with Ingrid's support. "See? Listen to your sister-in-law. She knows what she's talking about."
But Astrid, her eyes downcast, murmured, "Ingrid is not Einar." Her quiet words carried the weight of her fears - the difference between the gentle woman at Asbjorn's side and the cold, unknown man she was to marry.
The room fell silent for a moment, unable to deny the truth of Astrid's words. Sigrida shifted uncomfortably in the shadows, her grip tightening on the ale pitcher.
Yrsa's patience finally snapped. She turned to her husband, face flushed with anger and demanded, "Torbjorn, rein in your daughter! This sulking has gone on long enough. You're her father - act like it!"
Torbjorn flinched at his wife's words, caught between his role as a father and his duties as the clan’s chieftain. The conflicting emotions played across his face as he struggled to find a response.
Finally finding his voice, Torbjorn explained, "Astrid, you must understand. This union with Einar... it's not just about you. It is for the good of your family and our entire clan."
He leaned forward, his eyes seeking hers, his voice dropping. "This alliance will make us stronger. We'll share Jarl Gunnar's military and shipwrights. One day, Einar will lead them all." His gaze darted nervously to the door before continuing, "Our neighbors already look to our lands with hungry eyes. With Gunnar's ships patrolling our waters and his warriors joining our ranks, none would dare challenge us."
Asbjorn, noting his sister's resistance, said, "Father is right, Astrid. This marriage means more than your future alone. It means security for our people, strength for Skogstrand."
"And you’ll be a jarl’s wife. That’s no small thing." Ingrid said, before gently adding, "As Einar’s wife, you’ll have power to protect what matters. Think of the good you could do for our clan, the alliances you could strengthen."
As her family spoke of alliances, wealth, and status, Astrid turned away, her gaze drifting to the shadows where Sigrida stood forgotten. The hollow words of comfort only emphasized how little either of their choices mattered in the face of clan politics.
Torbjorn, noticing Astrid's reaction, sighed heavily. "Your sacrifice won't be forgotten, Astrid," he said, his voice low. "Nor yours, Sigrida. This is for the good of all of us, to secure our future against those who would see us weakened."
Sigrida stood motionless and resigned, receiving little comfort from the Chieftain’s words. As a thrall, she had no say in her fate - even her silence was expected, lest she remind them she was human enough to feel.
Yrsa, caught up in her own train of thought on the advantages of the arrangement, suddenly exclaimed, "And who knows? Sigrida might even become the jarl's favorite concubine! Now that's certainly a step up from cooking and serving meals, isn't it?"
Torbjorn nearly dropped his spoon, his shock barely registering as Yrsa turned in her seat, beckoning to Sigrida with a wave of her hand. "You'll enjoy that, won't you, girl? Much more exciting than your life here."
Sigrida inhaled deeply, her face a mask of forced composure. She turned to Astrid, keeping her voice low and steady. "Astrid, perhaps you should try to finish your dinner. The food will go cold."
The simple statement carried layers of meaning between the two friends - a quiet plea to endure, to get through this painful evening together.
Astrid met Sigrida's gaze with a mixture of sympathy and shared anguish. Nodding, she reached out and broke off a small corner of her bread, each tasteless bite like ash in her mouth. For Sigrida’s sake alone, she would swallow her words along with her meal.
As Astrid nibbled, Yrsa shook her head, her exasperation evident. "Honestly, all this fuss. It's because Torbjorn has indulged you both for far too long." Her gaze flicked meaningfully to Sigrida, who immediately lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushing.
Yrsa turned to Torbjorn, her mouth tightening. "This is all your fault, husband! If you hadn't—"
"Asbjorn," Torbjorn cut in quickly, "how do you think the winds will fare for sailing this week? I've heard rumors of storms brewing to the north."
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Asbjorn, grateful for the change of subject, launched into a discussion about weather patterns and how the fjord’s currents could shift fish migration. As father and son conversed, Yrsa tucked into her meal with gusto, seemingly oblivious to the tension she'd created.
Astrid continued to pick at her food, her appetite gone. Sigrida moved silently around the table, refilling cups and replacing empty bowls. Both girls understood that trying to persuade the family further was futile and retreated into their own thoughts. The rest of the family turned to discuss other matters, eager to leave the weight of the impending alliance hanging over the quiet pair.
***SECTION BREAK***
With dinner finally over and the family dispersed to their evening tasks, Astrid slipped out of the longhouse for solitude. The cool evening air settled over the village of Skogstrand as she found her way to the old elm tree behind the longhouse. Beyond its sprawling branches, a meadow stretched out, its spring grass lush with promise. The midnight sun hung low on the horizon, casting an ethereal light across the landscape. A few twinkling stars pierced through the lingering daylight.
Astrid sat under the branches and gazed upwards, her tears rolling silently down her cheek, while she replayed the events of the past few months. The gentle rustle of new leaves in the breeze seemed at odds with the turmoil in her heart.
It had all begun with the arrival of a messenger from Jarl Gunnar, bearing an offer to join their clans through marriage. The proposal at first seemed distant and abstract, but events had unfolded with alarming speed. Before Astrid could fully grasp the implications, her father had agreed to consider the alliance.
Gunnar and his kinsmen had arrived soon after. The negotiations with her father had been swift and decisive, with bride price and dowry agreed upon in what felt like the blink of an eye. Astrid had never truly believed her father would consent to such an arrangement, but here she was, betrothed to a stranger and facing a future that she found difficult to imagine. Realizing that her life had been irrevocably altered in only a matter of weeks left her feeling adrift and in mourning for the dreams and freedom she would soon leave behind.
Astrid shuddered as Gunnar's cold, calculating face surfaced in her mind. His cruel eyes and sneering lips haunted her thoughts, leaving her to wonder if his son, Einar, would be cut from the same unforgiving cloth as his father. A wave of revulsion washed over her as she recalled how Gunnar had leered at Sigrida, his gaze lingering far too long on her friend's form. How could her father have missed such obvious signs of Gunnar's true nature?
As these troubling thoughts swirled in her mind, Astrid felt a presence beside her. Sigrida silently lowered herself to the ground, resting her sorrowful head on Astrid's shoulder. The warmth of her friend's touch provided a small comfort against the chill of their uncertain future and the memory of Gunnar's predatory gaze.
Sigrida attempted to offer comfort, her voice barely above a whisper. "At least we'll be together..." But before she could continue, a sob caught in her throat, the words dissolving into silent tears.
Astrid wrapped her arms around her friend, their shared sorrow flowing freely through their tears. After a moment, Astrid sniffed and spoke with fierce determination, "I'll protect you, Sigrida. You'll stay by my side, and no one can hurt you while I’m with you."
The promise hung in the air between them, a reminder of Sigrida's vulnerability. As a thrall, she had no rights of her own, her fate was entirely dependent on the whims of others. The contrast between their positions - Astrid as a free woman and Sigrida as property - had never felt more pronounced or more unjust.
Sigrida's voice trembled as she voiced their shared fear. "But will they respect your wishes when you’re so far from your clan?" The question hung heavy in the air, underlining their shared vulnerability in a strange land.
"I don't know," Astrid whispered. Both girls fell silent, the weight of their uncertain future pressing down on them.
Unable to find words of reassurance, Astrid simply squeezed Sigrida's hand, their fingers intertwining in silent solidarity. In the branches above, a pair of small finches nestled close together, preparing for the night. Their gentle chirping and intimate companionship stood as a painful reminder of the natural bonds the two girls longed for versus the arranged unions they faced.
Sigrida lifted her gaze to the stars, her voice barely audible. "I've been praying to Freyja, to Frigg, to Skadi... every day since Gunnar's messenger arrived." Her words trailed off, head drooping in disappointment. After a moment, she straightened, a flicker of determination in her eyes. "We mustn't lose hope. Perhaps if we continue to pray, the goddesses will show us a way out of this."
The faint optimism in Sigrida's voice belied the desperation of their situation, but it kindled a tiny spark of hope in Astrid's heart, nonetheless.
Astrid turned to Sigrida, her eyes suddenly alight with an idea. "What if... what if the gods want us to answer our own prayers? To be brave enough to forge our own path?"
Sigrida stilled, her breath catching in her throat. After a long moment, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, "I... I have sometimes wondered, in all these years as a thrall, what it might be like to leave Skogstrand. To go far, far away." Her words came haltingly, laden with the weight of thoughts a thrall should never entertain.
Astrid felt a spark of spirit ignite within her. "I've been thinking the same thing," she said, her voice growing stronger. "What if we could leave? What if this is how the gods want us to shape our own destinies?"
The possibility hung between them, dangerous and exhilarating. In that moment, beneath the watchful eyes of the faint stars, the seed of rebellion took root in both their hearts.
Sigrida's breath quickened as the gravity of Astrid's suggestion sank in. Her eyes widened with a mixture of fear and longing. She shook her head, almost frantically, as if trying to physically dispel the dangerous notion before it could take hold.
"No, Astrid," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We can't... The punishment if we were caught..."
But Astrid wasn't deterred. She grasped Sigrida's hands firmly, her gaze intense and unwavering. "What if we’re not caught?" she pressed, her voice low but fervent. "We’ll have control of our own futures, Sigrida!"
For a breathless moment, they looked at each other, a spark of shared hope flickering between them. Then Sigrida seemed to catch herself, drawing back slightly.
"We... we should sleep on this," she said, her voice steadier but still tinged with uncertainty. "Let's talk tomorrow when our emotions have settled. After my chores are done, we can meet here again under the tree."
Astrid nodded, reluctantly releasing Sigrida's hands. As they parted ways, the possibility of escape, of freedom, lingered in the air like a tantalizing promise.
***SECTION BREAK***
The following morning, the longhouse bustled with activity. Yrsa moved through the space like a whirlwind, her voice rising above the general din as she directed thralls and family members alike.
"No, no, that chest goes there!" she said, gesturing emphatically. "And make sure all of Astrid's dresses are properly mended before packing them. We can't have her looking shabby in her new home!"
Yrsa's mind raced with all the preparations needed not just for Astrid's departure, but for the contingent of clan members who would travel to the wedding. Every detail had to be perfect, a reflection of Skogstrand's pride and prosperity.
Amidst the chaos, Astrid sat quietly, her fingers moving mechanically as she embroidered her wedding dress. The intricate patterns blurred before her eyes, each stitch feeling like another link in the chain binding her to her fate.
The sound of small feet announced Knut's approach before he burst into view, brandishing a wooden toy sword. His face was alight with childish excitement as he bounded up to Astrid.
"Astrid!" he called, swinging the sword in wide, exuberant arcs. "Come outside and fight with me! I'll be the fierce Viking warrior, and you can be giant Jötunn!"
For a moment, Astrid's eyes lit up. The prospect of escaping the stifling atmosphere of the longhouse, even for a short while, was tempting. She set aside her embroidery and was about to rise when Yrsa's sharp voice cut through the air.
"Where do you think you're going? You haven't finished your wedding dress." Yrsa's asked harshly, then added, "And make sure you're using the silk threads. We want to show Gunnar's clan that we spare no expense!"
Astrid's sighed as she sank back onto her seat. "I'm sorry, Knut," she said softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Maybe another time."
Knut's face fell, his toy sword drooping in his hand. "I hate weddings," he mumbled, his disappointment clear.
Across the room, Ingrid looked up from her drop spindle, offering Astrid a sympathetic smile. Her eyes held a mixture of understanding and concern, sympathetic to the weight of expectations placed on the young woman's shoulders.
As Knut trudged away, his excitement deflated, Astrid turned back to her embroidery. Her fingers moved restlessly over the fabric, each stitch feeling like another small surrender to the future that had been chosen for her.
Her eyes darted frequently to the open doorway of the longhouse. Beyond, in the garden, Sigrida knelt among the spring greens, her golden hair catching the sunlight. As if sensing Astrid's gaze, Sigrida looked up, their eyes meeting in a moment of silent understanding.
Astrid shifted in her seat, her foot tapping an irregular rhythm against the floor. She cast a furtive glance at Ingrid, who looked up from spinning, a flicker of concern crossing her face. Astrid quickly averted her eyes, hoping her face didn't betray the weight of the secret she carried.
As the day progressed, Astrid found herself keenly aware of Sigrida's movements, each completed task bringing them closer to their clandestine meeting.
She watched Sigrida fill her basket with tender spring greens, her fingers drumming impatiently on her knee. The clamor of hungry chickens barely registered as Sigrida scattered grain in the yard.
Inside the longhouse, the rich, earthy smell of fresh milk permeated the air as other thralls poured the morning's yield into clay pots. Astrid looked up to see Sigrida carefully skimming the cream from yesterday's milk, setting it aside for churning into butter.
Behind her the rhythmic sound of the warp-weighted loom provided a steady backdrop to the day's activities. Astrid's fingers moved impatiently over her embroidery while she watched the women deftly weave wool into sturdy fabric, the loom’s stone weights swaying gently with each pass of the weft.
The passing afternoon brought the pungent aroma of herbs as bundles were hung to dry from the rafters - remedies for the coming winter months. Outside, the steady thunk of an axe signaled men preparing firewood, while the distant bleating of goats reminded of more milking yet to come. Astrid’s eyes constantly flicked to the open doorway, tracking Sigrida's progress through her chores. Despite the bustle of activity around her, time seemed to crawl at an agonizing pace.
Suddenly, the relative calm of the longhouse was shattered as a breathless thrall burst through the door. "Yrsa!" she panted, "The sheep won't come to the pen. The dog's all addled, chasing spring squirrels instead of helping!"
Yrsa's face contorted with frustration. "Odin's beard! Can you not manage a few simple sheep?" She stormed towards the door, muttering, "I swear, the stupidity of these thralls... It's not as if herding sheep is some great mystery!"
As Yrsa's angry voice faded into the distance, Astrid saw her chance. She turned to Ingrid, forcing her voice to remain calm. "I need some fresh air. This embroidery is making my head ache."
Before Ingrid could respond, Astrid was on her feet, slipping out of the longhouse. Her heart pounded as she made her way to the old elm tree behind the longhouse, its sprawling branches offering shelter at the edge of the meadow. There, she would finally have the chance to speak with Sigrida and, perhaps, chart a course towards their freedom.
NEXT CHAPTER
Astrid slips away to meet Sigrida under the old elm tree, where they can finally lay the groundwork for their daring escape. But just as their whispered plans take shape, Erik, her brother’s closest friend, appears unexpectedly. With Sigrida's arrival moments later, tension rises. Will Erik uncover their secret and put an end to their plan before it begins, or could he become the key to their freedom?