Eivor awoke to the first rays of the sun on this fair Frjádagr.

This night had been the first that she had slept apart from Randvi since the day of Gunnar's wedding. That evening, after the whole of Ravensthorpe had accompanied the happy couple to their marriage bed, Randvi had grabbed Eivor's collar, dragging her to the chambers she had once shared with Sigurd. The hours that had followed had been filled with languid bliss—with enough passion to melt down Hel's icy domain, with enough tenderness to draw tears out of grim Thökk. Since then, Eivor found herself unable to be separated from her wife-to-be whenever she went to sleep. Truly, she could think of no greater joy than to awaken to the warmth of Randvi's body every morning for the rest of her existence.

But today was a special day.

Today was the day of Eivor's wedding.

Randvi could obviously not spend a final night in her parents' house. Instead, she had slept in the longhouse while Eivor had borrowed a bed in Gunnar's home. The cot was small, and cold as well. Still, what Eivor missed most was dear Randvi's sweet morning kisses. It was only for a day, however; tomorrow morning, they would share all the kisses they wanted and more.

Eivor spent the first hours of the day being tended by Gudrun, Brigid and Tove. The first two had worked together to sew a new tunic for their Jarlskona. The result took Eivor's breath away: the fabric was a deep blue, and softer than anything she had ever worn. Silver patterns were woven at the hem, mimicking the motions of the waves, with embroidered longships riding these stormy waters. Then, Tove shaved Eivor's hair at the side, the better to show old Svend's handiwork, done when Eivor had been a reckless young drengr with an unquenchable thirst for adventure.

Gunnar laughed and patted Eivor on the back when he finally saw her standing in her wedding gear. He then glanced at her hands, which were trembling.

"Oh, child," he said, shaking his head, "what are you so worried? What is it that you fear?"

"I am not afraid," Eivor said, tightening her hands into fists and hiding them behind her back. "Why would I be afraid?"

He let out another laugh. "Eivor, Eivor. You would not be the first person to be plagued with worries on the day of your wedding. Accept these feelings. Let them wash over you, like the wave smoothing the rock. You are marrying the love of your life. This should be a time for joy!"

Eivor managed a smile. He clapped her on the shoulder.

"Your parents would be so proud." Gunnar's eyes seemed a little misty. "So happy. If only they could see what their daughter has become…"

"At least I have you," Eivor said, voice tight.

They shared a tight embrace. Eivor closed her eyes, taking strength from the blacksmith's solid presence. When they separated, Gunnar turned to take something from his worktable: a sword, gleaming in the morning light, edges sharper than a wolf's fangs. Eivor looked up at him, struck mute by this awe-inspiring gift.

"My best work yet," Gunnar said. "Your bride is a lucky woman."

Eivor grinned like a child, crushing him in yet another embrace. The blacksmith was sniffing a little as he pressed Eivor into his arms. He only let go when Brigid appeared; with a girlish giggle, she pushed Eivor out of their home. Eivor did not need to understand the Briton language to know what she had said.

"Go, go!" she had cried, happily. "Your bride awaits!"

In the longhouse, a flock of women attended to Randvi's needs. Runa, Sunniva and Swanburrow cleaned and brushed her hair until it shone like melted copper. This would be the first time Randvi would wear it loose in public since her wedding to Sigurd. Back then, her red tresses had been adorned with a maiden's kransen; now, she would wear a bride's crown wrought of flowers, made by Cwen and Ingrid.

When she had wed Sigurd, Randvi's mother had helped hear weave her bride's garments. This time, the dress had been made by Valka's careful hands. As befitting of a völva, mistress of loom and wand alike, the wedding dress was a wonder to behold: bright red as the fruit of the holly, with long, flowing sleeves. Valka handed over a necklace made of colourful beads to hang between the two brooches holding up the apron part of the dress. Among the pieces of glass dangled an ornament made in the likeness of Thor's hammer. "For protection," Valka said, as Randvi ran a thumb over the silver trinket. "And for strength."

"Thank you, Valka," Randvi said. She embraced the other woman warmly, murmuring at her ear, "What would have I done without you?"

"You would have found another way," Valka whispered back. "This clan has flourished in great part because you are one of those rare leaders who adapt and endure in the face of life's harshness." The seeress pulled away, giving one of her rare smiles. "This day is for you, my friend. Allow us take care of you, for once. You deserve it."

Eivor stood, her back very straight, on the altar where she would soon be wed.

Much like with Gunnar and Brigid's nuptials, the ceremony would take place on the hill overlooking the village. Great tapestries, made by the village's best seamstresses, had been hung again to flutter in the wind, while many of the clan warriors' shields now decorated the wooden arch above Eivor's head. The sun shone hot and bright in the sky; it almost seemed as if Frigg herself was giving them this luminous blessing.

A great crowd now faced Eivor. It was strange—but heartwarming—to see her allies from all corners of England mingling with the villagers of Ravensthorpe. Holger was speaking to Vili and Erke, and from the motions he was making, the skald was surely describing a new poem he'd composed. Birna was also in deep conversation with Valdis and Ljufvina; Eivor was glad to see the latter hide a laugh behind her hand. Meanwhile, Alfrún and Leofe kept a close eye on the littler ones—especially young Eohric of East Anglia, who seemed to have become a ringleader of sorts for the other children his age.

Finally, a hush came over the crowd. Sigurd stood to attention, folding his arm behind his back. Gunnar's hand came to rest on Eivor's arm.

"Here she comes," he murmured. "Here is your flame-kissed bride, my Jarlskona."

Sunniva and Valka came first. The scout was radiant with pride in her role; she was the one to hold the bowl carrying the blood taken from the sow they had sacrificed to Freyja this morning. The seeress was clad in ceremonial gear, her wand in one hand, a cluster of fir branches in the other. Eivor greeted them with a nod.

Then, the crowd turned in a single, shared motion. Some even gasped. The bride had arrived.

Randvi's hair was unbound, cascading to her back in soft red waves. A garland of flowers crowned her head. Her wedding dress, dyed a deep crimson, only served to highlight the fiery colour of her mane. The sleeves were long and flowing, the trim showing a pattern of foxes frolicking in the trees. Eivor stood gaping, mesmerized by the sight. Randvi held a sword in her right hand. With that smile teasing her lips, and the graceful gait she used to take every step, she seemed half a goddess, a daughter of Thor and Sif given mortal flesh.

Eivor had to remind herself to close her mouth as Randvi took place beside her. Gunnar chuckled a little. But Eivor only had eyes for her bride. Randvi looked downward, then demurely glanced through her lashes to meet Eivor's gaze. It took all of Eivor's strength not to take her in her arms then and there, to capture that mouth until those sweet lips were rosy and swollen from kissing. Gods, but Eivor needed to feel that warmth, to have those lovely curves pressed again her body. Later, she promised herself, later. From Randvi's coy smile, it seemed as if she'd managed to read Eivor's mind. The realization made her cheeks even warmer.

"People of Ravensthorpe!" Valka called, startling Eivor out of her thoughts. "We are here assembled, before the eyes of gods and men, to witness the union of Eivor Varinsdóttir, called Wolf-Kissed, to Randvi Asgeirsdóttir, heart and flame of Ravensthorpe." Her clear blue eyes scanned the crowd; all were silent under the intensity of her gaze. "As speaker for the gods, I ask: who stands for Jarlskona Eivor?"

"I do," said Gunnar. "I will stand to witness this union."

Valka glanced at Randvi. "As speaker to the gods, I ask: who stands for Randvi of the Fox Clan?"

"I do," said Sigurd, advancing to the altar. Gods, the look in his eyes… He gave Randvi such an expression of care and concern that Eivor felt a surge of affection for her brother. He had not spoken of it at length, but she knew the importance of his sacrifice. Sigurd was humbling himself before the whole of the clan today, to allow his sister and her beloved a chance at happiness. "I will stand to witness this union."

"Good," said Valka. "I will let the Jarlskona and her bride speak their oaths."

Eivor cleared her throat. It felt as if the world had come to a stop, that nothing else existed save her and Randvi. The war against Aelfred, Odin's lies and schemes, her worries over her betrayal of Sigurd… nothing else mattered in this moment, save for the woman standing before Eivor.

"My love," she said, raising the sword Gunnar had made, Rosta's ring hanging on the hilt, "I swear to cherish and protect you. I swear to stay true, to stand beside you as we suffer the worst of storms. I swear to bring light and warmth into your life, such as you have brought into mine. I swear all of this, on the name of my mother and father."

Randvi held her sword up as well. Eivor could see that she was biting down her lip to keep herself from grinning.

"Eivor Wolf-Kissed," she said, "I swear to love and watch over you. I swear to offer good counsel, and a shoulder to cry on when it is needed. I swear to light and warm the hearth within your soul, so that the coldest nights may never touch you. I swear all of this, on the name of my mother and father."

"With the oaths spoken," Valka proclaimed, "it is now time to exchange the rings."

Randvi giggled as Eivor fumbled to put her mother's ring on her finger. Gods, had there been ever a sweeter sound? Randvi's hands were much surer as she adorned Eivor's finger with her own ring. Then, upon Valka's prompting, they exchanged swords. Randvi's blade was old, and a bit dull at the edge. Eivor smiled as she beheld it, proud that she had been deemed worthy of wielding such an ancient family heirloom.

Valka motioned at Sunniva to come closer; the völva then dipped the tip of the fir branches into the blood. "May Mother Frigg's blessing be upon you both," she said, sprinkling their faces with the sow's blood. "May you receive plentiful bounty from the Lady of the Vanir, Freyja of the golden tears. May Thor, guardian of the shrine, protect you and yours from life's vagaries."

Then, Valka smiled widely and announced, "You are now wed! You may now seal your union with a kiss."

Eivor and Randvi joined lips, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Gods, Eivor felt as if she was light, so very light, as she pressed her mouth against Randvi's. She ran her fingers through Randvi's unbound curls. Randvi's own hands were warm against Eivor's waist.

A soft smile was teasing Randvi's mouth when they separated. Immediately, Eivor kissed her again. She could feel Randvi laughing. Some of her raiding crew let out whoops, others whistled. The rest of the crowd clapped and cheered.

Eivor did not even hear them; she was in a world of her own with Randvi—with her wife.

A great table had been set near the altar, covered with all sorts of delicious foodstuff. The sow had been set before the newlyweds, who were the first to eat its flesh, as per tradition. Then, Eivor and Randvi shared a drink of mead from the same bridal cup. Tekla had truly outdone herself; Randvi had never tasted anything so sweet—except perhaps Eivor's lips, of course.

Eivor was the first to offer a wedding gift to her wife: a kitten, with fur as orange as Thor's own beard. Randvi pressed the little beast close to her heart. He was warm and soft, purring loud enough that Randvi could feel the vibrations of his small body despite the thick wool of her dress.

"Freyja's blessing made flesh," Randvi said, in a purr of her own. "Thank you, my love."

Eivor gave her a cocky half-grin—that one which never failed to make Randvi's cheeks pleasantly warm. "What will you call him?"

Randvi thought about it. This first gift given between lawfully wedded spouses needed a name full of meaning, to match its importance to Randvi's heart. "Kiúli," she answered. "I'll name him Kiúli."

"Kiúli?" Eivor chuckled. "You'd name a cat after the part of a ship?"

"It's a cognate of the Saxon word for 'keel'. Or so Ceolbert said." Randvi's expression softened. "It was also the first part of his name."

Eivor brought her face close, resting their foreheads together. "It is a wonderful name, Randvi. He would be glad of this honour."

"And quite flustered as well," Randvi added. Eivor chuckled in response.

Little Kiúli spent the better part of the feast playing at their feet with some of the village children; he very much resembled his namesake in that regard. Meanwhile, guests appeared before the couple to offer their own wedding presents. Tewdwr of Glowecestrescire brought freshly made cider, which was well accompanied by Vili's gift of a pair of new drinking horns. Ljufvina gave them two figurines, carved with her own hands from a walrus' tusk: one was in the form of a raven, while the other depicted a fox mid-bounce.

Bishop Deorlaf—now clad in a humble monk's garb, for some reason—offered Eivor a book bound in a leather cover. "A collection of Saxon poems, for your reading pleasure," the priest explained. The man also brought presents from King Ceolwulf, who was too weak from his sickness to travel. Eivor and Randvi were thus offered new arms and armour, fresh from the forge—a kingly gift for a loyal retainer.

King Oswald and Queen Valdis presented Eivor and Randvi with a grand tapestry: one half depicted Eivor at the head of a ship sailing on a sea of fire, while the other represented Randvi standing before a village full of warriors. Erke and Stowe came with a smaller, but no less wonderful gift: a box full of spices from distant lands (Yanli let out an exclamation of joy at the sight). Randvi noted that the two men were accompanied by a black-haired boy, who kept clinging to Stowe's gambeson. The next to come forward were Randvi's sister, Thora, and her husband, Erlend. Randvi embraced her sister, who presented the newlyweds with thick travel cloaks she had made herself. Randvi's was adorned by fox fur, while Eivor's was decorated with raven feathers. Thora elbowed her sister in the ribs, winking and saying, "I hope you'll put them to good use!"

By the time she'd received their last present, Randvi's arm ached from shaking all of her guests' hands. Still, she eagerly went to her feet to follow Eivor to the circle of dancers. Bragi took up a cheery tune, accompanied by Queen Valdis and Erke, who played the lyre and the jaw harp, respectively. Holger, for once, made himself useful with his flute, while his brother tapped the rhythm on his drum. Before Randvi could reach for her beloved's hands, however, Thora swept Eivor away. Meanwhile, Erlend made a reverence to Randvi, gallantly asking for a dance. Thora's husband was tall, stout and handsome, with a strip of dark hair across his head and a neatly groomed moustache. Randvi immediately liked his boyish grin and twinkling grey-blue eyes.

Her niece and nephew—proud-faced Signy and little Birgir—twirled and pranced in their midst. I need to see them more often, Randvi vowed, heart filled with tenderness. Signy in particular was a miniature version of her mother. She seemed to take the duty of watching over her little brother quite seriously. Birgir, on the other hand, often plopped to the ground to pluck blades of grass in his plump little hands. He also eagerly followed every butterfly that flew his way.

When the song ended, Randvi was out of breath and laughing. Thora came bouncing toward her with a playful smile that she recognized all too well.

"Quite the catch you made, sister," she told Randvi. "She's a better dancer than my Erlend! But barely!"

"Ho, there," said Erlend, "that's below the belt, my dear."

Thora laughed, standing on tiptoes to kiss his nose. "You dance like a bear, love."

"All of us have our strengths and weaknesses," Randvi said as Eivor came to join them. She pressed her mouth together to hide her smile, adding, "Eivor here sings like a crow."

Eivor made a motion as if she'd been struck. "Harsh words!" she exclaimed, "from the one who should be my staunchest supporter!"

"You have other uses," Randvi said, smiling slyly. She grabbed Eivor's collar, pulling her in for a deep kiss. Around them, people cheered loudly, while Erlend clapped and laughed. Then, Bragi called out, "Who's ready for another round?" and the dancing began anew.

Randvi was resting her weary feet at the main table, speaking with her sister. Little Birgir sat in his aunt's lap, munching on yet another piece of Tarben's delicious honey-nut cake. Eivor smiled in satisfaction. It had done her beloved some good to see her family again. Eivor had also been honoured to finally meet Thora's husband and children; upon seeing her, Erlend had immediately declared that they were now family. In many ways, he reminded Eivor of a young Gunnar. Randvi had not said it out loud, but Eivor knew she was quite relieved to see that her beloved sister had made a good marriage, after the disaster that had been her own union to Sigurd.

While Randvi made up for lost time with her family, Eivor went to meet her guests. Some mingled in ways she would have not ever thought possible. She was not surprised to see the likes of Stowe speaking with Bishop Deorlaf—but having Tewdwr dancing arm-in-arm with Rollo and Birna made for a curious sight. Further away, some of her drengir had set up a couple of logs to serve as target in an archery contest. Among the contestants, she spied Vili, Sigurd and Broder.

"May I join you?" Eivor said as she approached the three men.

Broder's face slackened at the sight of her. She never thought she'd ever seen him looking so chagrined. Vili burst out in laughter in response.

"And here I thought I'd actually had a chance of winning," Broder muttered.

"What sort of attitude is this?" Vili said, clapping his thigh. "You act as if you'd already lost, man!"

"It's called being wise," Broder retorted.

That prompted a snort out of Sigurd. "Come now, sister," he said. "Go easy on the poor man."

"Of course I won't," Eivor said with a smirk. "Not when my own pride is at stake."

Sigurd shook his head. "Ah, Eivor… you've changed in some ways, but stayed the same in others. It's comforting, in a way."

"The stories we could tell!" Vili said, exchanging a smirk with Sigurd.

"Oh?" Broder was grinning as well. "Interesting…"

"Do you know, for example, why Sigurd and I call her chicken drengr—"

"Enough!" Eivor exclaimed, to the roaring amusement of the three men. "Are we shooting or not?"

Broder took up his bow. "I'll go first."

He shot the target dead centre. Vili clapped while Broder celebrated his victory with great enthusiasm. Gods, but Eivor wanted to pummel their smug faces. She raised her bow as well, drawing the string tautly. Behind her sounded a high, clear laughter. Eivor's ears perked up, and despite herself she turned to steal a glance toward her wife. Randvi's cheeks were deliciously pink from mirth, and her eyes were—

Without realizing it, Eivor let go of the arrow. It sped toward the woods—quite a distance away from the target. Sigurd and Vili laughed raucously at her misfortune. Eivor shot them a glare.

"I won?" Broder said, in disbelief. "I won?!"

"Stop gloating and help me search for the arrow," Eivor grumbled.

To his credit, the man followed her into the woods without so much a chuckle. He was also the one to find the stray arrow, lost in a bush. Eivor took it from his hand, managing a wry grin.

"You seemed to have been distracted while you shot," Broder taunted her. "Something had caught your eye?"

"Yes," Eivor said, with much emphasis, "my wife."

"Ah, newlyweds… get them apart for one moment, and they miss each other as if they had been separated for ages like Freyja and her love Odr!"

"I mean," Eivor said, "have you seen my wife?"

"Yes." Broder chuckled. "We've all seen her, don't you worry. Meanwhile, she only sees you. Mark my words, you two will be as sickening as my sister and her princeling were on their honeymoon."

"It was that bad, eh?"

"Worse than you can imagine! And now Valdis is pregnant again." Broder sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who could have known that little Saxon of hers would be so lustful?"

Eivor pictured the look of horror on Oswald's face if he'd heard his goodbrother calling him 'a lustful little Saxon'. She stifled a laugh. "I'm glad for them," she said instead.

They finally returned to the site of the celebration. Broder's smile grew wistful as they heard Eohric laughing loudly; the boy was cheering on Kiúli, who had finally managed to grab the piece of string Eira was dangling before him.

"Ah, look at that lad," said Broder. "Brothir loved him so much. Said he was a living reminder of the far reach of legacy. Being an uncle, it made him… consider things he had not been considering before."

And now he's dead without a son to carry on his line, Eivor thought with a dull pang. "I find it difficult to imagine him settling down," she said, forcing a smile.

Thankfully, Broder laughed again. "He kept saying he would one day capture the heart of the perfect woman, but he's failed in all of his endeavours. I was always the more charming out of the two of us, anyway."

"Valdis was luckier in love."

Broder scoffed. "If you told me I'd ever see my sister mooning over some beardless lad who enjoys playing at being the sheepherder, I'd have called you mad."

"Oswald has a beard now," Eivor pointed out.

Broder rolled his eyes. "You call that a beard? He's not shaved for months, and yet there's barely anything on his chin. The boy's hopeless on that front."

That boy is a king and a father thrice over, Eivor thought with some amusement, though she did not say it out loud. "They're happy."

"Sickeningly so." Broder smiled. "But I'll not begrudge my sister for that. He worships the ground she walks on, and she deserves every second of it. Then again, I would have pummelled him into a fine paste if he'd treated her otherwise."

"She knows how to defend herself, I believe."

"Aye, and there's the rub, isn't it? She never needed us… and we always needed her. So where does that leave me? A useless lug weighing her down, that's what I am. Who am I without her? Without…" He did not have the strength to complete that sentence.

Eivor patted him on the shoulder. "That is for you to decide. Only you can see what lies at the end of the path you will take."

"Wise words, sister," Sigurd called from his seat on the log. Vili nodded as well.

Broder hung down his head. "Still, where will I go from now…?"

At this moment, young Eohric rushed toward them, Randvi's niece Signy following after him.

"Uncle!" cried the aetheling. "You have to come with me! Quickly!"

"What?" said the man. "What's wrong?"

Eohric pointed at Signy, who was crossing her arms over her chest. "She says her father is the strongest at arm wrestling! I told her she was wrong, because you're the strongest, Uncle!"

"He's not!" Signy countered. "My father is the strongest!" And she stuck out her tongue at Eohric, who stared at her, gaping in shock.

Broder let out a roar, grabbing his nephew and lifting him in the air. Eohric giggled loudly in response. "Only one way to find out, eh?" he told the boy. "Show me this unworthy claimant to my title!"

He made for the table where Erlend was sitting and drinking with Gunnar, little Signy in tow. Vili sighed as he watched them go.

"What is it?" Eivor asked him.

"He was right, you know," said the Jarl of Snotinghamscire. "That boy—and your little niece—are the living reminders of legacy. Of how fast the flow of time passes." He sighed. "I look away but for one blink of an eye, and find you are married, Eivor Wolf-Kissed, and Jarlskona of your clan. Meanwhile…"

"You are a Jarl as well, Vili," said Eivor.

"But I came into the role walking backward. Unwillingly. But you… you rose to the occasion, because your people needed you. I had to be convinced to do my duty, to become the heir my father needed—the Jarl he expected me to become."

Sigurd and Eivor exchanged a glance full of meaning. Her brother held his stump of an arm, a shadow passing over his face. Eivor felt the pang of shame—dimmer, now that she knew that Sigurd held no resentment toward her, but present all the same. She doubted that it would ever disappear.

"I was a fool," Vili continued, rising from his seat. "A fool of a boy, thinking himself a man grown because I had gotten good at swinging an axe around. Gods, but what did my father think of me, feeling Hel's touch creeping up on him while I wasted the precious time we still had together? What manner of son was I to him in his final moment?"

"Vili, it's not too late," Sigurd said, to Eivor's great surprise. "It's not too late to turn your life around and do what you must, to do right by your people." He walked up to the other man, laying a comforting hand over his shoulder. "I know this, Eivor knows this… and your father knew as well. From what my sister told me, he believed in you until the end. Why would you not trust in his wisdom? Hemming saw the making of a great Jarl in you, I am sure."

The two shared an intense look. Vili's blue eyes were shimmering. Eivor suddenly felt like an interloper. The two men held gazes for a rather long time—too long, in her honest opinion.

"I…" she said, fumbling with her words, "I need a drink. We'll talk later, ja?"

"Of course," Vili said, absently.

"We will," Sigurd said, at the same time.

Eivor made her escape, heading back into the crowd—and ended up colliding with poor Tewdwr. The man's face was covered in perspiration, and he was panting rather loudly. Poor Tewdwr; Eivor suspected it had been rather hard to keep up with energetic youngsters such as Birna and Rollo.

"Eivor!" he called. "I was about to sit and rest my feet a bit! Would you like to join me?"

Eivor happily took up the invitation, following him to the table where Stowe and Deorlaf were already sitting. The boy in Stowe's lap hid his face in the man's chest as Eivor took a seat. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling.

Tewdwr drank a long draft of ale, then slammed the mug on the table. "God!" he exclaimed. "I really must offer congratulations to your brewer! That is some quality ale! Old Cynon would have enjoyed this, he would!"

"Tekla will be glad to hear this," Eivor replied. The woman had worked from dawn 'til dusk this past week to brew enough ale to drown the whole village. She really deserved all the praise Eivor could heap onto her shoulders.

"Pagan weddings are very much like Saxon celebrations in that regard," Bishop Deorlaf commented. "We might frown upon the overconsumption of ale, but that doesn't mean we cannot appreciate the taste of a well-brewed beverage."

"Well said, my good bishop," said Tewdwr. "Well said."

Deorlaf looked at his hands, neatly folded in his lap. He'd cut his hair into a tonsure. Eivor frowned, knowing well what that meant.

"I am not a bishop," he said, softly, "not anymore."

"I suspected as much, from your new look," said Eivor. "What prompted the change?"

The poor man had lost some of the plumpness in his cheeks. Dark bags circled his eyes. "The battle at Cippanhamm," Deorlaf admitted. "I am not ashamed to have ridden to the aid of my allies, but… seeing the village ablaze, on a day that is holy to us, a day where we celebrate the light and hope brought by our Lord's birth, well…"

The same haunted look showed in Tewdwr and Stowe's eyes. They surely must have had nightmares of their own. These three men had stood against their people for Eivor's sake. She understood quite well the gravity of such a sacrifice.

"I chose to serve God because I wanted to serve the people as well," Deorlaf continued. "But I do not believe I am worthy to hold a position where I have power over the lives of others, not anymore. I believe I will aid my fellow man much more by becoming a humble monk. I will atone for my sins by helping the needy, by feeding the hungry, by praying for the salvation of their souls."

"Besides," Tewdwr said, bitterly, "the shires of Western Mercia belong to Wessex now. Aelfred and his cronies showed us clemency, but most of us ealdormen have been ousted from our positions."

"Including you?" asked Eivor.

The man gave a joyless laugh. "No. You see, Eivor, I am now a betrothed man. My sweet bride-to-be is the daughter of a low-ranking West Saxon nobleman."

"Congratulations are in order, then?" Eivor said, noting that the man did not seem too happy about his upcoming nuptials.

"My future father-in-law is a scheming snake. He hopes to gain control of Glowecestrescire through any children we might have." Still, a slight, genuine smile graced Tewdwr's lips. "But my bride—Frideswith—is kind. Innocent. The poor girl has been living under her father's thumb for the whole of her life, I believe. She might have had no say in her father's choice to marry her to a Briton man who has sided with pagans over other Christians. This union might have been forced on me, but…"

"You wish to be kind to your wife," Eivor completed. "To treat her right."

Tewdwr nodded. "This is what she deserves." He lifted his mug in the air, announcing, "On the bones of my ancestors, the first people of Britannia, proud descendants of the Dobunni, fel mab i'r Cymry, I swear that I shall be a good husband to my wife, the woman who will bear my children." And he drank long and deep from his mug.

Stowe and Deorlaf raised their own tankards in a show of respect. Eivor smiled at Tewdwr. "I am glad," she said, "that the light of kindness has not been extinguished in your soul despite the hard times we are now facing."

"We could not say the same of poor Geadric," Deorlaf said with a sigh. "He refused to bend the knee to the West Saxons. Last I'd heard, he went into the woods with his most loyal men. I believe he means to wage a war of attrition against the might of Wessex."

"He is free to make his own choices," Eivor said. "We can only respect him for fighting to keep his honour."

"For being a stubborn arse, you mean," Tewdwr said with a scowl. "The people of Mercia need us more than ever. How will he serve them by being dead?"

His words brought about an awkward silence. Then, Stowe commented, "Such strange times. Us Mercians keep trading one master for another. When will it end? When will peace finally hold?" He glanced at the child in his arms. The boy only clung more tightly to him.

"Your son?" Deorlaf asked, quite gently.

Stowe's eyes were soft. "A boy Erke and I found on the way back from Cippanhamm, on a homestead in Mercia. His parents' house had been burned down by raiders… he was all that was left in the carnage. Poor boy couldn't speak from the horrors he's seen. We named him Leif."

"'Leif'," Eivor said, with a smile. "'Heir'. A good name for a boy who will grow up in this time of change."

The lad turned his head slightly, staring at Eivor with one curious brown eyes. He reached up to whisper something at Stowe's ear. The man smiled as well.

"He says he finds your raven tattoo beautiful," Stowe told Eivor.

"I thank him," said Eivor. "It was the work of a good friend of mine. His name was Svend. He is with the gods now."

Leif murmured something else. Stowe translated the boy's words, "He would very much like to have a tattoo such as yours, one day."

"Svend's apprentice Tove would be glad to honour his wish," Eivor said, trying not to laugh out loud; gods, but the boy was adorable! "In a few years or so, still."

Leif managed a smile. Not a moment later, Cwen and Ingrid ran up to their table. The girls were grinning, positively glowing from the flower garlands they wore on their heads.

"Hello!" Cwen said brightly to Leif. "Your name is Leif, right? Would you like to come with us? Eohric's grandfather is telling all kinds of stories about his travels. Would you like to hear them with us?"

"He's a good storyteller!" added Ingrid. "Almost as good as Eivor!"

Leif looked up at Stowe. The man nodded. "You can go, Leif. They're nice girls, see? They'll take good care of you."

The boy hesitated, before climbing down from his father's lap. Ingrid held Leif's hand to guide him to a spot where the rest of the village children sat around Finnr. The old man sported a wild grin on his face as he no doubt regaled them with the tale of one of his many adventures.

"The far reach of legacy…" Eivor said, wistfully, as she stared at the group of children. Blond or black-haired, young or approaching adulthood, Saxon or Norse… it made no difference. They were Ravens all, part of the clan's great flock.

They were Ravensthorpe's—England's living future.

"What was that?" said Tewdwr.

Eivor could only smile at him. "Nothing. All is right. All is as it should be…"

And then thunder growled in the distance, and the skies opened up, pouring rain all over the yelping—and laughing—wedding guests.