I do not own History Channel's Vikings.
Chapter One
The snow was soft against her bare feet. It awakened her. And made her feel closer some how to Bjorn. She stood at the base of the hills, just outside of Kattegat. Her shoes rested on top of the snow next to her, collecting drifting snow in their soles. Gyda closed her eyes, stretching her arms out in front of her, if only she could feel…
"What are you doing?"
King Ragnar Lothbrok stood not but ten feet behind her, smiling with curiosity. His daughter was strange to him, and strange to everyone in Kattegat. But she was his daughter.
"I'm worried for Bjorn," Gyda stated, and then added,"You are very quiet in the snow."
Ragnar smiled, but it looked false to Gyda's eyes, "Your brother may or may not be back."
Gyda flinched at the statement. Her father was hard and kind. A mixture that made him an odd form of likeable that people just couldn't stay away from.
"He killed a bear yesterday. But he is wounded," The young woman stated simply. She turned to put on her shoes as Ragnar stared at her back.
The king's mouth twitched, "How do you know? Did you speak with him?"
Gyda's brown eyes lifted from her shoes, "No. I just know. I always know."
Ragnar didn't question her further. She unnerved him. They had all assumed she was slightly addled from her illness as a child. She often rambled nonsense after the fever. For years no one took to heart her stories. But she had foretold Athelstan's death. And that was something. And now she stood ankle deep in the snow, speaking of her brother. The viking king shivered.
"He's alive though," Ragnar said.
It was a statement, not a question.
"My brother would not die so easily father," Gyda smiled.
And her smile was infectious. She had blossomed into a beautiful woman. But she was no warrior like Lagertha or himself. She was lovely and smart and dainty. She had studied Athelstan's tongue and could read his words and his maps. She could paint and draw. She could make scrolls from the trees and read the stars. She could make medicines from the plants and take the salt from seawater to make it pure.
Yes, Gyda was as pure as fresh water.
"Father?" She questioned.
"Yes Gyda?"
"Let's go back to the village?"
"Yes. Let's," Ragnar allowed his daughter to loop her arm through his. Her head resting against his shoulder as they walked.
Kattegat was blooming with activity when they entered. Gyda's step brothers raced forward to greet their father as if he had been gone months not merely hours. Aslaug hovered in the doorframe of the main hall, chin darkened with bruising. It made Gyda flinch to look at it. She knew her father had hit Aslaug, and although she had no love for her step mother she had no hatred either.
"Where were you?" Aslaug attacked as soon as they entered the hall. Gyda was not sure if she addressed her or Ragnar.
"I was listening for Bjorn at the base of the hills," She stated. Aslaug's wife sneered at her comment.
The boys played in the hall around them, climbing over chairs, reenacting some great battle of their father's. Gyda roared at her youngest brother, tickling him. She wanted to ignore Aslaug. Frustrated that she had just pitied the rude woman just moments before. Picking the boy up she swung him over her shoulder.
"Why I can't seem to find my littlest brother. Where can he be?" She laughed as the child squealed in delight.
"Gyda," Aslaug stepped forward, "Can you go to the marketplace for me? We are out of fresh fish," her step mother paused, "And take the boys with you. They are too rowdy to be cooped inside all day."
Gyda tried not to scowl at the woman's request. But it was true, they had nothing to make for dinner that evening, "Yes Aslaug. Come brothers. I think we should go kill ourselves a… dragon!" The children laughed – enjoying the teasing of their big sister.
Ragnar sat on his throne as they left, eyeing his wife wearily, "I know your thoughts. What have you come to nag me with this time woman?"
Aslaug's face twisted with frustration, "Gyda. She is not well. Her ramblings become worse. She has no prospects for a husband. And she is no fighter like Lagertha. You know these things, but you don't tell her to be quiet or to stop," She paused in front of his seat, "She stood out in the snow for hours Ragnar. And all of Kattegat saw."
Ragnar waived his hand in an almost drunken gesture, grinning, "And you think I care what everyone thinks of Gyda?"
Aslaug leaned forward, palms pressed against the wooden arms of the throne, "And who do you think will marry her? Who will care for her when you are gone?"
The king frowned, "And what do you care Aslaug? You have no love for her.."
Aslaug paused, lips trembling, "I think I can arrange some prospects for her. One's that will strengthen our bonds with some bordering jarls. I think-"
"You think incorrectly," Ragnar hissed, flinging himself from the throne, "Gyda will have a choice in who she is to marry."
His wife turned away, "I didn't say she wouldn't. We could simply ask her if she wished to marry one of the prospects."
"And how would I know that this husband of choice would treat her well? That he wouldn't hit her?" The king was sneering.
"Like you hit me?"
The room was quiet. Ragnar smiled in a taunting way that made Aslaug flinch. The comment was supposed to hurt Ragnar, but for some reason it made her feel instantly weary, the fight vanishing out of her in one fell swoop. A mere swoop of his smile was all it took to bring Aslaug to a faltering woman snatched up her skirts and walked quietly into the bedroom.
"Stupid woman," Lothbrok stated, watching her pale blonde hair sway as she walked away.
They were whispering about her. Gyda tried to ignore them by teasing her brother's and appearing interested in the bartering of fish, but she couldn't keep her eyes from darting up to catch the furtive glances. She heard it clearly then. What they were saying.
They whispered, "Angrboda."
Angrboda. Loki's mistress who birthed three monsters. Angrboda, whose name meant, 'one who brings grief.' Maybe it was true. So far her visions only spoke and predicted death. Athelstan's death. She cringed.
"Your face says the price on this fish is not a good price, but I can assure you princess it is a fine price. Look this fish is fresh-"
Gyda's hand reached out, grasping the half frozen fish by the tail, "I want it." Her features were intense enough to cause the seller to take a step backward, away from her brown-eyed gaze.
"Of course. I will roll them in a bundle for you to carry," the old man stuttered. Yes, perhaps she unnerved this man too. She felt slightly wild as she looked around the market at the staring eyes. Crazy. Evil. Monster. The eyes screamed at her.
"Here you are Gyda," The fish startled her as they were tossed into her arms, heavy and reeking of the sea.
"Come brothers," She muttered, taking her youngest brother's cart in one hand to drag him along behind her.
She had thought if they had left the market quickly the stares and whispers wouldn't follow her, but they did. She wondered if she snarled at them would they flee in fright. The children were oblivious. Her brother's cart sunk deeper and deeper in the thick mud as they walked, making her lean forward, eyes focusing on her feet. And so it was unexpected when the first rock was thrown, barely chipping her brow.
"Angrboda!" The voice was harsh and manly and completely anonymous in the crowd that had now formed around them. I trail of blood ran from her forehead to her cheek.
"Gyda!" Her oldest little brother reached forward, fists clenching in anger, "Who did that? King Ragnar will have you punished." The boy eyed the crowd as they dispersed, apparently no longer interested.
"We will go tell father!" The child cried, racing forward with his younger siblings behind him.
Yes tell King Ragnar. It would make her so, so happy for her father to hear that she was called Angrboda at the market. The young woman wanted to weep. Her father may be king but even kings cannot protect their daughters from such things as superstition and hatred. Her future was to be blamed for every death in Kattegat.
She. The one who brings grief.
"Are you alright?"
The man who stood in front of her was Asvaldr. She only knew him because he had went on the last raid to France with Ragnar. Apparently he was a brave warrior and close to her age. But there was something she did not like about him. Dark and sinister. Quiet. But smart. He was prideful and did not smile or laugh often. Handsome with his bleach blonde hair, sharp jaw line, and crystalline eyes. No one should be that combination of things.
His hand reached out to touch the small trace of blood that was now smeared across her cheek. She flinched backward.
His face followed hers until his lips reached her ear, breath warm against the side of her face, "Your name is Gyda, not Angrboda. Gy-da."
It was too personal. Almost romantic. She felt disgusted and tired and annoyed.
Learning backward, Gyda rolled back her arm, and flung her fist forward. Straight into Asvaldr's left eye.