Blanketed by night and even darker waters, a small ship fought through all odds against an angry sea before grounding itself on the shores of Valkvann.
Disembarking was a familiar blonde woman - one who had left the village months prior to build a new life on distant shores that had proven far less welcoming, treacherous even
Asvoria grunted, straining against the currents as the winds picked up. Her palms were raw where the ropes bit into them, yet she gripped tighter, wrapping the line around her arm to keep the sail steady as she rode the storm toward the coast.
The finish line was finally in sight.
Rain clung to her hair and lashes until her vision blurred, but she pressed forward. Her soaked clothes chilled her to the bone, yet the traveler did not yield.
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In the mead hall, Svea sat amongst her people, smiling brightly amid the chatter of the full hall.
It was rare for them to have such peace. Rarer still for that peace to come during a storm.
She sipped from her mug then stretched, warmth spilling through her limbs like the mead itself.
"The repairs came out perfectly," she praised the group who had finished their work, even if they had done so later than promised. "Just in time for Thor's battle!"
Thunder cracked above as if he had agreed, their laughter followed.
A small child tugged on his mother's dress.
"Why does Svea think Thor is in a battle, móðir"?"
*móðir: mother in Old Norse
Smiling, the mother rubbed her child's head and provided the only answer she could. Hoping her own storytelling skills would live up to that of her grandfather's from the day she had asked a similar question.
"When Thor fights, he throws Mjolnir, his mighty hammer," she began, pretending to lift her own imaginary hammer. "He throws it at his enemy so hard that sparks fly," she said, chuckling as her child's eyes widened at the image. "Thor is the god of thunder, after all. . . that is his warning that he's entering a battle."
Her husband leaned in, a soft laugh of his own. "Are you sure? I've always heard it meant Thor was angry."
"Are you happy when you enter a battle?" she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.
Lidwina, overhearing, laughed as she stood to refill her mug. "Deliriously so," she said, clinking her newly filled mug against Fjorvi's before the two drank together.
The laughter carried on through the mead hall, echoing against the timbered walls. The villagers were proud, rightfully so. The housing had been mending, the boats patched, but building a mead hall worthy of Valkvann had been their greatest triumph yet.
Svea didn't dare allow herself to think, but the words still floated in her mind.
A hall that could rival even Odin's own.
Gripping the old shield once belonging to Herja, Svea felt a flicker of pride. She longed to lift it outside and anoint the hall herself. What did it matter if it was raining?
Thor would permit her this, she was sure.
"Let us -"
The doors burst open.
Every head in the hall turned.
There, framed by wind and rain, stood Asvoria. Breathless, drenched, the same rain she had braved had left her hair clinging to her face. . . but she was there.
She swallowed as every eye focused on her.
It had been a long time since she'd stood in front of so many, and longer still since those eyes had looked to her for answers. The memory of that weight pressed on her now, yet she raised her chin despite her disheveled state. She had sailed through the storm alone; she had earned the right to stand there.
Accusatory glances passed quietly between friends, wondering what need had driven to their lands.
I suppose I can't blame them, can I?
Questions rippled through the hall, even if none had the courage to voice them.
Had she been sent for?
Had Aeneas sent her?
Why had she returned? More importantly, why now?
"Perhaps it isn't Thor's battle that the storm warns of," Lidwina whispered to Vilhelmiina, nudging her with her arm discreetly as their fiery hair dulled by the candlelight. Vilhelmiina agreed, nodding back. Their eyes flickered over in unison to Svea and Leif, watching how Leif moved closer to her in a protective manner.
They waited in silence for her explanation. Not for what Svea wanted to say, but for what they suspected Asvoria expected. None of them doubted she believed it was something she was owed.
Asvoria breathed out, licking her lips as she asked the group whilst avoiding their eyes, "Where is Agathe?"
What proof that Asvoria was completely out of touch with Valkvann than for her to ask of Agathe of all people?
With the village finally prospering, even if it wasn't the tier that others did, Agathe had completely disappeared, becoming a shut-in. Truthfully, most couldn't tell if she was still in her home or not, if she was, she surely wasn't alive but none had bothered to check.
"No one has seen her for some time. Svea leads this land now." one of the merchants who had stayed informed.
"Asvoria, what do you seek on this land?" Svea asked, rising to meet her.
She stepped forward, closing the distance slowly, circling as if to draw a boundary in the hall itself.
Asvoria had earned entrance past the door, but not to the rest. Svea needed that to be clear before any liberties were taken.
It was a small gesture, but one that quietly reaffirmed what everyone there already knew: this was her hall, her people, and she would not abandon them.
Asvoria ignored the question.
"Alright," she said instead, her tone tight. "Then let us speak, Svea."
"Speak," Svea encouraged, though she already suspected what was coming.
As well as she knew Asvoria, she knew this woman preferred closed doors. But Svea could not afford secrecy, not tonight. Her people needed to see that she did not hide things - that the protector of Valkvann kept no shadows between herself and them. If there would be secrets spoken, they would belong to Asvoria, not her.
Still, Svea doubted she would truly ask. She can't seriously expect me to end the celebration just to have a word. . . to send everyone home as. . .
"Privately," Asvoria interrupted, her eyes flickering across the faces gathered. A moment later she added, softer: "Please."
Finn, one of the first men to join Valkvann and its most notorious lover of ale, sensed the shift and stepped in with an easy grin.
"We shouldn't test the rain anyway, before it worsens," he said, slipping a few mugs under his arm as he led the first wave toward the door. The rest followed, their chatter fading into the downpour.
Only Svea, Asvoria, and her two guards remained.
Leif stood at Svea's left, Dragmall at her right, his jaw set like stone.
"Go," Svea told them at last, her tone brooking no argument.
The two obeyed. Reluctantly.