Skarth also sacrificed so much for his people, and he will be damned if it’s all in vain.
His honor has me loving him so much more.
It’s been so long since I last saw him, I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like. However, I think this may be the case for me when it comes to coping with the loss.
I push aside my sorrows and focus on what’s important—and that’s finding Skarth any way I can.
Halfdan has strayed quite far from his home. But this isn’t unusual for a Dane. Skarth once told me that young men are expected to venture alone and fend for themselves to introduce them into manhood. Tales of fighting bears to the death with their bare hands, to hearing their gods talk to them, are vast amongst the Vikings, and I wonder if my sons will also want to partake in their heritage.
The thought of them only has me riding faster and harder because time isn’t on our side.
Daneland is prosperous thanks to the treaty I signed with the Vikings. We coexist because the Vikings have proven far too strong to fight. This was the only way for peace in England. However, many Saxons hate me for my decision.
They would rather fight and sacrifice the lives of thousands of men than cohabit with the Danes.
I know many have tried to incite an uprising amongst their men, but no army is big enough to defeat the Danes. Their numbers only grow. They do not attempt to overthrow me because of the agreement we have in place.
And also, because of Skarth.
They fear the wrath he will deliver unto those who dare challenge the laws which protect both Saxon and Dane.
In this territory, Dane customs, laws, and power have overthrown those of the Saxons. So I am merely a visitor and am expected to abide by their rules, just as if a Dane were to set foot in my kingdom.
The Danes are resilient. This is evident in the produce and greenery that surrounds me. They have planted many edible plants and herbs, ones that thrive. It’s rather astounding to see, and it gives me great satisfaction knowing I was a part of this flourishing.
Beyond the greenery, I see something in the distance—a large village.
Lord Louis instantly rides ahead, forever the protector of his queen. But it is here where I feel most at home.
I often wonder if I am more Dane than Saxon because I never considered their customs taboo or even strange. I understood them and saw the cleverness in their practices, both in war and farming. They are a culture we can learn from, yet to my countrymen, they are nothing but heathens.
Halfdan cups his mouth and lets out a call. It’s akin to a bird. I know this is to let his tribespeople know he has returned.
The energy soon vibrates down my spine as we get closer. I take it all in. I am proud to be a part of history. This place exists because Skarth and I sacrificed our love.
We’ve bettered the lives of Saxons and Danes, but what of ours? When I see little children run toward us, eyes wide with curiosity, I long for my children to be able to experience this as well.
These are their people, yet they are unable to learn from them. What cruel world do we live in?
Men and women watch us closely, but when they see the pendant hanging from my neck, their hostility turns to curiosity. We ride until we reach a large square area in the middle of the village. I know this is where Vikings settle whatever scores they may have with one another…until the death.
And I’ve seen the very creative ways they deliver that fate, for I delivered it onto King Egbert when he was executed by my hand, by the only punishment he deserved. His death may be honorable amongst the Northmen, but a blood-eagle death means that King Egbert’s soul will forever roam restless, unable to find peace, as he will not be able to enter heaven, having died a Pagan’s death.
The memory of his ribs cracking open with precision as I peeled them from his body, spreading him wide, leaves my heart a fluttering mess.
I’ve condemned his soul for an eternity, and I would do it again if given the chance.
I cluck my tongue, and on command, my horse stops. As do the horses of the others. We give the villagers the respect they deserve since we are visitors in their homeland. I will respect their wishes if they want us to leave, but not before the questions I seek are answered.
We don’t waver, although we are not welcome.
Most look at me with new eyes, for they have not seen the Viking Princess in the flesh. But when I hear a voice in the distance, nostalgia tackles me.
But it’s not the good kind.
“The notorious princess returns. It saddens me that talks of you suffering a horrible death were just a rumor,” says Inga, an old friend, but more so a foe.
I wish I could be happy to see her, but I am not.
