Torches flickered in the gathering dusk as warriors assembled in Skogstrand's courtyard. Hastily erected tables dotted the trampled grass, crude benches assembled from fallen timbers – grim evidence of Gunnar's occupation. Yet tonight these rough arrangements would serve for victory's feast.

  The warriors gathered in clusters, their voices a low murmur of triumph and grief. Some nursed wounds, others gripped horns of ale, but all eyes turned toward the raised platform where their leaders stood. Here, before the scarred walls of Torbjorn's longhouse, they would honor their dead and celebrate their victory.

  Torbjorn stood at the platform's center, his weathered features stern in the torchlight. To his right, Asbjorn maintained the rigid bearing of a chieftain's heir, while Harald and Sigurd stood like stone pillars behind them. Jarl Magnus commanded the space to Torbjorn's left, his presence a reminder of the alliance that had won the day. His brother Kjell and son Brandr flanked him. Hrothgar lingered at the platform's edge, his fingers tracing the rim of his drinking horn as warriors shifted and settled before the platform. Helga's powerful form stood apart, her independent spirit evident even in victory's hour, with Beowulf and Sigmund positioned steadfastly at her flanks.

  The chieftain raised his hands, and the murmur of voices stilled. In the deepening twilight, he lifted his drinking horn skyward. "Mighty Thor, whose thunder guided our blades! Odin All-Father, who blessed us with victory! We offer thanks for your favor in battle." The gathered warriors raised their horns in solemn tribute to the gods.

  As the libations settled into the earth, Torbjorn's voice carried across the courtyard. "Now we honor those who feast in Odin's hall." His eyes found Harald and Sigurd. "Arvid Shieldbreaker, my trusted stellari, who fell defending our lands."

  Harald and Sigurd stood rigid, grief breaking through their composure as they gripped each other's arms. "To Arvid!" Their voices rang strong though thick with emotion. The warriors' tribute echoed across the courtyard.

  Torbjorn turned to Helga. "And to Agnar, who fought with unwavering courage in the decoy fleet, giving his life to secure our victory."

  "To Agnar!" Helga's voice carried clear and strong, though her white-knuckled grip on her horn revealed the depth of her loss.

  Name after name followed – fallen warriors from every clan, their sacrifices honored in turn. Magnus's men joined Torbjorn's warriors in raising their horns, the sound of shared grief filling the gathering dusk.

  When the last name faded, Torbjorn raised his horn once more. "The gods welcome these heroes to Valhalla. We, who live on, keep their memory sacred." His voice caught, just slightly. "And we honor their sacrifice by building the peace they died to secure."

  Horns raised in final tribute, and in that moment, the warriors of both clans stood as one.

  "Now, we turn from those who fell to those whose strength secured our victory." Torbjorn turned to Magnus, inclining his head with careful dignity. "Without the might of Fjell?rn standing with us, our fight would have been bitter indeed."

  Magnus stepped forward, clasping Torbjorn's shoulder - a gesture both comforting and possessive. "We are brothers in arms," he declared, his voice ringing across the courtyard. "Allies stand together."

  The warriors roared their approval, horns clashing together. Kjell's commanding voice led the acclaim, while Brandr's enthusiasm rallied the younger warriors. At the platform's edge, Hrothgar sipped his ale unhurried, his relaxed posture belying the careful attention he paid to Magnus's lingering grip on Torbjorn's shoulder.

  As the cheers subsided, Torbjorn turned to Helga, her powerful form proud in the torchlight. "We honor mighty Helga, who commanded the decoy fleet. Her cunning and bravery led Gunnar's ships to their doom upon the reefs."

  Helga stood tall, her bearing regal despite her loss. "My crew fought with unwavering courage," she said, her voice steady and strong. "Their sacrifice ensured our victory."

  "Hail Helga!" The cry rang across the courtyard, warriors shouting their acclaim for the powerful shield-maiden who had helped secure their triumph.

  As the cheers faded, Torbjorn's gaze swept across the gathered warriors before settling on Brandr. "And now we look to the future," he declared, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "You fought beside me as would any kinsman, proving yourself not just your father's son, but a leader in your own right. Any clan would be proud to call you son."

  Brandr bowed his head, though pride gleamed in his eyes. "It was my honor, Chief Torbjorn."

  Magnus straightened at these words, satisfaction evident in his bearing though he remained silent. Beside him, Kjell beamed at his nephew, while Hrothgar's measured nod carried its own weight of approval.

  The younger warriors erupted in cheers, their enthusiasm echoing across the courtyard. Even the older warriors nodded in approval, acknowledging the young leader's proven worth.

  Magnus turned then to Torbjorn's gathering. "And let us not forget the valor of your own, Torbjorn. Asbjorn led with wisdom beyond his years, while Harald and Sigurd fought with Arvid's courage." His voice carried genuine respect. "Our clans' future stands strong together."

  Asbjorn stood straight with quiet pride at his chieftain's side. Behind him, Harald and Sigurd stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces a complex mix of pride and grief - the honor of the moment bittersweet without their father to witness it, and their brother Erik still fighting for his life in the healer's tent.

  "Warriors!" Torbjorn's voice carried across the courtyard. "I wish I could offer a feast more worthy of your valor. While Gunnar's men depleted our stores, what remains is yours - your courage and loyalty are worth more than any fine fare."

  Applauding, the warriors then converged on the tables where servants had laid out bread, meat, and ale. Torbjorn turned to his honored guests. "Magnus, Helga - you and your chief warriors will join us in the longhouse. Though we had to breach our own doors to deny Gunnar shelter, our hearth still burns strong."

  As the common warriors settled at the outdoor tables, their voices rising in celebration, the leaders made their way inside. Magnus and Kjell followed Torbjorn, with Brandr close behind. Helga entered with her characteristic independence, while Hrothgar ambled through the splintered doorway at his own pace. Harald and Sigurd entered last, their rigid postures testament to years of discipline under their father's guidance.

  Inside the longhouse, a servant tended the high hearth, sending sparks spiraling toward the smoke-darkened rafters. Torbjorn stared into the flames, his weathered face carved deep with shadow, the light catching only the rigid line of his jaw. Beside him, Asbjorn maintained a careful stillness, his eyes occasionally darting to the strangers who now filled his family's hall. Not far from them, Harald and Sigurd kept their father's empty place between them, their shared grief evident in the space they would not fill.

  Helga sat with her shoulders squared, firelight gleaming on the silver at her wrists as she lifted her drinking horn. Despite her recent loss, her voice carried clear and steady when she spoke with Sigmund and Beowulf, whose presence anchored her like twin moorings.

  Kjell and Brandr bore the easy confidence of victors, their relaxed postures and animated gestures a counterpoint to the tension elsewhere around the table. Magnus, however, revealed nothing of his thoughts, though satisfaction seemed to hover in the air around him as he sat at Torbjorn's right hand. Nearby, Hrothgar lounged with practiced ease, occasionally swirling the ale in his horn, his observant eyes missing nothing of the subtle currents flowing around him.

  The servants had laid out the best of their remaining stores - fresh bread, salted fish, and strong ale. As they moved silently around the table, the hearth's crackle punctuated the heavy silence. Through the damaged doorway drifted the distant sounds of celebration, warriors' laughter and song rising in contrast to the quiet gathering within these wounded walls.

  Kjell cleared his throat, his measured voice carrying the weight of his position as stellari. "Torbjorn, you must be proud. Our victory was masterfully won through Asbjorn and Erik's brilliant strategy. The decoy fleet, the timing of tides, the coordinated attack – they planned it all with remarkable precision."

  At his son's name, Torbjorn straightened with pride, but when Erik’s name was mentioned, his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His fingers tensed around his drinking horn as if Kjell had breached some unspoken boundary. Magnus's keen eyes caught the reaction, a subtle interest flickering across his otherwise composed features, while Hrothgar watched with careful attention.

  "And look here," Kjell continued, reaching into his cloak. He spread a tablet across the table. "Erik's maps – not just showing the land, but detailing every aspect of the battle plan."

  Harald and Sigurd leaned forward, their rigid composure softening as they studied their brother's work. The careful lines, the precise notations – every detail reflected Erik's methodical mind. Sigurd's eyes followed the intricate coastline with quiet pride.

  "The patience, the attention to detail..." Kjell shook his head in admiration. "Your hirdman's son does you great credit, Torbjorn."

  Torbjorn barely glanced at the careful craftsmanship before looking away, his fingers hovering near but not touching the intricate markings. "Arvid taught his sons well," he said curtly.

  Kjell pressed on, his voice growing stronger. "And to see him face Gunnar! The warriors can't stop talking about his swordwork. Even against such a formidable opponent, he never wavered. Erik fought with exceptional bravery - his valor stands as an example to us all."

  Torbjorn's jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the hearth rather than meeting the gazes around him. The muscles in his neck tensed visibly with each mention of Erik's name.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Magnus watched Torbjorn's knuckles whiten around his drinking horn, a slight smile playing at his lips as he noted the proud chieftain's discomfort. He chose his next words with careful precision. "Erik is like a son to you, is he not, Torbjorn? With his father gone, surely you'll look after the boy as your own. He fought bravely by Brandr's side."

  Asbjorn straightened at these words, hope brightening his features.

  "Indeed," Kjell said, his voice carrying the weight of his position as stellari. "It would be fitting to honor such loyalty with a father's care."

  Torbjorn shifted in his carved chair, his face flushing red as he found himself cornered. "Erik's actions in battle speak for themselves," he managed, his voice strained with forced formality. "His bravery has brought honor to himself."

  Magnus watched the proud chieftain's eyes dart away, as he noted the rigid set of Torbjorn's shoulders. Beside him, Hrothgar sipped his ale in thoughtful silence, his keen eyes taking in his kinsmen’s calculated words and Torbjorn's obvious torment.

  "Father," Asbjorn began, his voice measured, "Erik risked much and proved his worth as a warrior many times over. Can we not reconsider his exile?"

  Torbjorn's eyes flashed toward his son – a quick, sharp glance that spoke of betrayal – before he looked away again. He gripped his chair's arms, jaw working. "I... I need time to consider this matter," he managed, his voice barely audible.

  "Perhaps the time is now, Father. He has shown courage and loyalty beyond his years," Asbjorn pressed, while Magnus and Brandr watched Torbjorn's shifting discomfort. Harald and Sigurd stiffened behind their chairs, the memory of their silence during Erik's banishment hanging heavy between them. "And remember the prisoner, Haakon's, words about Gunnar's true nature – how he murdered women under his care. Astrid was right to flee, and Erik right to protect her."

  At this revelation, Magnus stiffened, his plans to pledge Rannveig to Einar suddenly casting a darker shadow. Brandr's eyes snapped to his father, fear for his sister evident in his rigid posture. Magnus's expression betrayed nothing more than a momentary tension, his calculating mind already setting this matter aside for later consideration.

  Hrothgar swirled the ale in his horn, his calm voice offering both comfort and caution. "Perhaps then," he mused, "it is fitting that Gunnar met his end at the hands of a woman. Let us trust that his son takes this lesson to heart."

  Torbjorn's gaze drifted to Erik's map still laying upon the table, the careful coastlines and detailed markings drawing his attention. His finger hovered over a familiar inlet, his expression conflicted.

  Torbjorn winced, his weathered face contorting with reluctance rather than full regret. "I spoke harshly in anger," he admitted, his voice low. "I may have been blind to Astrid's wisdom and Erik's better intentions when I banished him."

  "A wise chief knows when to reconsider his judgments," Kjell offered quietly.

  Asbjorn caught his father's eye with a gentle nod, his expression both relieved and understanding, acknowledging without words the difficult concession Torbjorn had just made.

  The hearth fire snapped and settled in the momentary silence.

  Hrothgar continued to swirl the ale in his horn, watching the firelight dance across its surface. "Astrid, too, has grown beyond her years," he mused. "Her eagerness to learn, to understand the deeper workings of war and peace... she shows remarkable intelligence."

  Torbjorn shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his fingers tightening around his drinking horn.

  Harald leaned forward. "She is more than intelligent. I remember her as a child, always questioning, always challenging." A rare smile touched his stern features. "Never did I imagine she would become a shieldmaiden. Yet already the warriors speak of how she faced Gunnar without hesitation, showing courage to match any warrior here. Perhaps we all misjudged what she could become."

  Torbjorn glanced at Harald briefly, surprise flickering across his weathered features at hearing such words from the stern warrior.

  "Not just brave," Sigurd added, his voice warm with pride, "but good-hearted too. Even now she tends our brother's wounds with the healers, showing the same dedication she brought to battle."

  Torbjorn's gaze moved to Sigurd, his expression growing more troubled with each word of praise for his daughter.

  "I am hardly surprised," Hrothgar mused, leaning forward. "During her time assisting me with inventory and planning, Astrid showed remarkable love for her village. She worried endlessly about how to ensure that everyone would have enough after the battle. Such loyalty to her people speaks volumes about her character."

  With that, Hrothgar raised his drinking horn high. "To Astrid, whose wisdom and courage brought honor to Skogstrand!"

  "To Astrid!" The call echoed around the table. Helga's voice rang strong and clear, while Beowulf and Sigmund raised their horns with enthusiastic approval. Asbjorn beamed with pride, and even Kjell nodded in solemn agreement.

  Torbjorn lifted his horn with a heaviness that belied the celebratory moment, his eyes downcast as shame began to settle deeper into his bones. The pride he should have felt at his daughter's accomplishments was smothered beneath the weight of his own poor judgment.

  As the toast faded, an uneasy silence settled once more around the table. Brandr, who had been following the conversation with uncharacteristic quietness, straightened in his seat, his expression resolute.

  "There remains one warrior whose valor has earned far less than she deserves." His eyes moved deliberately from his father to Kjell, then settled on Torbjorn. "Sigrida has proven herself worthy of honor, yet stands without recognition."

  Torbjorn's shoulders tensed visibly at the name, his discomfort far deeper than mere unease about a former thrall.

  "I watched her grow from uncertain archer to fearless warrior," Brandr continued, his voice gathering confidence. "When pirates attacked our trading vessel, she stood her ground. When my sister Rannveig needed protection, Sigrida never wavered. In every battle, she proved herself worthy of standing among us."

  Magnus stiffened at his son's words, his jaw clenching as he stared fixedly ahead, clearly willing the conversation to move past the subject of Sigrida. Before he could redirect the discussion, Sigmund's voice rose from beside Helga.

  "Brandr speaks true," Sigmund declared, his weathered face animated. "I saw her myself during the decoy fleet battle. Her arrows found their marks with deadly precision, never faltering even as Gunnar's ships bore down upon us."

  "And when she fought aboard Magnus's drakkar," Beowulf added, pride resonating in his voice, "she wielded her axe like one born to battle."

  Helga looked proudly at Brandr, then shifted her gaze to Magnus with undisguised amusement, her satisfied smile never wavering. Magnus sat with his jaw clenched so tight it might shatter. Across the table, Torbjorn seemed to collapse in on himself, his shoulders bowed by a weight far heavier than mere discomfort over the girl's prowess.

  "Brother," Kjell's measured voice broke the tension. "You remember how she threw that axe, saving your life without a moment's hesitation. Such loyalty, such courage - these are the marks of a true shieldmaiden."

  Magnus's glare could have melted steel, but Kjell held firm.

  Torbjorn barely seemed to notice the exchange, his gaze distant, his shoulders slumping further with each mention of Sigrida's name. His fingers traced meaningless patterns on the table's edge, his thoughts clearly adrift in some private storm of regret.

  Hrothgar lifted his drinking horn, his slight smile suggesting he knew exactly what tension he was about to stir. His eyes fixed deliberately on Torbjorn, noting the chieftain's distracted state, before sliding toward Magnus with polite defiance. "Then let us honor Sigrida as well, whose courage and loyalty brought honor to us all."

  Magnus's fierce glare shifted to Hrothgar, but the steward merely took a long, deliberate drink from his horn.

  Torbjorn hunched forward in his carved chair, the weight of every eye upon him. As if suddenly aware he was expected to speak, he blinked and returned to the present. "Yes," he managed weakly, almost in a whisper, "Sigrida has shown... valor in battle."

  "Valor?" Helga's voice cracked like a whip across the table. "Is that all you would grant her? After she risked everything to defend your people?"

  "She chose to return and fight for your clan," Brandr interjected, ignoring his father's warning glare. "She knew the risk - that she could be enslaved again - yet still she came."

  "Or worse than enslaved," Beowulf added grimly, his steady gaze fixed on Torbjorn. "I've heard tell of the punishment you threatened should she be caught."

  Torbjorn's face flushed dark red as he shifted in his seat, unable to meet the accusing stares. His head tilted at awkward angles, his weathered features contorting in a silent struggle for composure.

  "There are... traditions to consider," he managed finally, his voice weak. "Social order that must be..."

  "Indeed," Magnus cut in, nodding with unusual vigor. "The structure of our society cannot be carelessly overturned."

  "Enough!" Helga's voice silenced them both. "Will you free her or not, Torbjorn? She has more than earned her freedom through blood and courage."

  Magnus stared at her blankly, surprise and anger warring in his expression, clearly unaccustomed to having his authority challenged so openly. Beside Helga, her husbands' faces hardened in support of their wife, shifting the room's power with their collective presence.

  Torbjorn looked utterly lost, his weathered face a storm of conflicting emotions. He nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again, trapped in a visible struggle between denial and truth. Harald's stern features showed certainty, while hope flickered across Sigurd's face.

  "Father," Asbjorn's measured voice cut through the tension. "Perhaps we might consider this matter carefully in the days ahead. Sigrida has indeed proven herself worthy of... special consideration."

  Helga's fierce expression softened, her eyes still bright with triumph as she exchanged a meaningful glance with her husbands. Brandr's jaw remained tight, but his posture eased slightly, recognizing that Asbjorn had secured what immediate words could not.

  Torbjorn nodded painfully, his lined face betraying the depth of his inner struggle. "You have all made... good points." His voice emerged barely above a whisper, the proud chieftain finally bowed by the weight of truth. "I have much to think on in the days ahead."

  Across the table, Asbjorn and Brandr's eyes met briefly before returning to their fathers.

  "The seasons turn," Hrothgar mused, swirling the ale in his horn, "and so too must we learn to bend with them, lest we break." His calm gaze drifted between the two young men as he lifted his horn for another unhurried sip.

  Kjell nodded thoughtfully at these words, his fingers tapping a contemplative rhythm against his horn. Beside him, Magnus stared fixedly at the table before him, his shoulders rigid. Harald and Sigurd straightened slightly in their places, their expressions watchful as the silence stretched.

  The table sat quiet, broken only by the crackling hearth and the distant sounds of celebration outside. Torbjorn absently picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, lost in thought.

  "Tell me, Asbjorn," Brandr finally asked, breaking the silence, "whose idea was it to use the reefs for the decoy fleet? Yours or Erik's?"

  Asbjorn's stern features brightened at the question. "It was Erik's idea, actually. We were planning our strategy when he recalled his knowledge of the tides and how they affected the hidden reefs."

  "Gods, that Erik!" Sigurd gave a warm laugh, pride evident in his voice.

  "Remember when they disappeared for half a day, Harald?" he continued, glancing at Asbjorn. "Father was furious when he found them out there, claiming they were 'memorizing’ the reefs.'"

  "As if we believed that for a moment," Harald added, a rare smile crossing his face as he exchanged a look with Asbjorn. "You both came back soaked to the bone, grinning like fools."

  As the younger men engaged in animated conversation, Torbjorn's gaze drifted into to the fire, his fingers stilling on his sleeve. Across the table, Magnus sat motionless, his expression carefully controlled though tension lined his jaw. Helga leaned back, watching the shifting dynamics with evident satisfaction, while Kjell observed the young leaders with thoughtful consideration.

  "But he did know those waters better than anyone," Kjell observed, nodding to Asbjorn as he lifted his horn. "Those boyish adventures saved us all today. Perhaps there was wisdom in the mischief after all."

  With the subject shifted, the conversation flowed easier now, warriors sharing tales of battles won and close escapes. Even Magnus contributed a story of his own youthful adventures, while Helga's booming laugh rang out at Beowulf's recounting of a particularly daring raid. Through it all, Hrothgar watched with quiet satisfaction as the evening's earlier tensions dissolved into the familiar comfort of shared stories and hard-won victories.