The morning was long and calm.
Not many sounds were heard in the wake of Kattegat as the sun crawled further and further up over the blossoming orange-pink sky, a deep blue soon stretching over the dry thatched roofs of the village, marking the beginning of another day.
A drunken slumber had snaked its way in between the graveled streets and numbed the majority of the villagers, it had come with the dense white mist that had clouded out from the trees when the sun finally yawned its way up in the East.
Frida had watched it all unfold before her eyes. For she had been awakened by Ragnhildir even when the dark blackness of the night still had not left the corners of the bedroom, and she had chosen to let her husband sleep, bringing her daughter out on the roofed Eastern terrace of the longhouse to watch the sun rise with her.
When the servants had left their beds to work over the cooking fire, as preparing breakfast when having royal visitors was more time demanding than usual, Frida had been served a flatbread with a thick coating of honey which she was currently nibbling on absentmindedly, her thoughts circulating vividly around the conversations from yesterday's feast.
The wild birds were chirping lively from the treetops surrounding the village while Ragnhildir sat in Frida's lap, excitedly investigating the empty bowl that had contained her breakfast apple porridge.
These days, everything Ragnhildir touched had to go in her mouth, so of course her cheeks were already smothered in the sticky soft porridge.
But Frida sat carelessly in her chair, her eyes wandering over the beautiful scenery in front of her, with the black trees leading to the white silver mountains, deep blue stretching above them, the warmth of the sun slowly rolling towards them, swallowing the white cool mist of the night.
She wondered whether the sun and the moon were really the children of the giantess Narfe like people here believed.
A long time ago, when Frida had not yet learned the Norse tongue, Athelstan had told her the stories of how Narfe, a giantess of Udgård, birthed a beautiful daughter, whose skin was dark as coal, and a handsome son, whose skin was white as snow.
She called her dark ardent daughter Nat, and her white shiny son Dag*.
The gods were so impressed with the beauty of these two children, they gave the daughter Nat a carriage that was to be pulled by the strong horse Rimfaxe, whose wet mane would leave behind dew and mist during the night.
The gods too granted the son Dag a carriage that was to be pulled by a horse with the name of Skinfaxe, whose brightness would illuminate the heavens and the earth.
However, one day a man in Midgård named Mundilfare got two of the most bright and resplendent children, a son he called Måne and a daughter he called Sol*.
The gods were angered that the man had named his children like he had, and so they punished him by forcing his children to ride the carriages with the giants Nat and Dag.
Sol and Dag's carriage is chased by the wolf Skoll, while Måne and Nat's carriage is chased by the wolf Hate, and therefore the sun and the moon travel so fast across the sky.
A cold shiver ran down Frida's spine as she recalled the words of Athelstan from their conversation long ago, as he had voiced in a serious tone: "It is said, according to the old sagas, that one day the wolf Skoll will swallow the sun, and all things will turn black."
Frida had looked at him with narrowed eyes and asked: "But what happens when everything turns black?"
Athelstan had looked at her with shining eyes, something unfamiliar to his air glooming from behind his grayish irises, as he had whispered the words: "Ragnarok."
Frida found herself to be sitting with her eyes closed shut, and she opened them eagerly while sucking in a quick breath, shaking her head as to push the memories out of her head.
Ragnarok. The end of the world as we know it.
Deep in her thoughts, Frida all of a sudden noticed some movement to her left out of the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to see a cloaked figure stalking away from the longhouse.
She gasped, surprised by the sudden knowledge of not being alone.
As the small sound of her gasp sounded over the otherwise silent morning, the dark figure stopped, and Frida looked at it with widened eyes, well aware that she was not supposed to have seen this person.
Thoughtlessly, she hugged Ragnhildir tighter, but she kept still in her chair, not wanting to cause any panic by moving.
Her eyes scanned the head of the cloaked figure, trying to recognize some features that would deem her to realize who this person was, but it was yet a bit too dark and so shadows rendered the man safe for now.
His shoulders were so broad, it could not be a woman. Even a Norse woman did not have shoulders as broad as those.
Frida watched him crouch down, and from the positioning of his hands, she quickly recognized him to be one of Ragnar's sons.
They all had the same way of moving, calculatingly, like beasts of prey already knowing how to place the next attack. She rose to her feet, her brows furrowing at the man in front of her.
"Bjørn?"
She felt Ragnhildir look at the dark figure too, and she dropped the clay bowl from her hands, which ripped apart as it hit the wooden floor below, a clear and loud breaking noise cutting through the silent air of the morning.
Frida watched the head of the cloaked figure fall between his shoulders, and she knew that she had guessed correctly. Bjørn was stalking away from Kattegat and into the woods.
"Where are you going?" Frida asked in a small voice, as she lifted Ragnhildir to sit more comfortably on her hip.
Her thoughts immediately shot back to the conversation she had intentionally overheard last night between Ragnar and king Eysteinn. And what they were planning. A dry taste quickly spread over her tongue.
Had he perhaps overheard even more than her?
She had heard something about a marriage, but she had not heard all of it.
Was Bjørn to have an arranged marriage?
Frida tried to sink, but she found her mouth to be completely dry, her breath rough in her throat as she stood there breathing, waiting. She saw Bjørn rising to his feet, moving silently towards her with lowered shoulders.
He crouched down slightly when he reached the edge of the terrace, and he looked up at her with piercing ice blue eyes, a wild light shining from them as he said: "I know that you probably have had no say in what my father has planned for me. But…"
Frida watched him as a pained expression washed over his face, and he turned his eyes away from her for a short moment, his fists clenching as he blew out an angered breath.
"I intend to leave Kattegat for a while… Find my own way…"
His eyes shot back to Frida's, piercing hers more than ever, as he continued in rushed words: "I need this. This is important. I cannot…"
Bjørn slowly started to walk backwards as his words died out.
Frida felt her heart starting to drum in her chest, as she reached her arm up as if she could reach out to catch him, even as he was already several feet away from the terrace.
She desperately searched for the right words to say in her head, but even as she opened her lips, she found herself lost for them, until finally she managed: "He needs you… Ragnar, he needs his sons, Bjørn."
She saw how Bjørn's face twisted painfully as she spoke her words, but even as they hurt his heart, he continued his path further and further away from the longhouse.
Frida felt like she had too been numbed by the mist that had coated most of the village now, frozen in her place as she watched Bjørn disappear into the woods. She did not know what she was going to do.
Was she to let Bjørn leave, and act as if she had not seen him? Or should she let Ragnar know immediately?
She knew that arranged marriages were not very common in the Norse culture, but they did occur occasionally between royal families. So Bjørn was probably to wed a daughter of the Swedish king Eysteinn, this much she could gather.
Frida furrowed her brows as her thoughts raced, and she placed her thumb by her lip, biting the nail slightly.
She looked down at Ragnhildir who was staring up at her with intense moss green eyes, as if telling her what to do. She looked excited, yet bewildered, as if she had understood everything that had just been said.
Frida broke into a run, not being able to do anything else.
She knew that Ragnar would be filled with the deepest and unforgiving anger if he ever found out that Frida had not told him his son was leaving Kattegat.
And she too did not want Bjørn to leave.
Whether it was from not wanting to wed someone chosen for him, or it was for wedding her and going to another land, Frida wished that Bjørn would just not leave Kattegat.
There was something about the idea of it that unnerved her. She felt like he was supposed to be here, always.
When Frida rushed through the door to their bedroom, Ragnar was already dressing himself.
His head shot to her as she entered the room, and a deep line of concern immediately carved his forehead when he saw her expression.
"He left," she managed to whisper between winded breaths.
Nat: night
Dag: day
Måne: moon
Sol: sun
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