Daughter of the North:A Shieldmaiden's Fate

Chapter 5 - The Weight of Loss

The air was thick with tension as the villagers gathered at the edge of the settlement, their

expressions a mixture of hope and dread. Word had spread that Eirik and his warriors were

returning from their raid, but the news was shadowed by whispers of losses and injuries. Freydis

stood at the forefront, her heart racing as she scanned the horizon for any sign of her father.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, casting an orange glow over the snow-dusted landscape, the

first figures emerged. The warriors trudged through the snow, their armor battered and their faces

grim. Eirik led them, his stature still commanding, but Freydis's heart sank at the sight of his bloodied cloak and the deep gash along his arm.

"Father!" she called, racing ahead of the crowd to reach him. As she neared, she could see the

fatigue etched into his features, the weight of sorrow heavy on his shoulders.

"Freydis," Eirik said, his voice hoarse but filled with love as he embraced her. She could feel the

tremor in his hands and the warmth of blood that still seeped through his armor. "I am glad to see you, my daughter."

Tears brimmed in Freydis's eyes as she pulled back to assess his injuries. "You're hurt! What

happened?" Her voice was a mixture of concern and anger. "Why didn't you send word?"

He shook his head, a weary smile trying to break through his pain. "We faced fierce opposition.

Many brave souls fell, and I could not spare the time to send messages. There was much chaos,

and we lost our way. We... we were ambushed." His eyes darkened, the weight of loss evident in

his gaze.

Freydis felt a knot in her stomach. "How many...?" she hesitated, knowing the answer would

pierce her heart.

"Too many," Eirik replied, his voice heavy with grief. "We returned with a fraction of our

numbers. Sigurd, Olav, and many others who fought valiantly... they will not come back."

A wave of sadness washed over Freydis, and she felt the sting of tears at the thought of the

warriors who had stood by her father's side. The bond of brotherhood forged in battle was

sacred, and she knew their absence would leave a gaping hole in the clan.

The villagers murmured among themselves, their expressions a mix of sorrow and respect for the fallen. Freydis stepped back, her heart aching for her father, who bore the weight of their losses

with the stoicism of a true king.

"Come, let us get you inside," Freydis urged, glancing at the other warriors who limped back

into the longhouse. "You need tending to."

Eirik nodded, though his steps were heavy as they made their way to the warmth of the

longhouse. Inside, the flickering fire crackled, casting shadows on the walls as family and friends

gathered, offering support and tending to the wounded. Freydis felt the familiar sense of

community envelop her, but it was tainted by the grief of loss.

As she helped her father to a chair, she noticed the silent glances exchanged among the villagers.