"We fought with swords.
We held bloody shields:
we stained our spears.
Showers of arrows brake the shield in pieces.
The bow sent forth the glittering steel.
Wide on the shores lay the scattered dead:
the wolves rejoiced over their prey."*
…
The king had become one with his horse.
The blood that pumped through his heart danced with a beat and rhythm of the horse beneath him, its hooves pounding wilfully along the ground below.
War drums on the heath.
Trees and bushes flew past him in a blur. He did not even see them.
Ragnar had one thing in his mind.
Frida.
He did not hear the yells of his fellow men anymore, and he knew that he had outrun them some time ago.
It was as if he flew over the fields that separated him from his love. He was scared. Angry. Bitter. Enraged. Vengeful.
As Ragnar finally saw the gates of Kattegat coming closer, he tasted blood in his mouth. He heard the yells even before he could see any movement in the surrounding area outside the gates of his home and in the guard towers above the gate.
His horse protested beneath him, its heavy breaths coming out in strained loud snorts. He knew that he had been very harsh on it, but in this very moment, he did not care.
He just had to get there.
Get to her.
His mind raced just as wildly as the horse beneath him as he closed in on the gates.
Ragnar only started to slow down his horse just a little when he noticed a yellow round shield further along the path to his right, and he closed his eyes and sank down hard as he was assured of his fear.
He had indeed been betrayed.
Guthrum and his men had attacked Kattegat.
However, as the horse continued along the path to the gates of Kattegat, he became more and more aware of the scenery in front of him. Plenty of yellow shields laid spread across the field, while the tall grass was sprayed with the color of blood.
But no yellow shield was moving.
They were silent in the grass.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the many arrows that punctured the small piles of dark leather, as if all the most giant urchins* of the world had gathered before the gates of Kattegat.
He knew very well that they were not urchins.
They were men.
Ragnar saw some of his best warriors lurking around in the field with bloody spears, kicking at the piles of leather to see if any of them had not been taken away by the spirits of Odin.
He felt his heart skip a joyous beat.
He felt a small spark of hope in the pits of his stomach but he dared not feel it yet, he dared not let his heart soften. So he pushed the feeling back with a quick shaking of his head, earning his braiding to whisk in the air like the tail of his horse.
Some of the men at the guard towers yelled out his name, and loud roars followed from the insides of the city gate.
As Ragnar finally reached the gates of Kattegat, he listened for the sounds of metal hitting metal and his eyes lightened around him to see if there were any men inside fighting still.
His eyes caught with young Tjalfe and for a quick moment, he pulled his horse to a halt.
The young warrior's face was covered in blood, and he was grinning back at his king.
"Victorious," he mouthed at him, before he raised his ax, and even if time seemed to stand still for a moment, Ragnar soon nodded his head at him, before he kicked his horse to let it move along.
"Move!" he yelled angrily as he rode as quickly as he could through the streets that were filled with people with flushed and relieved faces, weapons, yellow bodies and shields.
It seemed like an eternity before he reached the longhall, and he jumped off his horse in a swift movement, as he reached a small group of people just outside the doors leading in, and Ragnar only caught a glimpse of their whispers.
"... threw you out too? By the gods, someone needs to… King Ragnar!"
Ragnar felt blood rush for his ears as he mindlessly pushed through the small group of people, causing them to scatter around him in surprised sighs.
In an angry groan he pushed both of the doors leading to the longhall open, entering the dark room with wild eyes.
And then everything went silent.
She was there.
Up on her throne, his queen sat still as a wooden statue, her face completely darkened by shadows and what seemed to be… blood.
Ragnar gulped down hard as he took a few steps closer to her, eyeing her intently.
Why did she sit so still?
His heart still pumped with the beat of a war drum, and his breathing felt loud in his ears as he noticed a big pile of bloodied fur in her lap.
"My love?" he whispered, as he came closer to her, but she did not look at him. Her eyes seemed stuck on something on the floor in front of her, but as the fire in the center of the room had gone out, Ragnar could not tell what she was looking at.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, but she did not answer. She just kept staring.
It was not until he had reached the firepit that he saw him.
He widened his eyes in horror at the sight before him.
There, on the floor just beneath their thrones, lay a man
His skull and face seemed to have exploded onto the ground, blood, bones and brains sprayed out on the floor. Completely smashed into a sort of bloody porridge. As if a giant had stepped on his head, earning it to pop open like a rotten pumpkin.
A cold shiver ran down Ragnar's spine as his eyes traveled further down the body of the dead man to see his chest that had been split opened too, his rib cage and breastbone completely mangled and his organs simply disintegrated as if a wild beast had eaten most of his chest and stomach.
As if he was a piece of wood whose insides had been splintered into blood red wood shavings.
The smell of blood and guts filled Ragnar's nostrils, and he looked up at Frida again with concerned eyes. She had a very distant look in her eyes, as if she was not really there.
He could see her chest moving slightly. Slowly.
"Frida, my love," he whispered, as he closed the distance between them, but his words soon died out over his tongue, as his eyes dropped down to the pile of fur in her lap.
He recognized the silver fur.
Ragnar dropped to his knees in front of her, as he realized what had happened. He felt sorrow explode in his heart, and his throat tightened. He regretted having left her here all alone.
"Frida, look at me. I'm here," he whispered softly, trying to haul her back from whatever reality she was currently visiting in her head. As he lifted his hand to stroke her chin, she sucked in a quick breath and flinched away from his hand
The horror that he saw shining from her eyes almost broke his heart completely.
Frida started breathing in quick raspy breaths, her eyes widened in terror at him. As if she did not recognize him.
He felt fear spread in his heart, as her troubled breath sounded loudly in his ears.
Ragnar sensed movement behind him, and he turned his head quickly to see Floki looking moving closer, his eyes on the dead man on the floor behind him.
Floki hissed at the man, as Ragnar let his gaze turn back to Frida, and Ragnar heard him spit.
"Floki, help me," Ragnar rasped out, fear overwhelming his body, as Frida still seemed so very far away from him, and he watched as she started hugging the silvery fur in her hands, clutching it to her chest.
Ragnar noticed the head of the wolf flopping down over the armrest of Frida's wooden throne, and he saw its tongue dangling lifelessly from its mouth.
He felt like crying, but his throat tightened even more, and it was hard for him to even breathe properly.
Floki moved around them and stood behind Frida's throne, and he stood still for a short moment, assessing the situation, before he turned his darkened eyes to Ragnar's.
"Stay with her," he hummed in a quick breath, before he disappeared.
Ragnar felt another wave of helplessness and panic wash over him, as he noticed that Frida had started shaking in her seat, clutching the dead wolf to her chest even harder.
Ragnar felt tears welling up in his eyes.
He did not know what to do.
He felt his hand reach up to her chin, cupping it very lightly. As if she was as brittle as the thinnest linen that could fall apart by even the slightest touch.
Ragnar closed his eyes when he saw that she did not flinch away this time, and a sigh of relief left his lips. When he felt her leaning her head into his hand, finally accepting his touch, he reached his arms around her, hugging her to the best of his possibilities with the body of the dead wolf still between them.
He could feel that the warmth had not left Freke completely. He knew that it had been only moments since its death.
Ragnar heard himself hush out, trying to calm her.
Behind him Ragnar heard the doors to the longhall being closed, while someone was throwing logs on the firepit, a fire slowly lighting up the dark room, but he kept hugging his woman that was shaking even more in his embrace.
Frida soon started sobbing.
"I know, love," Ragnar whispered, while his thoughts raced to what had happened in here.
Who was the man on the floor?
Had he killed Freke?
Had Freke killed him?
"Shhh," he soothed, as calmly as possible, and Frida cried out as she buried her face in the ropes at his neck. He could feel the heartbreak in her voice. As if he could feel her pain in his heart.
"He… He… He… Is dead," Frida cried out between her sobs. Ragnar could feel her arms still tight around the wolf between them.
"I know, love," Ragnar whispered. "But you are alive. Right now. I'm here."
Ragnar started rocking her gently from side to side. He felt as if it was a small child he held in his arms, and he wished for nothing else in the world but that this child would feel safe in his embrace.
He wished to protect her from all the pain in the world.
But he knew that he could not take away her pain. And he sat with her in his arms with his eyes closed, swaying her gently while humming in her ear for what felt like an eternity, until he felt that her breathing had calmed, and her body had stopped shaking wildly.
When Ragnar felt someone nudge his shoulder, he opened his eyes to have his gaze meet with Floki, who soon helped him free the body of the dead wolf from Frida's hands. Without speaking a word, Floki urged him to hand Frida a cup of warm tea.
Ragnar recognized the fragrance of Freyja's hair.
As Frida had taken a couple of sips of the warm potion, Ragnar reached up his hand to lift some of the bloodied hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear.
"Love, talk to me. What happened?" he whispered soothingly.
Frida stared at the body of the man in front of her before she finally spoke again.
"I killed him."
Ragnar and Floki soon exchanged concerned looks, as they realized it was not the work of a wolf that had carved open the man on the floor.
It was Frida.
* An excerpt of a poem from the Krákumál
* Urchin is an old way of saying hedgehog