At the back of the vast Great Hall, upon an elevated wooden dais, stood an elaborateöndvegi,its high oaken back intricately carved with the same snarling wolf with sapphire eyes and pair of ravens with amber orbs as the crown which now sat upon Sigurd’s blond head.
He strode across the rush-strewn wooden floor, climbed the steps of the dais, and settled onto the wolf and raven throne which had belonged to both hisfaðir, King Sigmund, and hisafi,King Völsung, who had first builtBránnstaðrshöllas the royal fortress of Lindesnes.
And now, at long last, it was his.
As Sigurd sat in theöndvegiof his ancestors’ royal hall, the Völsung crown upon his head, the reforged swordGramrat his hip, pride surged through his Sea Wolf veins.
He had avenged hisfaðir’sdeath by slaying King Lyngvi of Götaland.
He had aided hisbroðirAgnar in defending Bjarkhölm against Lyngvi’s vassal king Hjálmgunnar.
He had reclaimed his ancestral lands of Lindesnes and the Völsung crown.
Theouroborosblazed withdragonfireabove his triumphant lupine heart.
A white-haired steward approached the royal dais and bowed before Sigurd. “My king, I am Bávörr,brytiof Bránnstaðrshöll. I shall organize a coronation feast for this evening.” He clapped his hands, and servants appeared. “Roast six boars,” he barked at several young men, obviously cooks from the kitchens. He turned toward a pair of old women, white wimples on their grey heads, aprons draped around plump bodies. “Grill fish, steam seafood…prepare venison stew… oat cakes with honey, bilberry tartes, platters of fresh fruit. Make haste!”
“The bathhouses are behind the hall,” Bávörr hollered to the gathered crowd. “Longhouses to lodge the warriors…my men will escort you there.” He gestured to fourhúskarlarwaiting along the wall, who led a stream of armored men out the enormous double doors. Thebrytibowed before Agnar, Kveld, Gunnar, and Högni, then to theSjórúlfarcaptains. “Please follow my men to your private quarters.” He gestured for other attendants to approach, who humbly led the honored guests to chambers beyond the dais.
As harried servants hastened to prepare for an unexpected feast, Bávörr bowed again before Sigurd. “My king, please follow me to the royal chambers.”
Heart hammering like Mjöllnir, Sigurd followed his steward down the dim hall.
* * * *
That evening, as notes from lyres and lutes floated in the salt-laced air, Sigurd feasted with Agnar, Gunnar, Högni, Hródvarr, Kveld Nightwolf, and theSjórúlfarcaptains at the high table. The newly trained Sea Wolves who would remain at Lindesnes and defend it for Sigurd sat at trestle tables below the dais, alongside Tryggvi, Hálfdan, and the warriors from Bjarkhölm, Burgundy, and Sjóborg.
As he savored the roast boar, grilled haddock, and venison stew, Sigurd made plans to remain at Bránnstaðrshöll for half a moon before returning to Sjöborg. He wanted to meet his people, visit villages in Lindesnes, offer parcels of land for his Sea Wolves to build longhouses for warriors, huts for men seeking wives, farms to produce crops, and merchant shops for blacksmiths, armorers, tanners, bakers, and shipwrights.
From his ornate elkhorn—embossed with the same wolf and ravens as the silver crown atop his head and theöndvegithrone where he now proudly sat— Sigurd downed a hearty gulp ofBilbermjödRoyal Mead, uniquely flavored with birch bark, bilberries, and juniper.
A young warriorskáldappeared, clutching a wooden harp, intricately carved with wolves, ravens, and runes. Tall and broad, clad in a grey wolf pelt over a deep blue tunic, his long blond hair was braided with blue beads on top, the sides of his head cleanly shaven and intricately inked in blue. Woven into his golden beard, lapis beads glinted in the incandescent light.
“King Sigurd Sea Wolf,” the bard intoned, his melodic voice mellow as the rich notes he strummed from his engraved harp,“I have composed a saga of your epic deeds—the slaying of the emerald dragon Fáfnir, the defeat of the Eagle King Lyngvi, and the reclaiming of the Völsung crown. May I sing for you, that all men may remember the courage of ourDragonslayer King?”
Sigurd leaned back in hisöndvegi,Blárúlfrglimmering upon his shoulders, the silver circlet upon his brow displaying the glory of his ancestral Völsung line. As pride surged through his lupine veins, he flashed a wolfish grin at the warriorskáld. “By the gods, a song would indeed please your new king,” he bellowed, raising his elkhorn high. “Sing for us,skáld! And if your saga moves my royal blood brothers and mySjórúlfar,then I shall name youSkáldof Sigurd Sea Wolf, Völsung King of Lindesnes!”
Amidst raucous cheers, howls from Sea Wolves, and roars from Agnar’s bear warriors, the tattooed harpist began to play.
“Listen now, o sons of sea and fjord,
To the Saga of Sigurd Sea Wolf,
Son of Sigmund, heir of Völsung blood,
Dragonslayer of Sjóborg.
BeneathGramr’swolf-blooded steel
Did the emerald dragon fall,
And from Fáfnir’s lair inGnitaheiðr,
Winged helm, treasure trove, and goldenbrynjaclaimed.
Now the bronze eagle of Lyngvi lies broken,
And the wolf crown of Lindesnes
