Work Text:
NORWAY - EARLY FALL - 978 AD
Mother was sleeping. The young girl put her finger to her lips to keep her younger brother quiet as to not wake her. With father gone, she had not been sleeping well, awakened with nightmares of something dreadful that the children could not comprehend.
She reached out her small hands and spread them out across her mother's expanded belly, heavy with child. Their newest little sibling could kick as strong as Thor’s hammer; the eldest daughter had found that when she sang to the child, it seemed to calm them. She could feel the baby kick her hand as she rested it there and she giggled; it felt funny.
“Shh, there, don’t wake mama,” she whispered, leaning down to speak directly to her mother's womb. She looked at her little brother, who was wide eyed and had reached out a tentative hand to touch as well. “Heill dagr. Heilir dags synir. Heil nótt ok nift. Óreiðum augum lítið okkr þinig ok gefið sitjöndum sigr,”1 she started to sing and the kicking seemed to diminish. “See?” she murmured to her little brother, continuing the song.
“Heilir æsir. Heilar ásynjur. Heil sjá in fjölnýta fold. Mál ok mannvit gefið okkr mærum tveim ok læknishendr, meðan lifum.”2