"Sometimes you just have to die a little inside in order to be reborn and rise again as a stronger and wiser version of yourself."

Unknown

Cynerīce Norþhymbra
Blæcþorn Estāt - Grēat Salern
Gēond 600 Gēardagas

"Missy Freydis!"

The grand hall of Blackthorn Manor, once alive with laughter and celebration, descended into a tense hush as the shrill voice of a House Elf reverberated through the air. All eyes turned to the diminutive creature as it struggled under the weight of a bag much larger than itself, dragging it laboriously towards the centre of the room and wherein one Freydis Hakansdottir did stand beside her husband-to-be.

"Missy Freydis!" the elf cried once more, her voice filled with a sense of urgency and desperation as she scrambled to close the distance between herself and her target. It was a sight both unusual and alarming, and the guests exchanged puzzled glances, their curiosity piqued as to what the creature wanted.

Freydis stood at the centre of their attention, her pale hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of silken wheat. Though her blue-green eyes were wide as she observed the approaching House Elf - along with the unwieldly bag it did tow.

Hakan Singardsson, however, Freydis' father and the formidable Chieftain of the Frostmariners, moved with a surprising swiftness to intercept the elf; Fȳrcyning and Ælfflæd Slyðerin doing the same from the other side of the hall and meeting the Hersir in the centre of the room before the elf could reach her objective.

"What is this, then?" Hakan demanded as he came to a stop before the elf, his deep voice resonating with authority. And his weathered features were etched with a mix of concern and trepidation as he took assessment of the situation, his arm snapping out to grab a hold of his daughter's and preventing Freydis from drawing any closer to the peculiar scene.

"What business do you have with Princessa Hakansdottir?" Fȳrcyning added, his own voice all but a growl as he glared down at the wayward House Elf who trembled under the weight of not only the bag, but also the penetrating gazes of the Viking and Dæmon leaders.

The elf swallowed hard, before stammering out an explanation that left the small group blinking in surprise. "M-Missy Freydis, si-sirs, ma'ams; Basa has come to deliver a package to hers, she has. Basa has been ordered to do so under penalty of burnt hands and clothes! if Basa does refuses," she managed to get out, her large eyes anxiously darting from one intimidating figure to another.

Freydis, her curiosity now tinged with worry for the elf's safety, took a step closer to her father, wincing as his hand tightened around her arm. Though she ignored the pain for the chance to peer over at Basa and the bag she had brought, her intuition sensing that whatever was inside the bag held significance.

"A package... for me?" she asked, her voice carrying a mix of confusion and caution as she looked between the elf and bag.

Basa nodded her head vigorously in reply, exclaiming, "Yes!" with complete delight as her mission would soon be over. Now all she had to do was drop the package off and Basa wouldn't have to iron her hands, or be given any clothes! "Missy Freydis' package. It's very importants."

Hakan continued to hold his daughter back from the House Elf, knowing without understanding how that this 'delivery' had been no mere accident. And as he glanced at Fȳrcyning and Ælfflæd, the pair exchanging confused though solemn looks, a feeling of dread begun to bloom within his stomach.

The Dæmon King's eyes narrowed with suspicion, a sharp edge entering his tone as he addressed the elf once more. "How did you come into possession of this package?" Fȳrcyning demanded, his voice reverberating through the chamber. His question had Hakan looking back to the elf, to the bag Basa was carrying - and noticed something that he'd missed upon first glance and his gaze slid to his daughter and Wulfgar.

Oh, what have you two done?

Basa hesitated, clearly fearful of the consequences of revealing the truth. Although, and with a gentle, encouraging nod from Ælfflæd - and a not so nice glare from both male leaders - the elf stuttered out a partial truth. "A young Master does give it to me," she stated, "Tolds Basa it was urgent, that's he needs it to be delivered tonight."

"Who?!"

Hakan's voice was but a growl, his grip upon his daughter's arm becoming bruising as his eyes continued to bore into the crest that was emblazed on the side of the bag, a familiar crest that was partially concealed by the elf's diminutive size.

"B-Basa cannots say!" the House Elf stuttered, shaking her head when Hakan went to demand she tell him again. "Basa don't want clothes! Basa's a good elf! Basa don't want to be banished! Can't say! Can't tell you!"

The elf's fear was palpable as she trembled under the weight of the situation she'd been forced into. Though Hakan, his patience having waned, took a step closer to the creature, his formidable presence casting a long shadow over Basa's much smaller frame.

"You will tell us," the Chieftain demanded with a tone that brook no argument. He was a Viking through and through, who's upbringing had taught him to be nothing but firm - especially when dealing with wayward subordinates. "We need to know exactly who had you deliver this package."

Freydis watched the exchange with a growing apprehension. She knew that her father was a man of action, and if he felt that there was a possible threat to his family or people, Hakan would not hesitate to confront it head-on. Yet, the Viking Princessa couldn't deny that she felt sympathy for Basa, who was now trembling even more violently under her father's intense gaze. The elf was clearly torn between the threat of punishment from her mysterious 'Master' and the dire consequences of keeping the truth hidden from the ones before her right now.

Large eyes darted between the Viking Chief and his daughter, though settled nervously upon Hakan's towering form when the man blocked his daughter from the elf's sight. Though, and only a second later, unable to hold his steely gaze, did Basa look to Fȳrcyning and Ælfflæd, seeking some form of reassurance or guidance. Basa may be bound to silence by the one who had tasked her with her duty, but being a House Elf bonded to the House of Slyðerin, Basa also knew that if she had any hope of getting out of the ballroom unscathed, it lay with the Lord and Lady of the Family she did serve under.

Yet, surprisingly it was Wulfgar who stepped forwards, the young half-breed's voice soft and soothing as he approached the terrified House Elf. "Basa, no one here seeks to harm you, or to offer you clothes," he soothed. "But you must understand, we have no idea who sent this package, and we must know before we can let you go back to your other duties. It is important, understand?"

Basa hesitated for a moment, though as she did so her eyes widened with delighted surprise and she beamed a blinding smile towards Wulfgar, realising that she could tell the half-breed. "It... it was Master Slyðerin," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, wincing when she heard Hakan inhale sharply and Freydis look towards Fȳrcyning in confusion. "Master Valdimárr Slyðerin," the elf clarified, clearing the air for the Viking girl, who could only turn her widening eyes to Basa in frightened surprise.

"W-who?"

The room around the group begun to buzz with murmurs and whispers of recognition and intrigue. However, as the House Elf finally dropped the oversized bag unceremoniously to the ground, a collective gasp echoed through the room.

For those who hadn't managed to hear Basa, it was clear to them now as to who had sent the elf as the bag was revealed to bear a familiar sigil - the Slyðerin Family Crest; a sight that for all was both unexpected and unsettling and caused Hakan's stern countenance to waver for a moment, his eyes narrowing upon the elf and the bag that it had dropped at his feet.

The Hersir was well aware of the complexities and nuances within his daughter's relationships, particularly concerning Wulfgar and his cousin. Valdimárr's unexpected and continued absence from the shores of his home, from his very own cousin's engagement party not having gone unnoticed, and Hakan had heard all the rumours that had begun circulating in regards to the three.

But- Hakan suddenly frowned, his eyes squeezing shut as a torrent of emotions suddenly tore their way through him.

How could have I been so foolish?

Hakan had a very, very bad feeling that he knew exactly as to what was in the bag the House Elf had been ordered to deliver to his daughter.

He prayed to the Gods that he was wrong, though.

Oh, how he prayed he was wrong.

The wind tugged at long, greying hair whilst a fur-lined cloak billowed around the tall form of a Viking Chieftain as he stood atop a rocky cliff; weathered green eyes staring out at the churning sea. Thoughts swirled like a tempest within a troubled mind, churning like the very waves that crashed against the jagged cliffs, and all circulating around the upcoming meeting Hakan Singardsson was about to have.

Hakan had been dreading this meeting since he'd first heard of its creation, despite knowing of its inevitability. Yet it was also one he had not been expecting to have so soon. There was really nothing he could do, however; Valdimárr Slyðerin, the young Prince who had managed to capture his daughter's heart, had requested an audience with him.

It was a bold move, the Hersir did muse. But it was also one that spoke of the man's determination and possible affection for his daughter.

But Valdimárr was not a Viking, and that troubled Hakan more deeply than he cared to admit. The Norse and the Dæmons of Old have always held a history steeped in conflict and rivalry, and he had seen far too many of his people suffer at the hands of the invaders from across the sea. He had fought in battle, seen his comrades fall, and had even witnessed the burning of his homeland. And now, his very own daughter wanted to marry one of them.

Lips pursed into a thin line as Hakan waited for Valdimárr to arrive, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the longsword at his side. It was a weapon that had seen many a battle, and its blade bore the scars of countless clashes. Hakan Singardsson was a warrior, a Hersir of his people, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to protect them - even if that meant denying his daughter's most heartfelt wishes.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew the Chieftain's attention, and he turned to see the Dæmon Prince walking towards him. The young man had a determined look in his silver eyes, his jaw was set with resolve, and he wore clothes - robes as Hakan had come to learn - that marked him clearly as an outsider; something of which Hakan couldn't stop himself from feeling a twinge of resentment towards.

If there was any more clearer of a sign that their backgrounds were so vastly different, it was the silk-like robes and cloak that billowed around the Dæmon Prince's figure.

"Prins Valdimárr," Hakan greeted as the younger man came to a stop but a few paces away. His voice was gruff, his eyes searching as he continued. "You requested a meeting, and here it is. What is it that you want?" he asked, already knowing but wanting to hear the dæmon say it anyway. There was no way he would even consider the possibility of a courting if Valdimárr could not even speak with him face-to-face.

Valdimárr lowered his head respectfully as he replied, the action causing an eyebrow to raise ever so slightly upon Hakan's forehead in surprise. "Hersir Hakan," he begun, his head raising so he could meet the Chieftain's gaze. "I come to you as a suitor for your daughter's hand in marriage. I have come to find that I am adrift without her, like a boat lost at sea with no stars to guide me home. I find I have come to love Freydis with all that I am, and I wish to make her my wife."

Hakan said nothing, continuing to instead scrutinise the younger man's face; searching for any sign of insincerity or deceit. But Valdimárr's eyes were earnest, and there was a vulnerability in his expression that spoke of his genuine feelings for Hakan's daughter. It gave the Chieftain pause, yet he knew that he could not let his guard down so easily.

"You are Dæmon," he stated, his tone heavy with accusation. "A Nilicorvi (Ægyptum Dæmon) from across the seas. Our peoples have been enemies for generations, and the history of your family is as dark as the deepest of caverns. Why should I trust you with my daughter's heart?"

Valdimárr didn't even flinch under the elder male's scrutiny, much to Hakan's internal satisfaction. Instead, the Dæmon Prince met his gaze with an unwavering determination.

"I understand the history between our people, Hersir Singardsson, probably far more than I would like to. But I am not my uncle, I am not my ancestors... and neither is Freydis. We know not of the boundaries of tribe or bloodline, nothing of the deaths that have occurred on both sides of wars that should have never come to pass. I stand here before you, ready to do whatever it takes to prove to you that my intentions are genuine, that my feelings for your daughter are pure."

Hakan was torn. He could clearly see the sincerity in Valdimárr's words, yet he couldn't ignore the weight of the past that the dæmon had so thankfully bought up. He needed a way to test Valdimárr's love for Freydis, a way to ensure that his intentions and feelings were indeed 'pure'. And after a long moment of contemplation, he finally spoke.

"Very well, Prins Slyðerin. If you truly wish to marry my daughter, then you must complete a task; one that only someone with the most purest of intentions can accomplish."

The dæmon could only nod, his eyes unwavering. "I accept any challenge you set before me, Hersir," he stated with another bow of his head.

Hakan's expression didn't change, his stern countenance remaining as he continued, yet something passed over his gaze at hearing the dæmon's words.

"I task you to take the Eldhvítr's Ēð."

Dark brows furrowed upon Valdimárr's forehead in confusion upon hearing the task, and he hesitated for but a heartbeat before he revealed, "I mean no disrespect, Hersir Singardsson. Yet I feel as though I must admit I have never heard of such a task."

"Not many would," came the Chieftain's smooth reply, the corner of his lip quirking upwards before his expression once again grew serious. And his green eyes bore into Valdimárr's as his voice turned grave. "The Eldhvítr's Ēð, or 'White-Fire's Oath', is a sacred journey any Frostmariner dreams to undertake. The Eldhvítr is a sacred bloom among my people, and is known to grow in the most treacherous and unforgiving of environments. It is a symbol of purity, of pure intent within the heart and soul, and to obtain one is no easy feat. Many a Norse have perished with such an endeavour."

Valdimárr felt his heart sink as he listened, realising the gravity of the task being placed before him. "And if I fail?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Then you shan't return," Hakan told him simply, his gaze remaining unwavering. "If you fail with this task, your absence will be a clear sign to all that your intentions have been proven to be impure, and that you have never been worthy of my daughter's hand."

The Dæmon Prince swallowed hard as the weight of the oath settled heavily upon his shoulders. But he was willing to do whatever it took to prove his love for Freydis, to prove that he was worthy of her hand. And with those thoughts running through his mind, Valdimárr could do only one thing.

"I accept," the dæmon stated, his voice steady with his resolve. "I will partake in the Eldhvítr's Ēð, and I will return to you with the proof of my intentions."

The Viking Chieftain could only nod at the young Prince before him, a hint of approval shining within the depths of his eyes. "Then go, Prins Slyðerin," he told Valdimárr, "And may the Gods guide your path. May your love for my daughter be proven to be as faithful and unwavering as the very sun and moon who do outrun the wolves of Fenrisúlfr."

As Valdimárr turned to leave, Hakan couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope spark to life within his heart. The task he had set for the young dæmon was not an easy one in the slightest. But it was also one that the Hersir knew would reveal the true nature of Valdimárr's love in a way that none could deny. And maybe, just maybe, it would be found worthy enough of his daughter.

But only time would tell, and Hakan knew that the journey before Valdimárr would be filled with challenges and dangers - both seen and unseen.