His smile was somehow both like that of the Lion, brutal and unyielding and yet at the same time, much like that of the Dove, kinder and more compassionate, a trait which, prior to his quest, I had not known in the man. When he first stepped from his long boat and laid his hand on my should, it was if some mystic spark – perhaps like the air sparks to life with energy, and comes to life just as before the storm; something like lightning - seemed to now be at my father’s command, waiting to be unleashed, this energy was now ever-present in the man. Then he leaned down and kissed my cheek; it was such a powerful and loving gesture. But again, it was the All-Father’s Essence; of Lightning, Power and Strength. If you’re not a Norsemen, you may not understand. Bit indeed, my father had returned home a changed Clansman- and some new, profound and great understanding now resided deep within him. His mere presence and stature were truly such an awesome and wonderful thing to behold; and how I truly loved and admired him so...

So many thoughts like these raced through my head tonight, sitting around the blazing hearths of the longhouse; these and so many thoughts like them were circling in my head, as the men laughed, told and retold the old stories of battle, the gods and of our ultimate collective destinies. Laughing with friends and drinking mead from horns carved with sacred runes, here on this cold winter night, in our village of Trondjeim...other than Vahalla, I can’t imagine a better or more sacred place to be.  As the wind and snow howled outside, inside, we feasted on both wild boar and venison, all the while singing great songs and telling great tales of old. Yet, my mind was again drifting – was the mead, the night, the playful look in my husband Aesir’s eye, or something more - back, to so many days of my childhood; after the chores of the day were finished, how we’d spend late summer afternoons running through the fields, playing in the forest and whenever the weather warmed, enough, of swimming in our beloved Romasdalsfjorden.

Looking back, life was good, but it was never without awareness nor perile; life could turn on the toss of an ancient Ruin. Fishing, farming, hunting and yes Raiding all make for a hard life. Some years are good, some are bad; what the gods degree, so it is. I don’t know that we ever went hungry, as nature always seemed to provide. But, we were also taught how to use a ax, bow, knife and shield. There were many tribes among the Norse, including the Normans, the Norse-Gaels, the Faroese and Icelanders, who were all parts of the Northern Peoples, Oden’s People. Whereas we were one in myth and tradition, often disagreements concerning land, raiding, slaves or power, which if left unchecked, often turned in bloody local if not regional conflicts. Battle, blood, victory and yes death were constant companions, and reminders that one gets what one takes, and keeps what one can defend.

My father Bjorn was a Jarl, and my mother Astrid was a Shield Maiden. Although noble persons by battle, victory and decree, we learned early that survival meant understanding several critical matters, notably that effort, awareness, and vigilance were the keys to a long life. Nothing came without hard work – and training for war; we always trained for war. As father always taught: “If you love peace, train for war. For war, sooner or later, always comes. That we could simply farm our crops, raise our children and tend our livestock in peace, and never again fight is every Vikings dream. Yet it seems the gods see it otherwise. Thus, be prepared; always be prepared.” It was only much later, when the raids on our village began in the Spring of 1012AD, that I truly began to understand and to appreciate the gravity of my father’s warnings and admonishments. He and my mother were often my brother and sister’s fiercest critics. and as my mother always preached: “Not without labor. Never without labor. All good things come to those who work hard, learn to fight well, and are willing to sacrifice for the family.” Now that I’m a Shield Maiden with my own children, I truly understand.

And so, our parents taught us how to hunt, fish and plow a field. We raised livestock, milked our cows and goats, and when the season was right, always foraged for precious honey and made our sacred Mead. In our culture, Mead was almost as precious as blood, too...

(to be continued...)