It was a very bright day.

The sun was shining from above a heavy layer of white thick clouds, unable to burn through them even as midday had passed. The people of Kattegat were all working hard to keep up with the fall coming to an end.

They were in the fields harvesting whatever was left of this year's growth, gathering the animals and preparing their barns for winter, and scavenging the surrounding forest for berries, mushrooms, wild vegetables and eggs, all preparing themselves for the oncoming frost.

It was obvious in the air.

A white fog had started to roll in from the sea, a cool breeze oozing over them, curling around the cottages of Kattegat and embracing them with a white, mysterious mist. And the trees had grown still. As if they too had retrieved to some work of their own, the colors of their leaves turning paler with each second that passed by, turning the forest dark.

Dead.

Big groups of birds that only looked like black spots in the distance snaked their way over the sky, and it gave him the sensation that something was going on somewhere far away, something eerie creeping slowly towards them with the wind bearing winter.

The birds were leaving.

He snorted.

Narrowing his eyes at the black line far out in the horizon, he wondered how this line that separated the earth from the sky would always appear so straight, as if there was nothing out there but lengths and lengths of water. But he knew that this was a work of one of the gods, the sly one, who had secretly hidden the Midgård Serpent for the normal eye to see in hopes of luring them there to see how they would handle the giant serpent.

He made another snorting sound.

But no one here around him would listen to him even if he tried to express his fear of sailing too far away. They would call him a coward. There were many things you could call him, but he was not a coward.

So he made the choice of keeping his mouth tight when they were going on raids.

The sound of a door opening behind him had him turn his head and squint his eyes up at Ragnar that approached him slowly on the bench terrace where he was sitting, a worried furrow carved over his forehead, tired blurry eyes. He smelled like ale.

"You know how much I appreciate you being here, friend. But don't feel forced to stay," Ragnar spoke in hushed words, while running his hand over his head.

His anxiety was so obvious, so very present on his every feature, movement and thought, Ragnar was worried that Frida might die.

He turned his eyes back to the black line of the sea, murmuring slowly as he curled his lips: "I know that I don't have to stay, Ragnar. But I want to wait. Just a little longer."

He could hear Ragnar taking a few steps closer, and he turned his head to squint his eyes at his dear friend, their eyes connecting for a short moment before he turned his back to the line.

Ragnar struggled with the question that he knew was coming.

He could always sense when Ragnar wanted something from him. It always made him feel a little excited, powerful. He snuffled.

"What…" Ragnar started, his words short and rushed, his faith weak and disturbed.

The king continued: "How long do you think will pass, Floki?"

He turned his head to look at his dear friend as he crouched down to his knees beside him, his right hand suddenly weighing down over his shoulder, and he narrowed his eyes at his friend. He was a defeated man.

Floki hoped Frida would wake soon.

Ragnar was weakened by her stillness, by her ongoing sleep. And Floki hated waiting too.

A big voice inside of him told him that he was a fool to still sit here at the longhouse, waiting pathetically for another man's wife to wake up. And he had often left the house in the darkest of nights to return home to his daughter and wife at the other side of the fjord, but…

He could not. Something held him there.

It was the same thing that had told him to follow Frida when she had left him and Helga by the fire several weeks ago.

He had to stay. The gods always told him so.

The first night he had tried to leave, he had seen a sign in the flames of the fireplace in the long-hall. He had had food of the gods, that was certain, but he knew that he had to stay there, protect her from the dark shadows. And so he had carved many runes for Frida.

Frida and her two newborn sons.

He could see that there were a lot of people who stared at him, long stares, wondering why he was still there. But he did not mind them.

He spent a lot of his time thinking about the gods. He felt her presence so strongly when he closed his eyes, he dared not sleep because of her strong aura.

Freyja was there, every night, caring for the sleeping queen in the king bedroom of the longhouse.

And when Floki closed his eyes, she would send stares in his direction, awakening something strange inside of him, something he had not felt in a while. It reminded him of Helga.

Of how strong she was, and how caring. How much she loved him. And how he loved her.

And how foolish he was to have married her.

She was going to lose him someday. He had let her fall in love with him, as he so desperately wanted her heart to warm his, and now they were married and had a small beautiful daughter. She was going to lose her father. He breathed.

"She will wake soon. I can feel it," Floki smiled to his friend, who raised his eyes at him, a little light of hope starting to spark weakly in his dark blue eyes.

Ragnar sent him a half smile, an unfaithful kind of curl of the corner of his mouth, an attempt to say thank you.

Floki nodded.

Ragnar rose to his feet again, and he reached out a hand for Floki to grab. "Come, friend. Let's eat."

And not had he just sat down at the table with a plate filled with food when he felt it.

Her breath.

His eyes flew to the wolf at one of the wooden thrones in the long-hall, and when it lifted its head and raised its ears, he rose to his feet.

He broke into a run, jumping over a bench in his eager, turning around the corner to continue into the hallway.

Freke was scratching on the bedroom door.

She must be awake.

He opened the door to let the wolf enter, and he peeped in through the crack of the slightly opened door, something cool washing over him when he saw that she was finally awake.

He thought about going back to tell Ragnar, but he hesitated.

Why did he hesitate?

He took a step closer to the door, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He still felt her presence.

He was almost too intimidated to walk in there.

A god was there. Watching.

He entered the room with light steps, and it was not long until he felt her eyes upon him. Something strange traveled over her eyes when she looked at him, and he wanted to know what it was.

But he spoke fast. He felt strange with Freyja's eyes on him.

"Welcome back, queen Frida. I will let Ragnar know that you are awake."

He saw how her face softened, and he quickly turned around to escape the eyes. Those green eyes.

"Wait!" he heard Frida whisper behind him, which stopped him in his track, that odd thing holding him back once more.

"What happened?" she asked in a fragile voice, sending Floki straight back to the time where he had carried her desperately through the woods to the boat at his house, rowing manically back to the village and into the care of her husband.

But what he remembered the most was seeing the goddess so alive and breathing in front of him, as if she had melted herself into Frida's being, he would swear they were one.

And not long after he had laid her on her bed, a long and painful cry was heard even in the far corners of the long-hall, two healthy boys escaping her womb. And Floki had not believed his eyes.

Not one of them died.

He knew he had to protect them, at least for as long as she was recovering herself from the heavy work of bringing not one but two sons to the world in one day.

He sent her a small smile.

"You gave birth in front of the gods. When I took you here, Freyja had already honored you and Ragnar with her gifts."

He narrowed his eyes at her for a short moment, and he could sense her mind traveling wildly.

"Thank you, Floki," she breathed in her thin voice, her thin and pale face smiling at him feebly, her sincerity obvious in her eyes.

He bowed his head at her, and he knew his work was finished.

Now he could finally return to his wife and daughter. He closed his eyes and thanked the gods.

He got a feeling that these two boys would grow to do big things.

He chuckled.

Of course they would. Ragnar was a great man, and his blood had a blue stain.

Floki narrowed his eyes as he stalked into the long-hall.

"She is awake."


What did you think, what did you think, what did you think? :D