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The chamber was warm from their bodies. The air smelled of recent lovemaking and hummed with deep breaths. Hermione stretched languidly, turning over on the furs, and trailed her fingertips feather-light over her man's skin. Only with her was he this relaxed, allowing touches that would cost others their lives. She smiled with just the corners of her lips and leaned forward to press a kiss onto the longest scar beneath his ribs – the one that had nearly torn them apart.
“What are you thinking?” Severus asked hoarsely, watching her movements. A slight tremor ran through the jarl’s body as her lips touched his skin.
Hermione looked at him slyly and shook her head.
“Don’t,” he growled. In a swift movement, he pinned her beneath him, drawing only laughter. He smiled in response to her happy expression. Leaning lower, right to her ear, he whispered, his warm breath stirring her chestnut curls: “I know you too well. What are you scheming?”
Without waiting for an answer, he began covering her neck with hot kisses, moving lower, savoring the sounds he drew from her.
“Well?” His lips and tongue had already traced a path to her thighs. “Still won’t talk?”
Hermione’s eyes were clouded with desire. She looked at him, biting her lip, her chest heaving higher, but she stubbornly kept silent.
“Fine.”
Severus gave her tender skin one last nip and returned to his previous position. Hermione groaned in disappointment.
“Tease,” she murmured, turning her face to him.
Only in bed were they equals, able to look each other in the eye like this. Each time, Hermione drowned in the dark pools of his eyes and fell into starry skies, while Severus bathed in rays of autumn sunlight, seeing purest amber. He was no skald, but he’d heard enough ballads to make such comparisons.
“I was thinking I need to wear you out completely,” the girl whispered, “so you’ll stay with me. I don’t want to let you go.”
The jarl sighed heavily and sat up, breaking eye contact. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“There you go again, woman.”
“Don’t go there,” she sat up too, wrapping her arms around his torso, pressing her warm breasts against his back. “You won’t come back. I feel it.”
The man gave a bitter chuckle and interlaced his fingers with hers. He raised her slender palm to his face and pressed his lips to it. It was foolish not to believe her, descended as she was from a völva.
“Odin will ward off death.”
“He’ll take you himself. Warriors like you are what he needs,” Hermione whispered dully, pressing closer.
Arguing was pointless. They both knew Severus was the best in the raiding party. Even without his hereditary title, Tobis-son would have earned renown from warriors and gods alike.
The girl listened to the steady, clear beat of his heart, but for the first time, the sound didn’t calm her. Each thud seemed to count down the time they had left. Turning her head, Hermione began to cover his broad back, etched with scars and rutted with welts, with kisses, moving higher until she buried her face in his pitch-black hair.
“Don’t let the valkyries turn your head,” she pleaded, fighting back tears.
“My only valkyrie is you.”
“Then why can’t you stay with me?”
Her voice broke, and she began to shake with sobs.
Severus gently pulled Hermione onto his lap and held her. The girl clutched his shoulders, clinging closer than any armor. He stroked her hair and shoulders carefully, rocking her gently. Severus knew how to pacify enemies, but how to calm a weeping woman? That was beyond him.
Soon, Hermione slept. He laid her back on the furs and lay down beside her. The hearth fire had almost died, but its faint glow was enough for Severus to study the girl before him, to memorize the beloved features. Silently, he swore to her he would return before the first snow. He would do everything to meet his valkyrie again as soon as possible.
In the morning, the jarl left.
His war band departed the settlement before the first rays of sun.
***
Steel rent the air and bodies. Scarlet rivers offered their last warmth to the soil, nourishing it before its long winter sleep. Weapons clanged from all sides, arrows whistled, and from the sea, grumbling clouds advanced.
The sounds blended into a unique song – the song of battle.
Severus dodged an enemy sword at the last moment, bared his red-stained teeth in a snarl, and roared as he charged. The axe in his hands sang joyfully, bathing in foreign blood. As if guided by Ódin himself, the jarl whirled in a deadly dance, landing blow after blow. He had long stopped counting how many he’d sacrificed to his god, no longer feeling the wounds he took.
The longer Severus fought, the wider and more frenzied his smile became.
His warriors kept pace: carving a path through enemies, entering houses and churches, selecting slaves from the survivors.
Fires flared here and there, sending red and black feathers soaring skyward.
“Behind you!”
Hearing a familiar voice amidst the battle’s din, the jarl raised his shield. It shuddered under a powerful blow. A choked cry followed, and the warrior who had attacked him fell, clutching at the arrow lodged neatly between helmet and armor. Severus nodded to the archer, quickly finding him with his gaze, and plunged back into the fray.
Four more fell to his hand before everything suddenly went quiet.
Staggering, the jarl froze and looked around. Houses smoldered; somewhere, a woman wept. Her tears echoed within him, a reminder of the one he’d left behind in the home settlement. Severus shook his head. An unpleasant buzzing filled his ears. He raised his weapon, slick with enemy blood, and roared in triumph.
A hundred voices answered him with similar roars from all sides.
The first lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled in the heavens.
The man smirked crookedly, feeling his face tighten with dried blood and grime.
Odin was on their side.
***
Hermione couldn’t settle. Almost a month had passed since Severus’s longship left shore. She knew raids could last years, but this time felt different. A knot tightened in her chest, growing more painful each day.
She tried to distract herself, to keep busy, but everything slipped through her fingers. By evening, when the feeling became impossible to ignore, the girl packed some food and headed into the forest. There, far from everyone, stood the hut of the völva. Not the one from whom she was descended – Ginnlaug had long gone to join the ancestors. Much water had flowed under the bridge since then; Hermione hadn’t even known her. The current völva was a woman who had come from neighboring lands, and many, even after a dozen years, still regarded her with suspicion and wariness.
Many, but not Hermione.
Perhaps it was because her family had always held seeresses in special regard, or perhaps because Avrenim often gave her wise counsel.
The völva’s earth-house was in the forest that walled one boundary of the settlement. Hermione walked without fear, her supple bow at the ready, feeling the cold dagger against her booted calf. With winter approaching, wild beasts were seen here more often, but predators hadn't come close yet. The girl would have welcomed a hare jumping across her path – Avrenim loved when she brought fresh game – but there were no tracks on the path or nearby. Hermione hoped the völva would appreciate the fresh fish and handfuls of berries she’d gathered on the way.
The moss-covered roof was only visible if you knew where to look. Hermione knew. She spotted it almost immediately, pausing for a fraction of a second as she always did when emerging from the dense tree cover. A smile bloomed on her lips unbidden, and her heavy thoughts receded.
“Avrenim!” the girl called, shifting her basket to one hand and gathering her skirt with the other. Just like in childhood, Hermione abandoned her measured walk for a run as soon as she spotted the völva’s grey-haired head appearing at her call. And just like then, she faltered under the woman’s stern gaze as she drew near. Hermione bowed low and offered the gifts. “Hail, All-Knowing One.”
“Hail to you, daughter of Ingvild,” the woman sang, accepting the offerings. “You seek news of your warrior?”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t flinch under the völva’s gaze, lifting her chin proudly.
“Yes. I am uneasy.”
Avrenim nodded and turned towards the earth-house entrance, silently inviting her inside. It was cool within, smelling of herbs. Hermione deftly avoided a hanging bundle of faded flowers as she stepped further in. The völva motioned for her to stay put and disappeared behind a hanging hide. Hermione had never been in that inner room, nor had she ever felt the urge to peek behind the curtain, even as a child.
The woman returned quickly, without the basket but holding a cloth pouch. She shook it, glancing sideways at the girl frozen like a frightened fawn.
“Is it wise to trouble the runes when you already know the answer?”
Hermione’s doe eyes widened further, glistening with unshed tears.
“I…” The words caught in her throat.
“We trust others more than ourselves, is that it?” the völva smiled sadly, holding out the open pouch. “Draw one.”
With trembling fingers, Hermione touched the smooth stones.
***
Small stones bit painfully into his palm.
Severus rolled swiftly and surged back to his feet, evading the next attack. The stranger gave a frustrated roar, swinging again as the Viking assessed the situation. Things were bad. Worse than bad.
Their war band hadn’t been ready for the counter-attack, too drunk on their string of victories, each filling their longships with more gold and silver. They’d grown complacent, and the jarl himself was to blame. They should have stopped sooner, not pushed deeper onto the continent chasing greater plunder.
A sword whistled an inch from his head. Severus barely dodged, kicked hard at the unprotected knees, and in the next instant slashed upward through the body. The air was pierced by a short scream, the smell of salt sharp. He spun around, assessing the battle raging on all sides. His men were dwindling, the blood deepening. They were losing. It was clear to everyone.
His chest heaved painfully with each breath; Severus felt broken ribs grating. He grimaced, raising his weapon arm again to block the blow.
Steel sparked.
The first snowflakes fell from the sky.
The sword plunged into solid flesh.
Forgive me.