Brynhildr removed her amber leather gloves and stroked the soft white plumage, her eyes widened in wonder as they locked upon Sigurd.
Through theouroborosthat bound them withseiðr,her rapture flowed into his veins.
While murmurs of admiration and awe rippled through the crowd, Freyja lifted a radiant hand toward the sky and fluttered her slender fingers.
From beyond the sunlit clouds came a whoosh of wind and a thunder of hooves as a dazzling white-winged steed alighted on the crystal cliff.
“Himingdrápa—the Song of the Sky.” Freyja flicked her fingers again, and the magnificent horse approached, head bent to nuzzle her outstretched hand.
His sculpted muscles gleamed like carved ivory beneath the sunlight. The elongated feathers of his graceful wings were tipped with gold, like Brynhildr’s shimmering swan cloak. Intelligent eyes of ice blue sparkled like a pale, frosted sky. His long, flowing mane danced like liquid light in the summer solstice breeze. Even the crystals in the craggy cliff glistened in his divine presence.
While Sigurd—and the rapt crowd of Hrafnfjall— watched in breathless wonder,Himingdrápalowered his forelegs in a graceful bow, unfurled his enormous white wings, and dipped his head in homage to the Valkyrie who would ride him to Valhalla.
With a soft, melodic hum ofseiðrthat rippled through theouroboroson Sigurd’s pounding chest, Freyja summonedHimingdrápato her side. As she swept onto his winged back, the goddess called to Brynhildr.
“I shall return at dawn, to take you toFólkvangr, where you shall train with my Valkyries. Be ready, Sun Falcon. Until then…rejoice in your victory and glory!”
Golden hair gilded by the summer solstice sun, falcon cloak flapping in the salty breeze from the fjord, the goddess flew away on the white-wingedSong of the Sky.
Breath heaving, Sigurd sheathedÚlfblóðr, the steel sliding smoothly into its leather scabbard. Murmurs rippled throughthe astonished crowd, blending with the sharp cry of ravens circling above.
King Budli rose on the royal dais, lifting a bejeweled hand to command attention. “Tonight, we feast to honor mydóttirBrynhildr,the Sun Falcon Valkyrie!”
At the Raven King’s rally of triumph, the crowd cheered in thunderous applause.
“Skallagrímr, Skáld of the Sólhjarta Tournament, shall compose a song to honor her glory!” As Budli’s bellow rang across the cliff, warriors struck steel against shields.
“And we shall honor Sigurd Sea Wolf, the Champion of the Sólhjarta Tournament, who knelt in valor before a Valkyrie!”
TheSjórúlfarhowled in riotous roars of approval.
“And now, let the mock battles begin!” At Budli’s booming command and sweeping gesture, the crowd went wild, warriors racing toward the tournament field, eager to display their fighting skills before the appreciative throng.
Kings, jarls, and royal guests swarmed around Brynhildr like bees in a hive, praising her glory at being chosen as a Valkyrie.
Armored warriors flocked to Sigurd, eager to pledge their swords to the Champion of the Sólhjarta Tournament who had received the prestigiousdrakkarwarshipÚlfalkrfrom the generous Raven King.
The triumphant Sea Wolf of Sjóborg whose glory and legend had been forged by a golden Valkyrie.
While rough hands thumped his shoulders and shouts filled his ears, Sigurd’s heart thudded in proud agony as he beheld his radiant Sun Falcon.
Golden sunlight glimmered on her swan feather cloak andValkjósleiðrspear, her longing eyes locked on Sigurd across the cheering crowd.
He flashed her a courageous, wolfish grin.
Amid the roar of celebration, his hungry eyes held hers. To all of Hrafnfjall, they were both wreathed in glory. But theirsoulboundhearts ached with love and loss that no feast, no song, no triumph could soothe.
This is our last night together. I shall worship my golden goddess with every beat of my fierce lupine heart.
“Now that you have another ship, dozens of skilled swords sworn to follow you, a blood alliance with the Bear of Bjarkhölm…and all the gold and glory as Champion of theSólhjartaTournament… you’re finally ready to sail to Sweden and avenge yourfaðir’s death.” Grinning from ear to bearded ear, Eyvindr Waverunner wrapped a wolfskin-clad arm around Sigurd’s shoulder in rough affection. “Come…” he shouted into Sigurd’s ear, tugging him toward the tournament field where warriors hurled spears, threw axes at the target on the tree stump, and battled with swords before swooning maidens, watchful jarls, and cheering villagers. “There are many more skilled warriors, eager to pledge their swords to Sigurd the Sea Wolf of Sjóborg!”
Though he followed Eyvindr and joined theSjórúlfar,laughing with his wolf brothers and half-heartedly engaging in mock battles, Sigurd’s eyes never left Brynhildr. With her golden corslet, shimmering swan cloak, and glowingValkjósleiðrspear, she glinted like a goddess in the summer solstice sun.
His beloved Valkyrie was surrounded by glittering royalty.
Her beamingfaðir,King Budli, chattered proudly with King Álfr and Sigurd’smóðir,Queen Hjördis, alongside the resplendent King Eirikr and the radiant Princess Dagny. Shimmering silks, silver brooches, and studded crowns combined in a spectacle of royal pageantry.
When her gaze found his, theouroborosblazed with such painful, searing intensity, it stole his breath and buckled his knees.
