บท 3: 3-The Girl
Magnus strode across the terrain, now barefoot, appearing unbothered as sticks, rocks and potentially slippery terrain left seemed to not faze the boy. He'd hardly thought twice when lending his boots to Lagertha, who now wore them with quiet gratitude. The two had walked silently at times, just soaking in the wilderness, and when they reached the crest of the small mountain, Magnus stopped to show her the waterfall spilling gracefully over the rocks, the late-autumn sunlight glinting off the water like molten silver.
"This is…beautiful," Lagertha murmured, her eyes widening with awe.
Magnus nodded, pride clear in his smile. "My mother chose this place for our home because of it long before I was born. We get water from here, and we use it for washing up and drinking too. We're lucky, I think."
They climbed the last stretch up the hill, with Lagertha's breathing labored from the effort. Magnus seemed hardly winded, his stride as steady as ever. Finally, they reached the clearing where a simple but sturdy house made of thick timber and thatch stood, smoke curling from the chimney. Out front, a woman stood splitting logs with practiced ease. Her fur-lined coat swung with each powerful swing of her axe, and her boiled leather armor bore the marks of years spent fending for herself and her family in the wilderness.
Freya turned, pausing as she noticed the young girl by her son's side. "You're back, my boy. Find anything?"
"Yes, mother," Magnus replied with the pride of a fledgling hunter. "There's a grove down the hill with deer tracks. Feels like two or three of them might be around there recently."
Freya nodded, thoughtful. "They seem to be lingering around that grove. Something has kicked them into a strange mood these past few years. Well done." Her gaze shifted to Lagertha, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of the girl who stood in Magnus's boots. "And who is this?"
"This is Lagertha," Magnus said earnestly. "I found her at the stream, trying to catch fish on her own. She looked hungry, so I thought she might need some help."
Freya's expression softened, though her tone held a gentle reprimand. "Magnus, you can't just tell anyone where we live. Trust is not given so easily, especially in these parts."
Magnus nodded, accepting her words without resentment. He'd been raised to understand the world's dangers and his mother's protective nature, which had kept him safe in a life surrounded by perils. "I'm sorry, mother."
Lagertha stepped forward, her chin raised with the defiance and pride of a girl who had yet to know true hardship. "It is an honor to meet you," she said, her voice earnest. "I want to be a shield-maiden one day, like you."
Freya chuckled, her smirk both amused and wary. "Battle in any form is no matter of joy, girl. A warrior's heart must harden to take a life, yet stay soft enough to remain true, whatever it is you decide that to be. That's a balance few learn, even fewer master. One day, you will learn what I speak of." Her gaze lingered on Lagertha, her words carrying the weight of someone who had seen that truth up close. "But for now, I am willing to accept my sons judgement, for he certainly is not one to seek people out for the sake of it. Come, warm yourself by the fire while I prepare supper. The leftovers are better spent on you then the mutt"
Magnus knelt down to his best friend who cried a soft whimper at her words.
As they all entered the cozy warmth of the cabin, Freya's expression softened as she looked from Lagertha to Magnus. "So, tell me," she said with a teasing gleam in her eyes, "how did my son meet his future woman?"
Magnus's face went crimson, his eyes widening in shock. "WHAT?!" He stammered, his blush slowly spreading to the tips of his ears as he realized his mother's jest. Despite all the courage, familiarity and skill in the woods, Lagertha was shocked such a boy would be flustered by a mere tease.
She, for her part, seemed unbothered, even amused, a hint of a smirk crossing her face. She stepped inside, casting a curious glance around their home, taking in the wooden beams, the smell of herbs hanging to dry, and the soft crackle of the fire. She felt the warmth seep into her bones and couldn't help but smile, though her practiced face of stoicism quickly returned.
They settled around the hearth, where Freya laid out some of the venison from her last hunt and, a stew of the same and fresh bread she'd made that morning. "Go on girl," she urged, gesturing to the food. "It is not often we have guests here."
Lagertha took a bite, savoring the rich flavor of the meat. "Thank you. My mother taught me to find food, but I can't hunt like Magnus."
"Well, that will come with time," Freya said as she sat by the fire, her eyes thoughtful as she watched the two children, one wild as the woods and the other with a fierce pride yet untouched by hardship.
Once they had eaten, Lagertha looked across the fire at Freya. "Could you… teach me? To hunt, like Magnus?"
Freya regarded her with a raised brow, measuring the young girl's determination. She saw resilience there, a spark she'd seen in herself once. "Hunting is more than just skill. It's patience, respect for the land, and the creatures you track. It's knowing that each life you take has meaning and cost, and if you are ever able to give something back without endangering you or those you love, take every opportunity" She held Lagertha's gaze, her words landing with a gravity that the young girl could sense, even if she couldn't yet understand.
"Could you teach me to have patience?" Lagertha asked earnestly, her eyes wide and unwavering.
Freya's mouth curled into a smile, both proud and contemplative. "Perhaps. But know this: the woods are harsh, the winters unforgiving. I am sure you know this from the state you came to us in. If you truly want to be a shield-maiden, you will need to learn to survive these lands too, more so then any other."
As the fire crackled and the autumn air outside chilled further, the three of them sat, each caught in their own thoughts. Magnus and Lagertha exchanged shy smiles, and for the first time, Freya saw in her son the stirrings of something deeper, an understanding that the ties they form with other can be as binding as any sword or shield.
The evening turned quiet as Lagertha settled in for the night, her curiosity finally at ease as sleep claimed her. Freya watched over her, her gaze lingering on Magnus as he, too, drifted off, nestled against Garm's fur. She couldn't help but think back to Seer's visions, if that woman, one of Magnus's 'future generals', was the girl that now spelt in her home. If this was the truth, then she new her son would be in good hands, for the aspiring Shield-maiden reminded her much of herself in her own youth.
The next day.
Magnus strode carefully down the hill alongside Lagertha, who walked with newfound confidence in his old pair of boots he'd only recently grown out of, a grin flashing across his face every now and then as he watched her navigate the uneven path. She looked back at him just before they reached her home, crossing her arms with a hint of defiance, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.
"You can go no further," she said firmly, her voice echoing the authority she wished to project. "My parents wouldn't allow it."
Magnus raised an eyebrow, feigning hurt. "Why not? I helped you back…unless you would rather they not know you needed help..." he teased, glancing down at her feet. "Though those boots might be a little hard to explain. I haven't seen any...in season, in any rivers nearby at least."
Lagertha's lips twitched in offense and pride, and she shot back, "Do you want them back then?"
"No, they're yours now, a gift," he replied warmly, genuine acceptance in his tone. "But if you don't want me here, I understand." He turned to leave, but there was something in his stride, a knowing smirk that hinted he wasn't as ready to go as he let on.
"Wait…" she sighed, glancing at the path before waving him back. "You can come. But I warned you, my parents like strangers even less than your mother does." She said before pointing to Garm, who had been faithfully trailing behind them. "Leave the wolf here, unless you don't mind him being turned into a coat."
Magnus chuckled, crouching down to give Garm a firm pat. "Stay here for a little while boy. Wait for me in those bushes." The wolf padded obediently into a small clearing, nestling himself between a cluster of brush and fallen leaves, his yellow eyes gleaming from the shadows.
As they neared Lagertha's home, Magnus sensed something was amiss. The homestead, nestled in a thicket of trees, had a neglected and forlorn look to it. The wood was damp and rotting in parts, the scent of mildew mingling with a faint, sickly odor that made Magnus's experienced and heightened nose wrinkle. The animals in the pen nearby looked scraggly, their fur matted and thin, some covered in patches of mange. His heart sank, and he began to understand why Lagertha might have hesitated to bring him here.
"GIRL! IS THAT YOU? WHERE'S MY FISH!" A slurred, booming voice burst through the heavy silence. Moments later, a man stumbled out, his face ruddy and unfocused, a mangy bear pelt slung over his head, its nose missing. He blinked blearily at Magnus, his gaze shifting from anger to mild curiosity. "Who the hel…WHO IS THIS, GIRL?! Did he bring ale?"
Lagertha lifted her chin, her voice calm but her eyes wary. "No, Father. This is Magnus. He saved me from a wolf in the woods," she replied smoothly, the ease of her lie hinting to Magnus that she'd had plenty of practice.
The man squinted at Magnus, then cracked a grin. "WELL THEN! Come in, boy!" he slurred, nearly tripping over a clay vase that lay shattered near the doorway. "My wife'll be back…some damn time, I reckon. Come share a drink for that kill...or shooing, or whatever it is you did" He staggered, grabbing a cup and attempting to fill it, spilling half of the contents on the floor before holding it out with a shaky hand.
"With all respect, sir, I'm only eight…" Magnus answered cautiously, his eyes flicking to Lagertha, who rolled her eyes, clearly telling him she'd dealt with this often.
"Could've fooled me. Your a big bastard for your age!" Her father barked, thrusting the drink at him again. "I had my first pint when I was six!"
"Don't we all know it," Lagertha muttered under her breath.
"What was that, girl?!" Her father snarled, his face darkening, dropping the unsteady grin and stepping toward her, his voice as sharp and sudden as a snap of broken timber. Lagertha's face hardened, and though her lips were set in defiance, Magnus saw the strain in her jaw, the way she braced herself.
"How do you know I said something? Perhaps it was the ale-stealing fairies or boot-thieving trolls again," she taunted, her tone defiant yet steady.
With a guttural growl, her father grabbed a worn leather belt from the wall and swung it toward her, anger flashing in his eyes. But before it could make contact, Magnus caught the strap firmly in his grip, his eyes steady on the man's face.
"Perhaps I will take that drink after all, if it pleases you, sir," Magnus said calmly, his hand barely registering the sting of the belt's edge. Lagertha's father faltered, taken aback by the boy's resilience, a hint of respect mixed with irritation flashing in his eyes.
The man gave a hard, toothy smile. "Well…aren't you a hard little bastard," he grunted. "Ever tested your steel, boy?"
"Father, no" Lagertha began, but he cut her off with a vicious glare.
"YOU WILL BE SILENT, GIRL! Found yourself a little wild pup to protect you, have you?" he spat, noticing the wolf necklace around Magnus's neck, a gift from Freya.
Magnus's expression remained calm, his voice steady. "I mean no disrespect, sir, especially in your own home. My mother believes that a warrior's path comes to them when the time is right. Until then, I'm only a hunter."
The man sneered, mockery coating his words. "And who's this wise mother of yours, boy?"
"Freya, daughter of Jorumen," Magnus replied, his voice low but firm.
The man's face turned pale, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes as he stepped back, muttering under his breath, "Freya Stormblade…? She can't have children. Everyone knows that."
"She found me in the woods. It's a very long story," Magnus answered. His tone carried a quiet, dangerous edge that unnerved Lagertha, the boy she'd laughed with moments before now exuding a strength far beyond his years. "But if there is still a matter to settle here, we can draw the circle, if you insist on it."
A bitter chuckle escaped the man as he stumbled backward, waving a dismissive hand. "No…no, there'll be no circle. Last thing I need is her showing up here again," he muttered, throwing his goblet into the fire in frustration.
Magnus turned to Lagertha, who looked at him with wide eyes, a mixture of admiration and astonishment clear in her expression. He gave her a slight nod, grounding her in the tension-filled room.
"Stormblade…my mother used to tell me tales of a warrior with that name," Lagertha murmured, her awe clear. "A woman fierce as the wolfskin warriors, but silent as the grave. She raided like no other."
Just then, the door opened with a creak, and a woman's voice filled the room. "Lagertha? How went your hunt, dear?" Her mother entered, her calm gaze falling on Magnus as she buried her axe in a wide groove on the table, a designated resting place for the weapon. Her eyes flicked to her husband, taking in the scene with an air of practiced wariness.
"Mother," Lagertha said, moving to her side, her voice full of excitement and pride. "I met Freya Stormblade, and her son!"
The woman's calm demeanor shifted subtly, a faint but unmistakable look of concern crossing her face as she glanced between Lagertha, her husband, and Magnus, her gaze assessing and discerning.
"Tell me everything, child," she said, her tone inviting yet cautious. She pulled out a chair, gesturing for Lagertha to sit. She took a seat herself, leaning forward as she folded her hands on the table.
Lagertha began, recounting the events with a quiet pride as she glanced occasionally at Magnus, who stood by the doorway, silent but attentive. As she spoke, her mother listened closely, her gaze thoughtful, her silence reflecting both curiosity and the weight of secrets that hung over their modest home. The warmth of the fire cast long shadows around them, flickering light illuminating their faces as Lagertha told her story. And with each word, a strange, almost fateful bond grew among them, as if their paths had been inextricably woven long before they had even met.
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