Frida had never experienced anything like a Norse wedding before in her life. The day had proceeded with lightning speed, and Frida had enjoyed herself more than ever.
After the ceremony, several bonfires had been lit on the beach where whole pigs had been roasted, clouding the whole village with a delicious smoky fragrance, while the best singers had gathered to perform very strong vocal songs that made most of the women in the audience wet their cheeks.
They had all feasted outside, and Frida was very surprised that several of her and Ragnar's closest friends had actually held small speeches to them, praising their love and marriage.
Especially Lagertha's words had touched Frida's heart, as they were as pure and genuine as her own person.
When the sun had dived down behind the western mountains and shone its last golden rays over Kattegat's harbor, most of the villagers had gathered in the long-hall which had been decorated heavily with flowers, candles and fragrant herbs, the entire room feeling like a dream.
A really good one, to say the least.
Frida had sat down at the big fire pit in the middle of the room, and she could not help but to smile from one ear to the other as she gazed around upon her friends, her family, as they were all gathered there.
Ragnar at her right, Torstein, Rollo, Bjørn, Helga, Floki, Lagertha, Athelstan, all of them, were casually sitting around the fire, their bellies full of wonderful food, wine, and lots of honey mead. A couple of young girls were dancing around them, naked, only furs covering their hair, while a slow flute was playing from a corner making the atmosphere very enjoyable.
Frida sighed out, satisfied, when Ragnar reached his arms over to pull her closer to him, placing her between his legs so her back rested against his chest, and she looked up at him, his smile smug and his eyes glowing. He placed a kiss on her hair before he rested his head on her shoulder, forcing honey warmth to drip down over her body like lovely hot water.
She felt like the luckiest woman alive.
"Floki, why don't you tell us a story?" Ragnar voiced out behind her, earning the whole group to turn their heads to the dark-eyed Viking at their left.
Floki narrowed his eyes at his king, and a small snicker sounded from his lips.
Frida took a healthy sip of her sweet horn before she felt his eyes turning to her, the corner of his mouth curling teasingly.
"I would love to, but I think our new queen should decide which one. Don't you agree?"
Frida felt everyone's eyes turning to her, and she cleared her throat, still not used to her new title. She felt Ragnar nudging her shoulder.
"Hm," she breathed with her finger on her lip and her eyes lingering on the dark circles around Floki's eyes. "There is a god that I know very little of, of whom people seldomly speak with affectionate words, I have noticed."
She watched him tilt his head at her, his smile growing. "And who might that be?"
She could sense that his air changed with her words, and he took a small sip from his horn without breaking his eyes from hers. His voice sounded mystical and light.
Ragnar chuckled breathily into her ear.
"Loki," she answered.
Floki sniggered devilishly and scooted forward, the shadows on his face dancing vividly, as he raised his eyebrows at her. Frida heard Athelstan laughing out, but she kept her stare locked on Floki as he looked around at the others, smugness heavy on his face.
"Loki," he repeated slowly with a mysterious tone to his voice, "The sly one."
His eyes hovered over the group, entertainment shining from his entire presence.
"He is a great giant, the one who bound the genus of the giants and gods, the blood brother of Odin himself. Of course, he is known to have betrayed the gods with the fall of Baldr, but he also did many great things. Things that have been forgotten by us people here in Midgård."
Floki's eyes rested on Ragnar for a moment, before he continued, his voice thick with pride.
Frida found herself liking his way of addressing the gods, and she listened carefully to his words.
"Legend has it that when Thor lost his powerful Mjølnir, Loki was the only one who could help him. The gods asked him for help, as they were powerless in their search for it, but Loki quickly realized who the sinner was. So he rode out to Udgård, the world in which the giants live, and he found the mighty hammer well hidden below in the ground by the noisy giant Trym."
He held a dramatic pause.
"But Trym would not give the hammer away too easily. No... He wanted to sit between the gods in Asgård himself, so he told Loki that he would only give him the hammer if he could marry Freyja, the most beautiful goddess of them all."
Floki sniggered as his eyes traveled to Frida.
She felt her face heating, her cheeks reddening. She drank in his words, while pictures danced inside her head.
"But Freyja was angered by Loki's proposal, because she did not wish to marry a giant, and Loki therefore had to come up with a plan that would fool Trym into giving them Mjølnir. And he did."
Floki rose to his feet now, and he started circling the fire pit, his movements dramatic.
"He had the most ingenious plan. He dressed Thor himself in Freyja's dress, covered him in jewelry, braided his hair, and traveled back to Trym, saying that the goddess had accepted the offer. The loud Trym, of course, could not understand why Freyja's voice was so deep and manly, but Loki told him that she had not slept for seven days in anticipation of their wedding. He convinced the giant, he fooled him, and when Trym handed who he thought were Freyja the hammer, Thor ripped off his disguise and killed them all."
Floki quickly pulled out his ax from his belt and smashed it upon the stones of the fire pit, the noise startling several members of the assembled group.
Torstein lifted his horn at Floki as he shouted: "Skål!"
Frida too mumbled out a quiet cheer, but there was still something she had not understood about this god, about his importance in the lives of the Norse.
"But Floki," she raised. "I have heard people speak his name in the nights, when darkness has fallen and the sun is no longer shining. Always during the night, and never in the bright hours of the day. Why?"
She felt Athelstan stare at her, intrigued.
Floki made a small nervous jump and chuckled out maliciously, before he stepped closer to her and bent his face down to look directly into her eyes.
She could feel his warm breath on her face.
"Because, dear Frida, he is the god of fire."
Frida furrowed her brows as she took his words in, inhaling them like the smoke from the fire, and she turned her eyes to stare into the smoldering light in front of her.
How could the sly one too be the god of fire?
Floki chuckled out above her, turning to circle the group once more. "That is why you have to be careful with his being, for fire is something we cannot live without, yet it has to be controlled cautiously."
Frida felt Ragnar tensing behind her, and she turned her face to see him staring at Floki with hard eyes.
She felt like there was something that went by her nose, something lingering between the two of them that she could not point out. But when she reached up her hand to cup Ragnar's chin, his eyes fell down upon her and a smile immediately broke out over his lips, and he quickly bent down to kiss her.
When their lips parted, Ragnar cupped her head too with his hand, holding her face close to his, his eyes piercing delicately at her own.
Frida smiled questioningly at him, as she sensed his air changing rapidly.
"Let's go," he whispered with his eyes shining passionately, "I want you to come with me."
Ragnar jumped to his feet, surprisingly quick for a man that had been drinking mead all day, and he held out his hand for her to take. Frida giggled out girlishly as she too rose to her feet, while several of the men around the fire whistled at them in a teasing manner.
Frida laughed out at them as Ragnar started to pull her away from the fire, but she was as surprised as them when Ragnar did not lead her to their bedroom but instead heaved her in the direction of the door leading outside.
"Ragnar? What are…" she started, but her words got lost somewhere in her throat when he broke into a run, pushing the door open for them to leave the long-hall and stepping out into the cool night air.
He did not look at her as he pulled her along the path away from the longhouse, and she giggled out nervously when his grip on her hand tightened and they moved further into the dark night, distancing themselves from the lights of the village.
Where was he taking her?
