Budli raised a curious eyebrow at the sight of the oaken trunk. His scrutinizing gaze raked over Sigurd, taking in the silver crown with snarling wolf and perched ravens, the goldenbrynja, gleaming like the sun, the sheathed swordGramr, withÚlfblóðr’ssnarling wolf head hilt. With a firm nod indicating acceptance, the Raven King gestured to Ulric Ironshield and his awaitinghúskarlar. “My men will show you to private quarters,” he said to Kveld, Gunnar, Högni, Tryggvi, and Hálfdan. “The crews of your three ships may lodge in the longhouses for warriors. All are welcome for tonight’s feast.”
As he prepared to leave, Kveld spoke quietly into Sigurd’s ear. “Phrase your request through flattery. Budli thrives on glory.” Ducking his black-bearded chin, the Nightwolf retreated, following thehúskarlarthrough the enormous double exit doors to guest quarters down the hall.
Budli gestured for Sigurd to join him at the high table. The Raven King motioned for royal servants to bring horns of mead, then waited until they withdrew before turning toward Sigurd. Apprehension and vigilance glinted in his regal gaze, and his thick brow furrowed in concern. “You have your private audience. Now speak.”
Sigurd took a long pull of mead to slake his sudden thirst. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gestured to the locked wooden chest on the floor below the dais. “I have come to offer a bride price for Brynhildr and formally request her hand.”
Budli bellowed with guttural laughter. When his mirth subsided, he sat back in his raven-carvedöndvegiand shook his head in disbelief. “You had the chance to win her hand at the Sólhjarta Tournament,” he smirked, downing a hearty gulp of mead. “But you chose to kneel at her feet rather than strike her down. It is too late to ask for her hand now, Sigurd Sea Wolf. My Brynhildr rides with the Valkyries. Her hand is no longer mine to bestow.”
Sigurd weighed his words carefully, remembering Kveld’s warning. “At the tournament, I could not strike the woman I loved. I knelt before Brynhildr and sacrificed my own glory for hers, so that she would rise as a Valkyrie. In return, Brynhildr has done the same for me.”
The Raven King’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and incomprehension. “I do not understand. Explain.”
“As a Valkyrie, she spared a king in a decisive battle. Agnar, the Bear of Bjarkhölmthat I defeated in the championship of the Sólhjarta Tournament. The one whom you gifted theSólvörnarmor and sunburst shield.”
Budli nodded, his brow still crumpled with concern. “I remember. Continue.”
“As Freyja’sdóttir,Brynhildr’s powers ofseiðrfar surpassed the other Valkyries. She foresaw that I would reforge myfaðir’ssword and slay the dragon Fáfnir. And that Agnar would aid me in my quest to reclaim the Völsung lands of my birthright and the crown of Lindesnes.” Sigurd held Budli’s bewildered, belligerent gaze. “Brynhildr sacrificed her own glory for mine. She saved Agnar instead of Hjálmgunnar in the Battle of Bjarkhölm. As punishment for her defiance, Odin stripped her Valkyrie wings and shieldmaiden skills, cursing her with frozen sleep within aRing of Fire. I saved her, delivered her to Heimir of Hlymdalir, and promised that I would return to bring her home to Norway as my queen.” Sigurd rose from his seat at the high table, leapt from the dais onto the pinewood floor, and unlocked the heavy trunk with a key at his waist.
When he opened the curved lid to reveal the golden coins and glittering gems, Sigurd held Budli’s astounded gaze. “This is themundrbride price I offer you for Brynhildr. It came from Fáfnir’s hoard. I love yourdóttir,King Budli. And formally request her royal hand.”
Too stunned to speak, Budli opened and closed his agape mouth like a floundering fish. His ravenous gaze feasted on Sigurd’s exorbitant offer. After a few moments, he regained his royal composure and flashed a greedy, gloating grin. “I shall be honored to call you son,” he rumbled, his florid face flushed with delight. “I hereby grant you Brynhildr’s royal hand—and I shall announce your betrothal at tonight’s feast.” He rose on unsteady feet, raised his elkhorn high, and roared. “To your winter solstice wedding at Hrafnfjall!Skál!”
That evening, after a sumptuous feast of roast pheasant, grilled salmon, and steaming scallops, shrimp, and lobster, Budli announced the betrothal. Rising from his carvedöndvegi,where Sigurd sat at his side in the place of honor at the high table, the Raven King raised his hand to silence the jubilant throng.
When hushed murmurs of anticipation swept over the hall, Budli’s rich bellow resounded like a bronze bell. “Let all who feast here tonight rejoice, for Sigurd Sea Wolf—Dragonslayer of Sjóborg and Völsung King of Lindesnes—has requested the hand of mydóttirBrynhildr!” He paused as murmurs of astonishment rippled through the royal guests.
“My Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden has willingly shed her Valkyrie wings to wed her beloved Sea Wolf and become his queen,” Budli boomed with a proud paternal grin. He lifted his embellished elkhorn above his raven-crowned russet head. “I hereby announce their betrothal and upcoming royal wedding—to take place here at Hrafnfajll, upon the Winter Solstice. To Sigurd Sea Wolf and Brynhildr, King and future Queen of Lindesnes!”
As roars of approval and shouts of “Skál!” thundered through the throng, Budli resumed his seat upon the throne and motioned for his royalskáld.The tall, russet-haired poetKjartan entertained Hrafnfjall with his glorious song of tribute,Dragonslayer’s Valkyrie, the saga of Sigurd and Brynhildr.
While he savored the mellow flavor of the honeyed mead and the rich notes of theskáld’smelodic song, Sigurd inclined his head reverently to Yrsa, seated on Budli’s left side. Her haunting face painted with deep blue woad and blackened runes, thevölvawho had been Brynhildr’s mentor and guardian observed Sigurd with all-seeing, seeress eyes.
Lively musicians led the exuberant crowd and jovial king from the festive hall out onto the flagstone courtyard to dance around an enormous bonfire. As Sigurd followed Gunnar, Högni, and Kveld Nightwolf toward the steps to descend the dais, Yrsa grasped his hand to halt him.
She traced a skeletal fingertip over the wedding band that Kveld had carved which sat upon Sigurd’s hand. The etched images of wolf, falcon, and dragon glimmered in the firelight, and theouroborosupon Sigurd’s chest pulsed withseiðrat her potent touch.
When she gazed up at him, the whites around her deep blue eyes made them stand out from her woad-painted face. “When the time comes,” she whispered, her otherworldly gaze leaving Sigurd and fixing upon the Nightwolf, who had stopped to listen, “I shall aid you.”
Kveld solemnly inclined his dark, wolfskin-clad head.
When Yrsa released Sigurd’s shaking hand, he followed the silentvitkiout into the starlit night.
As he watched Gunnar, Högni, Tryggvi, and Hálfdan dance with lovely maidens, memories of holding Brynhildr and swirling around the flames choked Sigurd with breathless longing. Restless, he wove among the jubilant crowd, making his way toward the wild rose and ivy-covered stone wall which shielded Brynhildr’s private courtyard.
The sweet floral fragrance of roses mingled with the salty scent of the sea. Sigurd gazed down to the shore beneath her private tower, where Kveld had carved the triplebindruneand they had shared the blood-laced mead.
Sigurd looked up at the balcony on the third floor of the tower above his head. The double oaken doors which led to her secluded chambers were closed over the moonlit fjord. Behind them, in her private quarters, he and Brynhildr had stood naked together, binding their blood oath to each other inseiðrand starlight. The sacred words he had sworn to her floated on the salty breeze.
My golden goddess…my Sun Falcon…my beloved Brynhildr. By all the gods, I swear that I shall love none but yon, in this life and the next.
Sigurd stared at the starlit sea which would carry him to Brynhildr. He gazed down at hisdrakkar, beached upon the pebbled shore below the cliff where he now stood.
AtÚlfalkr’scurved prow. the proud falcon stretched her carved wings, each feather intricately etched with wolves and runes that glimmered in the moonlight.
Soon, my love. I shall return for you at Hlymdalir. Bring you back here to Hrafnfjall for our winter solstice wedding. And once we are royally wed, crown you my Völsung queen.
His heart heavy with longing yet filled with hope, Sigurd returned to the feast.
