Sigrida stepped into the bustling courtyard, her mind still churning from the day's events. She had stormed out of Rannveig's room earlier, spending hours wandering the fortress to cool her temper. Now, as revelers streamed towards the sacred grove for the blot ritual, she found herself swept along with the crowd.

  Her eyes scanned the throng, searching for Erik and Astrid, but they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, she slowly walked with the procession, her thoughts churning with recent experiences. In the distance, she glimpsed the v?lvas leading the way, their symbol-adorned staffs raised high, while Magnus, Brandr, and Rannveig followed in their place of honor.

  As the group wound up the hill, the air grew thick with anticipation and the scent of pine. The excited chatter faded to a reverent hush, broken only by soft rustling and a distant raven's call. Sigrida observed the scene, willing herself to focus on the ritual's significance, yet her mind kept drifting to the whispers and glances from the crowd, and Rannveig's earlier comments.

  At the hilltop, Brandr took his place with Magnus and Rannveig near the sacred grove's entrance, where the jarls's family would witness the ceremony. As the v?lvas took their positions, their staffs gleaming in the light, his eyes scanned the crowd until they found Sigrida. His gaze was a conflict of hope and resignation, Rannveig's warnings still echoing in his mind. Sigrida turned away sharply, his earlier mockery still raw.

  The goei stepped forward to the altar, while the v?lvas formed a circle around the sacred space. Their voices rose in unison, calling for silence across the glade. At their signal, thralls lit the bonfire, its sudden blaze momentarily blinding Sigrida.

  The v?lvas began their ancient chants, their voices rising and falling in practiced harmony. The goei raised his arms before the altar as other voices joined the song - elders and warriors adding their strength to the ceremony. Drumbeats and bone pipes intensified the eerie melody. Sigrida felt oddly detached from the growing fervor, acutely aware of her position as an outsider in this tightly-knit community. Desperate for a familiar face, she scanned the crowd until she spotted Erik and Astrid at the perimeter of the gathering, deeply engrossed with each other. She made her way towards them, weaving through the crowd. As she approached, she noticed their hands intertwined, heads bent close, voices low and punctuated by soft laughter.

  Settling onto a wooden bench near them, partially obscured by a gnarled oak tree, Sigrida felt an overwhelming urge to connect. "The ritual is beginning," she whispered, gesturing towards the altar where the sacred rites were underway. But her words fell on deaf ears. Astrid and Erik remained in their own world, oblivious to their surroundings and Sigrida's presence.

  She tried to focus on the ceremony, to lose herself in the ancient rhythms and chants. But each drumbeat only heightened her awareness of her isolation. Even here, surrounded by people, she felt utterly alone. Unable to bear the silence any longer, she turned back to her friends. "Have you made any offerings?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of urgency.

  Erik, momentarily distracted, glanced at her. "No," he replied absently before turning his attention back to Astrid.

  Astrid didn't even acknowledge the question. She giggled softly, reaching out to pluck dandelion seed heads that had settled in Erik's hair. Their shared moment of intimacy left Sigrida feeling even more deserted.

  Undeterred, Sigrida made one more attempt at conversation. "Astrid, you look lovely in your ceremonial robes," she offered, her voice warm despite her growing frustration.

  This time, Astrid turned to her, making brief eye contact. A friendly smile played on her lips as she murmured, "Thank you, Sigrida."

  Erik, seemingly remembering his manners, said, "She's right. The color suits you well."

  As quickly as the moment had come, it passed. Astrid's gaze snapped back to Erik, as if drawn by some unseen force. Their eyes locked once more, the rest of the world fading away for them.

  Sigrida felt a twinge of irritation at their behavior. While she understood their affection, their obliviousness to her presence and the importance of the ceremony struck her as both inconsiderate and disrespectful. She turned away, jaw clenched, resolving to focus on the ritual alone.

  Realizing she would find no companionship here, she stood up. "I'm going to find Hilde and Hervor," she announced, her voice tinged with resignation.

  Erik murmured a vague acknowledgment without breaking his gaze from Astrid. Astrid, barely glancing up, offered a distracted, "Alright, we'll see you later."

  Their indifference to her departure was painful. Neither seemed upset nor particularly aware that she was leaving. Sigrida turned away, a mixture of frustration and determination in her steps as she moved through the crowd, leaving the oblivious couple behind.

  Sigrida wove through the crowd, her eyes scanning for the distinctive petite frames of Hilde and Hervor. Spotting them in the distance, deep in conversation with the towering Thor, she quickened her pace, eager for their uncomplicated friendship.

  As she navigated the throng, each person she passed seemed to turn and stare. Judgmental eyes bore into her, the weight of their gazes pressing upon her. Every sidelong glance and shifting body language felt like a reminder of her status as a thrall, fueling her discomfort and hastening her steps.

  She forced herself to ignore their stares, focusing instead on reaching the twins. The crowd thinned slightly, offering brief moments of respite as she caught glimpses of their mousy braids in the distance. Their warmth and acceptance beckoned like a sanctuary amid the hostility, spurring her forward with renewed determination.

  Feeling the twins were now closer, Sigrida moved even faster through the crowd, her focus narrowed to reaching her destination. She paid little attention to the faces around her, driven by the promise of friendly company.

  Suddenly, two figures loomed before her, blocking her path. Sigrida's steps faltered, her brief spark of hope extinguished as she took in the mismatched pair - one tall and stringy, the other burly and broad-shouldered.

  The taller man's eyes glinted with malice in the firelight. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice thick with ale. "If it isn't Torbjorn's little thrall. You're even prettier up close." His gaze raked over her body, lingering in places that made Sigrida's skin crawl.

  The burly man let out a low whistle. "Careful there, Kol," he chuckled, his eyes roving over Sigrida with unconcealed interest. "You'll need to get Brandr's leave before you start eyeing what belongs to him."

  Sigrida's jaw clenched, her earlier discomfort morphing into disgust and anger at their lewd behavior.

  Sigrida sidestepped the leering men, her eyes darting for an escape route. She swiftly moved towards the edge of the crowd, where the press of bodies thinned. Once there, she scanned for the twins, only to see them parting from Thor and bobbing away in the opposite direction, disappearing into the sea of people.

  A flicker of defeat passed over her face as she realized the futility of pursuing them. Exhausted by the evening's emotional toll, Sigrida retreated to the grove's perimeter. Here, the air felt fresher, the press of bodies less suffocating. She found a quiet spot, partially hidden by the shadow of an ancient oak, where she could catch her breath and gather her thoughts.

  From her position at the edge, she watched the ceremony intensify. The bonfires blazed higher, casting long shadows across the gathering. The chanting grew louder, more fervent, as the goei approached the sacred post with the sacrificial bowl. Blood from the offerings was sprinkled over the altar and assembled crowd, the ritual droplets catching the firelight. Though Sigrida understood the ceremony's significance, she couldn't shake her growing unease.

  The smoke from the fires, thick with the scent of blood and burning offerings, made her eyes water and her chest tighten. Unable to bear it any longer, she stepped further back, into the edge of the forest. As she caught her breath in the cool air, her mind turned to Fjell?rn itself. The fortress offered security she desperately needed, especially after Torbjorn's threat to cut off her hands. Yet its rigid hierarchy and stifling customs left her feeling like an outsider, her status as a thrall overshadowing any recognition of her growing skills.

  As she pondered her place in this new world, a twig snapped, followed by the rustle of leaves. Sigrida's heart leapt into her throat as she whirled around, her eyes adjusting to the dusky light beneath the dense canopy. From the shadows of the trees emerged Kol, his form seeming to materialize from the forest gloom. An unsettling smirk played on his lips as he swayed towards her, his eyes glinting with predatory intent in the muted twilight.

  "Well, well," Kol drawled, his voice a menacing growl. "What's a little thrall like you doing out here all alone? Running away again, are we?"

  "I'm just getting some air," Sigrida said, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat.

  Kol's grin widened, revealing teeth yellowed by years of neglect. "Is that so? Or have you angered Torbjorn again?" He took another step closer, his bulk seeming to block out what little light filtered through the trees. "I heard he's not too pleased with you and your friend."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  A chill ran down Sigrida's spine, her breath catching in her chest. How much did he know about her situation with Torbjorn? The fear must have shown on her face, because Kol's eyes lit up with cruel amusement.

  "You and that Astrid girl have caused quite a stir," he continued, advancing slowly, each step deliberate and threatening. "I hope you're planning to make it up to us... properly."

  The implication in his words made Sigrida's stomach churn. Her hand instinctively reached for her dagger, only to grasp at empty air. With a jolt of fear, she realized she had left it in Rannveig's room, believing she wouldn't need protection within Fjell?rn's walls. Kol's eyes flickered to her waist, his smile widening as he registered her vulnerability.

  "I should get back to the ceremony," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to edge around him, the forest suddenly feeling more like a trap than a refuge.

  Kol's hand shot out, his fingers digging into her arm with bruising force. "Not so fast, thrall," he growled, his fetid breath hot on her face. "I'm just getting to know you." His eyes gleamed with malicious intent, the shadows of the forest seeming to deepen around them.

  Panic surged through Sigrida as the reality of her isolation hit her. They were too far from the crowd; no one would hear her if she screamed. The forest, once a sanctuary, now felt like a sinister cocoon, muffling any hope of rescue.

  In a desperate burst of adrenaline, Sigrida yanked her arm free from Kol's grasp. Without a backward glance, she bolted towards the distant glow of the bonfire, her feet barely touching the ground as she fled. The sound of her ragged breathing and pounding heart drowned out everything else, even the possibility of pursuit.

  She didn't slow her frantic pace until she was engulfed by the crowd once more, the press of bodies offering a strange, claustrophobic safety. Gasping for air, she risked a glance over her shoulder, momentarily relieved to see no sign of Kol in the sea of faces.

  But the encounter had left her deeply shaken, a stark and terrifying reminder of her vulnerability. The weight of Torbjorn's threat and the chilling realization of how exposed she truly was all crashed down upon her at once, leaving her trembling and adrift in a world that seemed increasingly hostile and unpredictable.

  As she pushed through the mass of bodies, the scene before her took on a nightmarish quality. Unfamiliar faces loomed in and out of view, distorted by the flickering bonfire light. The chanting and drumbeats seemed to grow louder, more disorienting with each passing moment. Astrid and Erik were nowhere to be seen, leaving Sigrida feeling utterly alone and adrift in the chaotic revelry.

  Shuddering, Sigrida wrapped her arms around herself. The pungent smoke made her dizzy, adding to her sense of unreality. She had to get away from here, find some semblance of safety. She moved carefully through the press of bodies, aiming for the path back to the longhouse. But each time she tried to slip past the crowd's edge, she caught sight of Kol lurking just within the trees, his eyes fixed on her like a predator waiting for vulnerable prey.

  Fear spiked through Sigrida, sharp and cold. There was no way she could make it back alone with him watching. Where were Astrid and Erik? And Brandr was nowhere to be found either. She felt achingly alone in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

  Her gaze landed on Rannveig, standing stoically with her family in their place of honor near the sacred posts. Even at this distance, the older girl's poise and dignity were evident. Sigrida longed to go to her, to plead for help, but approaching the jarl's family during the sacred rites was unthinkable.

  Resigning herself to wait, Sigrida found a spot at the edge of the crowd. She kept her eyes peeled for any sign of Kol or a chance to slip away unseen. The smoke made her nauseous and the drums grated on her nerves, but she forced herself to stay alert, ready to run at the first opportunity.

  As she stood there, heart still racing, a hand touched her arm. Sigrida spun around, a scream caught in her throat, terrified that Kol had caught up to her. Instead, she found herself face to face with Jorunn and Svanhild, their expressions quickly shifting from friendly to concerned.

  "Sigrida, what's wrong?" Jorunn asked, her brow furrowing as she took in Sigrida's disheveled appearance and panicked eyes.

  "You look like you've seen a draugr," Svanhild said, her voice laced with worry.

  Without waiting for a response, they gently guided Sigrida through the crowd. "Come," Jorunn said softly, guiding them toward a thrall who was distributing the ceremonial mead. She took a drinking horn from him, murmuring, "Let's calm your nerves."

  Svanhild steadied Sigrida's trembling hands as Jorunn offered the horn of sweet mead. "Here, drink this," she said gently. "It's infused with calming herbs."

  Taking a sip, the warm, fragrant liquid spread through her. For a moment, she was transported back to Honningdal, to happier days spent with Leif and Freya. The memory, coupled with the soothing effects of the mead, helped to slow her racing heart.

  Jorunn kept a comforting hand on her arm, her touch unexpectedly reassuring. "Take deep breaths," she murmured. "You're safe now."

  A nod, another sip of mead. The kindness in their voices and actions contrasted sharply with her earlier opinions of them, leaving her feeling both grateful and confused.

  Svanhild's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied her face. "I saw Kol and that stout friend of his approach you earlier," she said carefully. "Were they bothering you?"

  At the mention of Kol's name, Sigrida’s grip tightened on the mead horn. Jorunn squeezed her arm gently, a silent reminder of their support.

  Sigrida’s silence spoke volumes. Jorunn and Svanhild exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes reflecting a shared understanding.

  "Don't worry, dear," Jorunn said softly, patting Sigrida's hand. "You're under Brandr's protection now."

  Svanhild nodded in agreement. "He won't stand for anyone interfering with what's his," she said, her tone both reassuring and matter-of-fact.

  "Brandr's a good man," Jorunn continued, her voice warm. "He'll make sure Kol knows his place."

  The women's words were punctuated by gentle touches and understanding smiles. Their eyes held a mixture of sympathy and something akin to pride, as if welcoming Sigrida into a sisterhood she hadn't realized she'd joined.

  "You'll see," Svanhild said, refilling Sigrida's mead horn. "Life with Brandr will be good. You'll want for nothing."

  Their postures relaxed as they spoke, conveying a sense of security in their own positions. Their words and actions implied a world where being chosen by a powerful man like Brandr was a coveted status, a shield against harsher fates.

  Jorunn and Svanhild gently guided Sigrida to the edge of the sacred grove. The intensity of the blót ceremony surrounded them. Bonfires roared, casting writhing shadows across faces lifted in solemn prayer. The rising and falling of chanted verses filled the air, the ancient words carrying power. The scent of sacrificial blood mingled with wood smoke, creating a heady, almost suffocating atmosphere.

  They found a quiet spot to wait, partially sheltered by towering pines. As the ceremony continued, the women stayed close to Sigrida, their presence gradually calming her frayed nerves. Jorunn kept a protective arm around her shoulders while Svanhild shared stories of her early days at Fjell?rn, tales meant to comfort and distract. Before the rites concluded, seeing Sigrida's growing unease, they decided to lead her back early, knowing the crowd would soon fill the paths to the feasting hall.

  "Let's get you back to the longhouse," Svanhild murmured, her arm protectively around Sigrida's shoulders.

  Moving through the night, Jorunn squeezed Sigrida's hand. "I'm so relieved Brandr has taken you under his wing," she said, her voice barely audible over the cacophony behind them.

  Svanhild nodded in agreement. "Can you imagine what might have happened if he hadn't?" she said, a shudder passing through her frame.

  Their words stirred a whirlwind of emotions in Sigrida. Part of her craved the safety they described, especially after her encounter with Kol. Yet, she couldn't shake the memory of Brandr's careless joke that had sent her storming off earlier, feeling insulted and cheapened.

  "You're one of us now," Jorunn continued, her tone warm and inclusive. "Brandr will keep you safe."

  As they approached the longhouse, its solid walls promising refuge, Sigrida found herself caught between gratitude for their kindness and a deep, unsettling confusion about her place in this world.

  At the entrance, Jorunn and Svanhild led Sigrida towards Brandr's quarters. When they reached the entrance to his sleeping area, Sigrida hesitated, causing the women to look at her questioningly.

  "I've been staying in Rannveig's room," Sigrida said quietly.

  Svanhild shook her head, a light laugh escaping her lips. "Oh, sweetling," she said, her tone a mixture of amusement and gentle warning, "I wouldn't keep that up for too much longer. A man like Brandr... well, he has certain expectations."

  Jorunn leaned in, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and wisdom. "Remember, dear," she said, her voice lowered conspiratorially, "your longevity here won't be secured by your virtue." She winked, the playful gesture belying the warning beneath her words.

  Their implications hung in the air, unspoken but clear. Sigrida felt the weight of their words settling on her shoulders as they bid her goodnight, leaving her alone in the corridor.

  As their footsteps faded, Sigrida stood motionless, her mind reeling from the evening's events and the concubines' thinly veiled advice. The safety of Rannveig's room beckoned, but now it felt like a temporary sanctuary, one that could vanish at any moment.

  Sigrida closed the door to Rannveig's room, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. Outside, voices and footsteps echoed through the courtyard as people streamed toward the feasting hall, their revelry underscoring her alienation from this world she didn't quite belong to. She peeled off her attire, changing into a simple shift before sinking into the bed, its softness a small comfort in her tumultuous state.

  Her mind replayed Kol's harassment, a shudder running through her body. The fear still lingered, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the confusion left by Jorunn and Svanhild's advice. Their words about security echoed in her head, conflicting with her fierce desire for independence.

  Thoughts of Brandr surfaced, bringing a wave of hurt and betrayal. The easy companionship they'd shared in Honningdal had vanished in Fjell?rn's rigid hierarchy. His crude joke stung deeper here, where she watched his father treat women like Jorunn and Svanhild as possessions. Perhaps that was all she'd ever be to him – another thrall to collect, no different from his father's concubines.

  Rannveig's dismissal of her only confirmed what she was beginning to understand about her place here. The brief friendship she'd hoped for now felt like another cruel illusion.

  Her heart ached most when she thought of Astrid. Memories of shared secrets and small kindnesses flooded back - Astrid sneaking her treats from the kitchen, offering her a warm place to sleep instead of the hard kitchen bed. Now, Astrid seemed lost in her newfound love with Erik, the final abandonment in a fortress where everyone had turned away from her.

  Tears welled up, and this time, Sigrida let them fall. A complex storm of emotions swirled within her - sadness at her isolation, betrayal by those she'd trusted, confusion about her place in this world, frustration at her powerlessness, and a simmering anger at the unfairness of it all. The sounds of feasting grew louder in the adjacent hall, laughter and song spilling into the courtyard. She pulled the blanket over her ears, curling into herself as she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  As we near the end of Act 2, do you prefer learning about Viking history, Story and Myth elements, or character progression in the author notes?