Chapter 35
Freyja’s Eyes
After Skjold left, Haldor wrapped úlvhild in his brawny arms and cradled her on his broad chest. He rocked her and kissed her hair. “A daughter…” he whispered, his hushed voice laced with wonder.
Tears streamed down úlvhild’s cheeks as he held her. Weak legs shaking under her long gown, she murmured into his thumping heart. “And two sons…” Overcome with emotion and gratitude, she sobbed into his soft woolen tunic.
“Come,” he said, leading her toward the pile of soft furs and helping her to sit down upon them. “This calls for a celebration.”
She sat there, watching him in stunned silence as he fetched her silver chalice and ornate dagger from the small wooden chest which held her belongings, setting them upon the stone shelf carved into the cave wall.
He withdrew three pouches of dried herbs from her leather satchel and added a pinch of each to the gem-encrusted goblet.
Fetching two of the wooden cups they had used to toast with Skjold, he placed them on either side of the chalice and poured golden mead into all three.
úlvhild was numb. Her limbs trembled at the startling revelation of Skjold’s spirit vision. And the stark realization that Freyja had not only healed her.
The goddess had given her Haldor’s children.
And finally… a future together.
Haldor tossed three dark purple berries into the fire. A sprinkle of meadowsweet, its delicate floral scent mingling with the crisp pine of juniper. And myrrh, a precious herb from Miklagard.
A trio of inviting aromas for an invocation.
He placed the silver goblet on a smooth stone beside the fragrant fire and flashed a glorious smile at úlvhild. “A gift of gratitude for our goddess.”
He handed her a cup of mead and lifted his own. “To Freyja. To our three children yet to come. And to a life together at long last.”
After they clinked cups and drank in tribute, Haldor placed his mug down on the stone beside the chalice. He looked at her, dark eyes dancing in the firelight. “There is something I want to show you.”
He strode across the furs which covered the cold stone floor of the cave and knelt beside the trunk where he kept his clothing and engraved leather armor with plates shaped like falcon feathers.
“You remember Skjold’s vision about Rus raiders and Dokkálfar attacking a dwarf in a hidden cave.
And you know that he gifted us Dwarven weapons in gratitude for defending him. ”
Haldor carefully unfolded a protective wrap of leather to reveal a small bronze box etched with runes which glimmered in the golden firelight.
“That dwarf was Dvalinn…” he whispered, tucking the leather back inside his trunk and rising to his feet, the shiny box tightly clutched in his hand.
“One of the four Dwarven craftsman who forged Freyja’s Brisingamen necklace. ”
úlvhild’s mouth went dry.
He knelt on the furs before her and opened the elaborately engraved bronze box.
Inside, nestled in rich amethyst velvet, were two golden rings, each set with a glittering, oval shaped gem of golden amber, glowing with otherworldly light.
“Freyja’s Eyes,” he whispered, sending a shiver up her spine.
“Forged with the same amber as Brisingamen. Dvalinn gave them to me. So I could offer them to you.”
Haldor’s fierce gaze set fire to the seierfjáer mark above úlvhild’s pounding heart. “Freyja’s amber in sunlit gold, forged in Dwarven flame. Forever sealed in seier… like the fjórún which binds our souls.”
Desperation and desire blazed in Haldor’s imploring gaze. He held the golden rings in one hand, which shook like his quavering voice. With the other, he brushed a long lock of black hair from her face, fingertips trembling with tenderness. “úlvhild… my beloved volva.”
His voice faltered, thick with emotion. He looked down at the small box cradled in his hand.
Inhaling deeply, as if to summon strength, he raised impassioned eyes which seared her soul.
“I knew, from the moment I first saw you in King Harald’s royal hall, that you were the woman I wanted.
And throughout my entire life, I have loved none but you. ”
Laying the small bronze box on his lap, he took her two cold hands within his own, bringing them to his bearded lips to bestow a reverent kiss.
When he looked at her, tears glimmered in his fierce falcon gaze.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I never want us to be parted again.” His guttural voice was urgent, pleading.
“Now that the goddess who binds our souls has blessed us with this divine gift… After twenty long winters of waiting, of longing, of denial…úlvhild,” he choked on a sob, “will you finally become my wife?”
An anguished sob tore from her quivering lips as she rose to her knees.
She threw her arms around his neck, crushing herself against him, her kisses frantic — on his dark hair, scarred cheeks, haggard mouth.
“Yes, Haldor… my beloved Falcon,” she whispered against his damp skin.
“I want nothing more. I have wanted only this — with all my heart, all my soul — for every one of those lonely twenty winters.” Holding his head in her adoring hands, she raised his stricken face to hers and placed a soft kiss of promise. “I will wed you this very might.”
While the fire crackled and snapped as Haldor scattered more sacred herbs into the fragrant flames, úlvhild slipped out of her plain grey woolen gown and donned the golden one she had worn in the battle of ísland.
Though she had fallen to the crimson-eyed witch, she had saved Haldor in this dress.
And it shimmered now with the same hue of warm honey as the amber necklace at the base of her throat, carved with the face of Freyja.
The same burnished gold as the wedding ring which would soon grace her slender finger.
With long, thin strands of the golden wool she had used to create her gown—the same fabric which had clothed her in battle and now wrapped her in love— úlvhild plaited a delicate braid on either side of her face.
Gowned in gold, aglow with amber, she turned toward the man she loved more than life.
Her Falcon.
Her soulbound mate.
The man she would wed tonight.
He stood proudly before the flickering fire, the rich chestnut brown of his striking falcon armor just a few shades lighter than the dark hair which fell past his broad shoulders.
Wrought from overlapping plates of thick reindeer leather—each shaped like a falcon feather and intricately tooled with runes and scrolls—his magnificent, gleaming cuirass gave Haldor the terrifying appearance of a rapacious raptor.
Interwoven in the sturdy vambraces which covered his wide forearms, real falcon feathers embodied his sacred bond with Freyja.
The goddess of love, fertility…and war.
“You are magnificent, Haldor Falk.” úlvhild slipped across the soft furs on the cave floor to stand before him. She grasped the rough hands that gave her such fierce protection and fiery passion.
Her velvety voice was laced with endless, undying love. “Falcon shifter… peregrine predator…vitki who summons birds to fall like spears from the skies.”
When she looked up at him, adoration and ravenous hunger blazed in his dark brown eyes. “Devoted lover. Steadfast mentor. Fiercely loyal friend.”
She held his feral gaze and solemnly spoke her vow. “I shall be forever honored to call you husband.”
He swept her into his arms and swooped down to softly claim her lips. “And you, my beloved úlvhild. Volva whose healing hands wield seier. Long hair like black silk. Golden eyes like the goddess. I love you—with every beat of my falcon heart.”
They knelt alongside the fire, the cloying spice of myrrh and the crisp scent of pine wafting into the warm air.
The flames crackled, the amber light glinting off the glittering gems and etched runes in the silver chalice of mead.
With the pointed tip of úlvhild’s ornate dagger— Freyja’s Whisper— Haldor pricked his finger, letting three droplets fall onto the glowing embers.
“With this blood, I bind my life to yours, úlvhild.”
She followed, her own blood dark red against the flame’s gold. “And with mine, I pledge my heart and soul to you, my Falcon of the Faroe Islands.”
He withdrew the golden band set with the oval faceted gem of sparkling amber. Inside the band, she recognized the trio of etched runes. Geibo, the gift. Ingwaz, for fertility. And Wunjo, for joy.
úlvhild’s heart soared like the wings of Freyja’s swans.
Haldor’s fierce falcon eyes burned like the flames before them. “úlvhild, my volva, lynx goddess, and soulbound mate—I vow to protect you with my life. To cherish you with all my being. And to love you beyond all time.”
He slipped the amber ring on her finger. “Now…at long last…you are my wife.”
With trembling hands, she took the large golden band from the small bronze box.
The same trio of runes was etched inside.
“Haldor, my beloved Falcon. I pledge my life to yours. I vow to stand at your side, in stillness and storm, in darkness and dawn. I shall bear your children, nurture your soul, and heal your wounds. And I vow to love you. Forevermore.”
She slipped the ring on his finger and kissed his soft, full lips. “At long last, you are my husband. We are well and truly wed.”
He rose to his feet, took her hand, and helped her stand, impassioned eyes never leaving hers.
Placing one hand on either side of her face, he bent down and pressed an achingly tender kiss to her lips.
“Now, we must make an offering to the goddess whose seier binds our souls. Whose divine gift— Freyja’s Bloom—has blessed us with a daughter. ”
Haldor lifted úlvhild’s hand, where the amber wedding ring glinted in the firelight. He placed his own beside it.
“Freyja’s Eyes,” he whispered with reverent wonder. “That she may watch over us—and seal our wedding vows in sacred amber.”