Forum Saradas
Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction => Muscular Women Fiction => Topic started by: bertmacklinsbrother on March 12, 2021, 01:48:36 pm
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Hello all. It has been a while since I posted any writing here. This was an idea for a story that I've been toying with. I wanted to do piece that was rooted in history with elements of mythology and fantasy. If you're interested in seeing it continue, drop me a comment and let me know!
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Freydis Eiriksdottir scowled at her brother Leif, watching as he rowed the massive wooden oar. He did not return her gaze, too ashamed to make eye contact after his act of cowardice. Freydis sat on the stern of the ship, letting salty mist splash against her face as they sailed against the waves. The black war paint that had lined her eyes now ran down her cheeks and her long red hair, knotted in its series of braids, was soaked through and dripping with ocean water. Her fiery locks hung down the right side of her head, slapping against the leather padding of her breastplate with each bounce of the ship.
After staring in every direction but hers, Leif finally looked at Freydis, gritting his teeth as he pulled the oar once again, helping the crew propel the ship through the sea. She noted the emotions in her brother’s eyes; relief, exhaustion, and regret. Good. He should regret abandoning their conquest only days after landing on the shores of Vinland. It was an action unbefitting of any Viking, let alone the Jarl of their people.
She counted 16 on their ship, including herself; an unfortunate loss compared to the 25 that had packed the deck of the longboat when leaving Greenland. The other ships in the fleet had suffered similar losses after the unexpected clash. Arrows, harpoons, and massive rocks had rained from the cliffs above the shore just as their boats landed. None of them had suspected such resistance from the locals. These Skraeling, as the survivors had dubbed them, were natives to the lands. They bore weapons made of wood and bone, and were adorned in thick animal pelts. Not a single weapon made of steel, and yet the fierce defense of their shores quickly repelled Leif’s men.
Upon Leif’s call to retreat, many bodies had to be left behind, littered with arrows and fishing harpoons, or left crushed by the large stones hurled from cliffside catapults. They did salvage the remains of a few of their best warriors. The corpses were wrapped in linen and oil, then stored down below in the cargo compartment with the barrels of food stores. The fallen would be given a proper funeral pyre upon their return to Greenland, so their spirits may dine in the halls of Valhalla.
Freydis could feel the frown plastered across her lips as she met her brother’s troubled eyes. She thought of the dead, and how they dishonored them by running away. An urge for battle swelled inside her chest; she wanted nothing more than to scream into the open air, leap from the boat and swim back to Vinland herself so she could strike down the foes that had ambushed them. Gods, if only she had the strength to do so, she would.
“Do not hate me, Freydis,” Leif said with a grunt as he pulled the oar in another long rowing motion, “I made this decision for the good of our people.”
“We should have stayed and fought,” Freydis stated plainly.
“A lot of men died already,” Leif sighed.
“And by fleeing,” Freydis yelled, “We ensure they died for nothing!”
Leif did not answer, and instead decided to focus on rowing. A few others who manned the oars exchanged glances. She could tell they were just as conflicted by the decision to leave a battle, though none would speak up against their Jarl. Only Freydis, the Jarl’s sister, would dare do such a thing.
As Vikings, they were supposed to be conquerors. It was their purpose to discover new lands and expand the reach of their beloved Greenland and to continue building prosperity and riches for their people. And most importantly, they were to win glory for the Aesir gods; for Odin, Thor, Frig, and Baldur. But after the unexpected ambush and a handful of deaths, Leif commanded everyone to board their ships and return home, like wolf pups with their tails between their legs. There was no glory to be had, and Freydis could feel the gods bowing their heads in disapproval.
Impatient, Freydis set her massive round shield on the deck with a thud, then removed her sword from its scabbard. Others on the ship gave her curious stares as she pulled a whetstone from her leather side pouch and began to run it down the length of the blade. A satisfying scraping of rock on steel rang in her ears. As soft as the sound was, it seemed to dominate the other noise. Waves crashing against the bow of the ship, birds squawking overhead, men grunting as oars slapped against the water’s surface; all faded into the background as her senses focused on her sword.
She knew the others were staring. It was probably an odd sight. Here she was, the lone shieldmaiden of the crew, preparing her weapon as if they were approaching a battle, not fleeing from it. No doubt they thought she had lost her mind. In fact, they’d probably use this moment as yet another excuse to belittle her; scoffing and whispering under their breath that war was no place for a woman. Freydis would ignore the comments, strengthened by the fact that she alone had urged them to stay and fight while the others had simply fled.
What had happened to them? Had they forgotten what their ancestors had fought for? Or of her father, Erik the Red? Perhaps after founding Greenland a few decades ago, her people had grown complacent. They were more focused on farming and raising children; content to live unexciting, comfortable lives. There was no more sense of wonder or adventure.
Leif had always teased Freydis on that account, saying that the homestead lifestyle offended her so much because she would never find a man to marry. True, she had always been more gruff than the other women, even among shieldmaiden. Freydis bore stark features that some might call masculine; a hard jawline, a nose that had been broken before, lips that bore a scar and were always drawn into a scowl. Not to mention her size. She was as strong as the average man and damn near as tall. Many men had sought to put her in her place by challenging her; and she had planted each of them into the ground of the sparring ring. Raised by her father to be a warrior, Freydis displayed an imposing figure and had little time to think about cooking or bearing children.
If only the others shared her spirit. Sure, many were still proud to call themselves Vikings; put an axe in their hand and they were one of the most dangerous beings on Midgard. But their lust for battle had been dampened over the years. And now, more than ever, Freydis was eager to find a way to spark that in her people once again.
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After several weeks on the open sea, finally they witnessed Greenland on the horizon, a spot of rocky land a mere half day away.
Home.
While Freydis still seethed at the thought of leaving Vinland behind, she couldn’t deny the welcome sight of those crested, icy mountains behind a line of forest trees. Smoke rose in the distance; the port city of Breidafjordur rife with activity. Erik the Red, Freydis and Leif’s father, had landed in that very spot when he founded Greenland decades ago. They were just children at the time, but since that day, Freydis had known she wanted to be a proper Viking like her father; an explorer, a discoverer, and a conqueror.
Her brother Leif sidled up next to her at the bow of the ship, watching as their home grew nearer with each crashing wave. As if knowing exactly what she had just been thinking, Leif spoke up with a sigh.
“You and I are so different,” he said, eyes focused forward, “We were both born of great expectations, to a father who wanted us to carry on his legacy. You’ve always embraced that destiny, whereas I never wanted it.”
Turning to face her, Leif’s expression was sour; regretful.
“I did not want to abandon our quest to take Vinland,” Leif said honestly, “But as our men fell around us, pierced with Skraeling spears and arrows, I got a feeling in my gut. It told me that it was all pointless. I watched our people die by the dozens; painful, horrible deaths. And all for what? All so we could be like father; Killing, taking, plundering, and settling lands we don’t even need. It makes no sense to me. Especially when we already have a beautiful home to call our own.”
He nodded towards the land in the distance.
“Greenland is our father’s legacy,” Freydis said solemnly, “A constant reminder of his achievements that propelled Vikings into the annals of history and gave us a new home. He will forever be loved and respected for that.”
Freydis noted the shocked look on her brother’s face as she felt her own expression darken.
“But I also hate him for that,” Freydis hissed, “Our people see me as nothing more than Erik the Red’s dutiful daughter. Even as I sail to battle to carve out my own path, people say that I’m merely living up to my father’s great expectations. By the gods, you said so as much mere moments ago.”
She set her jaw and grabbed Leif by the shoulders, staring into his blue eyes. Given their similarities, it was clear that her and Leif were siblings. Leif was only a few fingers taller than Freydis and they shared the same strong nose, jawline, stern expression, and a braided knot of long fiery hair; all inherited from their father, no doubt.
Though Freydis was more masculine looking than most women, she still had smooth features and a look that had been described to her as statuesque. She hardly considered herself beautiful in the supple ways that ladies were often regarded, but past lovers had confessed there was something alluring about her strong features. Leif, on the other hand, bore a far rougher face; skin almost looking leathery and even wrinkled around the eyes. Ruling Greenland had aged him considerably over the past few years. His eyebrows were also thicker and he proudly wore a full beard of brown and red. Though upon looking closely, she noted a few strands of grey flecked into his facial hair.
Despite their differences, she had trouble not seeing herself in her brother. At the same time though, when had he gotten so… old? They were both hardly into their 28th year. He looked tired; like the raging flame in his eyes had dulled into warm embers.
“What I do, I do for myself,” Freydis continued, “Father’s legacy be damned. I will make my own name, and it starts with Vinland. I don’t know when it happened, but you’ve become weak, brother. Too weak to lead our people. As Jarl, you have failed them by letting so many die while fleeing like a coward. But I will not fail.”
Freydis turned away. She knew that the things she had just said to her brother, to the Jarl of Greenland, could be taken as a challenge, and at the very least, traitorous. Memories of her fallen Vikings, bloodied and drowning in their own viscera in the shallow waters of the coast invaded her thoughts. The emotions were still raw and perhaps that had caused her to overstep. Gratefully, their conversation wasn’t overheard by anyone, so Leif simply drew his lips to a line and turned from Freydis, ignoring her comments.
A sigh escaped her as she closed her eyes, almost in prayer, aching for the ability to lead her people. She didn’t want to challenge Leif. Or did she? Could she even win? Yes, she was a great warrior, but Leif had earned his title as Jarl and was one of the finest fighters in history. And he was also her brother. As angry as she was, the thought of striking him down and taking the throne twisted her stomach in knots. Beside, even if she had the right to rule, there was no guarantee the people would actually follow her. Never in Viking history had a woman taken that kind of power.
She let the fantasy wash from her mind. For now, all she wanted to do was return to her home, nurse her wounds, and consider her next move.
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I take it you recently watched Vinland Saga?
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I haven't yet! I'd like to though. I've just always been fascinated with viking history and culture.
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What will be her next move? Great start
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Excellent premise! Would love to see this continue my friend.
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This is a very interesting start. I'm looking forward to the next part(s). If it's only half as good as "My Wife Jennifer", it's going to be a fantastic story still.
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Glad to see you writing again. There is potential in this story. I imagine that women will gradually impose themselves as the warrior element in Viking society and men will take care of the home! I can't wait to read more. I must admit that I would love a sequel to Jennifer wife too.
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Thanks all for the comments! Since you all know me from my previous work, you probably remember that I prefer long, slow-burn stories. This one will be no different :) I really appreciate those who enjoy the journey! And don't worry, there will be lots of muscle growth.
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They did not receive a hero’s welcome upon reaching the docks. Most of the denizens of Breidafjordur seemed to already understand the terrible news. Why else would they be returning from their voyage this early, and with nearly half the people?
Solemn faces met them as they roped off the ship and began towing their supplies up from the galley. Families and lovers embraced, while others waited demurely for loved ones who would never return. As Freydis carried a sack of grain onto the dock, she gave a look towards the people who wept openly, mourning the loss of husbands, brothers, and sons. Freydis felt their pain, though she was also strangely grateful at a time like this. As sorrowful as it sounded, if she didn’t have any family at least there was no one to leave heartbroken if she died in battle. Though, not having anyone to greet her and be grateful of her survival also left an unwelcome hollowness.
The people cheered, wept, and prayed as the remainder of the fleet sailed to the port. Each warrior that stepped down from their ship bore a similar expression; exhaustion and defeat. It was not easy facing so many with their failure. More women and children openly wept on the shore, realizing that the last of the boats returning meant their fathers and husbands were indeed gone.
Jarl Leif, stood atop a pile of crates at the end of the pier and addressed the downtrodden crowd.
“My friends,” Leif hollered, his voice hoarse from the journey, “It pains me to say that we lost a great number of our brothers. We were met with a fierce opponent for whom we were not prepared.”
Murmurs and whispering hissed around them until Leif silenced his people with a raised hand.
“I mourn the loss of our beloved, same as you,” Leif stated with a bowed head, “But I am also filled with joy, because tonight, they feast with the gods in the golden halls of Valhalla! For they died with steel in hand and bravery in their hearts!”
While the devout citizens all nodded and hummed agreement through teary eyes, Freydis eyed the surviving men who shuffled about anxiously. They knew the truth. There was no bravery in their defeat, despite how Leif would spin the tale. And they were helpless but to go along with it and accept their Jarl’s words.
“So,” Leif said with raised arms, “Let us prepare to feast ourselves! Our fallen will be drinking ale around a warm fire in the presence of Odin himself. I think we should do the same, should we not? We will celebrate our dead so loudly that even the valkyries will speak of our revels as they court our brothers to the next life!”
A few cheers whooped out from the crowd, and Leif let out a boisterous laugh. The other men, crestfallen as they were, put on a smile and let the promises of dining and drinking lift their spirits. Those who had lost family also remained dour, but managed to scream out praises for the gods.
Freydis simply scoffed, turned towards the trees further up the coast, and began walking.
Freydis retreated from the scene to her home, a small cottage further inland and into the wilderness. She deliberately avoided people along the way until she was past the outer walls of the city. Once she reached the main road and cut off towards the mountain path, she began carving her way through the brush and thickets that had become fairly unruly over the years. The path to her home wasn’t trodden often as evidenced by the unbroken layer of snow that had accumulated since she had left for Vinland. It was exactly why she chose to live there; the peace and quiet of solitude.
After a fairly long trek into the wilderness, she came to a clearing where her cottage was nestled next to a mountain spring. While the freshwater river was frozen, she could still hear the rushing waters flowing beneath it and the cracking of branches as a few deer that had stopped to drink fled into the trees. She swung open the wooden door, which creaked and let in a gust of snowy wind through the dark room. Quickly, she set down her pack and weapons, then lit candles and a fire to create some light and much needed heat. Freydis undid the clasps of her armor; padded leather with steel plating and a braided skirt that hung over a pair of trousers. Her garments fell to the ground in a heap. Peeling off her undertunic, which was rank with the stink of battle, sweat, and seawater, she noted the soreness across her entire body.
Freydis had a talent for staving off exhaustion until she was away from the men. For weeks, she had put on her proudest face as they sailed, landed, fought, retreated, and sailed again. Throughout all the strife, Freydis stayed strong, determined to never give the others a chance to belittle her. For she knew the moment she showed how tired she truly was, the others would laugh and elbow one another, saying things like, “This is why the women shouldn’t fight alongside the men.”
But now, in her isolation, for the first time in countless days, she could finally relax. Once the fire in the hearth had built to a roar, Freydis lit a torch and transferred the flame to the coals beneath the bath. A sheet of ice had settled atop the bathwater, which had laid vacant for some time now, but it would quickly melt as the coals grew hotter.
As she waited for the water, Freydis removed the last of her underclothes. She stood shivering, the cool mountain air still permeating her home while the fire attempted to catch up. Still, it felt nice to get out of those clothes. Now free of her confines and completely naked, Freydis focused on her reflection in the large mirror next to her bed.
It was strange to look at herself sometimes; she was far from the typical maiden who spent hours perfecting her appearance, and never really cared to groom her hair or adorn a beautiful dress. As a result, sometimes months would go by without her truly getting a good look at her own reflection.
But now, with her mind haunted by questions of who she wanted to be and what she wanted to achieve, she took a hard look at the woman she had become in the last few years. Like her brother, she showed an age beyond her years; a toll that only a warrior could understand. Though she was still shy of 30, battle had hardened her in both mind and physicality. While most women, even those who had learned the sword, had a youth to their eyes and a cheery disposition, Freydis had all her naivety snuffed out early on through training and war. Her face was stern with unflinching disposition and a strong jawline she inherited from her father.
A scar intersected her lips from a shield bash she had taken to the mouth years ago. And while it was mostly faded these days, it still stood out enough to be seen. In fact, most of her body was littered with scars; her left shoulder, her right arm, both her thighs, her upper back, and her collarbone were crossed with a series of white marks left behind from swords, axes, and spears. At least those were kept hidden by her clothes, save for the one on her collarbone which crawled halfway up her neck. These brands of battle, including her nose which was large and slightly crooked from being broken in a fight, were all reminders of her trials. They filled her with comfort; a constant reassurance that she was a fighter and a survivor.
Much like her face, her body was also a monument to her nature; strong, relentless, and unapologetic. She was taller than most women and had the muscles of someone who spent nearly every day of their life swinging an axe and grappling opponents to the ground. Her legs were long and sturdy from the years of running, and her arms were equally conditioned, with a bulk that even rivaled some of the men. Freydis also displayed a set of wide shoulders and a lean torso.
Unintentionally, her body heaved with each breath and her strong posture gave her a masculine aura. While she knew her robust build was a result of her training, nothing for which to feel shame, it was still easy to look in the mirror and understand why men weren’t exactly lining up to claim her as their wife. True, her face was rough, but there was also a radiant quality to it; at least that’s what she had always heard. Others said she was stoic and serious, but still an alluring woman. The rest of her body, however, was brutish; breasts that were unflattering and juxtaposed by a strong chest, stubbly red brown body hair nestled on her pubic region and under her arms that she didn’t have the temperament to maintain. And, of course, muscles that intimidated men who preferred their women softer and curvier.
She hated doubting herself. Freydis was usually so stalwart, these moments of self doubt were out of place. She had accepted long ago that she wasn’t like other ladies, and in fact, she had such grand plans that striving to be like other women would be counterproductive to her goals. Still though, a lingering and haunting feeling tended to creep in when she least expected it.
While Freydis did not wish to live a life of marital servitude or raise crying babies, she certainly didn’t want to be alone for the rest of her days. When she was fighting or sailing on the open sea, there was no question to her convictions; she was strong and assured, the journey being all she needed to fulfill her. However, every time she returned home, that empty feeling returned and consumed her. For the first time in months, she found herself thinking of past lovers, wishing she could enjoy someone’s touch, just for the night.
Maybe if she got desperate enough she could go down to the feast hall where the entire village was getting bloated on drink and food. Sten would probably be there. Though she didn’t know if she had the strength to face him. Strange how she could imagine fighting off dozens of enemies in battle without blinking, but the idea of encountering a former mate gave her a knotted feeling in her stomach. Unlike the other men in her life, Sten seemed like he actually cared for her. And that terrified her.
Freydis discarded thoughts of the past as she noted the fog beginning to form on the mirror. She looked over to see the bath water giving off steady wisps of steam. Eagerly, she strode over to the tub and quickly climbed in, submerging her naked body into the water. It was still on the cool side, but was heating up quickly. She let herself relax, sinking all the way down to her neck. The instant relief to her sore body was incredible and she let a long sigh escape her lips.
After cleaning up, Freydis recognized how famished the trip had made her. With the long hike back to her home, she was eager for something besides the jerked rations and stale bread they were forced to subside on while sailing. Now, she had her mind set on some salted meat from the storage chest in the back room; a half leg from the wild hog she had hunted in the fall and preserved for the winter would do nicely. She couldn’t wait to have it crackling over the hearth.
To her dismay, her storage chest was empty. Had she really finished off the rest of her food before the trip? She had been so focused on the adventure to Vinland, she must have let that slip her mind. And now, it was far too late for a hunt.
As much as she loathed traveling back to the village proper and partaking in the feast, her grumbling stomach dominated her decision process. Freydis changed into a dark green tunic and a grey wolf pelt that draped over her shoulders, clasping across the front in silver chains. She took a moment to tighten her hair braid, which she had soaked in oils after her bath.
The front door to Freydis home creaked as she stepped out into the frozen alcove and set out, traveling back down the mountain and to the mainroad.
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Absolutely great! You have a thousand times more potential to develop this story than "my wife Jennifer". Freydis seems to have resisted the great cold, to have a very hard life, between the logs of wood to split and hunting. And then the war and the navigation. I would like to be her little husband at home waiting for her return from the war. Freydis already seems to be muscular. I wonder how she will grow? I'm looking forward to the next part.
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In my opinion, I find the scars of Freydis very sexy. I hope you will introduce more anecdotes about her hair, her strong sexy jaw and her powerful sweat smell. I guess you already have the story well in mind but I can see Freydis protecting her Viking people from the decadence of men by a total role reversal after taking over the clan. The only way to save the Viking people: let the women do what the men can't do anymore.
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Hi Tikka1910,
Thanks so much for the encouraging comments! I'm glad you're taking an interest in Freydis as a character. Fun fact: Freydis Eiriksdottir is an actual character out of history, depicted in the Vinland Saga. This historical person and that Viking era in general have always fascinated me, so I really wanted to have some fun with the famous people and create my own story out of it. And of course add a lot of muscle growth and alt history, having some real fun with the results!
I appreciate you reading and for keeping the thread alive with comments while I write the next chapter!
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Great addition and continuing to love this story so far!
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Hi bertmacklinsbrother. I didn't know that Freydis really existed. I haven't found much information about her, except that she was a fierce warrior apparently. So I'm really looking forward to reading the next part and finding out what Freydis will do. I look forward to a new publication from you every day. But I know how much work writing requires. I had wanted to write a story too, inspired a lot by Jennifer and Feminox. But I don't have your talent and I'm not fluent in English. I am waiting for your next chapter. And I'll be sure to comment.
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A great second chapter. I'm curious to see what causes Freydis' growth. I agree with Tikka. It would be very interesting to see that Freydis' transformation inspires/affects the other women as well, causing a role reversal in their whole society. I'm looking forward to see where the story goes next.
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Great to see content from you Bert. Normally I don't read this kind of fantasy mythical content but I have faith in you. Character is always done really well in your work and I am already enjoying the tension between Freydis and Leif. Love his complacency and her innate ambition. I reallywant to see this continue so please post soon. Looking forward to her growing power. K+
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I appreciate the kind words of support! I've been working on a few commissions on the side, which have taken up more time than I thought. But I'm plucking away at the next few chapters and am excited to return to this story soon!
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That's great to hear. Take your time I'm looking forward to the continuation of this story and your other stories.
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By the time Freydis reached Breidafjordur, the sun had already retreated beyond the horizon, the sky shifting from a vibrant orange to a dark purple. Along the coast, as gulls squawked and drifted on the cold breeze, Freydis passed a field of thatched cottages and farms, where those who cultivated wheat and potatoes lived in a semblance of isolation. The air stunk of the animals that roamed the pastures, but it was a smell to which Freydis became accustomed when they first settled Greenland. When they weren’t training for combat, Leif and Freydis spent their younger years tending the fields and raising livestock. For a time, even their famous father, Erik the Red, feared Viking warrior and conqueror, exchanged his battle axe for a plow.
The country homes weren’t nearly as isolated as Freydis’ mountainside cabin, but the large plots of land were still a sizable distance from the other residences. As she drew closer to Breidafjordur’s township, the housing became more condensed and upscale, transitioning from small farm houses built of sticks and hay to sturdy family homes of oak and pine. In the town proper, some of the larger buildings were intended as living spaces, but most of the shelters were dedicated to commerce and utilities. A boat house that ran along the pier kept the smaller ships protected while docked and was wide enough to cover most of the coast beside the docks.
The main square was lit by lines of torches around the marketplace area and a large central bonfire where some people were huddled, basking in the heat. Sound erupted from the long house where the mead hall was located; the feasting had been going on for some time. Men stumbled around the streets in a drunken stupor, some chasing after giggling serving girls, while others brawled with slow, sluggish fists. Laughter roared from inside and a warm glow basked the entryway in an orange light that was welcoming despite the raucous sounds of boisterous yelling and clanging plates.
Freydis sighed and stepped up from the dirt of the main square onto the wooden floors of the long house and into the feast, the cold winter winds ceasing as she entered. Men and women drank and cheered as drums beat to a quick, jubilant rhythm, setting a pace to the celebration. The floorboards glistened with spilt ale, and the entire hall assaulted Freydis’s nose with the scents of alcohol, sweat, burning wood, and roasted meats.
Though Freydis was not in the mood for revelry, she couldn’t help but allow herself a brief smile at the sights and smells of a good Viking feast. The warrior’s life was one of violence and danger, but also appreciation for that very life, as it could be snuffed out like a candle flame at the end of your enemy’s sword. Through the years, Freydis had flowed with that routine without a thought; they would fight in a battle, gritting their teeth through all the blood and slaughter, and then they would feast, to both honor the fallen who died gloriously and rejoice at their own survival. After a long time away at war, Freydis loved nothing more than to drink, brawl, and laugh the night away.
But leaving Vinland without a victory did not feel like cause for celebration. There was no victory so this feast was nothing more than a testament to their cowardice. Still, her grumbling stomach was willing to set aside her pride to get its fill.
“Freydis!!” a voice blurted out.
Leif stood up from one of the dining tables with arms raised towards her. His face was cherry red and dotted with beads of sweat, and his silver crown sat crooked atop his braided red hair. As he approached her, he opened his arms wider and swept Freydis into a powerful hug. His cloak was soaked through and stank of mead. Leif released her and gave her shoulders a firm clasp.
“My dear sister!” he chuckled, “I’m so glad you’ve come to join the festivities!”
“I’m famished,” Freydis said curtly, seating herself at the table and filling her plate with a large helping of roast chicken and a half loaf of bread.
Leif seemed to take the hint that she wasn’t in the mood to talk. He gave a quick nod, then turned to stumble towards one of his captains, roaring out a cheer as they both raised horns. Freydis also poured herself a horn of ale to help wash the food down. Filling her belly properly for the first time in weeks did seem to calm her down a bit. Within moments, she had consumed a whole plate of meat and bread, and soon after found herself sipping on a mug of hot stew.
All around her, the feast raged on. A few men engaged in a drinking contest as a surveying crowd whooped and hollered. Freydis found herself cracking a smirk as she watched her brethren gladly deface themselves. She felt the presence of a figure behind her, who swung into the same bench she was sitting on.
Sten was a handsome man, with a rugged, beardless face and eyes that seemed to glitter in the firelight. Not to mention, the dangerous smile that he brandished whenever he wanted to get his way. He had a tendency to stick out in a crowd of Vikings, given that he chose to keep his facial hair either short, or even shaved completely smooth, nor did he grow his hair out into a braid. Instead he wore his brown hair styled on the sides with a bit of length on top. He claimed it was the latest fashion in England, and also said the same about the outfit he wore, which was some kind of jerkin and tunic, though far more elegant and ostentatious than what you would see on the common norseman.
Sten was a merchant and traveler by trade, and frequently embarked on journeys to far-off lands, returning to Greenland with plentiful goods, strange delicacies, and even stranger stories. The retelling of his wild experiences was often the centerpiece of any room he was in, as women fawned over his many adventures.
“I’m surprised to see you’re not joining them,” Sten said, nodding over to the men guzzling full horns of ale, “We both know you could probably beat the lot.”
His eyes twinkled as he grinned with rows of perfect teeth. Freydis found herself growing hot in the cheeks. She regained her composure, sniffed, and took another from her mug of stew.
“Maybe you’re just not in the mood for ale,” Sten said, pulling a small silver container from his breast pocket, “I traded for some wonderful liquor last time I was in Persia. Incredibly strong, but also kind of sweet. Not unlike my present company.”
He gave her a wink and Freydis felt her cheeks flush yet again. She wanted to punch him right then and there! How was it that Sten could drive her mad, and at the same time make her feel so… complicated? It made no sense. She shook her head at his offer.
“More for me, I suppose,” Sten continued, taking a swig from the container, “In Persia, they say it’s the mender of bad memories.”
“It’ll help me forget you, then?” Freydis murmured.
“So she does speak!” Sten laughed, “I feared you had severed your tongue in battle.”
“If only the gods would take your tongue,” Freydis said, “You use it far too often.”
“Oh, come now,” he quipped, “Based on your experience, I figured you think of my tongue more fondly than that.”
By the gods, she was getting flustered again! Freydis nearly dumped the remaining contents of her stew cup onto his head and stormed out. But as furious as Sten made her, she was far more upset about their loss at Vinland. She continued to stare forward, which Sten seemed to notice.
“Hmm,” Sten muttered, “You really are being awfully quiet. Even for you.”
“I’m not in the mood for games, Sten,” Freydis sighed, “Please leave me be.”
The confident grin that was usual plastered on his face weakened, and his composure took on a semblance of concern. He leaned forward, leaning his chin into his folded hands and looked at her earnestly. Flickering flames from the candles on the table danced within his irises.
“I heard about the defeat,” Sten nodded, “It must pain you. You always hated losing.”
“What I hate is being led into battle by a coward,” Freydis said through gritted teeth, “And he has the audacity to throw a feast, like we have cause for celebration.”
“He’s our Jarl,” Sten said, glancing around to make sure their traitorous conversation wasn’t being overheard, “And your brother. You swore an oath to him, as did I.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to agree with him,” Freydis seethed, “Or that I can’t think that our people would be better led by someone else.”
Sten didn’t respond. How odd it was for him to be silent; he usually loved hearing himself speak. But he simply looked down at the table for a moment before pulling out his liquor container and taking another drink. A louder roar came from the rest of the room as the drinking contest seemed to reach peak excitement.
“You weren’t there,” Freydis said slowly, “If you had seen how our warriors were killed or left to bleed out on the shores, you wouldn’t be so supportive of our beloved Jarl. These men who survived; the ones shouting and drinking? The ones who were actually there? They aren’t celebrating. They’re trying to drown their shame.”
“We’re all drowning our shame in one way or another,” Sten shrugged, “Not everyone has been blessed by the gods to live a life of glory and honor. Most of us are just trying to make our way through this world. We breath, laugh, drink, and fuck. All without getting a knife in the back or an axe to the head. At the end of the day, I call that a good life.”
Freydis shook her head in disdain. Of course Sten wouldn’t understand. He lived for cheap thrills and never cared to see the greater good; what the Viking people could be if they dared to dream bigger. Instead he loved the tangible and the material.
It wasn’t as though earning coin was frowned upon. In their culture, raiding new lands and pillaging everything you could carry from the enemy was common, though less-so than it was during the days of her grandfather. But the spoils of war were taken for the glory of Odin; every bit of the riches they stole was for the gods and to help build the halls of Valhalla. Sten did not get into trade for the gods or even for Greenland; everything he earned, he did for himself.
The more she thought about it, the more she was shocked they were ever together for a time. It was an odd pairing to be certain. Sten wasn’t the typical Viking man; he wasn’t rough, loud, or violent. He enjoyed a fashionable outfit and the finest food and drink. And you would never catch Sten sharpening an axe or dirtying his hands. He was a man who kept clean, prim, and proper.
He was the polar opposite of Freydis, who was trained from a young age to be a fighter. While Sten smelled of honey, fruits, and foreign perfumes, Freydis embodied wilder scents; tanned leathers, burning firewood, and a natural odor of dried sweat. Compounding all of that, was the fact that Sten was more beautiful than her. That had always bothered her somewhat; he could have any woman he wanted, and yet he had chosen her. Her only choice was to conclude that she was the victim of some kind of joke.
And yet, though their time together didn’t last long, she did remember it fondly. Somehow, he still affected her to this day. Sten was the one man in her life with which she could actually see building a future. Perhaps that was what aggravated and terrified her most about him.
“Stay out of trouble, Sten,” Freydis said, rising from the wooden bench as her empty mug clattered onto the table.
He grabbed her by the arm, stopping her before she could turn to leave. She stared at him for a moment, seeing the seriousness on his face.
“I was about to say the same thing to you,” Sten muttered so no one else could hear, “Those things you were saying about your brother… just be careful, alright?”
Freydis gave an affirmative grunt, then slid her arm from his grip. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked out of the longhouse and back into the cold night. While she knew she should heed Sten’s advice, she couldn’t get Vinland out of her head. Part of her wanted to free one of the boats from the dock and sail back herself.
As she walked home, head buzzing from the ale, she imagined visions of glory; her returning to Vinland with an army of Vikings behind her, leading the charge as they plowed through the Skraeling forces and took their golden lands for themselves. She saw the battle; bloody, violent, glorious. And once it ended, the people would cheer her name as she placed the first stones on the ground, the foundation for the new temple they’d build to worship Odin. Her head adorned in a silver Jarl’s crown, Freydis would become a legend, and bring the Vikings into a new age. And from there, she’d take on the next challenge, going anywhere her ambitions carried her.
She smiled to herself as she fantasized. It was what she truly wanted. If only she had the strength to see it through.
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Great. You set up the story slowly. I think the climax of your story will be an explosion of pleasure. Freydis could fuck the little Sten after conquering Vinland on her own and a night of drinking. But I may be anticipating. Anyway you have a real talent to create heroine archetypes for fans of powerful women. Jennifer, Freydis ... Can't wait for the next part.
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I agree with Tikka. Your heroines (and the rest of your stories) are always written very well.
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Very good chapter! Keep up the great work my friend. K+
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Bert! My man, your writing never ceases to impress. Keep it up! K+
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@Tikka: Thanks Tikka! I do enjoy a nice story set up with build-up. In my opinion it always makes the characters more believable and the payoff more enjoyable.
@Arkham: I do love to write heroines! I really appreciate it!
@hairylover: Thanks so much for always supporting my work :) It means a lot!!
@Zolaire: Thanks so much for the compliment! Your art is amazing as well!
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Hi. I hope this story that looks fabulous will deliver a new episode soon 😁.
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The full moon shone overhead, casting a pale light through the frosted trees as Freydis walked up the usual mountain path towards her cottage. A light flurry flitted down and the snow had begun to build up around the fur on Freydis’ cloak, as well as her braided red hair. The snowfall was gentle and the harsh winds from earlier had quieted, so the temperature was fortunately pleasant. That, or the drinking had numbed her senses enough to stop caring.
She let out a soft sigh. The woodland path was always so beautiful. Since their ship had docked, Freydis had been aching for a bit of companionship, but in moments such as this, she basked in the peace that came from isolation. This back and forth was common for her; dancing between needing a man between her sheets and realizing that she preferred to be alone. For now, at least, she was content in solitude. Though she had to admit that Sten did appear in her thoughts a few times as she walked.
Other feelings from earlier continued to flash in her mind; her conversation with Sten, her hatred towards Leif, and a deep yearning for power that continued to well within. Freydis feared that her hunger for the throne would be misunderstood by Sten, and that he would judge her as just another overzealous Viking trying to take and steal.
But it was more than that. She wanted to bring prosperity to her people and honor to her legacy. And, she also thought of Vinland; refusing to accept the loss and setting sail for revenge under a new banner. The glory was certainly tempting, as was the opportunity to step out of the shadow cast by her father and brother. The more she thought about it in her drunken haze, the less confident she felt that she wanted the throne for the right reasons.
“Could I ever really do this?” Freydis hummed to herself, her boots continuing to crunch through the snow, “Take this power from my brother?”
Admittedly, being Jarl would be an unconventional fit for her. She wasn’t the most outgoing and lacked the general charisma that flowed through her brother. While Leif was a coward, he was a man of the people, and they loved him. Could Freydis ever be that loved? The men under her rule would have a hard time respecting her. If she led them into battle, would they really follow?
Those questions continued to burn through her.
Before she even realized it, she found herself wandering off the usual trail until she was wading through snow as high as her knees. Freydis wasn’t exactly sure where she wanted to end up, but she knew that being alone in her home with her thoughts wasn’t the best way to end the night. She needed to think, and she needed to pray.
After nearly an hour of walking, Freydis came to a clearing, bathed in cool moonlight. Máni, the moon itself, seemed to call out to her, leading her towards the center. Kneeling down in the snow, surrounded by a ring of trees, Freydis found herself speaking to the gods.
“Is it so much to ask that I take hold of my own destiny?! That I leave my father’s shadow?” Freydis cried, “I just want the strength to lead and to bring honor to my name. If not this, then what is my purpose?”
Of course, no response came. Some twigs snapped in the distance as some rabbits bounced through the woods, and an owl hooted from high in the trees.
Freydis was devout, and said prayers often, but she had never really spoken with the gods. The Seer was the only one who could truly communicate with the gods and interpret their will. And unlike her brother, who seemed obsessed with his future, Freydis preferred not to visit the Seer and instead discover her future for herself. Still, Freydis prayed, even though she knew she wouldn’t receive answers to her philosophical questions. Rather, it helped her meditate and focus.
Suddenly, footsteps crunched in the snow behind her. Freydis eyes burst open and, heart racing with adrenaline, spun and unsheathed her sword in a single motion, sweeping it behind her. She stopped with the blade stretched outward toward a stranger. Expecting to find a thief or roadside vagabond, Freydis was shocked to see a beautiful woman at the tip of her sword.
“Please child,” the woman said, casually brushing the sword aside as if it were an annoying fly, “Being stabbed today would be an inconvenience.”
The woman had hair so blonde it almost appeared white in the light of the full moon. She had a mature look about her, but was also radiantly beautiful in a way that made her age impossible to place. Her eyes almost glowed with a cool blue, again a mix of perfect beauty and an unnatural experience of 100 winters. Could someone look like an innocent, young maiden and a wizened matron at the same time?
Her cloak was as vibrantly white as her hair, flowing loosely down to her feet, save for a dark cape made from raven feathers that hung across one shoulder. Her head was adorned with a crown of holly and two tall antlers that gave her a regal authority. Oddly enough, the woman strode barefoot through the snow, miles away from the nearest road.
“What are you doing out here?” Freydis gasped, “And dressed like that? You’ll freeze! Please, come with me back to my home and warm yourself.”
“Very kind of you,” the woman hummed, “Though as much as I appreciate your aid, I’m not in need.”
Freydis stopped in her tracks and gave the woman another confused glance. The mysterious stranger’s eyes seemed to twinkle, and Freydis began to draw conclusions. Her appearance and the state of her clothes was almost unnatural. And showing up when Freydis had been praying?
“A-are you a god?” Freydis asked, her voice trembling.
Why was she so afraid? She had faced down strong and terrifying opponents on the battlefield and braved the harsh seas countless times. Freydis had climbed mountains and hunted dangerous predators. And yet, this beautiful, radiant woman had her nearly shaking.
“I am,” the woman smiled, “And I have heard your prayer for the strength to lead your people.”
“I did not think my prayer would be answered,” Freydis said, struggling to find the words to say next, “Wh-who are you?”
The goddess simply smiled, her ancient eyes piercing through Freydis as she drank her in. She reminded Freydis of her mother; so warm and welcoming, yet pulsing with authority and knowledge. Oddly enough, Freydis’s question lingered and, innately, the answer seemed to beat within her heart. This was Freya, goddess of love, fertility, women, and war.
“Freya,” Freydis found herself gasping, then kneeling back down to the snow, “I’m at a loss for words.”
The woman’s eyes wrinkled as she smiled, making her suddenly appear old and maternal. She reached out and brushed Freydis’s cheek, then helped her back to her feet.
“I do not expect you to kneel,” the goddess said, “I’m not so in need of devotion as my husband or sons.”
Freydis would have felt like a fool, but something about Freya made her feel welcome, like a child under the watchful eye of a parent.
“My brother has claimed to see the gods before,” Freydis mumbled, “In visions or through his dreams. Others have said similar things, especially the Seer, who communes with the Aesir often through his brewed concoctions. But this isn’t anything like that. This isn’t a vision. You’re so… real. I can touch you, hear your breathing, and see your footprints in the snow. It’s like you’re really here.”
“Because I am, child,” Freya said with a laugh, “We walk through Midgard more often than you think. The Seer back at your village is certainly spiritually perceptive, I’ll grant him that. But he also eats far too many mushrooms.”
Another laugh chimed from the goddess and crescendoed through the clearing. Normally, a sound so abrupt would have caused the woodland creatures in the area to scatter through the woods, but instead, an owl swept down and landed on Freya’s shoulder while a pair of rabbits appeared from the treeline and hopped through the snow toward the goddess. It was all so surreal, as if her very presence called to them.
“Did you come here to answer my questions?” Freydis found herself blurting, “Please, I feel so conflicted. I’ve no desire to know my fate, but I do need help understanding my destiny.”
Freydis found herself blushing after that ridiculous sentence.
“To a goddess,” Freydis sighed, “These must sound like such silly musings…”
“Not at all child,” Freya beamed, “You would be surprised by some of the offerings we get. Such as the man who cut off his own foot and burned it on a pyre, hoping it to be a worthy sacrifice so he could win a woman’s love. Humans are odd creatures.”
Another round of laughter; light like a summer breeze coursing over a lake. Freydis never expected a god of Asgard to be so lackadaisical. It certainly forced her to alter her perspective from the bedtime stories she was told as a young child. Her father wasn’t much of a storyteller, but his trusted clansmen and leaders--who treated Freydis like their own daughter-- would tell her all sorts of tales of mighty Thor, watchful Odin, cunning Frigg, and dangerous Freya. Seeing Freya in the flesh, being so cheery and carefree, was confirmation that she did not know the gods as she thought she did.
“Either way, I’m not here to tell you your destiny,” Freya said, stopping with a dramatic pause as she peered into Freydis’s eyes.
“I’m here to help you write it.”
--
“You should know that Vanir magic comes at a cost,” Freya said as they walked through the woods, each footstep echoing loudly through the otherwise quiet night. “I will give you the strength you desire, but I cannot guarantee that is all it will bring you.”
It seemed as though they had been traveling together for hours, though the moon and stars had not moved one bit, seemingly trapped in their position in the sky. Freya and Freydis spoke at length about ambition and greatness. When Freya revealed that her magic could help Freydis become strong enough to take the throne, she was beyond words. But as Freya detailed the uncertainties of spells, it was clear that the solution would not be without its risks and challenges.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t accept your help?” Freydis asked.
“I’m only advising you to be certain,” Freya hummed, “The spells of Vanaheim are seldom simple. Even a master of it cannot be sure how you’ll be affected.”
For a moment, Freydis hesitated. But she knew this was not an opportunity that she could throw away. Whatever obstacles in her path, she would have to face them head on.
“I want this,” Freydis confirmed with a nod and set her jaw, “I will be the leader my people need, and I will bring glory to the gods through conquest and tribute.”
“Then you will have to prove it,” Freya said, expression solemn as she placed a palm on Freydis’s chest.
Freya whispered in old Norse, and the wind began to pick up. A cyclone of snow and leaves surrounded them, and Freydis felt Freya’s magic coursing through her. It was a warmth that spread through her chest and down through her limbs. Her skin began to run so hot, it felt as though she were basking in the summer sun.
The ancient language of old norse had been lost to the people of Greenland, and the dialect that Freya spoke was so thick, Freydis could hardly pick out the words. But the goddess’s chant seemed to repeat itself, and after a few passes, Freydis began to pick out a few words; or at least the closest words she could correlate to her own language.
“Conquest... Victory… Power.”
The rest was lost to her ears, no matter how many times the phrase was spoken.
The wind died down and the warmth in Freydis’s body subsided, her skin once again feeling the cold nip of winter. She waited for a moment, expecting a surge of… something. And yet, she felt no different than she had a minute ago.
“Did it work?”
“Of course it did,” Freya glared, offended that Freydis would even suggest such a thing, “But, as I mentioned, the magic won’t manifest until you prove that you can earn it’s gift.”
The goddess drew a long stick from the sleeve of her dress, and began to draw a shape in the snow. Freya casually whipped the branch back and forth, like she was sweeping the ground, but the drawing that became etched in the snow was somehow full of little details. After a moment, Freydis recognized it; she had seen that shape on the mapmaker’s table within Leif’s war room many times.
“Greenland?” Freydis asked.
Freya simply nodded, humming a delightful little tune as she continued to carve the image into the snow; despite her tool being a simple stick, the drawing of their homeland was beautiful; each line elegant and deliberately placed, complete with topographical height differences which gave the impression of mountain peaks and rolling valleys.
Patterns began to form and Freya’s drawing quickened, filling out the sea and the isles that surrounded the icy continent. Once the full map was complete in the snow, Freya pointed the stick towards one of the islands.
“There,” she stated, “That is where you must travel. You will face trials, and triumph will reward you.”
Freydis looked up to respond, but found that Freya was no longer standing there. Her bare footprints still sat imprinted in the snow, evidence that Freydis hadn’t imagined the whole interaction. But otherwise, the goddess had completely vanished.
“A trial…” Freydis hummed.
She couldn’t help but let a hint of skepticism invade her thoughts. There was a constant prodding in her mind, forcing her to confront a necessary question.
Why had the gods chosen to help her?
Realizing her heretical thoughts made her scoff; leave it to humans to see a literal god and still question their faith. The truth was, in her time of need, Freya herself had come to her and showed her the way. Now was not the time to be skeptical. She was going to find that island and claim her power, then use her boon to take Greenland’s throne, unite the Vikings, and sail on to Vinland. And finally, she would avenge the fallen and fulfill her destiny by taking the golden lands for her people and see that they prospered for generations. She would ensure that the Viking way, and the ways of their gods, would not fade into history.
Though she would need a bit of help getting to that island. And there was only one person she knew who owned a boat and wouldn’t tell anyone of her traitorous plans.
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Great to see another installment of this. It makes me want to reinstall Crusader Kings 2, fire up the Old Gods start and reform Germanic paganism along matrilineal lines. Love the epic pull of this story.
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I love where this is going! K+
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Thanks so much for reading and for commenting! More to come soon!
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Can't wait for Freydis to take over
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it's great to see BMB back and I am even more excited to see you mix history with what I am hoping are you usual themes. I am loving what I have read so far but I am hoping it gets a bit spicier soon, forgive my impatience. Love what is going on inside Freydis' head, well-written.
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Lady Cassandra, crested over the waters, the hulls creaking as it bobbed across a particularly large wave. Freydis wasn’t sure why Sten gave his boat a woman’s name. No doubt one of the many useless cultural habits he picked up while galavanting through Europe and the Mediterranean Sea on his trade routes. Naming a ship something so lewd seemed ridiculous. Then again, Sten naming his possessions after his sexual conquests was absolutely something that Sten would do, so Freydis couldn’t be completely shocked.
The vessel skirted the western coast of Greenland and then headed north towards the unclaimed island Freya had depicted in the snow. Since then, Freydis had replayed the interaction with the goddess in her head several times, and even recounted the entire story to Sten. And of course, ever the nihilist, he didn’t believe a word of it.
“Are you sure this ship will hold together?” Freydis questioned, hanging tight to the railing as they soared over another oversized water peak.
The waters were particularly dark today, ominously reflecting the grey skies above. Sten sidled up next to Freydis, his short hair smelling of fruits and lavender. He looked up at her with long, dark lashes and brandished his dangerous, perfect smile up towards her, which caused a warmth to spread in her chest.
It wasn’t that Sten was shorter than the average man by much; rather it was Freydis uncommon height that made the two appear odd while side by side. Standing next to one another, she was always reminded of her unconventionally brutish stature, especially when compared to his more delicate build. Was it odd that it made her uncomfortable and proud at the same time? Within her, the woman and the warrior were in constant conflict; one wanting to be loved and held, while the other wanted to be feared and respected.
“Lady Cassandra has been through it all,” Sten beamed, “She’ll get us to your magical island, don’t you worry.”
Freydis ignored the sacrilegious comment, as well as her urge to punch Sten in the shoulder.
“Lady Cassandra is a ridiculous name for a ship,” Freydis snorted, “And it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. She sounds like a pompous European brothel owner, not a fierce conqueror of the seas.”
“Well,” Sten smirked, “If you’d known as many brothel owners as I have, you’d know just how fierce they can be. And when you have a ship of your own, you can name her whatever you’d like. In fact, I’m curious to know; what would you name your ship?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “Freydis’s Ship.”
Sten scoffed so hard he almost began to cough.
“Wait, really?” Sten said, blinking, “If you had a ship to call your own, you’d name it Freydis’s Ship?”
“Yes,” Freydis responded sternly with a frown.
“Oh my dear,” Sten clicked his tongue, “You lack so much imagination. Someday I’m going to take you away from our little rock of ice you call a home, so you can actually see the world. Maybe then you’d lighten up… at least a little.”
Freydis simply shrugged her shoulders and tossed her braid of red hair to the side. She always played with her braid when she was anxious. Why was she anxious? She peered down towards Sten, who was suddenly standing uncomfortably close as they overlooked the horizon.
Right. That would explain it.
Sten quickly slapped at Freydis hand, which had begun subconsciously whittling into the wooden railing with her throwing axe, an act that apparently was not allowed aboard Lady Cassandra. Freydis had a habit of making notches and etchings into things; ships, tables, chairs, floorboards. But unlike most places Freydis inhabited, Sten’s ship was orderly, clean, and relatively unmarked. Not to mention it smelled of roasted nuts and flowers, rather than sweat, burning logs, and farm animals.
She let out a sigh and slid the small axe back into its side holster. Sten was doing her a favor; the least she could do was not destroy his boat.
“Why are you helping me?” Freydis found herself asking before the silence between them had a chance to settle.
Freydis had come to Sten in secret, telling him about her conversation with the goddess and her instructions to navigate to the unclaimed island to the north. While Sten, ever the pragmatist, seemed to think her delusional, he still offered up his ship. Despite risking the untameable sea on a stormy afternoon, as well as treason for aiding the woman whose plan was to overthrow the Jarl, Sten had been all too eager to be part of Freydis’s adventure.
He gazed up at her, his eyes sparkling, face serious for a moment before relaxing into a jovial smile.
“Entirely selfish reasons,” Sten smirked, “An unfortunate cut of my trade income is given to Jarl Leif every season. A change in leadership gives me every opportunity to renegotiate my agreement.”
“And if we end up at the bottom of these waters instead?” Freydis asked, clinging to the railing as the ship crested yet another unnaturally large wave.
Sten’s arm reached across her back and caught her, steadying her wavering frame. As a warrior, Freydis had spent her life sailing on warships. She was used to it. But she had never been on a vessel so small; she felt exposed to the harsh winds and the waves that slammed against the sides of the hull, rocking the entire ship back and forth violently. Typically, even the worst of storms were hardly unsettling when the ship was sturdy enough. But the way this boat rocked helplessly on the turbulent water made Fredyis’s stomach lurch.
“I already told you,” Sten laughed, “Lady Cassandra is the best ship on the seas. We’re taking a little trip over to a neighboring island; this is nothing compared to my voyages to Frankia or Wessex.”
Freydis continued to frown. She didn’t like the sight of the storm that continued to brew on the horizon; dark grey clouds that churned and twisted, occasionally flashing green with Thor’s lightning. It almost felt like the gods didn’t want her on this journey. They were angry at her for seeking out this power. Why then had Freya been so eager to send her? Would she not have the gods’ blessing?
“So,” Sten breathed, “You never told me why we have to go to this island.”
“I told you everything about meeting Freya and her spell to grant me the strength to overthrow my brother.”
“Yes,” Sten said, rubbing his freshly shaved chin, “But, why the island? Didn’t her spell give you the power you were looking for? Also, what did she mean by ‘power’? Are you going to be able to throw fire like Surtur? Or emit pure light from your eyes like Tyr? Or perhaps you’ll be able to transform into a mighty bear and eat all your enemies!”
Sten wiggled his fingers in front of his face, making mystical sound effects. Somehow, despite how foolish he looked, Freydis found herself smiling. Sten beamed with satisfaction, which of course infuriated Freydis, so she quickly returned to her usual stoic demeanor.
“I do not know,” she admitted, “I only know that I must go to the island. The chant in the goddess’s ancient language was difficult to comprehend, but Freya told me the island contains a trial, which I must overcome to finish the spell. To be honest, I’m not at all sure what I will find or what will become of me.”
“Well,” Sten sighed, leaning further into the railing of the ship, overlooking the dark waters, “I hope your goddess isn’t sending you on a wild chase. I’ve traveled these waters more than most, and there is nothing on that island but ice.”
“You could say the same about Greenland,” Freydis scoffed, which prompted a chuckle from Sten.
Lady Cassandra rocked and creaked, the waters unsettling even further the closer they got to the island. By the time they were approaching the shore, a cold rain was pouring down over them and the waves had become as tall as men. The ship climbed and plummeted over each wave, pulling them in unexpected directions. Sten maintained the course as Freydis used every ounce of strength she had to keep the sail ropes steady, as she fought against the whipping wind.
Sten shouted to her, his voice barely audible over the thunder. Though she could hardly hear him, she understood what he was trying to tell her. They wouldn’t be able to get any closer to land in this storm. And that meant she would have to swim the rest of the way. It wouldn’t be a long swim by any means… at least not during a calm summer day. But in this season and in these elements, fighting against the waves and the dangerously cold waters could certainly kill her.
But death was a foe she had faced many times, and she wasn’t about to give up now. While Freya’s instructions were cryptic, one thing remained certain; the power she sought would not come to her easily. Freydis would have to earn it.
Freydis tightened the leather straps on her gear, ensuring her hand axe and armor were securely fastened. Luckily she hadn’t put on her heavy battle armor and instead wore something lighter. She removed her heavy fur cloak and left it on the ship. As cold as it would be without it, it would only slow her down in the water; besides, wearing a sopping wet cloak in such cold weather could be deadly. She’d just have to manage. Freydis also left her sword and its scabbard behind. It would only serve to sink her to the bottom of the sea.
She tied her red hair braid above her head to keep it out of the way and gave a nod to Sten, who gazed solemnly in her direction. His look of concern told her that she damn well better survive, and with a fire in her heart, she dove from the ship’s railing into the frigid, black water.
--
Freydis hardly remembered making it to shore. She recalled being tossed around with each crashing wave, fighting to keep her head above the water. The sensation of her arms burning retold the events, as she struggled to wrestle the storm’s current. As she was continuously dunked under the water which threatened to fill her lungs, she had lost all coordination and had no idea which way to go. Salt stung her eyes and blinded her, though somehow she had managed to pick the right direction and fight onwards. Icy daggers stabbed into her body until it had gone completely numb, but even through feelingless limbs, she had pressed on.
Now, she laid on her back atop a sheet of frozen sand, staring at the angry, grey skies as ominous thunder continued to rumble and cold rain splattered on her face. She gasped short and painful breaths, each gasp a fire in her throat, her body shaking and begging to rest for a bit, sweetly and seductively convincing her to fall asleep there on the shore.
But she knew that sleeping meant death. Surviving in these elements meant moving and finding somewhere warm to recover. Freydis willed herself to move, though her wet clothes were already beginning to freeze against her skin. Looking back out to the water, she barely spotted Sten’s boat in the distance, rocking amidst a sheet of rain. There was no way he could make it to shore in this storm to pick her up, and jumping into the sea a second time would surely cause her body to seize up and shut down completely. Clearly, turning back was not an option. Facing inland and taking slow, painful steps, Freydis shivered uncontrollably as her boots squished against the mushy sand until they started crunching against ice and rock.
What she was supposed to do next was still unclear. Freya’s instructions had been vague. Some kind of a trial she needed to overcome. But this whole quest meant nothing if she was too dead to even begin. Before she worried about where she needed to go, she needed to find shelter, dry out her clothes, and get a fire going. Otherwise her body would not last long.
Shelter and wood were nearly non-existent along the coast. As she traversed across sharp, jagged rocks slippery with wet ice, every step she took risked breaking her ankles. She had to navigate carefully, but also could not linger. Her shivering was already becoming more violent and the feeling had not yet returned to her arms.
She lost nearly all sense of time as she wormed her way up the uneven, rocky path, fighting just to stay awake and to keep from collapsing. As she walked, she wondered if she was insane. She began to doubt that she had ever met with Freya. Perhaps her mind had been playing tricks on her afterall, and this was some foolish suicide into which she had trapped herself.
But it had seemed so real, hadn’t it? She had heard the goddess’s voice, and could reach out to touch her, same as any man or woman.
“No,” she uttered through clattering teeth, “Now is not the time to lose faith. I trust in the gods and I trust in myself.”
Freydis pressed onward, even as her situation grew more dire and her body threatened to fail and collapse onto a stoney grave. After a while, the rocks began to grow in size, becoming bluffs and cliffs, and there were hints of greenery growing from beneath the stones. The downpour of icy rain had lessened, becoming a cool mist as she traveled further inland. Finally, she came across an overhang that managed to hide a dry area large enough to shelter herself from the drizzling rain. Some dead roots and sticks were scattered around the terrain, and she painstakingly gathered the driest among them.
With shaky arms, Freydis flicked her hand axe’s blade against a sharp stone, creating a small stream of sparks. Eventually, the tangled brush of small roots managed to catch and a small fire began to build.
Freydis peeled off all her wet clothes, hanging them on a rock near the fire so they could dry. She sat on the stoney ground completely naked, her set of strong, battle scarred arms cradling her knees to keep her chest warm. The flames struggled for a while against the violent winds, which carried bursts of mist that threatened to snuff its light. But somehow, the fire endured and grew large enough to overpower the wind as she tossed on the larger sticks and a dried log she had found wedged between two stones.
A sigh escaped her lips as her body finally began to calm down, the heat restoring some life to her arms. At that point she knew she had gotten through the worst, and had somehow managed to survive, assuming she didn’t come away with a fever.
Accompanying the rejuvenating warmth, suddenly another surge of energy began to spread through her body; a more intense heat than what the measly fire could put out. The feeling was intense! Wonderful! Freydis moaned from the tingle that climbed up her spine, a feeling of near bursting limitlessness crawling through her and spreading to every finger and toe. The small hairs on her arms and legs stood up as she shivered; not from the cold, but from the feeling of pure ecstasy that writhed inside.
Was that the numbness finally leaving her body? It felt as though it was more than that. The sensation was incredible; like reaching climax with a lover in a soft bed. Freydis’s eyes opened as she shuttered away the last remnants of the bliss.
“You have done it, child,” Freya’s voice said, startling Freydis as she looked up to find the goddess sitting across from her, silhouette nearly masked from the flames.
“Freya?” Freydis asked with a steady voice, “That feeling… Did I complete your trial?”
“You completed a trial,” the goddess corrected, “That is how it works. You faced a challenge. You fought, you struggled, and in the end you persevered. As a result, you’ve become stronger, proving you are worthy to be a champion. As long as you continue to prove your worthiness, the Vanir magic will gift you with this strength.”
Freydis looked down at her naked body, opening her hands and examining her arms. She didn’t feel very powerful, nor did she look any different. But, at the same time, she had an indescribable energy; an urge to act and to move. A few minutes ago, she was nearly dead and on the verge of collapsing. Yet now, she was ready to leave the shelter and continue her journey. It was like she had just woken up from a long day’s rest.
“So,” Freydis hummed, “I almost drowned and I was gifted with some power. And yet, this is not over. I have to keep finding trials and nearly kill myself to prove I’m worthy of the magic, is that it?”
“You might be overlooking a few details,” Freya laughed lightly, “But those are the basics, yes. In all those stories you humans tell about the gods, the theme of facing trials and perseverance is common. And for good reason. In Asgard, the mighty must be judged and earn their right to rule. With my blessing, you will get stronger from facing challenges and triumphing over strife. Grit, fortitude, willpower; these are the traits the gods hold in high regard.”
“If I only need to triumph to win your favor,” Freydis sniffed, “I would have just challenged Hrothgar to an armwrestling match.”
“Ah,” Freya smiled, raising a finger, “If only it were that simple. But you must face real trials; true tests of your skills that create struggle and conflict for you to overcome. That is what it means to be a champion. I have entrusted you with this gift and now it is yours to use. The path you’re on is not an easy one. Nor should it be.”
“So, what now?” Freydis asked, “Am I done with this island?”
“That is up to you,” Freya shrugged, “Remember, I told you I would help you write your own destiny; I’m not here to tell you what to do. But, if I were to start somewhere, I’d be willing to bet there is another trial waiting for you here. Besides, you probably aren’t strong enough to get back in those waters and leave the island, even if you wanted. Find a challenge and earn another blessing, and you’ll gain the strength you need to leave this place.”
“Oh,” Freya continued, “And I don’t think it’d be wise to try and wait out the storm. My Asgardian kin are a jealous type, and they don’t take kindly to me meddling with mortals. They just love to make things difficult, don’t they? I suspect that the storm will last as long as they intend it to.”
Before Freydis could respond, the goddess was simply gone. She blinked and was suddenly alone by the fire.
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BMB, you are one of my favourites. I am really interested in this one man, so I would love to see it continue. It isn't like anything else on the forum. It stands out as historic fiction. I want to see this gal triumph. If you have anything to add I'd love to see it.
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Thanks so much, SabinicThigh! It's good to hear from you; it's been a while! And I always look forward to seeing your content as well :)
And yes, there is more to come for Freydis. I have the next chapter mostly done, but the holiday busyness has kept me from the final proof reading. I will be getting back to this story soon though. Thanks so much for the comment and the compliment!
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Can't wait for the sequel with action
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Freydis wrung out her clothes one last time before finally deeming them well enough to wear. They had been drying on the rock for a while and the last of the chill left her body. Which was fortunate timing as she used up the last of the dried wood and the small fire sputtered into a heap of black, smokey embers.
After being so near death, she was surprised how soon she was ready to dress again and head back out into the harsh wilderness. And yet she was compelled forward with a renewed sense of vigor. The plan was to move towards the center of the island, and while the goddess had not given her a deliberate direction, she figured that heading further inland was her best choice.
“Okay,” Freydis whispered to herself, “So, I must face challenges and overcome them. If I succeed, I will get stronger. Or I will die trying. Seems fair.”
She still wasn’t exactly sure how it all worked. There was no exact definition for what was considered a trial. And strength came in so many forms; assuming she did overcome trial after trial, was she going to get physically stronger? Or maybe gain more skill in battle? Maybe the gods would bestow upon her an enchanted weapon to call her own, like Odin’s faultless spear, Gungnir, or Thor’s mighty hammer, Mjolnir. Or maybe Sten was onto something, and she’d get some other kind of godly powers. The answers were vague and would only lead to more questions the more she thought about them. Her only choice now was to act.
With her energy restored, Freydis managed to stretch her damp clothes across her body, though just barely. The salt water had certainly shrunk them a bit, as she had to fight to pull them tightly over her torso and legs, plus she had to loosen each of the straps that fastened her padded armor to her chest and shoulders by a notch. Not to mention, getting her wet leather boots back on was a notable struggle, her feet almost refusing to slide into the sole. Soon though, she had managed to get all of her clothes and gear secured and was ready to venture back out into the rain.
While her legs still burned, at least the pain from before had subsided. The soreness was almost entirely gone and the bursting energy she had felt while sitting by the fire still thrummed within her. At the time, she had passed it off as a simple near-death rush, but now she was certain that this vigor was Freya’s blessing, awarded to her from overcoming the first trial. It had to be.
She had battled the elements; fighting the icy waters and nearly dying on the frozen shore. But ultimately, she persevered and survived. And now this energy--this force-- was hers.
And it felt incredible! Whatever stirred within her urged motion. It did not want to sit idly; it needed to move. Complacency was no longer an option, no matter the danger or the tax on her body. What a strange, yet intoxicating feeling it was.
Freydis continued inland, forging a path through the treeline until the rocky bluffs transitioned yet again into a deep forest. Most of the trees were naked, their leaves stripped from the harsh winter, but there were a number of tall dark green pines that bristled with every strong burst of wind, sprinkling Freydis with the wet snow that shook from the branches. All the while, Freydis moved with a purpose, unrelenting to the uneven terrain or her aching limbs.
That’s when she realized it. At first, it was too subtle to notice amidst the sounds of swaying trees, howling winds, and the splattering of water against rocks. But upon listening closer and looking for the signs, she could tell that something big had been moving through those woods. The story was told in the way smaller wildlife scuttled in the distance, birds up in the treetops going silent, and the snapped branches that had given way to a large body of mass.
It was clear she was approaching the den of some predator. And a large one, by the looks of it.
Calmly, she knelt down and examined the ground she walked, coming across a set of tracks and a few other markings left on tree trunks and stumps. Freydis let out a long sigh. As she had suspected, a family of bears inhabited this island, and she was currently trespassing on their hunting grounds.
But there was no way out except for forward. As she continued moving toward the center of the island, the air in the forest had grown warmer, the ice almost disappearing completely from her surroundings in favor of wet slush. The ground had gone from snowy wildlife trails to mud and vibrant orange leaves. An earthy scent hung in the air, though there was something else on the wind; something almost palpably sour on her tongue. It was a stink of death and decay.
Another fathom through the wooded path and Freydis noticed a trail of blood; a deer carcass had been dragged through the area recently.
Freydis found herself trembling as her walk slowed to a careful crawl and she reached for her handaxe.
This was pure madness. Here she was, purposefully moving through a bear’s territory with no means to defend herself, all in her attempts to find the island’s center. Freydis had been a warrior for a long time; she knew that being hasty and careless was a quick way to ensure death. And yet she pressed on, driven by her innate need to succeed and her ambition to take Greenland from her brother, Leif. She had a stalwart determination to see it through, and yet, the moment, she couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
The treeline opened up into a clearing, where there was a small river and a pond that collected fresh water. Some flowers were still in bloom; rare for this time of year, but it showered the area with a sea of white and purple pedals. It was an absolutely beautiful place, other than the more potent death stench that hung in the air.
Looking to the horizon and estimating the distance she had walked, Freydis estimated that this was, at long last, the island’s center. And what lied there made her heart thump loudly inside of her. Housed in the middle of this land was a large cave; no doubt the home of the bears that prowled here.
This was it, wasn’t it? Her next trial? It was a common theme in many Norse stories; heroes and gods battling and slaying fierce beasts. But Freydis had no desire to kill a bear living peacefully on their land. She had hunted many animals in her lifetime, out of necessity for food and pelts, but she had never sought to kill for simple sport.
But, her inner debate was fruitless as she suddenly heard a snorting and huffing echoing from within the dark cavern, followed by the sounds of claws clacking on stone. Sure enough, it had picked up on her scent. Exiting the cave, with furious eyes set on Freydis, she was confronted by the largest bear she had ever seen.
--
A roar shook the bones in Freydis’s chest. The bear stood on its hind legs, raising two large claws into the air and opening its mouth to showcase its rows of long teeth. It made a show of its sheer size, a typical move used to intimidate and create fear. And dammit, if it wasn’t effective.
Freydis could feel her legs shaking; this had to be the biggest animal she had ever seen, easily twice her height as it towered over her. It barked out another roar, making it clear that it was not only territorial, but extremely angry. She didn’t see any way to avoid it; she was going to be attacked. There was no way the bear would let her leave, especially if it had cubs in the nearby cave.
Gripping her small handaxe, she suddenly wished she hadn’t left her entire suite of weapons on Sten’s ship. It was foolish to come to this island so ill-prepared, even if avoiding drowning was a decent enough reason to have left her equipment behind.
The bear dropped down to four legs and began to run towards her, barreling in a charge. Freydis found herself reacting faster than she anticipated, her legs planting into the ground before launching her to the side, her body becoming lateral and her shoulder pivoting downwards as she leapt and rolled out of the way. The rocky dirt was hard and hitting the ground sent a shock through her, nearly forcing all air out of her lungs. But she remained composed, sucked in another quick gust of air, and used her tumbling momentum to catch her footing and stand upright again.
With a quick sniff, the bear turned around, circling back and then swinging its massive claw in an arc towards Freydis’s head; if it connected, it would mean an instant death. She ducked and rolled under the attack, then brought her handaxe upwards, cutting across the beast’s stomach. Another roar bellowed out from the bear, only this time far more terrifying; her ears rang as the tone echoed across the trees. She had not slashed deep enough to wound it very much past its thick hide; instead she had only managed to anger it further.
Freydis’s skin flashed hot as a sudden force connected with her right shoulder. The sharp sound of the roar was so disorienting, she hadn’t even seen the other claw come flying in from the side. She was sent to the ground, hitting with a thud, face grinding into the dirt and snow. Freydis was on her stomach for only a moment; as painful as it was to get back up, she knew better than to leave her neck and back exposed to an enraged predator; instinctually the beast would grab her by the spine and knaw, slash, and crush until she was snapped in two. Staying still was not an option. She managed to roll again, wincing as her recently pummeled shoulder made contact with the ground.
She clammored to her feet. Her right sleeve was wet with hot, sticky blood that ran down from her shoulder; the cut had to be deep if she was already bleeding that badly. Switching her axe to her left hand, Freydis crouched down into a defensive stance, ready to dodge again if the bear tried another swipe.
Instead, the bear went down on all fours and into another tackle, managing to clip Freydis before she could move. Her legs became tangled and she fell backwards. As the beast followed through to land its jaws around Freydis’s throat, she brought her legs back and kicked as hard as she could. The animal was struck with a force it was not expecting as Freydis planted both of her boots into the bear’s snout, seeming to strike just hard enough to send it reeling back.
She got her feet under her again and, before she could really think about what she was doing, found herself running toward the bear. Like with any opponent, the moment they were off balance was the time to go on the offensive; Freydis simply never thought she’d be applying that logic to a bear of all things. As she ran toward it, the bear shook its daze and went for a desperate claw swipe at her chest. In a surprising surge of strength, Freydis somehow managed to jump over the bear’s arm and twist her body through the air, swinging onto the bear’s back and wrapping the handle of her axe around its neck.
The bear howled and bucked, aiming to shake her off. She managed to grip the sides of the bear tightly with her booted heels while keeping the axe handle firmly fastened around the beast’s throat. Its jaws snapped and gnashed with little direction or purpose. Suddenly, it stood on its hind legs and Freydis’s entire perspective shifted as her weight was suddenly hanging from the bear’s neck. It continued to claw and snarl, nearly threatening to fling Freydis to the ground under the force of her own weight.
And that’s when she had the idea; more of a battle instinct than a careful thought. As the beast twisted, aiming to send Freydis flying, she decided to let it happen.
She loosened her grip on the head of the axe, and immediately she began to plummet down several feet toward the dirt. However, as she fell, she shifted her right arm, grunting through the pain that flared from her shoulder wound, and regripped the axe handle. She squeezed as hard as she could and let the axe bury itself into the bear’s neck and slice up and over its shoulder as her body fell through the air. The force the bear had used to buck her onto the ground had also been used as a weapon as she hung from her axe, carving the bear as she plummeted.
Hot blood sprayed onto her as the bear’s neck split open. It gargled another howl and Freydis cried out as she slammed into the ground yet again. After falling from such a height, she could feel the breath exploding out of her lungs, leaving her gasping and writhing. She didn’t know if she had the strength to get back to her feet.
And unfortunately, her gambit had not worked. Despite the gushing blood running down the side of its neck and soaking its light brown fur, the bear continued to lumber toward her.
Freydis kicked against the dirt, pushing herself backward in small increments; an act of desperation as the predator made its way into her space, ready to plant one final claw into her. But while Freydis was defenseless, the bear was also moving far more slowly. The wounds it had suffered were dire, and much like Freydis, it was only moving thanks to sheer willpower and rage. The bear went in for a final attack, seeking to maul her until she was a motionless corpse.
But Freydis was quicker. With all the force she could summon, she threw the axe, planting it right into the bear’s eye.
The bear’s final howl wasn’t the terrifying roar that had shaken her core minutes ago. Instead it was a low, and pathetic groan; the last bit of life leaving it as the massive hunk of fur and flesh collapsed into a heap. Her axe head had buried itself deep and was sunk far into the beast’s eye socket. Freydis was shocked at her own strength; it took tremendous force to throw an axe that hard, let alone when one’s back was planted against the ground.
A day ago, she would have chalked it up to pure adrenaline. But thinking through the fight--the speed, accuracy, and agility she displayed when warring with this incredible monster-- it was clear that Freydis had become stronger. Even after receiving a battering that would have toppled most people, she fought on.
With a swift inhale, a surge of energy similar to what she had experienced back by the fire suddenly returned. Freydis yelled out into the clearing, her voice traveling up into the sky as she writhed in the dirt, pure elation spreading through her like a most delicious wine. Gods, it was incredible.
She groaned in a mix of pain and pleasure, and felt her clothes tighten against her. Freydis’s linen sleeves constricted around her limbs and climbed up, exposing her wrists and shins. The leather straps that held her padded armor in place were suddenly digging into her skin. Her shirt tugged against her collarbone and her pants felt so tight, it was as though they would split from the slightest movement.
Freydis felt her feet begin to strain within her boots, which had already been seeming a size smaller since they were soaked in the sea. But now, her toes were scrunched together and the leather had suctioned around her ankles. They had become so tight she was wincing with discomfort, though she fought her instinct to take the boots off, afraid that she wouldn’t be able to get them back on afterwards.
Though the ill-fitting footwear was annoying, she was surprised to feel the pain in her shoulder, where she had been mauled by the massive claw, fade away. Her skin was still slick and sticky with crimson, but the wound itself had stopped bleeding. A relief seeing as the blood loss could have been fatal given how far she was away from the shore at this point. And despite the life or death tussle that had taken every ounce of strength she had, Freydis found herself standing up proudly, feeling invigorated.
“Now this,” she laughed, “This is power!”
For a second time today, she had come back from the brink of death, each time becoming a better version of herself. The first time had been a curious event, but after her battle with the bear, she was now confident in the goddess’s blessing and her ability to keep utilizing it.
Triumph and conquest. As long as she could continue seeking out challenges, Freydis could keep this feeling alive; this beautiful sensation of pure force and control that coursed through her entire body. The sudden renewed strength in her muscles that, only moments before, had been pushed to the limits, was testament enough to this incredible gift. She felt unstoppable.
The trials the island put her through had been beaten. And now, it was time to return to the ship before Sten’s small vessel capsized in the storm.
Freydis placed a hand on the bear’s carcass, out of respect for her fallen opponent. Killing the innocent creature was not something she had set out to do, but she was grateful that her win could provide her with such a gift. Then she used her axe to carve into the bear’s flesh and begin to remove the hide. Though not as precise or sharp as a hunting knife, she still managed to collect the pelt; a commemorative keepsake from the largest game she had ever hunted, and a story that none back home would believe. She rolled up the large bundle of fur and sinewy skin, attaching it to her back with leather straps as if it were a pack.
And then Freydis began to run back toward the shore, gleefully feeling the wind whip through her braided hair as her legs carried her at surprising speeds.
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This was a pretty good installment!
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Very well. I hope for the sequel soon. Maybe Freydis will soon be able to kill bears with just her hands.
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I finally read the latest chapter, and what a great chapter it was. Freydis's growth has commenced. I wonder how big and strong she will become and what Sten thinks of her 'developments'. I'm looking forward to what happens in the rest of the story.
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I know it was a long wait, but here is the next chapter!
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“Son of a whore,” Sten cursed as he pulled the rope with every ounce of might he had, wind and cold rain pelting against his face in a relentless torrent.
Given his mother worked in a brothel for fifteen years, he knew he was technically cursing at himself. And, perhaps, given the situation, cursing at himself was appropriate. It was his own damned fault he was in this mess in the first place; out at sea, in the middle of a horrendous storm, one breath away from capsizing his ship and sinking down into an unceremonious and icy grave.
From the moment Freydis came to him, spouting nonsense about a visit from the gods and seeking the power to dethrone Jarl Leif Eirikson, he should have sat her down and convinced her that those crazy delusions had gone a step too far. Not only was she fantasizing about conversing with deities, but she was also acting on her traitorous intent, staging a coup and overthrowing Greenland’s rule.
When she had initially mentioned her distrust in her brother at the feast, Sten was able to play it off as harmless speech driven by battle weariness and a few horns of ale. How could he have predicted that Freydis was not only serious about taking the jarldom, but would also spin some grandiose, gods-supported tall tale to further her claim?
Or that, somehow, Sten would become wrapped up in all of it?
Sten liked to think himself a smart man; starting his own trade business while learning several languages, along with the diverse customs and economies of the world was not an endeavor for the simple minded. He was a well-traveled man of culture who prided himself on using his wit to get out of many unfortunate circumstances. A few trade agreements going sour in Persia, or almost having his sack severed by a government leader in Frankia after being caught with the poor sod’s wife; Sten had survived those seedy situations thanks to his cleverness, silver tongue, and a whole heap of luck. And up until today, he thought he had learned his lesson and had a knack for avoiding trouble.
And yet, as much as Sten knew that he should have refused Freydis’s request, all it took was her asking for his help, and he jumped at the opportunity. He spat on caution almost as openly as he spat on the gods, all for the sake of that insufferable woman. After all this time; after all the countries he had traveled, all the sights he had seen, all the women he had bedded and the hearts he had broken– nothing fascinated him like Freydis Eiriksdottir.
So now, here he was; on a tiny vessel in the midst of the worst winter storm he had ever witnessed in all his years sailing. Freydis was still missing almost half a day since she leapt off the side of the boat, and Sten still doubted she survived fighting the frigid waves long enough to make it to the island. The winds and rain certainly hadn’t lightened; the gods– in whom Sten very much did not believe– seemed absolutely determined to crush his tiny toy boat under their gigantic boot as powerful gusts and towering spikes of water tossed him in every direction.
Somehow, though, Lady Cassandra stayed afloat. Despite the groaning wood that took a constant battering against peaks far taller than her hull, and a mast that Sten was sure would snap in two with the next force of wind, his trusty ship stayed true. And as long as Lady Cassandra kept fighting, Sten would keep fighting. He’d continue holding out hope that Freydis was still alive, and do his best to keep the ship as close to the shore as possible for when she was ready to swim back.
It was a task easier said than done; there wasn’t much he could do to actually control his direction at this rate. The skies had become a far deeper, almost unworldly green, flashing with spectral lightning and booming with deafening thunder as clouds churned ominously overhead. Colors in the sky whorled like a pool of upset oil; glistening with a twisted reflection of light and pigment.
“Now that’s fucking horrifying,” Sten grunted to himself.
Nearly blinded by salty spray and completely soaked to the bone, Sten did everything he could just to keep the ship upright, let alone circle around the island’s shore with any sort of precision. Staring at the vengeful storm, hard as it was to look away, was only going to get him killed sooner.
If Freydis came back, he’d get them out of this hell and finally convince her to give up her insane game against her brother. Though he also knew that talking sense into Freydis was about as likely as him surviving this tempest. She always was one of the most stalwart and hard-headed people he had ever met, and once she set her mind to something, there was little anyone could do to change her course. It was one of the traits he admired most about her, even if it was the reason they were in this deathtrap.
It got to the point where Sten had lost all sense of time, feeling as though eons had passed since they first set sail. The storm entirely hid the sun, or moon, from view, and with the constant struggle in the cold rain, he had no idea how long he had been fighting to keep his ship upright. His hands were completely numb, which was probably fortunate considering the blood trail his palms were leaving on the ropes. He had also completely ruined his silk robes; some of his favorite accouterments from his journey to Egypt. Such a waste of good, expensive fabric. The constant barrage of salt water had soaked through the heavy furs he had thrown across his shoulders, leaving his entire wardrobe sopping wet and only further contributing to his deadly chill. If he had the energy to actually feel the cold, he’d probably be quite upset.
Soon after, the blurry vision followed; he fought to stay upright, but his entire body was drained after what seemed like a full day of strife and unrelenting cold. He could feel his grip become lazier and the urge to give into the drowsiness had nearly gotten to him. But he hung on, yet again, clinging to the small hope that Freydis was still out there.
And yet, how long could he keep going? What if she had drowned immediately and now he was just continuing his own suffering for nothing? At what point did he admit that it was time to turn the ship around and get out of the storm while he was still alive? Those questions plagued him, prodding at his faded mind and twisting in his gut.
Sten didn’t consider himself a coward. He considered himself more of a “tactical retreater”, if anything. And every logical fiber of his being told him it was a prime opportunity for a tactical retreat. Death didn’t sound like something he was eager to rush into; there was so much left for him to do! So much of the world yet to see and women yet to leave screaming under the sheets. His viking brethren were so focused on killing, plundering, and dying gloriously in battle that they rarely stopped to see all the beauty they had around them, and all the wondrous things still to find. Sten didn’t believe in Valhalla, but even if he did, there was no desire to leave this mortal realm anytime soon.
No, Sten certainly did not want to die. Not when there was more out there for him to discover and experience.
But the thought of surviving while Freydis sank to the bottom of the sea left a sour taste in his mouth. How was he to enjoy another cup of wine or a breathtaking sunrise when he had let such an incredible woman perish? He could not simply leave; not while there was the slimmest chance Freydis was still out there.
Despite his body and mind slipping further, somehow, he hung on. He dug his heels in, pulling the ropes as tight as he possibly could, despite his burning arms, as the sail whipped in the fury of rain. More countless time passed and Sten felt his vision fading further; he knew he was on the brink of collapse.
But then he saw it, just off of the starboard hull. Amidst the dark waves, a black silhouette bobbed in the water. Sten blinked away icy droplets, trying to focus on the object. A barrel of his merchandise that had gone overboard, perhaps? Or a sea creature cresting to the surface? No, nothing like that; the dark figure had too complex a shape and it was moving toward him. Shadowy appendages slapped against the sea, propelling itself toward his ship. It was a person. By some twisted chance, a person was swimming to him.
Freydis. It had to be.
Sten sighed, steering the ship with one last final push of strength, doing his best to get just a little closer to her. He felt his back hit the deck before he even realized he was fainting. Before the world could fade away entirely, somehow he managed to toss a rope overboard. As he finally passed out, he just hoped it was enough to get Freydis onto the ship.
–
Sten gasped for air as he awoke, skin clammy and chilled. He laid upon red and purple silk sheets; the bedding he had acquired in India several trades back. Though it was perhaps needlessly lavish to put an expensive bed on his small vessel, where the niceties were likely to get soaked in seawater, there was nothing like the touch of authentic silks on one’s body. For a moment, he had assumed he was lying on his own funeral pyre, the storm having claimed his life. If he were to die, being pushed out to the sea on Lady Cassandra, wrapped in silks, would be a fitting send off; not that he deserved any service of that magnitude.
One so self centered and completely vain wasn’t likely to be remembered. Sten, when he was honest with himself, admitted that he didn’t have many friendships. He had plenty of connections, sure; business contacts whom he could contact for a favor or join for a drunken night of debauchery. But those weren’t the sorts that showed up to funerals. For all the people Sten constantly surrounded himself with, he was, unfortunately, very alone in this life.
Damn. The depressing things that entered one’s mind when you were dead… In this moment, as Sten laid on his bed, unsure if he was even breathing, his thoughts were permeated with nothing but hollowness and regret.
After a moment, the deliriousness faded as he blinked away the fog, vision clearing and settling on a person who stood by his bed. He smiled as he laid his eyes on Freydis, standing vigilant as if she were on watch. His stirring caused her to turn toward him and soon Sten was peering into her cool green eyes, taking in the sharp features of her face; the angular jaw, wide set nose and battle scars that marked her as a warrior. As always, she had that same series of unique and alluring traits from which he could not seem to look away.
Calling her a beauty would have been incorrect, and quite honestly, an insult to her. She was not something so fragile and delicate. Instead, Freydis was strong and defined. During the time they had been together, Freydis often questioned why Sten would waste his time with someone who lacked the typical feminine features so many men craved.
“Of all the women in the world,” she would question, “Why me?”
And in a rare moment for him, Sten would be at a loss for words. He would stumble through an answer, comforting her with assurances that she was radiant and feminine, at least in her own way. But those compliments only upset her further, as if she suspected they were given out of pity.
It was true that Sten could get most women that he wanted. He was well-traveled, cultured, and ran a successful business. He had also been gifted with a pretty face and his years of sexual pursuits with exotic and foreign ladies from all over the world had taught him skills in bed that his brutal Viking brethren did not have the patience or willingness to adopt.
So, why was a man who could have anything or anyone so damn smitten by this hardened, stubborn ox of a woman?
The truth was, explaining his specific brand of attraction to Freydis Eiriksdottir was simply impossible. Even today, he had such difficulty expressing why she captivated him so. And the fact that their short relationship had ended so soon still plagued him. Of all the regrets that he felt during his moment of impending death, Freydis was at the top of that list.
As he looked upon her now, reminiscing on their past, he was suddenly struck by some oddities to her appearance. Was his vision still blurry, or did she appear a bit huskier than he remembered? Surely, she was wider in the shoulders and legs, and more solid in her stance. The way that Freydis’s linens and leathers were stretched across her body made her appear like she was nearly bursting through the fabric, and the indentation of her muscles underneath the skin-tight clothes left no imagination to the strength she possessed.
Or perhaps the icy salt water had wrecked her garb, leaving it ill-fitting. Yes, that had to be it.
“You’re alive,” Sten croaked, his throat completely dry and sore from inhaling the constant spray of the sea, “Thank the gods.”
Freydis flashed a rare smile, ringing out the dark red braid of hair that hung down past her collar bone. A steady stream trickled down and pattered onto the wooden floor of the room. Normally, Sten would scold her for getting sea water in his bedroom and near his silks, but he was too elated at her survival to really care. And it wasn’t as though his clothes and sheets weren’t already ruined at this point from cradling his soaked body.
He then noticed that his hands, which had been blistered and bloodied from fighting the ropes, had been wrapped in bandages. Freydis must have tended to him while he was passed out.
“Sten thanking the gods?” Freydis mused, “I never thought I’d see the day. Perhaps your near-death has left you sick in the head.”
“Perhaps,” Sten grinned, sending a wink in Freydis’s direction, “Maybe I have gone ill. That just means I need a maiden at my bedside, taking care of me, giving me baths, and feeding me stew until I’m all healed.”
“This maiden,” Freydis scoffed, pointing at her own chest, “is more likely to smother you with a pillow while you sleep.”
“Oh good,” Sten sighed, “I always thought that would be a fitting end for me, though I pictured myself smothered by breasts instead.”
Freydis and Sten both laughed until the chortling faded to the creaking and rocking of the boat. Freydis must have been able to steer them clear of the storm, as the waters were far less violent now. Sten was impressed that she had managed to fight the winds and navigate the ship without his help, especially after swimming all that way from the island. She must have been completely exhausted, though she certainly didn’t show it. Her eyes were lit with a strange sparkle and she had an alertness and energy to her that didn’t fit someone who had almost drowned in the frigid sea.
A moment of silence hung between them. Sten used the opportunity to continue peering at Freydis, and he couldn’t help but take in her shape. The more he stared, the more he realized that there definitely was something different about her. She had always been a big woman, that much was true. But right now she was looking downright imposing; almost frightening. He could see that her arms, tightly wrapped by her sleeves, were bulging with more muscle than he remembered and even her neck was crawling with thick veins as she breathed.
“Something is odd about you,” Sten hummed, “Do I dare ask if you found what you were looking for.”
Freydis gave him her usual stoic look, relinquishing a slow and firm nod. Sten winced as he sat up in his bed, dreadfully curious. They had begun this endeavor with him completely confident they were on a quest straight out of a story you’d tell children around a fire. Gods, powers, mysterious islands; it was all so ridiculous.
And yet, as Freydis stood by his bedside, gesturing her thick arms as she told Sten the entire story from her surviving the elements to battling an enormous bear, he no longer knew what to think. She even showed him the pelt she had carved and the wound the bear’s claw had left on her shoulder, even though it had already seemed to have healed far faster than what was normal, appearing fully scabbed over despite having occurred recently. In addition to her clearly transformed body and the unnatural storm they had just overcome, Sten was beginning to believe that the whole crazy story was true.
As Freydis finished her tale, there was a lull as Sten sorted through all of the details internally.
“If you weren’t standing here in front of me,” Sten said, “I’d say you were a lunatic.”
He paused, awestruck as he sought each and every detail across her body. His throat let out an involuntary, pained grunt as he forced his way out of bed and clambered to his feet. Immediately upon standing next to Freydis, Sten realized just how notable her growth had been. Whereas before she had stood a few fingers taller than him, now he didn’t quite reach her chin.
“I’m at a loss for words,” Sten gaped, “You look so strong. So…”
“Terrifying?” Freydis finished his sentence with a grimace, though it wasn’t exactly what he was going to say.
She broke his gaze and stalked away, her heavy boots thumping down the wooden floors. Freydis stopped at the small round mirror Sten had in the corner of his quarters and observed herself with a sigh.
“This power feels incredible, Sten,” she said absently as she continued to look at her reflection, tightening her hands into fists, seeing how her muscles thickened and strained against her damp clothing.
“My reflexes were at their peak when fighting that bear; the way I could dodge and leap around its attacks was something out of a fantasy story. And the strength behind each of my axe swings was incredible, easily tearing through the beast’s dense fur and hide. After I conquered it, I should have bled out right there. But instead, my body felt invigorated and I ran through the woods like I was a kid again; never tiring as I leapt across rocks and over fallen trees. And the swim back to your ship, though I fought against a fucking storm, was as effortless as swimming across a calm lake in the summer.”
She sighed yet again, turning toward him.
“I got what I wanted,” she nodded sternly, “I’ve received this gift and can now challenge my brother to open combat and take the jarldom of Greenland. I would give anything to be in control of my own destiny; to have the power to enact real change. I would sacrifice whatever was required of me. Except…”
Freydis trailed off, looking away in pain.
“What is it?” Sten asked, slowly approaching her and taking her hand in his, “Please don’t keep your feelings bottled up like you always do. You know you can trust me.”
Freydis finally relinquished a bit of ground and sighed. Sten listened intently, though he found his heart pounding from just how much bigger she was than him. The changes only amounted to a small amount of height and a slightly more muscular body. But adding that onto a woman that was already so intimidating certainly made Sten acutely aware of the stark contrasts between them. She was, without question, the biggest woman he had ever seen.
“Except…” she said through gritted teeth, “I don’t know if I can handle the way you’re looking at me now. Like… Like I’m a monster; a nightmare creature from Hel.”
“Freydis…” Sten began.
“I’ve never cared about what others choose to think of me. I was not born beautiful nor have I ever tried to be. There is warrior’s blood in me, through and through. The battle scars and my muscles; they are part of me. And I like who I am. I am fearless; I face my challenges head on without a second thought because I know I have the strength to persevere. I never want to give up that feeling.”
“But, at the same time, I know that a part of my heart will wither and die if you think of me as a monster. That is what makes this path so difficult. It’s not my resolve or my drive; my dedication has never been more true. I want my enemies to see me and have fear driven through their hearts like a spear. I want them to tremble… but not you… I don’t want that from you.”
Sten was at a loss for words. This was probably the most he had heard Freydis speak at one time in all the years he had known her. And it was certainly the most honest and open she had been with him. She had always been a woman of few words, and while Sten respected her stalwart nature, it had also been aggravating being with someone who never relinquished their emotions.
This, though. This was the Freydis that he had always wanted to see; someone who was so strong, and yet could expose themselves and show a moment of weakness to a trusted partner.
“Maybe, though,” Freydis said, “That is just the price I have to pay. You seeing me as something other than human; I’m willing to make that sacrifice for my goals, no matter how painful it is.”
Sten gripped Freydis’s hand tighter. My god, had even her fingers become longer? Thicker?
“My lady,” Sten said earnestly, craning his head to look into her eyes, “You will never have to worry about that from me.”
It was so relieving to hear Freydis finally speaking her mind. She was the most guarded person he had ever met; for her to be trusting him to this degree was a boon; an honor, even. It was the very thing that had always been missing between them.
“As long as you’re speaking honestly,” Sten chuckled lightly, “I suppose it’s only fair I do the same. And the truth, Freydis Eiriksdottir, is that I’ve loved you for a long, long time. No matter how far apart we were, you’ve dominated my thoughts since the moment we met.”
There was a moment of softness on her face as she absorbed his words. Her thick eyebrows, usually slanted downwards in a serious demeanor, relaxed. She opened her mouth, but struggled to speak.
“I-I just,” Freydis stammered, “I’m sorry, but I simply refuse to believe that. You could have any woman in Midgard. You’re you and I’m…well…me. I’m a horrid brute who wields battle axes, not sewing needles. I don’t know how to cook anything that isn’t salted meat. And I certainly don’t want to bear children and grow old in a little cottage.”
“You have your own dreams and ambitions, and I’m too selfish to give up on mine. You deserve a beautiful, delicate woman who will support you in your endeavors and give you many sons and daughters to take over your business. That’s what you really want, and you’re not going to find it with me.”
“Freydis dear, shut up,” Sten scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Don’t you go retreating again, like a turtle that won’t come out from its shell. Every time in the past that I’ve confessed my feelings, you’ve denied me, telling me what kind of a woman I should want, and how you’re not it. Well not this time.”
He stared deeply into her vibrant, green eyes. They glistened, almost as if she was on the verge of tears. That would be a first.
“You are the most incredible woman I know,” he continued, “I don’t care if your new gift means you can beat me in arm wrestling.”
Freydis took a moment, simply breathing in and out, her tall frame standing over him with such presence. With each inhale and exhale, her tunic threatened to split and free her body from its confines, and Sten kind of wished that it would. He felt her hand tighten, squeezing his firmly.
“Gift from the gods, or not,” Freydis smirked, “I could always beat you in arm wrestling.”
Sten simply laughed, and Freydis pulled him into an embrace, pressing his ear to her warm, hard bosom. Being wrapped in her arms felt different than it had the last time they were this close; she enveloped so much more of his body in her strong arms and easily held him against her as his full weight melted into her. He could feel the muscles beneath her clothes and while he was curious just how such a powerful woman looked completely naked, Sten was find simply enjoying the hug. Time faded away as Lady Cassandra coasted smoothly back toward Breidafjordur.
There was still much for them to discuss and settle. Sten had no idea if their conversation meant they were seeing each other again. He had a suspicion that with all Freydis had on her mind and the impending challenge she was going to throw at Jarl Leif, the distraction of their questionable relationship was the last thing she needed.
But Sten was okay with that. He would continue to be her support for now. Today, he could simply be happy on two fronts. First off, he had somehow gotten out of that terrible storm with him and Lady Cassandra still intact. And two, him and Freydis had unearthed some feelings they had long buried concerning one another. At this moment, that, along with the overdue embrace, was enough for him.
-
Awesome. I was desperate not to have the sequel. Hope the next episode will be out soon. The progression of the story is so slow that I think we will be amazed when Freydis takes power in her country. The episode was very nice but I'm looking forward to more combat, muscles, and female domination like in '' my wife Jennifer '' with Freydis, more hairy, fragrant, greedy and muscular again. I'm sure Bert has plenty of good surprises in store for us.
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Thanks for the comment, Tikka! Yes, there is plenty more Freydis to come and development along the way. It's definitely going to be a longer story, but those who like slow growth will hopefully be having as much fun with the characters and Freydis as I am!
-
Freydis woke up the next morning feeling as though she could wrestle a bear. In her dreariness, it took her a moment to remember that she had wrestled a bear. The most massive bear she had ever seen. And she won. Seldom few would believe the outlandish story had she not carved its hide as proof. And even then, she knew she’d face constant skepticism.
That was until she took the Jarldom for herself and showed Greenland the truth of her strength.
When her and Sten had arrived back at Breidafjordur, Freydis had been eager to charge through the city square and barrel through the doors of the longhouse, shouting with fury as she challenged her brother Leif in broad daylight for all to see. She had nearly died earning the power Freya had promised, and now it was time to make her ambitions a reality.
But Sten, with his sensible head, had convinced her that she needed rest first. It had been over a day since she had last slept and barely surviving her trials on the island had Sten worried for her well-being. Freydis couldn’t have disagreed more; if only he understood the energy that was flowing through her. She had never felt more alive and more determined. The idea of sleep seemed pointless.
As always, however, Freydis ended up relinquishing her aggression and listening to Sten. That frustrating man had that effect on her. He draped a cloak over her as they set foot on the dock, not wanting to raise any questions from curious townsfolk. She didn’t think anyone would notice any change in her. To most she had always been a big brute; only those really close to her–Sten, Leif, and the gods themselves– were likely to see the difference. Still though, Sten insisted and walked her carefully through town all the same.
Freydis wasn’t really one for stealth; her approach usually began with a swift punch following a hearty battle cry. Sten, on the other hand, had made his living sneaking about; either slipping his ship in and out of illegal trade routes or slipping himself out of a governess’s bedroom in the middle of the night. That last example got on Freydis’s nerves, but as usual, Sten won the argument and the two of them had safely retreated back up the mountains to Freydis’s cabin.
And, while Freydis hated to admit it, rest had been the right decision. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but her body, despite its newfound strength, had been on the brink of collapse. After swearing she’d only close her eyes for a moment, Freydis ended up sleeping through the rest of the day until the next morning.
She had thought the font of energy she’d gained was endless, but it turned out that she still needed to recover. But now, all of the exhaustion built up from the hardships she faced on the island had vanished, and her limbs shook with anticipation, pushing her to act. To move.
Freydis left her bed swiftly, but still stumbled as she climbed to her feet. Though the changes weren’t drastic, the sudden weight and height added to her frame over the last two days was still something she had to get used to. Her arms and legs had more power behind them, yes, but they still felt slightly foreign to her.
It was like switching to a brand new sword after the old one had dulled past the point of repair. Of course, the new sword would be better in every way; lighter, sharper. But there was a certain degree of control one often took for granted when giving up an old weapon. Whether it was wearing in the grip or becoming accustomed to the new weight, getting used to the upgraded sword took time.
The same could be said of her body; this new strength she possessed was a shiny new weapon and the best way to become familiar with it was to swing it.
Freydis headed out of the bedroom and through the main cabin door, feeling the cool, yet calm winter air all around her. She breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh sensations of the mountain; the temperature on her skin, the taste of dew on her tongue, and the smell of pine wood and wet leaves. It all relaxed her, somewhat calming the constant rage she always kept simmering beneath the surface.
She took a few steps, her boots padding on the stoney ground until her pace quickened to a run. Her run became a full sprint as she continued to pick up speed, making her way through the mountains. While her limbs were still unwieldy, the strength behind them had Freydis in awe. As she moved down the path and through the trees, her feet struck the rocks and dug downward, exploding underneath her and pushing her forward in long strides. Trees whipped past her on both sides, branches slapping at her tough skin with hardly a tickle.
In a short time, she found she was quickly approaching the river. It was almost difficult to believe she had crossed so much terrain already. A rickety wooden bridge, that Freydis had built herself, was her usual way of getting over the stream, but today, she felt like putting herself to the test.
Setting her head, Freydis drove her leg downward and sprang into a leap, bounding over the river. She had never tried jumping it before; she had always thought it was about twice the length that she’d be able to jump. But today, she soared over the water with ease
But as she landed on the other side of the crevice, she lost all balance, tripping forward and spinning before slamming her back into a tree trunk. The impact sent a resounding crack through the wood, echoing from the base of the trunk all the way up to the canopy above. Birds squawked and fled from branches, the sudden sound shocking all the wild life in the area.
Freydis’s breath was forced from her chest as she gasped, sucking in air desperately to regain her composure. A sharp pain throbbed in her back, though nothing that was immobilizing. At the speed she was moving, slamming into a tree with such force could have broken bones or cripled her permanently, but luckily, she was able to rise to her feet, wincing slightly at the ache.
Once she caught her breath, the pain subsided fairly quickly. It was impressive, seeing as she had slammed into the tree incredibly hard. There was a notable indent on the trunk and large shards of bark had splintered off and fallen to the ground, exposing the tan wood beneath. She wondered how she would fare against a warhammer or something an opponent would use in battle. If she could survive such a blow, that’d give her an unpredictable edge in a fight.
Soon, she continued her run through the mountains and eventually looped back around to her cabin. To her delight, she was breathing evenly as though she had just finished a steady hike, whereas a few days ago, a sprint like that would have had her puffing for air.
Freydis was surprised to see Sten waiting for her, carrying a large leather sack across his shoulder. He seemed to be reveling in her appearance as he stared, watching as she walked up to him. Sten, who had always been a bit shorter than her, certainly did look smaller from her perspective, if only by a little bit. It was noticeable enough to get a reaction out of Sten as she approached him; the poor, beautiful man was absolutely stunned.
“Seeing you,” he gulped, “Never ceases to amaze me.”
“You know I hate it when people stare,” Freydis huffed, strutting to the water bucket she had left outside.
She used a metal ladle to break the small layer of ice that had formed and dunked it into the water, drawing it to her lips for a long drink. It was cold and refreshing after her run and she exhaled audibly after a few gulps.
“I don’t get to be the exception?” Sten asked, “You know how I love staring at you.”
“We have one heart-to-heart conversation on your ship and now you have all this confidence?” Freydis scoffed.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever not had confidence,” Sten shrugged, “Whether its earned or not is another question entirely, and one I’d rather not try to answer.”
Freydis found herself smiling. Such a stupid, delightful man.
“Anyways,” Sten said, setting down the bag and prying it open, “I come bearing gifts. New clothes and boots to accommodate your, uh, more grandiose stature.”
Freydis beamed. Thank the gods. She had been ignoring it, but the back of her mind was screaming from wearing her boots, and the tightness of her pants and shirt made it difficult to move freely. Another day in those clothes and she’d be leaving them behind and going for her mountain run naked.
She sat down on the wooden slats of her front entrance and pried off her boots, the tight leather barely moving and remaining suctioned around her ankles. After a moment, the material groaned and Freydis sighed loudly as her feet were finally freed from the prison. There were visible lines of steam coming off of her toes as she wiggled them in the cold mountain air.
“Freya be praised,” she said, “You have no idea how freeing this feels.”
“Oh, it certainly smells freeing,” Sten laughed, “Is this the first time you’ve taken off those boots since we left for the island?”
“Shut it,” Freydis smirked, despite the fact that she should probably be more embarrassed, “You know there hasn’t exactly been time.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to take off your boots while you slept last night?”
“I thought I’d only be shutting my eyes for a moment,” Freydis said, “I had no plans to sleep through the night. Besides, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get the boots back on if I took them off…”
“Your lack of planning is truly astonishing,” Sten sighed, “I suppose that means you haven’t had a bath in the last two days either.”
“Swimming in the sea didn’t count?” Freydis asked, entirely serious.
“Allfather, kill me,” Sten shook his head, “You lack refinement in just about every way possible.”
Freydis simply shrugged, and they both exchanged a knowing glance with one another. After a moment, Sten let loose the chuckle he seemed to have been holding back.
“Well, c’mon then,” Sten said, tugging at her arm, though he didn’t have much luck in moving her, “Bath now. Challenge your brother in a duel to the death later.”
She relinquished, following Sten’s motion and standing, her bare feet feeling amazing on the snow covered wood of her porch. As eager as she was to go into town and confront Leif, soaking her aching back after the fall she had taken was probably a good idea; she wanted to be in prime condition for the match.
Sten gripped her hand and led her inside. He started the fire to warm up her bath and then began to aid her in removing her outer clothes. Once he reached for her linens, however, she instinctively swatted his hand away.
“I can handle it from here,” Freydis said, but Sten began hushing her, continuing his work.
“Freydis, my dear,” he said coolly, “For once in your life, just relax and let me help you.”
She felt like a wild horse being tamed, the way that Sten shushed her and ran his soft hands down her torso and legs as he slowly undid her clothing.
Freydis was still reluctant when it came to her feelings towards Sten. She knew that she loved him, and he confessed that he still loved her. And yet, why was it so difficult to just let go around him? For some reason, she still found herself pulling away, going on the defensive. When it came to her emotions, Freydis armed herself with the sturdiest of shields, and it infuriated her that Sten could so easily remove that shield.
The last of her top was removed and Sten gasped; she felt his hand gently touch the spot where she had rammed into the tree trunk.
“Whores of Persia,” Sten exclaimed, “You’re all bruised up! Was this from the fight with the bear?”
“N-no,” Freydis stammered as Sten traced his finger lightly down her exposed back, “It was from my run this morning. I sort of collided with a tree.”
Sten didn’t ask any follow up questions, but she could feel him getting closer as suddenly his breath was in the center of her back, both his hands massaging the muscles around the bruise. Freydis shuddered involuntarily. His touch was so delicate; a harsh juxtaposition from her rough, muscled exterior. With her torso now completely bare, Sten began removing the last of her bottoms. He had to work a bit more to slide the material down her bulkier butt and legs, but eventually she stood completely naked.
It was terrifying. And nice.
“Your body is like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Sten said, gently gripping the sides of her upper thighs.
“But you have seen it before,” Freydis reminded him, “We weren’t together long, but there were plenty of times where we were very familiar with each other.”
“Not like this,” Sten exhaled, the air from his lungs tingling her spine, “Our time together was always so carnal. And straight to the point. Which, don’t get me wrong, was very fun. But this is what we were missing. Just simply being together. Really seeing one another.”
“I never wanted you to see me,” Freydis admitted, “Vulnerable and exposed.”
She looked to the side, finally daring to look at the mirror that stood off to the side. In its reflection, she witnessed Sten standing behind her, having also removed his own clothes as he had stripped hers away. He examined every inch of her, his hands exploring and rubbing, moving smoothly up and down each of the crevices of her hard skin. While the changes to her frame were subtle, seeing Sten next to her certainly showcased the difference in height and how she stood a full head over him now, his lips hardly coming up to the base of her neck.
Her body looked mostly the same; a conditioned frame littered with battle scars. But she could also see the greater density in her muscles; the way her arms and legs carried a greater thickness to them than before, how her back and shoulders were set wider, and how the flickering light of the candles highlighted the deeper, more defined ridges between individual muscle groups.
Freydis' braid of dark red hair wrapped across her neck and draped over her shoulder, the color looking a vibrant crimson in the light. As she looked down, she also noticed she was less thick in her stomach. She always had notable muscles above the waist, but now they looked even more distinct and separated. The same could be said about the disappearing fat on her breasts, which had never been bountiful in the first place, but now looked even more flattened compared to the stronger chest that tightened beneath them.
A part of her hated that; she never had much of a womanly figure to showcase, but losing more of the breasts she barely possessed sent self consciousness slithering through her. She knew it shouldn’t matter; what Freydis aimed to accomplish in her life went far beyond the pettiness of appearance and the appeal of curves and tits. But something about being with Sten made her all the more aware of the features she lacked.
Other women Sten had been with had luscious breasts and curvaceous hips, and were completely smooth with flawless skin. But Freydis? She was rough, muscular, littered with scars, and didn’t bother maintaining the hair on her body. There was a bit of her mind that wouldn’t let that fact go and continued telling her she would never be the beauty that Sten wanted; that he deserved.
She despised such a feeling. She loathed how every bit of battlefield prowess and confidence completely disappeared when she was alone with Sten. If you took away Freydis’s fighting skills and her stalwart willpower, what was left of her? The truth was, she had nothing. Her life outside of war was desolate.
There was a sudden urge she had experienced many times before. It was the urge to run away and hide; to push Sten away and kick him out of her cabin so she could wallow alone.
But before she could react, Sten walked around her to the front, looking up at her as he peered directly into her eyes. He ran his hands down her thick arms, tracing his fingers down to her bush. She eyed his slim statured body, from his smooth chest and flat stomach, all the way down to his blatant erection that throbbed, facing upward towards her. Somehow, this beautiful, amazing man was attracted to her. Freydis could see it in Sten’s eyes; his pure lust, his desire to have her.
She wanted disregard all of it; tell herself that Sten would fuck anything with legs. That was the only reason he was so visibly aroused. But she also knew that wasn’t really true. For whatever strange, unfathomable reason, Sten really did want her, didn’t he?
“Sten…” she found herself whispering, “I can’t be what you want.”
“Didn’t I tell you yesterday to stop telling me what I want?” he smirked, that same dangerous grin that always left her feeling weak.
“Look at us,” Freydis gestured to the mirror and the obvious contrast between their two reflections, “Look at me. I’ve given up my beauty for my pursuit of power. And if I keep going, I have a feeling my body will only continue to change.”
“Then so be it,” Sten said, stern in his resolve, “You’re amazing, Freydis. You’re disciplined, determined, and fearless. You’re taking a leap into the unknown, but I’m going to be by your side leaping with you. You have an adventurous future ahead of you, and I hope you’ll allow me to take part in it.”
“But what if staying on this path,” Freydis said, swallowing as the words left her lips, “means I have to give you up.”
“We’ll figure that out later,” Sten nodded, “But for today, let’s just have this. If you’re really going to challenge Leif, you risk dying. And if you’re going to lead your people back to Vinland, you risk dying. Whatever journey you’re on, battle is going to be at the heart of it, and you’re always going to risk dying. Before you’re past that point of no return, don’t you want to know that we at least got to have this? Just two people who truly love each other, being together.”
That stupid silver tongue of his. Freydis knew she was powerless against it. He took another step forward until only a small space existed between their flesh. Sten stood on his toes, reaching his mouth up towards hers and kissed her.
He was delicious. Sten’s hair and skin smelled of lavender and there was a hint of blackberries and salt on his tongue. By contrast, she realized she probably smelled of earth and sweat. But by Sten’s passionate kiss, he didn’t seem to mind. Their lips remained locked and Sten wrapped his arms up and around Freydis’s neck. She planted her hands at the small of his back and drew him toward her, feeling his erection press into her firm upper thigh.
God she wanted him; she ached for him. Her cunt grew hot; it tingled as it became slick. Before she could act and pull his hips into hers, Sten parted from her. She was about to protest, but Sten simply took her by the hand and led her into the steaming bath. Freydis stepped into the wooden tub and sank down, submerging most of her body into the water.
Sten squeezed into the space behind her and grabbed a scrubbing stone and some lather, soaping her back in large circles before massaging her clean. After her back was clean, Sten pressed himself close, wrapping his arms and legs around her torso from behind as he massaged and washed her front. His hands moved up and down her abdominal muscles and strong chest, also stopping to scrub her scruffy armpits.
“You know,” Sten said softly and casually, “It’s become very common in many parts of Asia and Europe for women to shave their bodies. I’ve found it amusing to watch that custom make its way to the Nordic countries. Lately, it seems like you can’t go into a brothel without finding women bare as the day they were born.”
As he moved away from her armpits, he slowly worked down and began scrubbing her pubic area, lathering up her tangled bush submerged in the hot water. Freydis felt a twinge of shame again; she had never liked how the culture of Norse women had shifted to shaving their bodies. Freydis never seemed to have the time or the patience to do it more than a few times a season, and even then she found it gratuitous and unnecessary for a warrior.
But as a woman, a part of her wanted to feel that acceptance, and so she found herself reluctantly complying.
“Me, however?” Sten continued, “I’ve always found it silly.”
His hand gripped her pubes, gently yet firmly getting his fingers lost in her forest. One of his fingers found its way between her pussy lips while Sten’s other hand carved down Freydis’s legs, feeling the short, scratchy hairs on her thighs and shins.
“I love a woman who’s untamable.”
Freydis gasped as Sten’s finger entered her, wiggling deeper until he was up to his knuckle in her sex. He twirled inside her tight expanse, exploring her from wall to wall. She felt his cock hard against her back, twitching eagerly.
She couldn’t handle the teasing for a second longer. With a speed and ferocity that surprised even herself, Freydis spun to face Sten, straddled his legs, and forced herself down onto his rock hard meat. Sten, hardly prepared for such an attack, reeled back for a moment until his face melted into pure ecstasy as he was plunged into her.
They both exhaled in unison and Freydis began to move herself up and down on his shaft, making good use of her strong legs to keep herself balanced as she squatted again and again. The bath water sloshed back and forth in growing waves as their bodies moved rhythmically, water overflowing and splashing onto the wooden floor of her cabin.
Sten’s hands grabbed and squeezed at her body. Freydis figured that he’d be focusing on her tits and ass, like most men. To her surprise, he grasped at her shoulders and arm muscles.
Freydis sighed happily as the water and Sten’s magical hands washed away her anxiety. In the past, their sex had been good, but always a rough pursuit of fleshly pleasure. Today, however, was different. They moved as one, two bodies pressing against one another in a sensual embrace.
Before, Freydis had kept Sten at a distance. But now they were intertwined in a way she hadn’t previously allowed. And as frightening as it was, it felt incredible to be so close to someone.
“Sten,” she panted, reveling at how his cock filled her and pulsed against her walls, “I-I love you.”
“And I, you,” Sten breathed into her neck before tracing her nape with kisses, taking extra time to circle his lips around the bulges of muscles between her neck and her shoulders.
Having hit just the right spot, Freydis pulled him in tight and groaned, her chasm quivering as beginning to spasm as she came. Sten let go at the same time, clinging onto Freydis’s back as his thrusting quickened. Sten let out a grunting exhale as she constricted his entire frame, her arms, legs, and cunt tightening around every inch of him. They both shook as they cried out, their sweaty bodies smashed together as climax overtook every sense, Freydis’s toes scrunching as her pelvic aching was finally satiated.
“Gods,” Freydis whispered, unable to think of anything else to say.
“Freydis,” Sten croaked.
Freydis finally realized that Sten had been slapping his hand against her meaty shoulder, desperately trying to get her attention as she continued her bone-crushing squeeze. Realizing what she had been doing, she immediately unwrapped her limbs from Sten’s body. The poor man gasped for air as she freed him.
“I’m so sorry,” Freydis said sheepishly, creating some distance between them in the tub.
“D-don’t be,” Sten panted, “I’d happily give up my breath to experience such a sensation again. By the gods, you are strong, woman.”
“I didn’t realize I was hurting you,” Freydis said sheepishly.
“It isn’t your fault,” Sten said, water sloshing as he drifted closer to her again, “You’re just getting used to this power of yours.”
He leaned up and planted a kiss on her lips before settling into her lap, laying his head on her chest.
“Though,” he said, still catching his breath, “Next time, maybe we use a signal.”
They cuddled into the tub until their skin was pruny and the fire had dimmed, leaving the bathwater cold. He gently washed her red braid as she simply cradled him, letting him rest against her. It was right to simply enjoy the moment, especially knowing that once they got out of the bath, it was time to go back into town. And once they were there, Freydis would challenge her brother Leif and alter her destiny forever.
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Absolutely awesome. I love the Freydis and Sten characters. Sten looks so precious and flirtatious with his perfumes and his baths. Quite the opposite of Freydis, gruff, lonely and a bit unhygienic but that won't really bother Freydis fans. Glad to hear that Sten prefers Freydis to keep her body hair and bushy pubis. this story deserved to be awaited. A big congratulations Bert. I'm waiting for the sequel or Freydis will not fail to beat her brother and take the power. But even if the triumph of Freydis is obvious we can count on the talent of bert who always knows how to turn his adventures well. With even more I hope big muscles for freydis, growth, body hair, fighting dangerous animals, gobbling food and role reversal in vikings society.
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Hello Tikka; thank you so much for the kind words and for taking the time to comment! I'm glad you had fun reading the latest chapter! More to come!
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I've really enjoyed reading this. Glad that you've been concentrating on fleshing out two characters rather than jumping around between so many POV's, in multiple theaters, the way so many published speculative fiction writers do. Your story bears all the hallmarks of an epic with a much smaller word count.
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Thanks Jerusalem Tulip: That is definitely my writing style. I much prefer long-form character driven stories about managing change and the emotions that follow, rather than quick bursts of fetish content or too many character perspectives. I'm glad you're enjoying it!