Freya & Astrid
And so it came to be, one crisp autumn morning, that Freya Wedd and Astrid Karrsdaughter were dressed in their finest clothes. The ancient seamstress Dag came to the castle themself to fix the two up in matching white embroidered in gold.
The Visitors arrived quietly, known only to Varin, the félag, and the castle guard, the last of whom were kept out of the plans for the ceremony.
First, Ruga Karrsdaughter and her wife Elketh Ceridwen arrived from just over the channel at Branwen. Ruga sat at Astrid’s side as Elketh braided her hair. Astrid much preferred when Freya did it, but Freya was occupied with her own preparations.
Astrid thought she must be emanating happiness like rays of the sun. Finally, some time with her sister she could truly enjoy. She was planning on inviting Ruga back soon—or maybe she would have a chance to visit in Branwen some time.
“I am happy for you,” Ruga said. “Freya loves you very much.”
“She’s a weaselly little thing, isn’t she?” Elketh said. Ruga elbowed her in the side and Elketh laughed. “Hey! Just an observation. I think it’s a good match. Everyone deserves love.”
“If she is a weasel, she is my weasel,” Astrid said with pride. Any chance she could take to claim Freya, she would, no matter how ridiculous the circumstance.
Elketh and Ruga exchanged a knowing smile.
Next, Brenn arrived alone. She went to Freya’s old room adjacent to Astrid’s bedchamber, helped her don accessories, and pressed oil into her hair, shaping the curls.
“I have never seen you so dashing,” Brenn said.
“I am not dashing,” said Freya. “It’s all your handiwork and good tailoring.”
“Perhaps I should take up grooming on the side.”
“You did a good job, Brenn,” Freya said. She squeezed Brenn’s hand. The gloves were back on, but she would take them off tonight in Astrid’s bed. “And I want to thank you for being a good friend, even when I have not been.”
Brenn hugged Freya, careful not to muss her hair or wrinkle her clothes. “You are my very best friend, Freya. You always will be.”
Freya clutched Brenn’s robes with tears in her eyes. Once, she would never have dreamed this could happen to her. She was safe, or as safe as one could be in this world. She had love in her life, in her friends and her allies and her partner.
She had hopes for a future stretching across lifetimes.
They gathered in the assembly room with its tall windows. Sunlight bled onto every wall, bright and warm, and outside, golden trees shed the last of their leaves.
With Huginn and Muninn on her shoulders, Brenn stood at the makeshift altar next to Varin, who had orchestrated the arrangements. The two talked in low voices as the guests entered. The félag filtered into the back, on alert to protect their queen, but also there to celebrate her.
Elketh and Ruga sat toward the front with Vera, the elf librarian, who stared daggers into Elketh at something she might have said—or perhaps she was still holding a grudge about a certain incident involving a ceremonial crown.
“I almost wish Guthmar was here,” Astrid said as she looked out over the small crowd. “I bet he loves weddings.”
“I would wager you’re right,” said Freya.
“And my parents,” Astrid said sadly.
“Mine, too,” said Freya.
“Your siblings?”
Freya smiled sadly. “They never had the chance to grow old. I don’t know what they would be like now.”
“Stars, Freya. I’m so sorry.”
Freya shook her head. “It’s all in the past. Besides, this”—she gestured to the room—“is our family. These are the people we love. How lucky are we to have them with us?”
Astrid quite liked this evolving Freya who could now find light in the darkness.
Everyone took turns coming up to the couple to give them their well wishes.
Hrothgar hugged Astrid—perhaps remembering their night of joyful dancing together at the Rosebriar Inn—and Sigurd shook her hand.
Elketh and Ruga embraced them both. Vera nodded to each, with respect for at least Freya, if not Astrid.
The félag lined up, one by one, and bestowed their wishes upon the lovers.
Hedda came last.
She stood before Astrid and Freya, uncertainty clouding her features. “I cannot say I am fond of you, Freya,” she said bluntly. “But you are fortunate to have found love in each other.”
Astrid’s stomach tumbled with guilt.
“How is the captive?” Freya asked.
“Varin suggested leaving her alone for a month or so. Food and water only, no talking.” Hedda shuffled her feet. “But fine, I suppose. We have made her comfortable.”
“Good,” said Freya. “Thank you, Hedda.”
“Thank you, Hedda,” Astrid echoed with more warmth. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.”
Stoically, Hedda bowed and went to her seat.
“She’ll forgive you,” Freya said.
“I hope so,” said Astrid. She did not like that she had distanced so many of her friends. There would be time to repair those relationships. She had to make time for it. Only when it came to Hedda was she totally at a loss.
Astrid noted that, when Hedda took her seat, Ruga came over to speak with her. Hedda was guarded and stiff in Ruga’s presence. Whatever Ruga said was drowned out by the other chatter in the room, but Ruga shook Hedda’s hand—cordial, at the very least, through Hedda’s clear discomfort.
“I think Alvor will be good for her,” Freya added thoughtfully.
“The responsibility of watching over her, you mean?” Astrid asked.
Freya hummed. “Something like that.”
When the sun reached the highest point in the sky, Astrid and Freya clasped each other’s hands as Brenn presided over the ceremony.
She spoke of their love, their commitment to each other’s souls, their dedication that would last through their reincarnations.
The ceremony was less formal than a wedding, but that was all right.
For better or worse, Astrid and Freya had always done things their own way.
They were not going to stop any time soon.
As Brenn finished, the small crowd clapped. Astrid smiled, buoyed by the support of those she loved most. Freya smiled, buoyed by Astrid’s contentment.
The kiss they shared at the altar was, perhaps, not very appropriate for a queen to share with her trusted bodyguard and spymaster.
A hoot from the crowd (distinctly Elketh’s) egged them on.
Astrid dipped Freya, and Freya couldn’t help the happiness that washed over her, the most happiness she had ever felt in her life.
When they pulled away, their shadows pooled around them, encircling them together, combining their bodies and souls into one. Astrid noticed, and Freya followed her gaze and squeezed her fingers.
The queen’s shadow, the shadow and her queen. Inseparable, together as one, always and forever.