Before opening her eyes against the bright, headache inducing sunlight, pans clattered Lhyrie awake with the boom of Thor's anvil. She heard her mother whisper a soft "Sorry" in her direction, before continuing to search for the right scrap of metal to cook breakfast on. Lhyrie groaned and rolled over onto her back, silently cursing her mother for waking her. She rubbed her brow and carefully peeked her eyes open, careful not to blind herself.

"Wake up, little one. You have wasted half the day already."

Lhyrie groaned again, cursing herself for feeling this way – hungover and filled with regret. She couldn't remember the exact words she spoke with Ubbe, but her tone was clearly not pleasant or polite. She was quite embarrassed for making a slight spectacle in the Great Hall and she prayed no word would spread to her mother or Queen Aslaug. She should have gotten him alone and talked about it but the Viking ale had gotten the best of her. Alone… like in an alley.

Erg, the alley, she lamented. What was she thinking? She wasn't one to be jealous or stalk people, or one to want to make other people jealous. But she was sure that she accomplished that when she was talking to the farmer, Jager, from the way Ubbe looked at her when he left. How could she fix what she had done? Any resolution would have to wait until after the sacrifice tonight and after the thousands of men, women and traders left for their far-away journeys. Hopefully by that time, she cooled her head.

"Sváss, we must start the day," her mother called again.

"Yes, Mother," Lhyrie yawned, stretching her arms in a wide arch above her head and shaking her head. She loosed the braid that hung in strands around her face and allowed her hair to flow in waves down past her shoulders. The clanking her mother made resulted in an egg frying on a pan above the fire, but the smell made Lhyrie nauseous. She still felt the room spinning slightly as she stood. She reached into the trunk at the side of the bed and pulled out a small jar. It was filled small shards of tree bark and Lhyrie picked out a slice and chewed on it carefully, hoping to rid the headache she could feel forming.

Her stepfather was lounging in the corner of the room, seeming not to have moved from the night before. He was picking at an axe and had weapons scattered about him.

"So you are raiding with Bjorn?" Lhyrie asked, walking out from behind the curtain.

Her stepfather looked up at her, bewildered and unamused at her sleeping late. "Yes, I know some Frankish and have seen their armor and weapons. I would be very helpful to Bjorn and Hvitserk on their way to the Mediterranean, especially if they cannot reach Rollo."

"I heard Ragnar is also sailing to England," Lhyrie replied, taking a seat at the small table with her mother, who handed her a plate with the egg on it.

"I heard that as well," Heidrun said. "The handmaidens were talking of it. He is taking Ivar with him! Queen Aslaug is not pleased."

Afin dropped his axe, aggravated with the gossipy chatter. "Yes, your brother is joining him," he said. "Did he not tell you?"

"No," Heidrun replied, shocked. "I did not see him this morning before he left to barter, and he was passed out drunk when I returned from the feast. You will not join him?"

Lhyrie pushed the egg around the plate with no intention of eating it, as she felt it would not stay down for long. She tried to stay on the topic of her uncle raiding with Ragnar, but her thoughts shifted to the farmer she met last night. Jagar would be joining Ragnar in England, as well. That is where she learned of Ragnar's plan. He was so proud, gleaming with joy as he told Lhyrie of the fate the Gods had planned for him – for his first raid would be with the famous King Ragnar Lothbrok. Initially Jagar was going with Bjorn and Hvitserk, but when he and his father learned Ragnar was returning to England, they set out to return there with him, where farmlands were once promised and settled, and perhaps, able to settle again.

"No-," her stepfather cut into her thoughts. "I would be better off with Bjorn." He picked up his axe again and ducked his head, signaling the end of the conversation.

"What is the plan today, Mother?" Lhyrie asked, shoving the uneaten egg over to her mother.

"We should find a stall to sell medicines and a place to bandage and heal," she replied, taking a bite of the fried egg. "I was thinking by the docks, if there is space, so that the traders sailing in could get easy treatment for diseases."

"Or by the gates," Lhyrie added, rubbing her temples again, trying to nudge out her headache.

"Anywhere that is cheap," her stepfather added.

"With Drun sailing with Ragnar, we could stay here longer and not find a place of our own. He would be overjoyed that someone was keeping his house safe. We would save money that way."

Afin grunted and resumed his interest in his axe handle. Lhyrie yawned as she rose to change for the day ahead.

The day seemed warm already, but Lhyrie was hesitant on wearing a simple smocked dress near the cool breeze of the fjord. Frankia, where they spent the previous 2 years, and even Denmark was warmer than Kattegat, being more south. She would have to get used to the colder North winds Njord blew in. Lhyrie picked out a simple beige tunic that hit her mid-thigh and brown leather slacks. It felt like home. She would wear it when she trained or hunted for herbs and found it infinitely more comfortable than any dress she owned. She threw a belt around her waist which held a small knife and a brown vest over her shoulders, concealing the knife on her hip. Sliding into a pair of knee-high boots, Lhyrie felt truly herself. She quickly pulled her hair into a single braid down the back of her head and set off with her mother.

The sun told Lhyrie it was already mid-day when she and her mother ventured out into the busy streets of Kattegat. The once simple village had turned into one of the more prominent and luxurious trading centers in the region, sitting at a pass of seas and rivers. Sailors from many foreign lands, speaking foreign languages squabbled with natives, trying to speak the common language of trade. Livestock roamed the streets under the careful watch of their herders, fresh meats hung from stall pillars, metal clanged and fire spurred at the various blacksmiths.

Lhyrie looked around and gapped at the new sights of her hometown. She felt as though she was transported back to the port in Frankia where they stayed. While they were in Bruge, talk of Viking raids struck ill in the town and caused hysteria among the residents, so much so that they started building a fort around the town. Lhyrie began to wonder why larger outposts and provisions were not in place at Kattegat yet, especially with the King leaving so soon. She saw guards stationed at the docks, but most had ale in their hands and were chatting with men and wooing women as they were trying to load boats for the raids.

"Helga has been tending to wounds and such while we have been away," Heidrun said, as she linked arms with her daughter and squeezed through a congested street. Lhyrie tried to avoid tripping over a basket of fruit instead of running into a larger man and his goat, but some toppled over. She called back and apologized to the stall owner before her mother whisked her off, farther down the beach.

Though the beach was so congested with trunks, shields and tarps it hardly seemed like a beach at all. Lhyrie watched as the boats bobbled up and down in fierce waves, and was glad to have grabbed the vest as she pulled it closer around her.

"There you are!" a voice cried out from ahead of them. Lhyrie couldn't place where it had come from until a woman ran out of house several yards ahead with her arms spread joyfully, waiting for a hug. She was short and plump, wearing a tattered dress smeared with blood, her wiry grey hair pulled into a messy bun atop her head. Heidrun half-ran to greet her and wrapped her into a large hug.

"Helga!" She said, then motioned Lhyrie to move faster to greet her sister-in-law. "Age has seen you well. How goes you?"

"Ah, enough to keep me busy and worried when the men are away," Helga replied, wiping sweat off her brow as Lhyrie tried to bundle closer. "Lhyrie, you look awfully cold. Let me warm you," she said and enveloped Lhyrie in a warm hug.

"The Frankish winds have grown me soft," she replied with a slight laugh.

"Well come in," Helga said, moving them into her home. "This is where I have been practicing. It is well when the men come home off the boats." She showed them the tables and jars placed out underneath an awning where she worked. Rags dripping in blood hung over wooden beams to dry and herbs were laid out on racks above a fire to dry. It was a quaint area, a good size for one or two people to work and tend and substantially better than the often cramped quarters they had in their travels.

"You can work here, with me," Helga said, sitting on a table. "Both of you," she winked at Lhyrie.

"That is a wonderful offer, Helga," Heidrun answered. "But we could not possibly. This is your space."

It would be wonderful to have a space by the beach. It would be away from the Great Hall, Lhyrie thought. Away from the Ragnarssons, for a little bit atleast. It would also allow Lhyrie to bear the winter winds again as well.

"I insist. My age had kept me from working as I would like, and I do not wish to buy slaves to help me, so if you two would help, it would benefit everyone," Helga explained.

"Lhyrie, what do you think?" Her mother asked.

"I agree. I believe it would be beneficial," Lhyrie said. "Someone could always be here tending, while others went and gathered supplies." She ran her fingers along the edges of the table and a small knife that was lying there. Lhyrie spotted a jar of leeches sitting on a stool.

"She has her father's mind," Helga commented, causing Lhyrie to smile. Helga grazed her cheek with a sincere smirk.

"I agree, and I think it is a good plan," Heidrun said. "But we will pay your dues."

"Fine, fine," Helga said, waving off an argument and accepted her sister-in-law's proposal. "Did you hear about Drun raiding with Ragnar?"

"Yes, and my husband raiding with Bjorn. As if we did not just travel all that way!" The two women laughed as Lhyrie explored the small space more and became acquainted with her future workplace. Grasses and roots were labeled in chalk in bins and jars, some which Lhyrie knew and was accustom to from her travels and others not. She became excited to learn their properties and uses. She leaned on the railings and looked out on the beach while the two women chatted.

A few men carried a chest to the dock and rested upon it for a moment. One looked toward Lhyrie and smiled. He clasped hands with his partner and made his way over to her, his long brown hair fighting the wind. Jagar smiled widely as he came closer, but became more reserved when he noticed she wasn't alone. He approached the awning slowly, wringing his hands.

"Hello, Lhyrie," he said, brimming ear to ear. "It is good to see you."

"Jagar," Lhyrie responded with a smile. "You have a tear in your shirt," she said, pointing out a rip in the arm of his tunic. There was a slight cut of blood peeking out underneath it.

"Ach, yes. The chest has a sharp corner on it and jabbed me," he said, rubbing the cut.

"You have come to the right place," she said, motioning to the jars and fabrics used for healing. "Would you like a salve?"

"The healer," he said with a grin, as Helga and her mother walked out of the house, hearing voices. "Hello, I am Jagar, son of Efferend." he said politely.

"Hello," they called in unison. Heidrun beamed with a wide smile at her daughter. "Have you met before?" She asked. Lhyrie blushed in embarrassment. Her mother would tie Jagar into a marriage before he leaves.

"Yes, at the feast last night," he responded. "I will set sail with Ragnar to England."

"Ah…" the two women exclaimed.

"Mother," Lhyrie began, "If I am no longer needed here, may I go with Jagar to celebrate the sacrifice?" It was later than Lhyrie thought, as the skies seemed to darken already.

"We will see you there," her mother said, still smiling.


The stir of a sacrifice filled the air with electricity as only it could, as to feel closer to the Gods. As if the streets were not crowded enough, more flocked to the city center in order to bear witness and get a blessing from the Gods. Thousands of fires illuminated the sky and provided the warmth Lhyrie desperately needed, despite the encroaching hold Jagar had on her shoulders throughout the night.

He pushed her forward so that she lingered on the edge of the pathway where the ram would be lead, up to the courtyard where a skull and table were laid out for his final moments. Jagar stood behind her, with his arms wrapped around her waist. King Harald Finehair and his brother began chanting in perfect harmony suddenly under the glow of the skull, and the crowd grew quiet. Many craned their heads forward to get a clear look of the festivities.

Up walked several men, forcing the ram by his horns to the middle of the courtyard. Lhyrie felt a discomfort as she always had with the sacrifice of animals. If the Gods wanted them to be sacrificed, they would choose them and have them walk up without fear and without the persuasion of people. When humans are sacrificed, it is without such fear that animals display. But, even then, it takes a gentle push to be sacrificed to dine in the halls of Valhalla. Many years ago, she bore witness at the Temple of Uppsala, where nine sacrifices of each animal, including humans, took place. She was no longer squeamish with the thought of blood spilled.

Behind them, Queen Aslaug was almost unrecognizable. She wore a mask of blood and tar, clothed in all white, in a trance – she immolated a Goddess. As the party approached the table and grand fire, the crowd silenced so much that a flap of a wing would resonate completely, as if the entire world was holding their breath. The men tied the ram from the pillar that stood with the fire, as Queen Aslaug slowly lifted a silver dagger in front of her. Almost as time stood still, she deliberately wielded the sword to the ram's throat and blood poured steaming into the table and bowl.

Once the blood had been drained and collected, the priest dipped his brush into the bowl and began throwing the God's blessing onto the crowd. He turned but a few feet from Lhyrie and flicked blood from his brush. She felt the hot, sticky burn of fresh blood on her forehead, as Jagar gasped in exaltation. Queen Aslaug turned and moved toward the beach and boats, that is when Lhyrie noticed her sons behind her, almost directly across from them. Ubbe was staring hard at the ram hanging in the middle of the courtyard, almost as if to burn a hole through it, almost straight through her. Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk turned to follow their mother, as Ivar stayed and moved toward the table in the middle of the area.

Jagar gently took Lhyrie's hand, guiding her to follow the party down to the boats. He smiled like a gleeful child. Down at the boats, the Ragnarssons, including Bjorn and his wife, Torvi, were standing, waiting for their blessing. People on boats were already flinging blood onto the others and their shields, afraid to miss a single item being taken on their journey. Jagar gleamed, trying to take in the entire spectacle, as if it something foreign. Growing cold, and not wanting to stay and look at Ubbe standing on the docks any further, Lhyrie pulled Jagar away, back up the Great Hall, where some men started a roast of the ram and a hog.

Drums began beating and chanting resumed as the ale was broken out for the second night. Another celebration was in order. Lhyrie noticed Ivar was still in the center of the courtyard, blood stained his mouth and chin as though he had drunk the sacrificed blood. Someone handed him a horn of ale to wash it away. Jagar passed a horn of ale to her, but she was resistant to drink after the results of the previous night's excursions. Lhyrie promised herself only one glass and down it quickly.

Lhyrie could feel a warmth and tingling grow inside her, starting at her toes and moving upward. Her mind began to race, jumping to thought and feeling quickly and without warning. She needed to move to release these feelings. She took it as a gift from the God's, and she grabbed Jagar's hand pulling him in the middle of the courtyard to playfully dance to the beat of the drums, laughing almost manically. Ivar grinned up at her just as frenzied and spellbound.

Hours seemed to pass, though Lhyrie kept dancing a type of step-dance choreographed by the Gods. Lhyrie had an endless energy, like a bee trapped in a jar, that which she must release. Jagar grew tired and moved to talk with men by the roast, but kept a close eye on her. Hvitserk danced with her on his way back up from the docks to the Great Hall. He twirled her in circles and lifted her off the ground, laughing like a child as he usually did. Sweat gathered on their brow and soaked their tunics, but never out of breath they seemed. Lhyrie's cheeks grew tired from smiling.

Soon after Hvitserk left her, the mania Lhyrie felt subsided and her legs felt as though they might buckle. She quickly scuttled over to where Jagar was seated outside the Hall and joined him. The Gods had left her. By this time, the moon was shining full above them and the crowd had dwindled down, as those who were sailing tomorrow surrendered to sleep. Jagar graciously led Lhyrie to her uncle's house, before kissing her hand and parting for the night. Ragnar wouldn't set sail for another week, but the celebrations were over and Jagar needed to return to his family's farm to set the final preparations.

The next morning, Lhyrie was shaken from her sleep with a dull ache in her legs and calves. She muddled down to the docks with sleep in her eyes to see her step-father and friends off to the Mediterranean. Crowds gathered once more on the beach and Lhyrie fought to find Hvitserk and Bjorn to say goodbye. On the main dock, next to the flagship, she spotted Ragnar and his sons.

"Hvitserk, I wish your dancing feet turn to sea-legs quickly," she called, slightly mocking. He turned and rushed to give her a hug down the long dock. Bjorn chuckled and made his way down the dock as well. Although not as good friends as Lhyrie was to Aslaug's children, she knew Bjorn well enough and appreciated his friendship.

As she was hugging Bjorn, she noticed Ubbe turn and stare at her, moving his attention away from the boats. He gave her the same glare he had the previous night at the sacrifice, making Lhyrie believe he really wasn't staring at the ram last night but at her. She let go of Bjorn and shook Ubbe's look from her, before setting back off the dock and up the beach to find a spot to wave off the rest of the raiding party.


The following week passed quickly as Lhyrie was intrigued with preparing her new work station with herbs and dressings. She took advantage of the location to watch the next row of raiding boats come into Kattegat, barely a quarter of the number that went raiding with Bjorn and Hvitserk. She woke early the morning the men were heading off to get a good position on the beach. However, she didn't need to, as only a handful of people came to the docks to wish well the smaller raiding party. She watched as Aslaug tearfully wish Ivar goodbye as he joined his father in the flagship. Ivar had made a contraption, like stilts, to walk. Lhyrie could hardly believe her eyes. They worked well, until it caught in a hole in the dock. Sigurd laughed as Ivar fell hard from his place.

Lhyrie waited to be one of the last people to say goodbye, enveloping Jagar into a deep hug. She was hesitant as he groped her back and begged to reach for more, but she swatted him away to avoid indecency. Vengeance got the best of her, and she pulled Jagar into a long kiss as Aslaug and her sons moved up the dock. His lips were soft and he tasted like fresh honey. Ubbe cleared his throat in contempt as he passed.

"I wish Thor will see you safe," she said, swallowing hard, suddenly filled with sorrow.

Jagar gulped as well and took a deep breath before swinging over the side of the boat onto his adventure.