Your Protector
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Sookieverse. I do own Sólveig.
A/N: First of all, thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, and favorited An Ending, A Beginning, and Interim! I am a huge Eric/Sookie shipper, and there will be more where that came from. Secondly, about this story… I love historical fiction, and once this idea popped into my head I knew I had to write it down. This story takes place around 900 CE in Gamla Uppsala, Sweden. It centers around a ritual sacrifice made to the god Odin on the eve of battle. If you'd like to know more about this ancient Viking ritual, please visit the link in my profile. Enjoy!
A familiar and terrible pattern of notes floated on the sweet summer breeze, repeating ominously. It was the call to temple, the call to ritual... it was the call to bloody sacrifice in the name of the gods. The godi, the high priest and master of ceremonies, was calling the people of Uppsala to beg Odin's strength against the incessantly crusading Christians.
Her hands immediately ceased whittling the small wooden bear, and Sólveig whipped her head to the mouth of the small cave in which she'd found refuge these last few months. Everyone within earshot would be gathering at the temple, and she knew her parents would come looking for her if she did not set out now. Rather than have her hiding place discovered, she gently laid the bear down next to his other animal brethren. "I'll finish you soon," she whispered, smoothing away the shavings on its back. She hid her knife in the secret pocket she'd sown into her skirt, and then she exited her hiding place and covered the entrance with a few branches.
She reached the temple just before sunset. The priests were lighting torches in preparation for the ceremony, and beer was being passed through the crowd in large mugs. Sólveig grabbed one as it passed her and downed the contents before anyone could pester her to share. She wanted to be as inebriated as possible for this ritual. She wound her way into the crowd and pinched a second mug from her mother's pudgy fingers. Her mother stared at her in disbelief as she guzzled the thick brew.
"Have ye gone mad, daughter?" she chuckled as Sólveig wiped foam from her upper lip. "And just where have ye been this even? I was expecting ye to help me with supper, Sólveig Hakonardottir."
Sólveig winced at her mother's tone. When she used her full given name, it meant she was about to be in some sort of trouble. She decided to use the least amount of falsehood she could in order to get out of this mess.
"Mother, you know I've taken ill at the thought of marrying one of these village dolts. I needed to go to somewhere that brings me some peace... No one can take Sigurd's place," she said in as serious a voice as she could muster while her world was spinning. Sigurd was her cousin, the man she'd pledged to marry. He was brave, broad chested and fair-haired, and he'd been her first and only true love. Sigurd had died in battle when he was eighteen, and Sólveig was fourteen. In the three years since his death at the hands of the Christians, she'd withdrawn from life in Uppsala. Her youth and joy now manifested only in the wooden animals she so carefully sculpted in her secret hiding place on the mountain.
"Oh, my daughter, you will know a greater love in time," her mother cooed, satisfied by Sólveig's vague reply. "You were but a child when he passed. You're a woman now, and no mistake." Her mother patted her cheek, then grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward the setting sun. "Get ye to the front of the mob. I see a large cup that's yet to be touched," she giggled into her daughter's ear. Once she was free, Sólveig did just as her mother had instructed. As she gulped down the last drop of beer from the cup and swiped an old man's hand from her find, the godi took his place in front of Yggdrasil, the temple's version of the legendary tree of the same name.
It was the same as on the eve of every battle against the Christians. The godi and his helpers would make grand speeches and prayers, stopping every so often to hang a male animal from Yggdrasil in sacrifice to Odin, and the arterial spray from their slit throats would coat those in the front of the crowd of revelers. Sólveig had been to enough of these rituals over the years; she knew when to cover her face.
She held back a groan as she watched the godi hang a pig, a goat, and a lamb from the ancient tree in front of the temple. She despised the sacrifice rituals, but she would never tell a soul. She was a warrior's daughter, and as such would be ridiculed and beaten by her father if anyone were to ever know how the sight of blood and death turned her stomach. So she watched in grim fascination as the godi hanged three more male animals from the thick branches.
"Father Odin, grant us your strength and protection!" he cried. It was hard to hear him over the squeals and various other noises coming from the slowly asphyxiating animals that were thrashing on the ends of their ropes. The godi waved his hand toward his right, and two dejected looking male slaves were brought in front of him.
This was the part Sólveig hated most of all: the human sacrifices. The poor creatures that were slowly bleeding to death already tested her resolve, and this was so much worse. It had to be done, her father had told her once. If Odin would sacrifice himself for knowledge, surely they could offer up a few slaves to garner his aid in battle. Sólveig wondered if her father would feel the same if the townspeople wanted to offer him as a sacrifice.
The two males looked resigned to their fates, and stood meekly before the godi. A few seconds later another sacrificial male was led in front of the tree to stand in the center. Ropes did not bind this one; his hands feet were free. Instead, he seemed to be severely incapacitated by several pendants that had been stuck directly into his alabaster skin… silver pendants depicting Odin and Freya. That's when Sólveig realized what she was seeing. This was no man. He was an Ancient One, a Night Walker. She could hear a faint sizzling sound. The pendants were burning through his porcelain skin like pork fat on a hot iron. She gagged.
"Father Odin, we give to you this most honorable of sacrifices, and we humbly ask for victory against the Christian invaders," the godi droned. All three men had ropes slipped around their necks, and they were led up a platform high off the ground.
Sólveig twisted her hands together anxiously. She couldn't keep her eyes off the Night Walker. His pale skin stood in contrast to his dark hair. She could not see his face. He hadn't looked up once since he'd been paraded in front of the people, but she thought he looked young; a boy on the verge of becoming a man. She almost snorted at her ridiculous thoughts. He was probably older than the tree from which he was about to be hung.
Hung he was, along with the two human men. They were all three pushed from their already precarious perches. The slaves' necks broke when the rope snapped tight, but the Ancient One simply hung there, pendants still making that awful sound against his skin. The godi was not yet done with him, either, it seemed.
A small ladder was situated under the hanging Night Walker, and the godi scrambled atop it. Sólveig saw the glint of a ceremonial silver knife in his hands. The godi looked out at the sea of people and smiled. "As the sun rises, so shall our victory be ensured!" With that, he plunged the intricately carved knife into the Ancient One's heart.
The dark-haired boy let out the most horrifying scream Sólveig had ever heard. His head flew back and his eyes and mouth opened wide, fangs extended. Everyone gasped in fear, but Sólveig was not afraid of him. She was afraid for him. The knife would not kill him; her namesake would. They were going to leave him like that, dangling and run-through, until the sun rose and finished him. She wished the tears gathering in her eyes could somehow wash away the sickly taste already befouling her mouth.
Instead of simply weeping she pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She was close now, very close, and she could see the tattoos that adorned his white body. Jagged bands of black surrounded his upper arms and his neck. She thought she'd seen another on his back, but couldn't make it out in the darkness. It didn't matter now. All she could focus on was the deep red blood oozing slowly from the to-be-mortal wound in his strong chest.
Suddenly his eyes shifted to her, and she froze. They were green, like the sea on a cloudy winter day. In those eyes she saw centuries of existence. Joys, sorrows, pains, and fears. Her heart was beating like a frightened bird's. This beautiful, terrible creature was about to meet his end at the hands of her village, and all she could do was watch. Before she could stop it, a tear made its way down her cheek. The Ancient One followed its path to the ground with his eyes. When he looked back up, a tear of his own escaped… it was red.
While Sólveig stared up at the Night Walker, those around her began their celebratory feast. More beer was passed through the crowd, and soon the revelers forgot about everything but the meat, the drink, and the impending battle.
Sometime shortly thereafter a horn sounded in the distance. It could only mean one thing: The Christians had decided to invade at night, rather than wait for dawn. Everyone around her moved like a fire had been lit under them. Women gathered their children, men gathered weapons, and those performing the rituals gathered their paraphernalia. Sólveig had not moved in the last hour, and she could not move, so transfixed was she by the bloody tears of the Ancient One.
After a few minutes, she realized everyone was gone but her and the boy on the end of the rope. She knew she should go home to her mother. She should do anything but what was running through her mind: save the boy. It was insane, stupid even, to think she could help this creature. It was even stupider to think he'd be grateful, but Sólveig had a tender heart, and it was breaking as she watched him suffer. With a shake of her head she made her decision.
The climb to the branch on which the boy hung was more difficult than she'd imagined, but she made it. It was lucky she'd slipped her carving knife into her under things before making her way to the temple earlier. She sawed at the rope with a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of the dagger. It took several minutes, but the twine finally gave way, and the boy fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He didn't move.
Sólveig hurried back down the tree and to his side. Unsure of what to do, she rolled him onto his back. His mouth was open as if he were panting for breath he could not use, and his teeth were bared. Sólveig knew she should be afraid, at least somewhat, but she wasn't. She was determined. Was this how Sigmund had felt, scared and alone as he'd met his end? She knew he'd bled to death in a field not far from where they'd shared their fist kiss. She couldn't let this poor creature share his fate.
Slowly she began removing the silver pendants the godi had so cruelly pinned to him. It was as if they'd melted his flesh where they touched him. She could only imagine the damage the knife had done, and was doing still. He hissed as each pendant came off, but he did not move. Once the last was gone, she looked into his eyes.
"I am going to take out the dagger now. Do you understand?" she asked as she reached a shaking hand to the hilt. The boy nodded. Sólveig sat motionless for a moment, steeling herself for what could happen next. She felt movement below her, and then the boy's cold, white hand wrapped around hers on the dagger.
"Now," he whispered. She pulled with all her might, and the blade came right out, making a sucking sound as it did. The Ancient One roared his pain into the still night air.
A/N: I've finally got a set schedule for work and school, so I'll have Mondays and Wednesdays off, yay! I've got this whole story laid out on paper, so I'll have chapter two up tomorrow sometime. Please read and review, and I'll do my very best to respond to everyone. Thanks for reading!