Chapter 19
Ljófálfar Wedding in ísland
úlvhild had spent a glorious afternoon with Haldor, rekindling their magic through exquisite passion and much-needed rest in the private quarters they shared in the íslyra castle.
Now that Njord had reclaimed his father’s Dwarven sword and everyone had returned from álfheim, úlvhild and Sif were in Elfi’s chambers, helping her dress for the wedding.
Njord was with Haldor and Bodo in Skjold’s quarters, donning his elegant attire as well.
Sif had woven elegant braids into Elfi’s golden brown hair, and the beaming bride was admiring her reflection in a polished silver plate that served as a mirror.
At the base of Elfi’s throat, the three tiers of droplet-shaped blue and green gems that Njord had given her as a wedding gift—the Persian necklace which had once belonged to her grandmother Rán—sparkled in the firelight from the enclosed hearth along the stone wall.
Her wedding gown, which Oda and Sif had so lovingly sewn from the sumptuous blue silk Njord had obtained on the shores of the Caspian Sea, was embroidered with silver thread and embellished with glittering gems along the neckline and the fitted bands on her arms. Beneath the elbows, the ephemeral sleeves of her elegant gown fluttered like swan wings to the rune-inscribed, polished stone floor.
Elfi was an exceptionally beautiful bride.
“And now, the headpiece.” Sif placed the slender silver circlet atop Elfi’s intricate braids.
The swirling peaks and dips of the coronet resembled waves—symbolic of Elfi’s sjóvaettir heritage as the daughter of Dúva, the billow maiden mermaid whose magic she now wielded, and Njord’s esteemed title as Wolf of the Nordic Seas.
Nestled among the whorls of the silver crown, a trio of lapis lazuli gems glistened in the golden light.
“This ermine is magnificent!” úlvhild draped the long, elegant white fur cape with delicate black tips over Elfi’s shoulders and fastened the lapis lazuli brooch. “It will complement Njord’s white wolfskin cloak. Perfect for the bridal couple.”
úlvhild smoothed her thick black hair and glanced at her own reflection in the polished silver plate.
The amber necklace with the carved image of Freyja glowed upon her breast above the curved neckline of her honey colored gown.
Haldor will be pleased. She smiled at Sif. “The bride is ready. Inform the groom.”
With a squeal of impish delight, Sif, clad in a pretty plum colored dress and amethyst necklace borrowed from Elfi, dashed out the door.
A few moments later, Haldor, Bodo, and Lugh returned with a smiling, exuberant Sif.
úlvhild’s breath hitched at the sight of her handsome lover.
Amber beads, woven into his long chestnut hair and thick dark beard, glinted in the incandescent light.
He wore a fine woolen tunic of golden amber, the same hue as úlvhild’s gown, with brown breeches and gleaming leather boots.
Draped across his wide shoulders, the cloak of brown falcon feathers shimmered with hints of black, silver, and iridescent blue.
He grinned at the sight of her obvious approval of his stunning attire. When he offered her the crook of his arm, úlvhild hooked her elbow through his and stepped aside for Lugh to escort Elfi to the Crystal Hall.
Bodo was wearing a brown tunic and woolen breeches beneath his distinctive wolfskin cloak.
He offered a brawny arm to Sif, who slipped to his side and waited, her pretty face alight with love for the úlfhedinn warrior she hoped to marry upon their return to Normandy, and the beloved mistress Elfi she had faithfully served since birth.
Laid across his sinewy, dragonscale clad arms, Lugh held Elfi’s Shadowbane sword, which had once belonged to her beloved brother Dag.
The shining blade was placed atop a silver platter draped with white ermine fur, like the bride herself.
Tied to its hilt was Njord’s wedding ring—a silver band etched with runes and embellished with a trio of lapis lazuli stones, like Elfi’s bridal headpiece, which sparkled with deep blue fire threaded with gold.
Elfi would offer her new husband the heirloom blade for the ritual exchange of swords, the traditional ceremony at the heart of a Norse wedding.
The towering blond Ljósálf grinned from ear to ear, his handsome, clean shaven face luminous in the candlelight from beeswax sconces mounted on the stone walls. “I shall now escort the bride. Come, Elfi. Njord awaits.”
Elfi strode beside Lugh down the elegant corridor toward the Crystal Hall where the wedding guests were gathered in front of the Ljósálfar queen.
Standing before his regal mother, Njord was resplendent in a deep blue tunic paired with black breeches and boots, his white wolfskin cloak draped across his wide shoulders.
The newly reclaimed úlfsongr sword was sheathed in shimmery dragonscale leather at his sinewy waist. At his side, clad in the massive cloak of a great grey wolf, stood úlf, the alpha leader of their úlfhéenar pack.
In his bare, scarred hands, he proudly held a silver platter draped with white wolf fur which displayed Njord’s heirloom sword, gifted to him at the age of sixteen winters by King Harald Bluetooth.
Tied to the elaborated hilt with a silver cord, Elfi’s wedding ring sparkled in the starlight of íslyra’s Crystal Hall.
Lugh escorted Elfi to join Njord before the queen, then remained at Elfi’s side with the sword she would offer to her betrothed.
úlvhild and Haldor followed, arm in arm, with Bodo and Sif close behind.
As they settled in among the standing guests, úlvhild noted how the úlfhéenar—including ólaf One-Eye—looked grim but glorious in their wild wolfskin cloaks draped over woolen tunics embroidered with silver thread.
Njáll and Luna were an especially impressive pair, with his striking black wolfskin over a deep green tunic enhancing the dark emerald gown that flowed over Luna’s lithe, slender form.
I expect there will soon be another Ljósálfar and úlfhéenar wedding, like Queen íssla and Brokk’s so many years ago.
Perhaps this winter solstice, when Luna and Njáll sail home with Elfi and Njord.
They might even marry at Chateau Blanc, and live in étretat.
Luna can return frequently to álfheim through the waterfall cave of the Mermaid Cove.
And when Bodo and Sif marry as well, they shall all be together in the Pays de Caux.
úlvhild swallowed a lump of sorrow at how she longed to wed Haldor and live in the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs. Or in Fálkholl, his clifftop fortress in the Faroe Islands. Or anywhere, for that matter. So long as they were together, she would be content.
But the Norns have woven a different fate for the two of us.
For I shall die in battle tomorrow.
And Haldor will wed Svanhild.
As if he sensed her distress, Haldor squeezed úlvhild’s hand. She flashed him a bright, forced smile and directed her attention back to the wedding ceremony which was about to begin.
Queen íssla’s silver cloak glistened over her opalescent gown like starlight on new fallen snow. Her clear voice—radiant as the moonglow which shone through windows in the high ceiling—rang out over the elegant Crystal Hall.
“Honored friends and beloved kin, we gather under stone and stars to bind two souls together in eternal love and Ljósálfar light.” At her gesture, a goei pagan priest stepped forward and halted before Elfi and Njord, who stood together in the center of a circular mosaic of glowing moonstones and glittering starstones inlaid into the dark, polished floor.
Dressed in a long white tunic draped with furs, a leather belt with pouches of herbs, charms, and fragments of bones strapped at his waist, the white-haired goei clutched a twig from ísilvé, the sacred ash tree of álfheim, and a silver bowl containing the blood of the goat which had been sacrificed to the Norse gods on the black beach far below the castle.
With steady hands—whitened with chalk and blackened with runes just like his painted face—the goei dipped the twig in the silver bowl and reverently anointed the brows of Elfi and Njord.
“With this sacred blood, I invoke the blessing of the gods. May they grant you fertility, prosperity, and unity. Now, and all your days beneath sun and stars.” He gestured to úlf, who approached with the silver platter draped in white wolf fur upon which lay Njord’s sword, with Elfi’s wedding ring attached to its hilt.
“Let the sword be offered. Untie the ring, place it upon the bride’s finger, and declare your wedding vows. ”
Njord removed the ring from the hilt of his sword and placed the silver band with a large lapis lazuli stone on the third finger of Elfi’s left hand. As his intense gaze held his bride’s, tears streamed down úlvhild’s smiling cheeks. Njord’s deep voice resonated across the hushed Crystal Hall.
“I give you my sword, my life, and my vow.
I will protect you, honor you, and walk beside you.
All my days beneath sun and stars.
Let this ring bear witness to my oath
To love and honor you in this life and the next.”
Elfi gazed up at Njord and accepted the sword that he had taken from úlf and now offered to her.
“I accept your sword, your ring, and your vow. And I give you mine.” She handed the platter with Njord’s heirloom sword to Sif, who was standing just behind her with Bodo.
Elfi then turned to Lugh, who waited at her side with the blade that Dag had given her—the Shadowbane sword with which he had trained Elfi in the sacred grove near the Mermaid Cove.
Elfi untied the silver cord which attached Njord’s ring to the hilt and placed it on the third finger of his right hand, according to Norse tradition.
Her limpid voice flowed like the crystal cascade beneath the Ljósálfar castle.
“I give you my sword, my life, and my vow.