Chapter 39
Winter Solstice Weddings
Waves crashed against the cliffs far below, moonlight dancing off the white-capped waves, as Elfi’s father escorted her out of the castle and into the starlit night.
The bonfire crackled, sending sparks soaring, the salty tang of the sea mingling with the crisp pine of juniper and the resinous aroma of the dense forest nearby.
Soft white snow blanketed the meadow and draped the dark green pines, as if Frigg herself had woven a winter solstice wedding veil for le Chateau Blanc.
Elfi admired the trio of ferally handsome grooms draped in magnificent fur cloaks, gleaming swords at their sinewy hips, the brides’ rings bound to hilts with silver cords that shimmered like frost. The two úlfhéenar wore their wolfskin cloaks—Njord in sacred white, Bodo in deep, rich brown—while Skjold was wrapped in thick white bearskin.
King Sweyn Forkbeard stood near Sk?rde and Skjold, clad in a majestic blue cloak lined with white ermine.
Intricate silver embroidery traced waves along the hem—a symbol of Sweyn’s royal lineage to Harald Bluetooth, Viking king of sea and snow.
Atop his braided blond hair rested a narrow silver circlet, its sculpted dragons and elaborate knotwork catching the firelight with a pale gleam.
As Elfi noticed Tryggvi standing beside Sweyn — his elegant cloak the same royal blue as his king’s — she marveled at the quiet symmetry: two younger brothers, each flanking the elder he had followed into war and now into ceremony.
Sweyn stood beside Sk?rde, and Tryggvi near Skjold.
Jarl Rikard, magnificent in his elegant scarlet cloak, stood proudly with his wife Gunnor, her velvet gown the same deep red hue as his robe, her white ermine cloak matching the trim which edged her ducal husband’s long cape.
Atop each of their regal heads, a slender circlet glittered in the moonglow and firelight.
Lugh, in dark emerald green, ushered a luminous Queen íssla to stand near the center of the gathered guests, behind her son Njord, who awaited Elfi. Nearby, Luna and Njáll made a sublime pair, with his black wolfskin cloak and her moonstone white gown and mantle of silver.
The trio of father figures escorted the brides to their respective grooms, each remaining at her side, arms extended with the heirloom sword bearing the attached wedding rings. Together, they formed a half circle around the goei, who stood near the roaring bonfire, ready for the ceremony to begin.
Clad in a green cloak lined with dark fur, the pagan Viking priest wore an antler headpiece strewn with feathers, bones, and glittering beads.
His weathered face was painted white with chalk, marked with black runes of charcoal above his waist-length grey beard.
In his bare hands, he clutched a sacred ash twig to anoint the couples and guests, and a silver bowl filled with blood from the sacrificial boars—their roasted meat now carved and carried by castle servants to trestle tables in the elaborately decorated Great Hall.
As he tossed juniper berries into the fire, the crackling snap and cleansing scent wafted into the frosty night air. The goei’s haunting, ethereal voice echoed across the snow-laced grass and out over the Narrow Sea.
“On this longest night, beneath the watchful stars,
Three couples stand in the fire’s glow.
In this trinity of winter solstice weddings.
By ash and boar’s blood, in the names of Odin, Freyja, and Thor,
We bind these hearts in love and light, blood and vow.
Before gods and men, let these unions be sealed from this night, forevermore.”
As the last words of the invocation faded into the still night air, the goei stepped away from the fire, the silver bowl still cradled in one weathered hand, the ash twig trembling slightly between his long, gnarled fingers.
He turned to Elfi and Njord, the center couple.
“Let the first groom come forth,” he intoned, his voice low and solemn. “Njord, son of Brokk, offer your Dwarven sword to Elfi, daughter of Thorfinn. Place the ring upon her hand, and speak the vow that binds your heart to hers.”
White wolfskin draped over dark brown locks, his long hair braided with glittering blue beads the color of the seas that bound him to Elfi, Njord unsheathed úlfsongr from his hip and offered it to her with solemn grace across his outstretched forearms.
When Elfi accepted the sword, Njord untied the lapis lazuli ring and slipped it on the third finger of her right hand and declared his vow, just as he had done in ísland three moons ago.
“With this, my father’s blade, 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 nodded with reverence and smiled up at Njord.
His intense blue eyes glistened like the beads in his braided beard—and the depths of the seas he had crossed to find her in the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.
“I accept your sword, your ring, and your vow. I offer you mine in return.” She handed the úlfsongr sword to her amma Oda, whose silver hair and mauve silk gown shimmered softly in the firelight.
Turning back to Thorfinn, she reached for Shadowbane from his outstretched arms and offered it to Njord.
When he accepted the blade, she untied the band from its hilt, and slipped it onto Njord’s large, swarthy finger, repeating the same vows she had spoken in ísland—but this time, before her faeir, Jarl Rikard, and the nobles of Normandy.
“I give you my sword, my life, and my vow.
I shall bear your children, stand with 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.”
Njord took the sword and sheathed it at his hip. “I accept your sword, your ring, and your vow,”
The goei dipped his sacred ash twig into the silver bowl of sacrificial boar’s blood, the dark red liquid gleaming in the firelight. With the tip of the slender branch, he marked Njord’s brow, then Elfi’s. “By blood and vow, by blade and breath, before gods and men, I bind you.”
He lifted the twig to the starry night sky, “This union is sealed. May it never be broken.” Antler headpiece glinting in the firelight, the pagan priest strode over the snow-covered grass and stopped before Skadi and Skjold.
She shimmered in the silvery fox fur cape that úlvhild had so lovingly stitched as a wedding gift.
The silver kransen atop her elaborate pale braids and the ice blue silk wedding gown glittered like the stars in the clear night sky.
At her side, Skjold—a towering blond brute like his father Sk?rde and his uncle Sweyn—was beastly handsome in his white bearskin cloak, the blue dragon coiled in woad ink around his corded neck.
Sheathed at his waist, alongside the sword he would soon offer Skadi, the dagger gifted by Haldor sparkled in the scabbard made by úlvhild from the same foxskin that cloaked his beguiling bride.
As he had done for Elfi and Njord, the goei guided Skjold to offer Skadi his sword, his ring, and his vow.
Skjold unsheathed the sword at his waist and offered it solemnly to Skadi.
When she accepted it, he untied the silver ring set with glittering amethyst and aquamarine gems, slipping it onto Skadi’s luminous finger.
Skjold’s deep voice reverberated across the hushed glen where the only sounds were the crackling of the bonfire and the waves crashing against the white chalk cliffs.
“I found you in fire, but first saw you in water.
What burns in me, flows in you.
With this ring, I bind my soul to yours,
Flame to tide, fire to ice.
From this night forward, I am yours. Forevermore.”
Skadi solemnly accepted the gleaming sword and handed it reverently to Ylva.
With a graceful nod to Sk?rde, she took Bláhjarta, the heirloom blade which had belonged to Skjold’s grandfather, King Harald Bluetooth, and offered it to her betrothed.
She untied his band, set with the same duo of gems as her own, and placed it on his tattooed finger.
“You saw me through water
And freed me with flame.
I heal with the waters of your visions
And breathe the frostfire you wield with your Dwarven shield.
With this ring, I give you my vow.
In ice and fire, water and flame, we are soulbound.
From this night forth, I am yours. Forevermore..”
The goei dipped the ash twig into the silver bowl of sacrificial blood and marked Skjold’s and Skadi’s brows.
As he anointed them, his hallowed voice carried across the snow-swept clearing.
“By water and flame…by fire and ice…, by the gods who witness and the vows you’ve spoken, I bind your souls as one.
” He raised the bloodied twig to the starlit sky, then walked past the bonfire to Bodo and Sif.
The thick brown fur of Bodo’s wolfskin caught the firelight as he withdrew his sword and offered it to Sif.
While she held it across outstretched palms, he untied the amethyst ring from the gleaming hilt and slid it onto her finger.
He declared his vow from the depths of his lupine soul, every word carrying the fierce loyalty of the wolf within.
“You saw me broken,
And did not look away.
You forgave what I could not forgive in myself.
With this ring, I give you my vow
To walk forever at your side,
Through shadow and storm.
I am yours, Sif.
From this day forward. Forevermore.”
Sif reverently handed Bodo’s sword to her mother Vilde. She then turned toward Bjarke, who held Thorfinn’s first sword, Bjargvorer—the Cliff Guardian with which he had defended the Pays de Caux.