Chapter 14 #3
At the back of the vast chamber, where painted shields and woven banners displayed fierce heads of roaring bears along the towering walls, Agnar sat in an elaborate ondvegi upon an elevated dais.
Carved into the gleaming wood which rose high above his bearskin-clad crowned head, a mammoth bear roared with regal fury, its amber eyes aglow in the firelight from the central hearth which spanned the length of the Great Hall.
Her breath hitched and seier surged at the sight of Sigurd, seated at the high table in the place of honor to the Bear King’s right.
The lapis beads braided into his golden beard glimmered, the glorious blue wolfskin of Blárúlfr shimmering in the incandescent light.
Among the Sjórúlfar at a nearby table, she spotted Kveld Nightwolf, his gleaming wolfskin cloak as black as his long hair.
braided beard, and inked runes which marked his pale, scarred skin.
As if he sensed her presence, the vitki turned his wolf-clad head toward the open doors where she lingered in the dark hallway.
Sigurd must have felt the same surge of seier that burned the ouroboros above her wildly thumping heart, for he glanced at the doorway. When she caught his gaze, Brynhildr drew the blanket away from her hidden head, revealing her shining blonde hair and hopeful face to her beloved Sea Wolf.
Recognition sparked in his shocked gaze.
He leaned toward Agnar, spoke into his bloodsworn broeir’s ear, then rose from the high table.
Quickly descending the dais, he strode across the waxed wooden floor, nodding to the Sjórúlfar and the warriors who raised their mugs of mead to hail him as he passed their tables.
When he reached her side, she grasped his hands, pulling him with her into the shadows.
Cupping her cold hands within his, he raised them to his bearded lips, incredulous eyes scanning her face with a blend of stunned disbelief and bewildered joy. “Brynhildr,” he breathed, pulling her into his arms and brushing his trembling lips against hers. “How can you be here?”
“I assumed human form to spend the night with you.” Rising onto her toes, she kissed his parted mouth and shared his ragged breath.
“I must leave at dawn, but I have much to tell you.” She darted glances down the hall, where the guards and healers tended the moaning wounded. “Where can we be alone?”
“In my private chamber. Come—it’s this way.” Sigurd led her from the entrance of the boisterous Great Hall down a darkened corridor to a heavy wooden door secured by a thick iron latch. Withdrawing a key from the belt at his waist, he unlocked the door and led her into the quiet room.
Banked embers crackled in the hearth set into the stone wall.
A sleigh-shaped bed covered with furs stood beneath a window where slivers of silver moonlight streamed onto the wooden floor.
In the corner, she spotted the gem-encrusted scabbard which contained the shards of úlfblóer, resting atop a table, with a large oaken chest on the floor near the hearth.
He tossed a log onto the fire, stoked the flames with an iron poker, and gently removed the blanket from her shaking shoulders. Intense longing blazed in his fierce lupine gaze.
As she had done so many times in her private chambers of the tower at Hrafnfjall, Brynhildr unfastened the wolf brooch which secured his Blárúlr cloak and slipped the thick wolfskin from his broad shoulders.
She folded his fur cloak, placed it reverently upon the wooden chest, and flew into his outstretched arms.
Groaning as if in pain, he swooped down and claimed her lips, parting them with a probing tongue.
As his deft fingers released the latches of her golden corslet, she removed the golden vambraces from her forearms and slipped out of her armor.
When she sat on the edge of the fur-covered bed, Sigurd unwrapped the amber leather from her shaking legs.
“By all the gods, I have yearned for you every day,” he whispered, kissing the smooth skin inside her quivering thighs as he peeled the leather away.
“I cannot believe you are here…” Sigurd threw off his tunic, boots, and breeches, standing gloriously naked in the moonglow.
As she reclined on the soft furs, he climbed onto the bed and hovered over her. Like a famished wolf, his feral gaze raked over her bare body. “You are a goddess,” he murmured, warm lips sampling her neck as he whispered into her ear. “And I shall worship you with my adoring mouth.”
His skilled tongue traced the skin from her throat to her nipples, sucking each one with warm, eager lips.
The rhythmic tugging caused her insides to clamp, desperate for him to fill them.
When he parted the blonde curls between her trembling thighs, he groaned with hunger.
“How I have longed for your taste…” Lowering his mouth to her tender folds, he feasted on her flesh like a man starved.
He swirled his tongue over her sensitive bud, penetrating her with long fingers, rocking with the sea which lapped at the shore far below the clifftop fortress.
The unbearable tension mounted under his insistent, relentless rhythm until she snapped.
Waves of pleasure washed over her as she surrendered and succumbed to bliss.
“Sigurd,” she gasped, her breath heaving as she reached for his taut shoulders. “I want you inside me. Please.”
He lifted his head, a wolfish grin stretching across his bearded face as he licked his bristled lips.
“With pleasure.” Placing strong knees between her shaking legs, he parted her thighs wide.
Calloused hands slid beneath her hips, tilting them up to receive him.
When he plunged deep inside, he moaned with a guttural growl
“By all the gods, I love you,” he groaned, pumping her flesh, causing the delicious tension to rise again.
She wrapped long legs around his thrusting hips, taut arms around his broad back, seier surging through her veins.
When she convulsed in spasms of pleasure, her body tightly clenched his.
Sigurd arrowed in deep and roared in release, filling her with seed, seier, and soul.
She kissed his tense shoulder, the salty taste of his fresh sweat dancing on her tongue.
He pressed frantic kisses into the side of her neck, his hums of pleasure tickling her ear.
“I have longed to sink into your exquisite body every single day since our last dawn together. I thank all the gods you are here.” He lowered himself to her side and cradled her over his thundering heart.
“But now, you must tell me how and why you have come.”
With a tender fingertip, Brynhildr traced the ouroboros which glowed with amber fire in the moonlight. As she reverently kissed the mark of the dragon that bound their two souls, the golden ring from her vision flared into her mind.
Rising onto one elbow, she stroked the hair on Sigurd’s beloved chest and gazed into his fierce blue eyes.
“In a seier vision, I foresaw úlfblóer shattering beneath Hjálmgunnar’s deadly blade.
Yet I also saw that you shall reforge your faeir’s legendary sword Gramr, which your móeir has kept all these winters. ”
Brynhildr sat up in bed and took his hand, squeezing it to impart the importance of her message.
“You must claim the broken shards from Queen Hjordis, and carry them north by fjord. Bring the remnants of úlfblóer as well, for the two sacred blades shall be reforged as one. A dwarf waits in a waterfall cave, veiled in frosty mist. You must help him awaken Gramr—so your faeir’s Volsung power is reborn, and the Sea Wolf spirit of Blárúlfr rises anew within the god-forged steel. ”
Her thumb traced his pounding pulse. “The wolf blood of Odin flows in your Volsung veins. Only you can awaken its dormant power.” Her heart lurched as the ouroboros surged with sparks of seier.
She raised Sigurd’s hand to her lips and bestowed a breathless kiss.
“And with your faeir’s reforged blade, strengthened by úlfblóer’s blood-forged steel…
you, my beloved Sea Wolf… shall slay a dragon. ”
Sigurd bolted upright beside her, lupine eyes wild with feral wonder.
Before he could speak, she told him of the dragon’s hoard… and the three priceless items she’d glimpsed in the startling vision.
“An enormous dragon with deep green scales, its eyes ablaze like fiery emeralds, guards a trove of treasure. In that hoard, I saw a trio of enchanted objects pulsing with seier power. A winged golden helmet, shaped like the head of the dragon, with emerald eyes like the beast itself. A golden brynja, radiant as the sun. And, Sigurd…” she cried, her voice shaking as she placed his fingers over the soulbound rune which seared her flesh.
“An ouroboros ring, just like this mark of the dragon which binds our souls through seier.”
He cradled her hand in his, lowering his lips to bestow a reverent kiss. “I am grateful that you have come, not only for the joy of sharing love, but for guiding my fate with your Valkyrie vision. I shall aid the dwarf and reforge Gramr with úlfblóer…but how do I find the dragon?”
“The dwarf knows the location of the dragon’s lair. Long has he waited for you to come. He needs you to slay the beast and retrieve the stolen gold, for it is far more than mere treasure. It is a sublime source of seier power, bound to the dragon’s fiery soul.”