Chapter 29
Royal Wedding at Hrafjnfjall
Brynhildr stared out the wide open double doors of her balcony.
The golden light of the summer sun gilded the glimmering fjord, dozens of longships lining the pebbled beach below her private tower.
She smiled, remembering the Solhjarta Tournament of the previous summer solstice when she had first met Sigurd.
Today, she would formally wed her Sea Wolf in the royal wedding at Hrafnfjall.
The rich scent of two oxen roasting in deep pits and three boars skewered on spits over open flames filled the salty air with the tantalizing aroma of savory meat.
The goei who would perform the wedding had sacrificed the animals last night, collecting and saving the sacred blood for today’s ceremony and the ritual offering to the gods.
Clad in the same blue silk gown that she had worn for the moonlit wedding beside the sacred Lindsvier spring, Brynhildr now sat at her bedside table, watching waves ripple the surface of the sunlit fjord, while Astrid and Inga braided emeralds and lapis lazuli gems into her long blonde hair.
Yrsa’s deep blue face was painted with woad and inscribed with black runes, her volva cloak embellished with bones, feathers, beads, and charms. She held the elaborately decorated kransen—the silver crown adorned with emeralds that Brynhildr would soon wear as her bridal headpiece—woven with ivy and wild roses taken from the vine-covered wall of her private courtyard.
Where she and Sigurd had once sworn their blood oath, sealed in seier and starlight.
The wedding band Kveld had crafted for Sigurd was tied with blue silk ribbon to the hilt of Sólfalkr, the falcon sword her goddess móeir Freyja had bestowed for the Summer Solstice Tournament.
The three intricate images of wolf, falcon, and dragon glimmered between the trio of gems set into the golden band.
Inside the wedding ring, the same trinity of runes that the Nightwolf had carved into the hull of úlfalkr—and onto the shore beneath the private tower were she now sat—pulsed with the rhythm of her pounding heart and the mark of the dragon which seared the skin above her left breast.
Nearby, in Kveld’s private chambers of her faeir’s fortress, Sigurd was preparing for the late afternoon ceremony which would soon begin. Brynhildr had given him her ouroboros wedding band, to be tied to the hilt of his sword.
Just as Budli would hold Sólfalkr for Brynhildr during the wedding ceremony,, King álfr would bear the ancestral blade Gramr for Sigurd to offer her in the ritual exchange of swords.
Soft notes of lyres and lutes, the melodic trill of flutes, and the steady thrum of drums drifted through the open tower doors. Brynhildr’s heart quickened, for the music meant that the goei was ready in the courtyard.
Four of her faeir’s armored húskarlar appeared in the doorway. “The ceremony is about to begin,” Geirr announced with a reverent bow. “We have come to escort you to the wedding.”
After Yrsa placed the wild rose and ivy kransen atop her intricately braided hair, Brynhildr descended the stairs of her tower, flanked by a pair of royal guards.
Clutching her gnarled ashwood staff, the amber gem glowing golden in its filigree tip, the blue-faced volva followed Brynhildr, between the other húskarlar, with Ingrid and Astrid close behind.
The courtyard shimmered with lit torches. The crisp resinous scent of juniper mingled with the exotic spice of myrrh and the floral fragrance of wildflowers. Garlands of ivy and wild roses decorated the walls, and the deep blue fjord glistened in the summer sun.
Wrinkled face whitened with chalk and painted with black runes, the pagan priest wore an antler headpiece atop his long silver hair.
Amber beads and bones were braided into his waist-length beard, his fur-trimmed cloak fastened with a silver brooch carved with the raven sigil of Hrafnfjall.
In one skeletal hand, the goei clutched the silver bowl of sacrificial blood, the other held the sacred ash twig with which he would anoint the bridal couple and royal guests.
The glorious smile Sigurd flashed when he saw her lit up Brynhildr’s entire soul.
He was resplendent, with Blárúlfr draped across his broad shoulders, the shimmering fur cloak fastened with the snarling wolf brooch that mirrored Gramr’s hilt, held in King álfr’s outstretched hands.
Tied to the pommel with deep blue silk was Brynhildr’s ouroboros wedding ring.
The emerald eyes of the dragon glittered like the deep green gems set in her bridal crown and braided into her long hair.
Queen Hjordis, elegantly clad in a silver gown and deep blue cloak trimmed with wolf fur, a slender silver coronet adorned with lapis beads atop her pale blonde head, smiled warmly at Brynhildr as she joined Sigurd in the center of the courtyard before the goei.
Draped in a black cloak trimmed with rich marten fur, a silver crown atop his russet hair, gleaming beads braided into his thick red beard, Budli grinned proudly at Brynhildr. The lovely Princess Dagny and her own royal faeir, King Eirikr, lingered at his royal side.
Behind the Raven King stood Ulric Ironshield, the beloved mentor who had mercilessly trained her to become the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden of Hrafnfjall. Fierce affection blazed in his proud warrior gaze.
And behind Sigurd, among the nine Sjórúlfar whose wolfskin cloaks shimmered in the setting sun, was Kveld Nightwolf, the amber eyes of the black beast atop his dark head glowing golden as his own.
Into a small fire contained within a circle of smooth stones, the goei tossed three deep purple juniper berries.
As they crackled and snapped, sparks swirled upward, the piney scent blending with the salty brine of the sea.
The goei’s haunting, hallowed voice echoed over the courtyard and out across the fjord as he invoked a trinity of gods to bless the royal wedding.
“Freyja, Goddess of Love and Seier, accept this sacred offering, and bless the union of Sigurd Sigmundsson and Brynhildr Budladóttir.”
The chalk-faced priest bowed his antler-adorned head and set the bowl of sacrificial blood upon a flat stone before the fire. He lifted a silver chalice, studded with amber gems and etched with blackened runes, and poured three generous drops of golden mead into the sacred flames.
“Freyr, God of Harvest and Golden Fields, receive this mead of the earth’s sweetness. Grant prosperity and fertility to the Sea Wolf and the Sun Falcon.”
For the final offering to the gods, the goei tossed three meadowsweet blossoms into the ritual fire. “Frigg, Goddess of Marriage, Vows, and Fate, we offer a trio of pure white blossoms. Bless this sacred bond between the Dragonslayer and his Valkyrie.”
With the invocation complete, the goei nodded to Sigurd, who solemnly took Gramr from King álfr’s open palms and offered the sheathed blade to Brynhildr. The royal guests gathered around the bridal couple in the courtyard—and the enthralled villagers lined along the path and stretched across the grassy meadow—watched in expectant silence.
Sigurd’s deep voice reverberated into her bones, the ouroboros on her skin blazing like the golden band tied to the wolf head hilt as she accepted the proffered blade.
“Brynhildr, my Sun Falcon, I offer you this wedding ring.” He untied the band and slid it reverently onto her finger as he spoke his vows.
“My heart and soul are yours, now and forevermore. I vow to love you…and only you.. in this life and the next.”
The goei inclined his head to Brynhildr.
Entrusting Gramr to Ulric Ironshield, she reached for her sword Sólfalkr, which Budli held at her side, and offered it to Sigurd.
When he accepted her blade, she untied the wedding band Kveld had crafted and slid it onto Sigurd’s finger as she swore her wedding vows.
“Sigurd, my beloved Sea Wolf, my soul has been bound to yours since the first fire of the ouroboros. I vow to stand by your side, to share in your triumphs and trials, and to bear your children. I swear to love you…and only you…in this life and the next. I am yours, forevermore.”
Sigurd returned Sólfalkr to Budli, who solemnly sheathed it at his waist beside his own sword Hrafntonn. The sun falcon in the hilt of Brynhildr’s sacred sword gleamed in the golden sun.
Inclining his head, Ulric returned Gramr to Sigurd, who slid it into the scabbard upon his hip, the lapis eyes of the snarling wolf in úlfblóer’s hilt glistening like the sunlit fjord.
The white-faced goei retrieved the silver bowl and dipped the sacred ash twig into the dark red blood, marking the foreheads of Sigurd and Brynhildr. Reverence laced his raspy voice.
“By the life of the sacrificed beasts, by the fire of the watchful gods, by the seier that binds your souls, I anoint you as husband and wife. Let the mark of this blood seal your wedding vows. Like the endless circle of the ouroboros, so shall your bond endure—an eternal return, beyond fate and flame.”
Long white robes flowing in the summer breeze, the pagan priest anointed the gathered royals and jarls with sacrificial blood while his two apprentices flicked droplets over the villagers assembled in the meadow with ash twigs dipped in rune-inscribed silver bowls.
Once the bridal couple and wedding guests were all blood-blessed, the goei poured the remaining sacred liquid from the three silver bowls into the ritual fire.
“May the gods receive this offering. May love, loyalty, and courage blaze among those present. Let all who witness this royal wedding be blessed with sacred blood.”
After a few moments of hallowed silence, the goei and his two apprentices retreated into the crowd while a Christian priest—whom King Budli had arranged to ensure that the royal wedding was recognized as official and valid by the Christian Church— emerged from the royal fortress with two acolytes of his own.