It was time.
The cloaked figure in the shadowy corner moved slightly, surprising the surrounding Norse, all of whom would have sworn that the only living things that had been there were spiders. The Bar Keeper would have sworn that only the shadows were there. His tavern was as clean as a sea-washed bone, no spiders would survive long in his tavern. At least none of the spiders that he could see. He was almost blind.
The shadows occupant had drawn out a lyre, from where no one could see. She, for it was a she, smiled slightly and plucked a few chords. A Master was she, with more power held in her hands then most people could live with. She could heal with her words, or send her enemies into eternal torture. She could make an Eldritch mad with rage as easily as she could make one weep. She could turn brother against brother, king against king, god against god. Yet everything she owned she could carry on her back and feel no strain.
Delicate fingers glided over the well made lyre's strings, notes gently echoing through out the room, her personal way of calling attention. With her song of welcome she added her own soft voice, singing in an ancient language, her voice twining around the notes with ease. The notes faded off, as did her voice until there was silence in the room, where once there was the low rumble of talk.
"A story.", was all she said before she rose the lyre once more and began to tell her tale.
***
"I want to become a valkyrie, mother." said the girl, looking up from the roots she was peeling to gaze, wide-eyed and innocent, into her mother's sky blue eyes. Her mother smiled and patted her daughter's blonde hair, so much like her own hair when she was younger.
"Yes, dear." she answered, her voice monotone and nonjudgmental of her daughter's longings. She too, remembered longing to become one of Odin's handmaidens. That dream she gave up long ago. She was a wife now, to a good man, a brave man, and she had to watch the farm while her man was gone. It was a good life she had. Her daughter chattered on still though, not noticing that her mother's attention was elsewhere.
"The skald told me more tales, mother, about how to become one. Well...actually not how to become one. Just how others became one...He said that path is difficult, and I have a good future here, and I should go off and play with my friends instead of listening to a poor man's rantings and tales. I then hugged him and told him I loved him and then he shooed me away by saying he was going to call Axe onto me. I told him that I wasn't scared of Axe and Axe wouldn't do anything to me... ", she stops her peeling to look down at her feet, her face red with shame, " Because I fed Axe some meat when he was hungry and chased Thison and his gang away when they were throwing stones at him. He then got mad at me and said I should go home, but his eyes were sparkling. I like him, mother. "
"Yes, dear. " came the reply to the long prattle, a toneless few words.
"When is Daddy going to be home, mother?" The younger girl paused a moment to concentrate on a particularly difficult potato, "I miss him."
**
"Recklon, when do you think he will be back? He said he was going to bring me something nice..." The once-girl pouted as she set herself on the large man's lap, lightly fondling his large, muscular chest.
The man laughed loudly, to the woman's ears it sounded like the roar of a mountain lion, and moved slightly away from his frothing beer. She just got a new dress and it was her own personal preference to keep beer stains off it. A giant arm snaked around her petite frame, while the other grabbed the mug of beer and brought it quickly to his mouth. She squirmed as far away from the beer as possible as it started running down his beard.
"Recklon!...", she pouted again, her perfect lips pursed slightly in frustration, "I just got this dress... I don't want beer all over it!"
Recklon eyed her over the rim of his near empty mug, as if calculating her. Her hair was blonde, her eyes were blue, like most of the Midgardian were, her form curvaceous, and inviting, and when she pouted he thought her irresistible. He put the mug down and gave the woman an impish grin.
"You know what drives me wild?"
The woman's eyes reflected his, for they suddenly sparkled with mischief, and she moved herself closer to his bushy face, close enough so that their noses nearly touched.
"Oh? What is it that, brave warrior?"
Recklon's breath stank like the beer he was drinking, but she was use to it. She had to be. A large hand caressed her side, and she shuddered, drawing herself closer to the man.
"A woman like you with the smell about her of mah favorite brew. Drives a man like me wild..."
She smiled, and turning slightly, dipped her fingers into Recklon's mug of beer, cupping some of the brew and splashed herself with it. She sighed inwardly, for she knew she got some on her dress, but if all went well, tomorrow she would be wearing an even better one.
With the smell of the brew on herself, she raised her head to the side of Recklon's hairy face, her mouth tantalizingly close to his ear.
"A wild man like you would be a danger to our customers. I will need to calm you down..." she whispered, her voice husky, before rising up with her hand in Recklon's, and leading him into the rooms that existed for one sole purpose. She shut the door.
The sleepy dawn arose in the foggy sky, long slender fingers reaching into the small window where there lay a sleeping man and a woman, blinding the woman for a moment, before she turned over to look at the wooden wall.
The wall looked the wall at her once-house. She whimpered slightly, and flicked a tear from her eye. Her Daddy would be ashamed of her now. So would her mother. She was ashamed of herself, but she could not live any other way. She had to earn her living some how, and this is the way she must.
The woman arose from the bed, her back straight her eyes focused on something she could not comprehend. No. She wouldn't feel sorry for herself. She would live as she always did. Glancing down at her now tattered dress, she sighed to herself. It stank of beer, of human nature, and was torn beyond repair. Someday she might get use to it, the constant wearing of her soul and her dresses, but today was not that day.
She turned her head and eyed the man beside her, his body sprawled on the bed. Her eyes looked over at him, calculating him. She pursed her lips, and grabbing a knife from her small dresser, she slipped her hand under the sheets. With a quick movement, she cut Recklon's money bag from his person. Fraying the ends of the rope, thus giving her the excuse that it had ripped in his...readiness, the woman then opened it up and peered inside. Her lips still pursed, she drew out several roughly beaten gold coins, as well as a few silver pieces. It was more then she usually took, but the previous night had been unsatisfactory to her, for all the damage she had taken. Now she could receive her full satisfaction. Her thoughts drifted to what she would buy with her payment, interrupted by the mutterings of the man beside her. Rising up from her bed, she walked over to where Recklon's weapons and armor lay, and she placed the considerably lighter money bag near them. If he noticed that he had less silver and gold, she would simply tell him that he spent it on his drinking last night. If he still didn't believe her, the Bar Keeper would back her up. She grinned wickedly. It was always good to make friends with the Bar Keeper.
She stood up and eyed her dress again, before stripping it off. It could be used as rags. Walking over to her closet, she opened up her cache of morning-after clothes, and slipped on a simple dress. Before exiting the room, she splashed cold water unto her face, and braided her ruffled hair.
The tavern stunk of vomit and beer, the usual morning smells. She was thankful that she had been raised up the duty of cleaning it up for the noon and night time regulars. She now had the night shift.
After getting one of the younger serving girls to bring Recklon some breakfast and a tea to help his inevitable hangover, she sat down by the bar and ordered a tea for herself, while looking around the calm, quiet tavern. Quiet for a few moments at least.
She didn't hear the crowd until they were nearly on top of the tavern. She was still in shock when they barged into the tavern.
They were a group of warriors, numbering no more then a dozen, and by the look of it, they had just come away from a skirmish. Blood was still running down the faces of the men who carried their warrior brethren into the tavern, and those who were carried were mangled. The woman was wide-eyed in shock, when one of the men demanded her to bring a bowl of fresh water. He was tall, and imposing in his presence. She hurried to do his bidding.
From then on, she was in a daze. She was somewhat aware of the headman arguing with the Bar Keeper about how the wounded were sprawled on top of the tables, saying how it was bad for business. The headman shut him up by handing the Bar Keeper payment equal to a month of business. She didn't know a lot about the care for the wounded, and neither did any of the other women who soon found themselves to nurses. She was helping to clean a particularily nasty wound to a punctured arm, chanting a blessing unto the unfortunate owner, wishing she could do something to ease the pain that this person must feel. She suddenly got dizzy for a moment, which she blamed on a lack of foodm when she heard a quiet, pain-filled voice asking for her attention.
The face she looked upon was feminine, and the woman widened her eyes as realization of who she was caring for hit her. The wounded valkyrie smiled slightly, and nodded her head in thanks at the wide-eyed woman, then said something in a language unknown to her. What she said must have meant something of importance, for one for one of the warriors rushed to her side, and began to speak to her in a hurried tone. The woman strained to try to understand the exchange, but she could not. She sighed softly and resigned to clean the wound, while listening to the moans and demands of the warriors. The warrior lightly touched her hand, which brought her out of the daze she had been in, and lightly shook his head. Unwanted tears filled his eyes, as he left the table. The woman looked at the face of the valkyrie, with her eyes now focused on the throne of Odin, her mouth ajar with awe, and then covered her with a somewhat clean blanket, letting everyone know that one was lost. Herself and the others had no time to mourn however, for the wounded still needed caring for.
The woman had wondered where their village priest was, when she was told that he was helping to deliver a Head Family's first child. The arrival of new proceeded the departure of the old. Besides, he had said, if Hel wanted them, she would take them.
Recklon had left, saying something that with the hangover he had, he would be of no help to anyone. With his departure, several other of the regulars left, and no one entered the tavern while the warriors were still in there. The atmosphere was more depressing then usual, and there were other tavern's to go to.
She worked well into the night, bandaging, rinsing, and soothing the souls of the wounded. She left only when she was bidden to, by a tap on her shoulder by the headman, and his finger pointed to the rooms. It was one of the rare nights she slept alone.
With her awakening, she quickly washed herself, and rebraided her hair quickly before exiting into the main part of the tavern. She was shocked, again.
The tavern was empty, and it could have been just another day, and the previous day nothing more then a dream, if there hadn't been the overriding scent of blood drifting through out the tavern, and dried blood on the floor and tables. She was a thousand times thankful that she wasn't responsible for cleaning it all up.
The woman was confused, however, for there were no men from the previous day here. When one of the woman who had helped walked by her, she pulled her to a stop.
"Sissel! What happened here? Where are all the men from yesterday?"
The woman smiled wickedly before responding.
"Why? Were you hoping to perform some business with them?
"Sissel!"
"You need more sleep, your mood is depressing to me. They left."
"Why?" the woman was confused.
"The Priest wouldn't help them. He said that the baby required his attention. He probably didn't want to help strangers, they left to go to the next village. They have a healer there, they said. They thanked us though. Now excuse me...I have to go wash the tables."
She watched Sissel leave, then sighed. Today would be a normal day. Dropping her hand to her side, she was startled to feel a lump in her pocket. Reaching into it, she drew in a sharp intake of breath, for she held in her hand a symbol of Odin.
**
The woman looked over the field, placing a hand over her large stomach. She was married now, to a rich old man who had favored her in the tavern, and had requested her to fill his bed as his wife. An ironic grin curved her lips. Now he got her for free. At least he thought he did. She lightly fingered the gold chain around her throat. She had several like this, her gifts to herself. The woman felt it was only right, for she had to endure him, but she never showed them to the old man she had married herself to. When he woke up in the bed they shared, she would always scold him for drinking to much and using to much gold. The old man feared she was angry with him, so he always bought her expensive bits of jewelry and swore never to drink again, which he promptly forgot at night.
He had moved them to the land near Midgard's border, being the greedy man he was, for the land was cheap, and fairly fertile. They lived in ever present danger though. She smiled as she felt a kick inside her, then frowned slightly. He didn't mind the constant threat, but she did. She wanted a safe place for her child, closer to the other Norse. The soon-to-be-mother knew it was only a certain amount of time before they were invaded by the greedy Brit's. How she loathed the Brits, for what they did to her in the past and what they would do to her in the future.
The sky was darkening, and the woman narrowed her eyes. Her husband would probably entertain himself at the small village's tavern. Ever since her stomach began to swell, he started to stay at the small tavern until morning. He was estatic when she announced to him she was pregnant, more for the reason that it meant he was not impotent yet, then the reason that he would now have a child. She sneered slightly at that memory and their exchange before turning to her cottage where she would sleep alone.
It was night when they came, dark and smelling of evil. The old man had collapsed on her, exhausted with his unfruitful efforts, drool starting to run down his chin and drip onto her face, lit up with fear. She moved slightly, testing to see how deep in slumber where he was. He didn't notice the movement. Before the next drip of his spit could touch her face, she pushed him off her and wrapped a robe over her shivering body. She threw a disgusted glance over at him before entering into the room that held their son. He to had noticed something too, and was wide awake, though he made no noise. She smiled as she picked him up and held him to her chest. He was so smart. She was about to put him back down when she heard some muttering coming from the house door. She froze for a moment, then still clutching her son to her chest, she ran, as quietly as he could to the cupboard where her old man stashed all his old Viking equipment. She grabbed his thick axe with her one hand, carrying it with ease, and his large shield. Something bad was coming.
She had fled into the back room, locking the door behind her, when they entered. Yelling in a language she could not understand, they barged in, and she could hear them tearing the house apart, the crashing of her bowls onto the floor, and the breaking of her furniture. Her son was getting distressed and she could sense that he wanted to cry his befuddlement, yet he stayed silent. He was so smart.
The woman clutched the axe in her hand, trying to get a feel for the large weapon. She crouched on the floor, praying to Odin for his help and sending a prayer to Hel to ready her soul for the road. She heard the sound of metal against skin and bone, and she knew that her old man was dead. The once-wife didn't feel any sorrow however, if only a litle for the fact that the father of her son was dead. At least the supposed father of her son.
She heard the Brit's outside her door, muttering to each other in that awful language of theirs. They were almost past it when she heard them stop and try to open it. At its refusal to do so, their curiosity was piqued and in their battle lust they started to cleave at it with their swords. The woman got up to her full height, and readied herself. When one of the Brit's stuck his thickhead into the door, to try to see if he could see anything, his brothers-in-arms were shocked to see the body of him fall back unto them, the head chopped off in a single stroke. An archer was the first to regain his thoughts about him, and he sent an arrow into the darkness, and with the sound of a grunt of pain it broke the other Brit's back to their senses.
The now warrior grunted as the arrow struck her chest, put didn't penetrate her cloth. Her confidence rose greatly after this, and she gave her own war cry, her thanks and praise to Odin and as the first Brits charge in on her she swung her axe, cleaving several of the foolhardy in half. With the demise of the first group, the second held back, sending arrows into the darkness, while others attempted to get a fire started to light their way. Herself, she was safe behind a wall, but she had forgot about the place her son lay. As he wailed in pain, her eyes flashed with fear and shock. With the silence afterwards she went mad with rage. The Brit's had killed her son. All reasoning left her as she charge into the group of Brits, her axe flying around her, her shield blocking the sides of the delicately made swords with the force of a seasoned Viking warrior. The woman had no armor though, and she soon felt blood running down her arms and back as swords found her weakpoint and relished in the feel of skin as they bit into her. She felt nothing though, for she saw her son, dead now, and wandering alone in death. She would avenge him. The warrior raised her voice, sending her wail of pain and anger to the heaven's, punctuated with the sound metal against skin, or the clashing of metal unto metal.
Suddenly she stopped and gasped in pain. She looked down and saw the wicked point of a sword through her chest. She felt a sudden pain as her battle lust and madness left her, and she fell down to the floor, mouthing the words to a death chant. Pain clouded her sight, and though swords pierced her skin she would not die. She gained her voice back through the pain and voiced the last words to the chant loudly, the tone calm, and free from the pain. Then she left this world.
She blinked. The warrior was standing outside a large eating hall, the sounds of eating and chatter reaching her ears as she watched the people. They were dressed in warrior's garb, glistening with its newness and flashing with its grandness. Her felt her own body and felt the hardness of armor. She looked at her hands and saw an axe of unrivaled power and a shied of made of the strongest metals. She was in a daze when she noticed a tall, and very handsome Viking standing before her, and smiling slightly in greeting. She gasped.
"Hello, Mother." Her now grown son said, bowing low. Tousled blonde hair danced slightly with that movement, blue eyes lit up with happiness?
"My son? What? Why are you here?" She asked, her mouth slightly ajar.
"I took him here." a voice sounded behind the stunned woman, the voice demanding nothing, but it was a voice none could deny. She turned and saw the face of the warrior she had helped long ago in the tavern.
"He was untried, and he was of your blood. You who helped me in my moment of great pain. You who gave me enough to allow myself a peaceful death. I was in your debt, and I needed to help you in your moment of great pain. Your son is safe with in the halls of Asgard, until the final day is upon us."
She smiled and bowed her head in thanks, but she still had another question to ask this woman.
"I thank you greatly, she of the bravest blood, but I wonder as to why I am here?"
The valkyrie looked troubled for a moment, and was about to answer when a deep voice sounded behind her.
"You are here, for you are to receive my blessing, to become one of my chosen. Receive it in honor." rumbled the voice. The shivering woman wanted to turn around, to see the face of the god, but she dared not. he could feel his radiance, his power unto her back. She knew her eyes could not bear the sight of him. She felt a sudden weight upon her shoulder, and a sudden heat running throughout her body, followed by an icy chill. It raced throughout her body, coursing through her veins until it focused on her chest, where the emblem of Odin lay, combining into a burning ice, before fading into nothingness. She opened her eyes, she hadn't realized she had clamped them shut and looked around with wonder. She felt no different, yet she knew she was.
The valkyrie smiled at her, a smile laced with happiness, and tinged with sadness. She didn't understand the sadness part, and she took a step forward, to greet the valkyrie. She was stopped by an outraised hand.
"You have been blessed, Asvora. You must now prove yourself worthy of Odin's eye and gift. You revenged your son, and blessed his parting into this world, and now you must now go back into yours.", the valkyrie paused a moment, to allow this to sink in, "When I carried your son to the Halls of Asgard, and gave to him the knowledge and the age he would never have known, I have refilled my debt unto you. To help you more, I can not do."
"I'll be waiting for you Mother."
Pain. Utter pain. She wanted to cry out for help, yet no sound could echo through her mouth. Why couldn't she die? Asvora remembered the Halls of Asgard with remorse and longing. They were so warm, so comfortable... Pain. She moaned.
She didn't know where the next words out of her mouth came from. She was never taught them, nor had she ever heard them. They just flowed out of her mouth.
At first she couldn't feel anything different in the amount of pain she felt. If anything she felt more, for unknown to her, she was regaining the blood she had lost, and her skin was growing to cover up her many wounds. Soon though, she became aware of the heavy stench of death in the room, and the quietness of the house. The remaining Brit's must have left to raid the village. As long as they didn't come back any time soon, she didn't care. She never cared much for the villiagers anyways.
She moaned silently, and raised herself slightly. She felt badly bruised, and very, very tired. Asvora swaggered unto the bloody bed, and sank down into it. She yelped in sudden pain, for something was digging into her back. Reaching a bruised hand behind her back, she drew out Odin's symbol which she had found a few years back. It was slick with blood. She peered closer and ran her fingers over it. The woman found a deep knick in it, like one a sword thrust would make. She paused a moment, then raised her head up to look at her chest, where she remembered there once being a sword sliced through. Pale, perfect skin greeted her eyes, virgin to the touch of a blade, unlike the other parts of her body. She glanced at her arms, scars running up and down them, and growled, wanting to curse the Brits for what they did to her. She was stopped though when a sudden wave of weariness swept her up, and she welcomed the darkness, falling into such a deep sleep that she hadn't had for days.
She would need the rest when she went after the Britons who killed her son.
***
The bard smiled slightly, her tale finished, yet she played on while the imaginations of the Norse finished the tale. Many of the warriors in the tavern had gotten back recently from a raid that went horribly wrong against the Brits. Undoubtedly, Asvora would avenge her son's death tenfold, and perhaps her husband's as well. Perhaps, someday, she would tell them what really happened to Asvora.
With the last note of the bard's song drifting through out the tavern, the occupants eventually woke up from their daydreaming, to look around, startled at the sudden disappearance of the skald.
The door swung silently.
The cloaked figure in the shadowy corner moved slightly, surprising the surrounding Norse, all of whom would have sworn that the only living things that had been there were spiders. The Bar Keeper would have sworn that only the shadows were there. His tavern was as clean as a sea-washed bone, no spiders would survive long in his tavern. At least none of the spiders that he could see. He was almost blind.
The shadows occupant had drawn out a lyre, from where no one could see. She, for it was a she, smiled slightly and plucked a few chords. A Master was she, with more power held in her hands then most people could live with. She could heal with her words, or send her enemies into eternal torture. She could make an Eldritch mad with rage as easily as she could make one weep. She could turn brother against brother, king against king, god against god. Yet everything she owned she could carry on her back and feel no strain.
Delicate fingers glided over the well made lyre's strings, notes gently echoing through out the room, her personal way of calling attention. With her song of welcome she added her own soft voice, singing in an ancient language, her voice twining around the notes with ease. The notes faded off, as did her voice until there was silence in the room, where once there was the low rumble of talk.
"A story.", was all she said before she rose the lyre once more and began to tell her tale.
***
"I want to become a valkyrie, mother." said the girl, looking up from the roots she was peeling to gaze, wide-eyed and innocent, into her mother's sky blue eyes. Her mother smiled and patted her daughter's blonde hair, so much like her own hair when she was younger.
"Yes, dear." she answered, her voice monotone and nonjudgmental of her daughter's longings. She too, remembered longing to become one of Odin's handmaidens. That dream she gave up long ago. She was a wife now, to a good man, a brave man, and she had to watch the farm while her man was gone. It was a good life she had. Her daughter chattered on still though, not noticing that her mother's attention was elsewhere.
"The skald told me more tales, mother, about how to become one. Well...actually not how to become one. Just how others became one...He said that path is difficult, and I have a good future here, and I should go off and play with my friends instead of listening to a poor man's rantings and tales. I then hugged him and told him I loved him and then he shooed me away by saying he was going to call Axe onto me. I told him that I wasn't scared of Axe and Axe wouldn't do anything to me... ", she stops her peeling to look down at her feet, her face red with shame, " Because I fed Axe some meat when he was hungry and chased Thison and his gang away when they were throwing stones at him. He then got mad at me and said I should go home, but his eyes were sparkling. I like him, mother. "
"Yes, dear. " came the reply to the long prattle, a toneless few words.
"When is Daddy going to be home, mother?" The younger girl paused a moment to concentrate on a particularly difficult potato, "I miss him."
**
"Recklon, when do you think he will be back? He said he was going to bring me something nice..." The once-girl pouted as she set herself on the large man's lap, lightly fondling his large, muscular chest.
The man laughed loudly, to the woman's ears it sounded like the roar of a mountain lion, and moved slightly away from his frothing beer. She just got a new dress and it was her own personal preference to keep beer stains off it. A giant arm snaked around her petite frame, while the other grabbed the mug of beer and brought it quickly to his mouth. She squirmed as far away from the beer as possible as it started running down his beard.
"Recklon!...", she pouted again, her perfect lips pursed slightly in frustration, "I just got this dress... I don't want beer all over it!"
Recklon eyed her over the rim of his near empty mug, as if calculating her. Her hair was blonde, her eyes were blue, like most of the Midgardian were, her form curvaceous, and inviting, and when she pouted he thought her irresistible. He put the mug down and gave the woman an impish grin.
"You know what drives me wild?"
The woman's eyes reflected his, for they suddenly sparkled with mischief, and she moved herself closer to his bushy face, close enough so that their noses nearly touched.
"Oh? What is it that, brave warrior?"
Recklon's breath stank like the beer he was drinking, but she was use to it. She had to be. A large hand caressed her side, and she shuddered, drawing herself closer to the man.
"A woman like you with the smell about her of mah favorite brew. Drives a man like me wild..."
She smiled, and turning slightly, dipped her fingers into Recklon's mug of beer, cupping some of the brew and splashed herself with it. She sighed inwardly, for she knew she got some on her dress, but if all went well, tomorrow she would be wearing an even better one.
With the smell of the brew on herself, she raised her head to the side of Recklon's hairy face, her mouth tantalizingly close to his ear.
"A wild man like you would be a danger to our customers. I will need to calm you down..." she whispered, her voice husky, before rising up with her hand in Recklon's, and leading him into the rooms that existed for one sole purpose. She shut the door.
The sleepy dawn arose in the foggy sky, long slender fingers reaching into the small window where there lay a sleeping man and a woman, blinding the woman for a moment, before she turned over to look at the wooden wall.
The wall looked the wall at her once-house. She whimpered slightly, and flicked a tear from her eye. Her Daddy would be ashamed of her now. So would her mother. She was ashamed of herself, but she could not live any other way. She had to earn her living some how, and this is the way she must.
The woman arose from the bed, her back straight her eyes focused on something she could not comprehend. No. She wouldn't feel sorry for herself. She would live as she always did. Glancing down at her now tattered dress, she sighed to herself. It stank of beer, of human nature, and was torn beyond repair. Someday she might get use to it, the constant wearing of her soul and her dresses, but today was not that day.
She turned her head and eyed the man beside her, his body sprawled on the bed. Her eyes looked over at him, calculating him. She pursed her lips, and grabbing a knife from her small dresser, she slipped her hand under the sheets. With a quick movement, she cut Recklon's money bag from his person. Fraying the ends of the rope, thus giving her the excuse that it had ripped in his...readiness, the woman then opened it up and peered inside. Her lips still pursed, she drew out several roughly beaten gold coins, as well as a few silver pieces. It was more then she usually took, but the previous night had been unsatisfactory to her, for all the damage she had taken. Now she could receive her full satisfaction. Her thoughts drifted to what she would buy with her payment, interrupted by the mutterings of the man beside her. Rising up from her bed, she walked over to where Recklon's weapons and armor lay, and she placed the considerably lighter money bag near them. If he noticed that he had less silver and gold, she would simply tell him that he spent it on his drinking last night. If he still didn't believe her, the Bar Keeper would back her up. She grinned wickedly. It was always good to make friends with the Bar Keeper.
She stood up and eyed her dress again, before stripping it off. It could be used as rags. Walking over to her closet, she opened up her cache of morning-after clothes, and slipped on a simple dress. Before exiting the room, she splashed cold water unto her face, and braided her ruffled hair.
The tavern stunk of vomit and beer, the usual morning smells. She was thankful that she had been raised up the duty of cleaning it up for the noon and night time regulars. She now had the night shift.
After getting one of the younger serving girls to bring Recklon some breakfast and a tea to help his inevitable hangover, she sat down by the bar and ordered a tea for herself, while looking around the calm, quiet tavern. Quiet for a few moments at least.
She didn't hear the crowd until they were nearly on top of the tavern. She was still in shock when they barged into the tavern.
They were a group of warriors, numbering no more then a dozen, and by the look of it, they had just come away from a skirmish. Blood was still running down the faces of the men who carried their warrior brethren into the tavern, and those who were carried were mangled. The woman was wide-eyed in shock, when one of the men demanded her to bring a bowl of fresh water. He was tall, and imposing in his presence. She hurried to do his bidding.
From then on, she was in a daze. She was somewhat aware of the headman arguing with the Bar Keeper about how the wounded were sprawled on top of the tables, saying how it was bad for business. The headman shut him up by handing the Bar Keeper payment equal to a month of business. She didn't know a lot about the care for the wounded, and neither did any of the other women who soon found themselves to nurses. She was helping to clean a particularily nasty wound to a punctured arm, chanting a blessing unto the unfortunate owner, wishing she could do something to ease the pain that this person must feel. She suddenly got dizzy for a moment, which she blamed on a lack of foodm when she heard a quiet, pain-filled voice asking for her attention.
The face she looked upon was feminine, and the woman widened her eyes as realization of who she was caring for hit her. The wounded valkyrie smiled slightly, and nodded her head in thanks at the wide-eyed woman, then said something in a language unknown to her. What she said must have meant something of importance, for one for one of the warriors rushed to her side, and began to speak to her in a hurried tone. The woman strained to try to understand the exchange, but she could not. She sighed softly and resigned to clean the wound, while listening to the moans and demands of the warriors. The warrior lightly touched her hand, which brought her out of the daze she had been in, and lightly shook his head. Unwanted tears filled his eyes, as he left the table. The woman looked at the face of the valkyrie, with her eyes now focused on the throne of Odin, her mouth ajar with awe, and then covered her with a somewhat clean blanket, letting everyone know that one was lost. Herself and the others had no time to mourn however, for the wounded still needed caring for.
The woman had wondered where their village priest was, when she was told that he was helping to deliver a Head Family's first child. The arrival of new proceeded the departure of the old. Besides, he had said, if Hel wanted them, she would take them.
Recklon had left, saying something that with the hangover he had, he would be of no help to anyone. With his departure, several other of the regulars left, and no one entered the tavern while the warriors were still in there. The atmosphere was more depressing then usual, and there were other tavern's to go to.
She worked well into the night, bandaging, rinsing, and soothing the souls of the wounded. She left only when she was bidden to, by a tap on her shoulder by the headman, and his finger pointed to the rooms. It was one of the rare nights she slept alone.
With her awakening, she quickly washed herself, and rebraided her hair quickly before exiting into the main part of the tavern. She was shocked, again.
The tavern was empty, and it could have been just another day, and the previous day nothing more then a dream, if there hadn't been the overriding scent of blood drifting through out the tavern, and dried blood on the floor and tables. She was a thousand times thankful that she wasn't responsible for cleaning it all up.
The woman was confused, however, for there were no men from the previous day here. When one of the woman who had helped walked by her, she pulled her to a stop.
"Sissel! What happened here? Where are all the men from yesterday?"
The woman smiled wickedly before responding.
"Why? Were you hoping to perform some business with them?
"Sissel!"
"You need more sleep, your mood is depressing to me. They left."
"Why?" the woman was confused.
"The Priest wouldn't help them. He said that the baby required his attention. He probably didn't want to help strangers, they left to go to the next village. They have a healer there, they said. They thanked us though. Now excuse me...I have to go wash the tables."
She watched Sissel leave, then sighed. Today would be a normal day. Dropping her hand to her side, she was startled to feel a lump in her pocket. Reaching into it, she drew in a sharp intake of breath, for she held in her hand a symbol of Odin.
**
The woman looked over the field, placing a hand over her large stomach. She was married now, to a rich old man who had favored her in the tavern, and had requested her to fill his bed as his wife. An ironic grin curved her lips. Now he got her for free. At least he thought he did. She lightly fingered the gold chain around her throat. She had several like this, her gifts to herself. The woman felt it was only right, for she had to endure him, but she never showed them to the old man she had married herself to. When he woke up in the bed they shared, she would always scold him for drinking to much and using to much gold. The old man feared she was angry with him, so he always bought her expensive bits of jewelry and swore never to drink again, which he promptly forgot at night.
He had moved them to the land near Midgard's border, being the greedy man he was, for the land was cheap, and fairly fertile. They lived in ever present danger though. She smiled as she felt a kick inside her, then frowned slightly. He didn't mind the constant threat, but she did. She wanted a safe place for her child, closer to the other Norse. The soon-to-be-mother knew it was only a certain amount of time before they were invaded by the greedy Brit's. How she loathed the Brits, for what they did to her in the past and what they would do to her in the future.
The sky was darkening, and the woman narrowed her eyes. Her husband would probably entertain himself at the small village's tavern. Ever since her stomach began to swell, he started to stay at the small tavern until morning. He was estatic when she announced to him she was pregnant, more for the reason that it meant he was not impotent yet, then the reason that he would now have a child. She sneered slightly at that memory and their exchange before turning to her cottage where she would sleep alone.
It was night when they came, dark and smelling of evil. The old man had collapsed on her, exhausted with his unfruitful efforts, drool starting to run down his chin and drip onto her face, lit up with fear. She moved slightly, testing to see how deep in slumber where he was. He didn't notice the movement. Before the next drip of his spit could touch her face, she pushed him off her and wrapped a robe over her shivering body. She threw a disgusted glance over at him before entering into the room that held their son. He to had noticed something too, and was wide awake, though he made no noise. She smiled as she picked him up and held him to her chest. He was so smart. She was about to put him back down when she heard some muttering coming from the house door. She froze for a moment, then still clutching her son to her chest, she ran, as quietly as he could to the cupboard where her old man stashed all his old Viking equipment. She grabbed his thick axe with her one hand, carrying it with ease, and his large shield. Something bad was coming.
She had fled into the back room, locking the door behind her, when they entered. Yelling in a language she could not understand, they barged in, and she could hear them tearing the house apart, the crashing of her bowls onto the floor, and the breaking of her furniture. Her son was getting distressed and she could sense that he wanted to cry his befuddlement, yet he stayed silent. He was so smart.
The woman clutched the axe in her hand, trying to get a feel for the large weapon. She crouched on the floor, praying to Odin for his help and sending a prayer to Hel to ready her soul for the road. She heard the sound of metal against skin and bone, and she knew that her old man was dead. The once-wife didn't feel any sorrow however, if only a litle for the fact that the father of her son was dead. At least the supposed father of her son.
She heard the Brit's outside her door, muttering to each other in that awful language of theirs. They were almost past it when she heard them stop and try to open it. At its refusal to do so, their curiosity was piqued and in their battle lust they started to cleave at it with their swords. The woman got up to her full height, and readied herself. When one of the Brit's stuck his thickhead into the door, to try to see if he could see anything, his brothers-in-arms were shocked to see the body of him fall back unto them, the head chopped off in a single stroke. An archer was the first to regain his thoughts about him, and he sent an arrow into the darkness, and with the sound of a grunt of pain it broke the other Brit's back to their senses.
The now warrior grunted as the arrow struck her chest, put didn't penetrate her cloth. Her confidence rose greatly after this, and she gave her own war cry, her thanks and praise to Odin and as the first Brits charge in on her she swung her axe, cleaving several of the foolhardy in half. With the demise of the first group, the second held back, sending arrows into the darkness, while others attempted to get a fire started to light their way. Herself, she was safe behind a wall, but she had forgot about the place her son lay. As he wailed in pain, her eyes flashed with fear and shock. With the silence afterwards she went mad with rage. The Brit's had killed her son. All reasoning left her as she charge into the group of Brits, her axe flying around her, her shield blocking the sides of the delicately made swords with the force of a seasoned Viking warrior. The woman had no armor though, and she soon felt blood running down her arms and back as swords found her weakpoint and relished in the feel of skin as they bit into her. She felt nothing though, for she saw her son, dead now, and wandering alone in death. She would avenge him. The warrior raised her voice, sending her wail of pain and anger to the heaven's, punctuated with the sound metal against skin, or the clashing of metal unto metal.
Suddenly she stopped and gasped in pain. She looked down and saw the wicked point of a sword through her chest. She felt a sudden pain as her battle lust and madness left her, and she fell down to the floor, mouthing the words to a death chant. Pain clouded her sight, and though swords pierced her skin she would not die. She gained her voice back through the pain and voiced the last words to the chant loudly, the tone calm, and free from the pain. Then she left this world.
She blinked. The warrior was standing outside a large eating hall, the sounds of eating and chatter reaching her ears as she watched the people. They were dressed in warrior's garb, glistening with its newness and flashing with its grandness. Her felt her own body and felt the hardness of armor. She looked at her hands and saw an axe of unrivaled power and a shied of made of the strongest metals. She was in a daze when she noticed a tall, and very handsome Viking standing before her, and smiling slightly in greeting. She gasped.
"Hello, Mother." Her now grown son said, bowing low. Tousled blonde hair danced slightly with that movement, blue eyes lit up with happiness?
"My son? What? Why are you here?" She asked, her mouth slightly ajar.
"I took him here." a voice sounded behind the stunned woman, the voice demanding nothing, but it was a voice none could deny. She turned and saw the face of the warrior she had helped long ago in the tavern.
"He was untried, and he was of your blood. You who helped me in my moment of great pain. You who gave me enough to allow myself a peaceful death. I was in your debt, and I needed to help you in your moment of great pain. Your son is safe with in the halls of Asgard, until the final day is upon us."
She smiled and bowed her head in thanks, but she still had another question to ask this woman.
"I thank you greatly, she of the bravest blood, but I wonder as to why I am here?"
The valkyrie looked troubled for a moment, and was about to answer when a deep voice sounded behind her.
"You are here, for you are to receive my blessing, to become one of my chosen. Receive it in honor." rumbled the voice. The shivering woman wanted to turn around, to see the face of the god, but she dared not. he could feel his radiance, his power unto her back. She knew her eyes could not bear the sight of him. She felt a sudden weight upon her shoulder, and a sudden heat running throughout her body, followed by an icy chill. It raced throughout her body, coursing through her veins until it focused on her chest, where the emblem of Odin lay, combining into a burning ice, before fading into nothingness. She opened her eyes, she hadn't realized she had clamped them shut and looked around with wonder. She felt no different, yet she knew she was.
The valkyrie smiled at her, a smile laced with happiness, and tinged with sadness. She didn't understand the sadness part, and she took a step forward, to greet the valkyrie. She was stopped by an outraised hand.
"You have been blessed, Asvora. You must now prove yourself worthy of Odin's eye and gift. You revenged your son, and blessed his parting into this world, and now you must now go back into yours.", the valkyrie paused a moment, to allow this to sink in, "When I carried your son to the Halls of Asgard, and gave to him the knowledge and the age he would never have known, I have refilled my debt unto you. To help you more, I can not do."
"I'll be waiting for you Mother."
Pain. Utter pain. She wanted to cry out for help, yet no sound could echo through her mouth. Why couldn't she die? Asvora remembered the Halls of Asgard with remorse and longing. They were so warm, so comfortable... Pain. She moaned.
She didn't know where the next words out of her mouth came from. She was never taught them, nor had she ever heard them. They just flowed out of her mouth.
At first she couldn't feel anything different in the amount of pain she felt. If anything she felt more, for unknown to her, she was regaining the blood she had lost, and her skin was growing to cover up her many wounds. Soon though, she became aware of the heavy stench of death in the room, and the quietness of the house. The remaining Brit's must have left to raid the village. As long as they didn't come back any time soon, she didn't care. She never cared much for the villiagers anyways.
She moaned silently, and raised herself slightly. She felt badly bruised, and very, very tired. Asvora swaggered unto the bloody bed, and sank down into it. She yelped in sudden pain, for something was digging into her back. Reaching a bruised hand behind her back, she drew out Odin's symbol which she had found a few years back. It was slick with blood. She peered closer and ran her fingers over it. The woman found a deep knick in it, like one a sword thrust would make. She paused a moment, then raised her head up to look at her chest, where she remembered there once being a sword sliced through. Pale, perfect skin greeted her eyes, virgin to the touch of a blade, unlike the other parts of her body. She glanced at her arms, scars running up and down them, and growled, wanting to curse the Brits for what they did to her. She was stopped though when a sudden wave of weariness swept her up, and she welcomed the darkness, falling into such a deep sleep that she hadn't had for days.
She would need the rest when she went after the Britons who killed her son.
***
The bard smiled slightly, her tale finished, yet she played on while the imaginations of the Norse finished the tale. Many of the warriors in the tavern had gotten back recently from a raid that went horribly wrong against the Brits. Undoubtedly, Asvora would avenge her son's death tenfold, and perhaps her husband's as well. Perhaps, someday, she would tell them what really happened to Asvora.
With the last note of the bard's song drifting through out the tavern, the occupants eventually woke up from their daydreaming, to look around, startled at the sudden disappearance of the skald.
The door swung silently.