Chapter 30 #2
Kjartan’s skaldic song, “Royal Wedding at Hrafnfjall”, was a glowing tribute to Budli, the nine visiting jarls and kings, and the bridal couple.
Clad in a grey wolfskin cloak over an indigo tunic, the tall, broad warrior poet Hrólfr stood proudly before the enthralled throng.
Lapis beads braided into his long blond hair and beard.
the shaven sides of his head intricately inked in deep blue, he strummed his wooden harp, carved with wolves, ravens, and runes.
His deep, melodic voice mellow as golden mead, he sang “Dragonslayer’s Valkyrie”, the epic saga of how the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden Brynhildr defied fate for her beloved Sea Wolf, and how Sigurd in turn saved her from the Ring of Fire and made her his Volsung queen.
Sigurd’s heart soared as he kissed Brynhildr’s hand. Her smile was as dazzling as her crown.
Amidst thunderous cheers, riotous howls from the Sjórúlfar, and the metal clang of swords against bossed shields, Budli rose from his throne, beaming from ear to bearded ear.
He lifted a regal hand to silence the clamorous crowd.
“Let us honor the royal skálds who have sung the tales of our newly wedded couple, Sigurd and Brynhildr, the Volsung King and Queen!”
At his gesture, two hulking húskarlar in gleaming chainmail emerged from the shadows, carrying a silver platter draped in deep blue silk. Upon it rested three golden armbands, engraved with intertwining wolves, ravens, and runes that mirrored the crowns of Lindesnes.
Pride laced Budli’s rich, reverent voice.
“Skúli, Kjartan, and Hrólfr, receive these golden arm rings as royal gifts for your skaldic songs. You have carried the triumphant joy of this wedding and coronation across Hrafnfajll and out over the Sogneforden. May these golden bands shine radiant as the summer solstice sun!”
One by one, the húskarlar presented the gleaming armbands to the trio of skálds, who bowed deeply before the elevated dais as Budli nodded in solemn approval. The hall erupted in cheers, the clatter of clinking cups and laughter mingling with roars and howls.
Budli spread his arms wide, his black cloak fluttering like a raven about to take flight. “Now, wedding guests of Hrafnfjall! Let us take the celebration outdoors to dance around the bonfire, join the villagers in merriment, and rejoice in the union of the Sea Wolf King and his Sun Falcon Queen!”
The wedding guests rose from the long trestle tables and spilled out into golden light, where the midsummer sun lingered low over the glistening fjord.
In the wildflower-strewn meadow beyond the flagstone courtyard, a roaring bonfire blazed within an enclosure of smooth stones.
Along both sides of the cobbled path which led from the clifftop fortress down into the vibrant village, brightly colored tents and canvas stalls offered skewered meats, spiced cakes, handcrafted wares, and golden mead for the joyous occasion.
The scents of cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and grilled fish mingled with the salty scent of the nearby sea, the crackle of the bonfire, and lively music blending with laughter and song.
As flames leapt like molten gold, and notes from lyres and flutes floated in the warm summer breeze, kings, jarls, warriors, and villagers alike spun in rhythm to the lively melodies.
Sigurd held Brynhildr in his arms, swirling around the bonfire.
Fond memories of dancing with her for the first time during the Sólhjarta Tournament floated into his mind like the fjord flowing beneath the cliff.
“Remember the summer solstice past, when you led me into your private courtyard?” He flashed her a wolfish grin, taking her hand and guiding her toward the stone wall covered in ivy, wild roses, and thorned vines.
There, beneath her clifftop tower, was the triple bindrune Kveld had carved into the stone. The same trio of runes inscribed in his wedding band—and in the silver casing of the emerald talisman at the base of Brynhildr’s throat.
He released her hand and crouched low, running reverent fingers over the runes.
“Geibo, the gift of self we give each other.” He smiled up at her, his beloved Sun Falcon, now his wedded wife and crowned queen.
“Raido, the voyage on úlfalkr which sailed us to safety across the sea, just as Kveld had foreseen.” Brushing fingertips over the last mark, he whispered, “Kaun, the rune of fire. For the ouroboros which binds our souls with seier.” Sigurd rose to his feet and pulled her into his arms. He brushed her full lips with his own.
The rustle of silk alerted his keen lupine ears.
Behind them, the ochre-painted face of the crimson-haired volva Eldsjá glimmered in the midnight sun.
“I too, wish to bestow a wedding gift,” she murmured, her velvety voice smooth as her amethyst gown.
A copper diadem set with glittering amethysts rested atop her long scarlet locks.
Black runes graced her swanlike neck, and black catskin gloves limned her long arms. Clutched in her slender hands was the gnarled black staff, topped with the skull of a raven who watched with glowing amber eyes.
An enigmatic smile curled Eldsjá’s blackened lips. “The night you became a Sea Wolf, I foresaw your fate in flames. Tonight, I glimpse the illustrious future of the Dragonslayer’s Daughter.”
The crimson and golden volva led Sigurd and Brynhildr around the sheltered stone wall covered in wild roses and ivy to the grassy courtyard beneath the private tower. Within a small circle of smooth stones, flames flickered, reflecting off the sparkling fjord.
Just as she had done on the clifftop of Sjóborg, Eldsjá now tossed three deep purple juniper berries into the fire.
The crackle as they snapped sent the crisp fragrance of pine into the salty night air.
Next, she cast three red elderberries, then a trio of orange rowan berries, their spiced earthy scent mingling with resinous pine.
Thumping her ebony staff upon the ground, she deeply inhaled the pungent herbs and chanted a vardlokkur, invoking the Norns to reveal the threads of fate.
“Born on the winter solstice, she shall inherit her faeir’s gift of understanding birds.
With the wolf blood of Odin and the falcon blood of Freyja, your dóttir shall be doubly divine.
Granddaughter of the Goddess of Seier, she shall become a powerful volva and a skilled shieldmaiden, like her móeir,.
The Valkyrie’s dóttir shall wed a dragonslayer king as legendary as her Volsung faeir.
When the coil of the ouroboros closes and nine lives have been claimed by the curse, she shall inherit Fáfnir’s treasure.
And the dragonfire of seidr that binds Sea Wolf and Sun Falcon…
shall shield the Dragonslayer’s Daughter, born of the Dwarven curse. ”
The flames fluttered, and firesight faded from Eldsjá’s golden eyes. With a solemn nod of her diadem-adorned crimson head, the volva gripped her gnarled staff and disappeared beyond the wall of wild roses and ivy vines.
From the dark shadows between the wildflowers and sharp thorns, amber lupine eyes and black wolfskin fur glimmered in the torchlight.
Kveld’s deep voice floated to them on the fragrant floral breeze.
“The Sea Wolf and the Sun Falcon shall defy all for each other,” he murmured, repeating the prophecy he had foreseen when he carved the triple bindrune in the stone where he now stood.
Where he had inked the wolf and falcon tattoos which blazed upon their forearms.
Where they had sworn their solemn oath and shared the blood-laced mead.
“With bindrune, blood, and breath, your souls are eternally bound…beyond the realm of fate…and beyond the reach of the gods.” Kveld inclined his wolfskin-clad head toward the winding secret stairs that climbed the cliffside tower.
“Go,” he murmured, the deep rumble of his otherworldly voice reverberating into Sigurd’s bones.
“Seal your wedding vows in seier and starlight, as once you sealed your blood-sworn oath.”
Taking his trembling hand, Brynhildr led Sigurd up the winding stone steps of the clifftop tower overlooking the fjord, where emerging stars shimmered over the midnight sea.
In the meadow beyond the flagstone courtyard of Hrafnfjall, the bonfire roared and the music rose in jubilant laughter and skáldic song.
As they stood on the balcony of her private chambers, gazing out over the moonlit fjord, the stars of seier shimmered in the velvet sky above, forming the coil of the ouroboros which blazed above their fierce hearts and bound their entwined souls.
Soon, they would sail to Lindesnes, where they would reign as Volsung King and Queen.
And on the winter solstice, they would welcome the beloved babe now cradled in Brynhildr’s womb.
Born of the Dwarven curse, protected by the seier of dragonfire.
áslaug, gift of the gods.
The Dragonslayer’s Daughter.
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