Master of My Sea


I've done a lot of research in the area that this chapter covers, so I hope I did it justice when I got around to writing a character like this. A a fair warning this chapter and the next isn't going to be like the first. Like I said, it's a slow burn, so I'm setting the vibe for character relationships with my OCs, as well as some character backstory.

Also, I want to thank everyone who favourited and alerted, and to HeavensWeatherHellsCompany, for being my first reviewer :3


chapter two:
THE RED WOMAN


The following day had came with a sore body, and a sore head. The cause of the latter was not from Floki, or his journey up the hill, but of his mother and the endless lecturing he had to endure when Floki carried him into his family's home.

She immediately fretted, especially when her eyes landed onto his bandaged up shoulder and his dirty state. Aslaug's immediate assumption was that he was kidnaped, and then beaten out of cruelty, but when the story was told to her (with the exclusion of the girl), the tone in his mother's voice changed. Aslaug then proceeded to berate her son over his carelessness; how he could have fallen down the hill and cracked his head, or if someone where to find him and kidnap him for a prince's ransom. Ivar merely half listened with a sunken head and a cold blue stare at the wall of the longhouse. What was worse still, he had to hear Sigurd's sniggers from the other side, followed by comments being made under his breath. It had ended up with Ivar launching himself at his insufferable older brother, and Floki holding him off.

Ivar was pulled away from the hall of the longhouse, and brought to a room adjacent to cool down. Floki left him and went to talk to his mother. About fifteen minutes later, Floki had a pleased smile on his face as he clasped his shoulder.

"Your mother has agreed it is time for you to train with your brothers,"

Ivar looked up, his sour expression disappeared to one of surprise, "She did?" It had been sometime since Aslaug had asked Floki to take him under his wing and make him viking, but it had not gone beyond the teachings of the gods. He told him stories and war strategies, and smithing techniques, but his mother was always been apprehensive about him picking up an axe and sword and actually fighting.

"Yes, and we start tomorrow," Floki answered him as he went over to sit across from him.

"Why not today?" The boy asks with vigor. He made a movement to get off from his bench, but Floki stopped him.

"You body still aches from yesterday's journey; it is not wise for you to put more strain on your weak muscles at this moment, Ivar," When Floki finished explaining, the cripple rolled his eyes and let his shoulders sink.

"I am fine," he insisted.

"If you were fine you would not need me to carry you around Kattegat, little prince," Ivar's tone and expression was smug as he brought the horn of ale he held to his lips.

Ivar jutted his chin at him, "I don't need you to carry me around. I am not a helpless babe."

Floki gave a small giggle before he decided to humour him. "Alright, Ivar, have it your way. You can come with me to see a friend of mine just outside of the city, but I do not want to hear you complain."

"I won't!" Ivar pulled himself off the bench and onto the floor with a wince that Floki saw, despite the boy's efforts to hide it.

They had moved out of the city without much word. Ivar was too busy trying not to make sounds over the strain and pain he was causing his body, namely his shoulder, from trying to keep up with Ivar's long strides. After a while, he took the dagger he had at his hip and started to penetrate the land to help him pull his body faster. Once the houses of Kattegat were behind him, and they were now trekking through the uneven ground of the forest, Ivar decided to speak.

"Who is this friend you are having me drag my body to see?" He was irritated as he was sweaty. The young viking was slowly regretting his decision.

Ivar's resilience was unwavering and Floki had took notice that without comment, but he knew that his act of starting conversation was an attempt to keep his mind off of the pains in his muscles. Alas, Floki humoured him by answering his question. "Her name is Hulda, and she is a Völva," he answered simply. When he did not hear Ivar's tell tale sounds of muffled grunts and his legs being dragged across dirt and rock, he looked over his shoulder.

The teenager had stopped and looked at Floki with wide eyes and an open mouth. "A Völva? Your friend is a witch?!"

Floki turned back around and continued walking, "Yes, she is. And it is within both our best interest for you to behave. You do not want to anger a Völva, as it is a direct disrespect to the gods."

After a moment of staring at his mentor's back, Ivar started moving again, but he wasn't finished with his questions. "What do the völvur have to do with the gods?"

Floki tisked him, "You have not been paying attention to the stories, Sweet Ivar. The völvur are allied with the fate goddesses, and so bestowed great powers by the goddess Freya, herself."

Ivar did not say a word for a long moment as he processed this information while simultaneously ignoring the ache in his joints. "What do you seek from this 'Hulda'?"

"We shall see once we get there," Floki answered cryptically.

They continued on for ten more minutes, up a hill and over rocks that looked like steps. He could hear the sound of running water from the river that flowed into the lake nearby, and that was when Floki announced that they had arrived. Ivar slowed to a halt once he looked up to see a peculiar little house nestled into the rock face under a precipice where a large oak tree sat. The tree's roots grew all around the house, over the ledge and disappeared into the earth. The little cottage itself had a roof of overgrown grass, which made it hard to see if you did not know it was there, nor if you didn't notice the depiction of three cats facing left, right and center carved into the wooden door.

Once they approached the house, Ivar took this moment to at last rest by hauling himself onto a large rock nearby. Floki paused in front of the structure, his eyes looking around the area, following up the roots of the oak tree and finally up to the branches. The shipwright squinted up into the sun to see a figure sitting up high in the large tree, which caused a smile to grace his face.

"Where is your mother, Kára?" When floki questioned the tree, Ivar gave him an odd look, and questioned possibly for the 100th time in his life the state of Floki's sanity.

Though a voice, distant from above, answered him, "By the river. She is waiting for you."

Ivar's face twisted in confusion, looking from Floki and up to the branches of the wide and tall oak tree, trying to identify who was speaking those words. He began to question his own sanity before Floki began to talk to the disembodied voice again.

"Would you keep my friend company?" The voice did not answer, but it must have responded nonverbally, since Floki seemed pleased as he turned around and walked towards the prince and patted him on the head. "Wait here."

"Let me come with you," Ivar insisted as he twisted his body to face him and simultaneously pulling away from the man's offending hand.

"Not now. I must go alone, but we will be back," was all he said before descending down the hill and disappearing out of view.

Ivar huffed and turned to look back at the house and up the tree, but could not see anything. After a few moments of silence, Ivar finally sighed and began to drag himself off the rock and closer to the house, where he had a better view of the branches that hung overhead. He squinted at the sunlight that peeked through the foliage, but he could clearly see a silhouette of a body, and a halo of orange-red hair that the sun shawn behind.

"It's you!"

Floki had made it down to the riverbed where it narrowed, and that was where he saw her, sitting on a fallen tree, bare feet bathing in the shallows of the moving water. She stuck out quite a bit; in a canvas of green and brown, she was a red flower in the center. The woman was clad in a burgundy robe, long enough to reach the water and soak the ends. Then there was her hair, longer than any woman Floki had seen before, and in colour it blended in with the robe itself. Her eyes, though, were the colour of the ocean after a storm; mournful and misty, as if she is always looking into the dreary past.

"It is good to see you, Floki," she said before she looked at him, but when she did those mournful eyes of her brightened with her smile. "It has been some time."

The shipwright sat next to her, crossing his leg over his knee and began to unlace his boot. "You knew I was coming?" He asked, repeating the same thing with his other boot.

"I knew you would, one day, as soon as you and Ragnar returned from Paris," she turned to look back at the river.

"So, you have heard of my failures?" Floki put his feet into the water next to her.

"The fates have told me, yes," she admitted and looked at him, and measured his profile. "I am sorry, Floki, of what happened to you and your daughter."

He breathed heavily through his nose as he looked down at his dirty fingernails, "I was not a good father. Perhaps that is why the gods are punishing me."

"Is that why you come to me? So you could find some kind of reasoning for your failures?"

At this he turned to her, "What did I do to anger the gods, Hulda? Everything I do, is to please them. I sacrificed that christian for them, as they told me, and-"

"Floki," she stopped him, her eyes finding his and rendering him silent. "The reason for your failures is no curse, or punishment from the gods. It is consequence. You were not content in happiness, and you begun to find deeper meaning in things that were not there. You did not anger Odin, you angered your friends and family, and were punished by them for your mistakes."

It was evident that the viking did not like this answer by the way his nose flared, and his muscles tensed under his skin. "And what of my Angrboda? Was I the one who created the fever that took her? Was she a consequence of my mistakes?"

Hulda sighed and returned her gaze to the water, and watched it move along the rocks like silk brought to life. "Your path to redemption has already been decided for you, but you must seek it in the shadows before you. You will not be able to see it until you make three ultimate sacrifices."

His eyes searched for her face and his mind stirred with eagerness. Floki's body turned so one of his feet were pulled out of the water in a jolt, so his body was now fully turned to her, "Who or what must be sacrificed? I will do anything to win the favour of the gods. Anything."

The witch gave a mournful smile before shaking her head, "It is not that simple."

"Of course it isn't, but I am ready!"

He sounded much like the child he had brought with him; too eager to begin before he was ready, before he actually knew what it would take. Only Floki was no child, and Hulda was not going to speak to him in riddles like the Seer would. "Floki, you know more than anyone of my past, but you do not know how I became who you see in front of you. I was not always Wand Wed, and I cannot claim to have the years of experience as most of the völvur that travel this world have."

Floki remained silent, watching the muscles in her face soften and turn sorrowful under the weight of the memories that stirred behind those storm-ridden eyes of hers. His body began to ease and feel heavy, his feet returned to the water next to hers, and the coolness calmed his temper while her story filled his soul with sorrow.

"The gods had a plan for me; I was told that by the Seer when I was thirteen summers old. He said to me that I must suffer three times, but at the time I did not know what his riddle meant. Our Lady took three people from me: My twin sister, who was my soul. My first born son, who was my heart. And finally, my husband, who was my life. Three parts of me had to die, Floki, for me to be reborn. This, also, must happen to you."

The trek back to the little cottage was silent, until they begun up the stairs that lead to it. Hulda had not wavered as she looked forward, as if she knew of the disturbance before it happened, but Floki immediately looked up when he heard the yelling of arguing children.

The woman couldn't help but give a small, soft smile of knowing as she glanced at Floki, "Aslaug's youngest has made an impression on my daughter."

"Your daughter has made an impression on Aslaug's youngest," the man replied.

When they reached the clearing, the sight was not all that surprising but it was still alerting. Kára was seated upon the grass roof with a bow pointed at Ivar, who yelled and threatened her life while holding an axe over his head. Immediately, Floki marched over and wretched the weapon out from his hand and demanded to know what happened.

Ivar flushed as he jutted his finger at her, "she insulted me!"

Hulda looked up at the red-headed girl whose bow was now brought down, but she remained on the roof. "Kára, is this true?" The red-clad woman asked.

Kára stared at her mother like a deer in headlights. The older woman's face was more or less expressionless, but the look in her eyes was reprimanding, and the girl knew better than to remain stubborn. "Maybe," ended up being her defiant answer.

Hulda sighed through her nose and beckoned her daughter to come down from the roof. She did so reluctantly, sliding off the edge, climbing ontop of a barrel and stepping down. Her feet, like her mother's were bare, but dirty with grass stains and callaused from climbing trees. With her bow still gripped in her hand, she marched to Hulda's side with a pout.

The red woman placed a hand on the little one's shoulder, "Kára, I am disappointed in you. He is your prince, and deserves your respect."

"That's right, you grizzly sow-" With a thwack, Floki hit the back of Ivar's head. Ivar turned to him with a glare, his hand up rubbing the sore spot.

"What have I told you, Ivar? Kára is the daughter of Hulda the Red, it is you, also, who must show respect."

The boy pouted and glared at the girl who, in turn, glared and pouted at him. Out of the four, it was Hulda who found the display amusing, for she knew better out of all of them. Her eyes shifted over to her daughter, who huffed and threw her head back in exasperation before taking a step forward and being the first to extend the olive branch.

"I apologize for calling you a teat-sucking babe," Kára tried to contain her eyeroll, but did not maintain eye contact. She looked at his forehead, instead of his eyes, and Ivar took notice.

Of course, Ivar was viking, and would not accept an apology for his wounded pride. Jutting his chin, at her, he demanded his legal right. "I do not accept your apology, grœnnfótr. I demand to have revenge," he tilted his head, quite pleased with himself.

"You can not be serious," she deadpanned, and looked up at Hulda for help.

"I'll allow it," Hulda replied, which earned a look of horror from her daughter.

"Mother!"

"There will be no violence," she assured her, and then looked at Ivar. "Is that understood, little prince?"

The boy looked visibly disappointed; he wanted to maim the girl a little. Just a bit of the end of her nose, or maybe one of her green toes. He would have protest had it not been for Floki's warning look glowering down at him. Ivar nodded, and Hulda gave a soft smile at his compliance.

"You will receive a compensation, Ivar. What would you have from her?"

Ivar looked at the girl, who stood barefooted beside her mother, whose own bare tones peeked from under his robes. Kára's hair was thick and long, like the roots of the tree that framed the house, and her eyes were like seaweed piling up on the shore once the tide drew back into the ocean. Alas, if he could have anything from her, truly, it would be her legs. They were long and lean and the muscles in her calves and thighs were hard to miss. It was undoubtedly a product of her tree-climbing hobbies, which Ivar also envied her for. Unfortunately, her legs were not an option, but what she gripped in her hands in a vice was. Her bow was made of oak, likely of the same stock of the tree, and hand made. There were intricate designs along the limbs that reached to the grip, that was made of wrapped leather. It wasn't particularly impressive, and it was obviously made to be used for a child of their age, and probably for hunting. Not impressive, but it was also probably very important to her by the way she held onto it.

"I will have her bow," he said at last with a cheeky smile.

Her reaction was immediate, and exactly how Ivar had hoped it would be. She gripped her bow to her chest and looked mildly horrified as her pleading eyes looked up to her mother. "Mother, no! This is my bow!"

"You should have thought that before you opened your mouth," Hulda's tone was reprimanding, a clue to them having this conversation before.

"But I've spent a fortnight making it!" It was obvious in the desperation in the girl's voice that it was her most prized possession. She had made it with a fallen branch of this very oak tree. In the curved structure, Kára saw the limbs of a bow and was inspired to construct it in memory of her father who was a smith, carpenter, and an inventor. When she had completed it, she could feel the kiss of his breath as he whispered his approval and pride in his daughter for creating it. And now it was going into the hands of a spoiled prince.

"You could make another one," Hulda extended her hand, palm up, and waited for the bow to be placed in it.

Kára gripped harder on it, keeping it close to her chest, and then glowered at Ivar. However, her mother's gaze was burning on the top of her head, and when she met them, they were just as intimidating as they have ever been. It took great personal strength to pull the bow from her breast and put it into Hulda's palm, but as soon as it was done, Kára had took off. Her long legs lept over a boulder and her hands caught on a low-hanging branch where she swung into the woods and out of sight.

Floki made a go at trying to get to her before she had gone out of sight, but Hulda had held up a halting hand as a sign to not bother. The woman then walked up to Ivar, who sat upon a rock still, his head turned in the direction of where Kára had run off to.

"Ivar," the woman's voice brought his attention back; she was kneeling beside him and holding out the bow. He had not gotten a good look of this woman until now, and he found himself awestruck by the magic that pulsated from her aura. In a sea of burgundy, her navy blue eyes pulled him into a false sense of security. He felt safe, but at the very same time, in mortal danger. "If you take good care of this bow, little prince, you will find yourself in good fortune and much more."


Before writing this series, I did a lot of research on the völvur. A Völva is a witch (plural: völvur), but the word translates to "wand wed". They were also considered priestesses to Freya, and were the midgard representatives of the goddess. They weren't ostracized like they were in Christian cultures. Being a Völva made you highly respected and people would come to you for wisdom, healing, and other things pertaining to magic and the gods, especially in times of crisis, like a war, famine, or plague, etc. The völvur were often travellers, moving from one estate to another, and when they arrive, they were given the seat of the head of the house, like an earl. They were usually elderly women, who had forsaken family and home to becoming a Völva.

This is like the Seer (who was originally supposed to be a woman), in a way, but since he is a man and is a leper, he's slightly outcasted. For Hulda, she is not an old witch, which she says in this chapter. She started her journey when her husband had died, and nine months later she gave birth to her daughter, so she has a long ways to go. She has a journey she goes through in the story in order to become what she needs to be. So, yes, I am aware that generally witches in the viking age were elderly women who gave up all family ties, for those of you who want to point out that inaccuracy. Hulda is by no means as experienced as the Seer, but her character develops over time, and it involves her daughter. Additionally, though, witches weren't celibate; generally the younger ones often enchanted men into their beds, and practice sexual magics. That is what Lagertha claimed Aslaug had done with Ragnar; which I've always had a problem with, because that scene insinuates that the vikings didn't like witches as much as Christians? When it's the complete opposite.

Anyway, I rambled a bit. I just wanted to clarify that for anyone who wants to know, and to show I'm not talking out of my ass about it XD I invite you all to do some research about this yourselves, because it's quite interesting, not to mention it's a healthy habit to always fact check something someone said on the internet.

~CB