Authors note: This story is roughly based on Hrolfs saga Gautrekssonar. The character of King Thorbergr intrigued me but seeing as how I couldn't find any English translations of the Old Norse saga I decided to come up with my own. That said, it's nothing like the original at all (or at least I don't think so, I've never read the actual story), I just took the names because I liked them and a rough description of a plot because I liked that too.
The sounds of practice swords clashing did nothing to startle the peaceful morning. The sun still lit the fields and washed the sky with brilliant light. In the longhouse people were already bustling about to get their chores done and in the fields the men worked. Most of the men worked there anyway. King Thorbergr and her housecarls were in the fields too, only they were practicing a different craft.
The shield wall broke and men scattered, dashing forward with a yell into their foe and dueling off into pairs. One particularly unmatched pair was in the very center of the mock battle. "You better not be going easy on me Snorri!" came the cry, far too high pitched to be a man's voice and yet emanating from a slim figure in man's clothing.
"Wouldn't dream of it King Thorbergr!" the much larger man protested as he caught a blow from her practice sword. His shield and arm vibrated with the blow, but it did not hurt. Despite the young woman's lack of strength she was much quicker than her seasoned housecarl. Still, speed can only account for so much.
The housecarls always took great care of their king. Even though she dressed like a man, and partook in male activities, she still wasn't one and they all knew it. They respected her though. They respected her courage, her honor, and her strength. In her they saw nobility where the rest of the world saw an oddity. They would fight with her to the death.
While it sounded as though the group was practicing for a raid or perhaps battle on some foreign land in search of riches fit to make her housecarls as kingly as herself that was not what they were doing. True, the group was preparing for battle, but the people they battled were far worse than Britains: suitors. Gods! How Thorbergr hated them. She hated how they waltzed onto her lands and into her longhouse and asked for her hand in marriage. Like anyone had the right! If she found someone to her liking she would pursue him, not the other way around. She had as much right as any man. She was a king!
The fighting didn't last long. Thorbergr's side always won, though it was questionable how this occurred. It could have been because Thorbergr always chose the best men for her side, or it could have been that they let her win because otherwise she would be a walking terror the rest of the day until the next practice. Thorbergr liked to think that it was because of her fighting prowess. She was not as good with a bow as Torbjorn was. She couldn't wield a sword with the skill of Halfdan. She couldn't even pick up Snorri's great battleaxe. She was always second best in everything they did, but this was to be expected. She was only a woman after all. Though, if Thorbergr ever heard of this she would be difficult to handle for a while.
The men and Thorbergr were slick with sweat by the time the battle was over and Thorbergr's side was declared the victors. Their king held up her fist in victory and all the men cheered before the entire retinue headed back for the long house. What Thorbergr wanted more than anything right now was to wash the sweat and grime from her face and have something done with her hair. It had tumbled loose during the battle and now flowed in blonde tangles on either side of her proud face. Deidra would fix it up though. Thorbergr wasn't sure what she'd do without Deidra. She'd probably look even more like a man.
The old trell had been her nursemaid as a child, and Thorbergr considered her almost a mother-almost. She knew that Deidra disapproved of the way she dressed herself in men's clothing and fought like a man, and worked with the men rather than in the longhouse with the other women. But what Deidra didn't understand was the freedom of it. To be cooped up in a longhouse all day weaving and sewing was fine for some women, but not for Thorbergr. That was why she had moved to the estate her father, King Erik, had given her and renamed herself King Thorbergr. That was how the men referred to her, and some of the other women, but she could never get Deidra to do it. The old woman still resolutely called Thorbergr by her given name: Thorbjorg. There wasn't much Thorbergr could do about it. The king was too old to pitch a fit, and besides, she knew Deidra wouldn't mind smacking some sense into her. Oh, sure, Thorbergr could have her killed for disobedience, but you couldn't order your mother's death. That just wasn't something you did.
Thorbergr swaggered into the longhouse. At first it was hard to see, dimmer than it was outside in the morning light, but it didn't take long for her pale eyes to adjust and soon she was making her way towards Deidra. She felt warm and hazy, like her blood ran thick with mead. She often felt this good after a victory, despite the fact that it was a mock battle and that she always won those. Still, winning always felt good.
The old woman looked up when she heard the footsteps and clicked her tongue softly at the sight that greeted her. The young woman dressed in muddy men's clothes standing straight and tall before her, her hair in wild tangles framing her face and her eyes glittering proudly in the firelight. She was beautiful and breathless in an instant, something to make a mother proud, and then she was simply a dirty young woman again. "Such a mess little Thorbjorg." Thorbergr had to catch herself from making a face at her old nurse. She wasn't little anymore. She was a woman! She was the strongest woman in Sweden! She did not enjoy being talked down to like she was a child who had gone off to play in the mud again. "Come here child, let's fix that wild hair of yours," the old woman beckoned for the younger one to sit besides her on the sheepskin that lined the benches of the longhouse, putting her card of wool to the side.
Thorbergr sat out of habit, pulling off her hat. Deidra was the only person who could tell Thorbergr what to do. The young king didn't even respect her father as much. As Deidra pulled the comb out of the satchel attached to her belt and started to make sense of the wild tangles, Thornbergr recounted the battle from earlier.
"It was a wonderful practice Deidra! You should have been there!" the woman made a sound that could have been translated as interest and so Thorbergr continued. "Our shield wall was flawless! It took the enemy longer than usual to get to us."
"Thornbjorn stop squirming." the older woman reprimanded. The king stiffened and sat as straight as possible.
"How was Halfdan?" one of the girls asked from behind her loom.
Thorbergr grinned. "Halfdan was fine. He has a right way with a sword." she knew that Hilde often worried about her husband. "How's the weaving going?"
Deidra tugged harder than she really needed to at a snarl of Thorbergr's hair and the young king winced in a hiss of pain but said nothing. "You would know if you spent any time in the longhouse working on it," the older woman reprimanded. Thorbergr said nothing though her face set in an unpleasant expression. "What are you going to do when you get married child? You can't expect your husband to run the longhouse for you, or do the weaving, or bear the children. You ought to be working on those sorts of things because you'll be married before you know it." No one but Deidra could get away with saying these things, still, the other woman had stopped their work and were staring at the king and her nurse in shock, wondering what Thorbergr would say.
"I'm not going to be married-"
"Thorbjorg," Deidra interrupted.
"Let me finish!" Thorbergr snapped pale eyes blazing. In her passion she stood up as she proclaimed "I am not going to be married. Never will a man have power over me!" the young woman's expression softened then, and she turned towards the startled woman behind her, who was now looking from the young king to the comb in her hand impatiently. "Besides, I'll still have you, won't I? I don't need to learn everything now." Thorbergr sat back down, and Deidra placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Old women don't live forever you know," she replied softly, and then went back to fixing the mess that was the king's hair.
Thorbergr pursed her lips and grew silent as Deidra combed through her hair. She hadn't thought there would ever be a time when the old woman wouldn't be there, but it was true, death hit when you least expected it. Thorbergr wasn't afraid of death. She knew everyone's weaving would eventually end. Still, it was a sobering thought to realize that the people in this room could all die today, or tomorrow, or years from now.
"Alright old woman. I'll agree to learn to manage a longhouse, the weaving, and the sewing but you have to promise me you're not going to die on me anytime soon," Thorbergr had turned around to grin at her old nurse.
"It's a deal. Now stop moving you cheeky little troll, unless you want your hair half finished." with a smile the young king turned back around and let Deidra finish her hair.