Eg gjev deg din odel (I give you your heritage)

Om du vil ha (If you want it)

Den fer ikkje fra (It will not leave)

Wardruna, "Odal"

–

"News has arrived from Francia, at last."

A howling wind raged outside the longhouse, battering the walls; Winter had arrived in the Northern lands, settling in like a cantankerous babe, although Elsa didn't mind. She preferred the cold and unsettled climate.

The chieftain stood in front of the large wooden table that had once belonged to Ulf, the son of Dagr, shuffling lit candles and parchments around to better view the hand-drawn map of the Rhineland that had been spread out on the table's surface. She was dressed in a heavy, regal shift of deep royal blue trimmed with white fur, forgoing a cloak in lieu of the raging fire at the center of the room that did well enough to warm the air; her pale hair was braided in a rope that draped over her chest as she bent over to work, a simple bronze circlet perched atop her crown.

Her husband stood off to the side, watching his wife work with arms crossed and a bemused half-smile marring his expression. "What news?"

"The kingdom has been split," Elsa answered, straightening up and gesturing with her hand for Hans to move closer so as to see better. When he sidled up beside her, she couldn't deny the tingle that ran through her when his arm touched hers.

"Here, the noble families have divided the country so," she continued, drawing imaginary lines on the map with her fingertips to demonstrate. "They've appointed a new king in Aachen, but the letter I've received from Gerda claims that not all are content with the choice. There is much unrest, particularly in the western lands."

"It seems we'll need a new map, then, if we're to raid once the ice thaws." Hans murmured, his bored tone betraying his disinterest as he consulted his own documents to the side of the table before abandoning them.

"Who says that we'll be continuing such a barbaric practice?" Elsa countered.

"We need resources." Hans shrugged his shoulders. "Raiding is how we acquire those resources. Raiding is as essential to Viking culture as blóts (sacrifice rituals for worship) or holmgangs. Instilling Christian virtues in the pagan Norsemen may not be an easy task. Not only that, but there are many warring clans in the North; if we don't raid, they will."

Elsa set her lips in a flat line. "A change for good must start with one clan. We should start searching for more legitimate ways to achieve our ends sooner rather than later."

"You could always claim your birthright and take the kingdom back," Hans offered as he stepped to stand behind Elsa.

"That's not what I meant." Elsa shook her head. "Maybe someday we can return to Aachen, but first the North and her forces must become self-sustaining. We cannot rely on raiding for wealth much longer. We cannot be strong as long as we are dependent on it."

Seemingly distracted, Hans pressed himself against his wife's backside, reaching his lips down to plant kisses along her neck and shoulder, pulling her gown open to reveal her slightly distended abdomen and breasts as he did so.

"I've had enough of politics for one day," Hans sighed, leaning to bury his nose in his wife's hair, inhaling her scent of cloves and mint. "I'm exhausted of it."

Elsa couldn't stop the annoyed smile that spread across her face, nor the warmth that spread from her face to her bosom at her husband's attentions. "You cannot be exhausted of politics when you're the chieftain's advisor and confidant."

"Tonight, I desire only to be the chieftain's husband."

"Only for tonight?"

"For tonight and every night that you'll have me," he whispered against the shell of her ear. Elsa shuddered and turned to face him, her lips brushing his before pulling back.

"You've already gotten me with child," Elsa chided, stroking her exposed stomach with the palm of her hand, revering the life that grew within her. "What more could you possibly want, Hans, Son of Dagr?"

Hans crouched down to place a tender kiss over their sleeping bairn, before rising steadily to kiss between her breasts, finally standing fully to kiss his wife on the mouth.

"I want you."

–

The bitter winter air nipped at Anna's exposed face as she made her way across the homestead. The day was not nearly over, and yet a night-like darkness had already fallen across the land; a common phenomenon in the North during the winter months, she had come to learn. Gripping her cloak tighter around herself to guard herself and her unborn babe from the elements, she arrived to the small hut at the edge of the homestead at long last, finding that her steps were slowing with each passing day; her stomach was swollen with her pregnancy, protruding from her small frame nearly as far as she could reach with her arm.

Throwing the curtain flap open behind herself, Anna entered the dimly-lit dwelling. The fire in the middle of the small room was nearly out, and so she set about rekindling it before doing anything else. The elderly man asleep on the cot in the corner coughed and stirred, grumbling something incoherent in Norse under his breath; the sickness was taking him quickly.

Once she had gotten the fire going again, Anna moved to kneel beside the cot, pulling out the bowl of bone broth and cup of water that she had carried with her.

"Grand Pabbie," she greeted, reaching her hand out to feel his forehead with the back of her hand; she pushed his damp hair away from his leathery face. "How are you feeling?"

"I am not long for this world, child," he rasped.

"Can you eat?" She held the bowl out to him, but he shunned it with a turn of his face on the pillow, as though it were some evil temptation. She set it aside, knowing that it would be fruitless to try to convince the old shaman otherwise.

Grand Pabbie had fallen ill just before Kristoff had left on his journey to the Orient, to resume the merchantry once practiced by his father. Anna's husband had been reluctant to go, considering the circumstances, but she had convinced him with the promise that he would return before their child was due to be born. It had been difficult for both of them to be apart for so long, but necessary if they were to accumulate the wealth they would need to survive without participating in Southern raids.

In the time that Kristoff had been gone, his grandfather's condition had only worsened; his ability for coherent speech had gradually left him, until he could scarcely speak a single lucid word. His once sharp mind continuously wavered between Midgard and Helheim; when he did speak, he spoke of demons and valkyries coming to take him, among other strange, unearthly things.

Kristoff would be returning from the trade routes any day; Anna only hoped and prayed that Grand Pabbie's connection to the mortal realm would not be severed before he got to see his grandson again.

"Give me your hand," the elderly man demanded suddenly.

Anna obliged, snaking her petite hand into his own wrinkled palm; he grasped it weakly and turned back to face her, his silver eyes clouded over and focused on nothing, but seeing something beyond the plane inhabited by the living.

"The South was never meant to be your home," he whispered, his gravelly voice low. "It may have been the land of your kinsmen, where you were born, and a place you once lived, but the North was always destined to become your true home. You have heard of Urðr?"

Anna nodded, swallowing thickly; he continued speaking, forcing the words out with the last of his strength.

"The Fate of every living creature is decided for us. We are powerless to stop it or change it; even the gods themselves cannot alter its path."

He patted her hand, as though to emphasize the severity of his following words: "You and Kristoff were destined to be together. Your fates and lives were forever intertwined, from the day that you met as children."

Anna furrowed her brows in contemplation. "Kristoff has mentioned that before, that we met as children, but I don't remember."

"You remember," Grand Pabbie insisted softly. "You do."

He gestured for Anna to learn forward, and she did, close enough for the shaman to touch her forehead; a vision was instantly conjured from behind her eyes, playing in her mind's eye like a long-forgotten memory. She could clearly see a young boy with a mop of unkempt, golden hair, looking down at her with curious brown eyes. He reached down, touching his hand to Anna's forehead, before brushing his knuckles across her cheek to push a lock of red-gold hair away from her face. He paused then, gently pinching the hair between his fingers, eyeing it curiously.

Anna hadn't realized that tears had sprung to her eyes until one slipped down her cheek; Grand Pabbie tenderly stroked it away with a shaky finger.

"Don't forget how far you've come."

Anna nodded again, unsure of what to say. Her head felt light with the memory he had shown her. He gave her a final smile, before settling in to sleep without another word; Anna stayed a few minutes longer with the silent man until she had gathered her wits about her enough to leave.

Outside the dwelling, the darkness seemed even blacker than when Anna had arrived. She moved at a hesitant pace away from the small house, looking back only once when a strange feeling of foreboding washed over her; she felt the realization that this would be the final time she'd see Grand Pabbie alive and it weighed heavy on her heart all the way back to her own home.

Feeling weary from the events of the afternoon, Anna opened the solid wooden door with difficulty, leaning her entire body against it to give her enough leverage to swing it open enough for her to slip inside.

She felt his presence before she saw him.

As soon as the door was secured behind her, Anna found herself face-to-face with the blond locs and warm brown eyes that she had been missing for so long.

"Kristoff." She breathed out his name like a prayer, feeling the fresh spring of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes once more. Suddenly her entire frame of vision was consumed by him, her mind swimming in emotions of love and longing as her heart thumped madly against her rib cage. He cupped her face in his large hands, still cold from the elements, and claimed her mouth with his own in a passionate, needy kiss; Anna kissed her husband back with just as much further, her tears falling unchecked in rivers from her eyes.

When he pulled back at last, Kristoff's face tightened with concern at seeing the wetness on her face. He believed them to be tears of joy at their reunion until he saw her choke back a sob.

"What is it, Ǫndōttr Brók? Has something happened? Is something wrong?"

With an embarrassed laugh, Anna shook her head, wiping at her wet cheeks with her fingertips. "There is nothing to worry yourself about, Kristoff. Everything is as it should be."

"Then what could be the cause of this?" Kristoff swiped the pad of his thumb over his wife's trembling lip, removing the salt drop that sought shelter there. "I've been gone so many months. I thought you'd be happy. Did you forget me?"

In truth, Anna was beyond happy. Even the gods could not make her any happier than she was in that moment. Brushing the golden locs away from Kristoff's honeyed eyes to see them better, she smiled up at her husband, as dear to her as the babe that kicked and pushed restlessly within her womb, due into the world any day.

"No; I remember you."

–

It's done. I'm not incredibly happy with the ending, but my anxiety over this story has made it difficult to finish. I may come back to it at some point, but for now, thank you for reading and reviewing. I appreciate you all more than you know!