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Floki only loves himself.
A long time ago - before Paris and Athelstan and Ragnar and even her daughter’s birth - Helga had known deep inside of her that while she had given Floki her heart, his was devoted to the gods.
A long time ago - before she had more to worry about than just pleasing the gods – that had been enough.
To Helga, it felt like a lifetime had passed since those days. They were fever-dreams of happiness and warmth where marriage and a child were blessings to be celebrated. But like all dreams, they had to end. She could understand now why Ragnar had turned to the Christ-god for their own gods were full of trickery and deceit. All the gifts they gave her they had also happily snatched away.
Helga wanted to scream and cry and curse the cruel gods that took her little girl from her. She wanted to scream and cry and curse the husband who was not there when their daughter took her last shaky little breath.
But mostly, Helga want to go back to when her child was small and her husband was still there. Back to the time when she could pretend nothing would come of Floki’s yearning to please the gods and her daughter would grow tall and all would be well.
But Floki loved gods that only he could hear and her daughter was always weak and small.
Now she knows why people used to avoid Floki the boat-builder. Now she understands the pity in Ragnar's eyes as she defended her husband. Once she had dreamed that Floki would build boats but give up raiding to stay with her and their child. Instead, alone in her cold home, she wraps Angrboda’s small body in white cloth to bury her in the hills where she liked to play.