Frida

Chapter 5 - King

Frida had been told that she had to get some rest before nightfall, as a big feast was being held for the return of the Norsemen to Kattegat. Not long after they had anchored at the harbor, she had been forced into a rather large wooden house, and further into a room in the back that consisted of only a bed, a fireplace, and a large wooden bowl that Frida recognized to be a tub for bathing.

She was oblivious to what time of the day they had arrived, and after what felt like a few hours she had risen to find it still dark outside, not raining nor thundering anymore.

Her sleep had been troubled. Her body had not yet been accustomed to solid ground, and she felt herself swaying from side to side as if she was still hovering over the waves in the boat. Her muscles were sore while her stomach empty, resulting in a slight pain stabbing the right side of her head, but she was still thankful for the journey to be over.

It was not long before a servant of some sort entered her room, and even though the language was a great obstacle, Frida had understood what she wanted her to do.

Bathe.

The relief of being clean had improved her mood drastically, and she was now sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, and waiting for the servant to bring her some clothes. Frida could easily hear Norsemen and women chattering on the other side of the walls of the room, their intonation coming off as cheerful and exhilarated, and she felt a bubble of nervousness starting to grow in the pit of her stomach.

She started mindlessly to pull her fingers through her long golden hair which had been hidden away under covers for several weeks, and therefore it was tangled like the roots of a bush, all the while her mind wandered. Naturally, she still did not know why the Norsemen had brought her to their home, but after having sat on that boat for so many days and nights, ignoring all her needs and wishes for an explanation, she had given up.

Her life had been put in the hands of these wild men, these men of the North, and in some regards she felt like there was a meaning to it all. Of course, she had never really believed in life being fated, determined by a certain force here on Earth, but her unexplainable calm and warmth still had her telling herself that she was never meant to stay in Northumbria. That she had never really belonged there.

A creaking sound by the door to her room had Frida looking up, and a woman that she had never seen before entered, carrying a bundle of fabrics, hopefully, clothes for Frida to wear. The woman closed the door behind her, and her eyes met with Frida's.

Frida felt her blood starting to rush. This was a Norse woman, she could tell clearly, by her length and posture and her long white hair that was braided beautifully over her scalp. Her eyes reminded her of someone she had not spoken to for a long time, almost shining with motherly affection, as she opened her red lips to speak out.

Her voice was beautiful and welcoming, as she said: "Here, take these," and held out the fating red fabrics in her hands.

Frida reached over to receive them, and she quickly tossed the dress over her head, covering herself.

"Thank you," she pressed, and she almost felt herself tearing up yet again at the sight.

The dress was beautiful, almost like from another world, and it fell over her chest charmingly, showing off more skin that would be proper where she came from. The hems were small and neat, almost invisible, and the sleeves were decorated with remarkable suture that reminded her of something only queens and princesses wore back in her homeland.

"Sit," the woman commanded as she pointed back to the bed, and Frida quickly followed her instructions.

The white haired woman took only two strides to reach the bed as well, and she sat down beside her. To Frida's surprise, she pulled out a strange looking device that she soon came to realize was a comb for her hair. After a while of painfully having her hair combed and braided, Frida reached up her arm to take a hold of the woman's.

"What is your name?" she asked almost in a whisper, as she did not know how well this woman managed her language.

The woman smiled sweetly, showing her pearly white teeth that would make any English queen envious, before she continued her braiding.

"Lagertha," she soothed before she let one braiding of Frida's hair fall down to her chest only to continue on another, "You are Frida, correct?"

Frida nodded. This was one of the most stunning women she had ever seen in her life, and it made her shift nervously in her seat.

"Know that tonight, they are questioning you," Lagertha said calmly, "My ex-husband is interested in you."

Frida felt herself blush slightly, and she did not know how to answer a statement like that.

Ex-husband? Frida thought to herself. That was not exactly a term you heard very often in Northumbria, as the bond of marriage was an expression of eternal companionship between a man and a woman. It was only the rich who had the right of separating a marriage; another hypocrisy of the Christian faith.

She gulped down as she heard Lagertha chuckle harmoniously.

"What questions?" Frida inquired charily, gratified that Lagertha let the last braid of Frida's hair fall down on her chest, "And what Nors... uh, man is that?"

Lagertha got up from the bed only to return with a pair of reddish brown leather shoes in her hands, which she smilingly offered her. Lagertha sighed out with a smug smile on her face, saying: "King Ragnar Loðbrók was always fascinated by the foreign and yet unfamiliar," she smiled, "but he feels that you are not so different from us after all."

And with those words Lagertha rose to her feet, put her hand below Frida's chin and lifted her face to let their eyes meet, and she silently whispered 'Be proud' before she left Frida alone in the room, confused and even more nervous.

King?! King Ragnar Loðbrók?! He was a king of this land?

She would never have guessed it, and she twisted her hands in her lap as she felt her heart beat faster by every minute passing by.