Talk about Throwback Thorsday! It's been more than a year since this fic was completed (October 9, 2014).

If you're reading this for the first time: Welcome! I hope you enjoy reading Enthralled as much as I enjoyed researching and writing it. I am not an expert on the Viking Age—just a Standard Nerd™. Some of the names have been slightly modified to make them sound more Old Norse or Old English, but don't let that discourage you. So far, the feedback has been positive. (Note that the letters þÞ and Ðð, still used in the Icelandic alphabet today, are pronounced similar to "th".)

If you're an old friend revisiting an old fic: Since this fic was completed, I've made some minor edits for clarity. Also, in attempting to shorten the author's notes, I've made some of them... even longer. Whoops.

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CHAPTER ONE

Warrior

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By the time the summer raids came to an end and the Northmen set sail for home, Gæl Hallvardson desired nothing more but to sacrifice a thousand goats, and possibly the Christian priest Peeta, to Odin the All-Father.

They had lost many men, perhaps the most in recent memory, but all who survived agreed it had been a successful journey. For Gæl, it was especially so. Though it was but the third time he had gone a-viking, the eighteen-year-old was already one of the finest fighters in Tolv, and he was given ever higher shares of whatever booty they obtained. It was also no small matter that, as apprentice to the shipwright Beetee, Gæl had helped build their longboats with his own two hands. The sleek vessels were lighter, faster, more capable, and it filled the young man with pride in a way that no amount of silver could.

But the gods in their wisdom do not grant happiness easily, and there was good cause for the scowl that seemed permanently etched onto the young warrior's handsome features. Chief among his troubles was the shieldmaiden sitting a ways from him, mending her arrows and listening patiently to Jórunnr's increasingly embellished recollections of her exploits.

In truth, Gæl had never noticed Katnisse until his fourteenth year. She was two years his junior, and she was nothing like the other girls who flocked to Gæl gushing about his strength or his cleverness. She had no time nor patience for frivolity; she had eyes only for her little sister Prim.

Then, one summer, her father and Gæl's sailed away on the longboats, never to return alive.

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ooo

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"They are in Valhalla now," Gæl said as they watched the funeral pyres blaze. "It is better to die in battle, than on your back on straw like a cow."

"I do not care about Valhalla," Katnisse replied bitterly, then all of twelve years old. "My family needs my father more than the gods do."

The son of a Northman is always ready to take his father's place, but even so it was not easy for Gæl with two young brothers and a newborn sister. He was fortunate that his mother was strong, having been a shieldmaiden almost until the day she gave birth to her third son, but Katnisse's heartbroken mother had become sickly and frail. He could only wonder how her family was getting by.

He did not have to wonder for long. When Gæl ventured into the woods to catch some game, he witnessed Katnisse's hunting skills for the first time.

"That is mine," Katnisse warned him, training her bow on Gæl as the older boy crouched down to inspect the fallen deer.

"I am not here to steal your deer," Gæl said as he removed the arrow from the creature's eye. "I am here to offer a trade."

And so their partnership began. Gæl taught Katnisse to set snares, and Katnisse taught Gæl to use a bow and arrow. Their households shared their meat and their crops, their homespun and their furs, and while they were never wealthy, it was enough to stave off the hunger and cold of deepest winter.

Throughout all of this, Katnisse was blossoming into a beautiful young woman, and Gæl's admiration for her skill and self-sufficiency grew into love. In his sixteenth summer, Gæl decided that it was time to ask for her hand in marriage. It was customary to ask her father but, under the circumstances, Katnisse was already the head of her household.

"Katnisse," he said one night. "Tomorrow I go a-viking for the first time. It may be that I will not return."

She nodded gravely. "I will take care of your family, the way you have taken care of mine. It will not be easy, but you have taught Róry and Vik well."

It was not the reaction for which Gæl had hoped, but he continued. "I am grateful for you. I could not have asked for a better partner. I only pray that you could be by my side at all times. Even as I fight, I will imagine that you are there, protecting me."

A slow smile bloomed on her lips. "If that is true, Gæl Hallvardson, your prayers will soon be answered."

Her words gave him pause. Gæl had extraordinary woman-luck, as his friend Bristl had called it, but Katnisse had never shown any interest...

"Your mother and mine are already in agreement," Katnisse informed him. "I am young still, only fourteen, so perhaps we will wait until the springtime."

He clasped her hands. "Is this true?"

She nodded, her eyes shining with happiness. "Yes, by Thor, it is true."

Overcome with joy, Gæl took her in his arms and crushed her body to his. She laughed as she returned his embrace. Encouraged by this, he lowered his head to hers, eager to claim what he knew to be her first kiss.

"Stop!" Katnisse said, pushing him away. "What are you doing?"

He looked at her questioningly. "What does it look like I am doing? I am kissing my future bride."

She took a step back, her hand to her mouth. "I am not your future bride!"

"But you said—in the spring—" he faltered.

Katnisse's face went crimson. "I was speaking of training, Gæl. My mother has agreed to let me train as a shieldmaiden. Your mother has told the jarl about my skill and strength, and he believes I will be an asset to the shield wall. I can protect you with my bow while you fight with sword and ax. Was that not your wish?"

"No—yes," he said. "Your bow can lead any army to victory. I will be honored to raid with you. But you can be a shieldmaiden and my wife at the same time. One does not exclude the other."

Katnisse's eyes filled with tears. "I am sorry," she whispered. "I care for you deeply, but I do not want to marry."

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"You look troubled, Geilir," Finnbjorn said, taking a seat next to Gæl. The winds were strong and there was no need to man the oars.

Gæl frowned at the handsome, bronze-haired warrior. "I have told you many times. Do not call me that."

Finn chuckled. "I am surprised your parents did not give you that name themselves. It suits you so."

"I am not in the mood for idle chatter," Gæl grumbled.

Finn followed Gæl's gaze to Katnisse and Jórunnr. "It is always difficult to fight alongside your beloved, but you have no reason to worry. She did well on her first raid. I have never seen such skill with the bow."

Gæl never spoke of his feelings, but he found himself speaking freely with Finn. "She is my beloved, but I am not hers. She says she does not want to marry."

In a low voice, Gæl added: "And yet I see the way she looks at the priest."

"Ah." Finn nodded sagely. "A fortunate thing, then, that the priest's god forbids him to love a woman."

Gæl grunted, shifting his attention to the priest in question. Gone were the strange robes; the young Saxon was now clad in a simple shirt and breeches. With his blond curls tied back and the beginnings of a beard on his cheeks and chin, Peeta no longer looked terribly out of place among the Northmen. He had been captured just the year before, and Finn himself had almost dealt the fatal blow before the priest began sputtering in broken Norse.

The jarl and his wife Eyfri took Peeta into their household as a thrall—a slave—but it quickly became evident that Haymið valued the intelligent young man as something of an adviser. The jarl did not allow Peeta to baptize anyone, but he permitted him to grow his hair long, to distinguish him from other slaves. Haymið himself insisted that Peeta join future raids as a translator.

Even now, the jarl and the priest were deep in conversation, their heads bent towards each other. Occasionally, they would look over their shoulders at the captives they had of late taken from the kingdom of Panym.

"Haymið has something of a fascination with foreigners," Gæl observed.

"I understand he spent a month among their people, in his youth," Finn said. "It was his first raid and he had gotten separated from the group. A Saxon girl tended his wounds until he was rescued. It is said he was in love with her."

Gæl scoffed. "I find that difficult to believe. The jarl worships his wife as if she were Freyja herself."

Finn smirked. "It is the truth, I assure you. But Eyfri has nothing to fear. We both know a Saxon woman cannot compare to those in the North. One only has to look at my Anni, or your Katnisse, to know this is true." He paused. "Of course, there is always the exception."

Without looking, Gæl knew of whom Finn was speaking. The reason this summer's raids had been so profitable was that they had chanced upon a nobleman's wedding feast, with all the silver, gold, and jewels that entailed. But there was no doubt that the biggest prize of all was the bride herself, with her flowing locks of gold and eyes of deepest sapphire. Even calm, steady Thome had been ready to fight the berserker Cato for her. Haymið had to order them to stop before he lost any more of his best men.

"She is called the lady Margaretha," Finn said, as if reading his mind. "Her husband—the man with the strange beard, the one whose throat you cleaved—was the son of the earl, whom you killed as well. Her family had fallen out of favor with the king, and it was hoped that the earl would grant her protection."

"How is it that you know all of this, Finn?" Gæl asked.

Finn smiled, dimples deepening in his cheeks. "There is something about me that makes people want to tell me their secrets." He popped a berry into his mouth. "But in this instance, I asked the priest. He had spoken to her earlier and soothed her fears. Haymið has ordered that she not be harmed."

Gæl nodded. Important captives were often ransomed for a high price, especially if they were Christian. It was not surprising that Lady Margaretha would be sold back to her people thus.

"That is good. I hope her family pays her weight in gold," he said. "If I am lucky, she will take the priest along with her, seeing as they have become fast friends."

Finn looked at him in amusement. "She has no family. King Coriolan executed her father and mother. The earl and his son are dead by your own hand. Haymið plans to keep Lady Margaretha in Tolv, as a thrall."

Gæl felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl. "That is a shame. Well, if nothing else, it shall be entertaining to watch the men fight to have her."

"We have lost too many men this summer. Haymið will not allow it. He will decide for himself, and he will have the last word."

"I do not envy the jarl's duties. I would not know to whom I should give her." Thome was his friend, but Cato was dangerous when he did not get what he wanted. And they were only two men out of many, many more.

"It is quite straightforward, in fact," Finn said slyly. "Tradition decrees that the bride shall be given to the man who killed her husband."

Gæl's face grew ashen. "You cannot mean..."

Finn clapped him on the back. "May the gods be ever in your favor, Gæl Hallvardson."

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A/N:

Fans of History Channel's Vikings will have guessed that Athelstan inspired me to make Peeta a monk.

It is unlikely that women regularly joined the raids in real life, but the ladies of THG are such badass fighters that it just made sense to have shieldmaidens in this AU.

Tolv is Danish/Norwegian/Swedish for "twelve".

Geilir, Finn's nickname for Gæl, means "fiery, hot-tempered". It can also mean "yeller, howler", which I'd like to think has something to do with gale meaning "a strong wind".

Many thanks to epipole for the correction; I've removed the reference to Uppsala from the first paragraph.

If these author's notes haven't bored you yet, I am damndonnergirls on Tumblr. You can find research notes and other commentary in my #previously on enthralled tag.