Three months passed. Winter came early to Kattegat. And so did Thorunn's labor pains. She had expected at least another visit of the moon before the baby came. The midwives were reserved, not wanting to offer opinions one way or the other. But her pains started in late afternoon early in the winter and continued through the next day. It was a hazy period full of ebbing agony, not much helped by the various teas and herbal preparations they made her drink. An acolyte was even summoned to help urge the child into the world by prayers and invocations made to the gods. Thorunn wished for nothing as much as they all might leave, but women labored in the company of others—at least, women carrying the grandchild of Ragnar and Lagertha seemed to have no choice in the matter. Bjorn, of course, was banished early on. Lagertha came and went, during the waking hours; at one point Ragnar was heard to be asking outside if there was a baby yet but was summarily dismissed by Lagertha herself.

Thorunn drifted in and out of wakefulness for the first night and then was unable to get any more rest once the pains started in earnest. She feared for what might come out of her, it hurt so; did the gods give every woman this much pain, or only those they disliked? She tried her hardest to be as stoic as possible, but her fear as the moment of birth drew closer was high. One midwife soothed and encouraged, the other railed and charged her with her duty. Finally, the baby came forth, and to Thorunn's weepy relief was pronounced a small but apparently healthy boy. Its cry was lusty enough for one this early, she was reassured.

They wiped and wrapped the child for her to hold, and once the remainder of the birth was concluded and cleaned up, they allowed Bjorn in.

He looked as nervous as Thorunn had felt, when they tucked the small bundle against his forearm and told him not to drop it. "A boy," he repeated.

"What name do you give him?" Thorunn asked the traditional question.

"Erik. I think his hair is going to be red. He's perfect. Thank you." Bjorn beamed first at the baby and then at her.

"You're welcome," she said, tiredly. The midwife was stoking the fire and pulling furs up around Thorunn, though she was quite warm enough.

Ragnar was banging on the door and announcing, "I want to see my grandchild," so Bjorn let him in, and passed the baby into his arms. Ragnar cradled him, giving Thorunn a smile to know she'd done well. "Is this red hair? My father had red hair. What have you called him?"

"Erik Bjornsson," Thorunn said, seeing Bjorn's pride at the full name.

"May your bed be blessed with many more." Ragnar cooed at the baby, who slept in docile ignorance. "Before the week is out we will have a celebration for him, and all will come to the hall from afar to see my first grandson."

Thorunn tried not to yawn from sheer exhaustion. All she wanted to do was sleep, and hope that the cramping in her belly continued to ease. But the midwives were determined to see if they could get the baby to take an early feeding, and so the men were shooed out once more. Thorunn's milk showed no signs of coming in, and the first attempt was unsuccessful, but they told her not to worry and that they would find a wet-nurse at once. Thorunn slipped drowsily away into post-partum sleep, aided by a calming tincture for new mothers.

Baby Erik was a source of wonder to Bjorn. He hadn't been around when his brothers were babies, having still had been in Hedeby with his mother when they were small, and thus had no real experience with them; but as Ragnar himself had been an unusually involved father, so too was Bjorn. Against the advice of the midwives he often took little Erik outdoors, well-bundled against the winter wind, in the early days so that Thorunn could get her rest. And he would often get up with him at night when his son didn't want to feed but didn't want to sleep, either. He would often take him down the hall to sit on the throne together, for someone to find as they'd drifted back to sleep, the baby curled in one arm against his chest. Ubbe found them there thus early one morning, found it hilarious, and never let him hear the end of it. Bjorn had retorted that Ubbe would be the same way once he knew what it was like to be a father. It was this intense love, almost crippling at times, this sense of responsibility towards this tiny pink creature. This need to protect him from anything the world might throw in his direction, no matter the cost.

At Erik's celebration, each of his uncles was to present him with a formal gift to indicate their commitment to extending the circle of protection around him as he grew. The gift could be, but did not have to be extravagant in nature; as with the tokens given to the Seer it could be merely representative. However his brothers took it rather literally. Hvitserk and Sigurd had worked together (for once) on a surprisingly well-made crib for the baby, with curved strips along the base allowing it to be rocked. Bjorn could see Thorunn too was touched by this gift, as it would have taken a long time in advance to make. He thanked his brothers for their efforts.

Ubbe came forth, with a grin that let them know his gift was going to be of the more representative variety. It was a beaten silver rattle similar to what Bjorn had carved, brought from Frankia. As Bjorn had forgotten to set aside the time to make a replacement, he appreciated it and said so.

He wasn't sure what, if anything to expect from Ivar, but his youngest brother did surprise him. His sticks scraping, he approached the thrones (where Ragnar and Lagertha sat, with Bjorn and Thorunn to the side, holding Erik). All waited while he gestured to a servant, who quickly stepped forward and unrolled a bundle. Revealed was a small but truly beautiful white and gray fur, perfectly cured and brushed and considering its unique colors and pattern, far more costly than anything similar. Bjorn thanked Ivar, curious as to its provenance; Ivar was a capable enough hunter but any man would have had to search long and hard for such a pelt and then give it only into the hands of the most experienced curer to yield such a perfect result. It was possible, more than likely really, that he had traded for it, he supposed. Thorunn expressed her thanks too, though Bjorn didn't miss her unease.

Ragnar stood up then and made a more general announcement to all assembled, speaking of the successes of that year's raids, and the crowning achievement of his grandson's early arrival this year, to many cheers and well-wishes. With that, the feast was to begin.

Erik had startled awake and was crying at all the hoopla, so Bjorn passed him back into Thorunn's arms for some milk-comfort, and joined his brothers at the table below.

They all raised their mugs to him. "Skoal," they said as one.

He hadn't actually had dinner with his brothers since before Erik's birth. Everyone seemed, for once, actually happy. He noticed right away that Ubbe's attention was on a distant table and one particular individual there. Bjorn gestured. "Who's that?"

"That," Hvitserk said in a stage voice, "is Katrijn. She's visiting here. For about a week now."

"She's very pretty," Bjorn observed. "Have you spoken to her, Ubbe?"

"Once or twice," his brother said, trying to look disinterested now that they were all casting glances back and forth between the girl and himself.

"Seven or eight times," corrected Hvitserk merrily. "Every day since the first time she showed up."

"She's smart," Ubbe said, now trying to sound lofty. "She speaks three languages. Her mother's a foreigner. From Frisia."

"Not that you care," Sigurd pointed out, making them all chuckle.

Bjorn saw the girl watching them covertly and lifted his glass. She ducked her head. "Well, if I were you, I'd go make that eight or nine times," he said, reaching across the table to smack his brother's shoulder. "She definitely looks like she wants someone to talk to."

"Fine," Ubbe said, standing up and swaggering a little. "I'll go, because she is prettier than you lot. Smells better too." With which retort he made his way over to the other table and was soon sitting, immersed in animated conversation with the attractive Katrijn.

"We should all go for a winter hunt," Hvitserk suggested, gesturing for refills. "It's been a long time."

Bjorn shook his head. "Not me."

"Are you going to raise the babies while Thorunn fights?" Sigurd mocked.

Bjorn shot him a quelling glance. "Erik will know who his father is."

"As all men should," Ivar put in, raising his mug. "Skoal, Bjorn. Congratulations on your little family."

Eyeing him, Bjorn decided to accept the compliment for what it appeared to be. He clinked mugs with Ivar and they all drank some more. He watched Ubbe and Katrijn for a while and thought, good. Might they develop a relationship and make each other happy. He wanted for Ubbe what he had for himself now.

Thorunn's milk did not come in until after the original day of Erik's birth, and though the wet-nurse had established a regular pattern of feeding while she lived with them, Thorunn was anxious to take over the duties herself. There was a bit of a transition period before Erik took comfortably to her and she could send the woman away, with meat and food and supplies as payment for her time and effort. It was nice to have the room to themselves again.

The baby was very good. He did not give them much trouble. Thorunn did not think she was as enraptured with parenthood as Bjorn was, but perhaps that was because she still had to do much of the work. And even though little Erik appeared to be growing and thriving, her fears weren't completely allayed that something still might turn out to be wrong with him, even if he'd gone unnoticed by the gods, even if only because of his early birth. Looking at him, she could not now imagine leaving him in just a few short months to join the warriors in the spring again, though throughout most of the pregnancy she had been committed to the idea. Realistically, she saw now that her body would not allow for such a quick adjustment.

Still, Thorunn picked up her sword and axe every day, usually in the afternoons when the baby slept more reliably, and practiced slowly with them—sometimes just in the room, sometimes with Astrid and Oddveig when the outdoors weather allowed. She would not become completely unconditioned.

Adding to her determination were the rumors that a faction in the north led by an overambitious jarl had their eye on Kattegat. Such rumors always abounded and were usually considered more of a threat in the springs when most of the fighting men and women were away, but there was talk that they might make an approach even this winter already. And if such were the case, Thorunn meant to be ready alongside everyone else. She would not hide with Erik in a cave or behind barricades while there were battles to be fought. If Bjorn thought that she would, he was going to be very surprised when it turned out otherwise.

But for now there was peace, and there was the budding romance between Ubbe and this new girl, Katrijn, to enjoy—she was so happy that they had found each other. Katrijn was both sweet-natured and intelligent, and would make the perfect wife as far as Thorunn could see, though she didn't know if they were as far along as considering marriage yet. But she appeared to be staying in Kattegat, so that was a positive sign that the relationship was progressing.

And so the winter passed.

Ragnar made the decision in early spring not to go as far afield this season, having taken into consideration reports of the unrest out of the north. He also decided that a smaller group would go raiding, leaving the bulk of the warriors behind to defend Kattegat should they come under attack now that the weather had improved. This was all kept very quiet out of necessity, so that many warriors who had assumed they would be leaving, did not find out until the day was close at hand, that they would be remaining at home. It disgruntled many, but Ragnar's mind had been made up. Bjorn was to go, and Lagertha this time, but Ubbe to stay behind as nominal ruler. The latter was not seen to mind this decision at all, as it allowed him to remain in Katrijn's presence.

Thorunn unwillingly said goodbye to Bjorn and wished the men luck and the blessings of the gods on their endeavours. Bjorn hugged her and Erik a long time and their farewell was more drawn out than it had been previously. He promised to return safely, with more soberness than arrogance, and he urged her to stay safe as well. Thorunn wasn't worried. She knew she and the others—her friends were also missing this raid—could defend Kattegat ably should they be called to.

Thus a considerably smaller contingent of boats departed from the bay one chilly spring morning, with no fanfare but in relative secrecy.

About a fortnight later, Thorunn was taking the air with Erik, accompanied by Ubbe and Katrijn. The other girl had asked to hold the baby and was chattering away at him, a few steps in advance, while Ubbe and Thorunn had a chance to catch up.

"Getting any sleep, with Bjorn gone?" Ubbe asked, indicating Erik with a nod, his eyes more for the pretty picture Katrijn made with her head bent to the infant.

"I could ask you the same question, now that you are our leader," Thorunn replied.

"The people have been all right, haven't they? So far." Ubbe tilted his head back, taking in the sunlight. They had had a stretch of cool and cloudy days, and the fairer weather was most welcome. "No one's murdered anyone or stolen anything. Or if they have I haven't heard about it. Yet."

"His hair really is getting red," Katrijn exclaimed, turning to show them the baby's hair in the light. She had the slightest bit of an accent, which only added to her charm. Thorunn smiled again at their compatibility. "She makes a lovely aunt," she said meaningfully, using her fist against Ubbe's shoulder in the way that the brothers did.

"That she does." Ubbe grinned like the fool in love he was.

"And she would be a beautiful wife."

"I'm working on that." He sighed.

"You haven't—?" She left the question of sex unfinished not for any delicacy between them, but in case Katrijn was overhearing and the real possibility that Frisians were more sensitive to talk of such matters.

"No. Her mother's people are more—I don't know the word for it."

"Well, I think you two were intended. And that the gods would look well on your union."

He smiled, with a bit of wistful hope—and they both froze, for the horn of Kattegat was sounding. Then everything was moving. People were shouting, running to their places either of defense, or towards shelter, as planned.

Ubbe grabbed Thorunn's arm and pushed her in the direction of Katrijn and Erik. "Take them to shelter."

"No!"

"Thorunn!"

"I will take them, but I'm not staying! I'm coming back."

"Bjorn would never forgive—" he began to yell at her.

"Let me deal with him!"

She hadn't convinced him, but he was running now too, and she was rushing Katrijn and the baby back to the hall to safety, axe already at hand. She wouldn't have left Erik if there were no one else to feed him, not knowing how long she would be gone, but there were other nursing women among those seeking shelter who would feed the baby if needed without having to be asked or told.

Katrijn was terrified. Thorunn hugged her briefly, told her to take good care of the baby and not to worry—this would be a relatively small incursion—and fled, seeking Ubbe and the massing warriors. Protecting the town would have its challenges, but it had been built to be defensible by nature and in its structure.

Running through the streets, she finally joined up with most of the others on the north-facing wall, where they had a higher vantage point from which to view the attack. Arrows were already flying. Ubbe drew his bow and felled a man from a ridiculous distance away, then turned, eyes fiery. "I told you to stay below!"

"You need everyone," Thorunn retorted, and it was true, with so many of their best away. At least, her relative lack of conditioning hadn't affected her aim, and soon she was hitting her own targets, though they had to get closer before she was able to take them out. It would be hand-to-hand combat very soon, though; the warriors were just as determined and hardy, and all of them shielded to deflect a large proportion of the shots from above. Thorunn wasn't afraid. She felt the joy of battle rushing through her blood. There were no innocent children here. She shouted savage and jubilant criticisms as men and women fell.

But the walls were being breached; the northerners had ropes and ladders. Someone screamed curses on Ragnar and his sons. Ubbe took him out handily with a swing of his axe, spattering his own face with blood in the process.

Before long Thorunn had her own enemy to deal with, a scrawny but fiery young woman who had somehow vaulted over the wall and landed almost on top of her. The skirmish was fierce and she nearly came out the loser before plunging her knife into the side of the other woman's neck. Thorunn flung her to the ground, leaving her to bleed while she turned to deal with another attacker. Ubbe was yelling at her to get back down to the ground on their side, but she was focusing too hard to acknowledge him or obey, though she knew he would be angry later. She swung her axe with almost gleeful and deadly consequence. It felt right to be defending her town, her people. The weak, the weaponless, the untrained. So recently she had been one of them!

A few more kills and she could feel herself starting to slow, the unusual effort of battle beginning to wear her body down. Ubbe was right, she needed to go below, at least to rest for a few moments before taking up the fight again. But every moment that arose to draw back, something spurred her on.

She heard someone, one of their own, shout, but turned too slowly. At her side was a giant of a man, at least a full head taller with an axe already swinging down towards her. She tried to parry, but it struck her in the face, and then, after a bolt of searing pain, she felt nothing at all but her legs underneath her giving way. Here, she thought. To Valhalla I go.

But it was not to Valhalla she woke.

It was Hel.

Margrethe was holding a beaten piece of copper to her face, to show her the scar. It was a horrid gash bisecting her face from temple to jaw. She was mangled, purple and black and red.

"The bruising will fade," Margrethe said, her voice soft, sympathetic. "But that—oh, it is quite terrifying. You will scare your own baby. Bjorn won't be able to look at you..."

Thorunn felt tears of anger well up. She batted the makeshift mirror away. Truly it was terrible. Worse, it ached as if the split had gone through to her skull, separating bone from bone. Margrethe patted her hand. "Poor thing," she said, "poor thing."

And laughter, distant.

Thorunn faded in and out of consciousness. Had she imagined Margrethe's presence completely?

Pain bisected her skull. It was her everything. This was not Valhalla, then, certainly. There was no pain in Valhalla. She was in her own bed, the familiar walls around her. The cry of baby Erik. She reached for him, but he was nowhere. Her eye was swollen, only one worked.

Sleep. Dreams. The memory of the cry of warning, but she'd been an instant too slow to block the axe, to swivel away from its mighty yielder. Stupid. Stupid.

Pain. Pain. Something oozed down from her forehead in a steady trickle. Gentle hands patted at it. She snarled like an animal, the first time she was touched. No more Margrethe, at least. Other servants she knew. Katrijn and Ubbe, together.

She tried to open her good eye, to focus on them. She had no awareness of time.

"The invasion," she croaked out.

Their faces were solemn, but betraying. She saw herself from their eyes, a fright.

"All is well," Ubbe said. "We drove them back. Took some prisoners."

"Erik."

"He thrives," Katrijn assured her. A waft of lavender as she leaned forward, her perfect face knitted in concern. "He feeds well. Try not to worry; you must rest."

Rest, was that what this was?

She summoned strength from somewhere internal. They must not think her so obsessed with her self as not to care. "Did we lose anyone?"

"A handful," Ubbe said, somberly. He named them off. None of her close friends or fellow shieldmaidens. That was something.

Pain.

Katrijn brought water to her lips. They cracked; it hurt to drink. Her skin must be trying to heal. That was also something.

"How long have I been...?"

"More than a week."

"What do I look like?"

They exchanged glances. Ubbe tried to give her his old smile. "Fine. Scratched up."

She faded away again, unable to keep concentration for any longer.

Her body ached, she realized when she came into consciousness again, but not as if anything else were truly damaged. Just as if it had been lying motionless for too long.

"I want my baby," she whispered, uncertain if anyone was there to hear.

Eventually, a servant brought Erik, but the reunion was awkward: she couldn't comfortably hold him, and he squirmed and wiggled and began to cry in vexation. And then her healing skin broke open, and she wanted to cry, too, even scream, but that would have been excruciating. So they took the baby away again, and she was denied even that, the comfort of his soft, perfect skin, his fresh smell of milk and flower water.