Chapter 25 #3
Nearby, the armored warriors of Sjóborg stood with King álfr and Queen Hjordis, each draped in deep blue cloaks trimmed in grey wolfskin, silver circlets set with gleaming lapis lazuli atop their crowned heads.
Their warm, proud smiles welcomed Sigurd home.
As the wolf sails were furled and the crews disembarked on the beach below, Sigurd climbed the stone steps carved into the face of the cliff.
In his scarred hands, he clutched the bronze crown and royal brooch of the Eagle King who had slain his faeir Sigmund.
Behind him, wrapped in the fallen banner Sigurd had torn from Lyngvi’s fortress of ?rnfjall, was the eagle sword which Kveld solemnly carried as a gift for Sigurd to offer his beloved móeir.
Her blue eyes widened in recognition at the sight of the amber-eyed eagle perched atop the bronze crown and the royal brooch of the enemy king who had killed her Volsung husband.
Her lower lip trembled as Sigurd knelt at her feet, arms outstretched before him, offering her the proof that he had avenged his faeir.
"I bring you Lyngvi’s eagle crown, royal brooch, and traitorous sword.
” Sigurd’s deep voice echoed across the heathered moor, off the craggy cliffs, and out over the moonlit fjord.
“I offer these as wergild—repayment for the loss of your husband, and for the honor of your noble heart. May this gift remind you always that your son avenged his faeir with Sigmund’s own sword, Gramr.” He rose to his full height and gestured to the wolf and raven crown atop his bowed head.
“I have reclaimed the kingdom of Lindesnes and restored the Volsung line. Sigmund’s rightful heir now sits upon his throne. "
Tears welled in her grateful eyes as her pale fingers brushed the bronze eagle crown. She remained silent, overcome by grief from the past and the long-awaited proof of justice now presented before her. Her whisper caught in her throat, choked with repressed emotion.
"Thank you, my son. Your faeir would be as proud of you as I am.” She looked up at him, love and gratitude shining in her maternal gaze as she caressed the side of his face. “You are so much like him… he still lives through you.” Rising onto her toes, she kissed his bearded cheek.
Sigurd motioned for Gunnar and Hogni to approach.
“King álfr, Queen Hjordis, may I present Gunnar and Hogni, sons of the Burgundian River King Gjúki. They are bloodsworn brothers who fought at my side to defeat Lyngvi in Gotaland. They also witnessed the hjolmgang where I defeated Jarl Vísburr and reclaimed the kingdom of Lindesnes.”
Gunnar inclined his crowned head, the silver circlet with coiled serpents glistening in the moonlight. “It is an honor to meet the Wolf King of Sjóborg.” A cordial smile split his dark braided beard.
Deep brown eyes flashing with pride, Hogni bowed to gallantly kiss Hjordis’ slender hand. “And a pleasure to meet his beautiful queen.”
álfr smiled broadly, nodding in approval. “Well met, Gunnar and Hogni. You shall be honored in my royal hall.” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “And now, let us feast, for the sons of kings return victorious to Sjóborg!”
While the Sjórúlfar howled at the moon, and cheers rippled through the throng, álfr gestured for all to follow him into the Great Hall. “Come, let us celebrate the triumphant return of Sigurd Sea Wolf, Dragonslayer of Sjóborg. The Volsung King of Lindesnes.”
Laughter and music filled the hall as álfr’s skáld Skúli sang Triumph of the Volsung King, a saga of Sigurd’s victory over Lyngvi of Gotaland and his crowning in Lindesnes.
The warmth of the hearth fire, the rich scent of grilled fish and steamed seafood, and the flavor of the mellow honeyed mead lingered in the air and danced on Sigurd’s tongue.
But his mind was elsewhere, his lupine heart tugged by the ouroboros mark upon his chest, guiding him ever toward Brynhildr.
At his side, the black fur of Kveld’s wolfskin cloak shimmered in the torchlight. As if he sensed Sigurd’s thoughts, the vitki turned to face him, a sly smile curling his dark, bearded lips. “The Sea Wolf longs for the Sun Falcon. Tomorrow, we set sail for the Camargue.”
Sigurd drained his elkhorn, wiped his blond beard, and whispered so only the Nightwolf could hear.
“I wish to fetch some of Fáfnir’s gold, to bring Budli as a bride price for Brynhildr.” Now that the feast was dwindling, with exhausted warriors and weary crewmen retiring to longhouses and guest lodging, they could soon depart under cover of darkness, with the light of the full moon to guide their way.
“I have hidden the trove in Regin’s waterfall cave, where the dwarf and I reforged Gramr. With you and me both at the oars, it won’t take us long.
I’ll fill a small chest with gold and gems, and bring it to Hrafnfjall, to offer the Raven King as a mundr for the royal hand of his dóttir. We’ll be back long before dawn.”
The amber eyes of the black wolf and the vitki glowed golden in the incandescent light.