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Freya stood on the windswept shore, her breath caught in her throat as the longships emerged from the mist like the fangs of a beast. The waves crashed against the hulls, and the distant banners fluttered violently in the biting wind. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. She had never seen these ships before, but they bore the unmistakable markings of Danes—warriors and raiders.
The village behind her was on high alert, but Freya held her ground at the front, just as her father, Ragnar the Fearless, had taught her. Though Ragnar had been dead for several years, his presence lived in her—his courage, his strength, and the heavy weight of his legacy. She wasn't just the daughter of a simple warrior; she was the daughter of a legend. And now, with no living family left to guide her, the weight of that legacy felt heavier than ever.
As the ships drew closer, Freya's heart raced, her eyes narrowing to catch sight of the men who commanded them. There, standing tall at the bow of the lead ship, was a man with long blonde hair and a fierce look in his eyes. Another man stood beside him, more somber, with dark hair and a calm expression that belied the danger they carried with them.
Freya hadn't heard of them before, but there was no mistaking their power.
The ships scraped the shore, and the warriors began to disembark, but it was the two leaders who moved with the greatest purpose, stepping out ahead of the rest. Freya's grip on her sword never faltered. She called out, her voice steady despite the uncertainty in her chest. "Who are you? Why have you come here?"
The blonde one, tall and with a grin that hinted at violence, answered first. "I am Sigefrid, and this is my brother Erik. We have no quarrel with you... yet."
Freya's eyes flickered between them. "Sigefrid and Erik..." she repeated, though the names meant nothing to her. She felt a prickle of unease. "I have never heard of you. What brings you to our shores?"
Sigefrid chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming as he took a step forward, but Erik placed a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him back. Erik's voice was more measured, almost diplomatic. "We are Danes, as you can see, and we travel north. Our destination is Eoferwic."
Freya's brow furrowed in confusion. "Eoferwic? Why would you tell me this? Why should I believe you?"
Erik's eyes met hers, steady and calculating. "Because we have no need for your village, and we seek no bloodshed here. You would gain nothing by fighting us, just as we would gain nothing from attacking you."
Sigefrid's smirk remained, but he said nothing, letting Erik handle the conversation. Freya, still tense, struggled to read their intent. She had heard stories all her life about the cunning of the Danes, their raids, and their thirst for conquest. But this? This was different.
Her mind raced, remembering the words her father had spoken to her before his death: Not all enemies come with swords drawn. Some will come to talk, to test your mettle before they ever cross blades. Learn to see them before they strike.
"I don't know you," Freya said slowly, her voice edged with suspicion. "And you speak of peace, but you carry swords."
Sigefrid laughed, the sound harsh and cold. "We are always ready for war, girl. But as my brother says, today, we are not your enemies."
Freya glanced at Bjorn, her friend who stood at her side. His face was grim, his hand resting on his own sword, eyes fixed on the two brothers. "You would be a fool to trust them," he muttered, loud enough for only Freya to hear.
"I don't," Freya replied quietly, her gaze never leaving the two men before her. She looked back at Erik, trying to gauge the truth in his eyes. "If what you say is true, why tell me where you're going? What do you want from us?"
Erik's expression softened, though it was clear he was still testing her. "We tell you because we know your village poses no threat to us, and we have no interest in conflict. We seek alliances to the north, power that can be bargained for rather than taken by force. Eoferwic will be the center of that power, and we aim to control it."
Freya's heart quickened at the mention of alliances and power. It was no secret that the Northumbrian lands were in turmoil, their rulers weak and vulnerable to invasion. She could sense the ambition in Erik's voice, the desire to claim something much larger than this small village.
"And you expect me to simply let you pass?" Freya asked, her voice betraying a hint of challenge. "What happens if you decide Eoferwic isn't enough? What happens when you turn south again?"
Erik met her gaze, unwavering. "Then we will deal with it when the time comes. But you have my word, daughter of Ragnar, that we will not lay waste to your village."
Freya froze, her eyes narrowing at Erik. "Daughter of Ragnar?" she repeated, her voice tinged with surprise. "How do you know who I am? I have never heard of you or your brother, and yet you speak my father's name as if you knew him."
Erik's eyes darkened for a moment, and even Sigefrid's smile faltered. There was a flicker of something—respect, perhaps?—before Erik answered. "Ragnar the Fearless was known to all the Danes who mattered. His reputation was great, his deeds unforgettable. Word of his bloodline travels far. When we arrived at your shores and saw the way you carried yourself, it was not difficult to see who your father was."
Freya's breath hitched. Her father's name carried weight, even after his death. She felt the familiar ache of his loss, mingled now with confusion. "You speak highly of him, but I've never heard of you."
Sigefrid stepped forward with a wolfish grin, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, you will. My brother and I—well, we have plans. But for now, all you need to know is that we respected your father. He fought like a true warrior. So, you have our word—your village is safe, for now."
Freya's jaw tightened. She didn't trust them, not entirely. But she couldn't deny that something about the way they spoke of Ragnar felt sincere. Still, she was cautious. "And if you break your word? If any harm comes to my people, or if you decide to return south and pillage what's left of my village?"
Erik's gaze was steady, devoid of mockery. "Then you will have every right to seek vengeance, daughter of Ragnar. But I do not make promises lightly."
Freya felt the weight of his words, the subtle pressure of a choice that could change everything. She didn't trust them, but there was something about Erik's calmness that unsettled her. He wasn't like the raiders she had heard of growing up. He was more deliberate, more dangerous in his quiet restraint.
Sigefrid, growing impatient with the conversation, grinned at Freya. "You could come with us, you know. A daughter of Ragnar would be most welcome in the battles to come."
Freya's stomach turned at the suggestion, though she refused to show it. "I have no interest in your wars."
Sigefrid's smirk widened, but Erik cut in, more serious now. "We're not here to recruit. We're here to pass through."
Freya nodded, though the uncertainty still gnawed at her. She knew she couldn't trust them, but she also couldn't deny the truth in Erik's words. A fight here, now, would gain them nothing but bloodshed—and likely the destruction of her village. For now, she would have to let them go.
"You will have safe passage through our lands," Freya said finally, her voice firm. "But if you break your word, if you harm my people, you will regret crossing Ragnar's bloodline."
Sigefrid raised an eyebrow, amused. Erik, however, gave a small nod of acknowledgment, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned away, leading his men back to the ships.
Freya watched them leave, her heart still racing, but she kept her face impassive. Bjorn stepped up beside her, shaking his head. "You think they'll keep their word?"
Freya let out a slow breath. "I don't know. But whatever they're after in Eoferwic, it's not our fight—at least not yet."
Bjorn grunted. "Still, we'll need to be ready if they come back."
Freya nodded, her gaze fixed on the receding ships. "We will be." She knew this wouldn't be the last she saw of Sigefrid and Erik. Their ambitions were too great, and their words too calculated. But for now, she had bought her village time, and in a cold world, that was sometimes all one could ask for.
A/N: Fist chapter!I am really excited, but also nervous I hope you enjoy it.
In this chapter we already meet the siblings, who we will see again and Freya clever as she is already knows it! In the next Freya will discover things that will lead her to make choices that will change her DESTINY forever.
