I am yours, forevermore.”
Beads and bones of his antler headpiece glinting in the golden firelight, the silver-hairedgoðistood before Bodo and Sif. He dipped the ash twig once more into the blood, and as he touched it to their brows, he proclaimed them duly wed. “By the light of the moon and the stars, I bind your souls as one.”
With solemn majesty befitting a royal wedding before the reigning King of Denmark and the luminousLjósálfarqueen, the fur-clad priest turned to the gathered witnesses, ash twig raised one final time. His voice, deep with reverence, carried across the snowlit glen:
“On this longest night, beneath moon and stars,
Before gods and kin, before fire and frost,
Three couples have sworn sacred vows,
Three winter solstice weddings sealed in blood and love.
Let none unbind what has been blessed by the gods.”
He lowered the sacred ash twig, strode to the roaring bonfire which crackledin the salty wind off the Narrow Sea, and poured the remaining sacrificial blood into the flames as an offering to the Norse gods.
When thegoðihad finished, he slipped among the gathered guests and stood with honor at Thorfinn’s proud right side. White chalk-painted face glowing in the moonlight, he was the guardian of the old gods’ ancient rites.
From Thorfinn’s left side, the Christian priest emerged, a solemn figure clad in flowing white robes trimmed with gold. A matching stole rested over his shoulders, signifying his sacred duty, while his hands were folded reverently before him as he took his place before the three fur-clad couples. Lifting his right hand in a gesture of blessing, he traced the sign of the cross in the crisp night air as he spoke.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,
By the grace of Almighty God and His Holy Church,
These winter solstice weddings are hereby sanctified
As valid and binding unions in His divine sight.
May His blessing rest upon this trinity of couples
Now joined as husband and wife,
In this life on earth and the hereafter. Amen.”
Reverent silence lingered over the snow-dusted clearing under the moonlit sky for a few moments before Thorfin swept his arm toward the double oak doors which led into the castle. “Let thebruðlaupbegin!” he called, his deep voice rich with triumph and joy. “Race like wolves to the mead hall… and the wedding feast that awaits!”
Jubilant cheers broke like a wave through the revelrous crowd. With peals of laughter and pounding of boots, the three newly wedded couples ran toward the castle, chased by the festive throng.
Breathless with elation—and slowed by the weight of her swollen belly—Elfi couldn’t keep pace, so she and Njörd, as losers of the bridal race, served mead to the victors. While Skadi and Skjöld, Bodo and Sif basked in mock applause, Elfi and Njörd, flushed with laughter, poured the honeyed mead at the high table, in honor of the cherished Norse wedding tradition.
Once everyone at the table of honor had horns of mead, and servants had filled goblets for all of the remaining guests, Thorfinn rose proudly from his seat and raised his carved elkhorn high. “Lords and ladies, warriors and kin, I welcome you toChâteau Blancon this winter solstice wedding night.”
Elfi’s heart soared at the sight of her belovedfaðir, whose bearded cheeks streaked with silver now bore the glow of restored health. The slender silver circlet atop his dark hair glimmered in the firelight, like the rune-etched torcs which encircled each of his brawny arms. His deep voice bellowed in the hushed hall.
“Though my daughter Elfi was first wed to Njörd in the glorious castle of Queen Íssla,” he said, bowing his head to the luminousLjósálfarqueen, “tonight’s ceremony grants me the great honor of hosting a royal wedding here atChâteau Blanc. Before we raise our horns in tribute to the trinity of brides and grooms, let us first give due honor to those whose presence graces this hall…”
Sweeping his shimmering black cloak over a broad shoulder, Thorfinn gestured to the monarchs and high-ranking nobles who flanked him at the high table. “To Sweyn Forkbeard, King of Denmark and Norway, whose might steadies our realm. To Queen Íssla ofÁlfheim, whose ethereal grace lights this hall. To Jarl Rikard and his wife Gunnor, Duke and Duchess of Normandy, and to Skårde Haraldsson and his wife Ylva, Count and Countess of thePays de Caux,I offer this esteemed tribute.Skál!”
After hearty cheers and thunderous applause, Thorfinn toasted the trio of couples who had just exchanged vows. “To my daughter Elfi,la Louve Blanche,Shieldmaiden ofChâteau Blanc,and her husband Njörd,Wolf of the Nordic Seas,son of the Ljósálfar queen.Skál!”
As Elfi sipped her horn of mead, and Njörd squeezed her hand under the table, herammaOda graced her with a grandmotherly smilewhile herfaðircontinued the wedding toasts.
“To Skjöld, theSon of the Dragonand his bride Skadi—Ljósálfarhealer and fearsomefrostdragon, whose power turned the tide at Ólafsvík.Skál!”
Seated among the wedding guests, Elfi spotted Njáll and Luna, the black and white contrast of their clothing and hair color an magnificent as obsidian and moonstone gems. Nearby, among theÚlfhéðnar, Úlf’s great grey wolfskin shimmered like the frost of Skadi’s fox fur wedding cloak.
Thorfinn concluded the wedding toasts with a tribute to Bodo and Sif.
