“This isÍsilvé,the sacred ash tree ofÁlfheim, nourished by the pure waters of the Ísilwen spring, much like the roots of Yggdrasil are fed byUrðarbrunnr, the hallowed Well of Urd.”
Near the bank of the Lyrian Lake, the enormous tree swirled upward from the bubbling crystalline spring in graceful spirals toward the cloudless sky. The translucent surface of its massive trunk was veined in silvery blue beneath its smooth, polished bark. Majestic branches stretched wide, their long, slender leaves a deep emerald green frosted with silvery sage and sheer violet ice. At the base of the trunk, in the heartwood of the tree, was a sheltered hollow etched with Elven runes that glowed with pale blue light.
“Your father’s sword has rested here for nearly twenty winters, waiting for you to come claim it.” As Queen Íssla approached the sacred ash tree, the protective swirls of its heartwood hollow spiraled outward, unfolding like the delicate petals of a blossoming flower. And there—in the center of the sacredÍsilvétree, sheathed in a leather scabbard offrostdragonscales embellished with a trio ofHrímsúlgems—was theÚlfsongrsword forged by Dvalinn.
The same Dwarven blacksmith who had crafted Skjöld’sÍsfirshield.
And Haldor’sÍsfálkrspear.
At the sight of the glowingHrímsúlgem which pulsed in the heart of the Dwarven pommel, a ripple offrostfirepower shivered up Skjöld’s spine and into his trembling limbs.
While Skjöld watched with bated breath beside Elfi and theLjósálfar, Njörd stepped forward, awestruck and silent before the magnificent sword. As if awakening in his presence, thefrostfiregem blazed with violet flame and the runesetched into the hilt glimmered with icy blue light.
Njörd reverently removed his leather gloves and tucked them into his belt, his bare skin gripping the leatherbound handle of the blade which was wrapped in the samefrostdragonscales as the scabbard in which it was sheathed. At his touch, the runes etched along the opening of the heartwood hollow in the sacred ash tree—and the ones engraved in the hilt of the sword—glowed a silvery blue, while the gem pulsed with violet flame.
Queen Íssla’s crystalline voice echoed across the Lyrian Lake. “Úlfsongrrecognizes the blood of the White Wolf.”
Njörd slowly unsheathed the Dwarven sword.
As he held it aloft, theHrímsúlgem in the pommel pulsed, as if in rhythm with his heart. He turned the gleaming blade in his hand, its sleek surface catching the pale glint of the grove. For a long breath, he said nothing, as if weighing both Dwarven steel and the burden of prophecy. Then he stepped forward, raising the sword in both hands and clutching it over his fierce lupine heart.“I shall honor my father’s legacy,” he vowed, his deep voice reverent and rough. “And wield his sword to fulfill my fate.” A breeze stirred from the Ísilwen Spring, curling across the roots of the sacred ash tree. Njörd swept Brökk’s blade through the mists ofÁlfheim.
A silent oath, sworn in steel.
Chapter 19
Ljófálfar Wedding in Ísland
Úlvhild had spent a glorious afternoon with Haldor, rekindling their magic through exquisite passion and much-needed rest in the private quarters they shared in theÍslyracastle. Now that Njörd had reclaimed his father’s Dwarven sword and everyone had returned fromÁlfheim,Úlvhild and Sif were in Elfi’s chambers, helping her dress for the wedding. Njörd was with Haldor and Bodo in Skjöld’s quarters, donning his elegant attire as well.
Sif had woven elegant braids into Elfi’s golden brown hair, and the beaming bride was admiring her reflection in a polished silver plate that served as a mirror. At the base of Elfi’s throat, the three tiers of droplet-shaped blue and green gems that Njörd had given her as a wedding gift—the Persian necklace which had once belonged to her grandmother Rán—sparkled in the firelight from the enclosed hearth along the stone wall. Her wedding gown, which Oda and Sif had so lovingly sewn from the sumptuous blue silk Njörd had obtained on the shores of the Caspian Sea, was embroidered with silver thread and embellished with glittering gems along the neckline and the fitted bands on her arms. Beneath the elbows, the ephemeral sleeves of her elegant gown fluttered like swan wings to the rune-inscribed, polished stone floor. Elfi was an exceptionally beautiful bride.
“And now, the headpiece.” Sif placed the slender silver circlet atop Elfi’s intricate braids. The swirling peaks and dips of the coronet resembled waves—symbolic of Elfi’ssjóvættirheritage as the daughter of Dúva, the billow maiden mermaid whose magic she now wielded, and Njörd’s esteemed title asWolf of the Nordic Seas. Nestled among the whorls of the silver crown, a trio oflapis lazuli gems glistened in the golden light.
“This ermine is magnificent!” Úlvhild draped the long, elegant white fur cape with delicate black tips over Elfi’s shoulders and fastened the lapis lazuli brooch. “It will complement Njörd’s white wolfskin cloak. Perfect for the bridal couple.”
Úlvhild smoothed her thick black hair and glanced at her own reflection in the polished silver plate. The amber necklace with the carved image of Freyja glowed upon her breast above the curved neckline of her honey colored gown.Haldor will be pleased. She smiled at Sif. “The bride is ready. Inform the groom.”
With a squeal of impish delight, Sif, clad in a pretty plum colored dress and amethyst necklace borrowed from Elfi, dashed out the door.
A few moments later, Haldor, Bodo, and Lugh returned with a smiling, exuberant Sif.
Úlvhild’s breath hitched at the sight of her handsome lover.
Amber beads, woven into his long chestnut hair and thick dark beard, glinted in the incandescent light. He wore a fine woolen tunic of golden amber, the same hue as Úlvhild’s gown, with brown breeches and gleaming leather boots. Draped across his wide shoulders, the cloak of brown falcon feathers shimmered with hints of black, silver, and iridescent blue.
He grinned at the sight of her obvious approval of his stunning attire. When he offered her the crook of his arm, Úlvhild hooked her elbow through his and stepped aside for Lugh to escort Elfi to the Crystal Hall.
Bodo was wearing a brown tunic and woolen breeches beneath his distinctive wolfskin cloak. He offered a brawny arm to Sif, who slipped to his side and waited, her pretty face alight with love for theÚlfhedinnwarrior she hoped to marry upon their return to Normandy, and the beloved mistress Elfi she had faithfully served since birth.
Laid across his sinewy,dragonscaleclad arms, Lugh held Elfi’sShadowbanesword, which had once belonged to her beloved brother Dag. The shining blade was placed atop a silverplatter draped with white ermine fur, like the bride herself. Tied to its hilt was Njörd’s wedding ring—a silver band etched with runes and embellished with a trio of lapis lazuli stones, like Elfi’s bridal headpiece, which sparkled with deep blue fire threaded with gold. Elfi would offer her new husband the heirloom blade for the ritual exchange of swords, the traditional ceremony at the heart of a Norse wedding.
The towering blondLjósálfgrinned from ear to ear, his handsome, clean shaven face luminous in the candlelight from beeswax sconces mounted on the stone walls. “I shall now escort the bride. Come, Elfi. Njörd awaits.”
Elfi strode beside Lugh down the elegant corridor toward the Crystal Hall where the wedding guests were gathered in front of theLjósálfarqueen.
Standing before his regal mother, Njörd was resplendent in a deep blue tunic paired with black breeches and boots, his white wolfskin cloak draped across his wide shoulders. The newly reclaimedÚlfsongrsword was sheathed in shimmerydragonscaleleatherat his sinewy waist. At his side, clad in the massive cloak of a great grey wolf, stood Úlf, the alpha leader of theirÚlfhéðnarpack. In his bare, scarred hands, he proudly held a silver platter draped with white wolf fur which displayed Njörd’s heirloom sword, gifted to him at the age of sixteen winters by King Harald Bluetooth. Tied to the elaborated hilt with a silver cord, Elfi’s wedding ring sparkled in the starlight of Íslyra’s Crystal Hall.
Lugh escorted Elfi to join Njörd before the queen, then remained at Elfi’s side with the sword she would offer to her betrothed. Úlvhild and Haldor followed, arm in arm, with Bodo and Sif close behind. As they settled in among the standing guests, Úlvhild noted how theÚlfhéðnar—including Ólaf One-Eye—looked grim but glorious in their wild wolfskin cloaks draped over woolen tunics embroidered with silver thread. Njáll and Luna were an especially impressive pair, with his striking black wolfskin over a deep green tunic enhancing the dark emeraldgown that flowed over Luna’s lithe, slender form.
