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Why was she named Siggy? After her grandmother's best friend of course. After her great uncle's best friend of course. After a woman so powerful that nothing and no one could kill her. She was invulnerable, unbeatable, and only died when she decided to. Siggy was a good strong name.
But little Siggy, the angel trapped on earth never had a chance. Her mother abandoned her, her father in his pain couldn't bare look at her. Bjorn Ironside who couldn't be touched by the metal of an enemy's blade, could be cut in the heart by searing pain every time he heard the name Siggy or saw her chubby face. You never would have known he was her father. You never would have known he once held her in his hands with such joy and pride.
Siggy was an orphan with two living parents who both rejected her. It's never been an uncommon thing but it has always been unfair. Her life was never fair. If she had lived long enough to tell you so she would've. She would've wandered the world never finding anything more unfair than her little life. She would've crossed rivers and seas just to find a soul whose life wrongs equaled hers. Perhaps she'd find someone in a little house in the hills and mountains just as battered and heart-sore as she would've been before settling in the city, the local crippled old woman with more scars than wrinkles and more grievances than wisdoms to share. But little Siggy never even had the chance to do that.
She was always dirty. She was filthier than the dirt found where the women pour out their piss pots. No one cleaned her. It was her step-grandmother's duty - the queen's duty - to look after the little princess. Ever before had there ever been a princess so neglected and loveless? So lonely and invisible? She never cried though. No Siggy was silent always. She was more shadow than human some might have said had they ever saw her or cared to look at her.
Siggy was lucky in a way you might suppose that her death wasn't by the direct hands of a monster. She was not brutalized or abducted (although there never could've been a more easy target). Darling Siggy, quiet, blue eyed Siggy, found herself ill one day. She had no one to help her, to hold her while she shivered or kiss her forehead. It didn't take long at all for it to take her. All her little body had to do was let go and with a life like hers there was nothing to hold on to. No father, no mother, no grandfather, no grandmothers. Not even little Sigurd, who was the only person who ever looked at her or said her name. Not even her uncle Sigurd's curious concern was enough. She fell into the river, her body resting on the edge of its bed. She was a porcelain doll blonde haired with grey and white skin. Steady and still, eyes to the sky looking at the life she deserved.
When her father returned he didn't ask about her. Her step-grandmother never spoke of her either. It wasn't until her grandmother, Earl of Hedeby asked about her little Siggy while she lie in sweat and pain that Bjorn had realized he hadn't seen even a glimpse or heard a word about his daughter. Aslaug came clean, well partially. Siggy caught cold. Never got well again. Her body was burnt, Aslaug had told him. Aslaug in actuality didn't even know how Siggy died. The small child could've been victim of wild dogs for all she knew. Her body could still be in the river. Aslaug didn't know and like her Ivar, she didn't care. Sigurd never spoke up, never told his brother truth. He didn't think it would matter.
Bjorn cried alone that night. He had been abandoned by his Porunn and in response he abandoned his Siggy. It was disgraceful and disgusting. The gods' punishments were always cruel but Bjorn would be a liar to say he didn't deserve it. It was Siggy who didn't deserve it but he bestowed it upon her. She was better off dead and away from a father as deliberately distant as himself.
Bjorn remembered Gyda, his pretty gold haired sister. Was this the pain his father, Ragnar Lothbrok, had felt after failing in his mission assigned by the late King Horik and after betraying his once wife Lagertha when he returned home to Kattegat only to find his baby girl body was already turned into ash and bone dust? Bjorn had failed at taking Paris, at killing his treacherous uncle, and now his daughter was dead. And to think Porunn left because she believed that she couldn't do right by Siggy.
Bjorn found himself by the river, only the moon as his light and guide. He never would have known it but he stood where Siggy's heart stopped beating. He listened to the low music of the water stream with his head bowed. He wanted to say something to her, but what could he say? What did he have the right to say? It was hypocritical enough of him to have even cried. How dare he mourn a life he had forgotten and forsaken? If Siggy could've spoken to him she would have cursed him and call him the poor father that he was. She didn't love him. She didn't need him or his farewell words. She was with the gods now, living the life she deserved.
Bjorn wiped his face clean and went back to his bed and slept roughly and yet more peacefully than his daughter ever had.