Chapter Text
There is a man she does not know next to her on the bed.
Of course, Gwendolyn knows of him - he is the Shadow Knight, formerly the Vanir’s demon to control and to unleash on foes. She knows the rumors, whispered among her peo - no, the other Aesir, she thinks with a pang - that the Shadow Knight must have forged a contract with Hel’s denizens in order to achieve such inhuman heights in power. She knows that the Shadow Knight was given her hand in marriage, her dear sister’s spear, and this castle in exchange for slaying Wagner by her father (who gives his daughters away to war and politicking without a thought, the bluebird murmurs).
But she does not know this man.
She knows the traditions that husband and wife are bound to among the Aesir. There is a reason why dread pools deep in her belly, clings tightly, and threatens to make the contents of her dinner spill. At best, there might be love or something verging on tolerance between the two. At worst, even the children cannot be counted on for affection and love. All the same, the valkyrie’s wings will be cut and she will trade freedom to lie with her husband.
The Shadow Knight has not asked to cut her wings - yet. He has not asked to bed her - yet. He has not even touched her - yet.
But she does not know this man.
(“You are not an object,” her mind replays. Gwendolyn’s stomach unclenches slightly. But she remembers the spell her father put on her and she again feels ill at once).
She knows that the man across from her isn’t yet asleep. Try as he might, she knows full well what marks the intake of breath during slumber from a breath held tightly and then set to release slowly, slowly. Griselda - and Gwendolyn sucks in a breath that she knows that he can hear because he immediately stiffens - would do the same when she was little. After their mother had passed. A small bubble of weakness, so little tolerated in Aesir society, in the dark when her sister thought that no one, not even the little sister nearby, could hear.
Griselda is not here.
There is a man next to her instead.
“Gwendolyn.”
She thinks of staying silent. It is some time after they had laid to sleep. She knows that there are only a few things men want from their wives at this time.
However, she knows what duty expects from her. Even if she has been banished, she knows how she should act toward a husband. Her father would want it this way and when has she ever refuse to fulfill his wishes?
She opens her mouth, prepares to say, “What is it, Oswald,” maybe even “What would you like me to do for you, Oswald?” Since waking up in this castle, she has girded herself for this moment. She grips her mother’s dress, her armor for this, and -
“Never mind. You are clearly trying to get some sleep. I shall bother you no more.”
She hears him turn on his side and then is still once more.
Only then does Gwendolyn allow herself to exhale, her fingers to loosen from the satin folds, and her eyes to close.
She truly does not know this man next to her.